"No; they drink the king's health first, and the health of the members of the royal family, for the dynasty ought to be honoured. A man is at liberty to say of the government whatever he pleases; but the king, you know, the king must be honoured. That's the liberty of an Englishman. Next——"
"The lord-lieutenant."
"Shocking! You are quite in the dark about it. After the royal family we must have some class toasts; for example, the Church, army, and navy."
"I'm afraid those toasts would do little good. There is a strong feeling against the Papists; that toast of the Church is enough to send all our Protestants to—Rety."
"You are quite right. Our Dissenters hate our High Church as much as the English Dissenters hate theirs. But I don't see why we should not toast 'the Church.' Every man drinks to his own Church; but if they were to accuse us of sympathy for the Roman Catholics, where's the harm? Only think how closely the Whigs were leagued with O'Connell!"
"My friend," said Mr. Kriver, "you know England; but I know this county. Our countrymen cannot understand and appreciate your ideas."
"Yes!" said Mr. James, highly flattered, "I am sure they cannot. But the army we must have."
"Of course, if you wish it. But the great thing is to make it a regular, downright, out-and-out, drinking bout."
"But what in the world are we to do? My brother and I have gone all lengths. We have spent a year's income on this confounded election."
"Nor is money the thing we want, if we can but make some grand demonstration. But unless our people get their feathers and colours, we are winged. Do but induce your brother to act like a man; we are sure to gain the day."
"We have promised to employ none but honourable means——"
"To get the majority. But the means which I propose are, in my opinion, most honourable. Is there any thing dishonourable in hospitality?"
"Certainly not; and I grant you the resolution admits of various interpretations. But some people there are who do not think so."
"Nonsense! When we passed that silly resolution, there were indeed lots of fools that voted with Tengelyi; but why did they do it? Because they were not booked for a place, and because they were afraid for their money. But with your own money you are quite at liberty to buy as many Cortes as you please."
"But Tengelyi!"
"Tengelyi! What of him? And suppose he were to leave us, what then? He is an honest man, I grant you; but after all, he is only a village notary."
"His influence is great, especially with the clergy; and if he were to oppose us——"
"Oppose us? Impossible! Tengelyi is more impracticable than any man ever was. No matter whether you insult him or flatter him, you lose your pains. The good man fancies that a village notary's conviction goes beyond every thing. Besides, he will never vote for Rety's party; and if he votes for them, I know of something that will play the devil with his influence."
"Well?"
"Tengelyi," whispered Kriver, "is not a nobleman."
"Not a——! can it be possible?"
"I am sure of it. You know that fellow Catspaw is a crony of mine. Old Rety was Tengelyi's friend, though they hate one another now; and old Rety knows all Tengelyi's secrets. Catspaw told me that the notary has not a rag of paper to prove his noble descent by. The prothonotary, too, is aware of it, though he keeps his counsel; and so do we, if he votes for us. But if he turns against us, we have him close enough in a corner."
The prothonotary, who at this moment came up, confirmed Mr. Kriver's statement; and Mr. James pledged his word as a gentleman to hoist the colours of the party, and to invite the whole county to a political dinner.
The day passed amidst Mr. James's varied, and indeed interesting, accounts of the Doncaster races, and the debates of the English parliament—accounts which were given seriatim to small knots of guests in every corner of every room in the house; while Mrs. James Bantornyi was busy superintending the arrangement of the apartments destined for the lord-lieutenant's use. In the evening Mr. Lajosh Bantornyi was in a state of great excitement. He walked restlessly to and fro, pulled out his watch, and looked at it. He walked out into the park and came back again, addressing every one he met with: "Really his Excellency ought to be here by this time!" Whereupon some of the guests said: "Yes, so he ought!" and others protested that his Excellency must have been detained on the road. The words of "contra" and "pagat ultimo" rung from the card table; and the noise of a political discussion, in which no less than thirty persons joined, intent on reconciling twelve opinions on four different subjects, drowned the complaints of Mr. Lajosh Bantornyi. But Mr. James, who saw and pitied his brother's distress, mounted his horse, and, accompanied by two torch-bearers, set out to meet the lord-lieutenant on the road. He was scarcely gone when the din of an angry discussion broke through the dense cloud of smoke which enveloped the card-tables.
"Mr. Sheriff, this is unsupportable; this is!" cried a man with a sallow and somewhat dirty face. It was Mr. Janoshy, an assessor, and a man of influence. "Mr. Sheriff, I won't stand it. Penzeshy has saved his pagat!"
"Has he indeed? Well then, there is no help for it, if he has saved it."
"But I covered it."
"But why did you cover it?"
"Because I have eight taroks."
"Eight taroks! Why then, in the name of h—ll, did you not take it?"
"Why, what did you lead spades for?"
"What the deuce do you mean, sir?"
"Clubs, sir! It was your bounden duty, sir, to lead clubs, sir," said Janoshy, very fiercely.
"Clubs be ——! Do you mean to tell me, sir, that I ought to have played my king? I'd see you——"
"I appeal to you!" cried Janoshy, addressing Penzeshy, who was shuffling the cards, while the company thronged round the table.
"Go on!" said Mr. Kriver.
"This is not fair play!" cried Janoshy.
"I play to please myself and not you," retorted the sheriff.
"Then you ought to play by yourself, but not for my money!"
"Here's your stake! take it and welcome!"
"I won't stand it. By G—d I won't!" cried Mr. Janoshy, jumping up. "You, sir! you take the money back, or give it to your servant, (poor fellow! it's little enough he gets); but don't talk to me in that way, sir! I won't stand it, sir!"
Here the altercation was interrupted by the general interference of every man in the room, and in the confusion of tongues which ensued, nothing was heard but the words, "pagat,—sheriff—good manners—tous les trois"—until Shoskuty, in a blue dress embroidered with gold (for every body was in full dress), entered the room. He silenced the most noisy by being noisier still. "Domini spectabiles!" cried Shoskuty, "for God's sake be quiet, Mr. Janoshy is quite hoarse, and I am sure his Excellency is coming. That confounded pagat!—only think of his Excellency!—though it was saved—for after all we are but mortal men!—I am sure he is hoarse;" and thus he went on, when of a sudden the doors of the apartment were flung open and a servant rushed in shouting, "His Excellency is at the door!"
"Is he? Goodness be—where's my sabre?" cried Shoskuty, running to the antechamber which served as a temporary arsenal, while the rest of the company ran into the next room, where they fought for their pelisses.
"I do pray, domine spectabilis! but this is mine. It's green with ermine!" cried the recorder, stopping one of the assessors who had just donned his pelisse, and who turned to look for his sword. The assessor protested with great indignation, and the recorder was at length compelled to admit his mistake. Disgusted as he was, he dropped his kalpac, which was immediately trodden down by the crowd.
"'Sblood! where is my sword? Terrem tette!" shouted Janoshy, making vain endeavours to push forward into the sword room, while Shoskuty, who had secured his weapon, was equally unsuccessful in his struggles to obtain his pelisse.
"But I pray! I do pray! I am the speaker of the deputation—blue and gold—I must have it—do but consider!" groaned the worthy baron. His endeavours were at length crowned with success, and he possessed himself of a pelisse which certainly bore some similarity to his own. Throwing it over his shoulders Baron Shoskuty did his best to add to the general confusion by entreating the gentlemen to be quick, "for," added he, "his Excellency has just arrived!"
The lord-lieutenant's carriage had by this time advanced to the park palings, where the schoolboys and the peasantry greeted its arrival with maddening "Eljens!" The coachman was in the act of turning the corner of the gate, when the quick flash and the awful roar of artillery burst forth from the ditch at the road-side. His Excellency was surprised; so were the horses. They shied and overturned the carriage. The torch-bearing horsemen galloped about, frightening the village out of its propriety, as the foxes did, when Samson made them torch-bearers to the Philistines. Mr. James, following the impulse of the moment, came down over his horse's head; the deputation, who were waiting in Bantornyi's hall, wrung their hands with horror. At length the horses ceased rearing and plunging; and as the danger of being kicked by them was now fairly over, the company to a man rushed to welcome their beloved lord-lieutenant.
The deputation was splendid, at least in the Hungarian acceptation of the word, for all the dresses of all its members were richly embroidered. Shoskuty in a short blue jacket frogged and corded and fringed with gold, and with his red face glowing under the weight of a white and metal-covered kalpac, felt that the dignity of a whole county was represented by his resplendent person. Thrice did he bow to his Excellency, and thrice did the deputation rattle their spurs and imitate the movement of their leader, who, taking his speech from the pocket of his cloak, addressed the high functionary with a voice tremulous with emotion.
"At length, glorious man, hast thou entered the circle of thy admirers, and the hearts which hitherto sighed for thee, beat joyfully in thy presence!"
His Excellency unfolded a handkerchief ready for use; the members of the deputation cried "Helyesh!" and the curate of a neighbouring village, who had joined the deputation, became excited and nervous. The speaker went on.
"Respect and gratitude follow thy shadow; and within the borders of thy county there is no man but glories in the consciousness that thou art his superior."
"He talks in print! he does indeed," whispered an assessor.
"I beg your pardon," said the curate, very nervously, "it was I who made that speech."
"Tantæne animis cœlestibus iræ! These parsons are dreadfully jealous," said the assessor. Shoskuty, turning a leaf of his manuscript, proceeded:
"The flock which now stands before thee"—(here the members of the deputation looked surprised, and shook their heads)—"is but a small part of that numerous herd which feeds on thy pastures; and he who introduces them to thy notice"—(Shoskuty himself was vastly astonished)—"is not better than the rest: though he wears thy coat, he were lost but for thy guidance and correction."
The audience whispered among themselves, and the lord-lieutenant could not help smiling.
"For God's sake, what are you about?" whispered Mr. Kriver. "Turn a leaf!" Baron Shoskuty, turning a leaf, and looking the picture of blank despair, continued:
"Here thou seekest vainly for science—vainly for patriotic merits—vainly dost thou seek for all that mankind have a right to be proud of——"
The members of the deputation became unruly.
"They are peasants, thou beholdest,——"
Here a storm of indignation burst forth.
"In their Sunday dresses——"
"Are you mad, Baron Shoskuty?"
"But good Christians, all of them," sighed the wretched baron, with angelic meekness: "there is not a single heretic among my flock."
"He is mad! let us cheer!—Eljen! Eljen!"
"Somebody has given me the wrong pelisse!" said Shoskuty, making his retreat; while the lord-lieutenant replied to the address to the best of his abilities, that is to say, very badly, for he was half choked with suppressed laughter.
But the curate, who had displayed so unusual a degree of nervousness at the commencement of the address, followed Shoskuty to the next room, whither that worthy man fled to bemoan his defeat.
"Sir, how dare you steal my speech?" cried the curate.
"Leave me alone! I am a ruined man, and all through you!"
"Well, sir; this is well. You steal my speech, and read it. Now what am I to do? I made that speech, and a deal of trouble it gave me. Now what am I to tell the bishop at his visitation on Monday next?"
"But, in the name of Heaven, why did you take my cloak?"
"Your cloak?"
"Yes; my cloak. I am sure my speech is in your pocket."
The curate searched the pockets of the pelisse, and produced a manuscript. "Dear me!" said he, wringing his hands; "it is your cloak." And the discomfited orators were very sad, and would not be comforted.
Dustbury is the chief market town of the county of Takshony. While the Greeks of old built their cities in the clefts and hollows of rocks, as the learned tell us, we are informed that the vagrant nation from which we are descended were wont to settle on fertile soil; wherever our ancestors found luxurious crops of grass and a fountain of sweet water, there did they stop and feed their flocks. In this spirit they made their earliest camp at Dustbury. But when the tents gave way to houses, the luxuriant green of the pasturage disappeared, and the fountains of sweet waters, which invited our fathers to stay and rest on their banks, stagnated, and became a vast substantial bog. Still, if you look at the streets of Dustbury in autumn, and if you take notice (for who can help it?) of the deep cart-ruts in the street, you must confess that Dustbury does indeed lie in Canaan; and throughout many weeks in every year even the least patriotic of the natives of Dustbury find it difficult, and even impossible, to leave the city. The houses of Dustbury are intersected and divided by a variety of narrow lanes and alleys, which, by their intricacy, are apt to perplex the stranger within her gates. They have a striking family likeness. Except only the council-house and a few mansions, they are all, to a house, covered with wood or straw; and so great is their uniformity, that the very natives of Dustbury have been known to make awkward mistakes. A great deal might be said of the modern improvements of the town,—such as the public promenade, the expense of which was defrayed by a subscription; and the plantations, containing trees (the only ones in the neighbourhood), which are protected by the police, and which left off growing ever since they were planted. There was a plantation of mulberry-trees, too; but it dated from the days of the Emperor Joseph; and no more than three mulberry-trees were left in it to tell the tale of departed glory. Next, there is the pavement, which a French tourist most unwarrantably mistook for a barricade; though, for the comfort of all timid minds, be it said, that the pavement has since been covered with a thick layer of mud, so as to be perceptible to those only who enter the town in a carriage. I could adduce a variety of other matters to the praise and glory of Dustbury, but I abstain; and, leaving them to the next compiler of one of Mr. Murray's Handbooks, I introduce my readers into the council-house of Dustbury, and the lord-lieutenant's apartments.
The great man's antechamber was thronged with men of all parties, who, "armed as befits a man," waited for the moment—that bright spot in their existence!—which allowed them to pay their humble respects to his Excellency. Rety, Bantornyi, Baron Shoskuty, Slatzanek, and all the county magistrates and assessors, were there, either to report themselves for to-morrow's election, or to offer their humble advice to the royal commissioner. And truly their advice was valuable. One man said that X., the juror, was a man of subversive principles, and that the crown was in danger unless X. was to lose his place and Z. to have it. Another man protested that Mr. D. must be sworn as a notary: in short, every one had the most cogent reasons for wishing a certain place out of the hands of the very man who held it. The crowd dispersed at the approach of the evening. Some went to their club-rooms to harangue the Cortes, while others were busy preparing a serenade for the lord-lieutenant. That great man, meanwhile, tired out with his own kindness and condescension, promenaded the room, and talked to his secretary.
"So you think," said his Excellency, "that things will go on smoothly to-morrow?"
"Smoothly enough, except for those who may happen to get a drubbing. Rety is sure to be returned. Bantornyi does not care. He put himself in nomination merely to please his brother. His party will be satisfied with a few of the smaller places. Rety, who is a good, honest man, resigns the office, and Kriver, who is agreeable to either party, takes his place."
"I trust there will be no outrages."
"Nothing of the kind. We have two companies of foot on the spot, and the cuirassiers are coming to-morrow."
"But you know very well that I detest the interference of the military. People will misconstrue that kind of thing. They talk of the freedom of election."
"No!" said the secretary, smiling; "your Excellency can have no idea how fond the people here are of bayonets. Bantornyi and Rety asked me at least ten times whether due preparation had been made for the maintenance of order and tranquillity, and when I told them of the horse, they were ready to hug me from sheer delight. Your Excellency's predecessor was fond of soldiers, and there are people who cannot fancy a free election without bayonets. If they were called upon to paint the picture of Liberty, they'd put her between a grenadier and a cuirassier."
"Pray be serious!"
"So I am. Still it makes me laugh to think that the very men who now divide the county trace their origin as political parties to an idle controversy on the uniforms of the county-hussars. Hence the yellows and the blacks. I am sure your Excellency would laugh if you had seen their committee-rooms. Rety's head-quarters ring with high praises of his patriotism, for his having at the last election fixed the price of meat at threepence a pound; while in the next house you find all the butchers of the county for Bantornyi, the intrepid champion of protection and threepence-halfpenny. Just now, at the café, I overheard an argument on Vetshöshy's abilities, which were rated very low, because he is known to be a bad hand at cards. In short, your Excellency can have no idea of the farce which is acting around us. Slatzanek called half an hour ago, lamenting the lose of two of his best Cortes. They were stolen."
"They were—what?"
"Stolen, your Excellency. One of the men is forest-keeper to the bishop. He is a powerful fellow, with a stentorian voice, strongly attached to his party, and very influential in his way. He is a black. The yellow party surrounded him with false friends; they made him dead drunk, and in that state, in which they keep him, they take him from village to village, with the yellow flag waving over his head, thus showing him off, and making believe that he had joined their party. The thing happened a week ago, and the fellow, fancying that he is with the blacks, shouts 'Eljen!' with all the fury of drunken enthusiasm. The blacks have made several unsuccessful attempts to rescue their leader, and three noble communities, who were wont to vote with the bishop's keeper, have joined Bantornyi's party. The other man is a notary at Palinkash. They have put him down to a card-table, and whenever the wretched man thinks of the election, they cause him to win or to lose, just an it serves their turn to keep him there."
The lord-lieutenant laughed.
"Have you spoken to Tengelyi, the notary of Tissaret?"
"He is coming. To see that poor man lose his time and labour is really distressing. I never saw more sincerity of enthusiasm and more manliness of feeling. The good man is almost sixty, and still he has not learnt that a village notary cannot possibly be a reformer."
"I am afraid he's tedious," said his Excellency; "but we must bear with him, since you tell me he is a man of influence."
"So he is, and more so than any notary in any county I know of. Vandory, by whom the clergy of this district are wont to swear, votes with the notary."
"He is a demagogue, I am told."
"No; I do not think that name applies to him. The principles, which demagogues make tools of, are the grand aim and end of his life. In short, he is half a century in advance of his age."
"The worse for him, he'll scarcely live to see the day of general enlightenment. Men of his stamp are most dangerous."
"Hardly so. Men of strong convictions are for the most part isolated. They want the power to do harm, for they have no party. Who will side with them?"
"Nous verrons!" said the Count Maroshvölgyi. "The notary is a family man; besides, he is poor. Kriver told me all about him, and I dare say there are means of settling him."
"If your Excellency is right, I am mistaken."
"Nor will this mistake be the last of your life," said his Excellency, rising. "The glaring red on a woman's cheek ought to tell you that that woman is painted, and the belle des belles of the ball is palest in the morning. But I hear somebody in the next room. Pray see who it is; and if it be Tengelyi, leave me alone to talk to him."
The secretary left the room, which Tengelyi entered soon afterwards. His Excellency received him with great cordiality.
"Have I your pardon," said the great man, "for asking you to come to me? I wanted to see you, and I was disappointed in my hopes of finding you among my other visitors."
Tengelyi replied, that he was always ready to obey his Excellency's orders, but that he knew his position too well to trouble the Count with his presence on such a busy day as this.
"My dear sir, you are wrong to believe that I know not to distinguish between a man and his position, and that I mistake you for one of the common notaries."
"And your Excellency is wrong to believe that this would hurt my feelings. The extent of our usefulness determines the value which we have for others. People do not value our will, but our power; and though a village notary such as I, may possibly in his own thoughts rate himself higher than he does his colleagues, it would be wrong in him to ask others to do the same. But may I inquire what are your Excellency's commands?"
"Some years ago, when you were intimate with the Retys, I used to see more of you."
Tengelyi looked displeased.
"Pardon me," added the count, "if I have pained you by reminding you of that time."
"On the contrary, I feel truly honoured that your Excellency should have remembered my humble self, painfully though I feel that my influence does not stretch to the length of my gratitude."
There was a hidden sting of bitterness in Tengelyi's words, and especially in the tone in which they were delivered. The count continued:—
"What I ask—or rather what I crave of you—has nothing to do with influence. It rests solely with you to grant my suit, and to oblige me for all time to come."
Tengelyi cast a glance of suspicion at the great man. "Your Excellency," said he, drily, "may rely on me, if your command can be reconciled to my principles."
"I know you too well, and respect you too much to express any other wish. What I ask of you will convince you how deeply sensible I am of your merits."
Tengelyi bowed.
"I know," continued the count, "that you are au fait of the condition of the county. Your office brings you in contact with the lower classes. You see and hear many things which a lord-lieutenant can never know. Speak freely to me, I pray, and be assured that to advise me is an act of charity."
The notary was silent.
"Do not impute my demand to an idle and vain curiosity. The election comes off to-morrow. It decides the fate of the county for the next three years. You must be sensible of the importance of this moment, and you know that my influence can be of use to the public, if I exert it with my eyes open."
Tengelyi was in the act of opening his lips and heart to the lord-lieutenant; but he remembered that a man may take any line that suits his plans, and that his Excellency was known to be not over nice in such matters. He replied, therefore, that he was not mixed up with any party, and that he could not, to his great sorrow, enlighten his Excellency on that head.
Maroshvölgyi, who was a master in the noble art of flattery, had never yet encountered such an antagonist in the county of Takshony. He waived the attack.
"You mistake me. Do you indeed fancy me to be ignorant of the position of parties? I know more of them, I assure you, than is either good or wholesome for me. But is there nothing in the county beyond these wretched parties? Ought I not to know the condition of the people? Ought I not to know how the functionaries behave in their offices, and what the poorer classes have to expect from the candidates?"
"Is it then the condition of the people which your Excellency wishes to know?" said Tengelyi, with a deep sigh. "But who can give you an idea of their condition? Did you not, when you rode through the county, look out from your carriage at the villages on the roadside? And what was it you saw? Roofless huts, the fields neglected, and their population walking dejectedly, without industry, without prosperity, without that joyful merry air so characteristic of the lower classes of other countries. Believe me, sir, the people in this country are not happy!"
"But, my dear Tengelyi, I think there is some exaggeration in your words. The Hungarian people do not stand so low as you would place them: I know none more proud and manly. The Hungarian peasant is happier than any I ever saw."
"Do not be imposed upon by appearances. The peasant of Hungary is a stiff-necked fellow; and I must say, I take a pride in this race, when I see that the oppression of so many years has not bent its neck. A nation which after so much oppression can still hold up its head, seems to be made for liberty,—but for all that, the people are not happy. We do not see them in rags,—but why? because they never had any clothes, except linen shirts and trowsers! but do they therefore feel the cold of winter less? They do not complain. No; for they know, from the experience of centuries, that their complaints are unheeded. But do they not feel the oppression which weighs down upon them? Do they not feel the separation from their sons, when the latter are enrolled in the regiments, while the children of their noble neighbours show their courage in hunting at the expense of the subject's crops?"
"You live among the people," said the lord-lieutenant, quietly; "but believe me, in this respect, you are mistaken. I know Hungarian peasants who in wealth can vie with the agriculturists of any country."
"Of course; but are they the only peasants in Hungary? Are not there others in our counties,—men who are equally our brethren,—and who equally claim our attention? Consider the Russniak population of the county. We see them in rags, starved and wretched. Has any thing been done to bind these people to our nation? has any attempt been made to raise them to the rank of Magyars? of citizens of the country?"
"You are right, and it is to be hoped that the nation will soon understand its own interests. But what can the county magistrates do in this respect? What can I do?"
"Very much indeed!" replied the notary, enthusiastically; "if your Excellency would only extend your protection to the poor people!—if you would use your influence for the election of officers who are alive to the sacred duties of their office!"
"Alas!" said Maroshvölgyi, "I wish to God it were so, and that I could be to the people what I wish to be."
"Your Excellency can!" cried Tengelyi. "There are honest men, even among the present county magistrates: I need not tell you their names. You know them as well as the Retys, Krivers, Skinners. Take the part of the former, and oppose the latter. Believe me, your Excellency, the county has no lack of noble and generous men, and it lies in your hands to make the people of Takshony a happy people."
"But you forget my political position. Rety, Kriver, and the other men, are men of my party whom I cannot possibly throw overboard: but, I assure you, I respect the feelings which you have expressed to me. If you were in my place, you would see that there are some great and fine ideas which a man cannot call into life, whatever his seeming power and influence may be. Whatever influence I may have in the county, I owe to the popularity which I have obtained through my conduct; and if I were to follow your advice, I should lose my popularity."
"Popularity! of course, all coteries have their popularity; whenever a body of men are united for a certain purpose, they show their gratitude for him who promotes that purpose, and applause, garlands, and triumphs fall to the share of him who speaks loudest, and agitates most zealously for the realisation of the common object. But do not others live in our country besides the nobility which fills our council-halls? Are there not nobler things to strive for than these paltry Eljens? And the people, those millions who silently surround us, those vast multitudes, who have at present no reward for their benefactors but sighs and tears, but who, on the day of their glory, will raise the names of their champions in a louder shout than all the Cortes in all Hungary;—are they nothing to you?"
Here the speaker was interrupted by a distant cry of "Eljen."
"I go, your Excellency," continued the notary, "to make room for others. You will be surrounded with adorers. You will have music and speeches; but, believe me, the gratitude of the people is not the less strong for being silent, and if our country has a future, it will certainly not pick out its great men from among the cheered of this wretched time!"
Tengelyi bowed. The Count Maroshvölgyi shook his hand, and followed him with a deep sigh as he left the room.
"What do you say now, your Excellency?" said the secretary. "Was I not right in saying that this man's proper place is not in this county?"
"Let me tell you that his proper place is nowhere in this country," said Maroshvölgyi, as he stepped to the window to receive the serenaders.
As the evening wore on, the streets of Dustbury were restored to their usual darkness. The lord-lieutenant had retired after supper, and everything was quiet. From the committee-rooms, where the Cortes were locked up to keep them safe from foreign influence, there proceeded a low, dreamy, murmuring sound, mixed up at intervals with a hoarse voice, shouting the name of Bantornyi, or Rety, as the case might be; but no other signs of turbulence were there to warn the stranger of that gigantic uproar which, in less than thirty hours, was to welcome the birth of the new magistracy. One of the principal causes of this strange tranquillity might have been found in the fact that the town was occupied by Bantornyi's men only, and that consequently, any general engagement of the hostile parties was quite out of the question. For the Rety party had recurred to the well-known stratagem of marching their troops, in small detachments, close up to the scene of the contest, without entering the city. They were thus secured from having their men kidnapped, and could expect that their appearance in one compact body would produce a general and striking effect in their favour.
One of their extra-mural camps was at the distance of five miles from Dustbury, at one of Rety's farms; and it is there we meet again with our old friends the three hundred noblemen of St. Vilmosh. The village inn is small. It is one of those agreeable hostelries in which the stranger, though he may not find accommodation for himself, is at times lucky enough to find a stable for his horse; nor is there any impediment to his eating a good supper if he happens to be provided with victuals, salt, plates, knives and forks. The stable and the large shed, which, save on rainy days, offered a good shelter at all times, were on this occasion filled with clean straw, and devoted to the exclusive use of the nobility. Mr. Pennahazy, the notary and leader of the St. Vilmosh volunteers, had carefully locked the gate of the yard, to prevent his men from deserting; and, having taken this necessary precaution, he retired to the bed of the Jewish landlord, while the Jew and his family lay on the floor of the same room. The inn was as noiseless and tranquil as if no stranger were tarrying within its gates. In the bar-room alone there was a light shining from a deal table, at which two men were engaged in discussing a small flask of brandy. One of these men is the Jewish glazier to whom my readers were introduced in Tengelyi's house. His comrade, who is just in the act of lighting his pipe, has not yet figured in the pages of this story; but anybody that has visited the gaols of the county of Takshony will at once be convinced that the gentleman before him is Mr. Janosh of St. Vilmosh, alias Tzifra Jantshy; for it is not probable that he should have seen the gaol at a time when Tzifra was not in it; nor is it likely that any one who had once seen the man should ever forget him. Tzifra's character was very legibly marked on his face. His low and wrinkled forehead, his bushy eyebrows, his grey restless eyes, protruding jaws and livid face, with the frouzy grey hair and bluish, scorbutic lips, were calculated to make a strong, and by no means agreeable, impression upon any one who saw him. His sinewy limbs and powerful figure were, in the present instance, the more conspicuous from their contrast to the spare and starved form of the Jew.
"Well, well!" said the latter, shaking his head; "who could ever have supposed that you would come to the council-house without being dragged to it?"
"If a man's a nobleman, and is called to come—you see that is a fine thing! I know the lower stories of the county-house extremely well, but I must say I like the upper stories better."
"If I were in your place, I would not go, that's all. There are so many people who know you,—the turnkeys, the haiduks——"
"What the devil do I care for them? Who dares to touch a nobleman of St. Vilmosh?" cried Tzifra, striking the table with his fist. "They shall know me! I want them to know me; and when they see me walking in the hall, and when that confounded turnkey sees that I am a nobleman, while he's but a scurvy cur of a peasant, he'll burst with envy. No, I want to go there to make them savage; and if any of the fellows dares to look at me, by G—d I'll kick his pipe out of his mouth."
"Well!" sighed the Jew; "it's a fine thing to be a nobleman."
"So it is; d—n me, so it is! If a man's once suspected, they nab him and put him into quod, where he may wait until the gentlemen upstairs have time to think of him. Now a nobleman is bailable; he goes about for two or three years; and when sentence is passed and they nab him, at least they dare not beat him. Oh! I tell you the franchise is a fine thing, especially as you get it dirt cheap."
"You're a devil, Tzifra!" said the Jew; "but don't let Viola know of your call at the parson's. If he were to know of it, I wouldn't change my skin with you for all your nobility, nor for your devilship either."
The robber seized his knife. "Don't laugh at me, thou dog!" cried he, "for I will be——"
The Jew jumped from his seat. A few moments afterwards he sat down again.
"Don't joke in this manner," said he; "I know you won't kill me, because I tell you of your danger. I myself heard Viola say that he will do for the man who did that job at the parson's."
"He'll never know it; or do you think that Viola suspects me?"
"No indeed, but——"
"Or do you mean to betray me?" cried the robber, again seizing his knife. "You are the only man who knows that I was at the parsonage."
"Tzifra, you are a fool!" cried the Jew. "What have I to do with Viola or with the parson; didn't I sell the roan horse for you, which you made beyond the Theiss? And didn't you get ten florins and a half for that same hack?"
"Yes, but you did me then; but never mind, you're born to do it—it's your nature. But don't you talk of that business—you know what I mean. Don't even tell it to your God; for otherwise Viola cannot possibly know it, and he'll be hanged before he is a month older."
"Will he, indeed!" said the Jew. "How will they do it?"
"Why, didn't they catch him the other day?" replied the robber. "He'd be done for by this time, had it not been for one of his comrades who fired the sheriff's haystacks."
"Does he owe that good turn to you?"
"To me! Can there be any one who hates him as I do? Viola was a child playing in the streets; when I came to the village with my men he used to hide behind the stove; and now, curse me! you ought to see him, how he lords it over me. If right and justice were done in this villanous world of ours, who do you think ought to lead the outlaws but I, Tzifra Jantshy, who have been their leader for many years?—I, who know every hole and corner on either side of the Theiss, and who am a greater man with the Tshikosh and Gulyash[12] than even their masters! But the rascals wanted another man, d—n them! I found Viola amongst them!—that fellow who trembles like a woman when he sees a drop of blood! that coward who pities a weeping child! they liked him better than me, and if I had said a word they would have hanged me. He commands and I obey—but, blast me! he'll have the worst of it!"