"Who do you think is the thief?" said she.

Akosh, who had never once taken his eyes from her, said that everybody

suspected Viola of the robbery. Lady Rety rose at once, saying she was

called away by business of very great importance.

Kalman, who had listened to the last part of the conversation, looked

greatly amazed. Akosh sat up and pondered for a few moments. At length

he said:--

"Did you not tell me that Tengelyi suspects my mother of having hired

the thief?"

"He said as much."

"And do you think that it was Viola who committed the robbery?"

"It was either Viola or the Jew. But no papers have been found upon the

latter."

"Heaven knows I cannot bring myself to believe it," said Akosh, shaking

his head. "But if Viola has the papers, I am sure he will return them."

"So he will, unless he has used them for wadding."

"Was it not you that told me of Viola's being seen with a certain

Gulyash? Go to him at once, and promise any thing you like, to get the

papers. This cursed wound of mine prevents my going to him, and yet it

must be done. Make haste!"

Kalman had already seized his hat. "What a big fool I was, not to think

of it!" cried he. "The Gulyash is sure to get us the papers."

Akosh remained in a gloomy and nervous state, which was at length

interrupted by the appearance of Janosh, who told him that Lady Rety was

closeted with Mr. Catspaw. Shortly afterwards the tramp of Kalman's

horse was heard, as he left the Castle in a gallop, doing which he

passed a carriage which the attorney was just about to enter.

NOTES TO VOL. I.

NOTE I.

COURTS-MARTIAL.

The _Statarium_ of the old Hungarian law is not exactly what is known in

other European countries under the name of court-martial, though it has

some affinity with that institution. Whenever housebreaking, highway

robberies, and arson were rife in any of the Hungarian counties, the

Palatine was empowered to give them the right of statarium for any term

of months not exceeding one year, for the more efficient prevention of

crime, and for the apprehension and punishment of the malefactors.

The Statarium, as an exceptional court, was composed of seven judges,

who were appointed for the year, and empowered to take cognizance of and

give judgment in any cases of robbery and arson that were committed in

the county, provided always that the culprit was taken "_in flagranti

delicto_," or "_in continuâ persecutione_," either in the act or

immediately after, he being incessantly pursued all the while. In these

cases the court gave summary judgment without appeal, and the only

verdict they were empowered to pronounce was a capital sentence. The

culprit, if convicted, was hanged on the spot.

To make out a conviction, it was necessary that all the judges should

agree. A single dissentient voice was enough to overthrow the verdict

and to bring the culprit within the jurisdiction of the ordinary courts.

The minutes of the proceedings of the courts-martial, and the

depositions of the witnesses, were sent to the Palatine, and examined by

a commissioner; and the judges of the Statarium were responsible for

each case.

It was moreover an old popular prejudice, that a prisoner ought not to

be "roofed," that is to say, that he ought not to be confined in a gaol

or house, if he was to be judged by a Statarium. In compliance with this

prejudice, which, however, had no foundation in the laws of Hungary, the

culprits were usually chained to a post in the open air.

NOTE II.

JAROMIR AND ANGYALBANDI.

The name of Jaromir, the Bohemian brigand, is probably known to the

readers of German romances of the last thirty years. The story of his

noble descent, guilty love, and wretched end, no matter whether a mere

fiction or founded on facts, has been handed down through successive

generations. The adventures of Jaromir obtained their _acmé_ of

popularity by Grillparzer's drama, "Die Ahnfrau," and by the lines,--

"Ja, ich bin's den du genannt!

Bin's den jene Häscher suchen,

Bin's dem alle Lippen fluchen!

Der in des Bauers Nachtgebet,

Hart, nahe an dem Teufel steht.

* * * * *

Ich bin der Räuber, Jaromir!"

Angyalbandi is a much more real personage than Jaromir. The facts of his

case are of less dramatic interest, though certainly of greater truth,

than the adventures of the Bohemian robber and his bride.

The name of Angyalbandi, for many years the terror of all the landed

proprietors in Upper Hungary, was a _nomme de guerre_, which covered the

aristocratic and truly respectable name of the Onodys. A member of that

family, the Baron Onody, was so strongly gifted with those roving and

robbing propensities which distinguished his Scythian ancestors, that he

would leave his country seat near Mishkolz for days and weeks together,

for the purpose of cattle-stealing. His talents in that line, his

strength, activity, and boldness, filled the whole country with fear;

and no nobleman or peasant thought his flocks safe from Angyalbandi's

depredations, for the robber foiled all watchfulness and outran all

pursuit. It so happened, in one of his expeditions, that he fell in with

some fine horses near Debrezin; but his attempt to carry them off was

discovered, the tocsin was sounded, and the chase commenced. Angyalbandi

fled, and with the same horse he swam through the Theiss and the

Danube--a feat which his pursuers did not care to imitate. After a long

and successful career, Baron Onody was at length suspected, and his

identity with Angyalbandi was established on the occasion of some

business which he transacted at Kashau. His privilege of nobility saved

him from incarceration, for as he had not been discovered "_in

flagranti_," he was admitted to bail. While his process was under the

consideration of the High Court, Mr. Atzel, the judge advocate, had an

accident on the road near Mishkolz. His carriage was overturned, and the

axletree broken.

Mr. Atzel and his servants called for help, and, seeing a gentleman

approaching in the distance, they walked up to him, and asked him to

assist them in finding a wheelwright. He informed them that no

wheelwright was to be found in that part of the country; "but," added

he, "never mind; I will give my orders, and see your carriage taken to

Mishkolz, where they will put it to rights. Come to my house, and stay

with me."

"Indeed," said Mr. Atzel, "I'm very much obliged to you. I would not

pass a night in one of your wretched village inns on any consideration;

but to stay at a gentleman's seat is a different thing altogether. Are

your servants well armed?"

"We have got some rifles, though there is little chance of using them. I

am afraid you are a nervous subject, sir. Perhaps you are not accustomed

to this part of the country?"

"Indeed I am not! I know it only from its bad reputation. And, of all

men, _I_ am in the greatest danger in this county, for I understand it

is somewhere hereabout that Baron Onody lives. His case is in my hands,

and I hope to get a verdict against him, and see him hanged."

"Indeed? Do you know Baron Onody?"

"By no means," replied Mr. Atzel; "nor do I wish for his acquaintance."

"'Tis a pity, for you might make it with the greatest ease. He lives

close by. Do you see that house on the hill? It's one of his farms."

"For God's sake, sir!" cried the lawyer, "let us make haste to your

house and to your rifles. If Onody knew I was so near him, he would

spare me as little as I intend to spare him!"

Thus urged, the stranger led Mr. Atzel to his house; supper was served,

and the two men talked of Onody, his robberies, and the politics of the

county, till a late hour, when the stranger rose, and, addressing his

guest, "Mr. Atzel," said he, "from all you have told me, I see that you

have a worse opinion of that poor fellow Onody than I have. He----"

"He's a vagabond, sir! a disgrace to his station----"

"Pray don't be personal, sir! _I_ am the Baron Onody!"

Nothing can equal the dismay of the poor judge advocate. His host

continued:

"I am not half so bad as you believe me to be. You've told me I can

expect no mercy at your hands. You've sworn to my face that you will not

rest until you see me hanged. Now I would not hurt you, though I could.

You've had your supper. You will have a good bed to sleep in, and a

breakfast in the morning. I will send you to Mishkolz with my own

horses. That's what _I_, Onody or Angyalbandi the robber, do to you.

Now consider what are your intentions towards me, and tell me which is

the worse man?"

Mr. Atzel was silent. We need not say that he passed a sleepless night,

and that he congratulated himself on his good fortune when he was safe

in Kashau. But so great was the impression which Onody's generosity had

made upon him, that he exerted himself to the utmost to influence the

Court in the culprit's favour; and the result was, that Baron Onody,

instead of receiving a capital sentence, was condemned to twelve months'

confinement in the county gaol of Kashau. His term of imprisonment over,

he returned to his seat near Mishkolz, where he lived quietly and

honestly, without ever stirring from his own estates; "lest," as he used

to say, "the sight of some fine oxen or horses might again tempt him to

a robber's life."

NOTE III.

ACTIO.

The Hungarian law has certain provisions for the purpose of limiting and

regulating the liberty of speech of political and judicial assemblies. A

speaker who oversteps the limits of decency, or who indulges in personal

abuse, is punished by the infliction of a fine of twenty-five florins.

If he is not able to pay the amount of the fine on the spot, he is at

liberty to leave his ring or his sword as a pledge, and to redeem them

by the payment of eighty florins. The person who decides on a breach of

order is the Recorder of the county; but when a speaker is very

offensive, the person or persons aggrieved signify their wish for the

Recorder's interference by loud cries of "Actio! Actio!"

NOTE IV.

NAGYIDAI NOTA.

The song of Nagyida. Nagyida is a small fortress in Hungary which,

during the insurrection of Rakotzi, was garrisoned by a troop of

gipsies, who defended it against an Austrian corps, and whose patriotic

devotion was proof against the bribes and the attacks of the Austrian

besieging army. Reduced at length to great distress, and without

victuals and ammunition, the gipsies made so violent and bold a _sortie_

from their fortress, that they broke through and routed the ranks of the

Imperialists.

The Austrians fled in great confusion; and it was in the heat of the

pursuit that a gipsy called after an Austrian officer, whose quickness

of foot he was unable to compete with, "Run, you rascal! You are safe

enough; but trust me, we would not let you off so easily, if we had

half-a-pound of gunpowder left!"

Upon this, the Austrians rallied. They returned, stormed the fortress of

Nagyida, and put the garrison to the sword. The song of the Nagyida,

like the romance of the fall of Alhama, relates the history of that

defeat, and bewails the sufferings of the gipsies. They keep the melody

to themselves, and nothing can induce them to play or sing it to any

one who is not of their tribe.

NOTE V.

KANAZ.

A Kanaz is a swineherd. In the summer and autumn, the swine are turned

out into the forest to fatten on acorns. Their keepers, who live almost

always in the woods, and apart from the rest of the rural population,

have repeatedly, and perhaps not unjustly, been accused of aiding and

abetting the various bands of robbers, which, in consequence of Austrian

misgovernment, have from time to time infested the counties of Upper

Hungary.

NOTE VI.

GULYASHUS; PÖRKÖLT; TARHONYA.

A great deal might be said on the subject of Hungarian cookery; but we

confine ourselves to three dishes, which stand in that country in lieu

of the beef, puddings, and dumplings of Old England.

Gulyashus is made of beef, mutton, and bacon, cut in squares, and stewed

with Hungarian pepper (Paprica), spices, and onions. It is very much

like an Irish stew, without the potatoes.

Pörkölt is beef cut in slices, and roasted with paprica, and without any

gravy.

Tarhonya has some resemblance with the Kuskusu of the Arabs. It is a

kind of cake or pudding of stale and dried dough, which they fry with

bacon or boil in milk.

NOTE VII.

PROTEST.

A forcible entry into a house, or the seizure of goods and chattels on

the premises of a nobleman, could be prevented by the owner of the

house, or his representative, protesting against the proceedings. His

protest was justified only in the case of a violation of forms. If the

defendant was of opinion that such a violation had taken place, he

seized a stick or a sword, and holding it up, he exclaimed: "I protest."

Upon this the officers of justice were bound to stay the proceedings,

and to leave the premises; while the defendant was equally obliged,

within a reasonable time, to make his appearance in court, and to plead

in justification of his protest. If his plea was disallowed, he was

usually fined for vexatious opposition. If, on the contrary, the court

admitted the validity of the plea, the cause was argued _ab initio_; and

in this second suit, no opposition to stay proceedings was admissible.

* * * * *

We will take this opportunity to say a few words about the terms

"nobleman" and "peasant," which frequently occur in "The Village

Notary," and indeed in most Hungarian works. The term nobleman, in the

general Hungarian acceptation, means neither more nor less than a

freeman; and the peasant, as the unprivileged class of the population,

may be said to be in a state of villanage. The privileges of the

Hungarian constitution, namely, liberty of speech, freedom from

unwarranted arrest, the privilege of not being subjected to corporal

punishment, the right to elect their own magistrates, and a variety of

similar immunities, are, in all the charters, described in terms which

for a long time caused them to be confined to the descendants of the

ancient conquerors of the country, or to those persons who obtained the

freedom of Hungary by a grant of royal letters patent.

The rest of the community, the Jews, Razen, gipsies, Russniaks, and

other tribes, are mentioned as "hospites," guests or strangers, who have

no political rights. Whether bound to the soil, like the peasants, or

migratory, like the Jews and gipsies, the "hospites" were alike

unprotected by law and at the mercy of all the whims, neglects, and

cruelties of a legislature, which bears traces at once of the fierceness

of their Turkish neighbours and the pedantic vindictiveness of the

Hapsburgs. It was to break the yoke which for many centuries weighed

down upon the unfortunate "_villains_" and "aliens" of Hungary, that the

Reform party exerted itself against the Hungarian Conservatives and the

Court of Vienna.

NOTE VIII.

TSHIKOSH AND GULYASH.

The former are persons who have the care of horses in the pasturage;

while the latter are the herdsmen of horned cattle. The Tshikosh and

Gulyash, like the Kanaz or swineherds, are a fierce and indomitable

race, inured to fatigue and the severity of the weather, active and

enduring. In the late attempted war of liberation, the Tshikosh were

formidable enemies to the Austrian cavalry, whom they pulled down with a

peculiar whip, consisting of a short handle with a long leather thong

and a leaden bullet at the end of it, and which they used very much as

the Texans and Mexicans do the lasso.

NOTE IX.

TURKEY.

The Hungarians still indulge in symbolic cookery. A welcome and honoured

guest is sure to be regaled with a turkey; while the serving up of a

sucking-pig, no matter how well roasted, is a hint to the stranger that

his presence is not agreeable to the family which he visits.

NOTE X.

GATYA.

The linen trowsers which the Hungarian peasants wear have the name of

Gatya. They are a distinguishing feature in the dress of the peasant

population.

NOTE XI.

SZEGENY LEGENY.

The verbal translation of szegeny legeny is "poor fellows"--that is to

say, _robbers_. The tender regard of the Hungarian peasantry for

robbers, and the almost endearing name which the people gave them, is in

itself a proof of misgovernment and the perversion of justice.

NOTE XII.

"I EAT HIS SOUL!" AND "I EAT HIS HEART!"

These are phrases of great tenderness, which the lower classes in

Hungary are in the habit of using, especially when speaking of their

children, or of those whom they treat as such. Of course the diet would

not agree with an English stomach.

NOTE XIII.

DERESH.

The "Deresh" is a bench on which culprits are whipped. A Hungarian

freeman is exempt from corporal punishment; but the persons who are in a

state of villanage are but too frequently exposed to the most brutal

treatment. Every traveller in the Austrian countries is struck with the

frequent use of the words "whipping" and "hanging," which seem to be

standard expressions of an Austrian discourse. These two great nostrums

for the cure of all the vices that society is heir to, have been

liberally introduced into all the Crownlands; and it was against the

spirit and the practice of such abuses that the Magyar party in Hungary

directed their opposition.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

THE VILLAGE NOTARY.

VOL. II.

THE VILLAGE NOTARY.

CHAPTER I.

"The Hungarian's joy is in tears," says the old proverb. And why not?

Since the features of the parent tribe are handed down from one

generation to another, there is nothing more natural than that we should

retain the _historical_ features of our ancestors, viz., the stamp of

gravity which the events of their time impressed upon their faces. The

Hungarians of old had good cause for weeping. Other nations have

recovered from the wounds of the past; and, however sad their popular

melodies may be (for they sprang from a time of sorrow and sadness), the

lamentations of the old text have given way to merry words. But the

lower classes in our country have very little to laugh at, even in

these days of universal prosperity. Their songs are sad, as they were in

the days when the crescent shone from the battlements of Buda. For there

are people who are ignorant of all history but that of their own

village, and who, consequently, have no idea that there has been any

change in our country ever since the expulsion of the Turks. The

peculiar gravity which characterises the Magyars is partly a historical

reminiscence and partly the result of that gloomy tract of our country

which is chiefly inhabited by the Magyar population. What traveller can

traverse our vast plains, and keep his temper? The virgin forest, which

at one time covered that plain, is gone; the powerful life of Nature is

fled; the impenetrable foliage which overshadowed this fertile soil has

fallen under the axe. The many-voiced carol of birds, and the merry

sports of the greenwood, where are they? The forest land has become a

heath, but we have little cause for rejoicing at our victory over

Nature. The inhabitants of other countries see many things to gladden

their hearts. Houses, trees, hedges, and corn-fields, reminding them of

the thrift of their ancestors, spur them on to increased activity, and

inspire them with a desire to fashion the land into a monument of their

existence. Our Pusztas have nothing of the kind. All is silent and

desolate, filling the mind with sad thoughts. Many generations passed

over them without leaving a trace of their existence; and the traveller,

as he pursues his solitary way across the heath, feels the mournful

conviction that he too steps onward to the grave, that the plain will

cover him as a boundless ocean.

It was past noon when Susi, accompanied by the Liptaka, quitted the

village. They halted near the outer Tsharda, from whence the Liptaka

returned to Tissaret, while Susi, with a small bundle of provisions

under her arm, proceeded on the road to Kishlak, where she expected to

find the Gulyash who was to give her news of Viola. The Tanya of the

Gulyash was full seven miles distant from Tissaret, and, as the poor

woman trudged on, she became painfully sensible of the effects of her

late illness. More than once was she compelled to rest by the road-side,

where the cold wind stiffened her limbs; and when she looked around on

the vast heath, she felt overpowered by her own loneliness and the

stillness around her. She remembered having heard some talk of wolves;

she thought of her children and of her husband, who at that moment was

perhaps struggling with fresh dangers; and she hurried on, not because

she had rested, but because she was restless. Her anxiety increased as

she felt that her weakness would not allow her to reach her journey's

end before nightfall. The train of her thoughts was at one time

interrupted by the quick trotting of a horse: her heart beat quick as

she looked back, expecting to see Viola riding after her. The horseman

was Kalman Kishlaki on his journey homewards. Thus disappointed, she

crept on to the stone cross, which stands on the borders of the Kishlaki

property. She sat down on the steps, and thought of the weary hearts

that had shaken off their load of sorrow in looking up to the image of

Him who came to this world to share our sorrows; and her heavy heart

became lighter as she remembered that Christ died, not for the rich and

the powerful, but for the poor, abandoned, and persecuted.

She was about to rise and pursue her journey, when somebody called her

by her name. She turned round and shuddered, for the person who called

her was Tzifra. She had never been able to look at Tzifra without a

shudder. She knew the man. She knew that he was the cause of any cruelty

which Viola's comrades had ever committed; and, however much she loved

her husband, she felt uncomfortable, and disgusted, whenever she saw him

in Tzifra's company. Viola had of late suspected Tzifra, and Susi

remembered that her husband had often called him his Judas. These

circumstances will serve to explain the fear with which the poor woman

beheld the robber, who, leaning on his staff, looked down at her with a

strange smile, which gave a still more repulsive expression to his

features. "Where are you bound to?" said he.

"I'm going to see the Gulyash at Kishlak."

"Running after your husband, I dare say? Possibly the Gulyash knows

where he is. What news is there in your village?"

"You ought to know it," replied Susi. "They tell me you were there with

my husband?"

"Do you mean to say with Viola? Why, was _he_ in the village?"

"Are you indeed ignorant of that robbery--you know, at the notary's?"

"Ah! I understand they've sacked his house. Well, didn't I say as much?

When they told me that Viola came to the house, I knew the affair would

end in a robbery. There isn't the like of Viola in three counties;

there's no joking with him!"

"Don't talk in this way! I'll never believe that Viola had a hand in

it."

"All I know is, that I don't know any thing about it--but who can have

done it?"

"They say you did it."

"They say? Who says so? Is it Peti, the gipsy?"

"I have not seen Peti since he went to Dustbury; but the smith who

pursued you told me so."

"Whoever says so is mad, and the smith more than any. He'd not live to

boast of his boldness if he'd dared to run after me. I'd like to know

what he pretends to have known me by? not my bunda, I hope. Curse me if

it's dirtier than any body else's! Good bye; it's time for me to be

off!" And the robber turned into the road which led to Garatsh. As Susi

looked after him, a carriage passed her with Mr. Catspaw, who was on his

way to the same place. He overtook Tzifra; the carriage stopped, and

after a short conversation, the robber jumped on the back seat, and the

carriage drove off.

Susi was greatly astonished. She walked as fast as she could; but still

darkness began to set in when she reached the Tanya, where she found the

Gulyash and Peti.

"Have you seen any thing of Tzifra?" asked the gipsy.

"Yes, I have."

"Where was he?"

Susi told them of her meeting with the robber. Peti listened with deep

anxiety, and his features expressed the greatest despair when she told

him that Mr. Catspaw had taken the robber with him to Garatsh.

"He's dished!" cried he at length. "He's done for! If I don't come in

time, they'll nab him!"

"For God's sake, what is the matter?" said Susi, trembling.

"I can't, I must be off! Ishtvan will tell you all about it. I'll take

the shortest road to the St. Vilmosh forest; get your horses, and come

after me as fast as you can. You know the place. Perhaps we can manage

to reach it before the justice's men. The Theiss has not run over this

season; so, for God's sake, Ishtvan, don't spare your horses!" And the

gipsy started off at the top of his speed.

Susi was at a loss to understand the behaviour of the two men: but

seeing clearly that some danger threatened her husband, she asked with a

trembling voice what had happened.

"Nothing for the present. Be of good cheer, Susi," said the Gulyash; "if

any thing should befall Viola, confound it, I'll hang myself; but I'll

kill that rascal Tzifra first!"

"But what is it? Oh do, for God's sake! for mercy's sake! tell me!"

sighed Susi, as they entered the cottage. She sat down by the fire, and

the Gulyash informed her, with many imprecations at his want of

foresight, that Viola was in an awkward scrape, if not worse.

Immediately after the robbery, the details of which came now first to

the ears of Susi, her husband had come to the Tanya and instructed

Ishtvan, who was in daily communication with the gang, to direct Peti,

or any other of his comrades who might seek him, to their usual haunt in

the forest of St. Vilmosh, where he intended to conceal himself until

the affair was blown over, and until he could manage to restore the

papers to Tengelyi. He had also asked the Gulyash to send him provisions

for the next few days. The Gulyash knew nothing of Tzifra's treachery,

for Viola had forgotten to inform him of it. Peti, too, had not seen the

man ever since he had listened to Tzifra's conversation with the Jew;

and it was therefore but natural that when Tzifra called that afternoon

and asked for Viola, the Gulyash should have given him a culatsh of wine

and some meat, and that he should have told him where Viola was to be

found.

Peti arrived an hour later, and from him he learnt that the secret had

been entrusted to a traitor. After what Susi had seen, there could be

no doubt as to Tzifra's intentions, and the poor woman was in despair

when she thought of her husband's danger. It was now about two hours

since she met Tzifra. Garatsh was full three miles nearer to the St.

Vilmosh forest, and there were hussars, horses, and policemen in the

justice's house. She had no means of reaching Viola's haunt. There was

no hope for him.

"I wish to God my cart would come! It ought to be here by this time, for

'tis two hours since I sent it to the village. I'll spoil that fellow's

tricks if I get my horses in time. Don't grieve, Susi, my soul! these

judges are not half so quick as you fancy, especially after the

election. Besides, who knows whether he's at home? Peti told me that the

lord-lieutenant had sent him to inquire into this business. D--n the

lord-lieutenant! and d--n me too! Why didn't the devil crush me with his

thirty-three thousand thunderbolts when I opened my lips to the traitor!

Now don't be frightened, Susi, my soul! we are sure to be in time. My

horses are the best in the county; but who the devil would have thought

that Tzifra is such a scurvy beggar? He's been a robber these thirty

years and more, and for all that he'll blow upon a pal, d--n me! The

fellow had scarcely gone, when young Mr. Kalman came and told me of the

notary having lost his papers, asking me to get them, and to tell him

where Viola was to be found. He entreated me for mercy's sake, and then

he cursed me; but I would not tell him; and the other fellow, the dog,

got it all out of me!"

At this moment they heard the rattling of the cart. Taking his axe and

bunda, he shouted with joy.

"Holloa! here are my horses!"

The cart, drawn by two stout yellow horses, stopped at the door.

"Come, Susi, take the back seat, and wrap yourself up," said he, helping

her to mount. "And you may go to the devil!" he added, addressing the

driver, as he took the reins; "I'll teach you to stop at the pot-house,

you young cur!"

The horses started off across the plain. The sound of the wheels was

lost in the distance, and the dogs that had followed it, barking and

yelping, had come back from what they considered a fruitless chase. But

Bandi, the driver, stood blocklike in the same place, still staring in

the direction in which the cart had disappeared. He scratched his head,

which Ishtvan had touched with rather a rough hand. At length he

exclaimed, "I hope Ishtvan won't steal Viola's wife!"

CHAP. II.

Traveller in search of justice! doff your shoes when you come to the

village of Garatsh, not only because Mr. Paul Skinner, the justice,

hallows the spot by his presence, nor solely in obedience to the old saw

which bids you do at Rome as the Romans do; but more especially for the

purpose of donning stout water-boots in their stead, for without them

you will find considerable difficulty in your progress through the

place.

The villages of the county of Takshony were miserable, but Garatsh was

the most wretched of them all. Its ragged roofs and crumbling walls were

in keeping with the pale and emaciated faces of its inhabitants, each of

whom seemed to be devoted to suffering from the day of his birth to that

dark day on which they bore him to the churchyard at the end of the

village, there to take his first and last rest in this world, under the

high cross which marks the burial places of the Russniak population. The

very church was out of repair; for its half-rotten roof gave no

protection to the walls, which were stayed by poles to prevent their

falling. The vicarage looked equally poor and neglected, surrounded as

it was by a pond overgrown with reeds and water plants: in short, the

place was altogether desolate and wretched.

I am free to confess that this is the gloomiest side of the picture, for

there were other houses in Garatsh besides the miserable hovels of the

peasantry. The distinguished families of the Garatsh, Bamèr, Andorfy,

Skinner, and Heaven knows how many more! had successively possessed the

village and built noble curias, which vied in splendour with one

another. The most magnificent of them was doubtless the house which

belonged to our friend Mr. Skinner. It was a noble edifice, with its

bright green walls and sky-blue columns. Only one third part of the roof

was covered with shingles; but as Mr. Skinner had carried the election

and secured his place for the next three years, it was but reasonable to

expect that the straw on the other part of the house would soon give way

to a splendid shingle roof. But, straw or shingles--no matter! the dense

column of smoke which issues from the chimney of the house gives it an

air of substantial comfort.

It was an hour since Mr. Skinner returned from Dustbury. He left the

place almost at the same time when Tengelyi left it. The election was

all but over. When the Cortes understood that there were unqualified

persons among Bantornyi's voters, they opposed him to a man, and at noon

Mr. Rety was elected to the shrievalty. Mr. Kriver was the second

sheriff, for Mr. Edeshy, who held that post, retired from the contest;

and as the conquered party declined to take the field, the remainder of

the elections was despatched in less than two hours. The Rety party had

it all their own way. But the lord-lieutenant, hearing the news of the

Tissaret robbery, ordered the justice and his clerk to proceed to the

spot, and to take measures for the capture of the criminal.

His Excellency the lord-lieutenant of the county of Takshony, flattered

himself with a vain belief that the justice and his clerk, accompanied

by Pandurs and policemen, had by this time reached Tissaret. The great

man would have found out his mistake if he had entered Mr. Skinner's

room; for there he might have seen that pillar of justice seated in

front of a large oak table, at the other end of which Mr. Kenihazy was

busily engaged in investigating, not the Tissaret robbery, but the

interior of an enormous pork pie. The two gentlemen had thought proper

to yield implicit obedience to his Excellency's orders. They left

Dustbury without stopping for dinner, but finding it utterly impossible

to proceed to Tissaret with an empty stomach, they turned off the road

and made for Garatsh. Besides, they had no men. The Pandurs were at

Garatsh; the inspector was most probably at St. Vilmosh; and Mr.

Kenihazy remarked, with equal justice and truth, that it could not in

fairness be expected of them that they should capture the thief with

their own hands. Night was approaching, and any reasonable man,

especially if he be the "_bête noire_" of a whole gang, as was Mr.

Skinner's case, will, at such a time, rather avoid a robber than seek

him; and, besides all this, considering that what's done cannot be

undone, there was no harm in allowing the thief to be at large for a few

hours longer--nay, more, there was a chance of the said disreputable

person making away with the stolen property, which was exactly what Mr.

Skinner wanted, for he had no mind to soil his pure hands by touching

ill-gotten gains. In short, honest Mr. Skinner had a thousand reasons

for not going to Tissaret on that day; and if the lord-lieutenant could

have seen him as he sat in his easy-chair, pipe in mouth, with half a

dozen empty bottles on the table before him, it would have done the

great man's heart good to see Justice thus thriving in the person of

her most distinguished servant.

The house was "replete" with every Hungarian comfort. It was enough to

make a Magyar's heart leap with joy, for the first condition of comfort

is unquestionably the not being hampered in your movements. Mr.

Skinner's room realised this condition to an all but unreasonable

extent. No bed on earth could be narrower than the one which occupied

one corner of the apartment, and the chest of drawers, which was equally

small, was an asylum for any odd things that wanted a place. It was

heaped with clothes, baskets, hats, and sticks; while a very small

table, and a still smaller chair and sofa, presented no obstacles to the

movements of the inmates. The oak table in the middle of the room was

indeed an exception. It was very large; but then it served for a variety

of purposes. A man might do as he liked in such a room. There was

nothing to impede the free use of one's limbs. And the walls were most

comfortably browned by the smoke, and covered with the pictures of

Magyar heroes, in bright-coloured attilas. Fine men they were, with

fabulous moustaches, with their legs, which were bent in with an excess

of strength, stuck into yellow Tshismen, with calpacs on their heads,

and the Buzogany[18], or a standard, in their hands: fine men, indeed,

and most cheerful companions in a winter night. And the flooring of the

room, which was covered with clay, and the very cobwebs which hung from

the ceiling, seemed to say, "Don't stand upon ceremony! Make yourself at

home! Do as you please! We are none the worse for any thing you may do!"

[Footnote 18: See Note I.]

Mr. Skinner was fully alive to the comforts of his home. He leant back

in his chair, and his soul was lost in happy dreams, such dreams as

belong only to people who have been re-elected. "We're in!" said he at

times, with a gentle sneer. "We're in!" he repeated, striking the table

with his fist. "They'd better mind what they are about!" And he ground

his teeth. He was brimful of happiness; his joy was so great he would

fain have thrashed every man, woman, and child in the county to vent it.

At other moments he was sad; for such is the nature of man, "that

pendulum between a smile and tear:" his house spoke to him of bygone

days. This was the table on which, forty-five years ago, immediately

after his birth, he had been washed for the first--and, as many people

in the county said, for the last--time in his life. His saddest and his

brightest moments had been passed at that table, for it was here he had

learned to read, and it was here he had been initiated into the

mysteries of card-playing. His dearly beloved wife, too, sat by that

table when he brought her to his house, and when he got so drunk with

joy that he could never recollect how and when he got into bed that

night. That table was the scene of many drinking bouts and heavy

sentences, of which it still bore the marks in wine and ink. And he

thought of the seventy florins and forty-five kreutzers which he had

spent on the election, and of his sweet father, who was a justice before

him; nor did he forget to think of his dolman, which had been torn by

the Cortes, and of his wife having, two years ago, lost two of her front

teeth, but, amidst all these conflicting thoughts, his lips smiled. "We

are in," said he; "so begone dull care! There are lots of Jews in this

district," thought he; "and if my sweet father were not dead, he'd be

justice in my place; and, after all, I got that dolman without paying

for it, and I'll have another on the same terms; and though my wife has

lost two teeth, they are after all but front teeth, and there's not a

woman in Hungary can cook such a mess of Tokany[19] as she does; and,

taking one thing with another, I am the luckiest dog in three

counties." Kenihazy, too, was most happy, especially if it be true that

he is most blessed who is least conscious of his own existence. Mr.

Kenihazy sat with his elbows on the table, singing his favourite song

of--

[Footnote 19: See Note II.]

"The man that does not love Skinner, sirs,

Haj! Haj! Haj!

Devil take him for a sinner, sirs,

Haj! Haj! Haj!"

It is to be presumed that Kenihazy was equally in love with the melody

and text of this sublime rhapsody; for he had sung it unceasingly for

the last half-hour.

"I say, Bandi!" cried the justice, at length.

But Bandi went on with his song, screaming rather louder than before.

"Bandi, I say! don't roar in that way!"

Mr. Kenihazy stared; but his voice grew still more loud.

"He's drunk!" said Mr. Skinner, rising with some difficulty, and walking

up to and shaking his clerk, who at length raised his head with a

"Holloa! what's the matter?"

"We're in!" said the judge; for no other thought found a place in his

head. Upon this, Mr. Kenihazy burst into a laugh so long, so loud, and

so uproarious, that it outdid the very chiefs whose portraits

ornamented the walls. They never laughed so loud, even after their

famous bargain with Swatopluk, who sold them the country of Hungary for

a white steed.[20]

[Footnote 20: See Note III.]

"What are you laughing at?" said Mr. Skinner, with an awful display of

judicial gravity.

"At them!" responded Mr. Kenihazy, still chuckling. "They wanted to do

us, and we've done them. Done them brown, eh? We are in!"

"Bravo! we _are_ in!" cried the justice. "The world is to the wise!"

"And to the cunning!" said Kenihazy, tossing off his glass.

"Ay--but--yes, we are in! Look to yourselves, you rascals! You wanted to

have another judge, eh? Very well; oh, _very_ well: we'll see who has

the best of it."

"And who was it they wanted to put in my place?" shouted his friend, in

a generous burst of indignation; "was it not Vincenz Görögy? a mere boy,

who has just left the university?" This was the more criminal in Mr.

Kenihazy's eyes, as _he_ had never been at any university.

"As for that fellow, Tengelyi, let him take care!" snarled Mr. Skinner.

"I've long had a mind----"

"Capital thing, isn't it, that he isn't a nobleman now? He's now easier

_come-at-able_."

"So he is," murmured the justice; "but they've sent us to get his papers

for him."

"Yes; and when did they send us?--Late at night, in bad weather, when

honest men are wont to stay at home. Think of those devils of robbers

that let fly at you from their hiding-places! Did ever a Christian hear

of such a thing?"

Mr. Skinner replied, with an expression of profound wisdom: "You see,

Bandi, these gentlemen are ignoramuses on county business: and, to tell

you a secret, his Excellency, our lord-lieutenant, is not better than

any of the rest. But no matter; he gives his orders, and I do as I

please; for every office has its peculiar sphere of action, you know,

Bandi."

"So it has; but no Christian ought to go out in such a night," said

Kenihazy, who would have uttered some severe strictures on the

unbecoming behaviour of the lord-lieutenant, but for the rattling of a

carriage over the stone pavement of the yard, which attracted their

attention.

"Who the deuce is this?" said the justice. "I thought nobody knew of my

being here!"

"Petitioners!" cried Kenihazy. "Petitioners!" said he, filling his

glass: "they'll come by dozens; for, you see, we are in!"

Mr. Catspaw, who entered the room wrapped up in his bunda, put a stop to

their conjectures.

"It is you, my friend!" cried Mr. Skinner, making up to and hugging the

little attorney: "I'm happy you've come. We'll have a game at cards."

"_Servus humillimus!_" cried Kenihazy, who felt that to get up was, for

him, a thing of greater difficulty than necessity.

"No gambling to-night!" said Mr. Catspaw, as he struggled in Skinner's

embrace. "We must be off."

"Off! and where are _you_ bound to?"

"Yes, yes! where are _you_ bound to?" hiccoughed Kenihazy. "I won't stir

a single step. We'll have a game, won't we, Paul?"

"D--n us, so we will!" cried the justice, striving to seize the

attorney. "If you don't stay, as you ought to do, we'll have the wheels

of your carriage taken off,--won't we, Bandi?"

"Yes; let us have the wheels, and let him walk home if he likes."

Mr. Catspaw shrugged his shoulders. "I wish you'd waited before getting

drunk, in honour of the day!" said he.

"You rascal of an attorney! Do you mean to say I'm drunk? Do you mean to

insinuate that I am not master of myself? Who is first sheriff? Rety.

Who is second? Kriver and----"

"I am aware of it; but for God's sake be reasonable!"

"And who is clerk?" roared Bandi.

"Kenihazy Andrash[21], Eljen!"

[Footnote 21: See Note IV.]

"Confound your noise!" shouted the attorney.

"Very well, sir. I don't mean to offend you, but--let us be reasonable.

Where do you wish us to go?"

"To St. Vilmosh!"

"I'm not drunk; and the proof is, that I won't stir from the spot!"

interposed Mr. Kenihazy.

"What do you wish us to do at St. Vilmosh?"

"Viola is there. We must arrest him to-night, or never; by to-morrow

morning he will have passed the stolen documents to some one else."

"Very well," said Mr Skinner, with great dignity; "we'll arrest him

to-morrow."

"But I tell you by that time the papers will be gone!"

"So much the better. Am I to leave my house by night? am I to risk my

neck to help Mr. Tengelyi to get his papers? Let him go himself, if he

likes!"

"Yes; let him go, if he likes!" repeated Mr. Kenihazy. The attorney cast

a despairing look at the meritorious functionaries, and seizing the

justice by the sleeve, he led him to the window, where they conversed

long and eagerly together; while Kenihazy recommenced his old song:--

"The man that does not love Skinner, sirs,

Haj! Haj! Haj!

Devil take him for a sinner, sirs,

Haj! Haj! Haj!"

"That alters the case entirely," said the justice at length. "I say,

Bandi, tell the Pandurs to saddle their horses immediately."

"Yes; that alters the case entirely," groaned Kenihazy. "The Pandurs may

go! D--n them, why shouldn't they?"

"But why did not you say all this at once?" said the justice, who

appeared much more sober than Mr. Catspaw had hoped he would be.

"Why, you would not have me tell it in the presence of your clerk? Now

send your Pandurs to St. Vilmosh, and send the inspector word to raise a

_posse_, to arm them with pitchforks, and to wait for us at the Tsharda,

close to the forest. As for Kenihazy, he'd better stay where he is.

He'd be too much in our way."

"You are right. But suppose Tzifra were to cheat us? Suppose he had come

to get us into a trap? Viola says he will be revenged on me, and Tzifra

is one of his gang."

"Never fear. There is no necessity for us to go further than we think

safe; you know I am not fond of bullets. But we can rely upon Tzifra. He

is in our hands."

Kenihazy returned after a while, and told them that the Pandurs had gone

off to St. Vilmosh. Mr. Catspaw took his bunda, and said,--"Let us go,

then!"

"And you too? Are _you_ going?" said the clerk, astonished, when he

beheld the justice furred and cloaked, and prepared for the journey.

"Yes; but you are to stay."

"But what _can_ you do without me?"

"We are going to make an experiment," said Mr. Skinner, laughing.

"Farewell! and take care of the house!"

They took their seats in the carriage. Tzifra, who had waited in the

hall, jumped up behind, and they drove off.

"This is indeed strange!" said Kenihazy.

"What _can_ a judge do without his clerk?" He returned to the room,

where he continued his potations and his song:--

"The man that doesn't love Skinner, sirs,

Haj! Haj! Haj!

Devil take him for a sinner, sirs,

Haj! Haj! Haj!"

At length his voice was lost in sleep, and nothing but the barking of

the dogs broke through the deep stillness in and around Mr. Skinner's

curia.

That worthy was meanwhile in the act of cursing the coachman's zeal,

who, obedient to Mr. Catspaw's instructions, had urged his horses to a

mad career; and though Mr. Skinner was very desirous to see Viola

hanged, still it struck him that to break his own neck first was not

exactly the way to accomplish that purpose. The jolting of the carriage,

which brought his head in violent contact with the iron bands of the

roof, went a great way to confirm him in his opinion.

"D--n the fellow!" cried he. "Why don't you mind the ruts in the road?

Do you think you've got a cartload of sacks? Gently! confound you!

gently, I say! I'll knock you on the head next time!"

"Don't be frightened!" said Mr. Catspaw, who suffered as much as his

companion. "There is not a better coachman in the county. He's my

lady's coachman."

"Better coachman? I protest he's drunk--dead drunk, I say!"

"Nonsense! He has not had a drop ever since we left Dustbury."

"Confound it!" screamed Mr. Skinner, taking his pipe from his mouth,

which the last jolt had chucked so far down his throat that he was in

some danger of swallowing it; "Od's wounds! but this is worse than the

last judgment. Stop! Stop, I say! I'll get out--"

"Don't!" cried the attorney. "You cannot get out here, we are in the

very deepest of the mud. Let us go on to the heath, it's dry ground

there!"

"It's because the pigs have broken the ground," sighed the justice;

"it's more dangerous still. Here there's at least a chance of falling on

a soft place. No! I _will_ get out."

"If you do, there is no knowing when we shall come to St. Vilmosh."

"Dear me! no! Stop! we're spilt! Terrem tette, stop! Jantshi, you

beast!" screamed the justice still louder, while he clung to the

cushions of the seat, and looked out for a chance of leaping to the

ground.

"Go on!" cried the attorney, with suppressed laughter. "We've gained the

heath now! On with you, or the cold of the night will kill us."

"Never mind the cold, if we can but get off with our bones unbroken."

"Yes, but think of my rheumatism! You know how much I suffer from it. It

makes me shudder to breathe this damp air."

"You're bilious, that's the long and the short of it!" said Mr. Skinner,

as the horses proceeded at a slow trot. "But mind what I tell you, that

fellow will break all the bones in my body before we come to St.

Vilmosh."

"Don't be a coward! You see I am not at all afraid, and yet I am as fond

of my life as you can be."

"Oh, it's all very well for you to say so. You're not married; but I

have a wife and four small children----"

"That's the very reason why I ought to love my life five times better

than you do yours. But, mercy on us! how damp the air is, and how cold

the wind! And I have forgotten to provide myself with elder flowers! Now

if I don't have tea and a warm bed at St. Vilmosh, I'm a dead man; and

you're my murderer, because you won't allow the driver to go on as fast

as he can."

"Don't be a fool!" said the justice, very composedly, for his curses and

threats had at length caused Jantshi to proceed at a slow pace. Thus

they sat for a considerable time, each grunting at the cowardice of his

companion. In due time they left the heath and turned again into the

road. The driver cursed the horses, and Mr. Skinner cursed the driver,

while the attorney bewailed his anticipated illness: in short, we may

leave the party with the firm conviction that unless they make greater

haste than they have hitherto done, the Gulyash is sure to reach St.

Vilmosh long before they can hope to arrive there.

CHAP. III.

The concluding sentence of the last chapter expresses the very hope

which animated the Gulyash Ishtvan and his companion. It was indeed

three hours ago since Susi met Tzifra near Garatsh, and Garatsh was at

least three miles nearer to the forest of St. Vilmosh than Ishtvan's

Tanya. But it was probable that the judge had not set out immediately;

and besides, those gentry travel in a carriage, and on a heavy road too,

while Ishtvan's cart seems to fly over the smooth heath; and, after all,

the horses of the Gulyash are the best runners in the world.

It was dark when they started. The weak rays of the new moon were

absorbed by a dense fog, and it required all the instinct of locality

which characterises the Hungarian herdsmen to guide them over the vast

plain, which offered scarcely any marks by which a traveller might shape

his course. A heap of earth, the gigantic beam of a well looming through

the darkness, the remains of a stack of straw, a ditch, or a few

distant willows,--such were the only objects which might be discerned,

and even these were few and far between. But the Gulyash drove his

horses on, without once stopping to examine the country round him, for

all the world as if he had been galloping along on a broad smooth road;

and the very horses seemed resolved to do their best. They tore away as

though they were running a race with the dragon of the wizard

student[22], while Ishtvan, flourishing his whip, more in sport than

because it was wanted, called out to them, "Vertshe ne! Sharga ne! Don't

they run, the tatoshes![23] They are the best horses in Hungary!"

[Footnote 22: See Note V.]

[Footnote 23: See Note VI.]

Willows and hills, well-beams and straw stacks, passed by them; the

manes of the horses streamed in the breeze; the Gulyash, with his bunda

thrown back, and his shirt inflated with the air, sat on the box as if

he were driving a race with the Spirit of the Storm. The horses galloped

away as if the soil were burning under their hoofs.

"Fear nothing, Susi!" cried the Gulyash; "we are there before that

cursed thief of a judge has left his house. Vertshe ne!" And Susi

sighed, "God grant it!"

"Confound him, if we are too late. But now tell me, Susi, on your soul,

did you ever ride in this way?"

"Never!" said she.

"I believe you. Sharga ne! Don't be sad, Susi; we've saved the better

part of the road. At St. Vilmosh we'll call upon the Tshikosh. He'll

give us a dish of Gulyashush; and if he has not got it, he'll find a

filly, and kill it for our supper."

Suddenly the horses jumped aside, and stood snorting and pawing.

"What's the matter?" cried the Gulyash, seizing his whip. "What is it?

Sharga! Vertshe! I see!" added he, as, straining his eyes in the

darkness, he saw a wolf, which had crossed the road, and which stood a

few yards off. "Poor things! the _vermin_ have frightened them. Never

mind. Go your way to Kishlak, you confounded beast! where the dogs will

tear the skin off your cursed bones. I trust Peti has kept out of its

way; though, after all, there's not much danger. The very wolves won't

eat an old gipsy. They are a tough race."

Susi's anxiety for Peti's safety was far from yielding to the learned

remarks of the Gulyash, but she was soon relieved by hearing the gipsy's

voice. He called out as they overtook him on the road. They stopped,

and he took his seat on the cart. "We are sure to be in time," said he;

"the Garatsh road, on which the justice travels, is as heavy as can be."

"I have no hope since I saw the vermin," said Susi, sadly; "they tell me

it bodes one no good."

"Don't be a fool, Susi!" said the Gulyash. "Have I not seen lots of

vermin in my life, and I am still here and in luck. What are you afraid

of? My horses are not even warm."

"Yes; but the cart may break. I am full of fears."

"It won't break, Susi, you see it's not a gentleman's carriage. There is

a vast difference between a gentleman's carriage and a peasant's cart,

just as there is between gentlemen and peasants. Your carriage is vast,

and roomy, and high-wheeled, and cushioned, and painted; in short, it's

a splendid thing to look at; but take it out on a heavy road, and down

it breaks with a vengeance! it's full of screws and such tomfoolery, and

only fit for a smooth road. Now a peasant's cart goes through any thing;

and mine is a perfect jewel. The wheels are of my own make, and Peti has

hooped them."

Peti was not quite so confident. "I hope there's no water," said he,

scratching his head; "we've had some heavy rains, and if the low country

is full of water----"

"Never mind, Peti, I'm sure it's all in good order; and you Susi, dear,

don't be afraid! My brother Pishta, who lived on the other side of the

river, died last week, when he was just about to leave the place. He got

a passport and a landlord's discharge for the purpose. Those papers are

of no use to his widow, but they are just the thing for you and Viola,

for they will help you to get away. I know of a good place about a

hundred miles from here, where you may earn an honest livelihood. You're

not fit for the kind of life you are leading. I'll take you to the place

with my own horses; you have not got much luggage. The great thing is to

get out of the county; for it's a rum affair such a county, and the best

of it is, that it is not too large. Don't you think so, Peti?"

But Peti made no reply, not even when Susi, catching at the faint ray of

hope which fell into the gloom of her life, inquired whether the

Gulyash's promise was not too good to be realised? The gipsy sat

motionless, with his eyes staring into the darkness which surrounded

them. They hurried on in silence, whilst the fog grew dense, and the

sky blacker than before. No trace was left of either willows, mounds,

stacks, or well-beams; still they pressed forward until the splashing in

water of the horses' hoofs stopped their progress.

Peti's fears were but too well founded. The place where they halted was

under water. The gipsy descended to reconnoitre the extent. As he

advanced he beheld the plain like a wide lake, of which he could not see

the end. He retraced his steps and walked to the right, but he found

that the water stretched in every direction. At length he made his way

to a dry place, to which he directed the Gulyash.

"Let us go on in this direction," said he, as he took his place in the

cart; "there is some chance of reaching the forest. Be careful, Ishtvan,

and keep close to the water, or else you'll lose your way. This here's

the Yellow Spring."

"Christ save us!" cried Susi. "We are surely too late, and my poor

husband----"

"No!" said the gipsy, with ill-dissembled concern; "unless the water has

flooded the Frog's Dyke, we shall find the Black Lake dry, and if so

we're safe. On with you, Ishtvan!"

"Confound the Theiss!" said the Gulyash, as he whipped his horses on.

"Nonsense; it's not the Theiss. 'Twas but yesterday I saw the river at

Ret, it's as quiet as a lamb; but this water comes from the new ditch

which the gentry have made. They make the water mad with their ditches

and dykes."

"A thousand thunders! there's water _here_!" and he pulled the horses

back, one of which had slipped and fallen. Susi wrung her hands. Peti

jumped down and walked through the water. He came back and led the

horses onwards. "It's not worth stopping for, my beauties," said he,

addressing the horses; "you'll see some rougher work by and bye if you

stay with the Gulyash Pishta." They reached the opposite bank, and

hastened on until they were again stopped by the water. The gipsy wrung

his hands.

"The Black Lake is brimful. There's not a horse in the world can ford

it!"

"Stop here!" said Susi. "I'll walk through it!"

"Nonsense, Susi! The lake is full of holes. You are weak. If your foot

slips you'll never have the strength to get up, and then you are done

for."

"Hands off! let go my bunda; God will help me! but I cannot leave my

husband in this last extremity!" and she struggled to get down.

"Now, Susi, be reasonable! What's to become of your children if they

hang your husband, and you are drowned?"

Susi sat down by the side of the cart. She covered her face with both

her hands, and wept bitterly.

"Don't be afraid, child!" said the Gulyash; "either I go over or Peti

does. You see the forest is just before us, and if there's not a road,

confound it! we'll make one."

"So we will!" cried Peti. "I'll cross the water, though the very devil

were in it. Let me feel my way a little. Is not that the large tree we

saw the other day?"

"May be it is, but I can't make it out on account of that confounded

fog. There are lots of high trees in the forest."

"To the left of the tree, about two hundred yards from it, there is a

clearing in the wood. On the day I spoke of, we drove through it with

the cart. Don't you remember?"

"How the deuce shouldn't I remember! There ought to be some reeds to the

right of the tree."

"So there ought to be! Now you go to the right and I to the left. If I

can find the clearing, and if that's the tree I spoke of, I'll walk

through the water; for it's a rising ground from that tree to the other

bank of the Theiss."

"I'll go with you," said Susi; "my heart beats so fast--there's a murmur

in my ears--let me go! I'd die with fears if you tell me to remain

here."

"Susi, my soul, if I can cross the waters, I'll come back and carry you

on my back. But stay where you are--stay for Viola's sake, if not for

your own!"

They walked away and were lost in the darkness. Susi stood by the water,

looking at the forest. "Alas!" sighed she, "I am so near him, and yet I

cannot go to him!"

The poor woman was right. On the other side of the water, scarcely more

than a thousand yards from the place where Susi trembled and prayed, we

find Viola with his comrades, encamped in one of the few oak forests of

which Hungary can boast. The soil on which this forest stood was

continually exposed to the overflowing of the Theiss, to the banks of

which it extended, and by which it was rather divided than confined; for

another forest of oaks covered an area of several miles on the other

side of the river. The forest was a noisy place in summer, when there

was a plentiful harvest of acorns; the grunting of a thousand pigs, and

the whistling and singing of a hundred Kondashes[24], was loud, beneath

the thickly woven branches and the deep green foliage; and large fires,

surrounded by fierce-looking bunda-clad figures, burned amidst the huge

trunks of the trees. But in winter the forest is deserted; the huts

which the Kondashes had built were overthrown by the first storms which

ushered in the severe season. Only one of these huts was still

inhabited. It was the one which lay farthest from St. Vilmosh, and close

to the end of the forest. This hut was the favorite retreat of Viola and

his gang. There was not a road or path for miles around them; and the

shrubs and trees which surrounded the hut hid it so effectually, that

even at twenty yards distance it was impossible to discover any trace of

it. On the other side, towards St. Vilmosh, the forest extended many

miles, and even the boldest among the county hussars avoided the spot,

ever since an inspector and two Pandurs had been shot there. Viola was

justified in fancying himself as safe as a king in his palace; for who

would betray him? He was sure of Peti, and the Gulyash Ishtvan; and as

for the other sharers of the secret, he was still more certain of their

discretion, for they were all equally guilty, and the same punishment

awaited them.

[Footnote 24: See Note VII.]

The hut, in a corner of which was the robber seated on a log of wood,

was large, roomy, and well conditioned. A heap of straw, covered with

bundas, which stood the robbers in place of a bed; a clumsy table, and

an iron kettle, and various weapons--such were the objects on which the

fire threw a broad and glaring light. Viola sat lost in deep thought,

while two of his comrades, the only ones who were present that night,

stretched their weary limbs on their bundas, as they stared at the

burning wood and the red flames.

"I say, butcher!" said one of them, "don't you think a bit of meat would

be just the thing for us?"

The speaker, whom the country had for the last twenty-five years known

as a freebooter of the worst kind, was a sturdy gray-haired man, while

the fellow he addressed was young and--as Ratz Andor, for such was the

elder robber's name, would have it--inexperienced.

"Go to the devil!" replied the young man. "Why do you talk to me of

meat?"

"Wouldn't you like it? Now, I say, you would not mind having some

tobacco, would you?"

"Curse you, and begone! Why should you talk of it, since there's neither

meat nor tobacco!"

"I thought you'd like a bite or a whiff; don't you?"

"You're always joking," said the butcher. "We have not had any grub ever

so long. I can't stand it. I'd rather be hanged than starved to death."

"Why don't you go for something?" sneered Andor.

"How can I? you know the bees are swarming. Hand me the culatsh, old

fellow!"

"Take it."

"No, not this! It's full of water. Give me the other creature, hang

you!"

"I'll see _you_ hanged, my boy, before I give it you. You've already

more brandy in your head than good sense; and besides, it won't do to

drink while you're fasting."

"Give me the bottle. I won't be fooled by you. I am my own master."

"You'd better be quiet," said the old robber, seizing the butcher's arm

with an iron grip.

"I'll pay you out for it, you dog!" cried the butcher, as he sprang to

his feet and seized his fokosh. "I'll teach you to bid me be quiet!"

Andor, who had watched his movements, rose with equal quickness, and

seizing the young man's throat, thrust him into a corner.

"You must learn manners, my fine fellow! and if you don't, why you'll be

stuck like a pig!"

Viola was all this while brooding over his own miseries, and the

wretched lot of his wife. He knew nothing of the quarrel of his

comrades, but their fight roused him.

"What is the row?" said he, rising.

"The boy wants brandy, and I want to give him a drubbing."

"Give him brandy, if there is any."

"No!" said Ratz Andor. "He shan't have it. He is more than half drunk as

it is. He'll bring us into trouble!"

"But I am hungry!" cried the boy, appealing to Viola.

"Why did you come to be a robber? No one told you to come."

"And who told you?"

"My case is different!" said Andor, gloomily. "I am a deserter. I served

the Emperor for ten years. I tell you, boy, I did my duty in the

greatest war that ever was; and when we came home from our campaigns and

they refused to let me go my ways, the devil put it into my head that

I'd been a soldier overlong. So I flung my musket away, and here I am.

But, confound me! if I were a butcher's son, as you are, you would not

find me in the forest; nor would you Viola, take my word for it!"

"I don't care!" said the butcher, unmoved by the old man's words; "a

robber's life's a merry life. I want lush!"

"Give it him," repeated Viola. "Let him take his fill."

"Why, the fellow _is_ drunk," said Ratz Andor, doggedly. "There never

was a gang of robbers but it was ruined by drink."

"We are safe for this night; though I trust Peti will come, and bring us

meat from the Gulyash. The justice is at Dustbury; and as for the

haiduks, they'd rather go out of our way than cross it."

"That's what you ought never to think," said Andor, shaking his head,

"Ruin comes upon us when we least expect it. But if you must, you must,"

continued he, addressing the butcher; "so drink, and go to h--ll!"

The fellow seized the proffered bottle, and the three men were silent.

The two-fold darkness of the night and the fog was still more increased

by the deep shades of the forest. The wind of autumn whistled among the

dry leaves, and moaned in the upper air like a deep sigh of unspeakable

woe. The hoarse croak of the raven broke the stillness at intervals, and

the birds that lived in the forest awoke and flapped their heavy wings.

Viola stood in the doorway of the hut. His soul was sorrowful, even

unto death. The night, the silence, the loneliness of the place, the

companions of his exile, all contributed to add to his grief. He thought

of the days of his happiness. When the work in the field was over, when

the long winter nights came on, he used to sit by his own fireside,

fondling his boy on his knee, and gazing on Susi, who moved her spindle

with untiring zeal. What though mists covered the land, hiding the

manor-house, the huts, the church, and the banks of the Theiss,--he

cared not. The powers of Nature cannot affect the happiness in man's

heart: it is man alone who can destroy it. And his happiness was

destroyed. "I was humble and inoffensive," said he; "and yet they did

not spare me. I did my duty; indeed, I did more than my duty. I obeyed

when they commanded; I took my hat off when I met them; I fawned upon

them like a dog; I would have kissed their feet, to induce them to leave

Susi and my child alone, to leave my house alone, and yet----" Viola

remembered again all the insults he had suffered. He recollected how

they would have forced him to leave his wife in her hour of sorrow; how

they dragged him through the village; how Skinner gave orders to tie him

to the whipping-post; how he seized the axe, and turned its edge

against the head of a fellow-creature; and how the blood filled him with

horror. He raised his hands to heaven.

"No!" cried he; "may God have mercy on me! but, whatever I may have

done, I cannot repent it. If I were to live it over again, if I were to

see them standing round me, and laughing and sneering, and if I were to

see the axe,--I'd seize it again, and woe to the man that should come

near me! But you, whom I never did any harm to!--you, who were the cause

of my ruin!--you, who have caused my wife and children to beg their

bread!--you, who made me a robber, who hunted me, who compelled me to

herd with the beasts of the forest!--you, whose doings damn me in this

world and in the next,--you, attorney! and you, judge! take care of

yourselves: as surely as there is a God in heaven I'll have my revenge,

and a bloody revenge too!----"

At that moment there was a rustling in the wood. Viola leaned forward,

and listened. The noise was as of the approach of men. There was a

rustling of the dry leaves, a cracking of the branches; the ravens flew

up from the trees. "Who can it be?" thought Viola. "Peti, perhaps, and

the Gulyash; but how should they come from the St. Vilmosh side?"

A similar noise of approaching steps was now heard from the other side

of the forest. "These are the steps of many men," said Viola; "they are

in search of me." The very next moment he was fully convinced of it, for

the low murmur of many voices was heard in the stillness of the night.

Viola, rushing back into the hut, locked the door, and waked the butcher

by giving him a kick.

"Did I not tell you so?" said the old robber, getting up, and seizing a

double-barrelled gun; "and there the fellow lies! he's as drunk as

David's sow."

Ratz Andor was wrong. The poor fellow, who bore his kick with the

forbearance of an angel, grew quite sober when they told him of the

approach of the enemy. "Is there no means of escape?" whispered he.

"We are surrounded!" said Viola. "If there are not too many of them, we

are safe. Are the guns and pistols loaded?"

"They are; four double-barrelled guns, and six pistols. Let them come

on! we'll give them their supper." We need scarcely remark that it was

Ratz Andor who said these words.

"Light the lamp. Put it into a corner, that it may not be seen from

without. Throw ashes on the fire!"

The butcher obeyed tremblingly.

"Now, Ratz, you and I, we'll stand by the two cuttings in the door. You,

butcher, look to the sides; and if anybody comes up to the house, you'd

better shoot him. You can have a shot at either side. But don't allow

any of the rascals to put their guns through the cuttings. Cheer up,

boy, you are safe enough!"

Viola and Andor, gun in hand, stood by the door, keeping a look out

through the small cuttings, or loop-holes, by which the walls of the

building were pierced. The butcher walked to and fro in the background.

He trembled violently, and vowed reformation if he could only manage to

escape with his life.

"The birds are roosting!" cried a loud shrill voice, which evidently

proceeded from Mr. Skinner. "They are there! I see a light in the hut.

Is it surrounded on all sides?"

Forty or fifty voices, which answered to this call, informed the robbers

that there was no chance of escape. The butcher knelt down, and made the

sign of the cross.

"You dog! I'll shoot you!" said Ratz Andor. "Stand up, and be a man.

Stand by your cutting, and let fly at them!" The butcher obeyed.

"Robbers, I call on you to surrender!" cried Mr. Skinner. "If you refuse

to surrender on this summons of the county, you are liable to be tried

by court-martial."

All was silent in the hut, and the justice gave the word of command.

"At them, you rascals! Break the door. At them!"

A rush was made against the door; but before the axes of the assailants

could touch it, the report of two muskets was heard. Two Pandurs fell;

the rest retreated; and Ratz Andor shouted from the hut: "Come on!"

At that moment the butcher likewise fired his piece. He too brought down

one of the judge's men. This frightened the besiegers, who turned and

fled. They paused for a time. The robbers reloaded their muskets, while

the besiegers assembled round Mr. Skinner and the inspector. Mr.

Catspaw, with a modesty which did him infinite credit, kept at a

distance.

"I don't see how we _can_ catch them," said the inspector, leaning on

his broad sabre, which had done good service in the insurrection of

1809, and of which the blade, which bore the mark of "Fringia," could

not have been in better hands.

"Make another onset, and another and another!" cried the justice,

stamping his foot. "Don't leave off until you've got them, the rascals,

and bound them and hanged them!"

"I'll do it, if it can be done!"

"_Can_ be done? There is nothing but _can_ be done when I command!"

"Very well!" said the inspector, angrily. "It won't be _my_ fault if it

is not done. I'll stick to the mark any day if your men don't turn

tail."

"If the fellows don't go, they are dogs and cowards! Knock them down,

and be----"

"Well, sir, all I can say is, you'd better lead them to the charge, and

knock them down at your liking, I'm not made for that sort of thing."

"No, sir!" said Mr. Skinner, doggedly. "That's not my post. It is my

duty to superintend and conduct the affair."

"You're a--never mind! Go at them, my men!" shouted the inspector. The

justice repeated the words of command with a still louder tone; and Mr.

Catspaw's shrill voice was heard echoing the words from behind a distant

oak. The inspector, flourishing his sword, and followed by the Pandurs

and peasants, advanced towards the hut, but they were again fired at

from within. The report of the muskets was followed by deep groans,

which showed that the robbers had taken a good aim.

The Pandurs retreated. "On with you! Go on! before they've had time to

charge! There's no danger now!" and the inspector, followed by a few of

his boldest men, made another rush at the door. Another discharge! The

inspector had his left arm broken, and one of the Pandurs was shot

through the body.

"On! at them!" shouted the leader, nothing daunted; "they've got no

powder now! On! on!" and, seizing an axe, he advanced again, while his

men, partly because they believed that the robbers were short of

ammunition, and partly yielding to the excitement of the combat, loaded

their pieces and followed him. But musket after musket was fired by the

robbers inside, and almost each shot took effect. The wailings of the

wounded, the oaths of the besieged and the besiegers, the reports of the

muskets, and the glaring flash which accompanied each discharge, were

made still more fearful and startling by the darkness of the night;

while the inspector's voice, as he urged his men on, was distinctly

heard in the midst of the general confusion.

"Give me that piece!" shouted he, flinging his axe, and snatching a

musket from the hand of a Pandur. "Now that's for you, Viola!" and he

fired it into the hut.

A scream and a heavy fall was heard. But before the inspector could vent

his joy in words, the fire was returned from within, and the peasant who

stood at his side had his skull shivered. "Give me another musket!"

roared the inspector, but in vain; the Pandurs hastened back to the

judge, who stood at a safe distance, cursing and urging the combatants

on. Their leader, finding that he was left to fight the battle alone,

returned likewise, with his shoulder pierced by a bullet.

"Why, you cursed rascals! how dare you come back? Where's the robber?"

cried the intrepid judge, flinging down his pipe in a paroxysm of rage.

"Where is Viola? how dare you come back without him?"

Nobody answered. One of the Pandurs stooped for the pipe, which, strange

to say, was not broken.

"Knock the ashes out and give it a good cleaning, you rogue! It won't

draw!" said the justice; and, turning to the others, he proceeded: "Did

I not order you to bring the robber? to seize him and bind him?"

"Your worship," said one of the men, "we did all that men can do. There

are four of us killed, and half the rest wounded. They've broken the

inspector's arm."

"There are at least ten robbers in the hut. The cuttings are black with

the muzzles of their guns. It's quite impossible to go up."

"Impossible? who dares to say any thing is impossible? I'd like to see

the man who dares to say it! Impossible? when _I_ say it _is_ possible!

why you scurvy----"

"He's right!" said the inspector. "If you would take Viola, you must

have better men than the like of these."

"But I say they shall take him! I'd like to know who is the master, you

or I?"

"Your worship had better try. I've done my duty, and I'm done for, at

least for this night. Both my hands are disabled; I am not a match for a

child in arms."

Mr. Skinner shook his head.

"I was not aware, sir,--it's a pity you are wounded. The wounded must of

course fall back. As for the rest, let them stand in a line. Well done!

March! March! Ma----"

The word of command was broken off by another discharge from the hut,

and the line, which had begun to move, fell back in disorder. As for

Mr. Skinner, he took refuge behind a tree. He knew that his safety was

essential to the success of the expedition.

"Forward, you cowards! March! March!" shouted he; but none obeyed.

"March! I say. Will you, or not?" screamed the justice, collaring the

man who stood next to him.

"No, I will not!" said the man, as he slipped aside.

"You won't. Very well, sir, I'll pay you out for this! What's your

name?"

"Kovatsh Miksha, a nobleman of St. Vilmosh. I will not go, even to

please your God!"

"Oh, I beg your pardon! I did not know you! But who's this fellow?"

"That's my cousin, Andrash. He's a nobleman, and he won't go!"

"Why, where the deuce are the peasants?"

"Shot, or run away!"

"The rascals!" cried the judge; "the cowards! Never mind, I'll make them

pay for it!"

"I beg your worship's pardon," interposed the inspector; "but my opinion

is that we had better go home. We have done our duty, and there are only

fifteen men here. The rest are either dead or run away. We have no

chance of success. When Viola finds out how few there are of us, and

that we cannot watch the hut on all sides, he will make his way out into

the forest."

The justice was on the point of yielding, when Mr. Catspaw approached

the group. He suggested another scheme. "Put fire to the hut," said he.

"They will find it too hot to hold them; they will come out; and when

they do, you shoot them down." His advice was eagerly adopted. The

inspector was frantic with joy, and a Pandur was at once sent off to

carry the scheme into effect. The men of St. Vilmosh and the Pandurs

took their places in the thicket, ready to fire at the robbers; and Mr.

Skinner was so violent in expressing the pleasure he felt, that he swore

twice as much as before.

The situation of the robbers was far worse than their assailants

suspected. The shot, which the inspector had fired through the cutting,

had pierced the broad chest of Ratz Andor. He lay on his back, groaning,

and moving his limbs in a pool of blood. The butcher walked to and fro

with alternate oaths and prayers, and cursing the day of his birth.

Viola was quiet and silent. He felt convinced that his hour had come,

and he awaited death fearlessly. The thought of his family alone was a

weight upon his heart. For a moment he thought of flight. There was a

possibility of escape by breaking through the roof, and escaping from

the back of the hut. But he looked at his old companion, who lay

bleeding at his feet, and who had once saved his life. His resolution

was taken. He could not leave that man in the hour of his agony.

Immediately afterwards he heard them prepare for another attack, and he

awaited his fate with firmness and resignation.

"Fire at them!" said Ratz Andor, when he heard the noise outside, "fire

at them, to the last man!"

"We are short of bullets. There's plenty of powder, but no lead." Ratz

Andor drew a deep breath.

"A thousand devils! is there no shot?"

"No. There's a gun and two pistols loaded--that's all."

"Give me a pistol!" whispered the robber, holding out his hand to Viola;

and when his comrade, who understood the purport of the request, handed

him the weapon, he clutched it with an eager hand, muttering--

"Let them come now! They won't take me alive, I warrant you!"

"I say!" whispered the butcher, pointing to Ratz Andor, "is he dead?"

"No; don't you see him breathing?"

"But he'll die!--don't you think he'll die! I say, Viola, don't you

think we'd better surrender? Perhaps they'll grant us a pardon."

"A pardon? If they don't shoot us, I'll give you my word of honour they

will hang us before to-morrow night."

"I don't mean a full pardon," whispered the wretch, as if choking with

fear; "not to pardon us so that we may go about; but perhaps they'll

lock us up--say five years, ten years, I would not mind twenty years,

and whip us every month, and make us starve and work--I would not mind

it in the least, if they don't hang us. Don't you think, Viola, they

would pardon me, if I were to beseech them--if I were to go down upon my

knees, intreating them to spare my life. You see, Viola, I am so young.

I never killed anybody! I never hit any one to-night!"

"Poor fellow!" said Viola, as he gently disengaged his hand from the

trembling grasp of his comrade, "don't tell these things to me--tell

your judges.--But what is this!" cried he, pointing to a corner of the

hut--"what is that smoke?"

"The hut is on fire!"

"Hurrah!"

"Let fly at them! Exterminate them! Kick them back into the fire!"

shouted Mr. Skinner, outside.

"They have put fire to the hut!" cried Viola, shuddering.

Ratz Andor opened his eyes, and, half leaning on his hands, he looked

around. "Don't be caught alive;" gasped he, "and, if you can, shoot the

judge, and die as a man!"

These were the robber's last words; for, raising his pistol, he pressed

the muzzle to his head. His hot blood fell on Viola's hands.

"Our father!" groaned the butcher, kneeling down--"they'll burn us to

cinders--which art in heaven--give me the bottle, I'll put it

out--Heaven help us, it is brandy--it burns like hell--hallowed be thy

name--Viola, you're the death of us--and forgive us--why did you steal

the notary's papers?"

At this juncture the miserable man raised the bottle to his lips and

drank, until, overcome with the combined effects of the liquor and the

smoke, he fell down by the side of Ratz Andor.

His last words reminded Viola of the papers, which he had forgotten in

the excitement of the conflict. He was resolved to bury himself amidst

the burning ruins of the hut. Susi need not then take her children to

the gallows to show them their father's grave. But, as it was, he felt

he was compelled to live. His family had received protection at

Tengelyi's hands. The papers were of the greatest importance for the

notary. He could not allow them to be burned, nor could he leave the

world under a suspicion of having ruined his benefactor. It was utterly

impossible.

The fire and the heat increased in violence and intensity. Viola's hair

was singed, he could not breathe the hot air, he could not see. In

another moment his escape from the hut was impossible. He seized the

papers, opened the door, and rushed out.

Mr. Skinner's party had not for the last few minutes heard any sounds

proceeding from the interior of the hut. They saw it in flames, and they

saw that no attempt to leave it was made by the people inside. They felt

convinced that the robbers had somehow or other effected their escape.

The report of the pistol, by which Ratz Andor put a term to his

sufferings, confirmed them in their opinion, for it caused them to

believe that the explosion was owing to the fire having reached some

weapon which had been left behind. Even Messrs. Skinner and Catspaw,

though sorely disappointed, ventured to approach the hut; and so it

happened that when Viola, gasping, half blind, and all but choked, left

the hut, holding the papers, wrapped up in a cloak, in his hand, he ran

into the clutches of these two men.

Mr. Catspaw snatched the papers from him and ran back, while the Pandurs

hastened to the spot and surrounded Viola. The robber was unarmed; but

his appearance, his notorious strength, and the terror of his name,

which every one of his pursuers shouted, as if for the express purpose

of frightening his fellows, made even the boldest cautious of coming too

near him; if his hand had held a weapon, if there had been strength in

his arm, he might have broken through their ranks. But Viola did not

think of resistance. His agonies, both of body and mind, had overcome

the iron strength of his frame. He opened his eyes, but he could not

see. His chest heaved violently; his arms trembled as he raised them to

find a means of support. In another moment he lay senseless on the

ground, and his enemies struggled for the honour of binding him. Mr.

Skinner was obliged to exert the whole of his authority to put a stop to

the frantic cheers of his followers, and arrangements were made to take

the prisoner to St. Vilmosh, when low groans and cries for help were

heard from the burning hut. They shuddered and were silent. Nothing was

heard but the crackling of the fire and the loud wailing of the wretched

man inside. At length one of the Pandurs stepped forward.

"I'll try to get him out!" said he.

He advanced.

A fearful explosion put a stop to his progress. The gunpowder, which the

robbers kept in the hut, caught fire and finished the work of

destruction. The wailing ceased with the flash of powder, which hurled

the roof of the hut into the air and strewed the turf with its burning

fragments. Mr. Skinner's party were horror-struck.

"Bad job that!" said the inspector, who was the first to recover from

his surprise. "D--n the fellows!"

"Is it all over?" cried the justice, from his place of refuge behind a

tree.

"Yes, your worship."

"But is there no more powder in the place?"

"It's in the nature of powder," said the inspector, "that it blows up in

a lump. But your worship need not come here, for our business is done.

I'll have the robber carried by some of the men."

Viola, who was still in a fainting state, was lifted on the shoulders

of two strong fellows, and the whole troop proceeded towards St.

Vilmosh.

"Did you get the papers?" whispered Mr. Skinner to Mr. Catspaw.

"Yes," whispered the attorney; "I've thrown them into the fire."

They turned into the thicket, and the scene of their violence was left

lonely and desolate.

CHAP IV.

We will not attempt to describe Susi's feelings while this scene was

enacting in her immediate neighbourhood. A short time after we left her

on the banks of the Black Lake, the Gulyash and Peti returned from their

reconnoitering expedition. They had identified the cutting by the reeds

and the tree. When they returned, they secured the horses, and prepared

to cross the water again. Peti led the way. He was followed by the

Gulyash, who carried Susi on his back. But they had scarcely advanced to

the middle of the ford, when they were startled by the reports of

fire-arms and the shouts of the combatants.

"We are too late!" cried Susi; "take me to him, and let me die at his

feet!"

A second discharge of musketry was heard. Some of the fugitive peasants

fled in the direction of the lake. The Gulyash and his companions were

sufficiently near the shore to hear their steps as they ran. The Gulyash

was strong in hopes.

"Never fear, Susi!" said he; "don't you hear the rascals running away.

There's not a man of them likes to come to close quarters with Viola."

Peti advanced. They reached the shore. But the affray recommenced in the

forest. There was firing, shouting, curses, and the howling of the

wounded.

Susi made a frantic rush from the side of the Gulyash; but the two men

held her back. She knelt down. Her soul was full of Viola's danger. Did

she not hear his enemies? Did they not seek his destruction? She would

have prayed, but she could not pray. She tore her hair in the fulness of

her despair,--she cursed; a light shone from the wood--a broad glaring

light! The triumphant shouts of the besiegers left no doubt as to its

nature and origin. Susi rose, and wrung her hands.

"They have put fire to the hut! they will burn my husband!" screamed

she. She fell back, and fainted in the gipsy's arms. When she recovered,

and proceeded to the scene of the contest, all was quiet and still. No

sound was heard, either of the victors or their prey. The spot was

covered with splinters and fragments of wood, many of which were still

burning. Their faint and uncertain light added to the desolate character

and the gloom of the scene.

Susi was calm. Her boding heart had known the worst long before she came

to the spot, and when she had reached it she stood in silence, covering

her eyes with her hands. Peti and the Gulyash stood by her side; but

neither spoke a word of comfort. They felt that such would have been a

mockery in that hour and at that place.

"Peti!" said Susi at last, "get a light. There's plenty of wood on the

ground. I want to look for my husband." Peti sighed, and prepared to

obey. The Gulyash was far more shocked by the poor woman's calmness than

by her former violence. Dashing the tears from his eyes, he said,--

"Susi, my soul, go to that knot of trees yonder. Sit down and take your

rest, while we look for him; that is to say, not for your husband, for

depend upon it he wasn't here at all, but it's the others we'll look

for, in case an accident has happened to one of them. Be quiet, Susi,"

continued he, taking her hand; "I know your husband was not there; I'll

take my oath on it he was not!"

The poor fellow knew that what he said was an untruth. He knew that the

fire which Peti was lighting would probably show them Viola's mangled

corpse amidst the ruins of the building, or else that Viola must be a

captive in the hands of his bitterest enemies; but gladly would he have

bartered his hopes of future salvation for one ray of hope to cheer the

heart of that wretched woman.

"No, Ishtvan," said Susi; "I know all,--I am prepared for the worst. You

won't find me troublesome when I see him half burned. Alas! I know it is

better for him to lie dead in my arms, than to be alive and in the power

of his enemies. Here, at least, his sufferings are ended."

"But why won't you believe me, if I tell you that Viola was not here?

I'll be cursed if he was! Why the devil will you walk about in the

smoke, looking for what you are sure not to find? This isn't a place for

a woman; and if you were suddenly to set your eyes on something nasty

you'd be the worse for it. Go back, Susi, I'll promise you we'll turn

every stone in the place."

"I thank you, Ishtvan,--I thank you a thousand times for all you do for

me," said Susi; "fear nothing: you see I am strong; and whatever may

meet my eyes, it will but give me certainty, which is the best that can

happen to me. If my husband be dead, we will bury him here in the

forest. I shall know the place of his rest, and I can show it to my

children, and weep with them."

"But I tell you Viola is not here," said the Gulyash. "Just suppose you

were to see a fellow all scorched and burnt? I'll tell you it's not a

sight for women. Why, if you were in good health I wouldn't mind it.

Two years ago, when there was a fire in my Tanya, no less than two of my

children were burnt to death; and my Lady Kishlaki, when she saw the

poor things all black and----"

"I am not a My-lady. The like of her have a right to be shocked and to

faint. I am a robber's wife, you know. I say, old man, if you could know

what thoughts there have been in this poor head of mine ever since Viola

became a robber, what dreams mine were when waiting for my husband the

livelong day, or the long weary night, at home or on the heath; and when

he did not come what horrible things I have thought of, and felt and

wailed over,--oh, if you could but know it, as I am sure you can never

know it, you'd not fear to see me shocked at any thing. The very worst

that can happen to me is but _one_ kind of misfortune; but I have

suffered all torments of hell, and for long, long years too!"

The gipsy had meanwhile lighted a fire; and Susi walked over the ground.

By the door lay the corpse of the St. Vilmosh peasant, who was shot at

the inspector's side. Several other bodies were found at some distance,

near the forest. Susi looked at them with intense anxiety; and then

seizing a torch, she hastened forward, and held it over the ruins of the

hut.

The sight was such, that even the old Gulyash himself shuddered. The

fragments of the table still smouldering, muskets and pistols strewed

about, and the two blackened corpses, presented so repulsive a

spectacle, that none could have resisted its influence, but those who

are accustomed to the horrors of war. Susi examined the corpses, and

said at length:

"He is not here. Neither of them has a silver ring on any of their

fingers. Viola would never have lost his silver ring. My husband is a

prisoner!"

"Nonsense! I dare say he----"

"What is this?" said Susi, stooping down and taking a double-barrelled

gun from the ground; "that's my husband's gun! take it, and keep it for

his sake."

"I will. Whenever I find him, he'll have his gun."

"May God bless you for your good will!" continued Susi, "to accompany me

further would put you in danger. Peti will come with me to St. Vilmosh,

for it is there, I am sure, my husband is."

They separated. The Gulyash returned to his horses, while Susi and Peti

hastened to St. Vilmosh, where the first burst of excitement at the

capture of the robbers had by this time subsided. The justice and the

attorney had gone to bed. The villagers who had taken part in the

expedition had, some of them, retired to rest; while the others drowned

their cares and the recollection of their dangers in the bad wine of the

public-houses. Viola, whom they had put under the shed of the

council-house, where he was guarded by a chosen body of haiduks and

peasants, had fallen asleep.

The wretched man awoke to consciousness as they dragged him through the

forest to St. Vilmosh; and looking round, by the fitful glare of the

torches which the Pandurs carried, he became sensible of his desperate

condition. His thoughts returned at once to Tengelyi's papers. When he

left the burning hut, he was so confused, so blinded, so maddened, that

he had no idea of what had become of them, or who had taken them from

him. He questioned his escort; but those whom he asked refused to reply

to his questions. One man only told him, when he left the hut, the

persons next to him had been the justice and the attorney; and that one

of them had indeed snatched a parcel from his hand.

From the moment Viola found himself in the power of his enemies, he made

no resistance to any thing they did to him. The violence and

ill-treatment to which they subjected him elicited no complaint from

his lips. When they came to St. Vilmosh, where they placed him under the

shed, the justice stepped up and told them to bind him so as to wound

his hands, to prevent his escape. Viola asked him what had become of the

papers? But the justice replied, with many oaths, that he had no

business to ask any questions; and what the devil he meant? Viola saw

clearly that Mr. Skinner was prepared to deny any knowledge of the

papers; or else that they must have fallen into the hands of Mr.

Catspaw, who, from his previous exertions to obtain them, was not likely

to restore them to the rightful owner.

"For this then did I surrender! for this I am going to be hanged!"

sighed he, when they left him alone with his sentinels,--"why did I not

stay in the hut? Why did I not shoot myself, as Ratz Andor did? All is

over for them; but I must die an infamous death--and for no purpose too!

I could not save the notary's papers. God cursed me in the hour of my

birth! Did I not often attempt to return to the paths of honesty? and

when every means of doing so was taken away from me, did I not do all I

could to prove my gratitude for the only kindness that was ever shown

me? Did I not do my best to help the notary? And what has come of it?

No, God will not allow me to be good and honest; and I must die on the

gallows! Very well, what must be, must be! a man cannot oppose his

fate!"

Thoughts like these, joined to that feeling of lassitude which follows

extreme fatigue, restored Viola to his usual calmness; and a deep sleep

buried the misfortunes of the day, for a time, in forgetfulness. Peti,

who, leaving Susi at a distance from the village, proceeded alone to the

council-house, found him in this condition. He was not allowed to enter

the yard; for, by the express order of the justice, even the sentinels

were forbidden to speak to Viola, or to reply to any of his questions.

But Peti conversed with a sentinel at the gate, whom he told that he was

just come back from Dustbury. The man, in his turn, told him of the

capture of Viola, and that the robber was to be brought to Kishlak,

where the court-martial was to assemble; and likewise, that a horseman

had been sent to Dustbury to summon old Kishlaki, who was the president

of the court-martial in this district. The gipsy cast a rueful look at

the shed where Viola lay on the floor, and turning away, he hastened to

the place where he had left Susi.

"Have you seen him?" said she, hastening to meet him when he approached.

"I have. He is in the council-house."

"Is he _in_ the house?"

"No!--that is to say, not wholly. No--not in the house. Under the shed,

you know."

"In the open air!" cried Susi, wringing her hands. "Oh, God! and the

night is so cold; and he in the open air!"

"No! not in the open air--at least not quite. There's a roof to the

shed."

"Has he a bunda?" continued Susi. And as she spoke she stripped herself

of her own wrapper. "Tell me if he has not, for I wish to send him

this."

"Oh, but he has! He has a large bunda. He is asleep." Susi grasped the

gipsy's hand.

"Asleep? Did you say asleep? And do they see him sleeping? And you're

sure they think it is sound, genuine sleep? They do not suspect him of

pretending to sleep--do they?"

"But why should they suspect him of that?"

"What do they think of it? Can they not see that my husband is innocent?

Who ever heard of a criminal's sleeping? Speak, Peti--tell me--what do

they say to it?"

Peti answered that he had not spoken to anybody, but that there were

some hopes of Viola's escape. He added:

"Early in the morning they mean to take him to Kishlak. If you want to

speak to him, you must do it there. You can't do it at St. Vilmosh. They

won't allow anybody to speak to him."

"I know it all," sighed Susi. "At Kishlak they will hold a

court-martial, and hang him. They do not care for his innocence, nor for

his quiet conscience, nor for his sleeping more soundly on the hard cold

ground than they do in their beds! They want his life, and they will

have it; but come, come! come along to Kishlak. I must see him!"

"You poor woman! You are not able to walk to Kishlak."

"Whom do you mean? Not me? Why should I spare my feet? I shall not want

them much longer!"

But Peti was obstinate: he would not hear of Susi's walking. He knew the

smith of the place, who, as a gipsy, was compelled to live at some

distance from the village. This man willingly offered the loan of his

horse and cart, and, on Peti's suggestion, he volunteered to drive Susi

to Kishlak; while Peti himself set off to Tissaret, to inform the notary

of what had happened, and to bring Viola's children to their father.

CHAP. V.

Mr. Skinner had meanwhile sent an official despatch to Kishlak, in which

he informed his friend, Kishlaki's steward, of what had happened;

desiring him, at the same time, to make due preparations for the sitting

of the court-martial, and the incarceration and execution of the

prisoner. This letter, which reached Kishlak before break of day, put

the whole place in commotion. The stout steward, whose fear of all

exercise, no matter whether mental or bodily, was so great that it was

said of him, that the only reason why they kept him at Kishlak was

because he was a living example of the results of high feeding,--even he

rose with the sun, and put on his best coat with silver buttons. He

walked about the yard with the carpenter and the butler, who had jointly

undertaken to build the gallows.

"We must make it comfortable, you know," said he, alluding to the

reception of the guests; and turning to the carpenter, he added, "Do

your best to make it high and strong. I trust they'll take care of the

servants. It's hardly my province, but I'll warrant you the gentlemen

will not complain of the accommodation. You'd better make a good strong

wedge in this place, it's there we'll tie him up; and don't let the men

go out to-day, I'll have them all to witness the execution. It'll do

them good to see something of the kind. The engine, too, ought to be

looked after, in case there should be a fire." In this way he went on,

every now and then wiping his forehead and exclaiming, "Dear me, how hot

it is! I'm done up with all this trouble, done up, I tell you!" To which

his companions sighed their assent.

The news of the assembling of the first court-martial under Mr.

Kishlaki's superintendence, caused a still greater excitement in the

house. There is no denying that the steward came out strong; indeed such

was his activity, that whoever saw him was induced to regret that there

was not a permanent court-martial sitting at Kishlak, in which case that

corpulent and meritorious person would have figured as an active member

of society; but after all he was repaid for all his troubles by the

sense of his personal dignity. That day formed an epoch in his life. It

was a day to think of, and to talk of, and to count the years by.

Not so Lady Kishlaki. She was anxious, and all but desponding; and when

the steward told her that the court were to assemble in her house, and

that the criminal was to be hanged on her own land, she wrung her hands

as if the greatest misfortune had happened to her.

"Why do they come to us, of all the people in the world? My goodness! is

not the county large enough? Must they needs hang that robber here,

under my very nose?"

The steward was far more alive to and sensible of the distinction which

the event gave to the village.

"Your ladyship forgets," said he, "that my lord, in his quality as the

late and illustrious sheriff, has been appointed to the post of a

president of the courts-martial in the district of Tissaret, which, if

your ladyship will condescend to remember, will satisfy your ladyship

that the high respect and signal honour----"

"Signal fiddlesticks!" cried Lady Kishlaki. "I'll never dare to walk in

and out of my own house, if they hang the fellow in my yard."

"Your ladyship is graciously pleased to be mistaken," said the corpulent

steward. "An impressive example of this kind has an excellent effect

upon the safety of person and property. I know of a similar case, which

happened in another county. For a period of not less than two years, I

assure your ladyship, the county was a scene of incessant depredations,

robberies, and worse. At length two men were arrested and hanged; and

from that day there was an end of all murders and robberies. One of the

parties was quite a stranger to the gang, and as innocent as the unborn

babe. But they hanged him, and I assure your ladyship the effect was

marvellous. I am happy we are going to hang a man: it's a blessing to

the county, a genuine blessing, your ladyship!"

"Nonsense! The robbers never did us any harm."

"No, not exactly; but if your ladyship will condescend to look at the

bill of the Gulyash, your ladyship will be pleased to find that what

they have eaten on your ladyship's land amounts to the value of a good

substantial theft."

"I'd rather lose twenty times the value, than see a man hanged, and on

my own land too," said Lady Kishlaki, turning away to make due

arrangements for the reception of her guests; while the steward

marvelled at his lady's peculiar frame of mind, and her greater fear of

a dead robber than of a living one. Having pondered on the matter until

he arrived at that comfortable state of hopeless confusion which is so

familiar to stout people's minds, he repeated his orders to the lower

officials, and marched to and fro in the hall, smoking his pipe, and

awaiting the arrival of the prisoner and the judges. The villagers, too,

were crowded in front of the gate, where they stood eager, curious, and

alarmed.