The Village Notary: A Romance of Hungarian Life. Eötvös József
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.
CHAP. VIII
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