The Village Notary Part 71

When he left the cell of Jants.h.i.+ the glazier, the curate hastened to find some trustworthy persons whom he might take to hear and testify to the Jew's confession. The great county sessions were being held in the county house, and the curate was aware that some of the justices and a.s.sessors were sure to be a.s.sembled in the large hall of the building.

When he entered it he found a numerous meeting, under the presidency of no less a person than Mr. James Bantornyi.

The gentlemen there and then a.s.sembled were members of an a.s.sociation for the prevention of cruelty to animals. Mr. Bantornyi was the founder and chairman of this charitable inst.i.tution. Mr. James was a fit and proper person to take the chair, for no man could vie with him in racing and hunting, which pursuits, as every body knows, are p.r.o.ne to create a loving tenderness for the animal creation in the human mind. When Mr.

James returned from England, his ambition had taken a higher flight. He was emulous of the laurels which Wilberforce and the Quakers earned in advocating the interests of the black, and injuring that of the white population of the British colonies. There are no black people in Hungary; but there are gipsies who are brown, and Bantornyi's "a.s.sociation for the Improvement of the coloured Population of Hungary"

would have enchanted all the Wilberforces and Gurneys of Great Britain.

The landed interest of Takshony was greatly in favour of the plan. The gentry were indeed but slightly acquainted with Mr. Wilberforce's emanc.i.p.ation theories; but when Mr. James Bantornyi made his grand speech, and explained that _gradual_ emanc.i.p.ation was carried out by apprenticing the slave, and by making him work four days in the week, the Takshony people became quite enthusiastic for this kind of philanthropy, which they preferred to their own _Urbarium_,[31] the compilers of which had been most disgracefully neglectful of the vagrant population. But, strange to say, the gipsies demurred against the proposed improvement of their condition. They fled from the hands of the philanthropists who sought to apprentice them; and Mr. James Bantornyi saw clearly that Hungary was not ripe for his more subtle projects, and that his activity must be displayed in another field.

[Footnote 31: See Note III.]

He therefore founded his famous a.s.sociation for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. There was much opposition, but his perseverance triumphed over it. It was argued that the ninth chapter of the first volume of the _Tripart.i.tum_[32] would go for nothing if the privileges of the Hungarian n.o.bility were extended to dumb animals; and that a landed proprietor and a member of the Holy Crown would lose his high position if he were forbidden to whip his horse to his heart's content.

The objection was grave, but Mr. James was fertile in expedients. He stated that the a.s.sociation would confine itself to the prevention of cruelty to animals in the case of the _villain_ population of the county. Again, it was objected that peasants were, in the service of their landlords, sometimes compelled to beat their horses; and Mr. James decided that it was by no means cruelty to animals if a n.o.bleman beat a horse or other cattle, or caused it to be beaten, nor was it cruelty in a peasant to beat his horse on robot-days, or in winter. So liberal an extension of protection against the restrictions of the a.s.sociation silenced even its greatest opponents; and the a.s.sociation for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals held its sittings, and flourished to the satisfaction of its members, and especially of its paid secretary and treasurer.

[Footnote 32: See Note IV.]

When Vandory entered the hall, the a.s.sembly were in the act of considering and debating on the case of an a.s.s which had suffered from the violent temper of its owner. Party feeling ran high; for a strong body of conservative members argued that, whereas the a.s.sociation was intended to prevent cruelty to, that is to say, the beating of, animals, that is to say, of horses: the benefits of its protection could not, with any degree of propriety, be extended to a.s.ses, sheep, and other creatures of an inferior description. The radical members, on the other hand, were equally zealous, and far more pathetic, in the cause of donkey-emanc.i.p.ation; and, excited as they were with the debate and the various points of thrilling interest which the subject offered, they remarked with astonishment, not unmixed with disgust, that the curate, unmindful of the merits of the question, approached Volgyeshy and Louis Bantornyi, whispered to them, and left the hall in their company.

Everybody was puzzled, and some were eager to know the secret of this sudden intrusion and mysterious disappearance. Mr. James Bantornyi was highly incensed against Vandory; for the members declined giving their attention to the question, and it was found necessary to adjourn the meeting. But besides Mr. James Bantornyi, there was another person in the council-house whom Vandory's conduct affected equally powerfully and still more disagreeably.

Lady Rety sat at the window of her bedroom, of which the view commanded the yard, when she saw Vandory leaving the glazier's cell, and walking straightway to the great staircase of the council-house. She was struck with his manner, though it excited no apprehensions in her mind. But, after a short time she saw him returning, accompanied by Volgyeshy and Louis Bantornyi. They entered the prison, and, immediately afterwards, the nurse whom Vandory had hired to attend the Jew, left the cell. They had evidently sent her away.

"What can this mean?" thought Lady Rety. "The Jew is delirious: he cannot recover. What can they want in his cell? This is indeed strange!

Volgyeshy is Tengelyi's advocate; and Vandory--If that Jew were not such a rascal--I must look deeper into this business. I'm frightened, and I ought to be calm. The woman who waits upon the Jew is in the yard. I'll send for her; for she ought to know all about it."

Lady Rety sent her maid for the old woman, who soon after entered the room, with many curtsies. She was utterly bewildered to have been sent for by, and to be compelled to talk to, the lady sheriff.

That lady strove hard to conceal her emotion. She told the poor woman that Jants.h.i.+ was an old and faithful servant of her house, and (to the best of her opinion) innocent of the crime laid to his charge. She added, that she took the greatest interest in the unfortunate man; and, having praised the nurse for her care and watchfulness, she asked her how her patient did, and why Mr. Vandory and the two other gentleman had gone to his cell?

The replies of the woman were not calculated to quiet Lady Rety's apprehensions. She learnt that the Jew had regained his consciousness; that he sent for Vandory; and that he said something about a secret. She was likewise informed of the fact, that the curate had had a long interview with him; and she trembled to think that Volgyeshy and Louis Bantornyi had been called in to be witnesses to his confession.

"Did you hear what the Jew said to Mr. Vandory?" asked she, with a trembling voice.

"His reverence sent me away," said the old woman; "although I cannot, for the life of me, understand why he should do so; for I've never been a gossip all the days of my life; and he might have trusted me with a Jew's secret any day. But, since his reverence sent me away, I know nothing about it; only, I believe the infidel made confession of his crimes."

"Why do you think so?" said Lady Rety, with a start which attracted the old woman's attention.

"I'm sure I did not listen; and, even if I had wished to do it, I could not have done it, because I'm rather deaf; but I think they talked of bad things; for I've never, in all my born days, seen his reverence so violent as he was when he left the cell. G.o.d knows; but I think the Jew has told him of great crimes. When I came back to the cell, the unbeliever was quiet for some minutes; but I had scarcely sat down, when he became restless, and asked me whether they would come. 'If they wish me to confess,' says he, 'they ought to make haste! Why don't they come?' I told him his reverence had just gone away, and he ought to be patient; but he tossed about, and groaned. It was a sad thing to see him plagued by his conscience; and he would not be quiet till his reverence came back with two other gentlemen. He asked them whether they'd allow him to confess; and when they said 'Yes,' he seemed quite comfortable.--But, my lady," cried the old nurse; "your ladys.h.i.+p is so pale! Is your ladys.h.i.+p sick?"

"No!" said Lady Rety, with a violent effort to appear unconcerned. "Go to your patient, my good woman. The gentlemen will probably leave him soon."

"Very well, your ladys.h.i.+p. I'm sure the poor man won't live till to-morrow morning; and perhaps he'll want me in the night. All I care for is, that the truth should come to light; for that is the great thing, after all: is it not, your ladys.h.i.+p?"

"Go! go!" gasped Lady Rety. "I dare say the truth _will_ come to light!"

The old woman kissed her hand, and left the room.

Lady Rety locked her door; and, overwhelmed with despair, she flung herself on the sofa.

The Jew had made a confession. From Volgyeshy and Vandory she could not expect forbearance. She could not hope that Tengelyi's friends would make a secret of what Jants.h.i.+ had told them; since his disclosures were evidently in Tengelyi's favour. She knew that she was hated by all, and that against such accusations she could not rely on the a.s.sistance of her husband.

"What shall I do?" cried she, with a shudder. "Is there no means of salvation?--There is none! Tengelyi's case is too far advanced to be suppressed; and even if it were not, to whom could I confide my dreadful position? Whose advice can I ask? On whose a.s.sistance can I rely? My husband?--am I to truckle to him? Am I to implore his a.s.sistance? He never loved me! He hates me now! He will leave me in my danger! He will turn against me to prove his own innocence! No! I will do any thing but bend to him!"

A sudden thought seemed to strike her. She fixed her eyes on the desk which stood on the dressing-table. She shuddered.

"No! No!" cried she; "it has not come to this pa.s.s yet. I cannot do it!"

She went to the window; but before she had opened it, her eyes were, as if by magic force, again attracted by the desk.

"It makes me mad!" said she. "G.o.d help me! That thought haunts me! I cannot shake it off!"

"But why?" continued she; after a pause--"why should I shudder at the thought. To die----? After all, death robs us of that only which we have. And is there anything I have to lose? I have no children. I detest my husband. My plans are frustrated. Infamy and punishment await me--I have no choice!"

She opened a secret drawer in the desk, and produced a small bottle containing a whitish substance. Her hand trembled as she put it on the table.

"Here's a.r.s.enic enough to poison half the county. This is my last, my only alternative.--But they say it is a painful death. They have told me of people who died after excruciating torments of many hours, foaming and cursing with the intensity of the pain. What if this were to be my case? Horrid! to suffer the agony of hours! to feel the poison eating into me; to feel my every nerve struggling against destruction! to howl and to suffer, and to have no one to tend me! to have no one by to wipe the sweat of agony from my face! Or worse, to be surrounded by those whose every look tells me that they are waiting for the end, not of my sufferings, but of my life!"

With a convulsive motion she pushed the poison away.

"But no!" cried she, with a sudden resolution. "I will not live to see their triumph! I'll take the whole of it! it will shorten my sufferings.

It will kill me in a minute--Oh, but to die! to die! and there's twenty years' life in me!--Suppose the old woman told me a lie? Suppose what she said was not true; or that the Jew did not tell Vandory what I fear he did? Why should he betray me? What good can it do him? I must know more about this matter before I proceed to extremities," said she, as she took her cloak, and restored the poison to its place in the desk.

Night had set in. n.o.body observed the guilty woman as she crossed the court-yard and knocked at the cell in which the Jew was confined. The old nurse opened it. She looked aghast when she saw the sheriff's wife in that place and at that time.

"How does your patient go on?" asked Lady Rety.

"He's quiet now!" said the old woman. "When the gentlemen left him, he said he was happy now that the murder was out. He's been asleep since.

Poor fellow! if he could but know that your ladys.h.i.+p's ladys.h.i.+p has condescended to ask how he is going on!"

"Leave the room!" said Lady Rety, with a trembling voice. "I want to speak to this man before he dies."

The old woman tarried; nor was it until the lady had repeated her command, that she left the room, muttering and discontented. When she was gone. Lady Rety approached the bed and spoke to the Jew.

He made no reply. His breath came thick and irregular. His limbs moved convulsively. The shadows of death were thickening over him.

Again and again she spoke to him. At length he raised his weary head, and stared vacantly at the Lady Rety.

"You do not know me," said she. "Look up, man! Tell me, do you know who I am?"

"Leave me alone," gasped Jants.h.i.+. "I've told you all I know. I've nothing more to say. Let me rest."

"Look up, and see to whom you are speaking. It is I, the Lady Rety!"

"The Lady Rety?" said the Jew, while a ray of returning consciousness darted over his features.

"Who else would come to you? Who else cares for what becomes of you?"

"Begone!" screamed the dying man. "Begone! What can you want of me? I'm not strong enough to steal or murder!"

"You are mad!" cried she. "How _can_ you talk in this manner? Suppose some one were to hear you?"