The Village Notary: A Romance Of Hungarian Life

by József Eötvös

The Village A Romance Of Hungarian Life by József Eötvös presents the sweeping life-and-politics saga of 19th-century Hungary through the eyes of Jonas Tengelyi, a village notary whose integrity and courage illuminate a nation in ferment. The novel follows his upbringing in Bard and Dustbury, his devotion to justice, and his eventual rise as a respected notary in Takshony’s social and political maelstrom. Interwoven are vivid portraits of county magnates, reformers, and clerics, including Akosh Rety, Vilma, Vandory the curate, Peti the gipsy, Viola the outlaw, and the scheming lawyers who maneuver for power during the county elections. Through domestic life, love, betrayal, bribery, and the clash of privilege and peasant rights, the narrative exposes the moral ambiguities of a changing Hungary. With a cast of memorable figures and a rich, satirical texture, the novel probes loyalty, honor, and the costs of political reform in a society on the cusp of modernity.

328 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1845

About the author

Baron József Eötvös, Hungarian writer and statesman

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J%C3%B3...

Reviews

[Ross]

(2016-os értékelés)
Ha honi állapotjainkat tekintém, gyakorta nem érzem azt, hogy kimondottan szeretnék magyar lenni.
Állapot ez, adva van, de körültekintve ez ugaron, a kép több, mint lehangoló. Példának okáért kevés lelkesültségre ád okot, ha a jog s az igazság oly gyakran a tehetősek zsebében lakozik, a nép fiai közt pedig a gyűlölség s ostobaság szakadatlan járják páros táncukat.
Mindazonáltal, noha bánatra akad tán elég ok, nem szabad elfelednünk, hogy minden korok tengerén akadtak olyanok, kik fejüket a mocskos habok fölött tartva kiálták égre az igazságot: „Ez így ám amúgy kurvára nem frankó, hé!”
Mint például Eötvös.
Aki a könyvével voltaképpen szanaszéjjelcinkeli az idiótákat.

Ki a faszagyerek?
Eötvös báró a faszagyerek. Megírja, amit meg kell, 'szt beleköt a kora pöcsfejeibe.

Egyfelől persze roppant ijesztő, hogy mintegy kétszáz év alatt nem változott semmi.
Milyen évet is írunk? 1845-öt, vagy 2016-ot?
Voltaképp mindegy is. Ugyanúgy itt vannak a korrupt politikusok, az ügyeskedő, helyezkedő, könyöklő, tanulatlan, szűklátókörű, érdekvezérelt mindenféle senkiháziak, akik bármilyen pozíciót betöltve csak ártani képesek a környezetüknek. Más a forma ugyan, a tartalom azonban ugyanaz maradt.
Másfelől viszont megnyugtató, hogy csak akadnak olyanok minden korban, akik felemelik szavukat az igazságtalanság ellen, és igyekeznek hasznára lenni a világnak. Erősen reményt ad arra nézve, hogy ma is akadhat ilyen férfiú. (Vagy nő. Ma már tartunk ott is talán.)

[Rosalyn Eves]

I read this novel primarily because I'm trying to capture the flavor of life in a mid-nineteenth century village for a project I'm working on. For that purpose, the book answered excellently, as it was written primarily to critique the corrupt government style common in nineteenth-century counties. The story itself was a bit melodramatic, about a village notary who was one of the few honest men in the town government, and whose enemies spend much of the book conniving at his downfall. It's hard not to feel bad for him, as life hands him one trial after another, each usually compounded by coincidence. The writing is old-fashioned, so it won't appeal to most, but I enjoyed reading it for the glimpse it afforded into life in another time and place.

[Harry Miller]

The Village Notary is no great pleasure to read, for the compelling moments of its plot are scattered between cynical diatribes.

The diatribes are telling, at any rate. Here’s one on democracy:

“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 Vetsöshi’s abilities, which are rated very low, because he is shown to be a bad hand at cards. In short, your Excellency can have no idea of the farce which is acting around us.” (vol. 1, p. 175)

And here’s a pithy specimen on prison conditions:

The county gaol at Dustbury was, in those days, free from the prevailing epidemic of philanthropical innovations, which a certain set of political empirics are so zealous in spreading. The ancient national system of Austrio-Hungarian prison discipline was still in full glory; but as coming events cast their shadows before, so this venerable and time-honored system was every now and then attacked by the maudlin and squeamish sentimentality of modern reformers….In the gaol of a neighboring county, so fewer than six prisoners were dull enough top permit their feet to be frozen by the cold; and though the county magistrates gave them the full benefit of their attention, though their feet were amputated with a handsaw, though only one of the patients survived, and though such things were known to have frequently happened without any one being the worse for it, yet (so great is human perversity) a cry of indignation was got up against the worshipful magistrates of the said county, for all the world as if those honorable gentlemen had made the cold. (vol. 3, pp. 67-68)

Less pithy but more bitter is this eulogy of the book’s namesake protagonist, which amounts to a mockery of liberal learning itself, for its cruel inability to alter the individual’s destiny as fixed by birth:

The poor curate’s library contained but few books, but among them was a great treasure; namely, a copy of Plutarch….Jonas passed many hours in looking at the solemn faces of the classic heroes, nor was it long before he knew their names and actions….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 idolizes 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 the 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. (vol. 1, pp. 42-43)

The reader can perhaps detect in these lines the self-pity of the author, particularly if he too once imbibed the elixir of liberal learning, without heeding the country-club logo stamped on the cup.

Just as the romantic should avoid Don Quixote, the idealist should avoid The Village Notary.

[Balázs Bónis]

Rendkívül olvasmányos és érdekes korrajz a tizennyolcadik századi Magyarországról - telis-tele örökérvényű megállapításokkal. A történet maga egy jegyzőről szól, aki majdnem egyedüli őszinte emberként próbál a korrupt kormányzati rendszerek és nemesek között az igazságot és törvényes jogokat szolgálni. Eredetileg azért kellett elolvasnom, mert kötelezőként volt feladva gimnáziumban - és bár az eleje kissé nehézkesen indul, dúslakodik leíró képekben, viszonylag kevés aktív történéssel, már akkor is, és ma is azt vallom, hogy az egyik legjobb dolog volt, hogy "rá lettünk kényszerítve". Bár a nyelvezete a regénynek - a korához méltóan - régies, néhol archaikus kifejezésekkel találja magát szembe az olvasó, ami pár embert elrettenthet, de egy kis kitartással ez sem jelenthet problémát.