The Village Notary: A Romance of Hungarian Life

by báró József Eötvös

CHAP. V.

There are moments in the life of every votary of the world's splendour and ambition in which, wearied by the obstacles which obstruct his path, and harassed by the petty failures of a thousand wishes, the more ardent because they are unreasonable, he looks back with something like regret on his past career, while the future fills his soul with fear, mingled with disgust. The rewards of ambition are scanty, its labours great. There is profuseness in the promise, there is a niggardly stinginess in the performance. The hour of doubt and sorrow comes for every one; that hour which makes us feel that "the paltry prize is hardly worth the cost." But the man of real ambition, the man of high purposes, who walks the rugged paths of greatness, not because he wishes that the crowd should stare at him, but to satisfy his own ardent mind; not because he longs for command, but because his mind thirsts for freedom,—such a man, even in his darkest hours, will never look back to the past with that intensity of bitterness which the sheriff felt, when, pacing his room, and reviewing his position, he became convinced of the fact that his past career was as false as his present existence was hollow.

His was not an unfeeling heart. In his younger years he was loving, and zealous for the love of others. Moderately accomplished, with a fine property, and a good face and figure, Rety was formed to pass his life in tranquil happiness. But there was something in his character which blasted the fair hopes of his youth. He was weak and vain, and these two qualities spoilt his appetite for the good things with which fortune had so amply provided him. Once removed from his natural sphere, his life was a series of bitter disappointments. His attachment to the friends of his early youth sprang from a desire of praise and friendly conversation. When he entered into practical life, he was equally influenced by the views of his family, and by their advice; and though in the outset he was rather a passive than an active sharer of the high plans of his father, his vanity soon caused him to covet those very distinctions which he for a time pretended to disregard. His first move in that career brought him in opposition to Tengelyi, the friend of his youth. Rety was not insensible to the meanness of the transaction. He did all he could to change his father's purpose. He told him that to treat his friend in this manner would for ever undermine his self-respect. But his father protested that all the hopes of his life were bound up in this one desire; his mother added her entreaties; and the neighbours said there never was so young and so gentlemanly a justice in the county. And when they all protested that Tengelyi had not the least chance of carrying the election, Rety wanted the strength to resist, and all that the nobler feelings of his mind effected was to make him ashamed of himself. He was afraid to meet his friend; and he added to his wrongs by breaking off the acquaintance.

Thus launched into public life, accustomed to the frequent glorifications and distinctions of county life, Rety's innate vanity became of gigantic growth; and when he took his father's place of sheriff, when the Cortes of the Takshony county made him the object of their devotion, he exulted in what he considered his pride of place.

Some people accused him of want of principle. They protested that his habitual dignified reserve was the result of a deep scheme, and that his ambition was of the most insatiate and the boldest kind. They were mistaken. The sheriff was satisfied with his position. All he wished was to be the first man, the beloved and exalted man of the county. His was a modest vanity. His mind did not crave for fame, or for a grand sphere of action. He was satisfied to rise gradually and peaceably, and to be surrounded by an admiring circle of friends. The county of Takshony yielded the fullest satisfaction to these wishes, and the sheriff's aspirations were confined to its borders. It never struck him that it is a disgrace for a man to be the favourite of all parties. But this tranquil enjoyment of petty honours could only last while there was no one near him to disturb it. His distinctions ceased to be grateful to him when new wishes were awakened in his heart. The death of his first wife and his second marriage served to disgust him with his repose upon his laurels.

In the choice of his first wife he had followed his heart; his second alliance was caused by ambition. The woman of his choice had no property; but she was a magnate's daughter, and celebrated for her beauty and her talents. To think of the many that would envy him if he, a widower, were to marry the most beautiful woman in the county, made him happy; and that thought was a solace to him, even when he found to his cost that his wife had other qualities besides beauty and talents. Lady Rety felt uncomfortable in her position as the wife of the sheriff of Takshony. Though her father was poor, he had rich relations, many of whom were high in office; and the uninterrupted correspondence in which she stood with some of the greatest men in Hungary, while it dissatisfied her with her present station, caused her to strain every nerve to raise her husband to a higher rank. From the moment she entered his house, she strove to urge Rety on.

And she succeeded. He had hitherto prided himself on being the first man in the county. She told him that was a small matter indeed. She told him the county of Takshony was not worth living for; that the cheers, the exultations of the crowd were caused by his cellar, and not by his merits. The affability which his office imposed upon him as a duty became perfectly odious to Rety's mind, when his wife convinced him that it was a meanness to bow and smile to the Zatonyis, Skinners, and Kishlakis. She spurred him on; she sneered at him and his county politics, until he felt utterly wretched, demoralised, and contemptible. He yielded, and resolved to aim at higher dignities.

That resolution was the curse of his life. A vain man wants the breath to run a long race: vanity must have applause for each word, and praise for each act. Rety knew that the road to higher things is open to those only who league themselves with one party. And when he left his batlike position, when he joined a party for good, he saw to his horror that there were some people who doubted his excellence; the criticisms of his enemies made him miserable. And when he yielded to the impulse of his ruling passion, when he returned to his undecided position between the hostile factions, their shortlived applause was poisoned by the sneers of his wife. The sheriff's conduct was vacillating and fickle. Nobody could be more painfully conscious of this fact than he himself was.

The part which Lady Rety played in the robbery of Tengelyi's papers was divulged by Viola's confession, and eagerly commented on by the gossips of the county. Those who credited the robber's statement believed too that the sheriff had acted in concert with his wife. But this opinion was erroneous. The sheriff knew nothing of Lady Rety's plans; and, though sensible of the importance of the papers which Vandory possessed, he was too honest, and, indeed, too weak, to consent to any thing like a crime. But when the robbery had been perpetrated, and when his wife informed him of Viola's confession, he asked her with horror whether the robber had spoken the truth. "He has!" replied she, with that boldness which experience told her was wont to awe him into submission. "I have done the thing I am accused of. But why did I do it? It was for the benefit of your family, name, and interests. Will you accuse me? Can you think of producing me in a court of justice? Will you dare to cast dishonour upon your own name? If you do, you effect your own ruin, without convincing any one of your innocence. They accuse you more than me. If you turn against me they will say, it is not because you are innocent, but because you are a knave. The only thing you can do is, to hush the matter up."

Rety was miserable. But there was no alternative; and he chose to become an accessory after the fact. Mr. Catspaw's assassination increased the difficulties of his position. Some papers, of which the property was traced to Tengelyi, were found in Mr. Catspaw's room. So long as Tengelyi was thought to be the murderer, the circumstance of the papers being found might be explained by asserting that the notary had lost them when he committed the crime; but if he could prove his innocence, were not those papers likely to increase the suspicions which the sheriff felt were entertained against him? And was not Tengelyi likely to rest his defence on those very suspicions?