Pretty Michal

And a marriage contracted at Bártfa is valid everywhere."

"But," sagely objected Michal, "supposing one of the parties be already married?"

"Then both parties are publicly scourged to death. But I've taken precautions against that also. My late pretty mistress, the young vihodar's wife, is no more. Her father fancies that he has married her to the pastor of Great Leta; but his reverence also is no longer to be found on the face of the earth. The people of Great Leta have already provided themselves with another curer of souls, and his wife is an old woman with a hunch on her back. Henry Vihodar firmly believes that his wife has perished in his burning house, from which, indeed, no living soul could possibly have escaped when once the sulphur and the tar caught fire. Besides, the young headsman will soon marry again. So you two must come along with me to Bártfa, where I'll pretend that the pretty lady is my daughter, and will put her out to service. You, squire, must seek a farm laborer's place in the same town. The rest depends entirely on yourselves. If once you are caught together, you'll not be allowed to depart thence except as man and wife, and then you can go to—— Where did you say you lived?"

It was just on the tip of Valentine's tongue to say Kassa, when Simplex anticipated him and said Klausenburg, which is in the opposite direction. For it is also the duty of a true friend when he sees that his comrade cannot lie, to lie for him. And here it was very necessary not to let the witch know where Valentine lived, lest she might take it into her head, at some future day, to pay him and his wife a visit when they least desired it.

"Very well," pursued the witch, "then you can go to Klausenburg and take your marriage certificate with you. No one will think of asking any further questions. People will say, they've been married at Bártfa, and no more will be said about it. Are you pleased with my plan?"

They were so pleased with it that they fell to kissing each other over and over again, and in their joy had almost wasted a kiss or two on Pirka herself, which would have been a useless piece of extravagance.

"But we cannot take service with all our silk clothes and gewgaws," said Pirka. "We must put on the rustic dress in which we came hither."

Michal readily consented to this change of raiment, and going into the adjoining room, she took off her dress, her earrings, and her necklace. Her three dresses and all her jewels she gave to Pirka, who had calculated on obtaining these perquisites all along.

"Do you think Valentine will like me in this dress?" asked the pretty young lady, as she put on her sober weeds again.

"It won't quite do yet," said Pirka. "Even through this rustic garb people might easily spy out the fine lady. We cannot take service with this rose and milk complexion, for everyone would immediately ask us out of what castle we had escaped. We must find a remedy against that also. We must make freckles on our cheeks and foreheads, so that we may not look so pretty."

"But will Valentine love me if I am ugly?"

"Sweetheart! he would love you even if you were as hideous as I am."

With that, the witch took freshly plucked wolf's milk flowers, the juice of which rubbed into the skin leaves behind spots resembling freckles which cannot be washed away by water, and only very gradually fade away. Pirka well rubbed Michal's face with the juice of the wolf's milk flowers till she was as speckled and as spotted as a pea hen. It was as well that there was no mirror at hand to tell pretty Michal what a fright she had become.

This done, Pirka led her back to Valentine, and said to him: "Well! how does my serving wench please you?" But he, without troubling himself in the least about the freckles, embraced his beloved as fervently as before.

When, however, the kopanitschar's wife came in again and saw the ugly serving maid, she asked what had become of the wondrously beautiful lady who had lately been there.

Pirka replied that she had bestraddled a broomstick, flown out of the window, and left this wench behind in her stead.

Annie believed Pirka, and bawled to Michal to take herself off and feed the swine.

So little did she recognize Michal.

Then Pirka took her bundle on her back and went off with Michal and Valentine to show them the way to Bártfa, while Simplex stayed behind with the kopanitschar's wife, so that in case the headsman's assistants should stop there for a drink on their way back from Eperies, he might give them an earful of lies. And that is really what he did do. Simplex actually saw and spoke to Henry himself, and made him believe that he, Simplex, had stood close to the burning house, and seen and heard the two women shrieking for help behind a window; but no one could get at them, and the whole tower in which they were had been burnt to the ground. Henry Catsrider, therefore, might be quite sure that he had become an orphan and a widower on the same day.

At Bártfa, meanwhile, Pirka got Michal a place in a respectable shopkeeper's family, where they willingly took her in because she was so very plain. It was a sort of guarantee that no one would attempt to court her, and thereby deprive them of a useful servant.

Yet even this maid only kept her place for three days, for on the evening of the fourth day, they caught her talking in a gateway with a farm laborer from over the way, who had only come to Bártfa a few days before. The guilty pair were immediately seized; for the people of Bártfa, who took good care never to fall into their own mouse traps, were immensely delighted whenever they could catch strangers in them. So both man and maid were committed to jail, and taken next day before the clergyman, when they were married in due form and then discharged. In the marriage certificate handed to them on their departure, Valentine Kalondai's name stood there right enough, but Michal was therein described as Milly Barbara.

Neither of them reflected, at the time, that this was a false certificate; all that they then thought about was that they at last belonged to each other.

Barbara Pirka had kept very quiet till after the wedding was over, and then Valentine gave her all the money he had about him (some hundred and fifty ducats or so), only keeping enough to buy victuals for his wife and himself on their way home. Then he said to Pirka:

"Now we are going to Transylvania, but you had better go to Poland, for here you might be called to account for the valuables in your possession."

Pirka laughed.

"I am going, I am going, and I will not stop till I get to Poland. I know that you are very fond of me, children; yet for all that you would like to see two foreign lands lying between me and you."

And at that time two foreign lands really did lie between Transylvania and Poland. The chroniclers called them Hungary and Turkey.

CHAPTER XXVI.

In the very first week of their acquaintance, Dame Sarah severely tested her daughter-in-law in every possible way, and discovered that she was an angel from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet. She was dutiful, obedient, not fastidious in her work, brisk, cleanly, early to rise and late to bed, sweet-tempered, a great stopper-at-home, modest, and shamefaced. And Dame Sarah had made up her mind to be very strict with her; to find fault with everything she did; and scold and chide her on every possible occasion. But this scolding and chiding was heavenly music to poor Milly's ears, compared with what she had been obliged to endure at that other house, so that the only effect of Dame Sarah's fiercest anger on Milly was to make her kiss her mother-in-law's hands and thank her for the scolding with tears of gratitude. It was equally true, indeed, that it was extremely difficult for Dame Sarah to be really angry. Her face was so round that no wrinkling of her forehead could make it look angular, and her voice was so soft that even her chiding seemed like friendly coaxing. Milly had never known a mother. It had always been the wish of her heart to find a mother in her husband's house. And now she had found what she had wished for; and her soul was satisfied.

When Valentine brought Milly home, she possessed nothing in the world but the clothes on her back. Dame Sarah chided her daughter-in-law again and again because of her bad and scanty attire. Then she bought her woolen stuff for a suit of clothes, cut out the pattern herself, and threw it to Milly, that she might make herself a dress by next Sunday, with which to go to church and show herself among respectable people.

And Michal had to pretend that she did not understand a word of what her mother-in-law explained to her. She who had manufactured the most recondite tarts and cakes at home, and had been far famed as a model housewife, now listened in silence while her mother-in-law told her how a simple soup was made! She dared not even betray her knowledge of needlework and millinery. She dared not say that she could stitch beautifully, and even weave lace. She who was so clever with her fingers now stitched so clumsily that Dame Sarah had to take half her work to pieces again. She held her needle so awkwardly, and her stitches were so irregular, and full of knots and crinkles, that when she tried on her Sunday dress, which had cost her so much trouble, it was found to be a perfectly absurd misfit. In front it was too long, and behind it was too short; where it ought to have fitted tightly it bulged out, and vice versa.

And yet this dress pleased her.

And, stranger still, her husband liked her in it too.

The town of Kassa had a lot to say about the lady whom Valentine had brought home as his wife.

"Ah, well! such a treasure was quite worth the trouble which Squire Valentine took to discover it!"

"But, at least, she is of very distinguished parentage: her father was lord-lieutenant of the sheep!"

"Such a beauty has not been seen in Kassa for many a long day!"

"And all that is as nothing compared with her riches. Why, when she climbs up a nut tree to hang out the clothes, she leaves nothing behind her that she can call her own!"

Everyone looked forward to the day when Dame Sarah would present her daughter-in-law to her acquaintances, the notabilities of Kassa.

And what would they have said if they only could have seen her in a dress of her own making!

The anxiously awaited Sunday dawned at last. In the early morning, however, a sergeant came and tapped at Valentine's window, awoke him from his slumbers, and told him that his captain, Count Hommonai, commanded him to mount his horse at once, and ride into the market place fully armed.

Valentine was still a soldier, a corporal in fact. Obey he must. He therefore took leave of his mother and his wife, armed himself, and was at his post at the appointed time. Thence, without showing the slightest regard for the sacredness of the Sabbath, the captain marched off his troops straightway, for tidings had come that a host of Turks had penetrated as far as Naggy Ida, burning all the hamlets in their way. Count Hommonai, therefore, did not take very long to reflect, but quickly collected two hundred horsemen, and set out from Kassa to chastise the Turkish marauders.

Thus it was that Milly or Michal was left entirely in charge of Dame Sarah.

Early in the morning the young lady put on the new dress that was so admirably adapted to spoil her pretty figure altogether. Then she prepared to go to church.

When she was quite ready, Dame Sarah said to her: "Take off that dress, you shall not go to church in that, but in another."

And with that she opened her lofty wardrobe and took out her own beautiful silk dress which she had worn in her younger days, her bodice embroidered with gold flowers, her apron fringed with broad lace, her costly cambric pocket-handkerchief, and gave them all to her daughter-in-law, and while she laced the bodice on to Michal's slim waist, she said, with great self-complacency: "I was just as slim myself, dear, in the first years of my marriage. In those days this was my gala costume, I've never worn it since."

Then she put her beautiful gold-laced coif on Michal's head, and praised at the same time her daughter-in-law's lovely hair. That, at any rate, was a thing of beauty, let her face be never so ugly.

Then she took her gorgeously attired daughter-in-law along with her, first of all thrusting into her right hand the best bound prayer book with a posy in it. How Michal's silk dress rustled as she walked along the streets!

The young wife was perfectly happy, not so much because she actually wore the silk dress, as because Valentine's mother thought her worthy to wear it.

Yet her happiness was only to last till she got to church.

The old cathedral of Kassa had again fallen into the hands of the Protestants, and they now held divine service in it. The first row of pews was assigned to the wives of eminent burgesses who had held office in the town. Among them sat Dame Sarah, for her late husband had been sheriff, and she herself was a rich woman.

In the corner pew sat the wife of old Fürmender. With her pointed nose and large gray coif, she resembled a guinea fowl, and when she spoke the resemblance was more striking than ever. Beside her sat her maiden daughter, and next to her there was room for a dozen more at the very least.

When Dame Sarah and pretty Michal came to the pew Dame Fürmender rose from her place and let Dame Sarah pass in, but when Michal tried to follow her, Dame Fürmender sat back in her place again, thrust her elbows on to the desk in front, and would not let Michal pass.

"Servants must sit in the back seats," said she.

"That is the wife of my son Valentine," cried Dame Sarah, much hurt.

"He too is nothing but an expelled student and a common soldier," replied Dame Fürmender, who excelled at repartee.

At this Michal burst into tears.

She was not distressed on her own account, but she could not bear to hear her husband run down.

And now all the women crowded together at the corner of the pew, and turned their backs upon her just to let her know that there was no room for her anywhere.

Poor Michal could have sunk into the ground for shame, when all at once a wondrously beautiful, handsomely dressed lady stepped out of a richly carved pew covered with heraldic emblazonments which stood close to the central column, hastened toward Michal, and said to her: "What! is there no room for the young lady? Pray come into my pew, there is room enough there." And with that she took pilloried Michal by the hand, led her to her own pew, made her sit down beside her, and pushed toward her her beautiful gold-clasped prayer book, so that they might both sing out of it together.

Now this lady was the Countess Isabella Hommonai the wife of the Captain-General and Commander of Kassa, whom the latter, as we have already mentioned, had married a short time before.

The whole sisterhood of backbiters was most cruelly checkmated, their vexation nearly choked them.

But Michal, with streaming eyes, prayed the Almighty to protect her beloved Valentine in his present great peril, save him from wounds and captivity, and bring him back safe and sound. She had nothing else to pray for.

And when divine service was over, the countess did not consider it beneath her dignity to accompany Michal out of church, waited in the porch for Dame Sarah, and then said to Michal, who gratefully kissed her hand, that she must make haste and come and pay her a visit at the castle.

All the other women heard it and were ready to burst for envy.

CHAPTER XXVII.

"God bless her for it! You thanked her for her graciousness, I hope?"

"At the time we hardly knew what to say, we were so confused; but her ladyship has invited Michal to the castle."

"And have you been?"

"Not yet, I waited for you. We must go together."

Valentine scratched his head.

"With Count Hommonai I should think nothing of going against a whole host of dog-headed Tartars, but how can I approach the countess? She is such a fine lady, and I am such a stupid blockhead."

But he had to go all the same, and that at once, for scarcely had he had time to change his clothes when the captain's carriage drove up to the door, and a heyduke brought the message that the count and countess wished to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Kalondai.

"Well, I don't know what will be the end of it," stammered Valentine. He was so nervous that he could not even tie his neckerchief properly, and kept on buttoning his coat at one moment a button too high, and at another a button too low, so that he had to begin it all over again.

But he had to go, for the carriage was waiting outside.

Dame Sarah now gave her daughter-in-law another dress to wear, a trifle simpler than the former one, and hung a handsome mantle round her shoulders.

The Countess Hommonai come forward to meet her guests to the very door of the room, and received Michal with great cordiality.

"And to think, my dear!" said she, "that while I was delivering you out of the hands of the Philistines last Sunday, your husband should be rescuing mine from the hands of the Turks! But you have heard all about it already, I dare say?"

"I have heard nothing. My husband never boasts of his exploits."

"He never boasts, eh? Then he's all the more a man."

Valentine grew fiery red.

They had got thus far, when the count himself entered the countess's chamber. And he was as handsome a man as she was a woman. He had long, chestnut-brown hair rolling down his shoulders, red cheeks, an open forehead, a well-twisted mustache, and a stately figure.

And the count also was very kind to them both, and ignoring altogether the fact that he was a magnate and a captain, while Valentine was only a simple gentleman and a corporal, he held out his hand and shook Valentine's so vigorously that Valentine grew visibly.

But the countess made Michal sit down beside her on the sofa, which was covered with a beautiful gobelin.

Valentine thought that Michal, now that she was in polite society, would put on the fine manners she had learnt at home and thus betray herself. All the more pleasantly surprised was he, therefore, when he saw that Milly could clean forget Michal, so well did she know how to fall into the ways of the rustics. First of all, she shyly hesitated to sit down at all. Then she dusted the corner of the sofa a little with her skirt before sitting down on the edge of it, just as the country people are wont to do, at which the countess secretly smiled.

"Yes, my husband would certainly at this moment be a prisoner among the Turks," said the countess to Milly, "if your husband had not saved him. Mine had ventured forward a little too far. When the Turks had been put to flight, and the hussars were busy tying the prisoners together in couples, my lord captain took it into his head to capture the pasha single-handed. The pasha, however, had already taken to his heels, and nobody had a horse swift enough to catch him but my husband, who accordingly overtook and captured him. But while he was securing him, up came the pasha's attendants, who threw a hair lasso round my husband's neck and pulled him from his horse. Then they began to hale him away, when Kalondai perceived the danger of his captain, and dashed forward at the head of two of his men. The Turks, overtaken, and thus prevented from dragging away my husband alive, at once resolved to kill him, and one of them drew a saber to cut off his head. But Kalondai was quicker than the Turk, and cut him down with a single blow. Thus he saved my husband's life and liberty. The mark of the cord is still visible on my husband's neck, and the cord itself (which he has brought home with him) I shall always preserve among my curiosities. So now you see how well we did in praying together out of the same prayer book. You have a brave husband!"

Valentine's heart swelled with pride at this great praise.

"And he shall be rewarded for his valor," put in the count. "I'll give him the pick of the prisoners and of the captured horses, and I make him my lieutenant besides."

"I thank my gracious lord for his goodness," replied Valentine (he was never at a loss when he had men to deal with, it was only with women that he felt shy); "if I may choose, I'll pick out from among the captives a good-natured fellow of humble rank who may help my mother in her household duties. A horse I don't want. I am content with that I have. But if my lord captain will do me a favor, I beg of him a better horse for my comrade Simplex, the field-trumpeter, for his present nag is lame. As to my promotion to the rank of lieutenant, I thank my lord captain for it, but I must decline it. That is no post for one like me who has never learnt the art of war. I should like, however, to make another request of my gracious lord. It is the inmost wish of my poor mother that I should relieve her of the cares of the business, which is a heavy burden to her. I therefore beg permission to leave the service that I may carry on the trade of a butcher."

The count laughed.

"But you have clean forgotten one of your best arguments: 'As I have only just been married, I would much rather remain at home with my wife than scamper after the foe!' You are right. I would say the same if I only could. I'll release you at once from your military service."

"But not that you may become a butcher," said the countess. "A man like you deserves a better place. The post of castellan has become vacant, and my husband has the gift of it. My dear, you must make Mr. Kalondai our castellan."

"It shall be done," declared the count.

"Alas, your ladyship!" cried Milly, when she saw that her husband could not immediately find an answer, "I fear me greatly that my husband will never do for such a post as that. He is, like me, very ignorant. He did not learn very much at school and they kicked him out at last. Now, a castellan has to speak with many great lords, and read many letters which are written in Latin and German, and even French perhaps. How could my poor dear husband read and answer all these letters? A mischief would surely come of it."

"I tell you what," said the countess; "I know Latin, German, and French. Come to me at the castle twice a day, and I'll instruct you in all those languages. Nay, you must. I have nothing else to do, and what you learn from me you must teach your husband at home, and thus he will very soon know everything required of him in his new office."

"That will do very well," said the count.

Now it would have been downright rudeness to have rejected such a generous offer. A greater reward and distinction they could not have desired. Nevertheless, they resolved to keep the matter secret and not even tell it to Dame Sarah, who would certainly have boasted of it all over the town. All they let her know was that the countess had permitted Milly to come to the castle daily to learn cookery from her cook and stitching from her housekeeper. Now we know that Milly could do all these things ever so long ago; but the astonishment of Dame Sarah was great indeed when her daughter-in-law, every time she returned from the castle, proceeded to manufacture some new cake or pastry, while she soon hemmed handkerchiefs so beautifully that it was a marvel how she did it.

It was also a great surprise for Dame Sarah when Valentine chose for her from among the imprisoned Turks a good-humored fellow who had been a butcher's apprentice in his native place. To him the shop could safely be intrusted, for a Turk, when properly treated, is an upright, diligent, and sober servant, and devoted to his master. Dame Sarah treated him like her own son, and would not allow him to be branded, as was usually done in those days.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

For Valentine had taken her at her word, and made it the goal of his ambition to obtain the post of castellan, so that his wife might enjoy the title of châtelaine. And wondrous indeed were his advances on the path of learning. Perhaps, too, Valentine might have proved an apter scholar in his younger days if grammar and syntax had only been recited to him by such sweet lips, and if the hic, hæc, hoc had been impressed upon him with sweet kisses instead of with ferula and signum. Perhaps, too, the stronger will that goes hand in hand with mental maturity helped him more quickly onward.

After some months he had got on so well that he could not only clearly expound the Latin and German letters which the count laid before him, but could even reply to them; nay, even in French he got so far that no one could have cheated him in a bargain conducted in that language.

So Milly was instructed by the countess, and Valentine was instructed by Milly, and all three took delight in the progress that was being made.

"What a pity it is," said the countess to her husband on one occasion, "that such a clever, highly endowed young woman, who has such a fine figure, such good features, and such a pleasant manner, should be disfigured by so many hideous freckles. If only we could remedy this evil! I have a wash, the famous Aqua Regina, which dates from the days of Elizabeth, the mother of our king, Louis the Great; my face is quite smooth and soft from using it—let us try it on her, perhaps it will do something to remove these hideous freckles."

Milly dared not assent at once, but said she must first ask her husband if he wished her face to be free from freckles, as it was with her freckled face that he had fallen in love originally. She must also communicate beforehand with her mother-in-law, as that lady might possibly regard her daughter-in-law's endeavor to beautify her face as a species of coquetry.

But both Valentine and his mother acquiesced in the experiment. They said that a medicament which the countess used herself could not possibly do Milly any harm.

The disfiguring freckles which had been produced by the juice of the euphorbia naturally vanished from Michal's face after she had washed herself twice or thrice with the Aqua Regina. In a few days she had quite a different appearance. She got a white and red complexion, and a skin as pure as dew. The countess was triumphant with joy that her wash should have produced such a marvelous effect, and Dame Sarah also was beside herself with astonishment when she saw her daughter-in-law growing daily in grace and beauty; but the happiest of all was Valentine, as he gradually won back his adored Michal, whom he regarded as the fairest, best, and wisest woman in the whole world.

The ladies of Kassa, however, were by no means disposed to regard this wondrous transformation with favorable eyes. At that time (now, of course, it is quite different) the complexions of the fair Kassa burgesses, owing to the bad spring water, the close air, the sour wine, but also and especially to the plague which broke out there on the average every seven years—the complexions of the fair Kassa burgesses, I say, were then of that peculiar yellowish tinge which in the faces of the Venetian ladies is called morbidezza, but which in Hungary usually went by the name of the Kassa color. Lest, however, we should be saddled with the charge of calumny, we hasten, in our justification, to cite the following words from one of the original sources of our present history: "The people, more particularly the women folk, are of a pale and yellow color, which in Hungary is called the Kassa color." (Vide Johan Christopher Wagner's "Town and History Mirror," 1687.)

That, however, was two hundred years ago. Nowadays, the complexion of the ladies of Kassa, like the complexions of their fair sisters elsewhere, consists of roses and lilies; and it is also no longer true what the same author says of the wine of Kassa, to wit, that it gives foreigners the gout.

Now when the women at morning service in church on Christmas Day perceived Milly sitting demurely in the countess's pew, they were scandalized beyond expression at her red and white cheeks, on which not the smallest freckle was to be seen.

They could not of course insult her to her face, because her distinguished patroness was present; but they put their heads together in the vestry, and quitted it with the steadfast determination to submit the case to the consideration of the dean.

Dame Fürmender took it upon herself to be the mouthpiece of the pious sisterhood. She informed the dean that a young woman had come to church that very morning with her cheeks painted white and red, which lewd and unchristian conduct had sorely troubled the whole of the pious congregation.

There was service again in the afternoon, when the very reverend gentleman was wont to catechize. For in those days it was the custom for young persons, both bachelors and spinsters, and especially young married people from foreign parts, to be called forth into the midst of the congregation and be catechized by the very reverend gentleman in front of the Lord's Table; so that it might be made manifest whether they were well grounded in the principles of the creed and the confession, and also that they might confess publicly, before the whole church, that they belonged to the true evangelical Christian faith; lest at the distribution of the Lord's Supper, on the following day, the bread and wine might be given to such as did not even know why the sacred elements were so given, or lest those should communicate who were morally unworthy so to do.

The first person whom the very reverend gentleman called up that afternoon was the young wife of Valentine Kalondai.

Milly rose from her place and stepped modestly but fearlessly forward. She felt quite secure, for she knew her whole catechism by heart. It came as easy to her as the Paternoster.

But great was her astonishment when the very reverend gentleman, instead of questioning her on the mystery of the Trinity or as to the necessity of communicating in both kinds, roughly addressed her as follows:

"Dost thou know, pious Christian lady! the commandment of God which forbids all the faithful daughters of his Church to make of the face which he of his grace has given to each one of them, another face after the manner of the heathen, by anointing it with all kinds of false and meretricious salves as the daughters of Midian were wont to do?"

Milly answered with a perfectly clear conscience:

"I know it."

"Then, if thou knowest it, wherefore doest thou the contrary?"

"My countenance is just as God has made it," replied Milly, with a tranquil heart.

"If what thou hast said be true, come wash thyself herein!"

The very reverend gentleman beckoned, and the sacristan placed on the marble font a large silver basin full of crystal clear water.

Milly most willingly washed her face in the basin, and after she had done so, the water was as pure as it had been before.

"And now wipe thy face with this!"

With that he handed the young woman a towel, with which she rubbed her face all over with all her might, yet not the smallest trace of anything red or white was to be seen upon the snowy napkin, while her face had only become rosier than ever from the scrubbing.

The dean was astonished.

"How comes it," cried he, "that thy face, which was once so full of freckles, is now without a single speck upon it?"

"Freckles always disappear in winter," answered Milly.

And that was no more than the truth. From many faces freckles disappear in winter, and it was just then the very depth of winter.

At this, the very reverend gentleman grew very wroth. He struck the table violently with his book, and stretching forth his hand, exclaimed:

"Then thou hast been foully calumniated by thine accuser, Dame Fürmender, the wife of Augustus Zwirina, who, by way of punishment for such a calumny, is excluded from to-morrow's communion."

Dame Fürmender, who was sitting in the corner of the front pew, where everyone could see it, got up, courtesied, and went straight out of the church.

But the dean kept Michal back in order to catechize her, and began to put various questions to her, which she answered so promptly and so correctly that he was perfectly delighted. He absolutely could not leave off catechizing her.

He went out of his way to find harder and ever harder questions, to every one of which the lady nevertheless found an appropriate answer, so that at last the audience began to whisper to each other that the maids of Bártfa must be as learned as chaplains. Finally the dean sent her back to her place with a warm eulogy and his benediction.

Thus the day on which Michal was to have been put to shame ended with her exaltation and the utter discomfiture of her calumniators. Dame Sarah was naturally triumphant, but she was not more delighted than the good Countess Hommonai, who justly imagined that Michal had her to thank for all her knowledge.

And the countess was quite right in thinking so, for though it is true that Milly had originally received her beauty and her wisdom from God, nevertheless, both her bodily and her spiritual excellences had been so completely killed and buried by the contrarieties of fate that their resurrection might well be regarded as the work of the countess.

CHAPTER XXIX.

"I need not look so far as that. I'll find you an antagonist much nearer home. If you want such a one, know that you have no greater enemy than young Ignatius Fürmender, or Zwirina. You have been insulted by his mother; the son must now pay for the mother's rudeness."

"You've hit it," cried Valentine, giving Simplex a mighty blow on the back from sheer friendship. "Not in vain do they call you knowing. He never once occurred to me. To think that I should be looking everywhere for a foe, when he is under my nose all the time. It is just like the man who went in search of the horse on which he was actually riding. Here! take my glove and this gulden, and notify to the sheriff that I challenge Ignatius Zwirina to break a lance with me."

Simplex accepted the commission, went straight to the sheriff, and informed him that Valentine Kalondai desired to challenge Ignatius Zwirina to fight him with lances, according to ancient law and custom. The sheriff made a note thereof, and took the deposited gulden, at the same time calling Simplex's attention to the fact that as the city found the lances, each of the combatants would have to pay a Hungarian gulden extra for every lance that broke in his hand. Thereupon he handed him a written permission, duly sealed with the seal of the city of Kassa, for Valentine Kalondai to challenge Ignatius Zwirina to fight him with lances, according to ancient law and custom, as prescribed by the statutes of the city of Kassa.

Thus provided with the official authorization, Simplex, accompanied by the town trumpeter, next proceeded to the house of the Zwirina family, and finding the door closed, bade the trumpeter blow a flourish three times, and then proclaimed the challenge before the crowd, which had in the meantime assembled in the streets:

"Ignatius Zwirina! With the permission and consent of the sheriff of Kassa, I hereby challenge you in the name of the good and valiant Valentine Kalondai, to break with him, according to ancient law and custom, one, two, or three lances, as the case may be. Take this glove, and on the first day of carnival appear on the ropewalk behind the townhall, duly armed and mounted, to answer the challenge in your own person, if you would be regarded as a stout-hearted fellow and not as an errand-boy of your lady-mother."

Then the trumpeter sounded three more flourishes, and Simplex nailed Valentine's glove to the Zwirinas' door.

There the glove remained till Twelfthnight. Nobody took it down. For according to the statute all such duels had to be fought out between Twelfthnight and Shrovetide, whereby all and sundry were given to understand that the town council regarded such combats as mere carnival frolics. This wise ordinance assumed that the hot-blooded youth of the parish had their fling during Shrovetide. If anyone felt as if he did not know what to do with himself, it was open to him to fight to his heart's content during the prescribed season and have done with it, for, Shrovetide over, it was strictly forbidden to break the peace, or in any way disturb or harass one's neighbors. It was also generally found that after all such combats the young fellows, even when they had belabored each other most soundly, became the best friends in the world, and it was considered the most shameful cowardice to bewail the bumps and bruises dealt out on such occasions, be they what they might.

It was also considered equally disgraceful when the person so challenged did not appear on the field of battle at the appointed day and hour. Now this was the case with Ignatius Zwirina, who had no very fervent desire to make the acquaintance of Valentine Kalondai's cudgel.

Epiphany arrived, and the whole youth of the parish, as well as the officials appointed to watch the proceedings and keep order, waited in vain from dawn till eve for the appearance of the challenged. The challenger rode idle and alone up and down the ropewalk.

When evening came, and it was no longer to be expected that the defaulter would either appear in person or send people to excuse his absence, Valentine was authorized to take his lance in his hand, having at the end of it a lantern made of a bladder with a lighted candle inside it, and a pair of ragged old drawers hanging over it, and then to ride through the town and proclaim at the corner of every street:

"Noble gentlemen, burgesses, and honest inhabitants of this town! which of you has seen, which of you knows that cowardly knave Ignatius Zwirina? Who can tell me into which hole he has crawled? Is he in the oven, under the bed, or beneath his mother's skirts? Whoever finds him, tell him not to be afraid but show himself, for I won't eat him. Here I have a pair of ragged hose. Let him come out and patch them for me, and I'll pay him for the job."

This was the formula of degradation which was the meed of those who failed to appear on such occasions.

Moreover, the whole youth of the town used to take up the heckling with such spirit that further existence in the town of Kassa became an absolute impossibility for the person so distinguished. Ignatius Zwirina, however, was already deputy syndic of his native place. He therefore could not afford to fly, and his good friends persuaded him so long that at last he resolved to answer Valentine's challenge, and break a pair of lances with him on the following day. Then, of course, the public mockery ceased.

On the following day a still greater crowd of spectators appeared on the ropewalk, fifty drabants had also been sent by the corporation to keep order, and Count Hommonai had come on horseback to see the fight.

At the appointed hour both horsemen appeared, accompanied by their friends. Valentine wore a breastplate, a helmet, and greaves, but Ignatius was clad in mail from top to toe, both in front and behind; he was plainly of opinion that the back is also vulnerable.

They took the places assigned to them on the opposite sides of the lists, and the umpire then produced two long wooden lances without iron points, and two stout oaken cudgels exactly alike. The challenged had the first choice of weapons, and what he left were handed to the challenger.

They rode bareback, guiding their horses by their knees, to which their reins were fastened, for in their right hands they held their lances and in their left their cudgels.

The moment the trumpet sounded, both horsemen couched their lances and rushed upon each other with a fearful crash.

Ignatius Zwirina was a big lout of a fellow. Placed on the scales he would certainly have weighed much more than Valentine. He aimed viciously at Valentine with his lance; but Valentine struck the shaft of it so sharply with his cudgel that it broke off in the middle, and at the same time with his own lance he struck his antagonist full in the breast, so that Ignatius flew backward into the air off his steed and fell flat on the ground.

Valentine immediately sprang from his horse and punched and pommeled the back and shoulders of the prostrate champion, as prescribed by the rules of the contest, till his cudgel broke; but all this belaboring did very little damage to the defeated combatant, for, besides the coat of mail he wore behind, his mother had well stuffed his clothes with horsehair. Yet, for all that, he did get one or two knocks which he did not forget in a hurry, and that was no more than his due, for he had often vexed Valentine with his evil tongue.

And there the matter would have ended had not old Fürmender thought fit to reopen it all again.

For when, after the contest was over, the defeated youth was carried home in a basket, according to ancient practice, the old man took it so to heart that he immediately buckled on his saber, took down the statutes, ran with them to the captain, and called his attention to the paragraph which strictly forbade persons serving in the army to challenge young civilians. He therefore demanded that Valentine should be punished for his challenge as being a gross breach of the law.

But the good captain diligently searched through his diary and showed the conscientious complainant that Valentine Kalondai on such and such a day, viz., on the Wednesday before the last Sunday in Advent of the past year, had been relieved of his military duties, and therefore no longer fell within the category incriminated by the statute. All that could be done therefore, suggested the captain, was for old Mr. Fürmender to well rub the blue and red bruises of his Nassy with butter, which he would find a sovereign specific.

And that not a shadow of a doubt as to Valentine's true position might remain, the count that very day publicly advertised Valentine Kalondai's appointment as castellan. Now, no doubt this post is essentially a civic office, but inasmuch as the castellan is practically the commandant's lieutenant, it had for a long time always been given to a soldier, especially since the days when one of the civic magistrates had been discovered in collusion with the castellan to betray the town into the enemy's hands. In memory of this event, the Hamor gate, through which the enemy had been admitted, was walled up in perpetuity.

Thus Kalondai's enemies were completely put to shame, and Dame Sarah experienced the joy of seeing her son's wife, the damsel from Bártfa, sitting in the first place of the front pew of the cathedral; which pew Dame Fürmender Zwirina had refused to occupy any longer, having given notice to the dean that she would henceforth take sittings in the suburb church instead.

CHAPTER XXX.

The land, just then, was in very difficult circumstances. A town like Kassa, shut in between three distinct masters and anxious to please all three, without giving such a preference to any one of them as might offend the other two, had a very hard time of it. By virtue of the pacification putting an end to the late religious wars, Kassa fell within the jurisdiction of George Rakoczy, Prince of Transylvania, whose Suzerain was the Turkish Sultan. But the pashas of Eger and Grosswardein often took it into their heads to make predatory raids on their own account as far as Kassa and Tokay, and then the good people of Kassa could not wait, as it is the fashion nowadays, till the English had held indignation meetings to protest against the Turkish atrocities; but they forthwith mounted their steeds, seized their weapons, and smote the troops of their own Prince's Suzerain; and this they often did, moreover, in concert with their adversaries the Hungarians of that portion of the kingdom of Hungary which belonged to the Kaiser. In those days, therefore, it required no small discrimination to judge accurately which of the many strangers passing to and fro were to be reckoned with as friends, and which as foes; which could be put off with promises, and which had really to be sent away with presents; which might merely be threatened with stripes, and which ought really to get them.

Now at this very time, there came from that part of the land which both Hungary and Transylvania claimed as their own, a person of great distinction, Belisarius Zurdoki by name. One of his ancestors had returned to Hungary from Wallachia with great treasures, and this his descendant had also the reputation of being a very rich man.

Zurdoki made a great display at Kassa. He said he had come to visit Count Hommonai, with whom he was distantly connected on his mother's side. He brought quite a court with him, equerries, pages, a secretary, a chaplain, a huntsman, a master of the hounds, a jester, gypsy musicians, a falconer, heydukes, couriers, domestics, lackeys, coachmen—in fact, there was no counting the multitude he brought in his train. He took up so much space in Count Hommonai's castle that there was no room left for its lawful owners.

And all the time he resided at Kassa, he did nothing but give splendid entertainments. There was absolutely no end to them.

Belisarius Zurdoki was already over sixty, but though his age was venerable, he had no very extraordinary reputation for morality. He had had so many wives, morganatic and otherwise, to say nothing of those from whom he had been separated, that he himself no longer recollected their proper sequence. He had little respect for the sex, and held that there was not a woman in the world who could not be bought with gifts, only some were more highly priced than others.

He himself, however, had not been in the way when beauty was being served out. He had a broad, satyr face, with a red nose sinking right down upon his mustache; his head, after the prevailing Turkish fashion, was clean shaved, with the exception of a single gray lock over his brows which bobbed up and down whenever he wagged his head. His mustache hung down limp on both sides in the Turkish style, and his stomach was not unlike a large beer barrel.

And yet he tried to make the world believe that he was such an amiable man that the woman was yet to be born who could resist him, be she never so young, beautiful, and accomplished.

That he was also smelling and purring around the Countess Isabella Hommonai was patent to everyone, but the count would not for the world have taken any notice of it. Yet he heartily laughed over it all in secret with the countess, who made sport of the old rake, and told her husband everything he said.

One day Zurdoki gave a great banquet at the castle, on which occasion he brought out all his silver plate to make a goodly show, and invited the whole of the civic notabilities. Pretty Michal was there too, the prettiest of the whole company, and as she was dressed very simply her beauty was, of course, all the more striking. She was even lovelier than the countess herself. Her natural refinement and smiling coyness could not be imitated by those who did not possess those graces. With proud humility, she wore over her wondrously beautiful tresses the matron's coif, which showed that all this loveliness already had a master.

How the old voluptuary feasted his eyes upon this beautiful apparition! He was all fire and flame instantly, like an old worm-eaten tree stump, which blazes up whenever the young herdsmen smoke the wasps out of its hollow trunk.

He had no longer a single look for the countess, but followed close upon the heels of the beautiful châtelaine, though Valentine occasionally, as if by accident, gave him a violent nudge in the ribs with his elbow, or trod sharply on his foot with his spurred boots.

At table, the enamored Zurdoki distinguished pretty Michal so very markedly that all the women present whispered spiteful things to each other about it. The countess was naturally an exception. She only laughed at the coxcombry of the old inamorato, and was quite persuaded beforehand that such a sage damsel as pretty Michal would be more than a match for him.

After dinner, the martial and amatory airs which had been played during the banquet were succeeded by dance music, and the guests flocked into the dancing-room.

The Hungarian dances of those days were very different from the dances we dance now. What are now called csardaszes and friszes were then only danced at rustic weddings. At polite entertainments, the dance consisted of slow and stately figures, accompanied by the clash of colliding spurs, of rhythmical involutions, and evolutions, with much extending of hands and kneeling on cushions, or, at most, of a defiant manly stamping with the feet and majestic movements of the body; not like our present system of dancing, when everyone seems bent on jostling his neighbor into a corner, and makes a whirligig of his partner. The earlier dances did very well for a time, whose motto was, Festina lente!

The ball began with the minuet-like dance known as the palotas. It was Zurdoki's duty as host to open the ball, and he lost no time in doing so. With grandiose aplomb, he sauntered up to the fairest of the fair, and held toward her a silken handkerchief as a sign that he had chosen her for his partner. This was, indeed, a notable distinction for Michal, especially as the countess was also present in the saloon.

But pretty Michel did not accept the extended handkerchief, the other corner of which she ought to have held so as to begin the palotas, but bowed modestly, and said so that everyone could hear it: "Your pardon, gracious sir! but I've only been a poor serving maid and have never learnt dancing!"

And this was no more than the simple truth, for she certainly had been a serving maid and never learnt dancing.

At this unexpected rebuff, Zurdoki became as red as a turkey cock, and in his fury sought out the most hideous woman in the room. This was old Dame Fürmender, and with her he opened the ball.

And during the whole of the dance he was cudgeling his brains as to the meaning of pretty Michal's words. "She had not learnt to dance because she was only a serving maid! Now serving maids can dance, and dance very well too! Yet surely she must have spoken the truth, for otherwise she would never have dared to publicly put to shame her host when he invited her to dance. Who are the women who really do not dance? Why, who but the daughters of Protestant pastors?"

Thus pretty Michal, when she said she could not dance, had already betrayed a part of her secret. When once an old bloodhound has got a scent, he will surely run down his prey!

As already mentioned, in consequence of an unfortunate episode in the history of the city of Kassa, when a sheriff had attempted to betray the city into the hands of the enemy, extra precautions had been taken to prevent similar conspiracies in the future. One of these precautions was that all letters brought by couriers from abroad, to whomsoever they might be directed, should be first opened by the magistrates, and only then handed over to their respective owners. And to take away all appearance of espionage from this precautionary measure, such letters were opened under the pretext of fumigating them to avoid the infection of the plague. And fumigated they certainly were, but the castellan used first to copy them and communicate their contents to the commandant, who could thus keep a watch upon the citizens, and prevent them from plotting behind his back.

Zurdoki, too, during his residence at Kassa, received a foreign letter which was delivered to him open and fumigated.

"You may try and spell out this letter as much as you like," laughed the great man. "I warrant you won't be able to make much of it!"

And, indeed, it was a very curious epistle. In the first place the letters were all so much mixed up together that you could see at a glance that it was cipher writing.

Valentine recollected that the learned Professor David Fröhlich possessed, among other sciences, the key of cipher writing. Perhaps he had communicated this also to his daughter.

So he showed the letter to Michal.

Michal had indeed been initiated into the mystery of such writings, and as at that time there were very few variations in cipher writing, a person who held the key of one of them might very easily decipher all the others; and in fact, Valentine succeeded, with the aid of the key supplied to him by Michal, in deciphering the whole letter.

But now a second difficulty arose. This letter was written in a language which he had never seen before. It was like German, and yet it was not German. He had again to apply to Michal, and asked her if she understood this strange tongue.

"Yes! it is Swedish."

"What! you know Swedish too?"

"My father taught it me. He corresponded a good deal with the king of Sweden, who supported our schools."

"Then translate me this letter."

Michal did as she was told, and Valentine then hastened with the solved enigma to the commandant, Count Hommonai.

The letter contained very remarkable things. Count Hommonai had no sooner taken note of its contents than he sent for Zurdoki.

"Sir!" he at once began, without so much as asking Zurdoki to take a seat, "you are here with no good intention."

"How?" replied Zurdoki, attempting to give a jocose turn to the matter. "Do you mean that I am perhaps a little too attentive to some of your pretty little ladies here?"

"It is not a question of women, now, cousin! I allude to your correspondence with the Swedish Minister."

"Well! let us hear what you make of it."

"I can tell you if you choose to listen. Your master is George Rakoczy, prince of Transylvania."

"He is your master, also," retorted Zurdoki.

"Yes, to-day, perhaps, but he may not be so to-morrow. George Rakoczy, not content with the good fortune of being lord of Transylvania and of fifteen adjacent Hungarian counties, strives after higher fame. Although on his accession he swore to the Estates never to commence a war without their consent, he has nevertheless interfered in the present dispute between Sweden and Poland, first offering to assist Poland against Sweden in consideration of receiving the thirteen towns of Zips; and now, when the Swedes have entangled him in their net, he turns round and negotiates with them through you, demanding no less a reward for his services than the whole kingdom of Poland; and in order to gain the consent of the German Emperor thereto, he now offers him the five Hungarian counties on the other side of the Theiss."

"I deny the truth of that," blustered Zurdoki. "All that is mere sophistical gabble."

"Here you have the contents of the letter which the Swedish Minister writes to you. Read it!" said Hommonai, handing him the copied letter.

Zurdoki was dumfounded.

"Whence did you get this? Who is there in Kassa that can read cipher? Who understands Swedish here, I should like to know?"

"Why, my castellan, of course."

"What! that butcher boy! that expelled student?"

But for all that he could no longer deny the contents of the letter.

And now Count Hommonai spoke very sharply to Mr. Zurdoki. He told him it would be a piece of folly on the part of the Prince of Transylvania to attack Poland with the Cossacks, on whose friendship no one could depend, whereas the Poles had always been good neighbors. Transylvania and Hungary had quite enough to do at home. They should sweep the dust off their own thresholds, and not meddle with the affairs of other lands. We should only be too glad to be able to defend ourselves against the foes we actually have, and not try and saddle ourselves with fresh ones. Besides, an enterprise so foolishly begun could not possibly have any good issue. The German Emperor would not approve of it because the Pole was his ally. The Sultan, too, would refuse his consent, and the end of it would be that George Rakoczy would lose the five counties without receiving anything in return. Nay, he might at last even lose his Transylvanian throne also.

Like every ill-bred fellow when he is driven into a corner, Zurdoki now took refuge in low abuse. He insisted that he was right. He raised his voice. He asked how they dared to break open his private letters, and what business the Commandant of Kassa had to criticise the plans of the Prince of Transylvania. Let the commandant look to his patrolling and leave politics to his superiors.

"And I mean to show you," retorted Hommonai, "that the city of Kassa also has to do with politics. If George Rakoczy thinks fit to exchange Hungarian counties for a kingdom, the city of Kassa will also think fit to shut its gates against all suspected persons who cannot give a good account of themselves. As for you, sir, you are my kinsman, and I have hitherto willingly seen you in my house. But I now beg to inform you that your carriage is waiting, and nothing prevents you from taking your departure immediately."

That was indeed a snub! What! to refuse hospitality to a guest! Zurdoki could not swallow that calmly. He stuck out his chest and said haughtily to Hommonai:

"Look ye, my lord Count! You know as well as I do the real reason why you drive me out of your house. It is because you fear I might be dangerous to your dear wife!"

Hommonai was a finished gentleman. Even in his insults he was exquisite.

"I have a book which I will send you at once," said he to Zurdoki; "if you look into it attentively, you will find that it is really quite impossible for me to be jealous of you."

Zurdoki was very curious to see this odd book. He could scarcely wait patiently for the heyduke to bring it to him. It was bound in heavy morocco covers, and when Zurdoki opened them he found nothing inside but a mirror. In that he read that Hommonai could not be jealous of so ugly a face as his.

He dashed the mirror to the ground and rode away from Kassa that very day. The goal of his journey was his castle at Saros.