The Village Notary Part 21

"Poor woman!" sighed Mrs. Ershebet. "She, at least, deserves a better fate!"

Susi had reached the door, but when she heard these words she turned round and cried. "A better fate? Trust me, if I were to be born again, and if I were to know all that has happened to Viola, still I would not have another husband. If they hang him, I'll sit down under the gallows, thanking G.o.d that I was his wife. There is not such another heart on the earth as his. But, adieu! and may G.o.d bless you!"

"I am sure," said Vandory, looking after her, "that Viola had no hand in this matter. A man who goes on for eight years loving his wife in this manner cannot act meanly and disgracefully!"

He had scarcely said these words when Tengelyi entered the room, exclaiming, "Is it true that there has been a robbery committed here?"

"Only the safe was forced open," replied Mrs. Ershebet, trembling; "the other parts of----"

"The safe? Give me the keys! Where are the keys?"

"I dare say they are in your desk. But the safe is open."

Tengelyi hastened up to the place, and throwing open the lid, he bent down and turned the papers about, while his wife and Vandory stood by silent and anxious. The fearful contraction of his features showed them the extent of his loss. At length he rose, and throwing himself back in his chair, he covered his face with his hands. "I am lost!" muttered he.

"My papers are gone--I am a ruined man!"

Mrs. Ershebet and Vandory did all in their power to take off the first sharp edge of his sorrow; but what they said was unheeded by him.

"Right? It's all right," said Tengelyi; "the papers only are lost, are they? Oh! I know it. You found the money all safe--it lay here close to the door--did it not? But do you know, woman, that we are no longer n.o.ble! We and our children are not n.o.ble! We are peasants!--things to be despised, to be kicked, to be trodden under foot, things that have no property, and that can have no merits, things like those which inhabit the hovels around us. They are not aliens, because they were born here; but still they have no rights, no property, and no country!" And, turning to Vandory, the notary told him all that had happened at Dustbury; adding, "Now you know it all. They ask for proofs of my n.o.ble descent. I came from another county; my father, in his position as a curate, had little cause to care for his n.o.bility; n.o.body ever doubted my rights, and I thought it was quite superfluous to have my t.i.tle proclaimed in this county; and now my papers and patents are lost! Alas!

my poor son!"

"Jonas," said Vandory, "you know that I too have had a loss. You know the extent of that loss, and how likely it is to affect those things which I care most about in this world. You understand me! But let us place our trust in G.o.d."

"You have no children! Is there any son of yours the worse off for what you have lost?"

"I understand you, and believe me I feel for you. My sympathy would certainly be greater, if you were indeed deprived of your rights as a n.o.bleman. But is there no hope? Those papers are of no use to him who stole them. He will send and ask a certain price for them. But suppose he did not, cannot you prove that your papers were stolen, and that you and your father enjoyed all the privileges of n.o.bility? Besides, you can make an appeal to the king's grace."

"The king's grace for _me_, a poor village notary?"

"Why not? If we do not find your papers, I myself will go to Vienna. I will kneel before the king's majesty, and state the case to him. The county is sure to send a pet.i.tion, and I'll tell the king that you have a family, and that you are wretched for their sake. G.o.d has made the king so rich and so powerful--he has surely given him a feeling heart, and a sense of pity and compa.s.sion for those that suffer."

"Friend," said Tengelyi, impatiently, "you are as mad as any optimist I ever met with. The county, you say, is sure to pet.i.tion in my favour?

Don't you see that there is a purpose in this robbery?--that it is part of a plot to ruin me? and of a plot, too, which those very gentlemen have made who, you fondly believe, are sure to pet.i.tion in my favour?

Or do you think it's chance that my n.o.ble descent, which no one ever doubted, is publicly denied at the very time that my papers are stolen?

Or was the composition of the commission accidental? Or was it an accident that no one told me I should be called upon to prove my n.o.bility? Is all this mere chance and accident? Oh! you would not say so, if you had seen that fellow Catspaw as he stood by the table sneering at me! I am a victim to their diabolical plots! Viola is but their tool. I'm down, never to rise again!"

"For G.o.d's sake, Jonas!" cried Mrs. Ershebet, seizing her husband's hand; "my heart is ready to break when I see you thus desponding. Think of the past!--think of all our sorrows and troubles!--did we not often all but despair, when----"

Tengelyi's face bore the impress of the deepest agony. He pressed his wife's hand, and asked with a low and tremulous voice,--"What is it that has happened to Vilma?"

Her cheek grew pale, and her voice failed her.

"Ershebet!" gasped the notary; "what has become of my daughter?"

But Ershebet, scared by the expression of his face, was silent. Vandory searched vainly for words to inform his friend of what had happened.

"I see!" said Tengelyi, pushing back her hand, which trembled in his.

"They told me the truth--nothing but the truth! My daughter's honour is lost!"

Ershebet wept. Vandory said all he could say. He talked of young Rety's honourable intentions,--of the love of young people,--and that it was quite ridiculous to think of any violation of honour. Tengelyi stood pale and stern. His lips moved, but they had not a word of comfort for Mrs. Ershebet.

"Of course," murmured he, with a bitter smile,--"of course it's all arranged--it's all for the best;--no doubt of it;--I am to have back my n.o.bility, and my daughter her honour. You, Vandory, you go to Vienna, and his majesty gives us all we demand. The king indeed is a fountain of honour, but do you think he can patch up a woman's reputation?"

Again Vandory attempted to demonstrate that there was no reason why Akosh should not have met Vilma in her mother's presence, and that he had sought the house with truly honourable intentions.

"But did he come to the house as an honourable man would?" asked Tengelyi; "did he not leave Dustbury in secret and in the dead of the night? Did he not tie his horse to the garden gate and creep to my house just for all the world as if he were a thief? After this, who will be fool enough to believe in his honourable intentions?"

"The future will prove them," said Vandory, quietly. "Who will dare to speak against Vilma when she changes her name to Rety?"

"When she changes her name to Rety--that's it! isn't it, wife?" said Tengelyi, turning fiercely upon Ershebet; "and it is you who wish it, and it is you who I dare say are happy that things have happened as they did, and that Akosh is bound. But are you aware that you have worked your daughter's ruin? Are you aware that she will curse you for having sacrificed her happiness to your vanity? Is my daughter to be Lady Rety because she is dishonoured? because you have got Akosh in a corner.

They'll scorn her in her husband's house! She will have no position, having lost the one which became her! She will be a slave! a wife by her husband's charity! To see her will remind him of his having been _bound_ to marry her, but not of the love which made her his. I tell you, you have ruined your own child!"

Ershebet wept.

"Weep, wretched woman, weep!" continued Tengelyi, "though your tears cannot atone for your offence. Was there ever a better child, or one more loving? and see what you have made of her! She was my pride; my heart became young when I saw her. I forgot the past. I might almost have loved mankind, because _she_ was of their kind, and because they praised her. But now I must blush when her name is mentioned. I dare not raise my eyes, and am a criminal for no crime of my own!"

"For G.o.d's sake, pity me!" cried Mrs. Ershebet; "if you love me,--if you ever _did_ love me, pity me!"

"If I ever _did_ love you? G.o.d knows that I did! Did I ever speak an unkind word to you? did I not listen to your wishes? did I not tell you all my thoughts? and how did you requite me for all this love? I entreated you not to receive young Rety in my house, and you promised it, and, at that very moment, you thought of deceiving me. Akosh knew the day on which my command was to be infringed! You taught your daughter to deceive me. You waited for your guest in my absence. You trembled at the thought of my approach! This is what you did for all my love!"

"G.o.d sees my heart, Jonas. He knows that I do not deserve this!"

"Silence! don't speak to me unless you wish me to curse the day on which I led you to the altar and brought you to this house!"

His violent speech was interrupted by Vilma, who, rushing into the room, threw herself at his feet.

"Father!" cried she.

He stood still. He looked at his daughter, and felt that his heart was indeed broken. All his pa.s.sion was softened into grief. The hand which he had raised for a curse dropped, and rested on the head of his child.

"Can you pardon your own Vilma?" said the girl.

"Come to my heart!" cried Tengelyi, clasping her in his arms. He wept.

CHAP. XII.

Young Rety's wound, as we have already stated, was by no means dangerous, the bullet having pa.s.sed through his left arm without touching the bone. Indeed the young man was more than half ashamed of having fainted, though but for a moment, in consequence of so slight a wound. But the surgeon, who had been sent for from St. Vilmosh, and Vandory, insisted on his going to bed, on account of the fever which they expected to follow. We find Akosh Rety laid up and out of temper.

Kalman was smoking his cigar by the bed; and Janosh, the old servant, was busy with sundry wet towels, which were being placed on the injured limb. Young Rety's rooms were large and comfortable. Papers and books lay on the tables, and the walls were hung with portraits of famous Englishmen, and of still more famous English horses; guns, swords, foils, and whips were heaped up in a corner, and a few foxes' brushes and ears showed that the former objects were not only ornamental, but also useful. Of course there was no lack of pipes, tobacco, and cigars; in short, the room was a perfect bachelor's snuggery, even without the sofas and lounging chairs, which form so necessary, and, let us say, comfortable a feature in the _entourage_ of a young Hungarian. But in spite of all these comforts, which were materially heightened by the bright fire in the grate, the two young men were sadly out of spirits.

So much had happened since Akosh left Dustbury! Misfortune had sought him in the midst of his happiness; and Kalman, though far from regretting his defence of Tengelyi, felt that he had given fresh cause of offence to the Retys, and thus created another barrier between himself and Etelka. Janosh alone seemed to be in good spirits. He made his spurs jingle as he walked about the room in the discharge of his domestic duties; nor did his young master's moodiness affect him.

"I say, sir," said he at length, as he removed the bandages from Rety's arm.

"Take care! mind my arm!" cried Akosh.

"I am an old donkey!" said Janosh. "I always hurt you!"