Kitabı oku: «The Village Notary: A Romance of Hungarian Life», sayfa 7
"Are you mad?" replied Akosh.
"No! I am not mad. Etelka does not love me; nor will she ever love me, and she is right. She is too good for the like of me."
"You ought never to take any wine, Kalman; it makes you sad."
"So you did see it? And she, too, is disgusted with me! I will leave the country! I will go to a place where nobody knows me! where your sister will not be annoyed by my presence!"
Kalman's lamentations were here cut short by Akosh, who, on being informed of the reason of this extraordinary distress, pledged his word that he would reconcile his sister to his friend; and Kalman's grief having given way to the hope of fresh favour, the two young men turned back to the house to find Etelka, and to solicit and obtain her pardon for any offence which her lover might have committed. But fate had willed it otherwise.
Old Kishlaki, misled by the excitement of the day, had taken rather more wine than he ought to have done; his ideas were consequently less steady than they might have been. A match between Miss Rety and his son had always been among his pet projects. Urged on by the conviviality of the day, he had undertaken to address the Retys, and to solicit their daughter's hand for Mr. Kalman Kishlaki, his son and heir. Rety's answer to this unexpected offer was that he could not presume to judge of his daughter's inclinations; and the Lady Rety, in her turn, gave Mr. Kishlaki to understand that it would be more wise to reserve matters of such moment for the period after the election. The good man was too much excited to understand the real meaning of these answers. He fancied that everything was arranged; and, walking from group to group, he told the great secret to every one whom he met.
The Cortes were meanwhile actively employed in rehearsing their votes for the election. They had already disposed of some of the lower places, and they now proceeded to elect Kalman Kishlaki a justice of the district. They strained every nerve of their lungs in shouting "Eljen Kalman Kishlaki!" Old Kishlaki was transported with joy, but he was grieved that his son's glorification should be lost within the walls of the barn. He called his servant, and informing him of the great secret, he hinted at the pleasure Miss Rety was sure to feel if the Cortes were to seize Kalman and to carry him in triumph to her room. The servant was, of course, quite of his master's opinion. He made his way to the barn, shouted "Halljuk!" and spoke so much to the purpose that the whole crowd of electors consented to accompany him to the garden. We ought to observe that Kishlaki's messenger gained his point chiefly by informing the Cortes of the proposed alliance between Etelka and Kalman.
The three hundred noblemen of St. Vilmosh set up a deafening shout of "Eljen!" and directed their steps to the garden, while old Kishlaki wept with joy, and muttered: "Hej! it is a fine thing to be so popular!"
Akosh and Kalman were close to the house when they met Kishlaki with all the Cortes at his heels. The old man had just time to embrace his son, and to cry out, "Do you hear it, Kalman? This is meant for you, my boy!" The very next moment they were surrounded by the men of St. Vilmosh. Their shout of "Eljen Kalman Kishlaki! Etelka Rety!" put a stop to all further conversation. The two young men were astonished. They did not know what to do or to say. But when old Kishlaki's servant proposed that the young man should be taken to "Miss Etelka, his betrothed bride;" and when a score of arms were stretched out to seize the fortunate lover, then it was that Kalman began to see how matters stood. He resisted, he prayed, he imprecated; and his father, too, who had no idea of proclaiming the affair in this way, did his utmost to prevail upon them to leave Miss Rety's name unmentioned. His endeavours were in vain. Kalman's resistance was of no avail. There was a sudden rush – a scuffle – and he found himself hoisted on the shoulders of a couple of stout fellows. His hair was dishevelled and his coat torn. He had lost his cravat and his hat. But the crowd, unmindful of these drawbacks to the personal graces of their favourite, bore him onward to the apartments of his mistress. Great was the uproar, and violent were their cheers of "Eljen Kalman and Etelka!"
The guests in the house rushed to the door, and, hearing the names of Kalman and Etelka, they turned to the sheriff and wished him joy. Mr. Rety received their congratulations with a sickly smile. Lady Rety, though mindful of Kishlaki's influence, protested with some warmth that there must be some mistake. But Karvay raised his powerful voice in honour of the young couple, whose St. Vilmosh friends had by this time arrived at the threshold of Etelka's room.
Kalman was more dead than alive. He was about to appear before the lady of his love with his coat torn and his hair out of curl, and borne on the arms of three hundred Cortes! Entreaties, tears, imprecations – all were in vain; and they certainly would have introduced him to Miss Rety in the most disgraceful plight that ever lover faced his mistress in, if that lady had been in the room. But, when the door opened, they discovered in her stead Rosi, Miss Rety's maid, and at her side no less a personage than the hopeful notary of St. Vilmosh. This event brought matters to a favourable crisis. Akosh interfered, and pointing out to the assembly that a justice must needs have a juror, and that nobody was better qualified to fill that office than his friend, the notary of St. Vilmosh, he caused that gifted individual to be raised on the arms of the Cortes, who carried him after the justice that was to be, and at length presented both justice and juror to the sheriff.
It need scarcely be said that Rosi was greatly shocked, but she became comforted on beholding her beloved notary on the shoulders of the Cortes, and when she understood that the public voice designated her chosen husband to fill the office of juror. She busied herself with arranging the things in the room, which had been put in disorder by the tumultuous entry of the Cortes. While she was thus occupied she heard Mr. Catspaw's voice in the next room (which was his own). He was, it appears, in the act of dismissing some individual, for he said: —
"Well, then, at seven o'clock precisely, near the notary's garden."
"Yes, your lordship! I mean to be punctual, your lordship," said another voice, which, though Oriental, did not seem to belong to a Hungarian.
"You know your reward," rejoined Mr. Catspaw, as his interlocutor left the room.
"Confusion!" exclaimed the frightened maid. "Mr. Catspaw was in his room! He knows all now, for he is wondrous sharp of hearing. What if he were to peach to my lady?" And uttering maledictions on the head of the attorney and his Jew, Rosi locked the door of her mistress's room and made the best of her way to the kitchen.
The sheriff had meanwhile informed the most influential of his guests that he wished them to meet him for the purpose of a consultation. The Dons of the county assembled in the dining-room, which had been arranged for the sittings of a committee. In a corner of this room, which was ornamented with Rety's family portraits, and which still retained a faint smell of the dinner, there were three men of note standing together. They were Mr. Slatzanek, the agent and plenipotentiary of the Count Kovary; Baron Shoskuty; and Mr. Kriver, the recorder. Their conversation ran in the most natural course, that is to say, it turned on the chances of the election.
"Are you sure," said Mr. Slatzanek, addressing the recorder, "of that wretched Vetshösy having joined Bantornyi's party?"
"I grieve to say that there can be no doubt about it."
"Did I not always tell you," cried the Baron – "did I not tell you a thousand times that I suspected Vetshösy? Three years ago, just a fortnight before the election, on a Friday afternoon, unless I am mistaken, I met you, Mr. Kriver, at the coffee-house. There were some of us, and some officers likewise, and I lighted my pipe and sat by you, and I said: 'That fellow Vetshösy – '"
"You were quite right, sir; but – "
"That fellow Vetshösy, said I, is a liberal, and, what is worse, he talks of his principles; he has some property, and – "
"Just so!" interposed Slatzanek. "Vetshösy is an influential man; the more fools we for making him justice of a district in which there are so many votes; but – "
"I know what you are about to say!" cried the Baron. "He might be gained over. Now, I'll tell you, I live in his district. Very well then, what do you say to a hunt – a legal hunt – a wolf hunt? We will have the peasants to drive the game. You will all come, and he, as justice of the district, must be one of us. Of course our wolf hunt is but a legal fiction, but he, as district judge, must be one of us, and we'll snare him, that we will."
"Alas!" sighed the recorder, "this is well and good; but the great obstacle is your son, the young Baron. He has more influence in the county than you have, and he is against us."
"Devil of a boy! devil of a boy!" cried the Baron, "and yet how often did I not say: My son Valentine – "
"Suppose you were to exert your paternal authority?"
"Just so! You are right. My paternal authority authorises me to force my boy to any thing I like. And we are always of the same opinion, that boy and I; and he obeys me in all things, that boy does; and I think he had better, so he had! but on that one subject he is most unreasonable, I tell you."
"But it is on that very subject that he ought to yield to your superior wisdom."
"You are right! indeed you are. I'll disinherit that boy, confound me if I do not!"
Slatzanek, who was aware that the old Baron had very little to leave, and whose sagacity taught him to expect little or no effect from so vague a threat of a remote contingency, inquired whether there was no other means of compelling the young man; to which the Baron replied that there was no lack of means, especially if the lad could but be induced to marry.
"You have no idea, sir, how strongly marriage tells upon a man," said he, "especially in our family. When I was a bachelor, I was the most liberal man you could meet with in three counties any summer's day; and at present – . But the boy won't marry!"
"How do we stand in this district?" said Slatzanek, addressing Mr. Kriver.
"As bad as can be. Tengelyi is against us."
"Tengelyi!" cried the Baron. "Tengelyi indeed! A mere village notary! Bless my soul! Tengelyi! How many Tengelyis does it take, do you think, to face me at the election?"
"Alas!" said Slatzanek, "votes are counted in this country, and not weighed; I know few men that are more powerful than this notary."
"And Akosh Rety," suggested Mr. Kriver, "does not indeed oppose us, but that is all."
"Ah!" cried the Baron; "just like my own son! I said just now – "
"However, if the Kishlakis stand but by us, we are pretty certain of this district."
"But we cannot rely on the Kishlakis," said Kriver. "Kalman is out of temper; he is jealous of the Count Harashy."
"You don't say so! Miss Rety was proclaimed as his future wife."
"Ay, but the Cortes did it," whispered the recorder, "and it struck me that Lady Rety was not at all pleased."
"You are right," said the Baron. "It struck me too. I sat by Lady Rety, talking of the weather, when the Cortes bore Kalman about, and when I heard them shouting, – 'Dear lady,' said I – "
"We must be careful," said Slatzanek; "I fear ours is a bad position."
"As for me," said Mr. Kriver, "you are aware of my zeal; and I assure you that I will keep our party au courant of all the enemy's manœuvres."
"And to know your adversary's plans is half the battle!" cried the Baron, clapping his hands.
"Oh! if the noblemen in the county were all like my own tenants!" cried Slatzanek. "They vote with me; if they do not, they lose their farms. They are the men for an election!"
Here the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the sheriff, and the labours of the committee commenced in due form with a provisional election of functionaries: Rety came in for the shrievalty; Mr. Kriver, the recorder, was appointed his Vice; and almost every one of the persons present obtained the promise of a place, either for himself or a friend. This done, the committee directed their attention to the means of fighting the battle of the real election; and, after a lengthened conversation on the usual electioneering tactics, – the favouring of a class, the kidnapping of electors, and the devising of plans for the especial annoyance of the hostile party, it was finally resolved to arrange the reception of the Lord-Lieutenant, who was to conduct the election, in such a manner as to impress that great functionary with a favourable opinion of the Rety party. But the most arduous duty of the committee was the "finding the ways and means" for the confirmation of their political friends, and the conciliation of such among the enemy's troops as had some scruples about the justice of the cause which they had espoused. But Slatzanek's talents of persuasion, and the Lady Rety's sarcastic remarks, prevailed against the prudential considerations of certain timid assessors and justices; and the subscription having terminated to the general satisfaction of Rety and his friends, the meeting dispersed.
CHAP. VI
While the committee were carrying on their deliberations in the castle of Tissaret, the house of the notary stood in peaceful tranquillity, and only the lights, which shone through the windows, gave evidence of the presence of its inhabitants. The house had two rooms fronting the street; one of these apartments, which had a back door communicating with the court-yard, was devoted to the use of Tengelyi, who kept his papers in it. The other room, which opened into the former apartment and the kitchen, was occupied by Mrs. Ershebet and her daughter. The kitchen had two doors, one leading to the garden, and the other to the yard. Next the kitchen was the store-room in which Viola had been hidden. At the further end of the house was the servants' room, and a small chamber in which lay Viola's wife. Tengelyi had spent the day at Tsherepesh, at Mr. Bantornyi's house; for the Bantornyi party, too, had their meetings and committees. Mrs. Ershebet, and Vandory who had dined at the notary's, were in the sick chamber, and Etelka and Vilma sat chatting in the second front room.
"Then you did not see him after all!" said Etelka. "'Tis a pity. I would give any thing to meet Viola, for I take a great interest in him."
"How can you talk in that way! God knows I pity the poor man; but I certainly do not wish to make his acquaintance. You are bold and courageous! but as for me, I am sure it would kill me to see him. They say he is a murderer."
"Nonsense! a man who is so fond of his wife as Viola cannot be so wicked as they say he is. I do not know of any man – except your father – who would brave so great a danger to see his wife under such circumstances: I can admire that love, even in a robber; and thus I too wish to be beloved, no matter by whom!"
"If that can satisfy you," said Vilma, "I am sure there is nothing but what Kalman will do for you."
"Always excepting the being sober, and eschewing swearing, and all the clumsy affectation of a cavalier. Kalman would do any thing for me, but the one thing I ask him to do."
"Now you are unjust. I am sure he would leap into the fire for your sake."
"Of course he would, especially if some of his friends were present to extol his bravery. Kalman is very brave; it is his nature to be so; he cannot help it. He has many good qualities, I grant, but pray do not tell me that he loves me."
"I see you are again at odds with him. What is his crime?"
"He – but never mind! I will not talk about it. I cannot respect him, nor can I believe that he loves me."
"Akosh has a far different opinion of him."
"So he has!" rejoined Etelka; "but may I not question the justness of his views? Men are wont to prize their friends for those qualities which are of the greatest use to them. A good sportsman, a man that sticks to his word, and who will fight a duel for his friend at a moment's warning – such a man is their idol; they are half astonished, and more than half disgusted that we should ask for more. But I do!"
Vilma was silent. She saw that Etelka was hurt, and Etelka too wished to change the topic of their conversation. Addressing Vilma again, she said: —
"I can fancy your father's disgust last night, when he came home and learned what had happened."
"I never saw him in such a state. But Vandory came with him; he succeeded in quieting my father. I tremble when I think of it. He says he will have his right in this business."
"Never fear," said Etelka.
"But do you know whom he suspects of being the cause? He lays it all at the door of your father and mother?"
"Of my stepmother; and I am afraid he is right in his suspicions."
"Yes; but my father is again angry with all your family, except yourself. He is most violent against Akosh, who saved us from ruin. Only think if they had searched the house and found Viola! My father – "
"He will never know it."
"But if my father were to bring an action against Mr. Skinner? He protests he will do it."
"He will never do it. He was angry at the time, and I am sure he will reconsider the subject. But do not speak to him about it. If he knew it, he would not keep quiet, and there are many people who would be glad of any opportunity of showing their enmity against him."
"That's what old Mother Liptaka said. But you cannot think how distressing my situation is. I, who never kept any thing secret from my father, must now face him with an untruth. Every noise alarms me; for with my secret I lose my father's love. Oh! I cannot bear it!"
"And yet you must bear it," replied Etelka, embracing the weeping girl. "The peace of mind and the welfare of your father demand this sacrifice."
"I think so too," said Vilma; "but then you have no idea how kind my father is, and how I long to kneel down and confess my fault to him!"
"My poor Vilma," sighed Miss Rety, "I am at a loss whether I am to pity you, or to envy you. I am not in a position to confide in my parent. But be comforted: trust me, things will be altered. I understand my father is to resign after the election, and Mr. Tengelyi's anger will subside. Vandory will perhaps provide for Viola's wife. In a few weeks you will be able to tell your father all your sorrows."
"But what am I to do in the meantime? Viola came, though he knew that the whole village was in arms against him. The Liptaka tells me that he loves his wife more than I can think or understand. May he not come to-morrow, or to-night, or any time? – Jesus Maria!" shrieked Vilma, turning her pale face to the garden – "there he is!"
"Who?" asked Etelka, looking in the same direction.
"He! he is gone now, – but trust me, there he stood! I saw his face quite plainly!"
"Do you speak of Viola? Believe me you will not see him here, so long as Mr. Skinner, with half the county at his back, keeps infesting the place. How foolish and how pale you are! Come. I will fetch you a glass of water; it will do you good."
Just as Etelka got up to leave the room, some one outside knocked softly at the door.
"Oh, pray do not go!" cried Vilma. "Who can it be that knocks. It is so late! I fear – "
"Some one for your father; but we'll see. Come in!" said Etelka.
The door opened, and a Jew entered with many low bows and entreaties to excuse the liberty he was taking in saying good evening to the high and gracious ladies.
Vilma's fear, and the Jew's humility, formed so strange a contrast, that Etelka could not repress a smile, especially when she saw that Vilma remained still in bodily fear of the stranger, who stood quietly by the door, turning his brimless hat in his hands. His appearance was not that of a robber; on the contrary, he was a sickly and unarmed man; still his aspect was of a kind to make even a bold man feel uncomfortable in his presence. Jantshi, or John, the glazier (such at least was his name in this county) was the ugliest man in the whole kingdom of Hungary. His diminutive body seemed as if bowed down by the weight of his gigantic head; his face was marked with the small-pox, and more than one-half of it was covered with a forest of red hair, and a wiry, dirty beard of the same colour. He had lost one of his eyes – its place was covered with a black patch; the searching and roving look of his other eye, his shuffling gait, and his cringing politeness, made him an object of suspicion and dislike to every one that chanced to meet him. Even Etelka felt disagreeably touched by the man's looks, and she became positively alarmed when Vilma whispered to her, that that was the face which she had seen at the window.
"Mr. Tengelyi is out, I tell you," said Etelka. "You may come to-morrow morning."
"Most gracious lady," said the Jew, still turning his hat and looking round, "this is indeed a misfortune! I have some pressing business with the high-born Mr. Tengelyi."
"Well then, come back in half-an-hour; perhaps he'll be home to supper."
"If so, may I wait outside?" asked the Jew, without, however, moving from the place where he stood. "Has his worship any dogs?"
"Dogs?" said Vilma.
"Yes, if there are no dogs in the yard I can wait; but if there are any I cannot wait. I am afraid of them."
"You may wait!" said Etelka, angrily; "there are no dogs in the house."
"Yes: but there may be some in the next house. I am a stranger, and it was but last year, in the third village from here, that the dogs nearly tore me to pieces. Since that time I fear them." And the stranger told them a long story, how he was walking through the village, how the dogs attacked him, and how he was saved by a shepherd who happened to hear his cries. "Bless me!" added the Jew, "if that man had not come they would have torn my cloak, and it was a very good cloak; it was not new, but it was a good cloak, for I bought it at Pesth for five florins and thirty kreutzers."
The Jew was so cunning, and withal so awkward, that Etelka could not help laughing at him; but Vilma felt uncomfortable, and asked him to go and come back in half an hour. Whereupon the Jew said that he would wait in the servants' room.
"No!" said Vilma; "there is a sick woman lying close by the servants' room; besides, we have told you over and over again that you must come back in half an hour, and that you shall not stay."
The Jew bowed very humbly, and walking to the door which led into the kitchen, he opened it.
"Stop!" said Vilma; "where are you going to?"
"I throw myself at your feet! I ask a thousand pardons! I am so confused. May I go through that door into the yard?"
"That door is locked. Get out by the door through which you came in."
The Jew made another low bow, and walked across Tengelyi's room to the door by which he had entered; not, however, without looking to the adjoining room, dropping his hat on the floor, and turning the handle of the door in every direction but the right one, while his eye seemed to peer into and examine every corner of the apartment.
"What do you say to that?" asked Vilma, when he was gone; "I will bet you any thing that fellow is a spy."
"Nothing is more likely; for he seems to be capable of any thing, and in war he would certainly act as a spy. But why should he exercise that noble trade in your house?"
"He was looking after Viola and his wife. You know how eager Mr. Skinner is to arrest the robber."
"I know that yesterday he was in pursuit of the poor man; but to-day he has other matters to think of. No, I am sure the Jew has some request or some complaint to make to your father."
"But he asked so many questions; he looked into every corner of the room."
"He was afraid of the dogs, and perhaps he hoped to discover a broken pane of glass. It would have been a job for him, you know."
But Vilma was by no means easy in her mind. She was about to give vent to a great many more fears, when Tengelyi's arrival put a stop to the conversation.
While his daughter took charge of his hat and cane, the notary turned to Etelka.
"I was hardly prepared to find Miss Rety here," said he, "there are so many guests at the Castle."
"Are you not aware that their presence at the Castle adds to my reasons for coming here?"
"Indeed! I fancied that these gentlemen could not be sufficiently honoured just before the election."
Etelka's feelings were hurt, and she was at a loss what to say; but Vilma, who wished to turn the conversation into another channel, asked her father whether he had not met a Jew, who had just left the house.
"I did meet him," said the notary. "I found him near my door, talking to Mr. Catspaw. By the by, now I think of it, Mr. Catspaw asked me to give his compliments to Miss Rety, and to inform her that he is going to send a servant with a lanthorn. They are going to supper; the sheriff has several times asked for Miss Rety."
"But what did the Jew want with you? He was very pressing; he wanted to see you on business of great importance."
"Business? ay, yes, it's a sorry business to him, though good sport to others. The poor fellow did a job at the Castle, and the very praiseworthy Cortes of the county took his glass chest and broke it for him; and because he was not at all amused, or because he is a Jew, or one-eyed, or Heaven knows why they thrashed him. It's a trifling matter, you see," said the notary, addressing Miss Rety, "for some people must be beaten at an election, especially Jews, merely to give the new officers something to do, and to convince the sufferers that, as far as they are concerned, things have remained much the same as they were before."
"But, father dear, this is indeed horrible," said Vilma.
"Nothing more simple, dearest child. What were an Hungarian's liberties worth, if he were not allowed to thrash a Jew? But the affair has been settled. Mr. Catspaw has promised to pay for the glass, and I am very much mistaken if the Jew does not make the attorney pay for the beating too."
Mrs. Ershebet and the clergyman entered the room. Etelka kissed her friend and returned to the Castle.
