Kitabı oku: «The Village Notary: A Romance of Hungarian Life», sayfa 34

These words, and the tone in which they were spoken, convinced Janosh of the firmness of Viola's resolution, which he did not attempt to oppose, because he felt the weight of the arguments which the repentant robber had advanced in support of it.

"After all, you're not far from right," said he, after a short pause. "I'll be bound for it they won't hang you; and perhaps it's better for you to have your punishment over, and have done with it. It makes you a free man; and prevents you being brought back to your old ways. But as for the binding part of the business, it's sheer stuff and nonsense, I tell you. If you come of your own accord, they'll put it down on the bill as a special point in your favour, and strike off a few years from the time of your captivity. But, hang me if I take you to Dustbury! It would be a disgrace to me to the end of my life, if people could say, it was old Janosh who arrested Viola!"

"Very well!" said Viola, "if you won't take me, you may go to Dustbury at once, and tell Mr. Tengelyi to be of good cheer, I'll be at Dustbury on the fourth day from this. My Bojtar³³ will soon come back to take charge of the cattle. I must talk to Susi lest she should be shocked by my sudden departure. Poor woman! it will be a hard thing to take leave of her."

"Why," said old Janosh, "if you've made up your mind to go, you had better not mention your plans to Susi. After you've come to Dustbury, I'll go to fetch your wife; and when the sheriff tells her that your life is not in danger, I'm sure she'll get reconciled to the arrangement. Be of good cheer!" added the old soldier, shaking Viola's hand; "all's well that ends well! They'll lock you up for a few years, and after that time you'll go back to Tissaret as an honest man. But I must be off now. It would frighten Susi to death to find me here, and in this dress too!"

Saying which, the hussar turned to leave the spot; but after walking a few yards he came back, and said:

"I forgot to mention, that you need not come if you should repent of your resolution. I'll take my oath nobody shall ever learn from me where your tanya is; and all they can say is, that I'm a greater donkey than they thought I was, because I couldn't manage to find you. But, believe me, I don't care what they say. God bless you, my boy!"

Janosh did not wait for an answer. He hurried away; and after a few minutes, Viola heard the quick trotting of a horse. It was Janosh on his way back from the tanya.

"After all, my life will be good for something," muttered Viola. "I wanted to prove my gratitude to my benefactor, and all I did was to bring another misfortune upon him. At present I have it in my power to save his life by the sacrifice of my own! But what is to become of Susi?"

He sat lost in gloomy thoughts, with his head leaning on his hand, when his wife returned to the tanya. Her voice awoke him from his dreams. It struck her that he looked as if he had wept. But for the poor woman, who came from the grave of her children, there was nothing extraordinary in his tears.

CHAP. X

Viola had many difficulties to encounter before he could carry his project into execution. His resolution was irrevocable; but what was his most plausible pretence for leaving the tanya without alarming the fears of his wife? Ever since their change of abode, Susi showed the greatest anxiety whenever her husband left her, though but for a few hours; and this anxiety, so natural to a woman in her position, had risen to a formidable height ever since the death of her children. Her husband was her all – her only treasure, – her sole comfort on this earth. And was he not always in danger of a discovery of his former character and pursuits? Her anxious care was, in the present instance, almost maddening to Viola. In the course of that day he attempted a hundred times at least to tell his wife that he must leave her for a few days; and a hundred times he felt that he wanted the strength to break the matter to her. At one time it struck him that Susi was more cheerful than usual, and he was loth to distress her at such a moment; another time he thought she looked sadder than she generally did, and he considered that frame of mind unfavourable to the reception of his communication. Indeed there is no saying how he could have executed his project if Susi had not been struck with his embarrassed manner, and the preparations he made for the journey. She questioned him, and he told her that his master had sent in the morning ordering him to fetch some cattle from a neighbouring county. Susi trembled; but there was no help for it. Viola was bound to obey his master's orders: he could not possibly refuse obedience by stating the reasons of his aversion to the journey; and the poor woman was reduced to snatch at the straws of comfort which lay in her husband's assurance that the place to which he was sent lay at a greater distance from the county of Takshony than their present abode did.

"Don't be afraid. Nobody can know me at that place; no Tissaret people come there!" said Viola; and Susi did her best to appear quiet and unconcerned.

Viola was conscious of the fate which awaited him. Whenever he looked at his wife he shuddered to think what her anguish would be when the true nature of his errand was revealed to her; and all his strength of mind could scarcely suppress his tears. He struggled hard to keep them down; and in the evening, when, after pressing Susi to his heart for the last time, he mounted his horse, she could not, by any outward signs, get a clue to the deep despair which ate into his heart. When his voice came to her with the last "God bless you!" she had no idea of the truth. It never struck her that she heard his voice for the last time.

Viola was inured to suffering. His grave aspect hid the anguish which convulsed his mind: but when his horse had borne him onwards to the deep forest, his grief leapt forth like a giant; and, shaking off the bonds of restraint, he bent his head low down on his horse's neck, and his powerful frame trembled with the convulsions of deep, hopeless, unmitigated grief.

It was late in the afternoon when he left the tanya; the faint rays of the setting sun shone from the west, and the crescent, shedding her silver light through a few feathery clouds, shone upon the solemn silence of the earth below. The beauty of Nature cannot prevail against the existence of care; but it can lessen its intensity: grief, with its bitter and passionate expression, yields to solemn sadness. Nature seems to share our woe: each star looks feelingly down from its sphere; and the boundless horizon brings our own littleness, and the trivial character of our sorrows, home to us.

The peaceful silence which surrounded Viola gave peace to his weary heart. He dried his tears as he looked up to the stars, that send forth their rays of hope from their spheres of silence and mystery.

He came to the hill whence, but a few short months ago, he had cast the first glance at his new tanya. He stopped his horse and looked back. The dim light of the moon showed him but a whitish speck, and a herdsman's fire near it. He thought of the hopes which bloomed in his heart when he came to the place; he thought of the events which destroyed those hopes in their first and fairest bloom. He thought of his children, who lay buried at the foot of the hill, and of their wretched mother, and of the cruel blow which was about to descend on her devoted head. Again the big tears gushed forth from his eyes; but when this sudden burst of sorrow was over, he regained all his former firmness.

"Who can help it?" said he, with a deep sigh, as he turned his horse's head away from the place which contained all he loved best. "What man can run away from his fate? I was born for misery!"

Viola intended to go to Tissaret and to surrender to Akosh Rety, or, if he did not find him, at least to send the Liptaka to tend and comfort his wife. The distance from the tanya to Tissaret was full eighty miles; and Viola, to avoid being seen by any one, especially in the county of Takshony, shunned the roads and beaten paths, and journeyed mostly at night. He had therefore time enough to think of his situation and prospects. But his thoughts would still return to Susi.

"I would not care," said he to himself, "if I could but be comforted on her account. She'll despair when they tell her that I have surrendered to the county magistrates. She will think me cruel! But what was I to do? They would have found me out at last. Old Janosh found me sure enough, and others might follow in his track any day. They would have pounced upon me and arrested me. But now that I surrender of my own free will, I can at least prevent them from taking Mr. Tengelyi's papers. I can get him out of his troubles, and who knows? perhaps they'll give me a pardon, Janosh said they would!"

This last reflection was a great comfort. If ever a man expected the approach of death calmly and with firmness, that man was Viola. But death by the hands of the executioner is terrible even to the most courageous; and Viola, who thought of Susi, was prepared to suffer all and everything, except this one last infamy, which he felt convinced his wife could never survive.

"Perhaps they will lock me up for ten years – let them! they may torture me, they may do their worst, I won't care for it. It will give Susi strength to know that I am alive, and that she can be of use to me; and I, too, I'm sure I'll bear any thing if I can see her at times; and after all there must be an end even to the worst punishment, as Janosh told me, and I shall be able to live as an honest man to the end of my life!"

Such is human nature. In the worst plights we cast the anchor of our hope amidst the shoals of lesser evils; but without hope we could not live for a day.

Viola's reflections on his position tended greatly to calm and comfort his mind. He was a two-fold murderer: but there were a variety of extenuating circumstances in both the cases; and, with the exception of his two great crimes, of all his breaches of the law, there was not one which exposed him to capital punishment; the circumstance that he had already undergone what the Hungarian law calls "the agony,"³⁴ namely, the mortal anxiety of a culprit under sentence of death, and in the present instance his voluntary surrender to the criminal justice of his country would stand in the way of a capital sentence. And if he succeeded in liberating the notary from his present painful position, could he not rely on the protection of Akosh Rety and his friends?

The third night of his journey found him at a few miles' distance from Tissaret. Here he was under serious apprehensions lest he should fall into the hands of Mr. Skinner's Pandurs, before he could surrender or manage to deliver the papers to Akosh Rety. Viola had no idea of the real cause of the importance of the papers, but when he remembered that they were taken from him at the time of his capture in the St. Vilmosh forest, and that Mr. Skinner had attempted to deny their existence, he was justified in his fear that the justice would annihilate the documents if they were to fall into his hands. He resolved therefore to defend them to the last, and to prefer death to captivity, unless he could place the notary's papers in the hands of a trustworthy person.

At break of day he reached the St. Vilmosh forest. He had been on horseback ever since sunset, and his horse was fatigued. It was a good two hours' ride to Tissaret from the place where he stood, and he pitied the horse, which had done many a good service in by-gone days. He knew the danger to which he exposed himself by approaching the village by daylight, for nothing was more likely than that he would be seized and dragged to the justice's before he could meet young Rety. But what was he to do? The forest had been cleared in the course of the winter; the trees were still stripped of their foliage, and there was no place in which he could have remained till sunset. He had no other alternative but to proceed.

"And after all," thought he, "on the plain I can keep a good look out, and get out of the way, if need be. Hollo, my boy!" added he, patting his horse's neck, "don't fail me to-day, old comrade! I'll give you into good hands. Perhaps Master Akosh will take you to his stable. He'll use you for hare-hunting, for you've had a good schooling in racing. They've hunted us many a time; but never mind! Your time has come at last, Hollo, my boy, for this is the last time you and I are on the heath together!"

He continued his way in deep thought; and the horse, too, as if conscious of his master's grief, walked dejectedly amidst the trees on the outskirts of the forest.

Viola's train of gloomy reflections was interrupted by the sound of hoofs. He looked up, and beheld three Pandurs, who were travelling on the other side of the clearing. He turned his horse's head to steal away; but they had seen him, and rode up to him.

There was but one means of safety. He knew it at once, and, putting spurs to his horse, he rushed forward.

"Stand, or die!" shouted his pursuers; but, though fatigued, Hollo was still a match for the jaded hacks³⁵ of the county police, and the reports of the pistols which were fired behind him only heightened his speed. He rode on in the direction of Tissaret, and the Pandurs, who still kept their eyes upon him, followed, though at a distance.

Akosh was at that time in Tissaret. Ever since his wife's death, the sheriff felt an aversion to return to his family seat. He left the management of the property to his son, who lived in old Vandory's house; for he too had an aversion to the Castle and the reminiscences connected with it.

The morning on which Viola approached his native village, Vandory arose early, according to his habits, and seeing that the sky was clear and unclouded, he could not resist his desire to visit the Turk's Hill, to see the sunrise from its summit. He roused Akosh, and induced him to accompany him to the hill, on which we found the curate and Tengelyi at the commencement of this history.

There are few people in the world who like to be disturbed in their sleep; and though Akosh Rety yielded to his uncle's entreaties, his temper was none of the sweetest, as he accompanied the enthusiastic old man, who, in the course of their walk, held forth on the beauties of the rising sun, while he delighted in the anticipation of the glorious spectacle which awaited them. To the shame of Akosh Rety be it spoken, that not all the glories of that gorgeous phenomenon, and much less his uncle's arguments, could convince him that it was worth while to wake him from his sweet dreams, merely for the purpose of seeing a few pink clouds and breathing the moist and chilly air of an April morning. But though the beauties of Nature failed to engage his interest, his attention was soon directed to and attracted by another spectacle.

Akosh had not been on the Turk's Hill ever since the autumn, when he met Vandory and the notary after the hunt. It was but natural that he should think of all the events that had occurred since that time. His heart was full, and he turned to the curate, saying, —

"I remember, for all the world as if it had happened yesterday, that poor Tengelyi stood where we now stand. Our horses were at the bottom of the hill. To the right stood Paul Skinner, the great fool. I think even now I hear his curses when he looked to the forest of St. Vilmosh, and saw that the Pandurs were escorting a prisoner. You remember it, don't you? I protested that it was not Viola whom they had with them!"

As he said these words, Akosh turned in the direction of the St. Vilmosh forest, and his quick eye discovered the horsemen, who at that moment broke from the forest and spurred over the plain.

"What does this mean?" cried he, as he directed Vandory's attention to the chase.

"What is it?"

"Look! look! they are going at a fearful rate. One man in front, and three after him as if they were pursuing him!"

The curate sighed.

"Heaven forbid!" said he. "I have seen one of my fellow-creatures hunted down from this very spot. I hope and trust – "

"It's a chase!" cried Akosh. "It's the foremost man they are after. How he cuts away! straight through the meadows and over the fields!"

"God help him!" said the curate, folding his hands.

"He can't escape! they are driving him up to the village, and his beast is done up. They have been gaining upon him ever since we first saw him!"

"Let us hope the man is not a robber!" said Vandory, who watched the proceedings of the horseman with painful attention. "I am sure he is a robber, or at least his pursuers take him for one," added he, after a short pause.

"I see the carbines of the Pandurs!" cried Akosh. "The poor beast is done up! One of the rascals is close at his heels – there! he's come down horse and all! On! on! my fine fellow! you're safe for a few minutes! you've got a start now! Goodness knows!" added the young man, "I'd do any thing to give him a fresh horse!"

Viola's position – for we need not say that it was he whom Akosh and Vandory beheld from the Turk's Hill – was improved by the fall of one of his pursuers; for when the second Pandur came up to the place where his comrade struggled under the weight of his horse, he stopped and dismounted to assist him. As for the third officer, he was far in the rear; and as it was Viola's greatest desire to reach the village, and to give the papers into the hands of a trustworthy person, he could for a moment hope to succeed in his endeavours.

"Hollo! my good horse, don't fail me in this last extremity!" gasped he, as he spurred his steed. "On! on! Hajra! Hajra! Hollo!"

But Hollo's last strength was spent. The poor beast came from a long and fatiguing journey, and for the last half-hour the race had been over broken ground, fields and ditches. From a gallop he fell into a broken trot; and Viola, who was close to the Turk's Hill, and who saw his pursuers coming nearer and nearer, tried all he could do, with voice, whip, and spur, to urge the exhausted animal onward. The horse was covered with white foam, the perspiration ran down his long black mane, he trembled on his legs – but despair made Viola blind to the sufferings of his faithful companion, and again and again he buried his spurs in his bleeding sides. Hollo made another rush forward.

"Stand and surrender!" cried a voice behind him.

Viola turned round.

The Pandur was at the distance of but a few yards from him; another minute would have brought him to his side.

The outlaw seized the pistol at his saddle-bow, and turned it upon his pursuer. But the Pandur had his carbine in readiness.

He raised it, and fired.

Viola uttered a loud shriek! He flung back his hands and fell on his horse's neck. The frightened animal leaped, plunged, and rolled on the ground!

Akosh Rety, who had left his position on the hill for the purpose of interfering, if possible, in behalf of the pursued, came just in time to prevent the Pandur from ill-treating the wounded man.

The latter had dismounted, and would have struck Viola with a fokosh, had not young Rety prevented him.

"You're a dead man, if you dare to hurt him!" cried Akosh, endeavouring to extricate the robber from the weight of his horse. "Scoundrel! don't you see you've killed him?"

"Killed him, indeed! So much the better!" said Tzifra, (for it was he, whom the patronage of Paul Skinner had established among the county police). He would have resisted, but on consideration he thought it best to avoid a quarrel with the sheriff's son.

"I don't care, sir, whether I've killed him or not," said he; "I'm sure it does not matter. Don't you see, sir, it's Viola; and I'm entitled to the reward of five hundred florins, which the county has promised to the man who captures or kills him. I hope he'll die before my comrades come. Confound them, they'd be after claiming part of the money!"

Akosh paid no attention to the Pandur's brutal expressions, and with Vandory's assistance he succeeded in removing the horse from the body of the wounded man.

"He is dead!" said Akosh, as they laid him on the turf. "Life is extinct, and with it all hope of proving Tengelyi's innocence!"

The curate knelt down and examined the wound.

"No!" said he. "He is alive, but the ball has pierced his breast. He is not likely to live; still I think he will linger on for a few hours. I say!" added he, addressing the Pandur, "mount and ride to the village! Tell them to send a stretcher and call in a surgeon!"

"I'd rather – " replied Tzifra. "Don't you think me such a fool as all that. I'm entitled to a reward of five hundred florins, and if I go, my comrades will come and claim the money. And, after all, your worships are my witnesses that it was I who shot him!"

"If you don't go this very moment, I'll blow your brains out!" shouted Akosh, taking up a pistol which had fallen from Viola's hands. "Be off! I'll give the blood-money if no one else will!"

His threats and promises induced Tzifra to hasten away. Young Rety and the curate remained with Viola, and when the two Pandurs came up they were at once despatched for some water; but neither the water, nor the words of comfort and consolation spoken by Vandory, availed to break through the deep slumber of death which lay on the wounded man.

Half an hour passed thus, and already did the people from the village flock to the spot, when Viola gave some signs of returning life.

He moved his limbs, opened his eyes, and looked around.

"Do you know me?" said Akosh, leaning over him, and taking his hand. "Pray look at me, Viola!"

"I know you!" replied the outlaw, with a broken voice. "It's well you are here, for it's you I wanted to see."

He raised his hand, and made a vain attempt to open his dress.

"Open my coat for me!" said he. "Take the papers away. They are Mr. Tengelyi's papers, which Jantshi the Jew and Catspaw the attorney stole. I came to restore them to their owner."

Akosh took the papers in his hand.

"They are covered with blood!" groaned the outlaw. "There's some fresh blood on them; but it's no matter, – it's my own blood. Mr. Tengelyi deserved well of me, – we are quits now. Tell him I kiss his hands, and don't let him say that Viola was a reprobate who returned evil for good!"

While he spoke, the people of the village came in crowds and stood round him.

Vandory advanced, and said, —

"My friend, perhaps you are not aware of the fearful suspicion which rests on Mr. Tengelyi, on account of these very papers?"

"I know all about it!" replied Viola. "Janosh told me everything; and it was for the purpose of clearing him from suspicion that I came to deliver myself to the magistrates."

With a violent effort he raised himself on his arm, and exclaimed:

"Men of Tissaret, listen to me! Whoever says that it was Mr. Tengelyi who killed the attorney, that man tells an untruth, no matter who he be! I am the murderer. I intended to take the papers which the attorney and the Jew stole from the notary. He threatened to shoot me, and I slew him. The notary is not guilty of the murder, so help me God!"

He fell back, and lay motionless. The villagers were deeply moved by his words. They stood silent, and many of them wept.

"Poor fellow!" said an old peasant at length, "why has fate dealt with you in this manner? You were a good neighbour, and I thought you would close my eyes after my death, as I closed your father's eyes before you."

Viola turned his glance upon the speaker.

"Old man," said he, "when you pass my house, and see it desolate or inhabited by strangers, you will not forget Viola, your neighbour, who owned it in former times. God sees my soul! it was not by my own fault that I came to be what I am. May God have mercy upon me, and upon those who made me a robber!"

"Clear the way! let me pass! for mercy's sake, let me come to him!" cried a female voice at a distance; and as the people fell back on each side, old Mother Liptaka came running up to her dying kinsman.

"Take him up!" cried she. "Why don't you take him to the village? There's life, and hope, and help! Come along, some of you, and carry him to my house!"

"Leave me alone, coz!" said Viola, drawing his breath with great difficulty; "leave me alone! Nothing can do me good. It's over with me, and it serves me right. There's blood on my hands, and I pay for it with my own blood. Heaven is just, coz! But since die I must, let me die here in the free air of heaven, and in the warm rays of the sun."

His voice grew fainter and fainter.

He moved his hand.

The Liptaka, obedient to his wish, knelt down by his side.

"Go to Susi, coz!" said he; "tell her I implore her pardon for having deceived her when I left my home. Tell her I could not help it. I could not abandon my benefactor in his distress; and if I had told her what I was going to do – "

The words died on his pale lips. Once more did he open his eyes on the clear blue sky, on the distant village, and the people around him. He closed them again. A strange smile passed over his face, and with his last breath he whispered, —

"Susi!"

"May God have mercy on every sinner!" said the old peasant. "He has much to answer for!"

"His sufferings were great!" said Vandory. "May the earth be light to him, after the struggles of this life!"