for the child of his heart, the boy Jonas Tengelyi anticipated other scenes and a different sphere of action. The poor curate's library contained but few books, but among them was a great treasure; namely, a copy of Plutarch – a relic of college life, with a portrait of the hero to each biography. This illustrated copy of Plutarch was the only book of its kind in the vicarage, and indeed in the village of Bard. Jonas passed many hours in looking at the solemn faces of the classic heroes, nor was it long before he knew all their names and actions; and though the old pastor regretted that the book was not an illustrated Bible, by which means he might impress upon his boy's mind the history and the deeds of the heroes of our faith, still his heart grew big with joy when the child expatiated on the virtues of Aristides, or (his little cheeks glowing all the while) told of the death of Leonidas and Socrates. And old Esaias blessed the pagan author who wrote the book, and the college-chum who made him a present of it, and even the very printer who had produced it. The whole future life of Jonas was influenced by these early lessons; and though the milder doctrines of Christianity made a deep impression on his heart, yet his mind would always return to the models of classic excellence. His sympathies were all with the heroes of Plutarch.
At times, when old Tengelyi was from home, Jonas would follow his fancies through the dark shades of the woods. He would sit on the ruins of Bard Castle, looking at the forest-clad mountains and the wide distant plain, and there he sat and pondered until the sun went down and the evening breeze woke him from his dreams. There he was happy; for there is no greater happiness than the delight which a pure heart feels when thinking of great deeds and generous men. The childhood of nations and individuals idolises all heroes, and thus did Jonas.
A child's perceptions of distance are very weak: it is the same in the moral world. Children try to grasp any shining bauble which strikes their eyes, no matter whether far or near. Life has not yet taught them to wait, to plod, and perhaps to be disappointed. The boy is equally ignorant of the bitter truth, that there is usually but one road which leads to the high places of this world, and that the ascent, though easy to some, is impossible to others, for from where they stand there is no path which leads to the top. And yet how closely is our boyish admiration of a great man allied to the idea that he is our example and our hope! Children, when isolated, – that is to say, when they are deprived of the society of other children, – are apt to become dreamers: and this was young Tengelyi's case. His dreams were of a dangerous kind, and his conversation was such that his hearers became convinced of fate having destined that boy to be either very great or very wretched.
Old Esaias did not indeed suffer from these apprehensions. His son's enthusiasm, his hatred of tyranny, his love of his kind, proved nothing to old Tengelyi but that Jonas would turn out a first-rate village pastor. He never dreamt of this enthusiasm being applied to other purposes than those of the pulpit; and he did all in his power to develop the talents of so hopeful a preacher. He enlarged on the sufferings of the poor and the cruelty of the rich; on the equality of mankind before God, and the duties we owe to our fellow men.
In the course of time Jonas was sent to school at Debrezin. Though he was only thirteen, his character was already formed. His was a boundless enthusiasm for all things noble and generous; his was an equally boundless hate against all that is mean; his was the daring which is ever ready to oppose injustice with words and with deeds; and his was that austerity of principle which is apt to make a man unjust. In short, poor Jonas would have proved a model man in Utopia. In our own civilised society, the excess of his good qualities was likely to cause him to be shunned, if not hated. Nevertheless he was popular with the masters and the boys; and the happiest years of his life were spent in the dull routine of a public school. The masters admired his ambition, and the rapid progress it caused him to make; and though he seldom condescended to join in the plays and athletic exercises of his comrades, they paid a free tribute of admiration to his love of justice and his courage. His studies delighted him, for his soul yearned for knowledge. Jonas was indeed happy!
Old Esaias Tengelyi continued meanwhile in his life of tranquillity and contentment. His humble dwelling grew still more quiet when his son left it; and the grey-headed pastor walked lonely among the fruit-trees of his garden, where he formerly used to watch the gambols of his child; but the serenity of his mind was still the same. His life passed away like the course of a gentle stream which mixes with the ocean. Esaias was aware that his days were numbered; but there was nothing appalling in the thought. He was at peace with God and the world; and though he grieved to leave his son, his soul yearned for her that had left him. His last remaining wish was to expire in the arms of his son. His wish was granted. Jonas returned to Bard, and a fortnight after his return his father was laid in the grave. The poor of Bard wept with Jonas, for they too were the old man's children; a simple stone with an inscription of rude workmanship (for the hands of poor peasants wrought it) marks the last resting-place of Esaias Tengelyi.
His father's death threw Jonas into a different career. Hitherto he had sacrificed his ambition to his sense of duty, but now his choice was free; and, at his time of life, there are few who will tread an humble and tranquil path. Jonas preferred to embark in a political career; and since the study of law is the first condition to eminence, he devoted the whole of his energies to the rudiments of that dry and uninteresting science. Having turned his paternal heritage into money, and realised the modest sum of six hundred florins, he passed three years at the German universities, but especially at Heidelberg, where the strongest bonds of friendship united him with that very Rety, in whose village our readers have seen him established as notary. His studies ended, we find Jonas Tengelyi at Pesth, in the act of entering into public life. He had great hopes, great ambition, and very little money. But Jonas was not a man to be daunted by privations. He took his oath, was admitted as "juratus," rattled his sword for eighteen months on the steps of the Curia, and, being thus duly prepared, he was at length admitted to the bar.
This period of our hero's life contains nothing whatever for his biographer or the public to take an interest in, excepting always the negative wonder of Tengelyi having been a "juratus" for eighteen months without having once fought, got drunk, or played at billiards. Need we add that he was very unpopular among his comrades?
But we will add that Jonas Tengelyi, though deeply read in law, could not prevail upon his examiners to insert into his diploma a better qualification than the simple word "laudabilis," while two young gentlemen, whom he himself had ground for the examination, passed triumphantly each with a "præclarus." Poor Jonas, though thus roughly handled at the very threshold of public life, forgot all his grief that very evening, when he took his seat in the humble conveyance which was to take him to the county of Takshony. The jolting of the coach which bore him to the scene of his future struggles, opened the brilliant realms of a fanciful future to his mind. The past was forgotten.
The reasons why the young barrister proposed to practise in the county of Takshony are very obvious. He was not, indeed, a large landholder in that blessed county, nor could he expect the patronage and the support of powerful friends. He chose Takshony because, of the fifty-two Hungarian counties, there was not one which offered more, nor, indeed, less chances for him, poor and friendless as he was. Hungary was all before him where to go, and he went to Takshony. If he was to trust the evidence of the natives of the county, it was the most enlightened district in the kingdom; and, if credit could be given to the assertions of its neighbours, there never was a county so destitute of common sense: a man of Jonas's stamp was therefore certain to prosper in any case. In an enlightened county his merits were sure to be appreciated, and in a dull county they were as certain to be wanted. Besides, he trusted the promises, and looked for the support of his friend Rety, who was son to the sheriff of Takshony. Tengelyi was, consequently, not a little elated and excited when, after a tedious journey, the coach deposited him safe and sound in the high street of the county town, whose appropriate name in English would be Dustbury. This town, unless a traveller happens to see it on a market-day, has little to distinguish it from the common run of Hungarian villages; indeed, there would be considerable danger of its being thus lowly estimated but for the imposing bulk of the county house, before whose massive gates a batch of culprits may at all times be heard roaring under the beadle's rod, and thus proclaiming the force of the laws of Hungary.
Dustbury,
