CONCLUSION.

The third night of his journey found him at a few miles' distance from Tissaret. Here he was under serious apprehensions lest he should fall into the hands of Mr. Skinner's Pandurs, before he could surrender or manage to deliver the papers to Akosh Rety. Viola had no idea of the real cause of the importance of the papers, but when he remembered that they were taken from him at the time of his capture in the St. Vilmosh forest, and that Mr. Skinner had attempted to deny their existence, he was justified in his fear that the justice would annihilate the documents if they were to fall into his hands. He resolved therefore to defend them to the last, and to prefer death to captivity, unless he could place the notary's papers in the hands of a trustworthy person.

At break of day he reached the St. Vilmosh forest. He had been on horseback ever since sunset, and his horse was fatigued. It was a good two hours' ride to Tissaret from the place where he stood, and he pitied the horse, which had done many a good service in by-gone days. He knew the danger to which he exposed himself by approaching the village by daylight, for nothing was more likely than that he would be seized and dragged to the justice's before he could meet young Rety. But what was he to do? The forest had been cleared in the course of the winter; the trees were still stripped of their foliage, and there was no place in which he could have remained till sunset. He had no other alternative but to proceed.

"And after all," thought he, "on the plain I can keep a good look out, and get out of the way, if need be. Hollo, my boy!" added he, patting his horse's neck, "don't fail me to-day, old comrade! I'll give you into good hands. Perhaps Master Akosh will take you to his stable. He'll use you for hare-hunting, for you've had a good schooling in racing. They've hunted us many a time; but never mind! Your time has come at last, Hollo, my boy, for this is the last time you and I are on the heath together!"

He continued his way in deep thought; and the horse, too, as if conscious of his master's grief, walked dejectedly amidst the trees on the outskirts of the forest.

Viola's train of gloomy reflections was interrupted by the sound of hoofs. He looked up, and beheld three Pandurs, who were travelling on the other side of the clearing. He turned his horse's head to steal away; but they had seen him, and rode up to him.

There was but one means of safety. He knew it at once, and, putting spurs to his horse, he rushed forward.

"Stand, or die!" shouted his pursuers; but, though fatigued, Hollo was still a match for the jaded hacks [35] of the county police, and the reports of the pistols which were fired behind him only heightened his speed. He rode on in the direction of Tissaret, and the Pandurs, who still kept their eyes upon him, followed, though at a distance.

Akosh was at that time in Tissaret. Ever since his wife's death, the sheriff felt an aversion to return to his family seat. He left the management of the property to his son, who lived in old Vandory's house; for he too had an aversion to the Castle and the reminiscences connected with it.

The morning on which Viola approached his native village, Vandory arose early, according to his habits, and seeing that the sky was clear and unclouded, he could not resist his desire to visit the Turk's Hill, to see the sunrise from its summit. He roused Akosh, and induced him to accompany him to the hill, on which we found the curate and Tengelyi at the commencement of this history.

There are few people in the world who like to be disturbed in their sleep; and though Akosh Rety yielded to his uncle's entreaties, his temper was none of the sweetest, as he accompanied the enthusiastic old man, who, in the course of their walk, held forth on the beauties of the rising sun, while he delighted in the anticipation of the glorious spectacle which awaited them. To the shame of Akosh Rety be it spoken, that not all the glories of that gorgeous phenomenon, and much less his uncle's arguments, could convince him that it was worth while to wake him from his sweet dreams, merely for the purpose of seeing a few pink clouds and breathing the moist and chilly air of an April morning. But though the beauties of Nature failed to engage his interest, his attention was soon directed to and attracted by another spectacle.

Akosh had not been on the Turk's Hill ever since the autumn, when he met Vandory and the notary after the hunt. It was but natural that he should think of all the events that had occurred since that time. His heart was full, and he turned to the curate, saying,—

"I remember, for all the world as if it had happened yesterday, that poor Tengelyi stood where we now stand. Our horses were at the bottom of the hill. To the right stood Paul Skinner, the great fool. I think even now I hear his curses when he looked to the forest of St. Vilmosh, and saw that the Pandurs were escorting a prisoner. You remember it, don't you? I protested that it was not Viola whom they had with them!"

As he said these words, Akosh turned in the direction of the St. Vilmosh forest, and his quick eye discovered the horsemen, who at that moment broke from the forest and spurred over the plain.

"What does this mean?" cried he, as he directed Vandory's attention to the chase.

"Look! look! they are going at a fearful rate. One man in front, and three after him as if they were pursuing him!"

"Heaven forbid!" said he. "I have seen one of my fellow-creatures hunted down from this very spot. I hope and trust——"

"It's a chase!" cried Akosh. "It's the foremost man they are after. How he cuts away! straight through the meadows and over the fields!"

"He can't escape! they are driving him up to the village, and his beast is done up. They have been gaining upon him ever since we first saw him!"

"Let us hope the man is not a robber!" said Vandory, who watched the proceedings of the horseman with painful attention. "I am sure he is a robber, or at least his pursuers take him for one," added he, after a short pause.

"I see the carbines of the Pandurs!" cried Akosh. "The poor beast is done up! One of the rascals is close at his heels—there! he's come down horse and all! On! on! my fine fellow! you're safe for a few minutes! you've got a start now! Goodness knows!" added the young man, "I'd do any thing to give him a fresh horse!"

Viola's position—for we need not say that it was he whom Akosh and Vandory beheld from the Turk's Hill—was improved by the fall of one of his pursuers; for when the second Pandur came up to the place where his comrade struggled under the weight of his horse, he stopped and dismounted to assist him. As for the third officer, he was far in the rear; and as it was Viola's greatest desire to reach the village, and to give the papers into the hands of a trustworthy person, he could for a moment hope to succeed in his endeavours.

"Hollo! my good horse, don't fail me in this last extremity!" gasped he, as he spurred his steed. "On! on! Hajra! Hajra! Hollo!"

But Hollo's last strength was spent. The poor beast came from a long and fatiguing journey, and for the last half-hour the race had been over broken ground, fields and ditches. From a gallop he fell into a broken trot; and Viola, who was close to the Turk's Hill, and who saw his pursuers coming nearer and nearer, tried all he could do, with voice, whip, and spur, to urge the exhausted animal onward. The horse was covered with white foam, the perspiration ran down his long black mane, he trembled on his legs—but despair made Viola blind to the sufferings of his faithful companion, and again and again he buried his spurs in his bleeding sides. Hollo made another rush forward.

The Pandur was at the distance of but a few yards from him; another minute would have brought him to his side.

The outlaw seized the pistol at his saddle-bow, and turned it upon his pursuer. But the Pandur had his carbine in readiness.

Viola uttered a loud shriek! He flung back his hands and fell on his horse's neck. The frightened animal leaped, plunged, and rolled on the ground!

Akosh Rety, who had left his position on the hill for the purpose of interfering, if possible, in behalf of the pursued, came just in time to prevent the Pandur from ill-treating the wounded man.

The latter had dismounted, and would have struck Viola with a fokosh, had not young Rety prevented him.

"You're a dead man, if you dare to hurt him!" cried Akosh, endeavouring to extricate the robber from the weight of his horse. "Scoundrel! don't you see you've killed him?"

"Killed him, indeed! So much the better!" said Tzifra, (for it was he, whom the patronage of Paul Skinner had established among the county police). He would have resisted, but on consideration he thought it best to avoid a quarrel with the sheriff's son.

"I don't care, sir, whether I've killed him or not," said he; "I'm sure it does not matter. Don't you see, sir, it's Viola; and I'm entitled to the reward of five hundred florins, which the county has promised to the man who captures or kills him. I hope he'll die before my comrades come. Confound them, they'd be after claiming part of the money!"

Akosh paid no attention to the Pandur's brutal expressions, and with Vandory's assistance he succeeded in removing the horse from the body of the wounded man.

"He is dead!" said Akosh, as they laid him on the turf. "Life is extinct, and with it all hope of proving Tengelyi's innocence!"

"No!" said he. "He is alive, but the ball has pierced his breast. He is not likely to live; still I think he will linger on for a few hours. I say!" added he, addressing the Pandur, "mount and ride to the village! Tell them to send a stretcher and call in a surgeon!"

"I'd rather——" replied Tzifra. "Don't you think me such a fool as all that. I'm entitled to a reward of five hundred florins, and if I go, my comrades will come and claim the money. And, after all, your worships are my witnesses that it was I who shot him!"

"If you don't go this very moment, I'll blow your brains out!" shouted Akosh, taking up a pistol which had fallen from Viola's hands. "Be off! I'll give the blood-money if no one else will!"

His threats and promises induced Tzifra to hasten away. Young Rety and the curate remained with Viola, and when the two Pandurs came up they were at once despatched for some water; but neither the water, nor the words of comfort and consolation spoken by Vandory, availed to break through the deep slumber of death which lay on the wounded man.

Half an hour passed thus, and already did the people from the village flock to the spot, when Viola gave some signs of returning life.

"Do you know me?" said Akosh, leaning over him, and taking his hand. "Pray look at me, Viola!"

"I know you!" replied the outlaw, with a broken voice. "It's well you are here, for it's you I wanted to see."

"Open my coat for me!" said he. "Take the papers away. They are Mr. Tengelyi's papers, which Jantshi the Jew and Catspaw the attorney stole. I came to restore them to their owner."

"They are covered with blood!" groaned the outlaw. "There's some fresh blood on them; but it's no matter,—it's my own blood. Mr. Tengelyi deserved well of me,—we are quits now. Tell him I kiss his hands, and don't let him say that Viola was a reprobate who returned evil for good!"

"My friend, perhaps you are not aware of the fearful suspicion which rests on Mr. Tengelyi, on account of these very papers?"

"I know all about it!" replied Viola. "Janosh told me everything; and it was for the purpose of clearing him from suspicion that I came to deliver myself to the magistrates."

"Men of Tissaret, listen to me! Whoever says that it was Mr. Tengelyi who killed the attorney, that man tells an untruth, no matter who he be! I am the murderer. I intended to take the papers which the attorney and the Jew stole from the notary. He threatened to shoot me, and I slew him. The notary is not guilty of the murder, so help me God!"

He fell back, and lay motionless. The villagers were deeply moved by his words. They stood silent, and many of them wept.

"Poor fellow!" said an old peasant at length, "why has fate dealt with you in this manner? You were a good neighbour, and I thought you would close my eyes after my death, as I closed your father's eyes before you."

"Old man," said he, "when you pass my house, and see it desolate or inhabited by strangers, you will not forget Viola, your neighbour, who owned it in former times. God sees my soul! it was not by my own fault that I came to be what I am. May God have mercy upon me, and upon those who made me a robber!"

"Clear the way! let me pass! for mercy's sake, let me come to him!" cried a female voice at a distance; and as the people fell back on each side, old Mother Liptaka came running up to her dying kinsman.

"Take him up!" cried she. "Why don't you take him to the village? There's life, and hope, and help! Come along, some of you, and carry him to my house!"

"Leave me alone, coz!" said Viola, drawing his breath with great difficulty; "leave me alone! Nothing can do me good. It's over with me, and it serves me right. There's blood on my hands, and I pay for it with my own blood. Heaven is just, coz! But since die I must, let me die here in the free air of heaven, and in the warm rays of the sun."

"Go to Susi, coz!" said he; "tell her I implore her pardon for having deceived her when I left my home. Tell her I could not help it. I could not abandon my benefactor in his distress; and if I had told her what I was going to do——"

The words died on his pale lips. Once more did he open his eyes on the clear blue sky, on the distant village, and the people around him. He closed them again. A strange smile passed over his face, and with his last breath he whispered,—

"May God have mercy on every sinner!" said the old peasant. "He has much to answer for!"

"His sufferings were great!" said Vandory. "May the earth be light to him, after the struggles of this life!"

CONCLUSION.

The notary was moody and depressed for many months. Misfortunes are apt to spoil the most facile temper, and Mr. Tengelyi's temper was not facile. His wife's entreaties could never induce him to inhabit the Castle of Tissaret, and to join the family circle of Akosh and Vilma Rety. But the happiness which surrounded him, the beneficial influence which he, the father-in-law of the lord of the manor, exercised over the condition of the inhabitants of Tissaret, and the conversation of his friends, Völgyeshy and Vandory, conquered his habitual ill-humour, and made him, in course of time, an agreeable and even indulgent member of the circle in which he moved.

As for Mr. Paul Skinner, his fate was simple in the extreme. An unfortunate mistake which he committed, by compelling the peasants of Garatsh to repair his house instead of the roads, caused the High Court to deprive him of his office, and, with it, of all the means he possessed to attract attention or merit public reproof. If he is still a tyrant—for nothing is known of his present doings—he must confine his oppression to his family circle, where it is but too likely that he will at length meet with opposition.

Susi was anxiously waiting for her husband's return when the news of his death reached her. It came upon her like lightning: she fell, and lay in a death-like swoon. When she returned to consciousness, she arose and went to the graves of her children, which were for the first time covered with the fresh verdure of spring. She knelt down and took her leave of all that remained of her loved ones; and, having done this, she consented to accompany the Mother Liptaka to Tissaret. She asked, as a favour, that she might be allowed to live in the house which she and her husband formerly inhabited. Akosh Rety had the house repaired, and everything arranged as it was when Viola was an honest and thriving peasant. It was there Susi lived, lonely and solitary, speaking to no one, and never leaving her room except by night. After sunset she would go to the Turk's Hill, where she remained till morning dawned on the far plain.

Some months passed in this manner. Akosh and Vilma (now his loving wife) were walking on a fine evening in June to the Turk's Hill, when they were startled by a female voice, singing the words of the psalm:—

"Oh that to me the wings were given,
Which bear the turtle to her nest!
That I might cleave the vaults of heaven,
And flee away, and be at rest!"

Early next morning, when the peasants went to their work in the fields, they found a woman lying on her face, close to the Turk's Hill, on the spot where Viola had breathed his last.

My work is done; and nothing now remains but to say adieu to my readers. But before I close this book, let me turn to the boundless plain of my country, and to the scene of the joys and sorrows of my youth, to the banks of the yellow Theiss! There is a beauty in the mountains; there is a charm in the broad waters of the Danube: but to me there is a rapture in the thought of the pride of Hungary,—her green plain! It extends, boundless as the ocean; it has nothing to fetter our view but the deep blue canopy of Heaven. No brown chain of mountains surrounds it; no ice-covered peaks are gilded by the rays of the rising sun!

Plain of Hungary! Thy luxuriant vegetation withers where it stands; thy rivers flow in silence among their reed-covered banks: Nature has denied thee the grandeur of mountain scenery, the soft beauty of the valley, and the majestic shade of the forest, and the wayfaring man who traverses thee will not, in later years, think of one single beauty which reminds him of thee; but he will never forget the awe he felt when he stood admiring thy vastness; when the rising sun poured his golden light on thee; or when, in the sultry hours of noon, the Fata Morgana covered thy shadeless expanse with flowery lakes of fresh swelling waters, like the scorched-up land's dream of the sea which covered it, before the waters of the Danube had forced their way through the rocks of the Iron Gate; or at night, when darkness was spread over the silent heath, when the stars were bright in the sky, and the herdsmen's fires shone over the plain, and when all was so still that the breeze of the evening came to the wanderer's ears, sighing amidst the high grass. And what was the feeling which filled his breast in such moments? It was perhaps less distinct than the sensations which the wonders of Alpine scenery caused in him; but it was grander still, for thou, too, boundless Plain of my country, thou, too, art more grand than the mountains of this earth. A peer art thou of the unmeasured ocean, deep-coloured and boundless like the sea, imparting a freer pulsation to the heart, extending onward, and far as the eye can reach!

Vast Plain, thou art the image of my people. Hopeful, but solitary; thou art made to bless generations by the profuseness of thy wealth. The energies which God gave thee are still slumbering; and the centuries which have passed over thee have departed without seeing the day of thy gladness! But thy genius, though hidden, is mighty within thee! Thy very weeds, in their profusion, proclaim thy fertility; and there is a boding voice in my heart which tells me that the great time is at hand. Plain of my country, mayst thou flourish! and may the people flourish which inhabit thee! Happy he who sees the day of thy glory; and happy those whose present affliction is lightened by the consciousness that they are devoting their energies to prepare the way for that better time which is sure to come!

NOTES TO VOL. III.

In all matters of internal management, the Hungarian prisons have always been arranged on the self-supporting system. While the service of the house, the feeding and airing, and the discipline, were in the hands of the haiduks, who acted as turnkeys, the meaner work was done by the prisoners. A few of them were always chosen to clean the wards and cellars, to sweep the yard, to cook the prisoners' dinners, and (not unfrequently) to assist the servants of those among the magistrates who occupied chambers in the county-house. The men who were used for this kind of work were called "kitchen-prisoners;" and as the occupation was not only a distinction but also a means of making them comfortable, the post was eagerly competed for. So accustomed were the magistrates to see certain functions discharged by prisoners instead of by free men, that once upon a time, when not a single evil-doer was confined in the county gaol of Wieselburg, and when the haiduks refused to sweep, char, and cook, such occupations being "infra dig.," the worshipful magistrates assembled, and, for the purpose of putting an end to so disgraceful a state of things, resolved to hire a prisoner, meaning thereby the engaging of a person who, for a certain pecuniary consideration, would condescend to act as servant to the turnkeys. This resolution was carried out, and the man whom they engaged was ever afterwards designated by the name of "The hired kitchen-prisoner."

The Hungarian criminal law held that the moral sufferings of a culprit on the eve of execution are quite as severe a punishment as death itself. Hence, if a culprit was hanged, and the rope broke, he was usually released. A free pardon was also granted to those whom the headsman failed to kill in three blows. If a culprit escaped, the circumstance that he had been ordered to be executed, and that he had suffered "the agonies," was a great point in his favour whenever he was recaptured and brought to trial.

Whatever travellers and politicians may have asserted to the contrary, Hungary has not, for many years back, known any privileges of race. Her social and legislative distinctions were founded on class privileges. In the very first year of her history we find, indeed, a distinction between a governing and a governed race. When Arpad invaded the country, his companions and the aborigines who joined him were free. But the majority of the Slowaks, who opposed him, were defeated and reduced to servitude. The number of the serfs was increased by the frequent predatory excursions into Southern Germany, Greece, and Upper Italy, in which the followers of Arpad indulged, and from which they returned with treasures, cattle, and captives. The latter remained as bondsmen on Hungarian soil.

When St. Stephen, king of Hungary, induced his people to embrace the Christian faith (in the year 1000), all Christians, even the serfs, and all converts to Christianity, became free men; but all heathens were reduced to, and remained in, servitude. Hence many nationalities were emancipated, while part of the original Magyars became serfs. This is the origin of the Hungarian peasantry.

In the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth centuries, the Hungarian peasant had ceased to be a serf. He was merely "glebæ adscriptus," and bound to a robot; that is to say, he was compelled to work for two days each week for the benefit of the lord of the soil. In return, a certain portion of land (from thirty to forty acres) was ceded to him, and he was compelled to pay tithes to the church. The landlord had no right to remove him from his cession.

In the fourteenth century, the robot, or labour rent, was increased, and the peasantry were moreover obliged to give one ninth of their harvests to the landlord, but, on the other hand, they were freed from military service. The noblemen, or, more justly speaking, the franklins, alone defended the country against foreign invasions. At a later period, when the Turkish wars commenced, the attacks of that hardy, numerous, and warlike race, placed Hungary in great jeopardy, and the franklins, awed and terrified beyond measure, summoned the peasants to defend the country. A law was passed compelling twenty cessions to produce, equip, and maintain in the field one soldier; and the men who were thus raised were called hussars, from hus, which means twenty. The derivation of the name was of course speedily forgotten; and in later years the Hungarian cavalry used to boast that they were called hussars because each man of them was a match for twenty.[36]

[36] The nickname of the Hungarian infantry was Cherepai, or double dealers, because it was asserted that in the exchange of prisoners, two Turks were given for one Hungarian foot-soldier.

In the year 1512, Cardinal Bakatsh, the archbishop of Gran, thought proper to preach a crusade against the Turks, and to exhort the peasantry to rally round the standard of the cross. They obeyed the call with great readiness, but once assembled and in arms, they advanced some new and dangerous doctrines. Property, they said, ought to be equally divided. No one was entitled to one inch more of ground than his neighbour. They protested that they saw no necessity for lords and magnates, and as for the king, they put him down as a luxury. Their cry was that Hungary was large enough for all to live in plenty, if the land were equally divided. For the furtherance of their doctrine, and for the purpose of giving a practical proof of their thesis, "that there was room and plenty for all," they attacked and slaughtered, not the Turks, but their landlords, and all other opponents of their fraternal democracy. Some priests who joined them directed their destructive fanaticism against the church, and, under the cry of religious and political liberty, all ecclesiastical and secular government was declared to be vicious and damnable.

This insurrection was at its height, when the franklins and magnates of Hungary assembled under John Zapolya (afterwards King John), the Voyewode of Transylvania. A war of extermination commenced, and the forces of the fraternal democrats were eventually routed in a fierce battle, which was fought near Szegedin. Their leader, George Dozsa, fell into the hands of John Zapolya, who ordered him to be placed on a red-hot iron throne, while his temples were scorched by an iron crown. The other leaders of the insurrection were hanged, broken on the wheel, and quartered. The Diet, which assembled immediately afterwards, declared that the peasants had forfeited all their rights. They were degraded to the state of serfs, ad perpetuam rusticitatem; that is to say, they could never purchase their emancipation, and rise to the estate of citizens or franklins.

Fifty years later, we find some laws which prove that this cruel decree was "more honoured in the breach than the observance." The peasants have returned to their robot of two days each week; but nevertheless their condition is extremely precarious, for the law of the land is still against them, and whatever privileges they enjoy, they hold them, not by right, but by indulgence.

In 1715 occurs the first introduction of a standing army and of war taxes. The landowners refused to pay these taxes, because they protested that, as they were the proprietors of the land, and as every burden on the peasant was a burden on his landlord, it followed that all that the peasants paid was in reality paid by them, and that to tax peasant and landlord meant no more than taxing the latter twice. The war taxes were consequently paid by the peasantry. But as these taxes rested and depended on the tenure of the peasants, the government considered itself entitled to protect them against the encroachments of the landowners, and to establish them irrevocably in their cessions.

In 1764, the Empress Maria Theresa proposed a law to the Diet regulating and determining the duties and rights of the peasantry. The Diet found fault with the details of the bill, and rejected it. The Empress convoked no other Diet, but, deviating from the course of the law, she decreed that the bill should be enforced throughout Hungary by means of Royal Commissioners. The Estates of Hungary demurred against this decree, not only because the clauses of the bill were utterly impracticable, but also because the interference of Royal Commissioners was a source of great annoyance to the Hungarian magistrates and landed proprietors. The Hungarian Chancery and the Home Office supported the Diet in the question of details, because it was impossible to make one rule suffice for the whole country. One councillor only, M. Izdenczy, declared that the thing could be done, and he volunteered to prepare the code, if the Empress consented to let him have an unlimited quantity of Tokay from her cellars. His wish was complied with, and he undertook and finished his gigantic task in the year 1771. His code was that very year introduced throughout Hungary under the name of Urbarium.

Izdenczy's work has a strong resemblance to the Doomsday Book. Every village within the Hungarian countries and crownlands has its own Urbarium put down in it, stating the number of cessions, and describing the various tenures, burdens, and local rights (right of wood and turf-cutting, of pasturage, &c.) of the peasants.

The next Diet met in 1790, and memorialised the Crown about the manner in which the law had been introduced; but no complaints were made of the law itself, which obtained a provisional ratification under the condition of a future revision. But the French wars compelled the Diet to devote all its energies to matters of greater urgency, viz. to the defence and preservation of the House of Hapsburg. At a later period the subject would have been resumed but for the necessity under which the Hungarians were to struggle for their constitution against the attacks of the Emperor Francis; but still the revision of the Urbarium, though long delayed, was at length finished in 1836 and 1839. The revised work was far more liberal than the Urbarium of Maria Theresa: it tended to equalise the rights and duties of the peasants; and its leading principle was, that in no single case the condition of the peasantry should be harder than it was in the most favoured localities in the times of Maria Theresa. Exceptional rights were thus made general; emancipation was henceforth possible, and attainable even by common energy and industry. But the act of the free and unfettered emancipation was voted by the Diet of 1848, on the motion and by the influence of M. Kossuth, who, while he abolished the Urbarium, induced the Diet likewise to provide for the indemnification of the landowners. The present emperor of Austria has revoked all the laws of 1848; but he did not venture to repeal the Emancipation Bill. Nothing has, indeed, transpired as to what the Austrian government proposes to do respecting the indemnification of the landed proprietors.

Hungary had at no time a systematic code of civil laws, although several jurists attempted to codify the Hungarian common law and the cases in which it was modified by statutes. Their zeal was great, for, from the earliest times, the Hungarian lawyers found it necessary to protect their institutions against the encroachments of the royal prerogative, which were the more frequent and formidable as several of the kings were not only princes in Hungary, but also sovereigns of other countries. Sigismund, for instance, was emperor of Germany, and king of Bohemia and Hungary. Uladislaw I. ruled over Poland and Hungary; while Ladislaw Posthumus, Uladislaw II., and Louis II., united the two crowns of Bohemia and Hungary. At length Uladislaw II., who was a weak prince, and who was nicknamed Doborze, from his habit of saying "Well! well!" to everything which happened, consented to the urgent entreaties of the Diet that the common law should be codified; and Verbötzi, the leader of the opposition and a good lawyer, was instructed to compile a code of laws. He published his work under the title of "Opus Tripartitum juris Hungarici."

Verbötzi was afterwards appointed to the post of Palatine; but he was overthrown by a junta of magnates, because they considered him as a radical and a friend to the bourgeoisie. They protested that his work was injurious to their privileges. Before the Tripartitum could be submitted to the Diet, King Louis II. (Uladislaw's successor) died in the battle of Mohatsh (1526). His death was the cause of a war of succession between King John Zapolya, Prince of Grosswarasdin, and King Ferdinand of Hapsburg. Verbötzi, who exerted himself on King John's behalf, and who was banished by King Ferdinand, took refuge with the Turks, who appointed him to the post of Cadi for the Christian inhabitants of the district of Buda, where he eventually died. After his death, the work of the exiled outlaw became the highest authority of Hungarian jurisprudence and the standard of common law. It was never formally enacted by the Diets; but as the kings of Austrian extraction considered the Tripartitum as injurious to the privileges of the Crown, they compiled another code of laws, which they published under the name of "Quadripartitum" and in which they set forth and enlarged upon the royal prerogatives. But the Quadripartitum was rejected by the Diet, who thus acknowledged the authority of Verbötzi's Tripartitum, which since that time has not only been considered as law, but as an integral part of the constitution; and in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries we meet with various statutes of the Diet, interpreting or repealing certain paragraphs of the Tripartitum.

The most important parts of the Tripartitum are those treating of the rights of the nobility (Trip. part i. ch. 4-9.); part ii. chap. 3., "Qui possint condere leges et statuta;" and part iii. chap. 2. "Utrum quilibet populus vel comitatus possit per se condere statuta."

The theory of voting in Verbötzi's work is extraordinary in its way. He has a maxim that the votes are to be weighed and not counted ("non numeranda sed ponderanda"), and consequently he speaks of a "pars sanior" of the community, and defends his doctrine by the following reasoning:—

"Verum si populus (i. e. nobilitas, part ii. ch. 4.) in duas divideretur partes, tunc constitutio sanioris et potioris partis valet. Sanior et potior pars autem ilia dicitur, in qua dignitate et scientiâ fuerint præstantiores atque notabiliores"—Verbötzi, Trip. part iii. ch. 8. s. 2.

Among the numerous peculiarities of the work, we find "capital punishment with a vengeance" (pœna mortis cum exasperatione) pronounced against those who maliciously kill any member of the Diet in the course of the session.

"Præmissorum nihilominus malitiosi sub Diæta occisores aut occidi procurantes præviâ tamen citatione pœnâ mortis cum exasperatione condemnentur."

Another obsolete punishment is that of making a man an "Aukarius." It is provided by law that the slanderers of magistrates shall be condemned to the "pœna infamiæ;" and, in explanation of this punishment, we learn that the culprit shall be made "ut omni humanitate exuatur." He is struck with what the Code Napoleon would term "mort civile," and, in token of his condemnation, a rope is tied round the culprit's body (the rope being the mark of infamy, which monks wear to show that they have resigned the pomps and vanities of this wicked world), and as the sentence is being publicly read to him, a goose is placed into his hands. The Hungarian word for goose is oeke, and from thence the Latin name of the person so treated is Aukarius.

The hussars are the Hungarian cavalry, while the haiduks or pandurs are foot-soldiers. Both hussars and pandurs act as county police. Whenever the statarium was proclaimed in any county, the persecutor, or chief of the county police, was instructed to provide horses for a reasonable number of haiduks, and to send them in quest of robbers.