The Village Notary Part 1

The Village Notary.

by Jozsef Eotvos.

PREFACE.

When Joseph, Baron Eotvos, wrote his "Village Notary," and when he dedicated that work to me, neither he nor I could antic.i.p.ate the sudden and unexpected downfall of the political and social inst.i.tutions which he attempted to portray. It is true that my friend did not, in the present work, make an exclusive use of his poetical faculties. The dregs of opposition were fermenting in his mind, and his ostensible object, to give a sketch of life in a Hungarian province, was mixed up with the desire to make his story act as a lever upon the _vis inertiae_ of our political condition. In those days, the liberal party in Hungary was divided into three factions. Our great reformer, the Count Szechenyi, was worn out by his long and seemingly resultless struggles against the policy of the Court of Vienna. He made a surrender of the leading ideas of his political life. He had ever since 1829 been the champion of equal taxation and of legal equality. He had advocated the abolition of feudal burdens on the land. But he lived to consider these objects of his former aspirations as matters of secondary import. He became a practical man, and directed his energies to the steam-navigation on the Danube, to the damming and dyking of the river Theiss, to railroads, &c.; and for the furtherance of these plans the Count Szechenyi, though still faithful to his principles, had drawn close to the conservative party, and become reconciled to the government at Vienna. He did not, indeed, deprive himself of the pleasure of recounting numberless anecdotes and sketches from life, all of which tended to prove the incapability and the malevolence of that government; but his voice was silent in the debates of the Parliament, and the whole of his energies were devoted to the execution of practical improvements. "_Make money, and enrich the country!_" such was the advice he gave to us, his younger friends; and he added,--"_An empty sack will topple over; but if you fill it, it will stand by its own weight._"

Count Szechenyi's practical clique was flanked by a more numerous and influential party. M. Kossuth's parliamentary opposition, taking a firm stand on the letter of the law, waged an unceasing warfare against the machinations of the Vienna bureaucracy. His party advocated the inst.i.tutions of the counties, the free election of civic magistrates, and the independence of boroughs; and they stood ready to repel any direct or indirect blow which might be aimed at these inst.i.tutions. This party was supreme, both in strength and in numbers. The middle cla.s.ses and the gentry belonged to it; while Szechenyi's followers were members of the high aristocracy, who resided in the metropolis, and who scarcely ever busied themselves about the county elections.

Baron Eotvos was the leader of a third party. He was imbued with the levelling tendencies of French liberalism. The men of Eotvos's school admired the theoretical perfection of Centralisation, and vied with the Vienna party in their aversion to the county inst.i.tutions, with their a.s.semblies and elections. But the Austrian Camarilla wished to establish the so-called "Paternal Absolutism" in the place of the county inst.i.tutions; while the Eotvos party dreamed of a free parliamentary government. His party considered Hungary as a "_tabula rasa_," and they endeavoured, in defiance of history, to raise a new political fabric; not on the ground of written law, but on the treacherous soil of the law of nature. It was chiefly composed of young men of letters, who, full of spirit and ability, were but too p.r.o.ne to discover the weak and faulty parts of the county government, while they were unable to appreciate its practical soundness and its salutary influence. This circ.u.mstance caused them to withdraw from the elections, and to look down upon the struggles and contests of parliamentary life. Their doctrines could not, therefore, have any influence. To obtain a license for printing and publishing a newspaper was extremely difficult. Nevertheless, the Eotvos party had got possession of a newspaper. Their leaders, though spirited and witty, failed in bringing their ideas of centralisation home to the minds of their readers. The national instincts of the Hungarian people were opposed to such notions. But so convinced was Baron Eotvos of their truth and justness, that he resolved to publish them and make them popular, at any hazard. He wrote a novel, in which he put together a variety of small sketches and studies from nature, and formed them into one grand picture, for the express purpose of caricaturing the political doings in our counties. But, fortunately for the public, Baron Eotvos was a better poet than a politician, and his political pamphlet ripened, very much against his will, into one of the most interesting works of fiction that the Hungarian literature can boast of. His book was eagerly read and enthusiastically admired, it was devoid of all political action. Baron Eotvos missed the object at which he aimed; but he carried off a higher prize. Instead of popularising his ideas, he popularised himself, and the poet atoned for the sins of the politician. Nor was this difficult. Baron Eotvos was a thoroughly romantic character. He was more than the hero of a novel: his adventures and his fortunes made him a real hero. His years, though few, had been full of strange vicissitudes, and his life, from the cradle to his mature age, was one uninterrupted chain of strange and untoward events.

The grandfather of Joseph Eotvos was a Hungarian government officer of high rank; his grandmother was a pa.s.sionate woman, and a furious Magyar.

She was therefore greatly incensed at her son (the poet's father) marrying a foreigner, viz., the Baroness Lilien, especially as the young lady had been so utterly neglected as to be ignorant of the Hungarian language. Often did the old lady vent her feelings on this point in the presence of the Baron Lilien, and emphatic were her protests that the German woman would remain childless--a prediction which it may be supposed was not at all calculated to gratify the baron. But when it became apparent that the family of Eotvos was not likely to become extinct, she changed her tactics by protesting, with the utmost boldness, that a German woman could not, by any chance, give birth to a boy, and that the family of Eotvos would become extinct in default of male issue. Baron Lilien put in a demurrer, and at length laid her a wager of one hundred ducats in favour of his daughter giving birth to a boy. The wager was duly accepted by the baroness, who lost it, and paid the amount, saying: "It's a boy after all, but he will turn out to be a German and stupid. I'll never see him, for I'll never prize him at a hundred ducats!" But the young Baron, Joseph Eotvos, lived to defeat all his grandmother's prophecies. She did indeed remain true to her word, for she never cared for him, and devoted all her tenderness to his younger brother; in her will she cut him off with an old piece of household furniture, which, after all, was taken from him, and given to a distant relative, by virtue of a codicil; but the German grandfather made up for the grandmother's harshness.

Young Joseph's earlier years fell in that period of apathy which weighed down upon Europe after the feverish excitement of the French wars.

Const.i.tutionalism and nationality were sneered down as idle and reprehensible things. Hungary, too, partook of the lethargy of Europe; and the government, which alone was on the alert, made sundry successful attempts to wrest from us part of our old historical rights.

The borough elections and the meetings of the counties were interfered with; pains were taken to extend the iron net of Austrian bureaucracy over Hungary; and, in 1823, it was thought that all power of resistance had left us. It was thought that the Hungarian Const.i.tution was breaking up, and ready to be buried in the same grave with the Const.i.tutions of Spain and Italy. The Cabinet of Vienna ventured to strike the last blow.

Without consulting the parliament, they raised the taxes, and decreed a larger levy of recruits. These two points, if carried, abolished our Const.i.tution, and crowned the endeavours of the House of Hapsburg-Lorraine. Great hopes of success were entertained at Vienna: the love of our ancient const.i.tution had seemingly become extinct in Hungary; the German language had of late come to be the fashionable idiom at Pesth; and several of the most powerful magnates were willing to a.s.sist in completing the ruin of their country. The men at Vienna knew, indeed, that all the counties would demur to the decrees of the Hungarian Chancery, especially since the Chancellor, Prince Kohary, had entered his protest against the intended violation of the Hungarian Const.i.tution. But the Cabinet of Vienna were resolved to execute their plan; and, if all other means failed, to _force_ the Hungarians into submission. Commissioners with unlimited powers were sent to the refractory counties. These men were instructed to coerce the county meetings by means of the military force. Baron Ignaz Eotvos (the poet's grandfather) was appointed commissioner. He accepted the office. His wife disapproved of the course he had taken, and left his house. The Vienna Cabinet were at length forced to yield to the obstinate resistance of the counties. They revoked their illegal decrees, and the convocation of a parliament was declared to be at hand. But the public voice spoke loud against the commissioners. The Count Illyeshazy became the most popular of all the magnates, because he had declined to accept the post of a commissioner, while those who had consented to act as the tools of oppression were scorned and insulted by the mult.i.tude.

Young Joseph Eotvos, was, of course, profoundly ignorant of these events. Pampered by his grandfather, and idolised by his mother, he pa.s.sed that period of bitter reality amidst all the bright dreams of happy childhood. He was, indeed, informed of the honours and dignities which the emperor had been most graciously pleased to confer upon his father and grandfather; but he knew nothing of the curses of the people; he knew nothing of the contempt with which his family name was p.r.o.nounced by the Hungarians. But the time was at hand for him to learn it all, and feel it too. Young Eotvos was sent to a public school.

His father, an able diplomatist, had hitherto placed the boy under the care of a tutor, Mr. Pruzsinsky. This gentleman was a staunch republican. In his earlier years he was a party to the conspiracy of Bishop Martinovich, the friend of Hajnotzy.[1] Pruzsinsky, with no less than thirty of his a.s.sociates, had been sentenced to capital punishment.

They were compelled to witness the execution of five of their friends.

At the same time, they were informed that their punishment had been commuted into imprisonment for life. Hajnotzy, on his way to the scaffold, entreated Pruzsinsky to protect his only sister, whom his death would deprive of her last friend. Pruzsinsky promised to fulfil the last request of the dying man; but it was long before he could redeem his pledge. During eight years he was confined in several Austrian prisons. When the French armies invaded the country, the state prisoners were taken from the Kuffstein to the Spielberg, from the Spielberg to Olmutz, and from Olmutz to Munkatsh; and everywhere they met with that barbarous treatment which, at a later period, has been so faithfully recorded by Silvio Pellico. After eight years of imprisonment, Pruzsinsky was at length released; and, after ascertaining the residence of Hajnotzy's sister, he informed her of the promise he had given to her brother; adding, that his poverty allowed him no other means of protecting her than by offering her his hand. The poor girl, who at that time was reduced to severe distress, joyfully accepted the proposal. They were married. Pruzsinsky lived in the greatest happiness with his wife, whose love and devotion made ample amends for his past sufferings. But this blissful period was of short duration; at the end of two years Mrs. Pruzsinsky died.

[Footnote 1: He was executed in 1795.]

The events which we have detailed had their due share of influence in forming Pruzsinsky's character. Naturally severe and independent, it was by misfortune rendered harsh and all but repulsive. Baron Eotvos chose this man to be a tutor to his son, because he expected (and not without some show of reason) that the tutor's severity and his unamiable character would disgust his pupil with the political ideas of which he was the advocate and the martyr. But the boy took a liking to his master, in spite of the harshness and coldness of the latter; and an event which at that time took place gave Pruzsinsky an opportunity of gaining a still stronger hold on his pupil's mind. Joseph Eotvos was sent to a public school just at the period when every liberal speaker in parliament denounced his family name, and when the country cursed it.

The boys shunned young Joseph; the form on which he sat was deserted, and though he would fain have considered this circ.u.mstance as a mark of respect, paid to him as the only member of the aristocracy that his school could boast of, he was soon given to understand that there is some difference between honouring a peer and sending him to Coventry.

His grandfather, too, on visiting the school, was received by the boys with unmistakeable signs of disrespect; and when young Eotvos demanded an explanation, he was told that his grandfather was a traitor. "And you, too, are a traitor," added they. "You are almost thirteen years of age, and you cannot speak Hungarian. We are sure you will be a traitor!"

Young Joseph was not a little shocked at this prediction, and of course consulted his tutor about the likelihood of its ever coming true.

Pruzsinsky said simply, that the boys were right, and continued grinding his pupil in Cornelius Nepos and the Latin grammar. But Joseph's mind was not what it had been. He studied the Hungarian language, and devoted his attention to the political conversations in his father's _salon_, asking his tutor for an explanation of those things which he did not understand. Thus, for instance, he asked why the decease of the Count N. was so greatly lamented? "Who was the Count N.?"

"The Count N.," said Pruzsinsky, "was, by his talents and learning, one of the most eminent men in Hungary: his character was odious. He filled a high post in the state. As for you, boy, you will never equal him in spirit and knowledge." A fortnight afterwards the tutor asked whether Count N.'s death was still the subject of conversation; and when Joseph replied that n.o.body thought of it, Pruzsinsky said: "This is well. That man has been dead a fortnight, and n.o.body remembers his death, in spite of his talents. The society to which he sacrificed his name and his honour wants but two weeks to forget his existence. Mark this, boy, and see what thanks you will get from the n.o.ble and great!" At another time Pruzsinsky took his pupil to the green behind the Castle at Buda, on which his five friends had been executed. "Here," said he, "they shed the blood of five true friends of the country. No monument marks the spot where they bled and lie buried, but the feet of the pa.s.sing crowd have worn the green into the form of a cross, and thus marked the place.

The time will come when these men will have their monument. That monument will be a triumphal arch for the liberated people--it will be a gallows for those who opposed our liberties!"

Words like these were calculated to make a deep impression on the mind of young Eotvos, who manifested his political conversion by addressing his schoolfellows in an Hungarian oration, by which he informed them that, though his ancestors had served the house of Austria, and betrayed the interests of Hungary, he (the Baron Joseph Eotvos) was resolved to atone at once for the crime of his fathers, and that he (the said Baron Eotvos) meant to be "liberty's servant, and his country's slave." The boys received this speech with the greatest enthusiasm. They rushed up to the master's desk, which the young orator had converted into a tribune, and, seizing the object of their admiration, lifted him on their shoulders, and carried him to the next coffee-house!

But, alas! how short is the step from the capitol to the Tarpeian rock!

The procession had no sooner reached its destination than the school-master's servant appeared to arrest the speaker. His _debut_ began on the master's desk; it ended in the black hole.

Amidst these, and similar impressions, pa.s.sed the boyhood of Baron Eotvos. In the year 1826 the Emperor Francis was compelled to conciliate the good will of the Hungarian parliament. He reiterated his promise to respect the const.i.tutional rights of the country. The season of popular excitement was over, and the hatred to the name of Eotvos grew gradually less. In 1829, the Count Szechenyi published his plans of reform; the old aristocratic opposition of Hungary became a liberal opposition, and the party of national progress grew in strength and numbers. The youth of Hungary joined this latter party. Tours to foreign countries became the order of the day with all young men of education. Baron Eotvos, too, made the grand tour of Europe. He was amiable, and a great favourite with women; some of his occasional pieces had introduced him to the public as a poet; he was rich,--in short, he had all that is requisite to act a brilliant part in the capitals of the Continent.

In the course of the carnival of 1837, Baron Eotvos, who was then at Paris, was invited by a young Frenchman to accompany him to Mademoiselle le Normand, the notorious Parisian soothsayer. The poet consented; and leaving a brilliant and merry party in the Faubourg du Roule, the two young men repaired to the house of the mysterious lady. Mademoiselle le Normand, after gazing long and earnestly at the handsome face of our hero, said at length, "You are rich. The day will come when you will be poor. You will marry a rich woman. You will be a minister of state in your own country. You will die on the scaffold." Nothing was so unlikely as this prophecy: Baron Eotvos was greatly amused with it, and after his return to Hungary, he used to tell the anecdote for the amus.e.m.e.nt of his friends.

The financial crisis of 1841, and the money speculations of the old Baron Eotvos, led the family to the brink of ruin. Joseph Eotvos was compelled to live by his pen; anywhere but in England and France, the bread of literature is poverty indeed. In 1842, he married an amiable and accomplished woman; but still he smiled at Mademoiselle le Normand's prophecy. As a peer and as a public writer, he belonged to the extreme opposition; and although his party had the greatest influence in the country, there was no reason to suppose that it would ever be called upon to grasp the reins of government. The movements of the year 1848 changed the aspect of affairs and the position of parties. A cabinet was formed under the auspices of the Count Batthyany; and Joseph Baron Eotvos was one of the members of that cabinet. In the month of August the political horizon of Hungary became clouded: Jellachich, the Ban of Croatia, prepared to invade our country. The duplicity of the Vienna Cabinet became daily more manifest. The landsturm a.s.sembled in Pesth.

The Count Lamberg fell a victim to the unbridled pa.s.sions of the people.

The Croatians advanced almost to the very gates of Buda. Le Normand's prophecy came home to Baron Eotvos's mind, and scared him to Vienna. But he had scarcely reached the Austrian capital, when the revolution of October broke out. Eotvos fled. He hastened to Munich, and remained in voluntary exile, without taking any active interest in the fate of his country and the wayward fortunes of his friends. His career as a statesman is ended for many years to come. It is to be hoped that his faculties as a writer will survive the blow which crushed his country; and that his countrymen will have many a song and a few more novels from so clever and spirited a pen. It is the pleasing office of fiction to reconcile us to the anxieties and misfortunes of real matter-of-fact life. May my friend succeed in pouring balm into the fresh wounds of the country; and may his works alleviate, though it be but for a moment, the anguish which in this season of sorrows eats into the heart of every Hungarian!

FRANCIS PULSZKY.

THE VILLAGE NOTARY.

CHAPTER I.

The traveller in the districts on the lower Theiss, however narrow the circle of his peregrinations, may be said to be familiar with the whole of that part of Hungary. Some families boast of the resemblance, not to say the ident.i.ty, of their members. To distinguish one from another, we must see them long and often. The case of these districts is very much the case of those families; and the traveller, after a few hours' sleep on our sandy roads, has no means of knowing that he has made any progress, unless, indeed, it be by looking at the setting sun, or his jaded horses. Neither the general character nor the details of the country will remind him of his having been subjected to locomotion. As well might the seaman on the Atlantic endeavour to mark his course on the watery plain which surrounds him. A boundless extent of pasturage, now and then diversified by a broken frame over a well, or a few storks that promenade round a half dried up swamp; bad fields, whose crops of kukuruz and wheat are protected by G.o.d only, and by that degree of bodily fatigue to which even a thief is exposed;--perhaps a lonely hut, with a couple of long-haired wolf-dogs, reminding you of the sacredness of property; and the ricks of stale hay and straw, left from the harvest of last year, impressing you with the idea that their owners must either have an excess of hay, or a want of cattle:--such were the sights upon which you closed your eyes, and such, indeed, are the sights which you behold on awaking. The very steeples, which, before you fell asleep, were visible on the far plain, seem to have gone along with you; for there is as little difference between them, as between the village which you were approaching in the early part of the afternoon and the one to which you are now drawing near. The low banks of the Theiss, too, are the same; our own yellow Theiss is not only the best citizen of our country,--for it spends its substance at home,--but it is also the luckiest river in the world, since n.o.body ever interferes with it. The Theiss is, in fact, the only river in Europe of which it may be said that it is exactly such as G.o.d has made it.

Somewhere on the banks of the lower Theiss, in any of its districts,--say in the county of Takshony,--close to where the river flows in the shape of a capital S, and at no great distance from three poplars on a hill (there is not a hill for many miles in whichever direction you may go, and, least of all, a hill with trees upon it), lies the village of Tissaret, under the lordship of the Rety family, who have owned the place ever since the Magyars first came into the country,--a fact which Mr. Adam Catspaw, the solicitor of the family, is prepared to prove at all times, and in all places, to any one that might be inclined to doubt it.

Than the family of the Retys none can be more ancient; and it cannot therefore be a cause for wonder that the village of Tissaret came in for a few spare rays of that dazzling brilliancy which surrounded its masters. There is a large park, in which the trees, which were planted as early as thirty years ago, have grown to a fabulous height. There is a pond, the waters of which are sometimes rather low, but which, no matter whether high or low, are always beautifully green, like the meadow around. In rainy weather that meadow is rather more sandy than the paths, which, though frequently covered with fresh earth, are still sometimes in a condition which induces strangers to call them dirty, thereby astonishing the gardener, who thinks that they are exactly what paths ought to be. And, besides, there is a large castle, with a high roof with gilt k.n.o.bs on the same; and with a Doric hall, in which the sheriff used to smoke his pipe; and with a gothic gate, in front of which a crowd of supplicants might at all times be seen loitering and losing their time. There is a yard, with stables to the left, and a gla.s.s-house and a hen-roost to the right, without mentioning the grand dunghill which covers more than one half of the stables. Every thing, in short, is grand and comfortable, and shows--especially the high-road from the door of the house to the county-town, and which has been made expressly for the Retys--that the place is the residence of a sheriff.

All the buildings of the Retys are of a monumental character; and the more so, since one distinguishing feature in monuments, viz. their being built at the public expense, belonged to every fabric, road or bridge, made by the Retys. Every one in the county knew of this fact; and, though a few persons pretended to blame them for it, the great majority of the people were quite satisfied, as, indeed, it was their bounden duty to be.

But there will be plenty of occasions in the sequel to make my readers acquainted with the beauties and comforts of the seat of the Retys, and of the village of Tissaret. For the present, I will take them by the hand and lead them about two miles from the said village, to the hill which is commonly called the Turk's Hill, and which is remarkable, not only for its three trees, but also for the distant view you enjoy on it of the mountains of Tokay, which, on a clear day, like the one that opens this tale, may be seen looming in the distance like dark-blue haystacks.

The warm rays of an October sun fell upon the plains of Tissaret; there was not a cloud in the sky, not a speck of dust on the heath. The solemn silence of the scene was interrupted only by those vague sounds which herald the approach of evening,--the carol of the birds, the faint tinkling of distant sheep-bells, and the song of a lonely workman wending his way homeward, with his scythe on his shoulder. The view from the hill commands the country to the wood of St. Vilmosh, the acacias of Tissaret, and the far windings of the Theiss. On that hill there are two men, whom I take the liberty of introducing to my readers as Mr.

Jonas Tengelyi, the notary, and Mr. Balthasar Vandory, the curate of the village of Tissaret.

Every aristocracy has its marks of distinction. Long nails, a tattooed face, a green or black dress, a b.u.t.ton on the hat, a ribbon in the b.u.t.ton-hole, a sword or a stick with an apple,--these are a few of the marks which in various times and places have served, and still serve, to separate them from the common herd; which, wherever that strange animal--man--has left the savage state and become domesticated, part them asunder from their birth to their dying hour; and which, in the most civilised countries, show you by the very gallows that the culprit is not only a thief, but also a plebeian. Nature, too, has her n.o.bility; she, too, puts marks of distinction on her aristocrat, by which you may know her elect, in spite of all the preachers of a general equality.

Nature does not, indeed, compete with civilisation in enn.o.bling a man's fathers that lived before him, or the babe unborn that is to call him father,--but there are cases in which Nature's n.o.bility is unmistakeably expressed in individuals. Any man that has once seen the notary Jonas Tengelyi, will confess that my statement is correct; and to make this fact still more comprehensible, I will add that Tengelyi's n.o.bility dates more than a hundred years back, and that, in the present instance, Nature had all the advantages which the "usus" could give her.

Tengelyi is about fifty years of age, though his thin locks sprinkled with flakes of grey, and the deep wrinkles with which Time has marked his forehead, would cause you to think him older; but then he is like a st.u.r.dy oak, with gnarled roots and branches bearing witness to its age, while its leaves are still fresh and green, and show that there is a strong and hearty life in it. Tengelyi's manly form and erect bearing under his silvery locks, and his shining eyes beneath his wrinkled forehead, bespeak him at once as a man whom Time has not broken, but steeled,--and who, like colours that have seen many a battle-field, in the course of years, had lost nothing but his ornaments.

The man who, sitting at Tengelyi's side, counts the petals of a flower, while his eyes are directed to the blue mountain-tops of Tokay looming in the distance, appears still more advanced in age, and his mild and regular features form a striking contrast to the severity which is the leading characteristic of Tengelyi's face. That face exhibits the traces of fiery pa.s.sions and fierce contentions, which, though soothed into oblivion, might still under circ.u.mstances break forth afresh; while Vandory's features might be likened to a clear sky, on which the pa.s.sing storm has left no trace. Vandory's appearance needs no aid from his clerical dress to inform you that you accost one of those men whom G.o.d has sent to represent his mercy upon earth. The notary's bearing shows an honest man, who had but little happiness in the world,--while Vandory is a living demonstration of the old adage, that virtue is its own reward, even in this world of ours.

Vandory at length interrupted the silence which the two friends had observed for the last half-hour, by saying, "Where are your thoughts, my friend?"

"I scarcely know," was Tengelyi's reply. "I thought of my youth,--of Heidelberg,--of my career as a 'jurat.' Do you sometimes think of Heidelberg? _I_ do; and whenever my thoughts return to the green mountains and the bright rivers of that country, I feel inclined to quarrel with fate for casting my lot in this desolate champaign."

"Do not, I pray, abuse our country," said Vandory, smiling. "What can be greener than this meadow? Is not that river beautiful, flowing as it does among the reeds? And what can be more striking than the far steeples and the mountains of Tokay? As for the blue sky and the rays of the setting sun, they are beautiful anywhere. You are very unjust, sir, and that is the long and the short of it."

"And you are the greatest optimist I ever met with," rejoined Tengelyi; "there is not a man on earth but you can talk of his good qualities, and by the hour too. But your taking this country under your protection makes me verily believe that G.o.d, for all that he is omnipotent, cannot create anything so bad but that you would hit upon some redeeming point in it."

"Why should I quarrel with His works?" said Vandory. "We ought to be at peace with all men,--and with all countries, too," added he, smiling.

"We ought--but all cannot!"

"We can. Believe me, we are all optimists, every man of us. G.o.d made his creatures for happiness; and as Scripture says that heaven and h.e.l.l are both peopled by the denizens of paradise, so is each joy and each sorrow the result, not of our nature, but of our will."

"But experience!" interposed Tengelyi.