The Village Notary Part 4

"I cannot let you go in," said she; "I want to ask something, and you must grant it."

"Well, what is it?" said Tengelyi, smiling at her earnestness.

"I want you not to be angry."

"Why should I be angry?"

"Because we have done something without your knowledge."

"Very well then," said Tengelyi, laughing, "I pledge my word I will not be angry."

"But you must also approve of it."

"That is a different thing altogether; but if _you_ did it, I think I can promise as much." With these words the notary followed his daughter into the house.

CHAP. III

The village of Tissaret was peaceful and quiet when the notary returned to his house. A few workmen wending their way homewards from the meadows, with their scythes on their shoulders, walked slowly along, stopping every now and then to say good night to the people in the houses. The evening-bell sw.a.n.g slowly to and fro, sending its drowsy tones over the country. The very tavern was all but deserted; and Itzig, the Jew, who usually sold his liquors at high prices because he was in the habit of giving credit on the security of next year's harvest, lounged in the hall, listless and sullen. The manor-house, and the surrounding fields and gardens, were not less quiet, which is saying a great deal, for a Hungarian manor-house is usually the noisiest place in the village. But we know that the son of the house, accompanied by all the dogs, was out hare-hunting; and as for the sheriff, he was closeted with the chief bailiff and the recorder. The conversation of the three dignitaries would doubtless have touched upon very weighty matters, had it not been for the sultriness of the day, which set them "All a-nodding," as the old song has it. And the sheriff's lady's voice, which usually filled the house as the song of the nightingale does the woods, with the sole difference that Lady Rety's voice waxed louder in tone, and more frequent in use, as she advanced in the summer of her years; Lady Rety's voice, too, was silent in the hall, for that lady walked in the garden. That garden was a splendid place! It contained a hermitage, an oven to dry plums in, a pigeon-house built like a temple, a fishpond, with a fisherman's hut, a grotto, a cottage, and a variety of other things, bearing witness to the inventive genius of the Retys, and astonishing the travellers who were favoured with a view of its marvels, its stout Bacchuses, thin Pomonas, artificial ruins, and Chinese arbours. Its furthest end merged in a poplar wood--a real wood of real poplars, and which, but for the unaccountable fancy which the lord lieutenant had taken to it, would long ago have been compelled to make room for a batch of new wonders which the sheriff Rety longed to establish in his garden. For truly that poplar wood was quite a savage place; there was no trace of modern civilisation and refinement in its luxuriant foliage and the st.u.r.dy generation of brushwood which surrounded the ma.s.sive trees. A single path wound through it, or, rather, round about in it. In this path we see Lady Rety engaged in an important and interesting discussion with her most humble and obedient servant and solicitor, Mr. Catspaw.

Lady Rety is of a _certain_ age--I cannot possibly say more on so delicate a point--she is tall and full-grown. Her hair--though we have none of us a right to judge of her hair until we see her without a cap, an event which is very unlikely to happen--is most probably dark, unless, indeed, we are deceived by the colour of her thick eyebrows, and of that slight but treacherous shade on her upper lip. Lady Rety's face is full of majesty, but at certain times (and these times are very _certain_, for they embrace a regular period of six months out of thirty) that face is beyond all measure condescending and kind, though its usual expression is one of scornful pride, which, by the agency of two warts on her upper lip and chin, becomes so strongly marked that it merges into something like an habitual sneer. The lucky possessor of that sneer is as high-bred a lady as any in the country; her household is on a grand scale; none of her dinners was ever shorter than two hours, and her courts and outhouses are full of poultry and guests, of which the latter, if of high rank, are waited upon with the kindest consideration. Lady Rety's voice is of an easy flow, like a generous fountain, and sweeping, for it would shake even stronger walls than those of Jericho, besides causing the servants to quake. Her discourse is admirable, for it is a verbal repet.i.tion of the sayings of her liege lord. This rare instance of conjugal harmony alone would ent.i.tle Lady Rety to our respect; but we are free to confess that we venerate her for that sound knowledge of common and statute law, which her conversation betrays, and which marks her as a practical woman, besides giving to her words, as such knowledge never fails to do, a peculiar grace and amiability. There was not a lawyer in the kingdom fonder of arguing a point of law; and so great was her discernment and readiness of mind, that Mr. Catspaw would often confess that he purloined the substance of his best pleadings from the conversations of the most n.o.ble, the Lady Rety.

Mr. Catspaw himself is a small spare man of more than fifty years of age, with a pale face, a pointed nose, and a pair of small restless eyes, whose look, though piercing, it is difficult to catch. His back is bent, more from habit than from age. Add to this his high bald forehead, and his scanty hair of bristling grey, and you will have a tolerable idea of Mr. Catspaw's outward man. He was most devoted to the Rety family, in whose service he had pa.s.sed the last thirty years, and with whom he had at length come to identify himself. This last a.s.sertion of his was of course contradicted by his enemies, who protested that his attachment to the Retys sprang from motives of the most sordid selfishness. But however this may be, certain it is that on the evening in question the worthy solicitor was by no means identified, either with the Rety family in general, or with Lady Rety in particular; for while that majestic lady stalked through the poplar wood, with Mr. Catspaw following at her heels, she favoured him with a very violent oration; nor would she condescend to listen to the humble remonstrance, by means of which the lawyer sought to a.s.suage her anger. For, shaking her head with great impatience, she gave that learned gentleman to understand that it was easy to talk,--that every body was aware that Mr. Catspaw would not allow any one to speak,--and that real devotion showed itself by deeds. "I will candidly tell you," said Lady Rety, stopping short, and thumping her parasol on the ground, "what you told me drives me to despair!"

"But, my lady, allow me to observe, that there is no reason why you should despair, for I am sure----"

"Oh! I dare say! You don't despair--not you! What do _you_ care for our troubles? You do not mind what becomes of us!--you have your profession, and who knows but----"

Here she was in her turn interrupted by Mr. Catspaw. "Is this my thanks," cried the solicitor, in a generous pa.s.sion; "is this my thanks for my service of thirty years? I, Adam Catspaw, have more than once risked my life in promoting the interests of your family, and, in lieu of grat.i.tude, you suspect me!"

"I really beg your pardon," said Lady Rety, very humbly, for she saw at once that her zeal had led her too far, and that she was not now addressing her husband,--"I am a woman, and my unfortunate circ.u.mstances--and----"

"All this is very fine, my lady," retorted Mr. Catspaw, emboldened by his success; "but your ladyship talks always advisedly. All I can do is to look out for another place. A solicitor whom his employers suspect----"

"But who tells you that we suspect you?" entreated Lady Rety. "It is you on whom we rely. What could we do without you? Besides, you know our promise about the grant."

"As for the grant," muttered Mr. Catspaw in a milder tone, "the Lord knows I toil not for the sake of gain; but if, for my faithful service--_ob fidelia servitia_--you will remember me, I am sure my grat.i.tude will outlast my life."

"I know that your generous mind scorns to be selfish; but for all that it is a fine grant, and though its value is as nothing to your services, still it is a splendid property."

"And I will obtain it, in spite of a thousand obstacles!" exclaimed the solicitor.

The lady sighed. "Are you still confident? As for me, I have no hope!"

"But why? because our first attempt had no success? This is mere childishness. Consider: the man who broke into Vandory's house was as expert a thief as any. To avert suspicion, I instructed him to take not only the papers which your ladyship wants, but also some money and trinkets--it made the affair look like a _bona fide_ robbery. But the fellow did not find any money, and while he was rummaging the drawers, the curate came home and alarmed the neighbours. Tzifra had not time to look for the papers; all he could do was to escape through the window.

Those papers are at present in Tengelyi's house, who, I am informed, keeps them in the iron safe near the door, with his own papers and the parish records. I pledge my word that we find them, and perhaps something else, for I have an account to settle with that notary."

"But the notary's house is much frequented. I tremble lest Tzifra should be caught."

"In that case we will hang him fast enough," said Mr. Catspaw, with great composure; "G.o.d be praised! the county has the Statarium."

"But supposing he were to confess?"

"Oh! he won't confess. Leave me to manage that; and if he were to attempt it, I promise you he shall be hanged before he can do it."

"Oh, if you could but know,"--cried Lady Rety--"if you could but know what it costs me to take this step; and when I consider--that--but who can help it? The honour of my name, the welfare of my children--all that which makes life worth having, compels me----"

"A mother shrinks from no sacrifice for her children's sake!" said Mr.

Catspaw, wiping his eyes, for the darkness allowed him to dispense with tears. "n.o.body," continued he, "knows the goodness of your heart as I do; but, Lady Rety, if the world could know it, it would go down on its knees before you!"

"G.o.d forbid!" cried Lady Rety, alarmed but still pleased; for she was happy to see the ease with which so ugly a thing as theft undoubtedly is could be brought to a.s.sume the more grateful names of motherly devotion and generosity of feeling. "G.o.d forbid that any body besides you and I should know of this matter. The world is severe in its judgments, and perhaps it might be said----"

The lady did not finish her sentence. She was astonished, for she felt herself blush.

Mr. Catspaw understood the feelings of his patroness. "Why should you thus torment yourself?" said he. "It is an every-day affair, to say the worst of it. Such things are so common in Hungary, that n.o.body ever thinks twice of them, excepting perhaps the party who fancies he is aggrieved. t.i.tle deeds, mortgage deeds, and promissory notes are lost somehow or other; but who cares? The present case is not half so bad--for what are the papers your ladyship wishes to possess? Why, they are simply some confidential letters, most of them in the sheriff's own handwriting, which you have an objection to leave in the hands of strangers. The matter is most innocent, though the manner is perhaps in a way open to objection."

"Yes! yes! the manner!" sighed Lady Rety. "It is house-breaking--robbery--Heaven knows how they might call it!"

"It is indeed burglary," observed the man of the law; "but who is the burglar? The man who actually breaks into the house, I should hope.

Suppose A. talks to B., who, though not a very respectable character, is not at the time under any criminal prosecution, and whom the law consequently supposes to be an honest man; and suppose A. tells B., in the course of conversation, of a certain packet of papers in a certain closet in Mr. Vandory's house, which packet of papers A. wishes to possess, either from curiosity, or caprice, or for some scientific purpose; and suppose A. were to remark, quite incidentally of course, that he would gladly give one hundred florins to any man who should bring him the said packet: suppose all this, and tell me whether such a conversation could be called criminal? Of course not. Very well then; now suppose A. adds that the curate is to be from home on Sat.u.r.day night, he being asked to take supper at the manor-house, and that it has been observed that the door which leads to the garden is never locked, and that there was indeed danger of some dishonest person scaling the garden wall and committing the abominable crime of stealing the said papers,--than which indeed nothing could be more easy; suppose A., who is something of a gossip, says all this in the course of conversation, is there anything criminal in mentioning a neighbour's imprudence? By no means. Well then, and if B. is wicked enough to abuse A.'s confidence, if B. scales the garden wall, enters the house and steals the packet--can you accuse poor A. of having committed a robbery? And if B.

takes the packet to A.--thereby reminding A. of his promise to pay a certain sum of money to any man who should bring the packet--is not A.

bound to abide by his word? That is my case. As an honest man, I pay the money; the rest does not concern me."

"You are quite right," said Lady Rety; "but the world judges differently."

"Of course the world does; but then it is always wrong. However, the world will never know of this business."

"I, too, should think so, if those papers were still at Vandory's,"

returned Lady Rety; "but they are at Tengelyi's. His house is much frequented; besides, there is a watchman at night."

"True, but the papers are in an iron safe; and though there are but two keys to the said safe, there are plenty of locksmiths in the world."

Here the conversation was interrupted by young Rety's retriever breaking through the brushwood and running up to Lady Rety.

"My son is come home," said she; "let us go to the house." She was in the act of going when the manner and the barking of the dog directed her attention to the thicket, and to a slight rustling among the branches.

The dog advanced, but returned, after a few minutes, yelping and limping. Akosh Rety and his sister, Etelka, came up at that moment and joined the pale and trembling pair.

"What is the matter?" said Akosh.

"Did you not hear any thing?" replied his mother.

"Of course! My retriever barked. There must be a dog or a fox somewhere."

"No, young gentleman," cried Mr. Catspaw, with his eyes still directed to the spot whence the noise had proceeded, "I'll stake my life on it, it was a man."