Part 20 (2/2)
”You are right, Susi,” said Mrs. Ershebet; ”you are right in taking your husband's part, for you have vowed to be his own for better and for worse; and I, too, wish I could believe you; but it is in vain.
Everything is against him; and--I do not mean to hurt you, my good woman; but you know your husband is a robber.”
The words were repented almost as soon as spoken. Vandory said something to calm the poor woman's mind; but Susi advanced, and, leaning her arms on the table, stood with a flushed and frowning face. ”Yes,” said she, ”Viola _is_ a robber; you are right: I _am_ a robber's wife. They know it in the village; they know it in the county. A reward has been offered for his capture. The very children in the streets know it. But when the Day of Judgment comes, and when G.o.d appears visibly to our eyes, with His Son at His right hand, and all the angels round him, and when He judges our crimes, do you think He will call Viola to account for being a robber? No, He will not. He will enter into judgment with those who _forced_ him to be a robber--with those who punished him before he was guilty. G.o.d is just. He cares not who is rich and who is poor. He looks into our heart; and I know that Viola is pure before his G.o.d!”
The Liptaka, who entered in that moment, overheard Susi's last words.
”You are right, my child,” said she: ”trust in G.o.d, who will not abandon you.”
”Oh, you bid me trust in G.o.d!” said Susi, gloomily. ”You've told me that at least a hundred times, and, indeed, what would poor people come to, if they did _not_ trust in G.o.d? But when I think of our misfortunes, and when I see that we are suspected by everybody, and that the honestest people--such as the curate and Mrs. Tengelyi--believe that my husband would injure his greatest benefactors, why then, you see, my good angel leaves me, and there is a voice that whispers in my ear that there is no G.o.d for the poor!”
”Fye, Susi!” said the Liptaka. ”It is written that 'it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of heaven.' The poor, of all men, ought not to doubt G.o.d's goodness, for His Son chose His disciples from among our number.
And suppose Mrs. Tengelyi said bitter things, you ought to consider that she did all she could for you. The best of us are unjust when we suffer; even my own husband--may G.o.d give him eternal rest!--suspected Peti, the gipsy, when they stole our cow. Bear your cross humbly with your Saviour.”
”Aye, but He was the Son of G.o.d! and I am but a sinful child; and besides, can you, can anybody know what I have suffered? I was a poor orphan. My father and mother died when I was a child, and if you had not taken me to your house, I'd have perished, as many children do who have no mother to take care of them. But you, G.o.d bless you! brought me up, and there wasn't a merrier girl in the village than I was. O, though my sweet mother died when I was born, yet you loved me as much as she would have done, I'm sure!”
Vandory and Ershebet were silent; the eyes of the Liptaka filled with tears.
”Yes, I was a merry girl!” said Susi. ”I didn't think I could be happier, and I thanked G.o.d for my happiness. But this was not all. It is since I knew Viola that I know what it is to have a heaven on earth. At first I did not think that a man such as he could love me. Viola was wealthy. He had inherited a fine farm from his father. Next to the notary's, his house was the finest in the village; he had splendid cattle,--how then could I, poor orphan, expect him to love me? When I was reaping the harvest in the field, and he stopped by my side, with his four beasts, and helped me to tie up the corn,--or at the Theiss, when he filled my pails,--or at weddings, when he brought me bunches of rosemary, I said to myself, 'Viola is good, ay, very good and kind;' but I never thought that he would marry me, and I prayed that such proud thoughts might be kept out of my mind. But when he called at Christmas, and asked me whether I loved him, and when I did not reply to that, but looked down, and he took me in his arms and said that he would marry me in the spring, oh! it was then I felt giddy with happiness, and I fancied the angels of heaven must envy my joy!”
”Poor, poor woman!” said Mrs. Ershebet, drying her tears.
”A proud woman I was then!” cried Susi, ”ay! a proud woman indeed, and a happy one! The whole world seemed to me one large marriage feast; my happiness took away my breath, and I could have wept at any moment. But that was nothing to my happiness in my husband's house, and when our first child was born, and we had to take care of our little Pishta. Oh!
and G.o.d blessed our house and our fields; and our cattle were healthy, and our wheat was the finest in the county. There's many a bride enters her husband's house with a happy heart; but I, proud woman, thought each day more blessed than the last, nor did I ever think of my wedding-day, I was so happy!”
Her heart was oppressed with the reminiscences of the past. For some moments she did not speak; and when she continued, it was with a hoa.r.s.e and low voice, as though that breast of hers had not breath enough to tell the tale of her woe.
”And then, you see,” said she, ”it breaks my heart to think that all is lost now. We were not overbearing in our happiness. We never offended anybody. My husband paid his taxes and rates, and served his fifty-two robot-days; he was kind to the poor--ay, very good and kind, for G.o.d had blessed us. He was wealthy; but then he was but a peasant, and among the gentry there were those that hated him. The attorney--may the Lord find him!” said Susi, shaking her fist, ”_he_ hated my husband, for he was the speaker of the other peasants when they had a complaint to make. And the justice too swore he'd have his revenge, for he wanted to go after me; but I, as an honest woman, told him to leave my house, as it was my duty to do. I was always anxious lest something might come of it, though my husband told me we had no reason to fear either the attorney or the justice, so long as he did his duty. But the gentry plot together, and a poor man's innocence cannot protect him from their revenge. It's now two years since I was brought to bed with a little daughter. Early that morning I was in a bad way:--my husband was with me, and so were you, Liptaka, when the attorney sent to us--I think the midwife had told him about the way I was in--to order Viola to take four horses to the Castle, and drive my lady to Dustbury. My husband spoke to the haiduk; he said he could not go that day, and that his horses had done more service that year than those of any of the other peasants; but that he would be glad to go any other day. And we thought all was well; but the haiduk came back, saying that my husband must do his duty, and that he _must_ come, for that he had the best horses in the village. Viola was angry, but I entreated him to send the servant with the horses, which he did, though reluctantly, because he did not like to trust them with a stranger. But my travail had just begun, when the haiduk came back with the servant, saying that Viola must come, for my lady was afraid of anybody else driving. And Viola saw my sufferings, and knew that I wanted him to be near me; he said they might do as they pleased, it was enough that he had sent the horses, and he wouldn't stir from the spot--no! not for the king's own son. But the haiduk said, he'd do the same if it was his own case; yet, for all that, he would advise my husband to go, considering that the justice was at the Castle, who had sworn an oath that he'd have him brought up per force; so he'd better look to the end of it. Now my husband _is_ violent, and at times obstinate; he sent word to the justice that he had done his robot for that year, and he wouldn't go to save his soul from perdition. The haiduk went away, and after that I know not what happened, for I got so faint I could neither hear nor see; but the neighbours and the Liptaka tell me that the justice came with his men, cursing and abusing Viola, whom they bound, while I lay bereft of my senses, and dragged him to the Castle!”
”It's quite true!” cried the Liptaka; ”yes! it's quite true. I followed them as they led Viola away. It was a fearful sight, I tell you; he refused to walk, and cast himself on the ground; he was so angry! and Mr. Skinner dragged him away as you would a pig. Every body was horrified, and all the people from the village wept and followed them, though none dared to help him. But we wept in our minds, and murmured when they beat him, poor innocent fellow! because he would not walk--for beat him they did with sticks and fokosh, while the judge walked along with many fearful oaths and threats. And when we came to the house, the justice examined the haiduk before us, asking him whether he had been at Viola's, and told him that he was summoned to service, and what Viola had said, and Lord knows what besides! and at last he said, 'I'll tie you up for it, my fine fellow!' and sent for the deresh[17]; for he said, 'I'll serve you out for contempt of the county.' And he said, 'Lash him to the deresh.' Now Viola stood among the Pandurs; and though I were to live a hundred years, I'd never forget what a sight it was when he stood in the yard, with his head and face covered with blood, and his lips blue with biting them! They had untied his hands to lash him down; and when he was in the yard, he tore away from the haiduks and made a leap like a lion, shouting, 'Stand back, every man of you!' And they stood back; but that incarnate devil, Skinner, cursed them, and swore he'd kill them if they did not tie him down. They made a rush to seize him. But Viola caught up an axe which had been used for woodcutting, and which the devil put in his way. He seized the axe and spun it round, and two of the fellows fell weltering in their blood. Oh!
and he raised the b.l.o.o.d.y axe, and rus.h.i.+ng through them, he ran home, got a horse, and rode off to the St. Vilmosh forest. One of the men he had struck died of his wounds, and Viola has been an outlaw ever since.”
[Footnote 17: See Note XIII.]
”And a robber ever since that day!” cried Susi, wringing her hands. ”May G.o.d bless you, Mrs. Tengelyi, for what you did for me and my poor children! I'll go now and try to find my husband. If he knows aught of the stolen things, or if he can trace them, you need not fear: Mr.
Tengelyi shall not lose his property.”
”What are you about?” said Mrs. Ershebet; ”do you think I will let you go in this way?”
”Don't be afraid!” cried Susi, with a bitter smile. ”I'm sure to come back! I leave you my children; and though I _am_ a robber's wife, trust me, I'll never leave my children.”
”I did not mean _that_, Susi,” replied Mrs. Ershebet, holding out her hand; ”but you are still in bad health, and to walk about in this cold weather cannot be good for you.”
”Thank you, but I'm pretty well now. The air of the heath will do me good. But stay here I cannot. You suspect Viola; I know you do. The Jew accuses him, and so do others. He was in the village--there's no denying that! His bunda has been found in this room. Everything is against him, and people cannot know that it was quite impossible for him to do that of which they accuse him. It's a dark matter, but I will have it cleared up. I'd die if I were to remain here and listen to all the horrid things they are sure to speak of my husband.” And Susi turned to leave the room.
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