"what papers does it please you to mean, my dear Mr. Viola?"
"I mean the papers which you took away when they bound me. If you don't
give them up this minute, you'll never rise from this bed."
The robber's tone showed Mr. Catspaw that it was dangerous to trifle
with him. He replied,--
"Yes, I had them! You are right, I took them from you; but I lament to
say I was rash enough to burn them on the spot. That's the truth of it.
I would not tell you a lie, no! not for the world; for you know all and
everything."
"If so, tell your lies to others. I know that you keep the papers in
this room, and that you've offered them to Lady Rety for fifty thousand
florins."
"Who can have told you that?" cried Mr. Catspaw, as a suspicion flashed
through his mind that Viola might possibly be hired by Lady Rety; "who?
who?"
"Never you mind who it was?" said Viola, dryly; "if you think your life
of less value than fifty thousand florins, I'll show you in an instant
how little _I_ care for it."
"But do tell me!" cried the attorney, "do tell me who told you that the
papers are in my room?--who has sent you?"
"Silence!" and the robber flung his bunda back; "get up! give me the
papers, unless----"
Mr. Catspaw rose and walked to his desk. Viola stood quietly by,
watching him.
The attorney's hands trembled as he produced the papers. They were in
two bundles, and among them were some letters of Tengelyi's, which the
Jew had abstracted with the rest.
"Here they are!" said Mr. Catspaw, with a hoarse voice; "you know their
value. Ask whatever you please----"
"I don't want your money, keep it!" said the robber, advancing to seize
the packet; when the attorney recollected that he kept a loaded pistol
in the desk.
Yielding to an impulse of mad despair, he seized it and presented it at
Viola.
The robber's eyes shot fire as he saw the weapon. He made a rush; the
attorney fell, and the pistol was in Viola's hands.
That movement sealed Mr. Catspaw's doom. Viola was not cruel. He had an
instinctive aversion to the shedding of blood. If Mr. Catspaw had given
up the papers without resistance, he would have been safe; but the
treachery of the action and the struggle inflamed the robber's wilder
passions.
"Pity!" screamed Mr. Catspaw, as Viola seized him by the throat.
"Did you pity _me_ when Susi begged for grace, when you wrote my
death-warrant?"
The attorney's face grew black, his eyes started from his head; but his
despair gave him strength. When he saw the robber's knife descending, he
caught it in his hands.
There was a noise in the house. Steps were heard. The attorney's cries
had roused the servants.
Viola made a violent movement. Again, and again, and again was the broad
steel buried in the breast of his victim. Then, seizing the papers with
his bloody hands, he rushed from the room and reached the yard, where
he was met by the coachman and another servant. They pursued him.
He crossed the meadow, and disappeared in the thicket which covers the
banks of the Theiss.
When the domestics entered the attorney's room they found him dying.
There were no traces of a robbery. The wretched man's watch and purse
lay on the bed.
"Robbers! Murderers!" cried the cook, who was the first to enter.
"Follow him!"
"Send for the doctor!"
"No, send for the curate!"
All was noise and confusion. Two of the men raised the attorney and laid
him on the bed.
"Follow him!" gasped Mr. Catspaw, "Follow! My papers!"
"What papers?" said the cook.
"Tengelyi----" groaned the dying man.
His lips moved, but his voice was lost in a hoarse rattle.
"I've caught him!" cried a haiduk from the corridor, as he dragged
Jantshi, the Jewish glazier, into the room.
"That's the rascal!" said the haiduk. "That's him. He was hid in the
chimney!"
"Oh, the villain!" cried the cook, pushing the reluctant Jew to Mr.
Catspaw's bed. "I say, your worship, that's the man!"
The attorney shook his head. His lips moved, but no sound was heard.
"But, sir, I'm sure it's he!" said the cook. "Give us a nod, sir!"
Again Mr. Catspaw shook his head. He seized the cook by the hand; he
would have spoken, but it was in vain. With a convulsive motion of his
body he stared round, and, falling back, breathed his last.
"I'd like to know what he meant?" said the cook, when they had bound the
prisoner and locked him up in the cellar; "when I showed him the Jew, he
shook his head."
"His last word," cried Mrs. Kata Cizmeasz, the female cook of the
servant's hall, wiping her eyes, less from sorrow for Mr. Catspaw's
death, than because she thought it was proper that women should weep on
such occasions; "his last word was _Tengelyi_."
"Hold your silly tongue!" said the cook, with dignity; "it's blasphemous
to say such a thing of Mr. Tengelyi!"
"Really," reiterated Mrs. Kata Cizmeasz, "it struck me that he said
'Tengelyi;' and when he could not speak, poor dear, he moved his lips,
for all the world, as if to say 'Tengelyi' over again. When my poor
husband, God rest his soul! was dying of the dropsy, he didn't speak by
the day; but I looked at his mouth, and understood what he meant to say.
'Go away! Come here! Give me some water!' Any thing he'd like. I knew it
all!" And she wiped her eyes.
"Bless that woman!" said the cook, appealing to the crowd of servants,
"She'll be after accusing the notary of the murder. Did I ever!"
"Bless yourself!" retorted Mrs. Kata; "all I say is, that the attorney
said 'Tengelyi' when we asked him who had done it? He said it with a
clear voice. I heard it quite distinctly, and I'll take my oath on it!"
"Never mind! Who knows what he meant?"
"I am sure _I_ don't; all I say is, that the attorney----"
"Very well; leave it to the judge. Depend upon it, he'll come to know
the truth of it, and you'll see that I'm in the right in saying as I do,
that the Jew is the murderer," said the cook, angrily; and, turning to
the two servants, he added, "Lock the door, and send for the judge!
Hands off! is the word in a place where a robbery or a murder has been
committed."
CHAP. XIII.
After Mr. Catspaw had left the notary's house on that fatal night,
Tengelyi's family, including Akosh and Vandory, settled peacefully down
in Mrs. Ershebet's room, while the notary himself was engaged in writing
letters. He was determined to recover his rights; and, thinking that
some of his father's old friends might possibly assist him in
establishing his title, he was about to appeal to them to support him in
his present extremity.
While thus employed, his attention was roused by a slight knock at the
window. He got up, opened it, and looked out; but as nothing was visible
in the darkness, he was just about to return to his work, when a letter
was flung into the room. The notary was astonished; but his
astonishment increased when, after unfolding the crumpled-up and soiled
despatch, he read the following lines:--
"I am a man who owes you a large debt of gratitude. I
am accused of having stolen papers from your house,
but this is a base and false accusation. The Jew, whom
the sheriff's attorney bribed, was the thief. I took
them from the Jew; however, the story is too long to
tell. Meet me at the lime-tree, just by the ferry, at
eleven o'clock; but not earlier. If it cost my life, I
will put the papers in your hands before midnight!
"I entreat you, in the name of God, to come, and fear
no harm! You have taken my wife and children under
your roof, and I would give my life to serve you or
any of your family. If you do not come, I know not
what to do with the papers: I dare not enter the
village; I must cross the Theiss this very night. Let
me implore you to keep the meeting secret, and come
alone. The county has set a price on my head; and if
they get the least hint of my whereabouts, I am a dead
man. I am in your hands.
"VIOLA."
The perusal of these lines was no easy task to the notary. "What shall I
do?" said he. "If I do not follow the robber's advice, the papers will
most probably be irrecoverably lost. If Viola leaves the county, he will
take good care not to come back again; and he will destroy them if it be
only in order that they should not be proofs against him. On the other
hand, if it should be found out that I, a member of the law, and an
honest man, had clandestine meetings with a robber, without delivering
him up to justice, what a dreadful light it would place me in!" Spiteful
things had already been said by his enemies, because he had taken
Viola's wife and children into his house. Another man would most likely
have thought it his duty and interest to go to the appointed place,
though not alone, to arrest Viola, and thus at once to obtain his
papers: but this proceeding would not accord with Tengelyi's
disposition; he was incapable of such an act, whatever might have been
its advantages.
Yet there were but those two alternatives. What to do he knew not. He
paced the room, agitated by mingled feelings of duty and patriotism.
First he would yield to the robber's request; then, again, he would not.
Thus he continued resolving and wavering, till Mrs. Ershebet called him
to supper.
The notary's absence and confusion during supper astonished and
perplexed his family.
He burnt the letter after deciphering its contents, lest it should fall
into other hands.
After supper was over, Vandory and Akosh took their leave. Mr. Tengelyi
wished his wife and daughter good night; and, under the pretence of
business, he hastened to his study. When alone, he gave himself up to a
full contemplation of his situation. He resolved to see the robber.
"Inform against Viola? No, no; such a mean unmanly act I would not be
guilty of! And how could I be so unjust to my wife and children as not
to embrace this opportunity of establishing my rights? If he has my
papers, so much the better! if not, then at least I shall have the
satisfaction of knowing that I have neglected nothing to regain my
property. It is not likely that this meeting should ever be known. What
have I to fear if my conscience is unsullied?"
The clock was on the stroke of eleven, when the notary crept from his
house into the garden. When he gained the open field adjoining the
house, he struck off to the left, and in a few minutes he reached the
path leading to the Theiss. It was a thorough November night. Not a star
or even a drifting cloud could be seen; and so dark was it, that it
required all the notary's care and knowledge of the way to carry him on
without accident. The village was hushed in sleep, and he reached the
spot without meeting any one.
In summer this place was one of the prettiest anywhere about. The
lime-tree was of gigantic growth, and its wide-spreading branches
afforded a delicious shade. The grass around it was of the freshest and
purest green, and when other grass-plots were scorched up by the July
sun, this place seemed to be fresher and greener than ever. Three sides
of the meadow were hedged in and surrounded with bushes; on the unfenced
side stood a few old trunks of trees, dropping their bare branches into
the yellow Theiss, that washed their withered roots.
Mr. Tengelyi had spent many an hour under that tree with his friend,
who, on such occasions, would exclaim that no spot was so charming as
the banks of the Theiss; and that if the Turk's Hill were not there, the
lime-tree alone would make Tissaret a beautiful place to live in.
Now this spot looks mournful and forsaken. The beautiful green plot is
covered with sere and yellow leaves, and the night winds howl through
the unclad branches of the noble linden; while the swelling waves of the
Theiss lash its sombre banks.
The notary, wrapped in his bunda, walked dejectedly up and down; at
times he stood still and listened. On a sudden he heard a rustling in
the bush, but seeing no one near, he thought it a delusion, and
continued walking, but now and then turning to look at the ferryman's
hut, which was about two hundred yards distant, and in the kitchen of
which a large fire sent its glaring and flickering shadows dancing on
the black landscape.
It was half-past eleven, and yet Viola came not. Could he have changed
his mind, or had any thing happened to prevent him? Perhaps he was
scared by the hue and cry which had been raised after him.
Suddenly a cry of murder rang through the air. It came nearer.
"Good God!" cried the notary; "can it be that Viola is taken?" And to
escape being seen in this questionable place, and at such a time, too,
he hastened back to the village.
A few minutes after the notary's departure, Viola broke through the
hedge. A parcel of papers was in his hand. One moment he stood
still--one moment he cast an anxious and half-desponding look around
him. But the man whom he sought was not there. The avenger of blood was
at his heels. He leapt down the bank, stepped into a boat which lay hid
among the willows; and the lusty strokes of his oars were drowned in the
shouts of his pursuers.
"Here he is! That's the place he went in! At him, boys!" cried they, as
they rushed into the open space. But here they were at fault. They had
lost the track of him they were pursuing. Their clamours roused the old
ferryman in his hut. Ferko, the coachman, who led the crowd of servants
and peasants from the house, approached, and the ferryman, coming up,
asked what was the matter, and whether some one had stolen a horse.
"No, no!" cried the coachman. "Our attorney has been killed, and we have
pursued the murderer to this spot. We saw him a minute ago. He's hid in
the bush, here; help us to find him. He must be here!"
"The Lord have mercy on us! What, the attorney killed! Well, after all
there's not much harm done. But you are far out if you think to find him
here. He is in the village by this time! A few minutes before we heard
the row here, a man walked very fast by our house to the village. You
heard the footsteps, Andresh, didn't you?"
"That's him! that's him! Quick! Go after him!" shouted the coachman;
and, without waiting to hear the young man's reply, he darted off
precisely in the same direction which the notary had taken on his way
home.
"He is not here! He has made for the village, it's plain enough!" said
the ferryman, as he with difficulty hobbled after the party.
As the hounds follow the scent, so the coachman and his companions
followed the foot-marks. "What's this?" exclaimed Ferko, stooping to
pick up a stick which lay on the ground. "It's a stick; a gentleman's
walking-stick, too. It's a tshakany[28]; no doubt the robber has stolen
it somewhere!"
[Footnote 28: See Note XI.]
They traced the foot-marks up to the hedge of the notary's garden. The
coachman walked round it.
"The devil take it!" cried he; "the foot-marks end here."
The others snatched the lantern from his hand, and eagerly looked for a
continuation of the foot-marks.
It was no use; the track which had continued up to that point was lost.
They were again at fault.
"Surely the earth can't have swallowed him!" said the ferryman.
"Perhaps he's hid on the other side of the hedge," said the coachman:
"stay here; I'll jump over and see."
"No, no! don't do that!" cried the ferryman, pulling Ferko back; "that's
the way to get a knock on the head. What does it matter to us if the
attorney is killed? For my part, I wished him to the devil last summer;
he won't come down upon me now for a hundred and fifty florins a year!"
But the coachman, though not stimulated to follow Viola from any love to
Catspaw, paid no attention to this advice, and bounded over the fence.
He returned soon afterwards, declaring that all trace of the robber was
lost; and they were just about to return home, when the ferryman's son
came running to inform them that he had discovered some fresh foot-marks
on the garden path. They all ran to the garden gate, which was open, and
found the continuation of the foot-marks which they had so suddenly and
mysteriously lost. They were distinctly traced up to the very door of
the house.
"He is in the notary's house, or perhaps he is in the shed," said Ferko,
in the tone of a man who, when he has came to a certain point, will
hazard all. "Let us enter."
"What!" said the ferryman, seizing him by the coat; "you don't think of
looking in Mr. Tengelyi's house for a murderer, do you?"
"And why not?" retorted Ferko.
"Don't you know it would not be the first time robbers have been in this
house? It's here young Mr. Akosh was shot at!"
"But you forget," answered the ferryman, "that this house is a
nobleman's!"
"What do we care for that? We are in search of Viola. Moreover, did we
not ransack the house with the justice at our head?"
"That's different," said the ferryman; "they were gentlemen,--we are
not. They would kick us out of doors."
"Well, we'll see about that. I am Lady Rety's coachman, and have the
honour of wearing her livery. I should like to see the notary kick me!"
And Ferko tore himself from the grasp of the ferryman, and rushed into
the house, accompanied by the men who came from the Castle.
The old man remained outside, heartily praying that the servants of the
place would seize Ferko and his companions, and give them a thorough
whipping.
However bold the coachman might have felt in entering the house, he was
penitent and abashed when Mr. Tengelyi, who had only just come in, and
had not had time to throw off his bunda, stepped out of his room, and
said, in a commanding voice, "What do you want here?"
For a moment they stood speechless; but when, gradually regaining
confidence, Ferko told the notary that Mr. Catspaw had been murdered,
and that they had traced the robber's footsteps up to his door, Mr.
Tengelyi became much distressed. He thought of Viola's letter, and could
not doubt for a moment that the outlaw had perpetrated this dreadful act
to gain possession of the papers. Perhaps he was, though unconsciously,
the cause of the murder. This thought made the notary shudder. The
coachman and his companions remarked the effect their news produced upon
him, and looked amazed at each other, while Tengelyi stood motionless,
with the candle trembling in his hand. By degrees he regained his
self-possession, and began to inquire how the murder was committed?
when? and where?
"We followed the robber to the banks of the Theiss, where we suddenly
lost him," said the coachman, casting occasional glances at the notary's
boots, which were covered with mud, and at his companions; "from there
we have traced his footsteps to your house."
"I beg your pardon," said the ferryman, stepping forward; "we have found
foot-marks leading to this place, it is true; but whether they are the
robber's marks or not, I cannot say. And you know I said we ought not to
enter this house, that it was a nobleman's curia, but----"
"You are mad!" said the notary, with indignation. "If you think a
murderer is secreted in my house, search, and leave no corner
unexamined!"
The inmates became alarmed by the noise; and Ershebet and Vilma got up
and hastily dressed themselves; while the notary, with a lantern in his
hand, led the way into every room and nook of his house, until they were
convinced that the robber was not there.
"Did you see," said Ferko to the ferryman, holding him back; "did you
see how he trembled when I mentioned the murder of the attorney?"
"Of course I did. Do you think I am blind?"
"And his boots too were up to the ankles in mud," continued Ferko.
"That's no wonder, in such weather as this," answered the ferryman;
"ours are nearly up to the knees in mud."
"By God! If I had not known him these ten years, I would----"
"You don't mean to say that you suspect the notary of the murder of
Catspaw, do you?" demanded the ferryman, with warmth.
"If nobody else had been in the house, upon my soul I'd believe it!"
"You are a fool, Ferko!" exclaimed the old man, turning round in the
direction of the Castle, whither all the others repaired in silence.
During the search Mr. Tengelyi had been summoned in great haste to the
Castle.
NOTES TO VOL. II.
NOTE I.
BUZOGANY.
Among the characteristic weapons of the ancient Hungarians was the
buzogany, a short staff, with a heavy knob of precious metal at the end.
The buzogany is a symbol of command, and as such it is still found in
the hands of the Indian Rajahs. In Hungary, it was usually hung by the
side of the sabre. It still denotes military rank and authority. The
lower classes have a similar weapon, the tshakany; a long stick, with a
square piece of iron at one end, and a hook at the other. The fokosh is
a stick, armed with an axe and spike. The tshakany and fokosh are
dangerous weapons in the hands of the Hungarian herdsmen.
NOTE II.
TOKANY.
Tokany is pork roasted with spices and scented herbs.
NOTE III.
SWATOPLUK.
Swatopluk was a king of the Czechian empire in the days of Arpad, who
first brought his warriors into the kingdom of Hungary. When Arpad
approached the confines of the country, he sent ambassadors to
Swatopluk, to ask him for grass from the Hungarian heaths, and for water
from the Danube (a variation of the demand of "earth and water" of
classic reminiscence); and in return he offered the Czechish king a
white steed with a purple bridle. Swatopluk, who had no idea of the
Oriental meaning of the demand, readily accepted the horse, and provided
Arpad's ambassadors with a plentiful supply of hay and water. Upon this
the Hungarians advanced on the great heath between the Danube and the
Theiss (A.D. 889). Swatopluk would have opposed them, but they offered
him battle, and routed his army. The king of the Czechs was glad to make
his escape on the very horse which he had accepted in exchange for his
kingdom.
Grotesque illustrations of this transaction are frequently to be met
with in ancient Hungarian houses. The legend under the pictures
expresses Swatopluk's astonishment and wonder at the sight of the white
horse, for, as king of a pedestrian nation, he is profoundly ignorant of
horses and horsemanship. He questions the Hungarian ambassadors, whether
the horse is likely to bite, and what food will please this wonderful
animal; and on the reply that the horse is in the habit of eating
_oats_, the king replies, "By my troth, a dainty beast! Nothing will
please him but my own food!" The Slowaks, in Upper Hungary, are
descendants of the conquered race, and still addicted to the historical
diet of Swatopluk, the prince, who sold a kingdom for a horse.
NOTE IV.
HUNGARIAN NAMES.
In all Hungarian names the Christian name is put after the family name,
as, Kossuth Lajosh, Lewis Kossuth; Teleky Shandor, Alexander Teleky;
Gorove Ishtvan, Stephen Gorove.
NOTE V.
WIZARD STUDENT.
The legend of Faustus has a natural foundation in the creative
superstition of darker ages. Hungary, too, has its wizard student, and
one who need not blush to be ranged with Faustus, Albertus Magnus,
Michael Scott, and Friar Bacon, for his power was and is great. The
wizard student is possessor of a dragon, which carries him through the
air. He has an absolute control over hailstones and thunderbolts. He is
an impertinent fellow, fond of mischief, of pretty women, and milk. It
is therefore but natural that the women in the Hungarian villages should
offer him jars of milk, to engage his goodwill and to prevent his
devastating their harvests with hail and lightning.
NOTE VI.
TATOSH.
This name belongs originally to the priests of the ancient Hungarians,
and it is still given to soothsayers. Their characteristic feature is,
that they are white-livered and gifted with second sight. But the name
of Tatosh is likewise given to the magic steed of the Hungarian legend.
The Tatosh is jet black, and so extraordinarily quick-footed that he
will gallop on the sea without dipping his hoofs into the water. He is
attached and faithful to his master, with whom he converses, and whom he
surpasses in understanding.
NOTE VII.
KONDASH.
This word stands for Kanaz, or keeper of swine.
NOTE VIII.
SCARCITY OF HANGMEN.
Almost all the smaller Hungarian towns and boroughs had (before the
Revolution) the right of judging and executing the persons who were
within their jurisdiction. Capital executions were frequent, as is
always the case when the power over life and death is given into the
hands of small and close corporations; but still, though a large number
of people were hanged each year, the executions which fell to the share
of each individual town and borough were few and far between. In cases
of this kind the poorer communities were frequently at a loss to find an
executioner; for they could not afford to maintain one merely for the
chance of employing him once or twice every three years.
The greatest difficulty was usually experienced in a case of
_Statarium_; for if the sentence was not executed within a certain time,
it was annulled, and the prisoner came within the jurisdiction of the
common courts. There was, therefore, no time left to send for an
executioner to one of the larger towns; and it was a common occurrence
that a gipsy was induced, by threats and promises of reward, to
discharge the odious functions of an executioner.
Justice _in a fix_ was the more prone to appeal to the help of the
Bohemian population, from the vagrant habits of the gipsies, which
prevented the man who volunteered as a hangman suffering from the odium
which would have fallen to the share of a resident of the place, and
from the fact that the extreme jealousy of the wealthier corporations
made it by no means an easy matter to borrow a hangman. It is on record
that the inhabitants of Kesmarkt, in the Zips, sent an envoy to the
magistrates of the city of Lutshau to ask for the loan of their hangman,
a request to which their worships gave an indignant refusal. "For," said
they to the negotiator, "tell your masters we keep our hangman _for
ourselves and for our children_, but not for the people of Kesmarkt!"
NOTE IX.
HASZONTALAN PARASZT.
The phrase of "good-for-nothing peasant" was, at one time, frequently
used by the privileged classes. M. Kossuth's party succeeded in turning
the odium of that phrase against those who employed it.
NOTE X.
BATTLE OF MOHATSH.
The city of Mohatsh, in Lower Hungary, was the scene of a terrible
battle between the Hungarians and the Turks. Solyman the Magnificent
succeeded his father Selymus on the Ottoman throne in the year 1520.
After quelling an insurrection in Syria, and establishing his power in
Egypt, he resolved to turn his arms against the Christian nations. His
great-grandfather had endeavoured, without success, to obtain possession
of Belgrade,--a city in which were deposited most of the trophies taken
by the Hungarians in their wars with the Turks. The Sultan, having
rapidly moved his army towards the frontiers, arrived in Servia before
the Hungarians were even aware of his approach.
At this period the Hungarian power had greatly declined. The throne was
occupied by Louis II., a young and feeble sovereign, who had no means of
raising an army sufficient to contend against his powerful and ambitious
enemy. "His nobility," says the quaint historian Knolles, "in whose
hands rested the wealth of his kingdom, promised much, but performed,
indeed, nothing. Huniades, with his hardy soldiers,--the scourge and
terror of the Turks,--were dead long before; so was Matthias, that
fortunate warrior: after whom succeeded others given to all pleasure and
ease, to whose example the people, fashioning themselves, forgot their
wonted valour."
Belgrade fell almost without resistance.
Solyman, having gained his immediate object, broke up his army, returned
to Constantinople, and employed himself in fitting out a fleet for the
conquest of Rhodes, which he also effected towards the end of the year
1522. Having devoted the three following years to the organisation of a
large army, he resumed his designs against Hungary, taking advantage of
the distracted state of Europe in consequence of the Italian campaign of
Francis I. against Charles V.
The inroad of the Turks was sudden in the extreme. Before Louis had any
knowledge of the intentions of Solyman, a Turkish army of two hundred
thousand men had crossed the frontiers of Hungary. When the young
monarch learned the peril to which his kingdom was exposed, he addressed
applications for assistance to most of the Christian princes; but
without success. He summoned the prelates and nobles of Hungary to his
aid. They obeyed the call with great readiness; but the troops which
they brought into the field were ill-appointed and inexperienced. They
had been accustomed to triumph over the Turks, and therefore treated the
coming danger with haughty contempt. Archbishop Tomoreus, in particular,
who had had a few slight skirmishes with the Turks, boasted of his own
prowess; and assured the army, in a sermon which he delivered, that the
infidels were doomed to destruction.
The king's troops amounted to five-and-twenty thousand men, horse and
foot. His old officers foresaw the result of a conflict which was about
to be undertaken with such inadequate means, and they advised the king
to withdraw from the scene of danger. They insisted on his retiring to
the Castle of Buda. But to this proceeding the army objected; and
declared that, unless they were led by their sovereign, they would not
fight. Whereupon the king advanced with his army, and encamped at
Mohatsh, at a short distance from the Turkish vanguard.
A body of Transylvanian horsemen having been expected to join the king,
it was debated whether he should not defer giving battle until the
arrival of a force so essential for his support against the enemy. The
impetuosity of the Archbishop, however, unfortunately decided the
councils of the day, and preparations were made for the encounter.
The vanguard of the Turks consisted of twenty thousand horsemen, which
were divided into four squadrons, and which harassed the king's troops
by skirmishes. So closely did they watch the Hungarian army, that no man
could attempt to water his horse in the Danube. They were compelled to
resort to digging ditches within the confines of the camp. In the mean
time, Solyman arrived at Mohatsh with the main body of his army. The
Archbishop Tomoreus arranged the order of the battle. He stationed the
cavaliers at intervals among the infantry, fearing that the Turks might
crush his line by flank marches, unless it were extended as far as
possible. A small force was left in charge of the tents, which were
surrounded with waggons chained together; and, next them, a chosen body
of horse was placed in reserve, for the purpose of protecting the
king's person, in case any disaster should occur.
It is said that the gunners employed on the Turkish side, being, for the
most part, Christians, purposely pointed the artillery so high, that
their fire was altogether harmless. Nevertheless, at the first onset,
the Hungarians were completely routed by the superior number of their
antagonists. Tomoreus was among the first victims of that fatal day. His
followers displayed their usual gallantry, but perished, in this unequal
conflict, one after another; and, the horsemen once trampled down and
killed, the camp remained open to the assault of the enemy. The garrison
was too weak to make any defence, and the reserve force was called in to
assist them. The king, seeing his army overthrown, and his guard engaged
in a fatal conflict with the enemy, took to flight; but his horse,
scared by the turmoil of the conflict, bore him into a deep morass, in
which he was drowned. Solyman marched up to Buda, which he took by
assault.
NOTE XI.
For the meaning of Tshakany, see Note I.
END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.
LONDON:
SPOTTISWOODES and SHAW,
New-street-Square.
THE VILLAGE NOTARY.
VOL. III.
THE VILLAGE NOTARY.
CHAPTER I.
If my readers had ever seen the inmates of the Castle of Tissaret, they
would not be astonished to find that, after the first shock of the
sudden death of Mr. Catspaw had worn off, the matter was thought of, and
commented on, with utter indifference. The order and quiet of the Castle
was quite restored, and the servants sat talking of the murder round a
blazing fire in the kitchen. But although some of them were in the
attorney's room almost immediately after the deed was perpetrated,
nobody knew any thing about it. Everybody's statement differed. They sat
talking until daybreak, and yet they were no wiser than when they began.
They rose and separated with opinions as various as those entertained of
Hannibal's passage across the Alps.
The greatest incoherence, however, was in the dying man's own statement.
When they asked him who had done the deed, he distinctly mentioned the
name of Tengelyi. But Mrs. Cizmeasz, who was an honest and
truth-speaking woman, insisted on its being a request to see the notary,
and protested that it had nothing to do with the murder.
Mr. Tengelyi had hastened to the Castle on the night of the murder, and
on hearing that the dying man's last word was his name, he grew pale and
agitated. This did not fail to produce its effects upon the observers.
As soon as he had caused the door of the room, in which the corpse of
the attorney lay, to be sealed up, he left the Castle.
Mr. Skinner did not arrive before the next morning, though he had been
repeatedly sent for during the night.
When his carriage at length drove up to the door, the cook ran out
exclaiming, "Our attorney is murdered, sir!"
"Poor man!" said Mrs. Cizmeasz; "his last words were----"
"But we have found the murderer," said the cook with great joy.
"_I_ found him!" cried the haiduk.
"Yes, in the chimney!" bawled the kitchen-maid.
"He got off!" cried Mrs. Cizmeasz, in a shrill voice.
"Yes, yes, we have him! It's the Jew--the glazier, sir; you know him,"
said the cook, who wished to be an important personage in the affair.
"He has made his escape," said the coachman, coming forward; "we
followed him to the Theiss, when----"
"He is in the cellar," bawled the foot-boy; "I have bound him hand and
foot!"
"Yes, sir," resumed the coachman, "we ran at his heels until we came to
the thicket----"
"The door is duly sealed, sir, and I have the Jew under lock and key,"
said the cook, with dignity.
"It wasn't the Jew!" screamed Mrs. Kata.
"It was the Jew, sure enough!" said the cook.
"If it was the Jew, why did Mr. Catspaw shake his head?" urged the lady,
shaking her head, in imitation of the attorney.
The dispute grew hot, and the clamour became deafening. Mrs. Cizmeasz
protested that it was not the Jew, and the others swore it was the Jew.
"Are you people all gone mad?" thundered the justice, in the midst of
the confusion; "it is impossible to hear oneself speak in such a Babel
as this!"
In an instant the clamour ceased. Mrs. Cizmeasz fluttered and muttered
still, and, turning to the person next to her, in whom she hoped to find
a more patient listener, she declared, still shaking her head, that was
the way in which Mr. Catspaw had shaken his when the Jew was brought
before him.
"My dear friend!" said the justice at length to the cook, "is it not
possible to get some breakfast?--it's bitterly cold!"
"Certainly, sir," answered the cook; "if you will go to my warm room,
I'll get it as soon as possible." After a few minutes, some brandy and
bread were brought until coffee was ready.
Mrs. Cizmeasz went fretting and grumbling to her room, leaving the
kitchen-maid to prepare the breakfast.
The cook was happy. He had the justice now all to himself, and was
busily engaged in explaining his own conviction of the murder, and in
trying to persuade Mr. Skinner to believe the same. According to his
opinion, there could be no doubt that the murder had been committed by
the Jew, who, on hearing the approach of footsteps, had hid himself in
the chimney, which also accounted for his not stealing any thing.
"The thing is too plain," added he; "a person with the smallest particle
of sense could see through it; every murderer, when found in the act,
hides himself behind the door, in a cupboard, or squeezes himself up a
chimney! Oh, I have read of such stories over and over again. That silly
woman fancies she is very wise, but she knows nothing about it."
"You are quite right," said the justice, in a fit of abstraction, and
filling his glass for the third time; "you are quite right, the matter
is very clear. As clear as can be."
"Did I not say so?" rejoined Mr. Kenihazy; nodding his head with great
satisfaction.
"What did you say?" asked the justice, who wished to remind Mr. Kenihazy
that he had had great difficulty in rousing him from sleep.
"I said that the man who had done this was certainly a great scoundrel."
"I remember you did say so; but I never should have thought this Jew had
such audacity. Poor Catspaw! he was a very good man."
"And what a hand he was at tarok, the other day!" said Kenihazy; "twice
he bagged the _Jew_; and with five taroks he won Zatonyi's _ultimo_. And
now this Jew!"
"But the rascal denies it all!" said the cook, entering with the coffee.
"Suppose you can't succeed in making him confess?"
"Succeed!" said the justice, casting a contemptuous look at the cook.
"Not succeed with a miserable Jew! I have done twenty years' service in
the county, and never failed in any thing I wished to accomplish!"
"Yes, sir, everybody knows that," replied the cook, with great humility;
"but Hebrews are sometimes very stubborn."
"Well, if he won't confess, he'll squeak!" said Mr. Skinner, pushing his
empty coffee-cup aside.
"He will have Skinner before him, a haiduk in the rear, and me at the
table; we'll show you sport, my boy!" said Mr. Kenihazy, with great
glee. "And once in the midst of us, he'll confess, I'll answer for it."
The breakfast was over; and Kenihazy, wondering how any one could have
the bad taste to drink coffee when such delicious wine and brandy could
be got in Hungary, drank off a glass of brandy to wash the coffee down.
The justice rose and lighted his pipe, which he had laid aside during
breakfast. He stalked up and down the room, trying the condition of his
voice. He ordered the haiduks to be ready, and the prisoner to be
brought before him at once.
The cook, to whom these orders were given, very curious to see the
examination of the Jew, lost no time in executing the justice's mandate.
Mr. Kenihazy sat mending some pens; and his face was radiant with joy at
having picked up a piece of coarse paper, on which he thought to take
down the evidence, and by this means save the better paper allowed him
by the county.
Mr. Skinner's manner of treating persons whom he suspected, was simple
in the extreme. His inquisitorial powers vented themselves in abuse,
imprecations, and kicks. Peti, the gipsy, and the treatment which he
received at the justice's hands on the Turk's Hill, are by no means an
unfavourable specimen of that worthy functionary's summary mode of
dealing with the lowly and unprotected; and in the present instance, the
poor Jew learned to his cost, that the worthy magistrate's jokes had
lost nothing of their pungency, and that his kicks retained their
pristine vigour. But if the justice was violent, the Jew was stubborn.
Neither Mr. Skinner's stunning rejoinders, nor the striking arguments of
the haiduk, whose stick played no mean part in court, could convince the
culprit of the propriety of making (as Mr. Kenihazy said) "a clean
breast of it." Nothing can equal Mr. Skinner's disgust and fury. He
stamped and swore--as indeed he always did--but to no purpose.
"Dog!" cried he; "I'll have you thrown into the wolf-pit. I'll have you
killed!" And kicking the Jew, he sent him staggering and stammering out
his innocence against the wall. "Innocent!" cried the justice, with a
savage laugh, "Does that fellow look as if he were innocent?"
Mr. Kenihazy and the cook stood laughing at the culprit, while the big
tears ran down his cheek from his one eye.
There was nothing, however, in the Jew's appearance that could impress
one with an idea of his innocence. His red hair, matted and wet from the
damp of the cellar, hung longer and straighter down his forehead than
usual. His dress and beard were in great filth and disorder. His ugly
features were wild and haggard from the pain of his bonds, and the
ill-treatment he had received from the justice and Mr. Kenihazy; in
short, he looked like one of the coarse woodcuts of Cain in the
story-books.
"I am innocent--I am not guilty!" blubbered the Jew. "I implore you! I
intreat you, Mr. Skinner, and Mr. Kenihazy, and Mister Cook, who knows
well----"
"Yes; I know you, you villain!" said the cook. "You have always robbed
me when I employed you----"
"Oh, I humbly entreat you! Oh, no, I never cheated any one!" sobbed the
Jew. "The panes of glass in the saloon were very dear, and I----"
"You dirty dog!" cried the justice. "You want to shift the question, do
you? I ask you again, and for the last time, why you murdered the
attorney?"
"I did not kill him," answered the Jew, sobbing; "what should I have
killed him for? He was my best friend; and if he were living now, he
would not see me used thus."
"Very possible, if you had not killed him!" quoth Paul Skinner.
"I never killed him," persisted the Jew. "When Mister Cook took me to
the attorney, and asked him if I had stabbed him, he shook his head, you
know he did, Mister Cook."
"That's true!" said the other, turning to the justice. "When I took the
knave to the bed-side, and asked the attorney if he had done it, he
shook his head."
"But who knows? Perhaps he didn't understand me, or he had lost his
senses, or he was so disgusted!"
"Oh, no!" said the prisoner, eagerly. "He hadn't lost his senses, or he
wouldn't have shaken his head twice again afterwards, when you asked
him if I had stabbed him."
"That's what Mrs. Cizmeasz said, I'm sure," said Mr. Kenihazy.
"Yes," said the Jew; "Mrs. Cook and everybody in the house were in the
room, and saw how poor dear Mr. Catspaw shook his head when I was
brought in. He did nothing but shake his head while I was in the room."
"Call the cook!" said Mr. Skinner, recollecting her extraordinary and
energetic behaviour on his arrival.
"It's a great pity," protested the cook, "that your worship should
fatigue yourself with the gibberish of that woman, who is as blind as a
bat in the matter. It was the Jew, and nobody but the Jew, that
committed the murder."
"I know all that," said the justice, with dignity; "but it's necessary
to observe certain forms." And again he desired the haiduk to call the
cook.
Catharine Cismeasz, or Mrs. Kata, as she was usually called, (for who,
as she often and justly remarked, will give a poor widow her due? and
even her Christian name is shortened, as if she were a mere
kitchen-maid),--Mrs. Kata, I say, had meanwhile addressed her own
partizans, to whom she complained of the stupidity of the judge, who
would not condescend to listen to a reasonable woman. "I am sure," said
she, "that fellow, the cook, will lead him astray; he's a treacherous
knave, so he is, and he's always getting my lady out of temper with
everybody; and I'm sure, sirs, he'll say it was the Jew, and yet he's as
innocent as an unborn babe, for when they took him to Mr. Catspaw's bed,
he----"
Here she was interrupted by a haiduk, who informed her that she was
wanted; whereupon her complaint was suddenly changed into high praise
and admiration of the justice, who, she said, was a proper man indeed.
After Mrs. Cizmeasz had spent a short time in dressing her head and
making herself spruce before a piece of glass which hung at the window,
she set off, with great consequence, to see the justice; declaring, at
the same time, that the truth should and would now be known.
She had never been in a court of justice. When Mr. Skinner asked her
what her name and occupation were, two things she thought the whole
world knew, she became much embarrassed; and when the judge inquired her
age, the cook could not refrain from tittering. "Forty-two," said she,
in so low a voice that it could scarcely be heard. And when the justice
warned her, in a very solemn manner, to speak the truth, for that what
she was about to say would all be taken down, and that, if she deviated
from the truth, a severe punishment would be inflicted upon her, she was
induced to believe that the whole was planned and got up by the cook to
pique her. In order, therefore, to thwart him, and in reply to Mr.
Skinner's exhortation, she said she really could not say exactly how old
she was, as she had lost the certificate of her birth; but she believed
she was younger than forty-two. The cook and Mr. Kenihazy laughed
outright; and the justice assured her, with a smile, that he was not
particular about the truth on that point, but he hoped she would be more
accurate in her evidence; upon which she took the opportunity of
assuring him that she always gave people to understand she was older
than she really was.
The questions, Whether she had known Mr. Catspaw? If she had ever seen
the culprit before? What she knew of him? &c. &c. put Mrs. Cizmeasz in
better spirits, and indemnified her for the disagreeable impression
which the first part of the examination had made on her mind.
She was one of those women who will neither hide in the earth nor wrap
in a napkin the loquacious talent with which Nature has endowed them.
Mrs. Cizmeasz had, all her life, talked with ease from morning till
night; and it could not be expected that now, perhaps for the first time
in her life that she spoke from duty, she should stint her hearers,
especially since Mr. Skinner had particularly cautioned her to tell all
she knew.
Mrs. Cizmeasz had a powerful memory at times, and, on this occasion,
remembered everything. She told where she had formerly lived; how she
had come to the Castle; what had happened since her first quarrel with
the cook; how the Jew (pointing to him) had stolen a florin and
twenty-four kreutzers from her when she sent him to the Debrezin fair to
buy twelve yards of calico: in short, the good woman left nothing untold
that she could remember.
At length the justice jumped up, and paced the room in a state of great
perplexity; and the clerk, who did not mean to write a book, laid his
pen aside. The cook cast a triumphant glance first at the justice, and
then at Mr. Kenihazy; as much as to say, "There, was I not right? Did I
not say it was no use to examine this woman?"
Paul Skinner could restrain his impatience no longer; he exclaimed,
"What, in the name of God, woman, do you mean by all this? Do you take
me to be your confessor, or your fool, that you pester me with your d--d
history?"
"I humbly beg your pardon," said Mrs. Kata, greatly astonished that any
one should not take an interest in what she had related; "but your
worship told me to tell everything and forget nothing, and that it would
all be written down, because a man's life depended upon it----"
"That you should forget nothing relating to the murder, were my words."
"Exactly," resumed the lady; "but when you ask me about my name and
occupation, and I answer that I am a widow, I must also mention my
husband, and how long we lived together, and I assure you, your worship,
we were very happy together, and when he died, and of what he died,
and----"
"Well, well," interposed the justice, heartily wishing her eloquence
anywhere but there; "now tell us, in a word, is it true that when the
cook took the Jew to the death-bed of Mr. Catspaw, he shook his head?"
"It is true, your worship," answered she, with a glance of defiance at
the cook; "he did shake his head; if your worship could only have seen
_how_ he shook his head! Since I stood at the death-bed of my
husband--poor man! God rest his soul, he was a cook----"
"Yes, we know all about it," said the justice, interrupting her; "he
died of dropsy. But tell us, young woman, is it true that my poor
friend, Mr. Catspaw, shook his head the second time when the cook asked
him?"
"He did shake his head! Your worship cannot think how he shook his head!
for all the world like my poor dead husband! God rest him! The last
fourteen days I never left him, day or night----"
"Who knows," observed the cook, "but perhaps he shook it with disgust?"
"What!" exclaimed Mrs. Cizmeasz, "my husband shaking with disgust? My
husband was happy to the last moment. He lost his speech, poor man; he
understood no one but me, and whatever he wished----"
"Who the devil speaks of your husband?" interposed the justice; "God
give him peace! he must have had little in this world. The question is,
whether Mr. Catspaw was in his senses or not when he shook his head?"
"Out of his senses!" said Mrs. Cizmeasz. "I beg your worship's pardon,
nobody can say that but such a fool as----" here she darted a look at
the cook that left no doubt of its meaning--"he who doesn't understand
a man unless he speaks. When the water came into my husband's breast he
couldn't speak, but I understood him to the last; and he used to throw
such sweet melancholy looks at me, as if he would say, 'Thank you, my
sweet dove!'"
But here she came back to the point, seeing the justice get very
impatient. "How could poor Mr. Catspaw be wandering in his mind when he
answered questions which were put to him?"
"He spoke? and what did he say?" inquired the justice, very eagerly.
"He didn't say much, it is true, but it was distinct," answered the
woman. "Everybody in the room heard him say 'Tengelyi,' when he was
asked who had stabbed him; and then the rattles came into his throat."
"Tengelyi?" cried the justice and Kenihazy, in utter astonishment. "Most
extraordinary!"
"Why does your worship listen to such nonsense?" interposed the cook,
impatiently; "this woman would bring her father to the gallows!"
"Nonsense, is it?" cried Mrs. Cizmeasz; "then why does the justice
listen to it, and why does Mr. Kenihazy write it down? Well, I don't
care! I don't want to speak; if I had not been asked I would have said
nothing; I never would have spoken to any one about it."
Mr. Skinner shouted at the top of his voice that she must not confound
the evidence, but tell him if her memory was quite clear--if she was
quite sure that Mr. Catspaw had mentioned the name of Tengelyi?
"Why should I not remember!" cried she, amidst a clamour of voices. "The
attorney spoke as well as we do now. Everybody was in the room, and
everybody heard him say, 'Tengelyi.'"
"Nobody heard it!" shouted the cook, in spite of all admonitions to keep
silence. "When did he say it? What reason could he have for saying it? I
say----"
"When did he say it? When you took the Jew to his bed-side, and asked
him if that was the man who had murdered him," screamed Mrs. Cizmeasz,
getting into a generous passion; "first he shook his head, and----"
"It's not true!" bawled the cook, trying to drown her voice. "It's a
lie! He first said Tengelyi, and afterwards shook his head."
"I say he first shook his head, and then said Tengelyi; and everybody
who speaks the truth will say so too!" screamed the other.
"It's a lie, I say! and everybody that says it is a liar, though he
swore it a thousand times!" shouted the cook, in a voice of thunder, and
darting looks of the fiercest lightning at Mrs. Cizmeasz.
"I'll call the whole house to prove it," said Mrs. Kata, with a face as
red as scarlet.
At length the justice interfered, and said, "To set this matter right,
we must have another examination of witnesses."
While the haiduk was absent to call all the people together who had
witnessed the last moments of Mr. Catspaw, the two cooks were engrossed
in dispute, and Mr. Skinner warned Mr. Kenihazy to take particular
notice of that part of the woman's evidence relating to the attorney's
last words.
The messenger found the remainder of the witnesses jabbering away all
together in the kitchen. He brought them at once to the justice; but
never was a man more deceived than Mr. Skinner was when he thought to
remove the veil from the mystery by the multiplicity of witnesses.
He had now got six instead of two. The steward and boots took Mrs.
Kata's part; the kitchen-maid and scullery-maid that of the man cook;
the cooks were equally backed. For a quarter of an hour after the
witnesses had entered the room the noise and confusion were pitiable. At
length the justice, shrugging his shoulders impatiently, said, "It
doesn't signify a jot whether he shook his head before or afterwards.
The principal thing is, that the attorney was distinctly heard to
pronounce the name of Tengelyi. On that much depends. I hope you have
taken that down?" inquired he, turning to Mr. Kenihazy, who nodded in
the affirmative, without raising his head from the paper.
The contending parties looked at each other with astonishment. Mrs. Kata
Cizmeasz, who had not the least intention of throwing suspicion on the
notary, and who simply wished to prove her assertion that the attorney
first shook his head and afterwards said "Tengelyi!" was now horrified
at the justice's words. The cook alone had the presence of mind to
remind Mr. Skinner that he had not corroborated this assertion, and also
deposed that the dying man had certainly mentioned Tengelyi, but not
when it was a question of his murderer. Everybody affirmed this with a
nod, but particularly Mrs. Kata, who, when she saw the consequences of
her evidence, burst into tears, and, sobbing, said, "I am a poor lone
widow, and Mister Cook must know better than I do. I was so terrified
when I saw the bleeding breast of Mr. Catspaw that I knew not what I
did, or what I saw, or what I heard."
As the unfortunate witnesses endeavoured to retract what they had said,
the justice was induced to assure them that everything they had said had
been taken down: "And," added he, "if any of the witnesses endeavour to
revoke or explain away what they have said in their evidence against
Tengelyi, they shall see and feel the consequences of telling lies in a
court of justice!"
Mrs. Kata, under the shock of these words, shrunk terrified into a
corner of the room.
The cook, who had a profound veneration for the notary, was much
afflicted, and, in spite of his respect for a justice, he could not
suppress his indignation. "I cannot see, sir," said he, "what cause you
can find in the evidence to suspect Mr. Tengelyi."
"What cause?" rejoined the justice, darting a look of wrath at the cook.
"What cause? That's a question on which your decision will not be
required. Moreover, I think it cause enough, when this woman and two
other witnesses affirm that the dying man (the simple assertion of a
dying man is worth a thousand oaths of another person) named Tengelyi as
his murderer."
"I did not say that," sighed Mrs. Kata, stepping forward; "I only said
that the attorney shook his head, and then said 'Tengelyi.' I never
thought these words could throw suspicion on the notary."
"It's quite certain," said the cook, who, being a freeman, felt himself
insulted by the manner in which the justice had spoken to him,--"every
man can have his suspicions if he likes; but when it's a question of
murder, I think it a great shame that the mere prattle of a silly woman
should throw suspicion on a man of Tengelyi's respectability."
"But did you not say yourself that Mr. Catspaw mentioned the notary?"
said the justice, in a cutting tone. "Moreover, it's well known that Mr.
Catspaw and the notary have been enemies all their life, and it is
thought that the notary has not behaved to him as he ought to have done.
Even yesterday they had a violent dispute; and who knows but what the
attorney had to repent it in his last moments? And what is still more
suspicious is, that they quarrelled again yesterday evening. The cook
himself has said so. Make a note of that!" said the justice, turning to
Mr. Kenihazy.
The cook could not deny this; and Mrs. Kata, thinking to benefit the
notary, and make amends for her former imprudence, related the quarrel
of the previous evening, with the addition of all the scandal and
tittle-tattle of the village.
"Most strange! most suspicious!" exclaimed the justice, turning to Mr.
Kenihazy; "that my friend should be found murdered in his bed the very
night on which he had had a deadly quarrel with the notary. This woman's
evidence proves beyond a doubt that my friend died by the notary's hand.
I hope you have taken down every word," said he, still addressing his
clerk.
The cook wished to speak; but, finding the justice would not listen to
him, he said to Mr. Kenihazy, in a subdued voice, "If the Jew didn't do
it, what business had he in the chimney?"
Mr. Skinner, instead of replying to the cook, addressed the Jew: "Who
has bribed you to this horrid act? Who are your accomplices, you scurvy
hound? For it's you who struck the blow, you vagabond!" continued the
justice. "Confess this instant! Say who employed you to murder the
attorney! If you are candid, and tell everything, you may do yourself
some good; but if you hesitate, I'll----" Here he raised his hand in
such a way as made the Jew instinctively throw his arm over his head to
protect it; and no doubt he would have suited the blow to the attitude,
had not a carriage at that instant driven up to the door.
The arrival of the sheriff and his family changed the scene at the
Castle entirely.
Mr. and Lady Rety proceeded directly from the carriage to the room where
the witnesses were examined. The justice gave them the full details of
the murder, the news of which had reached them during the night. The
sheriff and his wife seemed much afflicted.
"It is atrocious!" exclaimed Lady Rety, when the justice had finished,
"that such a murder should take place in my house, and under the eyes
and ears of so many people!"
"My poor wife is quite overwhelmed!" said the sheriff; "she had a
presentiment of something dreadful all day yesterday; I never saw her so
excited and feverish in my life!"
"Do not talk so," said Lady Rety, whose lip was pale and quivering;
"people will take me for a lunatic. I only felt indisposed, as, indeed,
I do to-day."
The justice endeavoured to condole with her ladyship, while Dr. Sherer
hastened to feel her pulse; but the Jew, whose eye encountered Lady
Rety's, looked at her with a glance full of meaning.
"It's quite certain," remarked the sheriff, "that he who committed the
crime is well acquainted with the ways of the house, but, what is most
strange, nothing is stolen!"
"We are not quite sure of that yet," said the justice; "the servants say
that they found Mr. Catspaw's watch and pocket-book in his room. I
should have had a closer search of the premises; but as Mr. Catspaw was
your attorney, I thought it probable that he had in his possession
papers and documents which you would not like interfered with, and I
therefore resolved to seal the door, and wait your decision."
"You did quite right, sir," interposed Lady Rety; "Mr. Catspaw had in
his possession many documents and law papers belonging to me. I'll go
myself and look after them."
"My lady!" exclaimed the doctor, "you would not think of such a thing in
your present delicate state of health?"
"It is my pleasure to do it," said the lady.
"Your ladyship had better not go," interposed the cook, with humility;
"the body is in the room, and----"
"The body?" said Lady Rety, striving to suppress a shudder; "you must
take it away. I know better than any one else where the attorney kept
my papers, and I cannot be easy until I have satisfied myself that they
are safe."
In obedience to her ladyship's commands, Dr. Sherer and Mr. Kenihazy
left the room with some servants. Lady Rety was in deep thought, when
Mr. Skinner, who stood just by her, said, "Thank God! we have at least
the man who committed the deed in our hands;" and, dragging the Jew
forward, he continued: "We found this fellow in the chimney immediately
after the act was perpetrated."
"What, Jantshi the glazier!" exclaimed Lady Rety; "impossible! Mr.
Catspaw was his best friend, and----"
"My love!" interposed the sheriff, "that doesn't prove any thing;
unfortunately, there are many instances wherein men have committed the
vilest acts against their benefactors."
"There can be no doubt," said the justice, "that this Jew is the
instrument of some vile person."
Lady Rety turned ghastly pale at these words, and Mr. Rety and the
justice asked at the same moment if she was ill; but, instead of
answering them, she inquired if the Jew had confessed his crime.
"No!" replied the justice; "not exactly confessed; but that doesn't
signify. This fellow is devilish stiff-necked, but I'll bring it out of
him. Moreover, the circumstances are of such a nature, that not a doubt
can be entertained that----" Then he went on to relate, with great
self-satisfaction, his suspicions against Tengelyi.
The effect Mr. Skinner's information had upon the sheriff and his wife
was extraordinary. "No!" said he, shaking his head; "one cannot think
him capable of such a thing!" while Lady Rety, who was now more
composed, remarked that "One could not say what a man of the notary's
passionate character would not do, with such feelings of hatred as had
always existed between him and the attorney."
"Oh, we shall soon know all about it!" said the justice, with
self-complacency. "I would bring it out of this fellow if he were twice
the vagabond he is."
Here the culprit fixed his eye upon Lady Rety, and said, in a
threatening tone of voice, "If I am to be dealt with in this way, I'll
confess everything."
"Dealt with, you rascal!" said Mr. Skinner; "if you don't speak out the
truth freely, the haiduk shall deal his stick across your head!"
"Your ladyship has known me a long time," said Jantshi, in a
supplicating tone; "I have always been an industrious and honest man.
But the justice treats me like a dog; from behind, the haiduk strikes
me; in front, the justice kicks me and pulls my beard; rather than bear
it any longer, I don't care who the devil I accuse!"
Lady Rety beckoned Mr. Skinner to the window, where she whispered to him
that she thought the culprit was innocent, and that it would be well to
treat him leniently: whereupon the justice swore that the Jew was a
liar, and that he had treated him as kindly as possible. "These Retys
are a strange family; the young ones protect the Bohemians, and the old
ones defend the Jews," said the justice to himself. "If things are to go
on in this way, there'll be no use for a minister of justice."
By this time the body was removed, and Lady Rety proceeded to the
attorney's room, accompanied by the justice. Everything was in the same
state as when found by the servants immediately after the murder, with
the exception of the bed, which they had covered. The pool of blood on
the side of the apartment, with the bloody knife lying beside it,
presented an appalling sight on entering the room, and the lady stood
for a moment aghast at the threshold. Mr. Rety and the justice remarked
her terror, and advised her by all means to go away.
"Do not distress yourselves; it is only a womanly weakness," answered
she. "It will soon be over. Mr. Catspaw was our faithful servant, and I
cannot bring myself to believe in his untimely end!" And forcing herself
forward, as if by a violent effort, she picked her way through the
papers and articles lying on the floor, to the drawers; she then went to
the box where the attorney kept all his law papers, but was equally
unsuccessful in finding the much-desired documents. A few letters lay
there, which it will be remembered had been put aside by the attorney
before the murder.
Lady Rety was well aware that these letters were only a small part of
the Vandory papers, and in hopes to find the remainder, she searched
with the greatest care and patience. Still all was in vain; and she
began to believe that the attorney had burned the other papers, and only
kept these few letters, which, as the perusal of one of them showed her,
were sufficient to force the bills from her, when her husband's
conversation with Mr. Skinner attracted her attention.
"Exactly as I said!" exclaimed the latter; "the letters which we found
on the floor, besmeared with blood, were directed to Tengelyi; and of
those two notes there on the table, one is directed to you and the
other to Tengelyi. And here I have found at my feet a bill covered with
blood. It's in the notary's handwriting: 'Books for Vilma, eight
florins; dress for Elizabeth, ten florins,'" said the justice, throwing
the bill down with a laugh.
"It cannot be denied," said the sheriff, looking more closely at the
bill, "that this is the notary's writing; but how came it here?"
"That could easily be accounted for by the evidence given in the
examination."
"Impossible! utterly impossible!" said the sheriff, who happened to be
too honest a man to believe Mr. Tengelyi capable of the crime imputed to
him. "You surely do not, Mr. Skinner, seriously suspect the notary? You
know he is not a favourite of mine; but I assure you he is the last of
all my acquaintance whom I should suspect."
Lady Rety, who had attentively listened to this conversation, understood
at once the nature of the case. She knew that Catspaw had possession of
the papers which had been stolen from Tengelyi's house, and it seemed
but natural that some of the documents should have been lost in the
hurry and confusion of the scuffle which evidently had preceded Mr.
Catspaw's assassination. But what puzzled her was, that some
unimportant letters, bearing the notary's address, had been found, and
this circumstance drew her suspicions upon Tengelyi, as either the
perpetrator of, or accessory to the crime. Her suspicions were confirmed
by the fact that no trace of blood was found on Jantshi's hands, face,
or clothes. "If," thought she, "Tengelyi has regained possession of his
documents, the best way to neutralise them is to accuse him of the
murder; for he cannot in that case produce them, without proving his own
guilt." Led on by this idea, she protested that the case ought to be
strictly examined, and that she was convinced that the Jew was innocent
of the murder. "Perhaps," added she, "the rascal meant to steal; but
since there are no traces of blood on him, it is utterly impossible for
him to have committed the murder. You see the room is full of blood!"
"Examine as much as you like!" said the sheriff, who was so irritated by
the thought that the best friend of his youth should be accused, that he
forgot his usual politeness to his wife, "Yes, we will examine! I myself
will examine, and refute, this very day, the base calumny against
Tengelyi!"
"I am astonished at your unusual warmth!" said Lady Rety, with a soft
but bitter tone, as she walked with her husband to the cook's room;
"you were not wont to defend Mr. Tengelyi in this manner."
"Defend him?" answered the sheriff, firmly. "I think we have done this
man a great injustice: he was once my friend; he has lived in my house
as part of myself; and, taking all in all, he never did a wrong thing
against me, and yet he is the man on whom this horrid crime is sought to
be fixed."
Lady Rety saw, from the humour her husband was in, that it was best to
say as little as possible on the subject then, and merely remarked that,
at present, it was not a charge against Tengelyi, but only a
"supposition;" and, for her part, she hoped those suspicions would prove
unfounded. Upon this Mr. Rety remarked, dryly, that she would certainly
see her wish realised.
Mr. Sherer and Mr. Kenihazy had returned from the inquest, and were
walking up and down the room debating on the largeness of the wound,
which the surgeon had pronounced to be mortal, because he had heard that
a poor Jew had inflicted it; whereas, if a rich man had been supposed to
have inflicted it, he would have declared that it was not mortal, and
that death had been caused by apoplexy, or some other illness.
The Jew still stood in the same place in the room which he had from the
first occupied, with the haiduk by his side, in anxious expectation of
the moment when the examination would be adjourned.
Lady Rety summoned all the servants together, and desired them to relate
to her, with the greatest care and attention, everything they knew
respecting Catspaw's death.
Mrs. Cizmeasz said, in a timid voice, that she could not deny that she
fancied she understood the attorney mentioned the name of Tengelyi when
the cook questioned him about his murderer; but she supposed it was all
a mistake; for that she was a poor silly woman, and never understood any
thing properly. The testimony of the butler and boots was much the same,
as was indeed the evidence of all the others: they adhered to their
former statement, that the attorney shook his head when the Jew was
brought; and everybody admitted that a violent quarrel had taken place
on the evening of the murder between the attorney and Mr. Tengelyi, and
that the notary had driven him out of his house with a stick.
"But the Jew must know all," said the sheriff, who had been walking up
and down the room in deep thought. "He was found in the chimney; he
cannot deny that; he must at least have heard everything that passed.
Rascal!" said he, turning to the culprit, "what did you want there?"
"You came to steal, did you not?" said Lady Rety, with evident emotion;
"deny it if you dare! It was for that purpose the false keys were to be
used, which were found upon you!"
The Jew, perceiving that suspicion rested on the notary as well as on
himself, caught at Lady Rety's hint, and, throwing himself on his knees,
confessed that he only came to steal. "Miss Etelka has many precious
jewels," said he, entreatingly. "I saw them on her when I was repairing
the windows the other day. I am a very poor and unfortunate man; and I
thought to myself, if I could get some of them, it would help me. I knew
Miss Etelka was not at home, and I tried to steal them. I hope your
ladyship will have compassion on me, I will never do so again; I will
ever be an honest man from this time."
"Fiddlesticks!" interposed the justice, with a sneer; "I dare say you'd
like to be mistaken for a thief; you think that would save your neck:
but it won't do! it's too evident that you at least had a part in the
murder."
"Oh, I entreat you," cried the Jew, still on his knees, "I am innocent
of the murder. Mr. Catspaw said so, for he shook his head when I was
brought to him; and how was it possible for a weak man like me to kill a
strong man like Mr. Catspaw?"
"Jew!" said Mr. Skinner, sarcastically, "that story won't do; you must
find another plea: this is the first time in my life I have heard of Mr.
Catspaw's strength."
"And was it likely," continued the Jew, imploringly, "that I should have
gone without a weapon if I had any intention of committing murder?"
"We found a large carving-knife in the chimney," interposed the cook.
"I swear I know nothing about it," cried Jantshi; "somebody in the house
must have put it there and forgotten to remove it."
"Yes, we know very well it belongs to the house," said the cook; "you
stole it the day before yesterday."
"Oh, indeed, Mister Cook, I did not; and was the knife which you saw
bloody? And should I not be bloody if I had killed the attorney?"
Here the steward remarked that "Jews were great conjurors. One of their
tribe came to the house a day or two ago," continued he, "and made us
all sign our names on a piece of paper, and in the twinkling of an eye
he made them disappear again. And who knows but what this Jew has
learnt the art from him; and all the world knows, that nobody is so
expert at getting out blood stains as Jews."
This reasoning of the steward impressed nobody but the servants.
"Considering the quantity of blood the attorney lost," said Lady Rety,
"it's quite incomprehensive to me how the murderer should escape without
staining his clothes. However," said she, turning to the Jew, "if you
did not participate in the actual deed, at least you know everything
that passed; you must know the murderer!"
"I heard everything," said Jantshi, sighing; "I heard everything from
the beginning to the end, and I shudder still when I think of it!--I
wanted to jump out to help the poor man, but I was so frightened; and
then I thought, too, if any thing dreadful should happen, and I should
be found there; and then I became so frightened that I had no power to
move."
"Well, what did you hear?" inquired Lady Rety, encouragingly; "you
surely must know whether it was Tengelyi, as the justice suspects, or
not? Now sit down and tell us all about it," said she, meeting at the
same moment the glance which her husband cast at her when she mentioned
Tengelyi.
"If you think," said the sheriff, turning to the Jew, "to exculpate
yourself by cunningly involving an innocent man, you shall find yourself
mistaken; you may say what you will, the strongest suspicion must always
remain attached to you."
The Jew was too cunning to make any reply, and merely said that "he
could not tell who the murderer was, as he spoke in a suppressed voice;
but," said he, "I heard Tengelyi mentioned several times, and I heard
papers demanded, and the murderer took papers away with him; but as I
said before, I don't know who he was; those who followed him ought to
know."
Ferko, the coachman, who had hitherto been a quiet listener, was now
asked to give a circumstantial account of what he knew. There are people
who are very eager to do any thing but their duty: Ferko was one of
them. When the house was first alarmed by the attorney's assassination,
Ferko was the first to leave his stables and to pursue the murderer,
accompanied by the servants, who showed no less zeal than himself. But
when the pursuit led to a very different result from what he had
expected, and when, instead of taking the robber, he followed the track
to Tengelyi's house, where he saw the notary, his zeal vanished, and it
struck him that not to have seen any thing was by far the most prudent
way of managing the matter. Perhaps he suspected the notary; but he was
not inclined to endanger his own safety by giving evidence against a man
whose rank in life was so far above his own. He resolved to give no
evidence against Tengelyi; and as this resolution was unconditionally
approved of by his best friend, to wit, by Peti the gipsy, he stated, in
reply to the sheriff's questions, that he had pursued the robber to the
banks of the Theiss, where he had lost his track. Afterwards, he and his
friends had proceeded to the notary to inform him of what had happened.
This account would have been quite satisfactory, but for the evidence of
the servant who had accompanied the coachman on his expedition; and who,
merely for the sake of varying the lesser features of the evidence,
stated that they had picked up a stick on the field, and that the said
stick was in the ferryman's possession. That person was called in and
examined: the result was, that all the unfavourable circumstances which
spoke against Tengelyi were gradually elicited from the trio, in spite
of the obstinate defence which they made of the notary's innocence.
"But where is the stick you talk of?" said Mr. Skinner, with evident
satisfaction at the turn which the examination took.
"With your worship's permission," replied the ferryman--"that is to say,
begging your worship's pardon--that is to say, I hope your worship will
excuse me, we found the stick in the middle of the road, on our way from
the Theiss to the notary's. We all saw it as it lay on the ground."
"Where is it?" asked Mr. Skinner, sharply.
"Please your worship, I have left it in the kitchen, for I could not
presume to come to your worship with a stick."
"Bring it here instantly!" cried the justice. The ferryman left the
room, and returned with a black stick with a brass fokosh at the end.
Everybody was startled. Mr. Skinner took the stick and showed it to the
sheriff, who clasped his hands in utter amazement.
Lady Rety whispered to the clerk, and the cook cried instinctively, "I
know that stick! It belongs to the notary."
"You are both to be sworn," said Mr. Skinner to the ferryman and the
coachman, "that this is the stick which you found last night." And,
turning to the sheriff, he added, "I told you so! The matter is as plain
as can be."
"It is clear beyond the possibility of a doubt," said Lady Rety, seizing
the fokosh in her turn. "I have always seen that stick with Tengelyi;
and here are his initials, 'J. T.' It is shocking!"
"I really don't know," said Rety, with great emotion; "there are many
things against Tengelyi, but the impression on my mind is----"
"But consider, sir!" cried Mr. Skinner; "only please to consider!
Tengelyi quarrels with Catspaw, and says he'll have his revenge. Catspaw
is murdered that very night, and when dying he says that Tengelyi is his
murderer. The Jew, who I now believe came merely for the purpose of
thieving, hears that Catspaw is asked to give up Tengelyi's papers. The
coachman pursues the murderer after the deed. The track is lost for a
moment. They find it again, and follow it to the notary's house, whom
they see at midnight in his usual dress, covered with dirt and violently
agitated. Letters are found in Mr. Catspaw's room addressed to Tengelyi;
and, besides, here is the notary's stick! What do you say to that?"
"Nothing!" replied the sheriff, shaking his head; "but all this cannot
convince me. I have known Tengelyi these----"
"Indeed!" said Lady Rety, with a sneer. "It strikes me that you and the
notary are mighty good friends."
"I am not his friend; but I will never believe him guilty of such a
deed."
"I will furnish you with other proofs!" said Mr. Skinner. "I will go at
once to his house, and examine him and his family."
"But, sir, have you considered that----" said the sheriff. But his wife
interrupted him by telling Skinner to make haste, lest the notary might
remove the traces of the crime.
"But Tengelyi is a nobleman!" protested Rety.
"He says he is a nobleman!" put in Lady Rety. "And it has been decided
in the Assembly that he is to be treated as not noble, until he proves
that he is. Go at once!" added she, turning to Skinner, "for if you were
to bring him here, it would create such excitement. After all, he may be
innocent."
The justice and his clerk kissed her hand, and left the room. When they
were gone, the sheriff seized his wife's hand, saying, "Do you really
think Tengelyi is capable of such a deed?"
"And why not?" said she, looking her husband full in the face.
"You know Tengelyi's life, you know his character, his----"
"All I know of him is that he is my enemy!" retorted Lady Rety; "and I
shall never forget that, I assure you!" Saying which she left the room.
Rety's heart shrunk within him when the soul of his wife was thus
brought before him in all its native ugliness. He shuddered to think
that he had hitherto obeyed the dictates of this heartless woman, and he
hastened away to protect the notary from the ill-treatment to which he
was convinced Mr. Skinner would subject him.
CHAP. II.
Though ignorant of the suspicion which had been cast upon him, Tengelyi
passed the night in sorrow and remorse. He was convinced that the deed
of blood was done by Viola's hand; and his soul trembled within him as
he thought that, instead of preventing the crime, he had actually gone
to meet the robber on the banks of the Theiss. He felt degraded and
wretched by this strange complicity. After a sleepless night, he rose
with the day, and hastened to Vandory, who was still in happy ignorance
of what had happened.
"Shocking!" cried the curate, when Tengelyi had finished his narrative
of the late events: "to think that he should be summoned to appear
before God in the very midst of his sins, and without having one moment
left for repentance!"
"Shocking, indeed!" said the notary; "but is not mine the fault? Am I
not a partner in this crime? I all but knew that Catspaw had possession
of my papers. I ought to have known that Viola could not wrest them
from him without taking his life. And what did I do? Instead of
preventing the deed, I obeyed the summons of the outlaw. I waited for
him, to receive the booty from hands reeking with the blood of his
victim!"
"Viola's deed is horrible. I understand your feelings. But, tell me,
what could you have done to prevent him?"
"My duty. I ought to have informed against him. I ought to have arrested
him."
"No," said Vandory. "How could you think of arresting a man who relies
upon your honour? Besides, to arrest Viola, means to deliver him up to
the hangman."
Tengelyi was about to reply, when the Liptaka rushed into the room.
"Mr. Tengelyi, sir! For God's sake, do come home! Do, sir!" cried the
old woman.
"What is the matter?" asked Vandory and Tengelyi at once; for the manner
of the Liptaka impressed them with the idea that some accident of a
fearful nature must have happened.
"Oh, gracious! The justice and the clerk!" gasped the Liptaka.
"Do tell us, good woman; what _has_ happened?" said Vandory. "Why should
not the justice come to the notary's house? Is the event so very
extraordinary?"
"Oh, sir! but if you knew what he comes for! He says, the notary--you,
Mr. Tengelyi, sir!--have murdered the attorney--confound the
fellow!--and he's come with the clerk and the haiduk; and he's at it! He
questions everybody in the house."
Though used to misfortune, though prepared to meet injustice at every
step, Tengelyi was, for a moment, overwhelmed with grief and amazement.
"This is too bad!" said he, with a tremulous voice. "I was prepared for
any misfortune; but I was not prepared to hear myself accused of a
crime! Yes; I am not prepared to answer a justice, and to plead in my
defence, when the crime laid to my charge is murder!"
"It is impossible!" said Vandory, seizing his hat. "You are mistaken, my
good woman. There's some mistake, I'm sure."
"I thought so too, sir," said the Liptaka: "that was my opinion, when
the justice told Mrs. Tengelyi that the notary was accused of a heinous
crime, and that he came to examine him. I fancied the villain was merely
joking; but when they called the maid, and the man, and the neighbours,
and examined them severally,--when they did that, sir, I understood
that the rascal pretended to believe in what he said. And he would have
questioned Mrs. Tengelyi; but she told him she was a nobleman's wife,
and was not bound to answer questions. Oh! and the justice,--don't be
shocked, sirs!--he said the notary was not a nobleman; and, if she
wouldn't reply, he'd make her! Oh! but when he said that, I ran away to
call the notary; for it's he that is learned in the law, and he'll make
the justice repent his impertinence!"
"You see, the affair is beautifully got up," said Tengelyi, with a
bitter smile. "They have robbed me of my proofs of noble descent, and
now they are at liberty to do with me as they please."
"But----" said Vandory.
"Come along!" cried the Liptaka. "The sheriff, too, is there! He came
when I ran away!"
"Come," said Tengelyi, with increased bitterness. "Come; we are safe
now. You know my dear friend Rety has come to protect me in my hour of
trouble."
Matters were indeed in a sad state in the notary's house. Mrs. Ershebet
insisted on her privilege; and nothing could induce her to reply to the
questions which the justice put to her; but the whole of the other
evidence, which was taken down, went against the notary. The neighbours
proved the quarrel, and the forcible expulsion of Mr. Catspaw from his
house; and one of them quoted Tengelyi's words, that the fellow (viz.,
Mr. Catspaw) should die from his hands. The maid deposed that her master
had left the house late at night; the stick was at once identified as
the notary's property: in short, all the circumstances of the case were
so suspicious, that the sheriff, who assisted in the proceedings, and
who sought to modify Mr. Skinner's violence, though convinced of
Tengelyi's innocence, could not but admit that there was a strong case
against the notary.
When Tengelyi entered the room, Mrs. Ershebet rushed up, and embraced
him, with sobs and tears.
"Be comforted," said the notary. "This is not our first persecution, nor
is it the last. If God be with us, who can prevail against us!"
His grave and dignified manner affected the sheriff; who, walking up,
addressed his former friend, and assured him that no persecution was
intended by the justice's proceedings.
"Circumstances," said he, "will, at times, force the best of us to clear
themselves of suspicion by an explanation of their conduct; and in the
present instance, I am sure, nothing can be easier to Mr. Tengelyi."
"I thank you, sir," said the notary, dryly, "and I am sure, if your will
had been done, these people would have treated me as they would wish to
be treated in a similar case, and, indeed, as any honest man has a right
to be treated. Allow me now to ask Mr. Skinner what the circumstances
are that have created a suspicion of my having murdered Mr. Catspaw, for
I understand that is the charge which they bring against me?"
"We'll satisfy you to your heart's content, sir!" cried the justice, who
was in the habit of speaking in the name of the firm. All his
professional sayings were delivered under the authority of Skinner and
Co. He then proceeded at once to give a clear, and, strange to say,
comprehensive summary of the evidence, which he concluded by repeating
the chief points of the charge.
"Considering," said he, "that the said Mr. Catspaw was murdered by some
person or persons unknown;--considering that no robbery was committed,
and that no feasible grounds can be found why anybody should have
committed that murder;--considering that the said Tengelyi's hate
against the said Catspaw is a matter of vulgar talk and notoriety, in
evidence of which we need but adduce the yesterday's scene, in which the
said Tengelyi is proved to have threatened to kill the said
Catspaw;--considering that the said Catspaw was unjustly and maliciously
accused of having possessed himself of certain papers and documents the
alleged property of the said Tengelyi, the which circumstance goes far
to establish the presumption of an interested motive in the case of the
said Tengelyi;--considering that the crime was committed at midnight, at
a time when the said Tengelyi, against his usual habits and custom, was
from home, and considering that sundry persons who went in pursuit of
the robber came to the house of the said Tengelyi, where they found him
(_i. e._ the said Tengelyi) in a dress spotted with mud;--and, lastly,
considering that certain articles which were found in the room where the
crime was committed, and a stick which was picked up on the road which
the alleged murderer took, have been identified as belonging to the said
Tengelyi, there can be no doubt that there are grave reasons to suspect
the said Tengelyi of being guilty of the said murder."
"Well, sir!" continued Mr. Skinner, after delivering this address, which
bore a striking resemblance to the preamble of a sentence of a
Hungarian court, "Well, sir! what have you to say to this?"
The notary was silent.
"Don't be confused, sir!" said Mr. Skinner; "please to speak the truth,
sir. You see our questions are put with the utmost politeness."
"Don't give him an answer!" cried Mrs. Ershebet, passionately. "Thank
God, no one has as yet proved that we are not noble! They cannot force
you to answer!"
"I _will_ speak!" cried the notary; "I'd reply to the basest of mortals
if he were to charge me with so foul a deed!"
"You see, madam, your husband does think us worthy of a reply," said the
justice: "don't be afraid; let him speak! I'm sure he'll give us the
most satisfactory explanations."
"I can indeed give you the most satisfactory explanations, sir," replied
the notary, who, after adverting to the fact that his late suspicions of
Mr. Catspaw were now proved to be well founded, proceeded to state the
contents of Viola's letter, and the steps which it induced him to take.
Mr. Skinner listened with a sly and incredulous smile.
"But, sir," said he, "how could you endanger your precious life by
doing the robber's will? Mind, you say you were unarmed; and we know but
too well that you were alone, and at night too! Would any man of sense
wish to meet the greatest robber in the county under such
circumstances?"
"I never did Viola any harm, and I had not therefore any reason to fear
him, when I learnt from his letter that he regarded me with feelings of
gratitude; after all, what could I do? I wished to have my papers, and I
availed myself of the only opportunity that offered."
"Will you have the goodness to show us that letter?" asked the justice;
"I'd like to see the robber's autograph."
"The writer of the letter intreated me to burn it," replied Tengelyi,
"and I have burnt it."
"That's a pity! Perhaps you've shown the letter to some one. We want two
witnesses, you know!"
"I informed my friend Vandory early this morning."
"Oh! ah! I understand,--yes, early this morning!--about the time when I
came to the village and commenced examining the witnesses, eh? Is that
all you have to say?"
"No!"
"From your hesitating manner I take it that you knew of the murderer's
intentions."
"You have no right, sir," cried Tengelyi, "to construe any of my words
in that sense!"
"Sir!" retorted the justice, "it's mere folly to deny the fact. You
admit that you had reason to suppose that Mr. Catspaw was possessed of
your papers; and, supposing there ever existed a letter of Viola's to
you, you must have known that the robber intended to obtain the papers
by means of a crime."
"Is this all?--no! more is behind!" continued Mr. Skinner, after a
pause. "Your own confession proves that you were not only privy to the
murder, but that you acted the part of one who stimulates and instigates
the murderer. It is quite clear that Viola had no interest in the
papers, nor would he have risked his life for them unless an artificial
interest was created in his mind. And whose advantage did that
artificial interest tend to? whose interests did it serve to
promote?--Yours, and only yours!"
Tengelyi would have answered; but Mr. Skinner continued, with great
pathos:
"And who is it that is guilty of so heinous a crime?--a notary! a man
whose duty it is to prosecute the breakers of the law, and who imposes
upon the county and the sheriff by making his house a den for thieves
and robbers! This case," added Mr. Skinner, turning to Kenihazy, "is
beyond our jurisdiction. It is our duty to send the prisoner to the
county gaol, to prevent his being liberated by Viola and his other
comrades."
The sheriff, who watched the case with great interest, interposed, and
offered to be bail for the notary's appearance; but Mr. Skinner thought
he had shown his respect to Mr. Rety more than sufficiently by eschewing
the low abuse and the curses with which it was his habit to give vent to
his feelings on similar occasions. He refused to accept bail; "For,"
said he, "I would not accept it even if Mr. Tengelyi's nobility had
never been doubted; the privilege of nobility cannot protect a man in
the present case. The associates of robbers----"
"How dare you call _me_ an associate of robbers?" exclaimed Tengelyi,
his fury getting the better of his discretion; "How dare you, sir? You,
of whom it is known that you are a receiver of stolen goods!"
What the notary said was, more than any thing else, calculated to wound
the feelings of the worthy Mr. Skinner, and a sharper sting was given to
the reproach by the fact of its being thrown at the magistrate's head in
the presence of the sheriff and of a numerous audience. There certainly
had been cases in which the owners of stolen cattle had accidentally
found their property in Mr. Skinner's stables; but when, after leaving
the place in confusion and dismay, they returned with a witness, the
cattle, somehow or other, had disappeared. Accidents of this kind are
not the less disagreeable from their not being unheard of; and Mr.
Skinner's rage, in the present instance, passed all bounds.
"Do you ask me how I dare to call you an associate of robbers?" cried
he. "You'll find, to your cost, that I dare more than that. I'll _treat_
you as an associate of robbers. I'll have you put in irons, sir; for
everybody knows that some time ago, when we hunted Viola in the village,
the robber found an asylum in your house! Ay, you may stare! And when I
wished to search it, your wife had the impertinence to put in a
protest!"
"How dare you utter this calumny?" said the notary, with increasing
violence. "I sheltered Viola's family because they were in distress; but
I never saw the robber. Come, Ershebet; was Viola ever in our house?"
Mrs. Ershebet, who was equally ignorant of what Vilma and the Liptaka
did on that occasion, affirmed that Viola had never entered the house;
but the justice sneered, and forced the old woman, Liptaka, to repeat
the statement which she had made before the court-martial.
"It's but too true, sir," said she. "While they were hunting after Viola
in the village, he was hid in the house. I hid him in the back room
behind the casks; but neither the notary nor Mrs. Tengelyi was aware of
it. And I told the gentlemen of the court that I was too frightened to
tell the notary what Viola desired me to tell him, namely, that he ought
to look to his papers. Heaven knows but a great misfortune might have
been prevented, if I had done as I was bid!"
"I'd be a fool to believe you!" said the justice. "How could you take
the robber to the back room unless some one knew of it?"
"Some one did know of it, but neither the notary knew of it, nor his
wife, for she was in bed at the time. Miss Vilma and I were sitting up
when Viola came to the house. We were sitting up with Susi, when we
heard the noise in the street. I went out and found Viola. The place was
surrounded, and there was no escape. I knew they'd hang him if they
could take him, so I entreated Miss Vilma to allow me to take him in.
She was moved to pity, and gave her permission. That's the long and the
short of it. If it was wrong to hide him--very well! You may do with me
as you please. I am an old woman, and I'm the only criminal in this
business."
"Never mind, you old beldame!" cried Mr. Skinner, angrily. "We'll clear
our accounts with you one of these fine days. We must now examine Miss
Vilma, since it appears that all the inmates of this house are leagued
against the law!" and, turning to Mrs. Ershebet, he said, "Call your
daughter!"
"Never!" said Mrs. Tengelyi. "My daughter is the betrothed bride of
Akosh Rety; who will dare to offend her? To think that my own Vilma
should be examined for all the world like a common culprit!" said the
good woman: but Tengelyi asked her to fetch her daughter.
"But, my dear Jonas, how can you think----"
"Go to your room and call your daughter!" repeated Tengelyi. "I am
convinced that the Liptaka tells an untruth. My daughter has never kept
any thing secret from me."
Mrs. Ershebet left the room, and returned with Vilma. The power of
beauty is irresistible; even Mr. Skinner, in spite of his innate
vulgarity, lost half of his impertinence when Miss Tengelyi appeared
before him. He said it was necessary that a few questions should be put
to her, but that he was ready to wait, if she thought it inconvenient to
answer them now.
"Go on!" said Tengelyi, dryly. "Speak, Vilma. Tell us, is it true that
Viola was hid in our house at the time they pursued him through the
village?"
"Father!" cried Vilma; and her pale face became suddenly flushed.
"Fear nothing, my love! You've always been my good, my dear child. You
were always open and candid. Tell us, now, is it true that Viola was in
our house, and with your permission, too?"
Vilma stood silent and trembling. Mr. Skinner pitied her, when he saw
the effect the question produced on the poor girl.
"Dearest Vilma, I intreat you to have no fear!" continued Tengelyi. "I
know very well it's a vile calumny. I know you would never have done
such a thing without my consent, or, at least, without informing me of
it after it was done. You see, Vilma, dear, this woman--God knows I do
not deserve it at her hands!--tries to clear herself by saying that it
was with your permission she hid Viola in my house."
Vilma's fear yielded to the impression that a confession on her part was
necessary to justify her old friend. She wept, and confirmed the
statements of the Liptaka.
"Pardon me, dearest father!" added she; "I am the cause of this
misfortune. I asked the Liptaka to hide Viola in this house, and I asked
her to keep the matter secret from you, for I knew you would be angry
with us, because they say Viola is a great criminal; though it is but
natural that I did my best to save the wretched man from certain death."
"Gammon!" muttered Mr. Skinner. Kenihazy fetched sundry deep sighs; and
Rety remarked that he thought Vilma's evidence consistent and credible.
Tengelyi stood lost in speechless agony. Vilma was silent, but the looks
which she cast upon her father expressed unutterable despair. Vandory
alone broke through the solemn silence; and, seizing the hand of his
friend, he entreated him not to yield to his grief.
"Fear nothing!" said Tengelyi, gloomily. "Since I have come to
this--since my own daughter tells me the truth only when examined by a
judge--since it is so--there is nothing to startle; nothing is left to
amaze me! It is enough!" continued he, with a deep sigh, turning to the
justice. "Let us make an end of it. You know all you can wish to know.
You know that everything speaks against me. I see no reason why you
should trouble yourself any more with me. Give me two hours' time to
arrange my affairs, and, if you please, have my house watched in the
meantime."
"Of course, if _you_ have said all you have to say, there is no reason
for further ceremony. I'll have the carriage ready in two hours. You had
better take all the things you want for your stay in Dustbury, which, I
am afraid, will be longer than you seem to anticipate."
"I will accompany him!" cried Mrs. Ershebet, weeping; "I will not leave
my husband in his trouble."
"My dear Ershebet," said the notary, "I must insist on your remaining
where you are. I am accused, and I must prepare my defence, and for that
purpose I ought to be alone."
Mrs. Ershebet wept still more; but Mr. Skinner remarked that he was not
sure whether the regulations of the prison would allow the prisoner to
communicate with his family. Having said this, he left the room with
Kenihazy, thereby conferring a substantial benefit, not only on the
notary and his family, but also upon himself, for he had scarcely left
the house when Akosh Rety arrived in a state of fearful excitement.
"For God's sake, tell me what _has_ happened?" cried he, as he rushed
into the room.
"My dear Akosh!" cried Mrs. Ershebet, taking his hand, "we are lost. Our
name is dishonoured. My husband is accused of murder. They are going to
take him to the county gaol."
"And I am the cause of my father's ruin!" cried Vilma. "Save him, Akosh;
if you ever loved me, save him!" And the wretched girl fell fainting to
the ground.
They took her away. The notary looked after them in silence; and,
turning to Vandory, said: "Be a father to them when I am gone!"
Rety, the sheriff, though deeply moved, was a silent spectator of this
scene; for the cold politeness with which Tengelyi deprecated his
interference whenever he attempted to advocate his cause, prevented him
from expressing his sympathy. He now came up to the notary and assured
him, with a trembling voice, that, come what might, he would use the
whole of his influence to extricate his former friend from his present
painful position.
"I thank you, sir," said Tengelyi, coldly, as he turned to the speaker.
"I must confess I was not aware that we were still honoured by your
presence under my roof. I thought you had accompanied Mr. Skinner; for,
as I take it, the transaction which excited your interest is now over.
Everything is in the best order, and the crime, it appears, is fully
brought home to me."
"Tengelyi," said the sheriff, with deep emotion, "do not treat me
unjustly. What brought me to this house, was my wish to assist you by my
presence, and to induce Skinner to treat you with kindness and
moderation."
"If that was your intention," retorted Tengelyi, "it would have been
wise not to have used your influence for the election to that post of a
man whom the presence of his chief does not prevent from abusing the
powers of his office."
The sheriff was confused.
"I will not argue that point with you," said he; "but what I wish to
assure you of is, that, however circumstances may speak against you, I
still am convinced of your innocence. I assure you, you can rely upon
me!"
"Sir!" said the notary, "there was a time when I did place my trust in
my friends; but they have since been kind enough to convince me that
friendship is far too pure and lofty to descend to this poor world of
ours, I shall shortly be called upon to appear before my judges; and if
you, sir, think you have strength enough to forget the friendship which
you have hitherto shown me, it will give me pleasure to see you on the
bench. Pardon me, if I leave you, I have but two hours to myself, and I
wish to spend them with my wife and daughter."
And, bowing low to the sheriff, Tengelyi seized Vandory's hand and led
him from the room. Rety sighed, and left the house.
CHAP. III.
The notary's position was critical, his future doubtful, and his
separation from his family painful in proportion. Tengelyi wanted all
his strength of mind to speak words of consolation and hope to his
weeping family. The despair of his daughter in particular filled his
heart with the deepest, bitterest grief.
"Do not weep, dear girl!" said he, embracing poor Vilma, whose pallid
face showed more than her tears what agonies she felt. "You know your
father is innocent. Things will clear up, and I shall be allowed to
return to you. Won't you be my good, happy girl, when I come back!"
"Oh, father!" cried Vilma, "to think that you should go to prison, to be
confined with those wicked people though but for a day, though but for
an hour! And to think that I am the cause of it, dear father, it drives
me mad!"
"You, my daughter? What makes you think that your confession of Viola
having been hid in the house can do any thing to make my case worse
than it is?"
"Father!" said she, sadly, "don't talk to me in that way! I am
undeserving of your love. Will they not say you were aware of Viola's
being in the house, and that you wished to deny it? And even if this
were not so, are not all our misfortunes owing to our having taken in
Susi and her children? And that was _my_ doing!"
"And since _that_ is the cause of your misfortune," interposed Vandory,
"I am sure God will not abandon you in your trials. His ways are indeed
unaccountable; but I never heard of a good action having led a man to
utter ruin!"
Tengelyi sighed, but Vilma felt comforted; and even Mrs. Ershebet's sobs
ceased when the curate told her that this unjust accusation was possibly
the means to defeat their enemies, and to lead to the recovery of the
documents. The notary added to the comfort of his wife by assuring her
that his incarceration was not likely to continue for any length of
time, and that Vandory would be their friend and adviser during his
absence.
Again Mrs. Ershebet entreated him to allow her and Vilma to accompany
him to Dustbury; but the notary felt that he wanted all his strength for
the moment in which he must cross the threshold of the prison; and,
with Vandory's assistance, he prevailed upon his wife to desist, at
least for the present.