Читать книгу Pretty Michal - Mór Jókai - Страница 10

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Wherein are described the house and the mistress of the house.

It was a house unlike all other houses. Banished beyond the walls of the city, it had to defend itself as best it could. A deep moat filled with stagnant water and covered with green slime completely surrounded it, and the drawbridge which crossed the moat led up to a fortified palisade which formed a second line of circumvallation. But the drawbridge was now drawn up and the portcullis let down. On the tops of the palings the hides of various kinds of animals were hanging out to dry.

The walls of the house were made of a rude sort of rubble, odd bricks without a trace of mortar. The lower windows were mere loopholes; the upper windows were of every conceivable shape and size, but all, without exception, were guarded by a double iron trellis-work. Right opposite the drawbridge stood the door, made of heavy oaken beams, traversed in all directions by strong iron bands, and embossed with large iron-headed nails.

Inside the house a pretty hubbub was going on. Even a long way off the howling of dogs could be heard; but close at hand it sounded like a perfect pandemonium; there must have been twenty dogs there at the very least.

For the house had already been barred and bolted, and the travelers beyond the moat might have cried and shouted all night without anyone hearing them had not the trumpeter made one of the party, and he now blew with all his might the reveil, wherewith the Imperial heralds were wont to demand admission at the gates of a castle.

At this trumpet-blast the drawbridge was slowly lowered amidst a great rattling and clatter of bolts and chains, but as the door still remained closed, Simplex went boldly up to it, and knocked loudly with his fists.

Through the barking of dogs, which now broke forth again with redoubled vigor, a hoarse female voice shrieked:

"Who is at the gate there?"

"The pastor of Great Leta and his wife," Simplex roared back.

Whereupon a furious yelling and a cracking of whips was heard, as if someone inside was dispersing a pack of dogs, and as they scampered howling back, the creaking door slowly turned upon its rusty hinges, allowing a glimpse into the vaulted hall which was lit by a swinging lamp.

In the doorway appeared a woman with a large bunch of keys in her hand.

It was a tall bony shape in a yellow frock, with its head wrapped in a red cloth, from beneath which coal-black, stubbly bristles peeped forth.

There had been a time when this woman was beautiful. She had oval features, a dimpled chin, red cheeks, black eyebrows, sparkling eyes, and a lofty forehead, but her whole face was now full of wrinkles, and the furrows on her forehead looked like the stave lines in a music-book.

"Jesus, Mary, and St. Anna protect me!" cried the wagoner, with chattering teeth. "If it is not Barbara Pirka in the flesh!"

The woman laughed aloud when she perceived the sledge.

"What! do even the clergy ride on besoms nowadays?" she cried, with rough pleasantry, while a couple of serving-men, whose shirt-sleeves were tucked up to their elbows, drew the bridge up again behind the in-gliding sledge and then shut the groaning door.

"A pleasant evening, Mother Pirka," said Simplex, chucking the woman under the chin; "'tis a long time since we two met together. Do you recognize me, eh?"

"Hah!" stammered the wagoner, "you'll pay for chucking her chin like that. The old hag will twist your neck for you this very night. Mark my words!"

"Be off, you devil's student!" cried the woman; "why can't you get out of my way? Where, pray, is the pastor of Great Leta?"

"He is lifting his wife out of the sledge yonder. Is the master at home?" The hangman was usually styled the master.

"Where should he be? He's in his workshop of course. But your beard has grown since last I saw you."

"Since Mother Pirka regaled me with cheese soup, eh? Don't you recollect? I then promised to marry you as soon as I had grown up. Come now, shall we have a marriage feast?"

"If you give her too much of your jaw she'll ride you, the hag," said the wagoner, tugging one of his horses by the mane; "she'll put a bridle in your mouth at night, and ride you to the very top of the Krivan!"[2]