"Three days, indeed! I'd do away with twenty of these rascals in much less time than that!"
"It seems you have forgotten what the prisoner said concerning certain accusations——"
"Which have nothing whatever to do with the question at issue," cried Baron Shoskuty; "there's no mention of them in the minutes. I mean to forget them."
"Sir!"
"Baron Shoskuty is right," said the assessor; "the prisoner's nonsensical talk has nothing in common with thespecies facti—it's no use mentioning it."
"But what is to become of the completeness of the record?" cried Völgyeshy, angrily.
"It's a stupid formality. See chapter 6. paragraph 5. of the articles, where it is provided that the court is at liberty to dispense with the forms of the courts at law."
"Yes, we can do as we please, and in the very teeth of all manners of forms, too," said the Baron.
"Of course you can hang the prisoner!" shouted Völgyeshy; "but I protest that what you do is an act of violence, not of justice!"
"Hold your tongue, sir!—--"
"The members of this court have no right to sit in it!—I appeal to the articles!"
"Outrageous!" cried Zatonyi, rising from hischair; "what! are we not assessors?—have we not taken our oaths?—are we not——?"
"Are we not lawyers of unblemished character?—men of firmness and impartiality?" continued the Baron.
"Turn him out!" roared Mr. Skinner.
"Actio! Actio!" gasped Baron Shoskuty in his turn.
"I protest you are not impartial!" said Völgyeshy.
"Bliktri!" snarled Zatonyi; "what have the articles to do with impartiality?"
"Very true! but suppose impartialitywererequired," said Shoskuty, violently, "suppose itwererequired, what then? Are we not strictly impartial? Which of us has said a single word in favour of the prisoner, unless it be you? but, goodness be thanked! you've no vote, sir!"
"I am curious to know how you would manage to prove our want of impartiality?" said Mr. Catspaw.
"I'll satisfy your curiosity, sir," said the young lawyer. "As for you, you are accused, and it is evidently your interest to do away with the accusation and the accuser. Of Mr. Skinner's want of impartiality there can be no question. What shallwe say of a judge who degrades his office to the level of the hangman?"
"Meanness! Impertinence! Turn him out! Actio!" screamed the judges.
"No! You are not impartial! You are thirsting for the prisoner's blood! You want his life to shield your own misdeeds! There is vendetta between you and the prisoner! But I will not suffer it! I will publish the proceedings! I will complain to the lord-lieutenant! I will——"
"Base informer! are you aware of the laws of 1805? Turn him out!" roared the court; and Völgyeshy, finding that nothing could persuade them, turned to leave the room, when Mr. Skinner rose and seized him by the arm.
"Be off, you miscreant!" roared the valorous judge.
Völgyeshy pushed him back, and taking his hat, he bowed to the president, and withdrew.
The uproar in the justice-room attracted the attention of the people outside in no slight degree. The conversation of the haiduks, Pandurs, witnesses, and servants gradually ceased, and every one listened to the noise of angry voices in the justice-room. The Liptaka sat close by the door listening to the dispute, and from time to time she would turn to the smith and inform him that Viola's case wasvery bad; "for," said she, "if the gentlemen get out of temper with each other, they always manage to make a poor body suffer for it:" a remark to which the smith did not fail to respond with deep sighs.
Viola alone paid no attention to the quarrels of his judges. Surrounded by a troop of armed men, he leaned against one of the wooden pillars of the hall, looking towards the gate where his wife and children stood. All the robber's thoughts were of them. When the door opened, and Völgyeshy entered the hall, Viola turned round, for he thought they had sent for him to read his sentence. He longed for it; for the Pandurs had told him that, after hearing it, he would be allowed to speak to his wife. Calling to Völgyeshy, as the latter approached, he said: "Is it over?"
"Not quite," answered the lawyer.
"But why do you leave them?"
"I have no vote. I cannot be of any use to you."
"I thought so," said Viola, with a bitter smile. "God bless you for having given yourself all this trouble for the sake of a poor man; but, if you will show me pity, tell them to allow my wife to come to me. There she stands, by the gate; there she stands, with her children! They've pushed her back: they will not let her speak to me! All I want is tohave her with me. You see I am chained and closely watched, and in a few hours I shall be a dead man. What harm can there be in lessening the anguish of my poor, wretched wife!"
Völgyeshy said nothing; but he walked precipitately up to the place where Susi stood, took her by the hand, and led her to Viola's arms. The wretched people did not speak: they wept, and trembled; the little boy took and kissed his father's hand, sore as it was with the weight of the chain: and the large tear-drops rolled over the robber's pale face.
The burst of generous indignation in which the members of the court had for a time indulged was, meanwhile, subsiding. Mr. Catspaw, seated in Völgyeshy's place, arranged that gentleman's papers and notes to his own liking; and though Mr. Skinner still continued to vent his spleen in frequent and indecent exclamations against the young lawyer's impertinence, it was found that none of the other members of the court sympathised with his protracted irascibility. Baron Shoskuty and the assessor Zatonyi talked of their dinner and other important matters. Mr. Kishlaki alone seemed distressed and nervous.
Viola was at length summoned before the courtto sign his depositions. When they were read to him, he observed that they contained none of his statements about Tengelyi's papers; but upon Mr. Catspaw informing him that he was merely required to testify to the correctness of those things whichwerestated, and that the other parts of his confession would be taken down separately, he made no further objections, but signed his name, to the immoderate satisfaction of the cunning attorney.
Nothing was now wanting but the sentence. The assessor yawned fearfully, offered his snuff-box to everybody, and protested that he had never had so troublesome a sitting. Baron Shoskuty consulted his watch (for the twentieth time, at least), and informed the court that it was past three o'clock, and that the want of his dinner had given him a headache:denique, (to use his own words,) "there was no time to be lost." Acting up to this hint, Mr. Catspaw made a shortrésuméof the facts; and concluded by protesting that there could be no doubt about the sentence of capital punishment. Mr. Skinner said the same. Mr. Zatonyi laughed, and swore that Miss Lydia Languish herself could not find another verdict!—an opinion upon which the Baron commented at great length, for the purpose of finally adopting it. Mr. Kishlaki alone sat silent andanxious, turning to each of the judges with a sigh as each recorded his sentence; until, at length, he pretended to fall into a fit of profound meditation.
"Really," said Baron Shoskuty, at length, producing his watch to add to the strength of his arguments, "I must ask my honourable friend's pardon for disturbing him in his reflections on the enormity of the crime; but really we ought not to abuse Lady Kishlaki's patience."
"You are right," said the president, greatly relieved; "quite right, my dear sir: let us adjourn till to-morrow morning. This confounded execution cannot possibly take place to-day."
"Oh! why should it not?" asked Zatonyi, indignantly. "Did I not tell you that I must go home? My potatoes——"
"We are bound to grant the prisoner at least three hours," said the president; "and it's quite dark at five o'clock. You would not hang him by candlelight, would you?"
"My honourable friend is quite right," cried Shoskuty. "We ought to have a game at tarok after all this trouble. Besides, I owe the gentlemen their revenge for the pagat. But why should we not pass the sentence to-night, and have it executed at an early hour to-morrow morning?"
"Because," said Mr. Kishlaki, nervously,—"because the decision rests with me; and—because—I must own—that I have not yet made up my mind."
"Domine spectabilis!" cried Zatonyi, clasping his hands. "You, at your time of life! You, who have served the county so many years, you have not made up your mind? I've attended a score of courts-martial, andIalways made up my mind in less than a second. What would your enemies say, if they knew it?"
Mr. Skinner, too, expressed his scorn of such weakness of mind in the strongest terms; still Kishlaki would not be persuaded either to absolve or to condemn the prisoner. He entreated his friends to wait till the morrow. But his request was obstinately opposed by Mr. Catspaw, who knew the man he had to deal with, and who was aware that Kishlaki would not be able to resist the entreaties of his wife and son, and the reasonings of Völgyeshy, if he was allowed to appear in their presence before he had recorded his decision.
"I am sure," pleaded the attorney, "it cannot matter to us whether you deliver your judgment to-day or to-morrow; but my wish is, that there should be an end to the business. I wish it for the prisoner's sake. After the sentence he will be atliberty to talk to his wife, to prepare for death, and to make any arrangements he has to make. But if it is really inconvenient, of course we cannot pretend that the prisoner's wishes should be consulted in preference to yours."
Zatonyi, seeing the effect which these words had upon Kishlaki, remarked that Viola was indeed a great criminal, whose agony ought in strict justice to be prolongedad infinitum; but that some consideration was due to humanity, for he could not, he said, believe that any man in his senses could for a moment doubt of the nature of the sentence, which his honourable friend wished to delay. To this Mr. Catspaw replied, that their worthy president could not have any such intention, and that he (Mr. Catspaw) would never have dared to insinuate any such thing; but that no one could be more fully aware than he (Mr. Catspaw) was, of the solemn duty by which every judge was bound to disregard his own feelings and passions; and that he (Mr. Catspaw) was convinced that his worthy friend, Mr. Kishlaki, would eventually prove himself deserving of the confidence of the county. And Baron Shoskuty gave them a homily on the beauty of humane feelings, which, he said, imperatively demanded that Viola should be sentenced off hand.And it was said, that it was necessary to make an example, and that kindness to the wicked is cruelty to the good. And Mr. Skinner told fearful tales of the enormities of which Viola and his comrades had been guilty, and would be guilty, unless a wholesome fear of courts-martial were propagated among the people; till the poor old man, attacked on all sides, and unable to make head against a torrent of arguments, which he had always been taught to consider as irrefutable, was at length reduced to submission to the will of his more crafty colleagues. With a deep sigh, he confirmed their verdict.
"God sees my heart," said he, raising his eyes to heaven. "I know not what I would give to spare the life of this man! but I cannot violate my duty."
Mr. Catspaw commenced at once to draw up the sentence, while his friends strove hard to dispel the gloom which settled on Kishlaki's face; when the door was suddenly thrown open, and Susi, with a child in her arms, rushed into the room, followed by two haiduks, who vainly strove to detain her.
"Pity!" cried the wretched woman, throwing herself at Kishlaki's feet. "Pity, sir! oh sir, don't kill my husband!"
Kishlaki would have raised her, but she resisted.
"No! no!" sobbed she; "let us kneel! let mychild kneel! Come Pishta, come, kiss this gentleman's hands! it is he who has to judge of your father's life! Entreat him! pray to him, Pishta!"
"I pray, sir, do not kill my father!" sobbed the little boy.
"Did I ever—what impertinence!" cried Mr. Skinner. "This worshipful court does not kill anybody!"
"No, God forbid!" said the poor woman; "do not mind the child's asking you not to kill his father. He does not know what he says. He is the son of a poor peasant; he has no education. I know I too talk wildly, but——"
"My good woman," said Kishlaki, "my duties as a judge are painful, but imperative and——"
"Oh, I do not ask the court to absolve him from all punishment. No! I do not mean to say that. Punish him severely, cruelly, no matter how, only don't kill him!—Oh! pardon me for saying the word. Oh, pardon me! Send Viola to gaol for many years, for ever, if it must be so; but do spare his life! Perhaps he has told you that he cares not for death—he is fond of talking in this way—but don't believe what he said! When he said it, he had not seen his children; but now he has kissed little Pishta, I am sure he will not say so; and thebaby too smiled at him as he stood in his chains. Oh! if you could but see the baby, and if you could hear it calling its father with its small sweet voice, you'd never believe Viola when he says he wishes to die!"
"D—n your squeaking!" growled Mr. Skinner, "and d—n the blockhead that let her come in! Be off, I say! Your husband's a dead man; if he's afraid of death, why so much the better!"
"Did I say he was afraid of death?" sighed poor Susi. "I told you a lie! Viola longs for death! Death is no punishment for him! If you want to punish him, you must lock him up! He's often told me he would rather die than live in a prison!"
Kishlaki looked at her with streaming eyes. Shoskuty produced his watch.
"Oh! sir, I know you will send him to prison! What is death to him? It's but the pain of a moment; but we are the sufferers. I have two children—this boy and the other child, which the Liptaka has in her arms—the Liptaka, I mean the old woman at the door; and what am I to do if their father is hanged?"
Zatonyi remarked, very judiciously, that it made no difference to the children whether their father was hanged or sent to prison for life.
"Oh! but it does, sir. It may make no difference to your worships, but it does to us. I know he will be of good behaviour. I will walk to Vienna, I will crawl on my hands and knees after the king until he pardons my husband; and if he will not pardon him, I shall at least be allowed to see him in prison; I can show him the children, and how they have grown! I can bring him something to eat and to put on—oh! for pity's sake, send him to prison! It's a heaven for me; but death is fearful!"
"Fearful, indeed! It's half-past three!" sighed Shoskuty.
"Now do be quiet," said Zatonyi, taking a pinch of snuff. "Besides, it's too late. We've passed the sentence."
"The sentence! The sentence of death!" shrieked Susi.
"It's at your service," sneered Mr. Skinner, pointing to a paper which was just being folded up by Mr. Catspaw.
"But suppose it is bad—it is faulty," muttered the woman. "Suppose I say it's wrong—for death is not a punishment to Viola—it'sIthat am punished!"
"It's done, and can't be undone," said Zatonyi; "don't bore us with your useless lamentations."
"It wants but a quarter to four," said the Baron. "I wonder whether this scene is to last any longer?"
"But I pray," said Susi, shuddering; "it's but a sheet of paper. If you take another, and write some other words upon it, you can allow Viola to live."
"Oh indeed! Why should we not? Be off, we've had trouble enough on your account! Mr. Catspaw won't write another sentence to please you."
"Not to please me; but because it's a question of life and death."
"My good woman," sighed Kishlaki, wiping his eyes, "we have no power to alter the sentence!"
"No power? No——"
"It is impossible!" said Zatonyi.
The poor woman shrieked and fell on the floor. She was taken away; and the sentence was read to Viola.
As the judges left the room, Shoskuty said to Zatonyi:—
"God be thanked that it is over!"
"God be thanked, indeed! I've never heard of such a court-martial——"
"Denique, if the president is a donkey," remarked Shoskuty.
"Yes; a man who weeps at the mere squeaking of a woman!" said Mr. Skinner, as he joined the twoworthies; "unless we all dun him he won't allow the execution to take place."
"It's four o'clock now, and I'll bet you any thing the dinner is spoilt; and the roast meats used to be excellent!" said the Baron, with a deep sigh.
On his way from the justice-room to the house, Völgyeshy met Kalman and young Rety's servant, Janosh; the former of whom held an open letter in his hand: and his stamping, his unequal paces, and the sudden manner in which he would turn upon his companion, showed that he was labouring under a strong excitement. At some distance a groom was walking two horses, whose appearance showed that their riders had paid more attention to time than to the health of their beasts.
Völgyeshy was not in a temper to seek the society of others; and observing that young Kishlaki did not see him, he turned and walked to the house. But Kalman, whose attention was directed to him by a few words from the hussar, rushed after him, and cried—
"Is it over?"
The violence with which these words were pronounced, startled Völgyeshy. He stood still and said:
"Yes, it is over! They had settled the matterbefore they commenced the sitting. But that farce—or sitting, if you like—continues still."
"But what are you doing here? Are you not a member of the court?"
"I have a seat, but no vote; and I left them because——" Völgyeshy paused, and added: "We had better not talk of these things here. Let us go to your room, where I'll tell you all; besides, I have a request to make of you."
"I say, Janosh!" cried Kalman. "Go to my servant and get something to drink. My groom will take care of your horse."
"No, no, young gentleman!" said the old man, shaking his head; "my horse is number one, and I'm number two. Meat after corn, sir, that's the way we did it in our time; and, besides, you see I've brought my master's own horse. He's a jewel, and I wouldn't trust him with that lad for any thing."
"Do as you please, Janosh; but when the horse is provided for, I must see you."
When the two young men had entered the house, Kalman turned to Völgyeshy, and said,—"Now tell me why, in the name of all that is reasonable, did you leave the court?"
"Because I would not be a party to a murder! because I scorned to be a tool in their hands—because I would not lend my hand to their knavish and diabolical designs!"
"My dear friend, you're out of temper! How can you talk of such things when my father is one of the parties concerned? I am surehewould never be guilty of any knavery."
"That wasmyopinion. Believe me no onecanrespect your father more than I do. He's a good and blessed man! I have always said so, and I say so now; but your father is weak, and his weakness neutralises the best feelings of his heart. The wickedness and folly of this world are not at the doors of the wicked and foolish alone, but also at the doors of those honest and good men, whose weakness and laziness,—let me say whosegentility,—cause them to suffer what they have the power to prevent. The wicked are powerful, not because of their numbers and strength, but because they are reckless, energetic, and daring; while the good and honest are weak, and though they would scorn to act, they are not ashamed at conniving at any meanness which they may set a-going."
"I agree with you," said Kalman, "and I fear the remark applies in a manner to my father; but, abuse them as you like, only tell me what has happened!"
Völgyeshy gave him a short account of the transaction, and Kalman listened with evident distress.
"Never!" cried he, when Völgyeshy concluded his tale; "impossible! They cannot condemn a fellow-creature in that manner. My father will never consent to it!"
"He will consent—indeed, I am sure he has already given his consent. The question was decided when it was resolved that Viola's confession respecting Tengelyi's papers should not be mentioned in the records."
"Confound it!" cried Kalman "And that letter which they sent me from Tissaret. I must save him in spite of a hundred courts-martial!"
"Did they send you a letter? Did the sheriff perhaps?"
"No; but you know Akosh is wounded—Etelka writes in his name. Read the letter."
Völgyeshy took the paper and read as follows:—
"Tengelyi's papers are of the greatest importance. There is reason to believe that my brother's happiness, that the happiness of all of us, is concerned in your recovering them. Viola did not commit the robbery. Whatever he may have confessed on this subject, it is all true. He has acted far more nobly than anyone else can do—it is horrible to think that he is to suffer death for his generous conduct. Certain persons will move heaven and earth to obtain a verdict against him, for his death removes the only witness in the case of the papers. I entreat you to save him! it is the first favour I ever asked of you; and the very generous manner in which you took Tengelyi's part at the election, gives me hope that it will not be the last."Etelka."
"Tengelyi's papers are of the greatest importance. There is reason to believe that my brother's happiness, that the happiness of all of us, is concerned in your recovering them. Viola did not commit the robbery. Whatever he may have confessed on this subject, it is all true. He has acted far more nobly than anyone else can do—it is horrible to think that he is to suffer death for his generous conduct. Certain persons will move heaven and earth to obtain a verdict against him, for his death removes the only witness in the case of the papers. I entreat you to save him! it is the first favour I ever asked of you; and the very generous manner in which you took Tengelyi's part at the election, gives me hope that it will not be the last.
"Etelka."
"You see, I am bound to save him! I'd forfeit my life to save him! I'm bound to do it," cried Kalman.
"There is some signal villany going on," said the lawyer; "this letter shows that my suspicions are but too well founded."
"What in ——'s name are we to do! By Jove I'll go down and tell Catspaw that he is a rascal, and a dirty thief, and——"
"Not so fast!" said Völgyeshy, stopping the impetuous young man in his way to the door. "If you make a scene, you will spoil all. It strikes me that that fellow Catspaw is but the tool of others, a dirty tool, I grant you, but still a tool; and, unless I am very much mistaken, there are somepeople mixed up in this affair, whom it would not be wise in you, and much less in Akosh and Etelka, to involve in a criminal prosecution."
"Yes; but I say, let me go down! A single vote can save him, and my father——"
At that moment Janosh entered the room, and informed them that the sitting was over, and that Viola was sentenced to death.
"Confound me!" cried Kalman; "confound my being away from home this morning! I was aware that our Gulyash is a friend of Viola's! I believed that he would be able to get the papers; so I talked to him last night, but he told me he had not seen any thing of the robber. I returned last night, and early this morning I left for our Puszta to see our Tshikosh. Nothing was known of Viola's capture when I started. The Puszta is more than eleven miles from here; and when I had rested my horse, and indeed when I was on my way home, confound it! I got this letter."
"Yes, sir!" said Janosh; "I had no idea that your worship had gone to the Puszta. I've been up and down the county in every direction, and all to no purpose, until some one told me you had taken that way."
"I know it's not your fault, Janosh. It's thatcursed fate of mine! If I had been at home, no harm would have come to Viola; but what am I to do now that the sentence——"
"After all, what does it signify?" said the hussar, stroking his moustache.
"You know what's in the letter. They ask me to save him; and what can I do now that he's condemned?"
"If your worship will do a kind thing for the love of Miss Etelka—I beg your pardon—for the love of my young master; and if your worship will save Viola——"
"'If!' and 'will!' I'd give my life if Icoulddo it."
"Oh, then we need not care for such a bit of a sentence. Only think, sir, what should we do for ropes if every man were hanged whom they condemn in Hungary?"
"Perhaps you are not aware," said Völgyeshy, "that there's a court-martial in the case. In a common court——"
"Of course, of course!" said Janosh; and, turning to young Kishlaki, he whispered, "Do not let us mention these things before strangers."
"Don't mind Mr. Völgyeshy," said Kalman."He knows all about it; and he'd help us if he could."
"So I would," said the lawyer.
"That alters the matter entirely. The worshipful gentlemen do not like us to put our fingers into their pie; and when they wish to hang a fellow, they are apt to be unreasonable if he escapes. They are fond of being hard upon the like of me."
"But what is it you mean to do?"
"I myself hardly know. I want to reconnoitre the place; but shoot me if I don't find a means to set him free! They won't hang him to-night; there's plenty of time to think about it. Mr. Kalman is at home here; that's half the battle. Your cellars are full of wine; we've lots of money, keys, ropes, and a horse. Hej!" added he, laughing; "did you ever hear of the adventures of the famous Baron Trenck?"
"Thanks, old Janosh!" cried Kalman, shaking his hand; "do as you please in the house! manage it all your own way, and throw the blame upon me!"
"Very well! very well indeed!" said the hussar, twisting his moustache; "old Janosh isn't half so dull as people fancy, and,terrem tette! an old soldier has had capital schooling in these things. But you must go to dinner, for unless you do, they'll fancywe are mustering our forces, as indeed we are. I'll reconnoitre the place."
"I'm your sworn friend to the end of my life!" said Kalman, as he left the room with Völgyeshy.
"Don't mention it," muttered the old soldier; "a man who has served the emperor so many years, and who has fought in the battle of Aspern, and in France, such a man wants none of your gratitude, especially since I have my own master. But I dare say Master Kalman would like to oblige our young lady. Very well, I'm agreeable; that's all I can say. He's a fine young fellow, and almost as good a horseman as my own master, which is saying a great deal, for he had the benefit ofmyschooling." Muttering these and other things, Janosh marched to the steward's house, where he met Peti the gipsy.
We need hardly say that Lady Kishlaki's dinner was as dull and gloomy as any dinner can be. Völgyeshy and Kalman were thoughtful and silent. The lady of the house did not press her guests to eat; nor did she ask them to excuse the bad cooking, although almost every dish stood in need of a thousand apologies. Mr. Kishlaki, who remarked his wife's altered manner, and who justly interpreted the looks of reproach which she cast upon him, sat staring at his plate with so anxious and careworn aface, that Völgyeshy would gladly have spoken to him but for the presence of Messrs. Skinner and Kenihazy, who, to do them justice, strove hard but unsuccessfully to amuse their host. Baron Shoskuty's compliments, and Mr. Zatonyi's anecdotes, were equally lost on their gloomy and dispirited audience; and everybody felt relieved when the dinner was over. Kalman, in particular, could hardly bridle his impatience; the moment Lady Kishlaki rose from the table, he left the room with Völgyeshy.
"How are we getting on, Janosh?" asked Kalman, when he saw the old hussar, who was smoking his pipe in the hall.
"Pretty well, sir; let us go to your room, and I'll tell you all about it."
"Do you think we can possibly save him?" asked Kalman, as they entered his apartments.
"Why not?" said Janosh. "The commander of the fortress has it all his own way. Any man whom he will allow to get out, why that man gets out—that's all."
"But how will you do it?"
"The curate of Tissaret is here," whispered the hussar. "When he saw that Viola was bound to a post, and in the open air, and in November, too, with but an armful of straw for him to lie on; and his poorwife and children shivering and shaking by his side;—and I tell you, sir, fine children they are, as fine as any you can see; but, as I told you, when the curate saw them, he said it was a shame, and he would not stand it, and the law was that the prisoner ought not to be kept in the open air at this time of the year. Says I to myself, when the curate sermonised them, says I, 'That's as lucky a thing as can be!' for, to tell you the truth, I had my doubts about our getting him off, if they'd keep him in that cursed shed. The great donkeys have put four lamps round him, seeing they wish to watch every one of his movements. But, of course, I didn't say a word about it. I only told the steward that there was no harm in what the curate said; for, after all, it is a safe thing to have your prisoner locked up and provided for."
"But what for?" asked Kalman, impatiently; "of what use can it be to us, if they lock Viola up?"
"Locking your prisoner up is a capital thing in its way," said the hussar. "When your prisoner is by himself, where no one sees him, he can do as he likes, and there are few things he will not do. But if he is watched by half-a-dozen men and more, let him be ever so stout a man, it cows him down. At the least of his motions, he's got a dozen handsupon him, and he's laughed at to boot. But if they put Viola into the chaff-loft, which I understand they think of doing, they may whistle for him, that's all."
"But how the deuce will you do it?" asked Völgyeshy, whose temper was not proof to the old soldier's circumstantial explanations.
"In this way, your worship," whispered the old hussar, in a still lower voice: "the chaff-loft is next to the steward's house, and there's a door between the granary and the steward's loft, isn't there?"
"Yes, so there is. What next?" said Kalman.
"As I said before, there's a door from the granary to the steward's loft—(I'd not like that door, at all, if the corn were mine)—but that's neither here nor there; it serves the steward's purpose, I dare say, and at present it serves ours."
"Go on, man!" cried Kalman.
"The key of the granary," continued the hussar, "is in your lady mother's hands, and it's you who'll get it for us?"
"Of course."
"That's all we want. To-night, when they are all asleep, we go to the granary, walk through the door to the steward's loft, and from thence to the chaff-loft. That loft is, as it were, glued to thehouse; the wood-work consists of thin planks. Peti, the gipsy, knows it to a nicety. We remove a couple of planks, put a ladder through the hole, and Viola gets up by it, and out by the door of the granary. Once in the open air, he's saved. Peti is gone after your worship's Gulyash, who is to send his horse. I tell you, sir, they may whistle for him when Viola has once got a horse between his legs!"
Kalman clapped his hands with joy, and Völgyeshy himself commended the arrangement and its details; but he remarked that there were a thousand chances for or against its execution.
"Never mind," said Janosh; "if you put Viola into that loft, and the key of the granary into my hands, I'll be hanged if we don't do them! There's no window to the loft, consequently no one can look in from without; and when they're once asleep, we have it all to ourselves."
"But what will you do with the sentinels? And besides, there's the steward close by you. He's likely to hear the noise, and to alarm the house."
"I'll pocket the sentinels," said the hussar, contemptuously. "The inspector is a-bed with his wounds; if you make the justice and that fellow Kenihazy drunk, to prevent them from going theirrounds,—and nothing is more easy than to makethemdrunk,—and if you do your duty as a landlord to the sentinels, and make them drunk, too, I do not care for the steward's noise. But I don't think he'll make any. When he's once in bed, it's no small matter will get him out of it. The key is the great thing, and Viola must be put into the chaff-loft."
"If that's all," cried Kalman, "you need not care!" and, accompanied by Völgyeshy, he returned to the dining-room, where they found Vandory, the curate of Tissaret, who had informed the court of his request, and who was just in the act of replying with great warmth to the objections of Zatonyi and Baron Shoskuty. The assessor appealed to the ancient custom of keeping culprits under the sentence of a court-martial in the open air; Baron Shoskuty protested that it was wrong to abuse Lady Kishlaki's hospitality for the benefit of so arrant a knave as Viola undoubtedly was; but the curate's request was so energetically supported by Kalman's father and mother, that the interference of the two young men seemed likely to do more harm than good.
"I do not, indeed, see the necessity of placing the prisoner in a room," remarked Mr. Catspaw, very politely. "The provision in the articles is confinedto the winter months, and I dare say that Viola ought, by this time, to be accustomed to the night air."
"Never mind his catching a cold in his throat," cried Mr. Skinner; "to-morrow morning we'll give him a choke."
"None of your jokes, sir," said Mr. Catspaw, who remarked the unfavourable impression which the justice's words made on the company. "This is no laughing matter," continued he, with a deep sigh. "As I said, I do not indeed think it necessary, and I protest it is not even legal to give the prisoner houseroom: but if it can relieve our dear hostess's tender mind, I will not oppose Mr. Vandory's request, provided always that the place be safe, that the windows have bars, and the door bolts and locks, and that sentinels are duly placed before it."
"If your worships please," said the steward, who had followed Vandory into the room; "I know of a place with no window at all."
"Ay, the cellar!" said Zatonyi. "Yes, that's right. It struck me from the first that was the place."
"No! not by any means!" protested the steward; "there's lots of wine in the cellar, my master's property, and entrusted to my care. Nobody is imprisoned in the cellar, if I have my will! Butthere's the chaff-loft at your service; it has a lock and a key, and no window; and if you put a sentinel before the door, the prisoner is as safe as any state prisoner at Munkatsh."
Vandory, and especially Lady Kishlaki, resisted this proposal because no fire could be lighted in the place; but on Kalman's protesting that nothing could be more futile than this objection, the resolution was carried by acclamation, and Messrs. Skinner, Kenihazy, and Catspaw accompanied Vandory to the steward's house, for the purpose of inspecting the place, and witnessing the removal of the prisoner. Völgyeshy and Kalman followed at a distance.
"Be careful!" said the lawyer. "Did you remark Catspaw's stare, when you told them Viola could do without a fire?"
"Yes, I did. I see it's no good to be too clever. But I'll make up for it. I'll object to the room—I'll——"
"Worse and worse!" said Völgyeshy. "Leave them alone, and believe me, if that loft is the worst place in the house, they'll put him there, and nowhere else."
The truth of Völgyeshy's words was borne out by the event. Mr. Catspaw indeed made some curiousinquiries about the solidity of the building, but he was quickly put down by the steward, who replied with great dignity, that Mr. Kishlaki, his master, was not in the habit of constructing his houses of mud. The attorney, thus rebuked, turned away, and the place was forthwith furnished with a table, a stool, and a heap of straw.
Mr. Kishlaki, pretending to suffer from a headache, retired to his room, whither his wife followed him. Zatonyi and the Baron walked in the drawing-room, and laughed at the ridiculous sentimentality of their host, at Vandory's still more ridiculous philanthropy, and at Völgyeshy's impertinence. They interrupted this charitable conversation at times with deep sighs, and longing looks at the card-tables; for they waited for Messrs. Catspaw and Skinner.
While his guests were thus employed, Mr. Kishlaki sat in his room, leaning his head in his hand, and so entirely given up to thought, that his pipe went out without his being aware of it.
"Treshi, my soul!" said he at length, turning to his wife, "Treshi, I am a wretch!"
Lady Kishlaki sighed, and her husband went on.
"I know, Treshi, you will not love me as you used to do, and it's the same with Kalman. Whenyou see me you'll think: he might have saved the poor fellow's life, and he wouldn't do it!"
Lady Kishlaki said a few words of comfort; but the old man shook his head, and continued:
"No, Treshi! that man's life was in my hands, and I killed him. His blood is on my soul."
The good woman's heart yielded to the sincerity of his sorrow, and instead of reproaching him, as she intended, she sought to comfort him, by protesting that the responsibility, if there was any, lay equally with the other judges. "Besides," added she, "how frequently have you not sat in a common court, without feeling remorse and sorrow!"
"Oh, that's a very different thing," replied Kishlaki. "In a common court a man is allowed to vote after his conscience, and the sentence is found by a majority. There is no idea of the life of the prisoner depending upon a single vote; the sentence is sent to the upper court, and to the king's government, and if it is executed, I need not reproach myself with being thesolecause of the prisoner's death. But to think that nothing was wanted to-day but my single simple word of 'non content;' that I did not say the word, and that it was I who killed that fellow,—goodness gracious! it breaks my heart. I hate myself, and I feel that others cannot love me."
"But if that is your view of the case," said his wife, with tears in her eyes; "why, for God's sake, did you vote as you did?"
"Why, indeed?" cried Kishlaki, pacing the room in a state of great excitement; "because I am a poor weak fool; because I was afraid of them when they told me my conduct was ridiculous; because Mr. Catspaw, and the whole lot of them, called out, that the Retys would never forgive me if Viola's depositions were taken down; and because I thought of Kalman's love to Etelka. And Völgyeshy walked away and left me by myself——"
"I cannot think that the Retys should be guilty of such infamous conduct——"
"Nor I! I am sure it's a trick of Catspaw's; and it tricks me out of my reputation, name, and peace of mind."
"Do not say so!" cried Lady Kishlaki. "Who will dare to attack your reputation?"
"Who? Everybody! Perhaps Völgyeshy is right. On consideration, it strikes me that the protocol was irregular; and if so, who's to be blamed for it? I, the president of the court. But I wouldn't mind that! I would not mind it in the least, if they called me a dunce, and a cullion, and a zany, and what not—but to step from my door,and to see the wretched man hanging on my own ground, whom I might have saved, and to think of his wife and his children, how they clasped my knees, and begged for his life—oh, I'm undone!"
"Nonsense!" said Kalman, who entered the room at that moment. "It's in your power to release Viola."
"Impossible!" cried Kishlaki; "and still the subject is too serious for jokes. But it's impossible."
"There's a legal impossibility, if you like," replied the young man; "for in law, I take it, it is thought impossible for two witnesses to tell lies, though one witness may, and for a judge to be a party against the culprit. But, thank heaven! there are other expedients."
"No appeal is possible from a court-martial," sighed Kishlaki.
"But still there is an appeal, and we'll make it. It's an appeal to the future!"
"What does he say? I cannot understand it," said the old man.
"ButIdo!" cried Lady Kishlaki. "You have planned his escape, have you not?"
"I have, my dear mother. When he is once at large, we will make an appeal; and if the worst come to the worst, he'll come before God's judgment-seat at the end of his life. God will re-consider this day's proceedings, and the sentence. But I know that the law cannot now do any thing for him: indeed, the law may possibly condemn the step I am about to take; but I don't care for it. My conscience tells me that what I do is right; and if the Skinners and Catspaws areinthe law, why it's an honour to be out of it."
Lady Kishlaki doted on her son; and her joy at his bold and manly speech passed all bounds.
"You are right," said she, with that peculiar tone which marks a proud and a happy woman: "you are right to scorn the law which would force us to hang that wretched man on our own ground. Save his life; and may God bless you for making your mother happy!"
Mr. Kishlaki, too, seemed relieved when he understood that there was a means of saving Viola's life; but he soon fell back into his characteristic irresolution.
"Take care," said he. "I cannot see how——"
"Leave him alone to manage it," cried Lady Kishlaki. "The moment I heard him speak, I knew that his young mind, fertile in expedients,——"
"There you are mistaken, my sweet mother!" said Kalman, smiling. "That young mind which, fertilein expedients, found the means for Viola's flight, belongs not to me, but to old Janosh." And he proceeded to detail the manner in which they hoped to effect their purpose.
"This, then, was the reason why you would not allow Viola to be put into a better place!" said his mother. "I thought you cruel and inconsiderate."
"And you wronged me," cried Kalman, gaily: "but, to make up for it, you must assist us. I want the keys of the cellar and granary; for, in Hungary, there's no getting on without the two. Will you trust me with them?"
"With all my heart!" said Lady Kishlaki, handing him the keys. "Spare me not; let them do as they please. Give the haiduks Tokay, if it must be; but do save that poor man!"
Mr. Kishlaki walked, meanwhile, to and fro in a terrible state of excitement. His wife followed him; and, placing her hand on his shoulder, she asked: "What is the matter with you?"
"I think of the confounded scrape into which my weakness has brought me. It was in my power to save that man: I might have done it orderly and legally; and what's the consequence? My only son is compelled to step in, and get himself into trouble, perhaps he will destroy the brightest hopes of hislife, and I am not even allowed to ask him to desist."
"My dear father!" cried Kalman; "how can I possibly destroy my hopes by saving the life of a fellow-creature?"
"Who knows what the Retys will do when they learn that it was you who saved Viola? You are aware of Lady Rety's vindictive character. I am sure she hates you for what you did for Tengelyi."
"It does not signify,", replied Kalman, quietly. "I ask no favour at the hands of Rety or his haughty lady; and as for Etelka, I trust this letter will convince you that she, at least, will not owe me any grudge for what I mean to do." Saying which, he produced the letter which Janosh had brought him.
"She is an angelic creature; she is, indeed!" said Lady Kishlaki, looking over her husband's shoulder, as he read the letter. "You are right, my son. You're in duty bound to save Viola."
"It's the first letter I ever had from Etelka," cried Kalman. "If she asked me to commit a crime, I'd do it with the greatest pleasure; and this——"
"God forbid that I should oppose it!" said the old man. "Your motives are good and generous; but still, what you intend doing is a crime accordingto law. If you should be detected, I tremble to think of the consequences!"
"Our success is certain," said Kalman. "Nothing can be more easy than to make the haiduks drunk. To keep them sober would be a far more difficult task. There's a door, of which I have the key. Nothing can be more simple."
"But suppose they were to know of it? Suppose they were to indict you?"
"Indictme?" cried Kalman, laughing. "My dear father, are you not aware that, to proceed against me, they must have the consent of the quorum? How will they ever get it?" And, pocketing the keys, he left the room.
"A generous lad!" said his mother. "How can Etelka help being fond of him?"
"Capital plan!" sighed Kishlaki; "capital plan, if it remains a secret. It's indeed a generous action; but it's criminal, my love; it's against the laws."
"Do not worry yourself with these thoughts."
"And to think that I had it in my power to prevent it!"
"Never mind. Viola is saved; that's enough for all intents and purposes."
"A cruel law, this," sighed Kishlaki. "I wonder what stuff the man was made of who first proposed it!"
To make people reasonable is a difficult thing at all times; but there are cases in which it is not less difficult to make them unreasonable. Kalman Kishlaki was doomed to learn the truth of this maxim, for all his endeavours to induce Mr. Skinner to drink away the niggardly allowance of sense with which Nature had provided that individual, proved abortive. As for Mr. Catspaw, we need not mentionhim, for he was one of those wretches who are always sober. To intoxicatehimwas a thing that Kalman never dreamed of. The other guests, not even excepting Baron Shoskuty, answered without any invitations, and as it were spontaneously, to the wishes of their young host; the judge alone stood unshaken, like a sturdy rock in a troubled sea. Mr. Skinner was one of the deepest drinkers in the county; he was not indeed a stranger to the condition in which Kalman wished to see him; but the presence of Völgyeshy, whom he hated, the admonitions of Mr. Catspaw, and above all his honest ambition to add fresh honours to his former trophies, made him proof againstany quantity of wine which Kalman induced him to take.
"You'd like to make me drunk, now, wouldn't you?" said he, tossing off a large tumbler of red wine. "Don't be ridiculous, my fine fellow! who ever sawmedrunk?"
"Ihave," smiled Mr. Kenihazy from his place at the card-table; "I've seen you as drunk as David's sow!"
"Who did?" cried Mr. Skinner.
Zatonyi, who, leaning on his elbows, watched Mr. Catspaw shuffling the cards, raised his head at the sound of the judge's shrill voice, and observed that, after all, the day's business was neatly done.
"This is my sixteenth case," added he; "and, somehow or other, we always managed to do for somebody."
"Nihil ad rem!" cried Mr. Skinner; "it's this man I want to ask."
"Nihil ad rem, indeed!" hiccoughed Zatonyi, "are not we in court-martial assembled? It is provided that the court shall sit until the sentence has been executed."
"Fiddlesticks! it's nothingad rem, I tell you! I want to ask Kenihazy!"
"Oh, fiddlesticks! eh?" cried the assessor, strikingthe table with his fist, "when I say—eh, what did I want to say? yes, that's it, that's no fiddlesticks! Consider,domine spectabilis, to whom you're speaking, and where you are; I say, sir, lie prostrate in the face of the sanctity of the place; for, sir, this is a court-martial!"
Mr. Skinner became more and more impatient.
Kalman, who hoped that a quarrel between them would serve his purposes better than the heaviest Tokay, nodded approvingly to Zatonyi, who went on, to the great annoyance of Mr. Skinner, though doubtless very much to his own satisfaction.
"This is not a place for your frivolous jokes, sir—frivolous, I say, sir; and make the most of it, if you please! Up to the criminal's execution, we sit as a court-martial—all the time, sir, without intermission, without—fiddlesticks! It is provided in the articles, chapter four thousand five hundred and twenty-four, that we are to eat in court-martial, sir, and we play at Tarok in court-martial, sir, and we——"
"Cease your row!" snarled the justice.
"I will make a row! And I must make a row, and I'm entitled to make a row, and I'd like to see the man who'd prevent me from making arow! I'm as much of an assessor as any man in the county!"
The Baron had meanwhile studied his cards. He was prepared to come out strong, and he urged them to continue the game; but neither Mr. Skinner nor Kenihazy would listen to him, for Kalman did his utmost to excite them still more. Mr. Skinner fancied he saw a sneer on Völgyeshy's lips, which he could not ascribe to any thing but the doubts which it was evident that hated person entertained of his assertion, that he, Paul Skinner, would drink three glasses to Mr. Kenihazy's one, and remain sober into the bargain.
"Don't boast!" said Kalman. "I'll never believe you."
"You won't?"
"No, indeed! I'll back Kenihazy against anybody."
"You will, will you? I say two cows to my greyhound."
"Done! Your greyhound is mangy; but I don't care. I am sure to win."
"Done, I say! Hand us the glasses."
Kalman could scarcely repress a smile of triumph, while Mr. Catspaw moved heaven and earth to prevent the bet; but Kenihazy laughed, and emptiedhis glass, the valorous judge followed his lead with three glasses, and the game was continued, though rather more noisily than before.
While Kalman was thus occupied in settling the masters, Janosh imitated his example with signal success in the servants' hall; indeed so strenuous were his attacks upon the general sobriety, that scarcely one of the haiduks and peasants was left to whom an impartial observer would have awarded the laurels of abstinence.
A deep silence prevailed in the prisoner's room, at the door of which two of the least intoxicated among the haiduks were placed. Vandory had passed above an hour in the cell, attempting to administer the comforts of religion to the condemned criminal; and when he left, Susi came to take her last leave of her husband, for, according to Mr. Skinner's express orders, she was forbidden to remain later than nine o'clock.
Both Viola and Susi were fearfully anxious and disturbed in their minds. Viola had often thought of the death which awaited him. From the moment of his capture in the St. Vilmosh forest, he knew that his doom was fixed. He made no excuses to the judges, he gave them no fair words; not from pride, but because he knew that neither prayersnor promises could avail him. And what, after all, is death but the loss of life? And was his life of those which a man would grieve to lose? There were his wife and children—but was it not likely that they would be happier, or at least quieter,afterthe misfortune in whose anticipation they passed their days? Of what good couldhebe to his wife? Was he not the cause of her misery? of her homeless beggary? Of what use couldhebe to his children? Was not his name a stigma on their lives? Could he hope, could he pray for any thing for them, except that they might be as unlike their father as possible?
"When I am gone," thought he, "who knows but people may forget that I ever lived? My wife, too, will, perhaps, forget that accursed creature, whose life filled hers with shame and sorrow. My children will have other names; they will go to another place, and all will be well and good. I have but one duty, and that is to die."
His tranquillity of mind was disturbed by the plan of escape which Janosh communicated to him. The old soldier was, indeed, resolved to delay that communication till the last moment, lest Susi's excitement and joy should attract the attention and awaken the suspicions of the justice and his myrmidons. Butwhen he entered the room which had been assigned to Susi and her children; when he saw the pale woman nursing the youngest child in her arms, and utterly lost in the gloom of her despair; when Pishta, with his eyes red with weeping, came up to him, asking him to comfort his mother, and when the infant awoke, and smiled at him, the old hussar was not proof against so much love and so much sorrow; and when Susi, kissing the child, exclaimed, "The poor little thing knows not how soon it will be an orphan!" he wept, and cried out, "No, no, Susi! this here child is as little likely to become an orphan as you are likely to be a widow!" And it was only by her look of utter amazement that he became conscious of what he had said.
There were now no means of keeping the secret. Little Pishta was sent away, and Janosh told her in a whisper of all that they intended to do.
"You see," added he, "we've thought of everything. Don't fret, now; in a few hours, when the gentlemen and the keepers are asleep, (and they are settled, I tell you,) you'll see your husband at large, and on horseback, too. It's no use being sad, and it's no use despairing—that is to say—yes! I mean you ought to despair; you ought to be sad; come, wail and pray, and ask for mercy! else they'llsmell a rat. I am an old fool, and ought to know better than to tell you, for if you cannot impose upon them, it's all over with us."
Susi whispered some questions to Janosh, to which he answered in the same subdued tone of voice; adding,
"Give me your child, that I may look at it, and dance it on my knee. What a sweet child it is!" said he, his whole face radiant with smiles; "I never saw a prettier child: and it laughs, too, and at me! No, my fine fellow, we won't let your father come to harm. Ej, Susi, I wish to goodness I had a child like this!"
"My children will love you as their second father," said she, with a happy and grateful look.
"Yes, as theirsecondfather," said the old man, sighing; "but it must be a fine thing to be loved as a real father. I say, Susi, I've often thought why God hasn't givenmechildren. You'll say it's because I have no wife. That's true. But why haven't I got a wife? If they had not sent me to the wars, I'd be a grandfather by this time; and, believe me, I'd give my silver medal and my cross for such children as yours. I'd give them both for a single child! Well, God's will be done. Perhaps I have no children because if I had I'd not be so fondof other people's. Young children are all equally beautiful; there's no difference between them. They are fresh and lively, like river trout; but in course of time one half of them turn out to be frogs, and worse."
Janosh saw that Pishta came back with Vandory to call his mother to Viola. Imploring her not to betray the secret, he walked away, fearful lest Susi should want the strength to dissemble her thoughts. His anxiety on this head was perfectly gratuitous. The good news, which Susi communicated to her husband, filled them both with unspeakable dismay. Whoever could have seen Viola would have thought that his stout heart was at last overcome with the fear of death. Need we marvel at this? Was not life powerful within him, trembling in every nerve, throbbing in every vein? Was not his wife by his side? Could he forget his children, whom his death might drive to ruin and, possibly, to crime? Viola had long wished to change his mode of life. He was now at liberty to do so. The brother of the Gulyash was dead. The poor man died at the moment when he was preparing to take his wife and three children to another county, where a place as Gulyash was promised to him. The papers and passports which were necessary for this purpose werein the hands of old Ishtvan, who had promised to take Viola to the place. There, above a hundred miles from the scene of his misfortunes, in a lonely tanya, where nobody knew him or cared to know him, could he not hope to live happily, peacefully, and contentedly? But did not that happiness hang on a slender thread, indeed? Were there not a hundred chances between him and its attainment? A whim of the justice's, a different position of the sentinels, the noise of a falling plank, could snatch the cup of life and liberty from his lips, and cast him back into the valley of the shadow of death.
He was in this state of mind when Mr. Skinner made his appearance in the cell. He was accompanied by Mr. Catspaw and the steward, for hisumbra, Kenihazy, was in a state which rendered him unfit to be company to any one, even to Mr. Skinner. The change in Viola's manner was too striking to escape the attention of either the attorney or the steward. The justice perambulated the cell with a show of great dignity, and a futile attempt to examine into the condition of the walls. He poked his stick into the straw which served Viola for a lair; when the steward walked up to him, and whispered that the robber had lost all his former boldness.
"Indeed!" cried Mr. Skinner, with a shrill laugh."I say, Viola, where's your pluck? Where's your impertinence, man? Ain't you going to die game, eh, Viola?"
"Sir," said the robber, biting his lips, "the step which I am preparing to take is bitter, and, I will own it, I feel for my family. What is to become of them?"
"Your family? Oh! your wife! Never mind;I'llprotect her."
Viola looked daggers at the man; but he curbed his temper and was silent.
"And as for your children," continued the justice in a bantering tone, "they're very fine children, are they not?—eh? Well, they'll grow up, and come to be hanged—eh? But what's the use of this palaver? I say, Susi, be off! You've had plenty of time for your gossip; and I say, Viola, make your will and all that sort of thing."
The prisoner, deeply sensible of his precarious position, embraced his trembling wife: but Susi would not leave him; she clung to him in all the madness of sorrow.
"I say! you've had time enough to howl and lament!" cried the justice. "Make an end of it, and be off!" And suiting the action to the word, he seized Susi by her dress, and led her to the door.Mr. Catspaw and the steward followed her; but the justice stayed behind, gloating over the sufferings of the prisoner. At length he laughed, and said,—"I say, Viola, who's the man that's in at the death? Who'll swing? I said I'd do it, and you see I'm as good as my word!" And turning on his heels, he left the room, and locked the door.
Two of the soberest men were placed in the hall to watch that door; but even they, thanks to the endeavours of Janosh, were not sober enough for Mr. Catspaw, who was just in the act of lamenting that, in consequence of their host's excessive liberality, there was not a man in the house but was drunk, when he was interrupted by Mr. Skinner.
"Who is drunk? What is drunk?" said the worthy justice, turning fiercely upon the attorney. "I say, sir, nobody's drunk here—no one was drunk here—no one will be drunk—and indeed no one can be drunk! That's whatIsay, sir! Who dares to contradict me?"
"Don't be a fool!" whispered the attorney; "who the devil said any thing ofyou? But look at these fellows! they're roaring drunk."
"D—n you, he's right!—Confound you, youareroaring drunk! Blast me, I'll have you hanged! If that robber escapes, one of you shall swing in hisplace! I say, fellows, look sharp! It's truly disgusting," continued the sapient justice, "that menwillget drunk—drown their reason in wine, for all the world like so many beasts."
The sentinels vowed, as usual, that they had not had a drop ever so long, and that the prisoner should not escape though he were the very devil; but Mr. Catspaw, alike distrustful of their vigilance and sobriety, insisted on seeing the door double-locked, and on taking away the key. Mr. Skinner protested against this encroachment on the duties of his office. He knew that the attorney suspected him of being less sober than he might have been, and this suspicion rendered him the more obstinate. He pocketed the key and sought his bed-room, denouncing drink and drunkards in the true temperance meeting style.
The inmates of Kishlak manor-house followed his example. The judges, the sentinels at the gate and round the house, the steward, and all retired to rest; and although Susi watched, though Kalman paced his own room with all the impatience of his age, and though old Kishlaki himself, for the first time since many years, courted sleep in vain, yet the house and its environs were hushed and silent. Stillness reigned in the prisoner's cell; the sentinels at the door stood gaping, and waiting for the hour oftheir relief. The night was cold, and though they did their best to keep the cold out, or at least out of their stomachs, they shivered and complained of the chilly night air. Janosh, who seemed to like the cold and darkness, had meanwhile met Peti, who held Viola's horse at the further end of the garden. The gipsy brought a crowbar and all other tools which they wanted for their purpose; he told the hussar that the Gulyash Ishtvan had promised to bring his cart and horses to the threshing-floor, in order to take away Susi and her children. The old soldier was greatly pleased with this good news. He tied the horse to the garden gate, and told the gipsy to conceal himself somewhere near the loft. This done, he went to look after the sentinels, whom, to his great disgust, he found still awake.
"Is it not ten o'clock?" asked one of them, when Janosh came up.
"Of course it is!" said his comrade. "I'd rather do any robot service than this cold kind of work. It's too much for a soldier, and it's far too much for me. My comrade here was in the wars; he tells me they never force soldiers to play the sentinel so long as we must."
"Who can help it?" said the other man. "It's by order, you know."
"Oh, indeed! It's easy enough, I dare say, to give an order; go and come! stand still! be starved with hunger and cold!—nothing's more easy than play the devil with a poor fellow, while they are stretching their limbs in their warm beds. At least they ought to give us something to eat, or some brandy; I'm sure I was never so cold in all my born days!"
"Don't get sulky!" said Janosh. "I'll tell you what I'll do for you. Master Kalman has given me a bottle of brandy to drink his health. Suppose I go for it. It's nearly full."
He went away and told Kalman how matters stood. When he returned, he brought them a bottle of Sliwowiza and a loaf of bread.
"You see," said he, "that's the way things go on when there's no proper officer. If the judge or any of the other gentlemen had been in the army, they would have made some provision for you, and got some one to relieve you, but as it is——"
"Why, I do hope and trust they will relieve us!" cried one of the men.
"Blessed are those that put their trust in the Lord," retorted Janosh, laughing; "I'd be happy to know who is to relieve you? Why, man, they're all asleep!"
"Give me the bottle! I'm as cold as ice!" said the other man, shaking his head, while his comrade stood drowsily leaning on his musket.
Janosh handed him the bottle, and assured the two men that there was no chance of their being relieved from their duty, and that nothing was more likely than their falling asleep about daybreak, the very time when the justice would go his rounds,—in which case he (Janosh) had no ambition to be in their skins. The bottle went from hand to hand, to keep them awake, as Janosh said, until the poor fellows swore that they would not stand it any longer, and that, come what may, they must sleep.
"Very well!" said Janosh; "I've been in the wars, you know! I'm used to the service. You see I'm not at all sleepy. You may go to the shed and lie on the straw, and when I'm tired I'll wake you. A little sleep will do you good; and by the time the justice turns out you'll be all right."