Man cannot fathom the wiles which witches imagine
when they unite in wedlock lovers whom they have
clandestinely brought together.
The kopanitschar's wife now brought in the supper, and all five of
them straightway sat down and made merry in honor of the festive
occasion. This done, the witches began to feel frisky, and called to
Simplex to bring out his trumpet into the courtyard and play them a
jig. He very complaisantly complied with this request, sat him down
on the edge of the well and made music for the ladies, while they,
taking each other by the hand, danced a dance which looked for all
the world as if they were possessed. Their wooden shoes rattled and
clattered, their disheveled tresses floated in the wind, and the
terrified bats flitted over their heads. The flames of the
headsman's house lit up this dance of witches, and the wild figures,
leaping in the blood-red glare, cast long, spasmodic shadows on the
whitewashed walls of the inn, just as if Beelzebub himself were
leading the frolic.
"Blow, blow, trumpeter!" they cried, and Simplex blew and blew till
his breast was nigh to bursting, and yet he was so bewitched that he
could not take the trumpet from his mouth, nay! he even felt
constrained to drum all the time with both his heels on the sides of
the well. If a good, honest Christian had come upon this spectacle
unawares, he would have been rooted to the ground with terror.
Meanwhile the lovers were left to themselves. They had quite enough
to tell each other. First, Valentine made Michal tell him of all the
horrors she had gone through, and what desperate suffering she had
endured, and then he related to her the many contrarieties which had
befallen himself. Of course, too, they did not forget to richly
indemnify each other for their past woes by a liberal exchange of
caresses. In particular, when Valentine recounted the history of
Jigerdilla, Michal did not grudge him an ample compensation for the
kisses which, for her sake, he had refused the Turkish lady. At the
same time Valentine treated his beloved as his bride indeed, but not
as his affianced wife.
At the first cockcrow the witches ceased to dance. Simplex they sent
into the loft to sleep of his fatigue. The kopanitschar's wife set
about preparing breakfast; but Pirka went into the room of the
lovers to ask them what they had been dreaming about. Then she sent
Valentine out, but whispered in his ear as she passed, that he might
peep through the window if he liked, and then she helped Michal on
with the cornflower-blue dress. After that she called the young man
in again.
Valentine was enchanted at the sight of the beautiful lady, and
protested that if she had looked in the first dress like a bride,
she looked in the second one like a saint on an altar screen. Pirka
thereupon pulled a very wry face, for she did not like to hear tell
of saints and altars. So she drove Valentine out again, and bade him
go wake his friend who had been dozing all night, and yet was as
heavy as ever. While Valentine was wrangling in the loft with
Simplex, who swore by hook and by crook that he had been trumpeting
all night long for the benefit of the witches, and had scarcely had
more than forty winks, Pirka took off Michal's blue dress which made
her look like a saint, and arrayed her in the purple one. When
Valentine saw her in this he declared that she now looked just like
a queen.
But the witches tried to persuade Simplex that he had only dreamt
that he had been playing all night, and that it was not from
overmuch blowing of trumpets but from excessive mastication at
supper the night before, that his jaws were so sore.
The lovers, too, protested that they had heard nothing of the whole
entertainment. They had been so much occupied with each other that
they had been unconscious of all else. They had not only not heard
the trumpet of Simplex, they had not even heard the clarion of the
Archangel Uriel who (according to the ancient formula: "Michal on my
right, Gabriel on my left, Raphael behind me, Israel before me,
Uriel above my head") flies above the head of each one of us, and
blows his clarion whenever we are about to plunge into some dreadful
danger. Well for us if we heed the warning!
But the lovers had heard nothing.
When Annie served the breakfast (goat's milk, cheese, and brandy
mixed with honey and sugar), Valentine's spirits rose so high that
he vowed over again what he had already vowed the night before,
viz.: that if anyone tore away his Michal from him, he would turn
highwayman and gather a robber band around him.
But women have, generally speaking, more common sense in the broad
light of day than they have at dead of night; so Michal now said
that it need not come to that. Valentine must take her back to her
father's house. There she would bring a divorce suit against her
husband on the plea that he had married her in a wrong name and
under false pretenses, and that his marriage with her was
consequently invalid. As soon then as the marriage was dissolved,
Valentine must come forward and woo her, when she certainly would
not send him away with a flea in his ear.
At this Barbara Pirka burst into a peal of laughter.
"Trust to parsons, and you'll soon see what a pretty dance they'll
lead you! The parsons have many creases in their surplices, and they
shake a fresh ordinance out of every crease. Do what you say, by all
means! Bring your action against Henry Vihodar, formerly clerk in
holy orders, and now headsman, and you'll find that justice is on
the side of the longest purse. It is true that the vihodar's house
is merrily burning, but his treasures in the basement of the tower
cannot be burnt, and he will be a very rich man. He'll confront you
with a dozen witnesses who will testify that the Keszmár professor
knew very well what his son-in-law's trade was. He will manufacture
forged letters with false seals, and what will be the end of it all?
Why, Squire Valentine will be found guilty of abduction and put out
of the way. No, no! don't go to law. You'll get no good by it.
Besides, I've a much better plan."
"Let's hear it then. But mind! I mean to be my Valentine's wife, not
his mistress," said Michal.
"Yes, the pretty lady shall become her Valentine's wife, but she
must listen to me. She knows now that my cards always speak the
truth. So hearken to me, my children! You go out, Annie! We don't
want you prying here. You, Simplex, can stay where you are, for you
know how to hold your tongue."
So Annie went away, and as soon as she was out of hearing, Pirka, in
a low whisper, began to expound her crafty scheme.
"Listen now! Not far from here is a town called Bártfa. Every town,
as you know, has its peculiar laws and customs. At Kassa, for
instance, clandestine lovers caught together are beheaded. At
Bártfa they are much more cruel. There, if a lass accosts a lad in
the streets after vespers, or if a lad is caught talking with a
lassie in a gateway, the watchman lays hands on the pair and claps
them into jail. Next morning, without any of the usual preliminary
fiddle-faddle, without even asking for their baptismal certificate
or requiring the consent of their parents, or obtaining a special
license or dispensation, the magistrates send for a parson and
splice them straight off. Only as man and wife are they permitted to
pass through the city gates. Hence the proverb:
If thou comest from Bártfa without a wife,
Good luck will befriend thee the rest of thy life.
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.