Part 46 (1/2)
A deep silence prevailed in the prisoner's room, at the door of which two of the least intoxicated among the haiduks were placed. Vandory had pa.s.sed above an hour in the cell, attempting to administer the comforts of religion to the condemned criminal; and when he left, Susi came to take her last leave of her husband, for, according to Mr. Skinner's express orders, she was forbidden to remain later than nine o'clock.
Both Viola and Susi were fearfully anxious and disturbed in their minds.
Viola had often thought of the death which awaited him. From the moment of his capture in the St. Vilmosh forest, he knew that his doom was fixed. He made no excuses to the judges, he gave them no fair words; not from pride, but because he knew that neither prayers nor promises could avail him. And what, after all, is death but the loss of life? And was his life of those which a man would grieve to lose? There were his wife and children--but was it not likely that they would be happier, or at least quieter, _after_ the misfortune in whose antic.i.p.ation they pa.s.sed their days? Of what good could _he_ be to his wife? Was he not the cause of her misery? of her homeless beggary? Of what use could _he_ be to his children? Was not his name a stigma on their lives? Could he hope, could he pray for any thing for them, except that they might be as unlike their father as possible?
”When I am gone,” thought he, ”who knows but people may forget that I ever lived? My wife, too, will, perhaps, forget that accursed creature, whose life filled hers with shame and sorrow. My children will have other names; they will go to another place, and all will be well and good. I have but one duty, and that is to die.”
His tranquillity of mind was disturbed by the plan of escape which Janosh communicated to him. The old soldier was, indeed, resolved to delay that communication till the last moment, lest Susi's excitement and joy should attract the attention and awaken the suspicions of the justice and his myrmidons. But when he entered the room which had been a.s.signed to Susi and her children; when he saw the pale woman nursing the youngest child in her arms, and utterly lost in the gloom of her despair; when Pishta, with his eyes red with weeping, came up to him, asking him to comfort his mother, and when the infant awoke, and smiled at him, the old hussar was not proof against so much love and so much sorrow; and when Susi, kissing the child, exclaimed, ”The poor little thing knows not how soon it will be an orphan!” he wept, and cried out, ”No, no, Susi! this here child is as little likely to become an orphan as you are likely to be a widow!” And it was only by her look of utter amazement that he became conscious of what he had said.
There were now no means of keeping the secret. Little Pishta was sent away, and Janosh told her in a whisper of all that they intended to do.
”You see,” added he, ”we've thought of everything. Don't fret, now; in a few hours, when the gentlemen and the keepers are asleep, (and they are settled, I tell you,) you'll see your husband at large, and on horseback, too. It's no use being sad, and it's no use despairing--that is to say--yes! I mean you ought to despair; you ought to be sad; come, wail and pray, and ask for mercy! else they'll smell a rat. I am an old fool, and ought to know better than to tell you, for if you cannot impose upon them, it's all over with us.”
Susi whispered some questions to Janosh, to which he answered in the same subdued tone of voice; adding,
”Give me your child, that I may look at it, and dance it on my knee.
What a sweet child it is!” said he, his whole face radiant with smiles; ”I never saw a prettier child: and it laughs, too, and at me! No, my fine fellow, we won't let your father come to harm. Ej, Susi, I wish to goodness I had a child like this!”
”My children will love you as their second father,” said she, with a happy and grateful look.
”Yes, as their _second_ father,” said the old man, sighing; ”but it must be a fine thing to be loved as a real father. I say, Susi, I've often thought why G.o.d hasn't given _me_ children. You'll say it's because I have no wife. That's true. But why haven't I got a wife? If they had not sent me to the wars, I'd be a grandfather by this time; and, believe me, I'd give my silver medal and my cross for such children as yours. I'd give them both for a single child! Well, G.o.d's will be done. Perhaps I have no children because if I had I'd not be so fond of other people's.
Young children are all equally beautiful; there's no difference between them. They are fresh and lively, like river trout; but in course of time one half of them turn out to be frogs, and worse.”
Janosh saw that Pishta came back with Vandory to call his mother to Viola. Imploring her not to betray the secret, he walked away, fearful lest Susi should want the strength to dissemble her thoughts. His anxiety on this head was perfectly gratuitous. The good news, which Susi communicated to her husband, filled them both with unspeakable dismay.
Whoever could have seen Viola would have thought that his stout heart was at last overcome with the fear of death. Need we marvel at this? Was not life powerful within him, trembling in every nerve, throbbing in every vein? Was not his wife by his side? Could he forget his children, whom his death might drive to ruin and, possibly, to crime? Viola had long wished to change his mode of life. He was now at liberty to do so.
The brother of the Gulyash was dead. The poor man died at the moment when he was preparing to take his wife and three children to another county, where a place as Gulyash was promised to him. The papers and pa.s.sports which were necessary for this purpose were in the hands of old Ishtvan, who had promised to take Viola to the place. There, above a hundred miles from the scene of his misfortunes, in a lonely tanya, where n.o.body knew him or cared to know him, could he not hope to live happily, peacefully, and contentedly? But did not that happiness hang on a slender thread, indeed? Were there not a hundred chances between him and its attainment? A whim of the justice's, a different position of the sentinels, the noise of a falling plank, could s.n.a.t.c.h the cup of life and liberty from his lips, and cast him back into the valley of the shadow of death.
He was in this state of mind when Mr. Skinner made his appearance in the cell. He was accompanied by Mr. Catspaw and the steward, for his _umbra_, Kenihazy, was in a state which rendered him unfit to be company to any one, even to Mr. Skinner. The change in Viola's manner was too striking to escape the attention of either the attorney or the steward.
The justice perambulated the cell with a show of great dignity, and a futile attempt to examine into the condition of the walls. He poked his stick into the straw which served Viola for a lair; when the steward walked up to him, and whispered that the robber had lost all his former boldness.
”Indeed!” cried Mr. Skinner, with a shrill laugh. ”I say, Viola, where's your pluck? Where's your impertinence, man? Ain't you going to die game, eh, Viola?”
”Sir,” said the robber, biting his lips, ”the step which I am preparing to take is bitter, and, I will own it, I feel for my family. What is to become of them?”
”Your family? Oh! your wife! Never mind; _I'll_ protect her.”
Viola looked daggers at the man; but he curbed his temper and was silent.
”And as for your children,” continued the justice in a bantering tone, ”they're very fine children, are they not?--eh? Well, they'll grow up, and come to be hanged--eh? But what's the use of this palaver? I say, Susi, be off! You've had plenty of time for your gossip; and I say, Viola, make your will and all that sort of thing.”
The prisoner, deeply sensible of his precarious position, embraced his trembling wife: but Susi would not leave him; she clung to him in all the madness of sorrow.
”I say! you've had time enough to howl and lament!” cried the justice.
”Make an end of it, and be off!” And suiting the action to the word, he seized Susi by her dress, and led her to the door. Mr. Catspaw and the steward followed her; but the justice stayed behind, gloating over the sufferings of the prisoner. At length he laughed, and said,--”I say, Viola, who's the man that's in at the death? Who'll swing? I said I'd do it, and you see I'm as good as my word!” And turning on his heels, he left the room, and locked the door.
Two of the soberest men were placed in the hall to watch that door; but even they, thanks to the endeavours of Janosh, were not sober enough for Mr. Catspaw, who was just in the act of lamenting that, in consequence of their host's excessive liberality, there was not a man in the house but was drunk, when he was interrupted by Mr. Skinner.
”Who is drunk? What is drunk?” said the worthy justice, turning fiercely upon the attorney. ”I say, sir, n.o.body's drunk here--no one was drunk here--no one will be drunk--and indeed no one can be drunk! That's what _I_ say, sir! Who dares to contradict me?”
”Don't be a fool!” whispered the attorney; ”who the devil said any thing of _you_? But look at these fellows! they're roaring drunk.”
”D--n you, he's right!--Confound you, you _are_ roaring drunk! Blast me, I'll have you hanged! If that robber escapes, one of you shall swing in his place! I say, fellows, look sharp! It's truly disgusting,”