Dustbury is the chief market town of the county of Takshony. While the Greeks of old built their cities in the clefts and hollows of rocks, as the learned tell us, we are informed that the vagrant nation from which we are descended were wont to settle on fertile soil; wherever our ancestors found luxurious crops of grass and a fountain of sweet water, there did they stop and feed their flocks. In this spirit they made their earliest camp at Dustbury. But when the tents gave way to houses, the luxuriant green of the pasturage disappeared, and the fountains of sweet waters, which invited our fathers to stay and rest on their banks, stagnated, and became a vast substantial bog. Still, if you look at the streets of Dustbury in autumn, and if you take notice (for who can help it?) of the deep cart-ruts in the street, you must confess that Dustbury does indeed lie in Canaan; and throughout many weeks in every year even the least patriotic of the natives of Dustbury find it difficult, and evenimpossible, to leave the city. The houses of Dustbury are intersected and divided by a variety of narrow lanes and alleys, which, by their intricacy, are apt to perplex the stranger within her gates. They have a striking family likeness. Except only the council-house and a few mansions, they are all, to a house, covered with wood or straw; and so great is their uniformity, that the very natives of Dustbury have been known to make awkward mistakes. A great deal might be said of the modern improvements of the town,—such as the public promenade, the expense of which was defrayed by a subscription; and the plantations, containing trees (the only ones in the neighbourhood), which are protected by the police, and which left off growing ever since they were planted. There was a plantation of mulberry-trees, too; but it dated from the days of the Emperor Joseph; and no more than three mulberry-trees were left in it to tell the tale of departed glory. Next, there is the pavement, which a French tourist most unwarrantably mistook for a barricade; though, for the comfort of all timid minds, be it said, that the pavement has since been covered with a thick layer of mud, so as to be perceptible to those only who enter the town in a carriage. I could adduce a variety of other mattersto the praise and glory of Dustbury, but I abstain; and, leaving them to the next compiler of one of Mr. Murray's Handbooks, I introduce my readers into the council-house of Dustbury, and the lord-lieutenant's apartments.
The great man's antechamber was thronged with men of all parties, who, "armed as befits a man," waited for the moment—that bright spot in their existence!—which allowed them to pay their humble respects to his Excellency. Rety, Bantornyi, Baron Shoskuty, Slatzanek, and all the county magistrates and assessors, were there, either to report themselves for to-morrow's election, or to offer their humble advice to the royal commissioner. And truly their advice was valuable. One man said that X., the juror, was a man of subversive principles, and that the crown was in danger unless X. was to lose his place and Z. to have it. Another man protested that Mr. D. must be sworn as a notary: in short, every one had the most cogent reasons for wishing a certain place out of the hands of the very man who held it. The crowd dispersed at the approach of the evening. Some went to their club-rooms to harangue the Cortes, while others were busy preparing a serenade for the lord-lieutenant. That great man, meanwhile, tired out with his own kindness andcondescension, promenaded the room, and talked to his secretary.
"So you think," said his Excellency, "that things will go on smoothly to-morrow?"
"Smoothly enough, except for those who may happen to get a drubbing. Rety is sure to be returned. Bantornyi does not care. He put himself in nomination merely to please his brother. His party will be satisfied with a few of the smaller places. Rety, who is a good, honest man, resigns the office, and Kriver, who is agreeable to either party, takes his place."
"I trust there will be no outrages."
"Nothing of the kind. We have two companies of foot on the spot, and the cuirassiers are coming to-morrow."
"But you know very well that I detest the interference of the military. Peoplewillmisconstrue that kind of thing. They talk of the freedom of election."
"No!" said the secretary, smiling; "your Excellency can have no idea how fond the people here are of bayonets. Bantornyi and Rety asked me at least ten times whether due preparation had been made for the maintenance of order and tranquillity, and when I told them of the horse, they were ready tohug me from sheer delight. Your Excellency's predecessor was fond of soldiers, and there are people who cannot fancy a free election without bayonets. If they were called upon to paint the picture of Liberty, they'd put her between a grenadier and a cuirassier."
"Pray be serious!"
"So I am. Still it makes me laugh to think that the very men who now divide the county trace their origin as political parties to an idle controversy on the uniforms of the county-hussars. Hence the yellows and the blacks. I am sure your Excellency would laugh if you had seen their committee-rooms. Rety's head-quarters ring with high praises of his patriotism, for his having at the last election fixed the price of meat at threepence a pound; while in the next house you find all the butchers of the county for Bantornyi, the intrepid champion of protection and threepence-halfpenny. Just now, at the café, I overheard an argument on Vetshöshy's abilities, which were rated very low, because he is known to be a bad hand at cards. In short, your Excellency can have no idea of the farce which is acting around us. Slatzanek called half an hour ago, lamenting the lose of two of his best Cortes. They were stolen."
"They were—what?"
"Stolen, your Excellency. One of the men is forest-keeper to the bishop. He is a powerful fellow, with a stentorian voice, strongly attached to his party, and very influential in his way. He is a black. The yellow party surrounded him with false friends; they made him dead drunk, and in that state, in which they keep him, they take him from village to village, with the yellow flag waving over his head, thus showing him off, and making believe that he had joined their party. The thing happened a week ago, and the fellow, fancying that he is with the blacks, shouts 'Eljen!' with all the fury of drunken enthusiasm. The blacks have made several unsuccessful attempts to rescue their leader, and three noble communities, who were wont to vote with the bishop's keeper, have joined Bantornyi's party. The other man is a notary at Palinkash. They have put him down to a card-table, and whenever the wretched man thinks of the election, they cause him to win or to lose, just an it serves their turn to keep him there."
The lord-lieutenant laughed.
"Have you spoken to Tengelyi, the notary of Tissaret?"
"He is coming. To see that poor man lose his time and labour is really distressing. I never sawmore sincerity of enthusiasm and more manliness of feeling. The good man is almost sixty, and still he has not learnt that a village notary cannot possibly be a reformer."
"I am afraid he's tedious," said his Excellency; "but we must bear with him, since you tell me he is a man of influence."
"So he is, and more so than any notary in any county I know of. Vandory, by whom the clergy of this district are wont to swear, votes with the notary."
"He is a demagogue, I am told."
"No; I do not think that name applies to him. The principles, which demagogues make tools of, are the grand aim and end of his life. In short, he is half a century in advance of his age."
"The worse for him, he'll scarcely live to see the day of general enlightenment. Men of his stamp are most dangerous."
"Hardly so. Men of strong convictions are for the most part isolated. They want the power to do harm, for they have no party. Who will side with them?"
"Nous verrons!" said the Count Maroshvölgyi. "The notary is a family man; besides, he is poor.Kriver told me all about him, and I dare say there are means of settling him."
"If your Excellency is right, I am mistaken."
"Nor will this mistake be the last of your life," said his Excellency, rising. "The glaring red on a woman's cheek ought to tell you that that woman is painted, and thebelle des bellesof the ball is palest in the morning. But I hear somebody in the next room. Pray see who it is; and if it be Tengelyi, leave me alone to talk to him."
The secretary left the room, which Tengelyi entered soon afterwards. His Excellency received him with great cordiality.
"Have I your pardon," said the great man, "for asking you to come to me? I wanted to see you, and I was disappointed in my hopes of finding you among my other visitors."
Tengelyi replied, that he was always ready to obey his Excellency's orders, but that he knew his position too well to trouble the Count with his presence on such a busy day as this.
"My dear sir, you are wrong to believe that I know not to distinguish between a man and his position, and that I mistake you for one of the common notaries."
"And your Excellency is wrong to believe thatthis would hurt my feelings. The extent of our usefulness determines the value which we have for others. People do not value our will, but our power; and though a village notary such as I, may possibly in his own thoughts rate himself higher than he does his colleagues, it would be wrong in him to ask others to do the same. But may I inquire what are your Excellency's commands?"
"Some years ago, when you were intimate with the Retys, I used to see more of you."
Tengelyi looked displeased.
"Pardon me," added the count, "if I have pained you by reminding you of that time."
"On the contrary, I feel truly honoured that your Excellency should have remembered my humble self, painfully though I feel that my influence does not stretch to the length of my gratitude."
There was a hidden sting of bitterness in Tengelyi's words, and especially in the tone in which they were delivered. The count continued:—
"What I ask—or rather what I crave of you—has nothing to do with influence. It rests solely with you to grant my suit, and to oblige me for all time to come."
Tengelyi cast a glance of suspicion at the greatman. "Your Excellency," said he, drily, "may rely on me, if your command can be reconciled to my principles."
"I know you too well, and respect you too much to express any other wish. What I ask of you will convince you how deeply sensible I am of your merits."
Tengelyi bowed.
"I know," continued the count, "that you areau faitof the condition of the county. Your office brings you in contact with the lower classes. You see and hear many things which a lord-lieutenant can never know. Speak freely to me, I pray, and be assured that to advise me is an act of charity."
The notary was silent.
"Do not impute my demand to an idle and vain curiosity. The election comes off to-morrow. It decides the fate of the county for the next three years. Youmustbe sensible of the importance of this moment, and you know that my influence can be of use to the public, if I exert it with my eyes open."
Tengelyi was in the act of opening his lips and heart to the lord-lieutenant; but he remembered thata man may take any line that suits his plans, and that his Excellency was known to be not over nice in such matters. He replied, therefore, that he was not mixed up with any party, and that he could not, to his great sorrow, enlighten his Excellency on that head.
Maroshvölgyi, who was a master in the noble art of flattery, had never yet encountered such an antagonist in the county of Takshony. He waived the attack.
"You mistake me. Do you indeed fancy me to be ignorant of the position of parties? I know more of them, I assure you, than is either good or wholesome for me. But is there nothing in the county beyond these wretched parties? Ought I not to know the condition of the people? Ought I not to know how the functionaries behave in their offices, and what the poorer classes have to expect from the candidates?"
"Is it then the condition of the people which your Excellency wishes to know?" said Tengelyi, with a deep sigh. "But whocangive you an idea of their condition? Did you not, when you rode through the county, look out from your carriage at the villages on the roadside? And what was it yousaw? Roofless huts, the fields neglected, and their population walking dejectedly, without industry, without prosperity, without that joyful merry air so characteristic of the lower classes of other countries. Believe me, sir, the people in this country are not happy!"
"But, my dear Tengelyi, I think there is some exaggeration in your words. The Hungarian people do not stand so low as you would place them: I know none more proud and manly. The Hungarian peasant is happier than any I ever saw."
"Do not be imposed upon by appearances. The peasant of Hungary is a stiff-necked fellow; and I must say, I take a pride in this race, when I see that the oppression of so many years has not bent its neck. A nation which after so much oppression can still hold up its head, seems to be made for liberty,—but for all that, the people are not happy. We do not see them in rags,—but why? because they never had any clothes, except linen shirts and trowsers! but do they therefore feel the cold of winter less? They do not complain. No; for they know, from the experience of centuries, that their complaints are unheeded. But do they not feel the oppression which weighs down upon them? Do they not feelthe separation from their sons, when the latter are enrolled in the regiments, while the children of their noble neighbours show their courage in hunting at the expense of the subject's crops?"
"You live among the people," said the lord-lieutenant, quietly; "but believe me, in this respect, you are mistaken. I know Hungarian peasants who in wealth can vie with the agriculturists of any country."
"Of course; but are they the only peasants in Hungary? Are not there others in our counties,—men who are equally our brethren,—and who equally claim our attention? Consider the Russniak population of the county. We see them in rags, starved and wretched. Has any thing been done to bind these people to our nation? has any attempt been made to raise them to the rank of Magyars? of citizens of the country?"
"You are right, and it is to be hoped that the nation will soon understand its own interests. But what can the county magistrates do in this respect? What can I do?"
"Very much indeed!" replied the notary, enthusiastically; "if your Excellency would only extend your protection to the poor people!—if youwould use your influence for the election of officers who are alive to the sacred duties of their office!"
"Alas!" said Maroshvölgyi, "I wish to God it were so, and that Icouldbe to the people what I wish to be."
"Your Excellencycan!" cried Tengelyi. "There are honest men, even among the present county magistrates: I need not tell you their names. You know them as well as the Retys, Krivers, Skinners. Take the part of the former, and oppose the latter. Believe me, your Excellency, the county has no lack of noble and generous men, and it lies in your hands to make the people of Takshony a happy people."
"But you forget my political position. Rety, Kriver, and the other men, are men of my party whom I cannot possibly throw overboard: but, I assure you, I respect the feelings which you have expressed to me. If you were in my place, you would see that there are some great and fine ideas which a man cannot call into life, whatever his seeming power and influence may be. Whatever influence I may have in the county, I owe to the popularity which I have obtained through my conduct; and if I were to follow your advice, I should lose my popularity."
"Popularity! of course, all coteries have their popularity; whenever a body of men are united for a certain purpose, they show their gratitude for him who promotes that purpose, and applause, garlands, and triumphs fall to the share of him who speaks loudest, and agitates most zealously for the realisation of the common object. But do not others live in our country besides the nobility which fills our council-halls? Are there not nobler things to strive for than these paltry Eljens? And the people, those millions who silently surround us, those vast multitudes, who have at present no reward for their benefactors but sighs and tears, but who, on the day of their glory, will raise the names of their champions in a louder shout than all the Cortes in all Hungary;—are they nothing to you?"
Here the speaker was interrupted by a distant cry of "Eljen."
"I go, your Excellency," continued the notary, "to make room for others. You will be surrounded with adorers. You will have music and speeches; but, believe me, the gratitude of the people is not the less strong for being silent, and if our country has a future, it will certainly not pick out its great men from among the cheered of this wretched time!"
Tengelyi bowed. The Count Maroshvölgyi shook his hand, and followed him with a deep sigh as he left the room.
"What do you say now, your Excellency?" said the secretary. "Was I not right in saying that this man's proper place is not in this county?"
"Let me tell you that his proper place is nowhere in this country," said Maroshvölgyi, as he stepped to the window to receive the serenaders.
As the evening wore on, the streets of Dustbury were restored to their usual darkness. The lord-lieutenant had retired after supper, and everything was quiet. From the committee-rooms, where the Cortes were locked up to keep them safe from foreign influence, there proceeded a low, dreamy, murmuring sound, mixed up at intervals with a hoarse voice, shouting the name of Bantornyi, or Rety, as the case might be; but no other signs of turbulence were there to warn the stranger of that gigantic uproar which, in less than thirty hours, was to welcome the birth of the new magistracy. One of the principal causes of this strange tranquillity might have been found in the fact that the town was occupied by Bantornyi's men only, and that consequently, any general engagement of the hostile parties was quite out of the question. For the Rety party had recurred to the well-known stratagem of marching their troops, in small detachments, close up to the scene of the contest, without entering the city. They were thus secured from having their menkidnapped, and could expect that their appearance in one compact body would produce a general and striking effect in their favour.
One of their extra-mural camps was at the distance of five miles from Dustbury, at one of Rety's farms; and it is there we meet again with our old friends the three hundred noblemen of St. Vilmosh. The village inn is small. It is one of those agreeable hostelries in which the stranger, though he may not find accommodation for himself, is at times lucky enough to find a stable for his horse; nor is there any impediment to his eating a good supper if he happens to be provided with victuals, salt, plates, knives and forks. The stable and the large shed, which, save on rainy days, offered a good shelter at all times, were on this occasion filled with clean straw, and devoted to the exclusive use of the nobility. Mr. Pennahazy, the notary and leader of the St. Vilmosh volunteers, had carefully locked the gate of the yard, to prevent his men from deserting; and, having taken this necessary precaution, he retired to the bed of the Jewish landlord, while the Jew and his family lay on the floor of the same room. The inn was as noiseless and tranquil as if no stranger were tarrying within its gates. In the bar-room alone there was a light shining from a deal table, atwhich two men were engaged in discussing a small flask of brandy. One of these men is the Jewish glazier to whom my readers were introduced in Tengelyi's house. His comrade, who is just in the act of lighting his pipe, has not yet figured in the pages of this story; but anybody that has visited the gaols of the county of Takshony will at once be convinced that the gentleman before him is Mr. Janosh of St. Vilmosh, alias Tzifra Jantshy; for it is not probable that he should have seen the gaol at a time when Tzifra was not in it; nor is it likely that any one who had once seen the man should ever forget him. Tzifra's character was very legibly marked on his face. His low and wrinkled forehead, his bushy eyebrows, his grey restless eyes, protruding jaws and livid face, with the frouzy grey hair and bluish, scorbutic lips, were calculated to make a strong, and by no means agreeable, impression upon any one who saw him. His sinewy limbs and powerful figure were, in the present instance, the more conspicuous from their contrast to the spare and starved form of the Jew.
"Well, well!" said the latter, shaking his head; "who could ever have supposed that you would come to the council-house without being dragged to it?"
"If a man's a nobleman, and is called to come—you see that is a fine thing! I know the lower stories of the county-house extremely well, but I must say I like the upper stories better."
"If I were in your place, I would not go, that's all. There are so many people who know you,—the turnkeys, the haiduks——"
"What the devil do I care for them? Who dares to touch a nobleman of St. Vilmosh?" cried Tzifra, striking the table with his fist. "Theyshallknow me! I want them to know me; and when they see me walking in the hall, and when that confounded turnkey sees that I am a nobleman, while he's but a scurvy cur of a peasant, he'll burst with envy. No, I want to go there to make them savage; and if any of the fellows dares to look at me, by G—d I'll kick his pipe out of his mouth."
"Well!" sighed the Jew; "it's a fine thing to be a nobleman."
"So it is; d—n me, so it is! If a man's once suspected, they nab him and put him into quod, where he may wait until the gentlemen upstairs have time to think of him. Now a nobleman is bailable; he goes about for two or three years; and when sentenceispassed and they nab him, at least they dare not beat him. Oh! I tell you the franchise is a fine thing, especially as you get it dirt cheap."
"You're a devil, Tzifra!" said the Jew; "but don't let Viola know of your call at the parson's. If he were to know of it, I wouldn't change my skin with you for all your nobility, nor for your devilship either."
The robber seized his knife. "Don't laugh at me, thou dog!" cried he, "for I will be——"
The Jew jumped from his seat. A few moments afterwards he sat down again.
"Don't joke in this manner," said he; "I know you won't kill me, because I tell you of your danger. I myself heard Viola say that he will do for the man who did that job at the parson's."
"He'll never know it; or do you think that Viola suspects me?"
"No indeed, but——"
"Or do you mean to betray me?" cried the robber, again seizing his knife. "You are the only man who knows that I was at the parsonage."
"Tzifra, you are a fool!" cried the Jew. "What have I to do with Viola or with the parson; didn't I sell the roan horse for you, which youmadebeyond the Theiss? And didn't you get ten florins and a half for that same hack?"
"Yes, but you did me then; but never mind, you're born to do it—it's your nature. But don'tyou talk of that business—you know what I mean. Don't even tell it to your God; for otherwise Viola cannot possibly know it, and he'll be hanged before he is a month older."
"Will he, indeed!" said the Jew. "How will they do it?"
"Why, didn't they catch him the other day?" replied the robber. "He'd be done for by this time, had it not been for one of his comrades who fired the sheriff's haystacks."
"Does he owe that good turn toyou?"
"Tome! Can there be any one who hates him as I do? Viola was a child playing in the streets; when I came to the village with my men he used to hide behind the stove; and now, curse me! you ought to see him, how he lords it over me. If right and justice were done in this villanous world of ours, who do you think ought to lead the outlaws but I, Tzifra Jantshy, who have been their leader for many years?—I, who know every hole and corner on either side of the Theiss, and who am a greater man with the Tshikosh and Gulyash[12]than even their masters! But the rascals wanted another man, d—n them! I found Viola amongst them!—that fellow who trembles like a woman when he sees a drop of blood! that coward who pities a weeping child! they liked him better than me, and if I had said a word they would have hanged me. He commands and I obey—but, blast me! he'll have the worst of it!"
[12]SeeNote VIII.
[12]SeeNote VIII.
"Bravo!" said the Jew, pushing the bottle over to his comrade; "it is quite ridiculous to think that Viola should presume to give his orders to a man likeyou."
"Of course, so it is!" cried the robber; "and what stupid orders his are! The other day he finds me driving a peasant's oxen from the field, and kicks up a row, and swears that I must take them back, for he wouldn't allow any of the poor people to be hurt. Last year I shot a Jew, whereupon the fool told me he'd shootmeif that kind of thing were to happen again. But never mind! D—n him, we'll see which of us is to be food for the ravens first! He'll feel my revenge by and by!"
"Ah, I see!" cried the Jew. "It is you, then, who told his worship the justice that Viola was coming to Tissaret."
"Confound you! hold your tongue! And suppose Ididtell him; what next?"
"Nothing that I know of; but I know anopportunity of giving Viola a kick, and making good sum of money too."
"Halljuk!" shouted the robber.
"Silence!" cried the Jew, "you'll wake every man in the house. What did you get for that little job at the parsonage?"
"Are you at it again, you hound of a Jew?"
"Never mind. What do you say to five-and-twenty florins? I'll put you in a way to get them."
"Five-and-twenty florins? But how?"
"If you've but pluck——"
"Pluck!" repeated Tzifra, staring at his comrade.
"Well, never mind! Mark me now. The papers which you could not get the other day are at Mr. Tengelyi's."
"I am glad to hear it."
"Be quiet, will you? They are in the large iron safe, where you won't put your fingers on them, if I do not open it for you. Now, look here!"
And the Jew produced an old rag from which he took two keys. "Here they are," said he; "here are the keys, my man. I've got the key of the room too, and——"
"D—n the fellow!" cried Tzifra, grinning; "how in the devil's name did you get those keys?"
"I reconnoitred the place, saw the box, and knewit at once. Tengelyi bought it from one of our people in the market at Dustbury. He gave me the keys. The notary is at present at the election. We can do the job, and there is little danger."
"Aye!" said the robber; "let me see?"
"I won't!"
But Tzifra took the keys and put them into his pocket.
"So, now I don't want you. I can do it alone."
"Don't be a fool!" said the Jew; "what can you do with the keys?"
"Do?" cried Tzifra. "Go in and win! I'll have a hundred florins instead of five-and-twenty. I know that's the price which they offered."
"You're vastly clever, my friend. But do you happen to know the secret of the lock?"
"What is the secret?"
"Not so fast! You may wait a long while beforeItell you."
"If you don't I——"
"Don't kick up a row. Give me the keys, and come along with me, and the five-and-twenty florins are yours. All you have to do is, to watch the house, and, in case of danger, to come to my assistance."
"But twenty-five florins! Rascal, you knowyou'll have a hundred, and you offer me but twenty-five!"
"But who is it that enters the house? Who got the keys? Twenty-five florins is a deal of money—it is the price of two young oxen."
"Will you give me fifty florins?"
"Impossible!" said the Jew. "The keys alone cost me no less than ten."
"Impossible? Very well. Oh! I am quite satisfied. I'll go to the election, and you may go to——"
"Give me the keys!" cried the Jew. "I'll find another man."
"Nonsense! I'll keep them. If you want another comrade, I'll leave you to find other keys."
"I'll give you forty."
"I'll be d—d if I take less than fifty."
After quarrelling for a time they struck the bargain; and the Jew, putting his hand in his pocket, paid the robber ten florins in advance.
"Now let us be off," said the Jew, "for when the leaders get up they won't let you go."
"You are right," rejoined Tzifra. "They take us to the election as they do cattle to the market."
They had scarcely left the room when the dusky face of Peti was seen to emerge from a heap of coats and cloaks. The gipsy had listened to their conversation. He left his hiding-place, stole from the room, and hastened away to St. Vilmosh.
It is now our pleasant duty to turn to a far different scene from that which we were compelled to place before our readers, any of whom, if they have ever loved, can easily guess the sensation with which Akosh mounted his horse on the eve of the election, and, leaving the streets of Dustbury, hastened to Tissaret. Night had set in, and his absence escaped observation. A dense fog covered the plain between Dustbury and Tissaret, and the horseman found it difficult to keep on the path which led through the meadow-lands. But he did not feel the searching coldness of the night air, nor was he inclined to stop by the watch-fires of the shepherds, and to dry his clothes. He hurried on, for Etelka had promised her brother that he should meet Vilma, to whose house he now directed his course.
Strange though it may appear to the less initiated into the mysteries of the human heart, Tengelyi's influence with his family, though paramount in every other respect, was eclipsed by the superior power of their feelings; Vilma and her mother knew of young Rety's visit, and expected him with great eagerness and anxiety. Mrs. Ershebet's time and attention were indeed taken up with the cares andanxieties which fill the heart of a Hungarian housewife who is expecting and preparing for the reception of a favoured guest; but when the evening wore on, when the turkey[13]was on the point of over-roasting, and the pastry drying up,—and when the good woman looked at the clock and saw its hands approaching to eight, she shook her head, and, looking out at the kitchen-door into the drear and misty night, she was fairly overpowered with fear.
[13]SeeNote IX.
[13]SeeNote IX.
She went to Vilma's room, and, in order to lighten the load of anxiety which pressed upon her own heart, she commenced consoling her daughter. "I am sure he will soon be here," said she; "but the worst is, my supper will be spoilt. But do not be afraid, child. There is indeed a dense fog—you cannot see over the way—but then Akosh knows his road in the dark as well as by daylight. There are no wolves about the country now; no, indeed! and he does not care whether he rides by day or by night." And Mrs. Ershebet laughed, and appeared rather amused than otherwise by Akosh's staying away. But her words had a far different effect from what she intended. Vilma had never once thought that any misfortunecouldbefall him she loved; and when her mother's words directed her attention to the possibility of an accident which might happento Akosh, she became painfully alive to all sorts of dangers by which she fancied him surrounded.
"Good God!" cried she, "if any thing happens to him, it is I who am the cause!"
"Oh!" said Mrs. Ershebet, anxiously, "he is on good terms with the robbers, his horses are safe, he knows his way, and it is quite ridiculous to think that he should have strayed into the morasses of St. Vilmosh."
Vilma opened the window; and when she saw the thick fog, she shuddered to think that Akosh was alone on the heath. Half an hour passed amidst the greatest uneasiness; at length the sound of a horse's hoofs was heard in the distance. Mother and daughter listened anxiously, and their surprise was any thing but agreeable, when the door opened, and, instead of Akosh, the Liptaka entered the kitchen. Vilma, scarcely able to repress her tears, cried out:—
"Oh, mother! now I am sure he is lost!"
"Perhaps he has not been able to get away," said Mrs. Ershebet; "at least, not early enough. He'll come to-morrow."
"To-morrow!" cried the Liptaka: "do not tell the girl such a thing. Mr. Akosh would not stay away—nay, that he would not!—even if there wereas many thunderbolts as there are drops of rain. Akosh too late! Is there a finer fellow in the county? I do not speak of the gentlemen, for it's easy to be a better man than any of them; but he beats us vulgar people, and in our own line, too. He is as strong as any that ever wore agatya[14], and he is as bold as anyszegeny legeny[15]in the world; and should he be afraid of darkness and rain? No, no, missie dear! any man will brave death for such a sweetheart as you are!"
[14]SeeNote X.
[14]SeeNote X.
[15]SeeNote XI.
[15]SeeNote XI.
"Don't be foolish!" said Mrs. Ershebet, highly flattered; "Vilma is no man's sweetheart."
"No matter," said the Liptaka, shaking her head; "it's what we poor people call a sweetheart. But never mind; come he must and he will, though the darkness of Egypt were on the heath."
"I am sure he will come," said Vilma, trembling. "Akosh is so bold! he knows not what danger is; but it is that which frightens me. The night is dark; and how easily can he have met with an accident!"
"The night is indeed dark," replied the Liptaka, with great earnestness; "but are not God's eyes open in the darkness? Not a sparrow falls from the roof without His will, and He protects the righteous on their paths. Fear nothing, missiesweet!" added the old woman: "young Mr. Rety is in no danger. Perhaps he will suffer from the cold; but the fire of your eyes will warm him soon enough. A sorry thing it would be, indeed, if such a fellow could not manage to ride from Dustbury to Tissaret. Ay, indeed, if he were a fine gentleman, as the others are: but no! Akosh is a jewel of a lad.I eat his soul.[16]I suckled him when a child, and I ought to know what stuff he is made of."
[16]SeeNote XII.
[16]SeeNote XII.
"Oh, Liptaka, I wish he were here!" whispered Vilma, while her mother walked to the other room. "I am so afraid." And the Liptaka replied in the same tone: "I, too, should be sorry to see your mother go to the kitchen. There are others who have come from a longer journey, and who dare not enter until Mr. Rety is here."
"For God's sake!" said Vilma, "is Viola here?"
The Liptaka's reply was prevented by the appearance of Akosh. To attempt a description of Vilma's joy would be a vain endeavour. No word in any language can convey to those who never felt the like, any idea of the deep, heartfelt happiness which was expressed in her gestures and face, and in the tone with which, calling out her mother's name and that of her lover, she hurried the new comer into the next room.
The old nurse left the room by the opposite door. "Now for Viola," muttered she; "for he, too, loves his wife. Why, old fool that I am! my eyes have got full of tears in looking at the children! I can't help it; but I must think of my own Jantshy, and how I loved him, and how happy we were; and now the poor fellow is buried in France. It is written, Man shall not sever what God has brought together; but, for all that, the magistrates took Jantshy from me, and made him a soldier."
She was roused from these cogitations by a low voice, calling her name.
"Who's there?" said the old woman.
"It is I! Don't you know me?"
"Peti!" cried the Liptaka. "I thought you were at Dustbury. Where do you come from?"
"For God's sake, be quiet! Ishehere?"
"Who?—Viola?"
"Yes! Whom else could I mean?"
The Liptaka was silent, for she knew that there were false brethren in Viola's gang.
"Do you suspectme?" said the gipsy, impatiently. "I have been on my legs ever since yesterday; but, ifyoudo not know where he is, I must run until I find him, tired though I am."
"Are you coming to see him on business?"
"Imusttalk to Viola! Imust, I tell you!"
"Very well; come with me," said the Liptaka, moved by the plaintive voice of the gipsy: and, more than half ashamed of having suspected him, she added: "Onedoesget cautious in this sad time, since there are so many rascals even among the poor people."
The notary's house was indeed the home of happiness. They say, love spoils a man's appetite; but a ride of twenty miles goes a great way to counteract at least this symptom of the complaint. Mrs. Ershebet had cause to be pleased with her guest, who, fatigued with his ride and starved with the cold, was in that lucky temper in which a man enjoys a warm room and a hot supper.
"Take another piece of this tart," said Mrs. Ershebet, when young Rety's attention to the dishes began to flag; "it is not so good as the pastry your worship is accustomed to, but it is of the best our poor house can afford. It is, perhaps, a little too brown,—for your worship came later than we expected; but it is very soft. Take some, I pray."
Akosh—who would have done any thing to escape thepeine forte et dureof the tart, protested againstMrs. Ershebet's ceremonious address. "Am I a stranger to you, that you should call me 'your worship?' Have you not a kinder name for me?"
Ershebet was confused; but the look which she cast at Akosh expressed so much affection and joy, that the latter, kissing her hand, continued: "Call me your Akosh! call me your son! for that is the title I covet most."
"My dear Akosh!—my son!—if you will have it so," said Mrs. Ershebet, with tears in her eyes. "You are good, you are generous, Akosh. No man in this world is so deserving of Vilma's love: and yet you can have no idea what a treasure the girl really is!"
Vilma embraced her mother, while Akosh kissed her hand; and his soul was moved as he thought of his own mother.
"Is it not too childish?" said Mrs. Ershebet, at length. "I weep with joy when I see you both, and feel the happiness which you might find in your love; but I forget how many obstacles there are between the present moment and that in which I may call you really and truly my son. Dearest child," continued Mrs. Ershebet, "you had better tell them to take the things away:" and, when Vilma had left the room, she pressed Rety's hand, and said,with a trembling voice: "Akosh! I implore you, make my child happy!"
Akosh was silent; but he pressed her hand, and his eyes filled with tears.
"You cannot know—you cannot think—how devotedly the girl loves you! and if she were deceived; if she——"
"Do you think me so mean, so utterly abandoned, as to make myself unworthy of Vilma's love?"
"No, my dear Akosh! not by any means!" said Mrs. Ershebet, with great composure. "If I did not respect you so much, surely there would be no need of this conversation; nor would I, for the first time in my life, disobey my husband's commands. I would not receive you in my house if I were not convinced of your noble and generous nature. But, Akosh, you are rich—you have a grand future before you; and it is this which makes me anxious. Look at all the great families whom you know, and tell me how many there are with whom real love and real happiness dwell? Your life offers a thousand enjoyments—a thousand temptations: it is full of purpose and splendour; glory and popularity surround you. Have you the strength to keep your heart undivided amidst so many objects? For to be happy, Vilma wants your whole heart. The fragments of a husband's love cannot satisfy her. And besides," continued Mrs. Ershebet, when Akosh had done his best to convince her of the immutability of his love, "have you thought of all the objections which others may raise?"
"I shall be twenty-four in a few weeks, and consequently independent. My mother's property, of which I am already possessed, is enough to keep my wife and me; and if my fatherwereto quarrel with me, I do not care. I prefer Vilma's love to all!"
"I believe you, dear Akosh," said Mrs. Ershebet; "but what will Tengelyi say? He is good and loving; but when he takes it into his head that something is opposed to his principles, no power on earth can make him yield."
"Except the power of love," said Akosh.
"No, not even that: Jonas never loved any thing or anybody as he does me; may God bless him for it! and still I cannot obtain any thing from him that is opposed to his convictions."
"Yes; but can it be against his principles to see his daughter happy? may we not hope for his blessing? As formyfather, why should we despair ofhisconsent? Nobody knows him better than Vandory does, and he told me over and over again that my father is sure to yield."
Mrs. Ershebet's fears were dispelled. Akosh told her that he intended to take Vilma to his new residence, in a neighbouring county, where she need not come into contact with his mother-in-law. Mrs. Ershebet, to whom he explained the whole arrangement of the house, rose up as her daughter entered, and pressed her to her heart.
"So, my children," said Mrs. Ershebet, taking Akosh and Vilma by the hand, "be true and constant in your love, and God will not allow you to be separated. You see Jonas and me; we had many difficulties to contend with; but we overcame them. Come, my dears," continued the good woman, kissing Vilma's forehead, "speak to each other now, and say all you have to say, for God knows when you will meet again."
"Vilma," said Akosh, taking the blushing girl by the hand, "your eyes were filled with tears when I came. Why did you weep?"
"Oh! you will laugh at me! I am a weak, frightened girl; we were all anxious about you; and when I saw you safe——"
"My angel, how happy you make me with your love! When I look into your eyes, and see their loving gaze fixed upon me; and when I hear your sweet voice; when I press your hand to my lips, andthink that this hand is to be mine—that within a short time perhaps you are to be truly, wholly mine, I feel as in a dream, or as if some misfortunemusthappen to us, for I cannot conceive it possible for human beings to be so thoroughly happy!"
"For God's sake take care!" cried Vilma. "You are bold and careless of danger. You shun nobody; but you ought to think ofus. My mother, too, was greatly frightened to-night."
"On account of my staying away?"
"Certainly! and on account of the fog. We thought you had met with some accident in the swamps of St. Vilmosh."
"If there are no greater dangers than those of the Dustbury road, you may be easy," replied Akosh, smiling. "There is not at present water enough in the swamps of St. Vilmosh to drown a child; and my only danger to-night was one which certainly does no credit to me—I lost my way. The fog was so dense that I was hopelessly lost; and perhaps I should still be erring in the wilderness but for the sound of hoofs, which I heard at a distance. I turned my horse in the direction of the sound; but when I approached the horseman, he went off in a gallop. I followed, and we made a race of it, in which he beat me. At last I saw a light, and foundmyself at the entrance of the village. I presume the man, who belonged to the village, mistook me for a robber. Thank goodness I met him, for without him I had no chance of finding my way."
"But how will you return?" said Vilma, anxiously. "My mother tells me that you intend going back this very night."
"Of course I must, unless I wish my expedition to be known at Dustbury. I have tied my horse to the garden gate. At midnight I must take to the saddle, and the dawn of morning finds me in the council-house. But I promise you I will not lose my way this time; and——but really things cannot remain as they are! This state of uncertainty is unbearable. I will speak to your father."
"Beware!" cried Vilma. "We cannot hope for my father's consent until your father gives his."
"But I know my father will approve of my choice. I will open my heart to him. I will tell him how dearly I love you, and that I cannot be happy without you. I will tell him that to live with you is bliss; but that to live away from you is worse than hell. And if I tell him all this, asking for his blessing and nothing else, trust me he will not refuse it. Oh, Vilma! we are sure to be happy!"
Vilma did not withdraw her hand, which Akosh seized; nor did she speak to confirm her lover in his hopes; but there was a heaven of joy in the look which she cast upon him.
"Yes, Vilma, we are sure to be happy. I have spoken to your mother, and explained everything. I have a home not far from here—it was my mother's property; and my father gave it into my hands. I have had the garden put to rights. The rooms of the little house are comfortably furnished—it is there we will live. Of course your father and mother go with us."
"And Mother Liptaka," said the girl, smiling with gladness, "she is so fond of us."
"Yes, she shall go; and Vandory is sure to come often to see us."
"Oh, he is sure to come. We will get him a large arm-chair to sit in when he comes, and we will send for a glass of fresh water from the well. Oh, it will be so beautiful. And did you not say there was a garden?"
"There is a large garden, full of roses!"
"Oh, roses!" cried Vilma, clapping her hands, "and when you come back from the hunt, or from Dustbury or Tissaret, and when I hear your horse's hoofs I will come to meet you, with roses in myhair and in my hands. I will fill your room with them. Oh, happiness!"
"Vilma!" cried Akosh, seizing her hands, and covering them with kisses, "can you think—can you believe—can you dream how happy we shall be?"
Vilma withdrew her hands, and sighed. "Who knows whether all this is to be?" muttered she.
"To be?" cried Akosh, again pressing her hands to his lips, "God vouchsafes us the sight of such bliss; He gives us a deep conviction that without this bliss our life is a curse; how, then, can you doubt?"
Vilma trembled. "Akosh!" said she, "your hands are feverish. I am sure you are ill. Pray be calm."
"Oh, Vilma, do not withdraw your hand! do not treat me as you would a stranger! Call me your love—say you are mine!"
Vilma blushed.
"Oh, tell me that you love me! tell me that you will never leave me, whatsoever may happen! tell me that you are mine own!"
"Yourown!" whispered Vilma; and Akosh caught the trembling girl in his arms, and his first kiss burned on her lips.
At that moment the sound of a heavy fall, followed by a stifled groan, came from the next room. There was a tramp of feet, and all was quiet again. Vilma screamed, and sprang from her lover's embrace. Mrs. Ershebet, who had been asleep in her arm-chair, rose; and Akosh, seizing a candle, hastened to the door of the apartment.
Tzifra and the Jew, who had planned to rob the notary's house in the course of the night, and whose conversation had been overheard by Peti, had no idea of young Rety's presence. When all was quiet in the village they made their way to the house. They found the door of the kitchen locked, and the windows dark, for the shutters of that one room in which there was a light were closed. The Jew placed Tzifra as a sentinel at the gate, and commenced his operations by opening the outer door of Tengelyi's room. Having effected an entry, he produced a small lamp, lighted it, and prepared to unlock the iron safe. He did indeed hear the conversation in the next room, but he continued his work with great equanimity, because he fancied that the speakers were Mrs. Ershebet and Vandory, and because he was resolved to use his knife if they should happen to surprise him. The safe was opened. The papers and a bag of money were in his hands, andhe was on his way to the door, when he felt himself seized by the throat.
"Hands off from the papers, you thief!" whispered the man who held him. The Jew thought of Tzifra; but the dying glare of the lamp, which had fallen to the floor, displayed to him the features of Viola.
When Peti informed him of the intended robbery, the outlaw hastened to the notary's house to watch it. He had no means of preventing the execution of the theft. His own life was forfeited to the law, and if he had attacked the thief before the crime was committed, the latter might have called for help, his own life would have been endangered, and the Jew might at any other time have carried out his project. Viola waited therefore until the Jew had entered the house, and sending Peti to the gate to watch Tzifra, he crept into the room, where he seized him in the act.
"Hands off the papers!" said Viola, "you're a dead man if you keep them."
Vainly did the Jew strive to shake off the iron grasp of his assailant. He tried to stab, but a blow from Viola's fist knocked him down. His fall alarmed the family. Viola took the papers and fled. Peti followed him. The Jew, still stunned from the effects of the blow which he had received, crawledthrough the door; and when Akosh entered he saw nothing but the open safe, a bag of money, and Viola's bunda lying on the floor.
Akosh hastened to the door. In the yard he found the Jew lying on his back and calling for help. He stooped to raise him. At that moment a shot was fired, and Akosh fell bleeding to the ground.
Ershebet and Vilma, who had followed him, screamed out. The villagers hastened to the spot, and the smith next door saw, as he left his house, a man hastening by. He raised the shout of "Murder!" and pursued the fugitive.
The late events at Tissaret had not yet transpired at Dustbury; and though Mr. Rety was any thing but pleased with his son's absence (which he ascribed to political reasons), still he looked with deep-felt satisfaction on the large crowd of his champions, who bore him to the scene of the grand national fête. Those who believe that great men are unmindful of those to whom they owe their elevation, would change their opinion if they could have seen the kind and even humble bearing of the sheriff. Nay, the wish of that enthusiastic Cortes of St. Miklosh, who held the sheriff's foot, and who repeatedly exclaimed, "What a pity that we cannot carry that dear sheriff from one year's end to another!" was not only very flattering for Mr. Rety, but, considering the position of the Cortes, it might be called awisewish. Owing to the great number of noblemen, the scene of the election was laid in the court of the council-house. When the members of the holy crown remove their court from the hall to the yard, the arrangementsof what one might call the hustings are very much the same any where, no matter whether the piece is acted on the banks of the Danube or of the Theiss. A long table of rude workmanship is usually placed before the lord-lieutenant's chair; this table is as usually covered with any odd pieces of green baize that happen to be found in the council-house. The other parts of the yard are filled with the hostile factions, and from the windows of the council-house and other high places we find the fair and tender sex looking down on the scene of the great contest, where (without the assistance of either steel or flint) the finest sparks of enthusiasm are struck from the eyes of noblemen; where the magistrates of the county are created, as the world was, out of Chaos; where the faces of so many assessors not only burn, but actually sweat for their principles; and where the patriot, in beholding the enthusiasm which causes such numbers to offer their services to the country, obtains the proud conviction that Hungary will never perish, at least not for want of functionaries.
The Dustbury election was as complete in its arrangements as the zealous care of the rival parties could make it, and there was, moreover, a company of soldiers for the express purpose of assisting the magistrates. This circumstance caused a fewof the older assessors to shake their heads with an air of great wisdom. But the young men, who were children of their time, were by no means astonished to see the bayonets, because they knew that soldiers were present at all the elections in the adjacent counties; and why should not Takshony have its soldiers as well as its betters? To cry out against the army was perfectly absurd!
The ceremonies of the election came off in due course. The lord-lieutenant addressed the assembly less (he said) for the purpose of enlightening them, than because he wished to give vent to his feelings and to those of his audience, who drowned his voice in deafening cheers. Rety too made a considerable display of oratorical talent in his farewell speech for himself and his brother magistrates; and, lastly, a provisional court was appointed for the suppression and punishment of any excesses that might be committed. This done, two deputations were sent off under the guidance of Baron Shoskuty and another magistrate in red and blue, for the purpose of collecting the votes, while the parties raised Bantornyi and Rety, and carried them—not without some mutual violence—out of the gate; the yard was left to his Excellency's private enjoyment, a benefit which he shared with three curates and anold assessor. Even the ladies, eager to attend the birth of the new magistrates, and panting for the glory of the fight, turned to the opposite side of the council-house, whence they looked down upon the battle of the vote-collecting deputations.
The council-house, which was built in the form of a square, had, besides the front gate, two more gates at the sides of the building. They were each occupied by a deputation. The front entrance was closed, and the Cortes were invited to pass through either Bantornyi's or Rety's gate, as the case might be.
The county of Takshony had lately become a convert to the ballot, principally at Tengelyi's suggestion. The sight of the preparations for carrying out one of his favorite principles would have gladdened that good man's heart. A small table was placed close to the gate and round it sat Shoskuty, Slatzanek, Kishlaki, and—for the other party too was represented—the brother of the rival candidate. At some distance two screens were placed, and between them the table with the urn. Augustin Karvay and Mr. Skinner watched the gates, to prevent the approach of any unqualified persons. Mr. Catspaw joined the last-named party as a volunteer.
The assessors lighted their pipes; the gates were flung open, and the electors entered for the purposeof secret voting. They, to a man, on seeing the deputation, shouted "Eljen Rety! Eljen Bantornyi!" a shout to which the Cortes outside replied with equal fervor; and the person entering having then done his duty as a nobleman, retired behind the screens to give his vote.
"Nothing in the world so beautiful as this plan of secret voting," said Mr. James, taking his cigar and pushing off the ashes, while he shook the hand of an elector who had come up to the table with a thundering shout of "Eljen Bantornyi!" "If that contrivance could be introduced in England, they would have the most perfect constitution. The ballot, the ballot for ever! that's our cry; it makes a man feel so independent!"
"All this is very well," sighed Kishlaki; "but I wish to goodness they would not go on bawling in that heathenish way. My friend," said he, interrupting one of the Cortes in his shout of "Eljen Rety!" "don't roar so loud. It's secret voting, you know!"
"Of course, so it is! Vivat the Sheriff Rety!" And he disappeared behind the screens.
"I reallydobeg your pardon," said Kishlaki, rising; "but this must be stopped. It's a mere farce, you know."
"But whocandictate to the feelings of our dear noble friends?" cried Shaskay; "it's natural that they should vent them at such a moment, and they do vent them, and——"
"Very well, let them give vent to their feelings; but what the deuce are the screens for? Besides, they are continually being kicked over."
Shaskay remarked that the screens were placed there by the express order of the magistrates.
"Then let the worshipful magistrates know that they have decreed the thing which cannot be done!" cried Kishlaki. "These fellows roar all the louder for being allowed to roar singly; they vie in showing the strength of their lungs. We shan't come to the end of this kind of thing; and here's a precious cold draught, let me tell you."
"But, begging your pardon," interposed Mr. James, "is there any harm in these people shouting a name? They may still give their secret vote behind the screen.Quite independent, you know."
"Ay, indeed; but——"
"I say," continued Mr. James, "how the deuce can they see for whom we vote, no matter what name they may cry?"
"But the names of the two candidates are written on the urns: now if a man can't read, how ishetovote? I have seen ten of them at least who I know never knew a letter. Hollo, Pishta!" cried Kishlaki, stopping the man who was just walking to the screens; "do you know your letters?" And Pishta replied, with great pride, "I do not read before the Lord our God."
"But then youcanread!" suggested Shoskuty. "You do not read because you don't choose; but you could if you would?"
"No, I never learnt it. I am none of your Slowak students; neither did my grandfather learn it in his time."
"I told you so!" cried Kishlaki, triumphantly; and addressing the Cortes, "What urn did you throw your ball in?"
"The right-hand one!" replied the Cortes, adjusting his bunda. "Any thing to please my judge. Eljen Bantornyi!"
"This man came to vote for Bantornyi, and you see, gentlemen, he has voted for Rety," said Kishlaki, with great satisfaction. "Now I ask whether this sort of thing is to continue?"
"It is very extraordinary!" sighed Mr. James; while Slatzanek, stroking his moustache, protested that accidents would happen.
"Accidents, indeed! let us have another look at these accidents. Can you read?"
"No."
"And you?"
"God forbid!"
"And you?"
"I learnt it when a child, but——"
"And you?"
"A little!"
Mr. Shaskay, who seemed greatly amused by these questions, and the answers which they elicited, said he hoped Mr. Kishlaki was now satisfied that the illiterate were in the majority; and James hastened to the gate, where he implored every new comer to vote for his brother. But Shoskuty, desirous to carry out the resolution of the county magistrates, placed two assessors behind the screens for the purpose of explaining the names on the urns to the voters.
The ballot was being proceeded with on this improved and practical principle, when Tengelyi, accompanied by Kalman Kishlaki and others, approached the gate. A single look showed him the absurdity of the proceedings. "How, in the name of Heaven," said he, addressing Shoskuty, "can you, dare you, allow this gross violation of the county law?"
"Violation!" cried Shoskuty. "What violation? What do you mean, sir?"
"Did not the county magistrates give an order that the voting should be secret?"
"And because they gave that order, sir, we obey that order, sir! Or do you think, sir, that we sit here for the mere joke of the thing? What are the screens for, I should like to know? Secret voting, indeed! What do you call this, sir? Hasn't the draught given me a cold already? and how dare you say, sir, that I violate my instructions?"
"You cannot go on in this manner!" said Tengelyi, with great warmth; "I'll speak to the lord-lieutenant. This election is null and void."
"Hold you tongue, sir notary!" cried Slatzanek, angrily; "don't you mistake this place for one of your alehouse clubs. You may give your vote if you please, and for whom you please, but we won't be lectured, and, least of all, by the like ofyou."
"Stop, sir!" cried Kalman. "Tengelyi is right. There can be no secret voting in the presence of two people."
"I thought so too," said old Kishlaki, "but the majority——"
"Sir, Idopray——"
"Rogo humillime——"
"I say——"
"Iam going to explain it!" cried Slatzanek, Shoskuty, and another assessor; but Shoskuty's shrill voice overcrowed them, and the baron said:—
"My dear young sir, Idopray you will consider what your honoured father was pleased to observe just now, namely, that the majority of this deputation are agreed on all the arrangements of this ballot, and that it is quite ridiculous to talk of errors or faults. And besides, are you not aware that no act is valid in Hungary without thetestimonium legaleof two magistrates? Very well, then, the gentlemen behind the screen will—if need be—prove that the Cortes gave secret votes—absque irâ et studio—quite independent."
Kalman laughed. Tengelyi spoke, though no one listened, of the sanctity of the laws, and the proceedings came to a stand-still. Mr. Skinner, to whom Catspaw had whispered, advanced, and, seizing Tengelyi by the collar, said, "Be off, sir; you have no business here, not being a nobleman!"
The astonishment which these few words created was prodigious. Shoskuty wrung his hands; Shaskay sighed and looked up to heaven; Slatzanek looked fierce and scornful; and old Kishlaki, who felt most for Tengelyi, exclaimed, "Did I ever!—no, I never!" Saying which he fell back into his chair.