Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
'NEATH THE HOOF OF THE TARTAR
[Illustration: Portrait of Jósika]
'Neath the Hoof of the Tartar
OR
_THE SCOURGE OF GOD_
BY BARON NICOLAS JÓSIKA
ABRIDGED FROM THE HUNGARIAN BY SELINA GAYE
_WITH PREFACE BY R. NISBET BAIN_
SANS PEUR ET SANS REPROCHE
[Illustration]
SECOND EDITION
_And Photogravure Portrait of the Author_
LONDON
JARROLD & SONS, 10 & 11, WARWICK LANE, E.C.
[_All Rights Reserved_]
1904
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTION 7
I. RUMOURS 15
II. GOOD NEWS OR BAD? 35
III. MASTER STEPHEN'S PAGE 50
IV. MISTAKE THE FIRST 69
V. AS THE KING WILLS 89
VI. MISTAKE THE SECOND 104
VII. AT THE VERY DOORS 120
VIII. THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR 133
IX. "I WASH MY HANDS" 146
X. LIBOR CLIMBS THE CUCUMBER-TREE 167
XI. "NEXT TIME WE MEET" 181
XII. DEFENDING THE CASTLE 199
XIII. CAMP FIRES 216
XIV. A FATAL DAY 228
XV. DORA'S RESOLVE 240
XVI. THROUGH THE SNOW 253
XVII. A STAMPEDE 274
XVIII. AUNT ORSOLYA'S CAVERN 288
XIX. FATHER ROGER'S STORY 297
XX. LIKE THE PHOENIX 312
INTRODUCTION.
Baron Miklós Jósika, the Walter Scott of Hungary, was born at Torda, in
Transylvania, on April 28th, 1796. While quite a child, he lost both his
parents, and was brought up at the house and under the care of his
grandmother, Anna Bornemissza, a descendant of Jókai's heroine of the
same name in "'Midst the Wild Carpathians." Of the young nobleman's many
instructors, the most remarkable seems to have been an _emigré_ French
Colonel, who gave him a liking for the literature of France, which was
not without influence on his future development. After studying law for
a time at Klausenberg to please his friends, he became a soldier to
please himself, and in his seventeenth year accompanied the Savoy
dragoon regiment to Italy. During the campaign of the Mincio in 1814, he
so distinguished himself by his valour that he was created a first
lieutenant on the field of battle, and was already a captain when he
entered Paris with the allies in the following year. In 1818, at the
very beginning of his career, he ruined his happiness by his
unfortunate marriage with Elizabeth Kalláy. According to Jósika's
biographer, Luiza Szaák,[1] young Jósika was inveigled into this union
by a designing mother-in-law, and any chance of happiness the young
couple might have had, if left to themselves, was speedily dashed by the
interference of the father of the bride, who defended all his daughter's
caprices against the much-suffering husband. Even the coming of children
could not cement this woeful wedding, which terminated in the practical
separation of spouses who were never meant to be consorts.
[Footnote 1: Baró Jósika Miklós élete és munkai.]
Jósika further offended his noble kinsmen by devoting himself to
literature. It may seem a paradox to say so, yet it is perfectly true,
that in the early part of the present century, with some very few
honourable exceptions, the upper classes in Hungary addressed only their
_servants_ in Hungarian. Latin was the official language of the Diet,
while polite circles conversed in barbarous French. These were the days
when, as Jókai has reminded us, the greatest insult you could offer to
an Hungarian lady was to address her in her native tongue. It required
some courage, therefore, in the young Baron to break away from the
feudal traditions of his privileged caste and use the plebeian Magyar
dialect as a literary vehicle. His first published book, "Abafi"
(1836), an historical romance written under the direct influence of Sir
Walter Scott, whom Jósika notoriously took for his model, made a great
stir in the literary world of Hungary. "Hats off, gentlemen," was how
Szontagh, the editor of the _Figyelmezö_, the leading Hungarian
newspaper of the day, began his review of this noble romance. Jósika was
over forty when he first seriously began to write, but the grace and
elegance of his style, the maturity of his judgment, the skilfulness of
his characterization--all pointed to a long apprenticeship in letters.
Absolute originality cannot indeed be claimed for him. Unlike Jókai, he
owed very much to his contemporaries. He began as an imitator of Scott,
as we have seen, and he was to end as an imitator of Dickens, as we
shall see presently. But he was no slavish copyist. He gave nearly as
much as he took. Moreover, he was the first to naturalize the historical
romance in Hungary, and if, as a novelist, he is inferior to Walter
Scott, he is inferior to him alone.
In Hungary, at any rate, his rare merits were instantly recognised and
rewarded.
Two years after the publication of "Abafi," he was elected a member of
the Hungarian Academy, four years later he became the President of the
Kisfaludy Társaság, the leading Magyar literary society. All classes,
without exception, were attracted and delighted by the books of this
new novelist, which followed one another with bewildering rapidity.
"Zolyomi," written two years before "Abafi," was published a few months
later, together with "Könnyelmüek." Shortly afterwards came the two
great books which are generally regarded as his masterpieces, "Az utolsó
Bátory" and "Csehek Magyarországon," and a delightful volume of fairy
tales, "Élet és tündérhón," in three volumes. In 1843 was published
"Zrinyi a Költö," in which some critics saw a declension, but which
Jókai regards as by far the greatest of Jósika's historical romances.
Finally may be mentioned as also belonging to the pre-revolutionary
period, "Jósika István," an historical romance in five volumes, largely
based upon the family archives; "Egy kétemeletes ház," a social romance
in six volumes; and "Ifju Békesi Ferencz kalandjai," a very close and
most clever imitation of the "Pickwick Papers," both in style and
matter, written under the pseudonym of Moric Alt. It is a clever skit of
the peccadilloes and absurdities of the good folks of Budapest of all
classes, full of genuine humour, and was welcomed with enthusiasm.
On the outbreak of the War of Independence in 1848, Baron Jósika
magnanimously took the popular side, though he was now an elderly man,
and had much to lose and little to gain from the Revolution. He was
elected a member of the Honvéd Government; countenanced all its acts;
followed it from place to place till the final collapse, and then fled
to Poland. Ultimately he settled at Brussels, where for the next twelve
years he lived entirely by his pen, for his estates were confiscated,
and he himself was condemned to death by the triumphant and vindictive
Austrian Government, which had to be satisfied, however, with burning
him in effigy.
Jósika was to die an exile from his beloved country, but the bitterness
of banishment was somewhat tempered by the touching devotion of his
second wife, the Baroness Julia Podmaniczky, who also became his
amanuensis and translator. The first novel of the exilic period was
"Eszter," written anonymously for fear his works might be prohibited in
Hungary, in which case the unhappy author would have run the risk of
actual want. For the same reason all the novels written between 1850 and
1860 (when he resumed his own name on his title-pages) are "by the
author of 'Eszter.'" In 1864, by the doctor's advice, Jósika moved to
Dresden, and there, on February 27th, 1865, he died, worn out by labour
and sorrow. He seems, at times, to have had a hard struggle for an
honourable subsistence, and critics, latterly, seem to have been
neglectful or unkind. Ultimately his ashes were brought home to his
native land and deposited reverently in the family vault at Klausenberg;
statues were raised in his honour at the Hungarian capital, and the
greatest of Hungarian novelists, Maurus Jókai, delivered an impassioned
funeral oration over the remains of the man who did yeoman's service for
the Magyar literature, and created and popularized the historical novel
in Hungary.
For it is as the Hungarian historical romancer _par excellence_ that
Jósika will always be remembered, and inasmuch as the history of no
other European country is so stirring and so dramatic as that of
Hungary, and Jósika was always at infinite pains to go direct to
original documents for his facts and local colouring, he will always be
sure of an audience in an age, like our own, when the historical novel
generally (witness the immense success of Sienkiewicz) is once more the
favourite form of fiction. Among the numerous romances "by the author of
'Eszter,'" the work, entitled "Jö a Tatár" ("The Tartar is coming"), now
presented to the English public under the title of "'Neath the Hoof of
the Tartar," has long been recognised by Hungarian critics as "the most
pathetic" of Jósika's historical romances. The groundwork of the tale is
the terrible Tartar invasion of Hungary during the reign of Béla IV.
(1235-1270), when the Mongol hordes devastated Magyarland from end to
end. Two love episodes, however, relieve the gloom of this terrific
picture, "and the historical imagination" of the great Hungarian
romancer has painted the heroism and the horrors of those far distant
times every whit as vividly as Sienkiewicz has painted the secular
struggle between the Red Cross Knights and the semi-barbarous heroes of
old Lithuania.
R. NISBET BAIN.
'Neath the Hoof of the Tartar.
CHAPTER I.
RUMOURS.
"Well, Talabor, my boy, what is it? Anything amiss?" asked Master Peter,
as the page entered the hall, where he and his daughter were at
breakfast.
It was a bare, barn-like apartment, but the plates and dishes were of
silver.
"Nothing amiss, sir," was the answer, "only a guest has just arrived,
who would like to pay his respects, but--he is on foot!"
It was this last circumstance, evidently, which was perplexing Talabor.
"A guest?--on foot?" repeated Master Peter, as if he too were puzzled.
"Yes, sir; Abbot Roger, he calls himself, and says you know him!"
"What! good Father Roger! Know him? Of course I do!" cried Peter,
springing from his chair. "Where is he? Why didn't you bring him in at
once? I am not his Grace of Esztergom to keep a good man like him
waiting in the entry!"
"The servants are just brushing the dust off him, sir," replied the
page, "and he wants to wash his feet, but he will be ready to wait upon
you directly, sir, if you please!"
"By all means! but he is no 'Abbot,' Talabor; he is private chaplain to
Master Stephen, my brother!"
Talabor had not long been in Master Peter's service, and knew no more of
Master Stephen than he did of Father Roger, so he said nothing and left
the room with a bow.
"Blessed be the name of the Lord Jesus, Father Roger!" cried Master
Peter, hurrying forward to meet his guest, as he entered the
dining-hall.
"For ever and ever!" responded the Father, while Dora raised his hand to
her lips, delighted to see her old friend again.
"But how is this, Father Roger?" Peter asked in high good humour, after
some inquiry as to his brother's welfare; "how is this? Talabor, _deák_
announced you as 'Abbot.' What is the meaning of it?"
"Quite true, sir! Thanks to his Holiness and the King, I have been
'Abbot' the last month or two; but just now I am on my way to Pest by
command of his Majesty."
"What! an abbot travel in this fashion, on foot! Why, our abbots make
as much show as the magnates, some of them. Too modest, too modest,
Father! Besides, you'll never get there! Is the King's business urgent?"
"Hardly that, I think; though--but, after all, why prophesy evil before
one must!"
"Prophesy evil?" repeated Dora.
"Prophecies are in the hands of the Lord!" interposed her father
quickly. "Good or bad, it rests with Him whether they shall be
fulfilled. So, Father Roger, let us have it, whatever it is."
"The King's commands were that I should be at Pest by the end of the
month," answered Roger, "so I shall be in time, even if I do travel
somewhat slowly. As for the prophesying--without any gift of prophecy I
can tell you so much as this, that _something_ is coming! True, it is
far off as yet, but to be forewarned is to be forearmed, and I fancy the
King is one who likes to look well ahead."
"But what is it, Father Roger? do tell us!" cried Dora anxiously.
"Nothing but rumours so far, dear child, but they are serious, and it
behoves us to be on our guard."
"Oktai and his brethren, eh?" said Master Peter, with some scorn. "Oh,
those Tartars! The Tartars are coming! the Tartars are coming! Why, they
have been coming for years! When did we first hear that cry? I declare I
can't remember," and he laughed.
"I am afraid it is no laughing matter, though," said Father Roger. "I
daresay you have not forgotten Brother Julian, who returned home only
two or three years ago."
But here Dora interposed. She remembered Father Roger telling her a
story of the Dominican brothers, who had gone to try and find the "old
home" of the Magyars and convert to Christianity those who had stayed
behind, and she wanted to hear it again, if her father did not mind.
Father Roger accordingly told how, of the first four brothers, only one
had returned home, and he had died soon after, but not before he had
described how, while travelling as a merchant, he had fallen in with men
who spoke Hungarian and told him where their home, "Ugria," was to be
found.[2] Four more brothers had been despatched on the same quest by
King Béla, who was desirous of increasing the population of his country,
and particularly wished to secure "kinsmen" if he could. Two only of the
brothers persevered through the many perils and privations which beset
their way. One of these died, and Julian, the survivor, entering the
service of a wealthy Mohammedan, travelled with him to a land of many
rich towns, densely populated.[3] Here he met a woman who had actually
come from the "old home," and still farther north he had found the
"brothers of the Magyars," who could understand him and whom he could
understand.
[Footnote 2: Ugria extended from the North Sea to the
rivers Kama, Irtisch, and Tobol, west and east of the
Ural Mountains. The Ugrians had come in more ancient
times from the high lands of the Altai Mountains.
Hungarian was still spoken in Ugria, then called
Juharia, as late as the beginning of the sixteenth
century.]
[Footnote 3: Great Bulgaria, lying on both sides of the
Volga, at its junction with the Kama.]
They were, of course, heathen, but not idolaters; they were nomads,
wandering from place to place, living on flesh and mare's milk, and
knowing nothing of agriculture. They were greatly interested in all that
Julian told them, for they knew from old traditions that some of their
race had migrated westwards.
But at the time of his visit they were much perturbed by news brought to
them by their neighbours on the east. These were Tartar, or Turkish,
tribes, who, having several times attacked them and been repulsed, had
finally entered into an alliance with them. A messenger from the Tartar
Khan had just arrived to announce, not only that the Tartar tribes were
themselves on the move and but five days' journey away, but that they
were moving to escape from a "thick-headed" race, numerous as the sands
of the sea which was behind them, on their very heels, and threatening
to overwhelm all the kingdoms of the world, as it had already
overwhelmed great part of Asia.
Brother Julian hastened home to report his discoveries and warn his
country, which he had reached between two and three years before our
story begins; but nothing more had come of his pilgrimage, no more had
been heard of the "Magyar[4] brothers."
[Footnote 4: Europeans called them Ugrians-Hungarians,
but they called themselves "Magyars"--"children of the
land," as some think to be the meaning of the word.]
"But why, Father Roger?" asked Dora, with wide eyes.
"Because the 'thick-headed people' have not only overrun nearly the
whole of Central Asia as far as Pekin, covering it with ruins and
reducing it to a desert, but have streamed westward like a flood, a
torrent, and have submerged nearly the whole of Eastern Europe."
"Then they are not Tartars?"
"No, Mongolians[5]; but they have swallowed up many Tartar tribes and
have forced them to join their host. Tartars we have known before, but
Mongols are new to us, so most people keep to the name familiar to them,
which seems appropriate too--Tátars, Tartari, you know, denizens of
Tartarus, the Inferno, as we Italians call it; and their deeds are
'infernal' enough, Heaven knows!"
[Footnote 5: Temudschin was but thirteen when he became
chief (in A. D. 1175) of one horde, consisting of
thirty to forty thousand families. After some
vicissitudes, he entered upon a career of conquest,
and, between 1204 and 1206, he summoned the chiefs of
all the hordes and tribes who owned his sway to an
assembly, at which he caused it to be proclaimed that
"Heaven had decreed to him the title of 'Dschingiz'
(Highest), for he was to be ruler of the whole world."
From this time he was known as Dschingiz, or Zenghiz
Khan.]
"And are they coming, really?"
"As to whether they will come here, God alone knows; but Oktai, son of
Dschingiz, who is now chief Khan, has sent a vast host westward, and, as
I said, they have overrun great part of Russia; it is reported that they
have burnt Moscow."
"Come, come, Father," interrupted Peter, who had been growing more and
more restless, "you are not going to compare us Magyars with the
Russians, I hope, or with the Chinese and Indians either. If they show
their ugly dog's-heads here, they will find us more than a match for
such a rabble."
"I hope so!" said Father Roger. But he spoke gravely, and added, "You
have heard, of course, of the Cumani, Kunok, you call them, I think."
"To be sure! Peaceable enough when they are let alone, but brave,
splendid fellows when they are attacked, as Oktai has found, for I know
they have twice defeated him," said Master Peter triumphantly.
"Yes, there was no want of valour on their part; but you know the
proverb: 'Geese may be the death of swine, if only there be enough of
them!' And so, according to the last accounts, the brave King has been
entirely overwhelmed by Oktai's myriads, and he, with 40,000 families of
Kunok, are now in the Moldavian mountains on the very borders of Erdély"
(Transylvania).
"Ah, indeed," said Master Peter, a little more gravely, "that I had not
heard! but if it is true, I must tell you that my chief object would be
to prevent the report from spreading and being exaggerated. If it does,
the whole country will be in a state of commotion, and all for nothing!
There is hardly any nation which needs peace more than ours does, and we
have quite enough to do with sweeping before our own door, without going
and mixing ourselves up in other people's quarrels."
But Father Roger went on to say that the rumour had spread already, and
that was why the King was wishing to call his nobles, and, in fact, the
whole nation, together to take measures of defence in good time.
"Defence!" cried Peter; "defence against whom? Why, we have no enemies
on any of our borders, unless you mean the Kunok, and they are far
enough off at present; besides, we don't look on them as foes. It is
always the way, Father Roger! always the way! We go conjuring up
spectres! and though I am his Majesty's loyal and devoted subject, I may
say here, just between ourselves, that I do think him too quick to take
alarm."
"You think so, sir?" returned the Abbot; "well, of course, it is a mere
opinion, but to my mind the King is not far wrong."
And then the good Father reminded his host that Oktai had already
overthrown the Russians, great numbers of whom had been forced to join
his army; and now that he had driven out the Kunok was it to be
supposed that he would stop short? Dschingiz Khan, his father, had been
a conqueror; conquest was his sole object in life, and he would have
conquered the whole world if he had lived. His sons, especially Oktai,
took after him; they, too, considered themselves destined to conquer the
world, and now that Kuthen had shown him the way into Transylvania he
would be forcing a passage across the frontier before they knew where
they were. His rapidity was something marvellous, unheard of!
Again Master Peter only laughed. Where was the use of alarming the
country? and would not a call to arms look as if they were afraid, and
actually tempt the Mongols to come and attack them?
Father Roger shook his head, as he replied in Latin:
"If you wish for peace, prepare for war, as the old Romans used to say,
and it is wise not to despise your foe."
The two went on arguing. Master Peter, like many another noble in those
days, would not see danger. Though valiant enough, he was always an
easy-going man, and, again like many another, he was quite confident
that Hungary would be able to beat any enemy who might come against her,
without worrying herself beforehand. Father Roger did not know the
Hungarians, though he had lived so long among them!
"Well, well," he concluded, "you go to Pest, Mr. Abbot; but think it
well over by the way, and when you see the King, you tell him plainly
that Peter Szirmay advises his Majesty not to give the alarm before it
is necessary."
Roger shook his head but said nothing. Italian though he was, he
understood the Hungarian nobility very well. He knew how they disliked
being turned out of their ordinary course; but he knew too that once
roused, they would not hesitate to confront any enemy who threatened
them, and that though they might be hot-headed, foolhardy,
over-confident, they were certainly not cowards!
"Well," thought the Abbot, "you are no wiser, I am afraid, than others;
but when the King does succeed in routing you out of your old fastness
and getting you down into the plain, you will give as good an account of
yourself as the rest!"
Master Peter was glad to drop the subject, and to feel that there was at
all events no immediate prospect of his being disturbed; yet he was so
far an exception to the majority of his fellow-nobles that he determined
to ascertain the truth about these rumours, and, if necessary, not to
delay placing himself and his daughter beyond the reach of danger.
Father Roger's gravity had impressed Dora much, but she was young, and
she had such entire confidence in her father, that she could not feel
any actual anxiety.
"What do you think, Father Roger?" she said presently, "if Oktai Khan
really should want to fight us, about how long would it take him to get
here?"
"That no one can say, dear child," answered the Italian. "He might reach
the frontier in three years, or it might be in two, or--it might be in
one!"
"In one year!" Dora repeated in a startled tone.
"It is impossible to say for certain, my dear. It all depends upon how
long our neighbours can keep back the flood. One thing is certain, that,
as they retreat in our direction, they will draw the enemy after them,
and what is more, unless we are wise and prudent we may make enemies of
the fugitives themselves; that is if we give them reason to suppose us
not strong enough, or not trustworthy enough, to be their friends. Well,
God is good, and we must hope that the danger will be averted."
"Come, come, Father Roger," said Master Peter, "that is enough, that's
enough! Let us eat, drink, and sleep upon it, and time will show! There
is not the least reason for worrying at present at all events, and if
this disorderly crew does pour across our frontiers at last, well, we
shall be there to meet them! And it won't be the first time that we have
done such a thing."
And then, by way of entertaining his guest, he proposed to take him all
over the house, stables, and courtyard.
Master Peter was not wealthy as his brother Stephen was, but for all
that he was sufficiently well off. Stephen, the younger brother, had had
a large fortune with his wife; Peter, a much smaller one with his. The
family mansion, or castle,[6] belonged equally to both; and, being both
widowers, and much devoted to one another, they had agreed to share it,
and had done so most amicably for several years.
[Footnote 6: Any country house was a castle, or
château, as the French would say.]
Without being covetous, Stephen had a warm appreciation of this world's
goods; and of all the forty male members of the Szirmay family living at
this time, he was certainly the most wealthy. He was devoted to his
children, and gave them the best education possible at the time of which
we are speaking, the first half of the thirteenth century. His son,
Akos, now one of the King's pages, had learnt to read and write; he had,
too, a certain knowledge of Latin, and sometimes in conversation he
would use a Latin word or two, with Hungarian terminations. In fact, he
knew somewhat more than most of his class, and, needless to say, he was
a good horseman and a good marksman, and well-skilled in the use of arms
and in all manly exercises.
Stephen's daughter and niece, Jolánta and Dora, were as good scholars as
his son; and all three owed their secular as well as religious knowledge
to Father Roger, in later years the famous author of the "Carmen
Miserabile," and already known as one of the most cultivated men of the
day. He was making his home with the Szirmays, and acting as chaplain,
merely for the time being; and Stephen was glad to secure his services
for the children, who loved the gentle Father, as all did who came in
contact with him.
Learning was held in such high honour in Hungary in these days, that
many a man coveted, and had accorded to him, the title of
"Magister"--Master--(borne by the King's Notary and Chancellor) if he
had but a little more scholarship than his neighbours, though that often
of the slenderest description, and sometimes but few degrees removed
from ignorance itself. A man such as Roger was not likely therefore to
be overlooked by a King such as Béla; and his advancement was certain to
come in time, notwithstanding the fact that he was an Italian.
It was when Dora was about eighteen that her father had resolved to go
and live on his own property, in one of the northernmost counties of
Hungary.
Now Peter had never been a good landlord; from his youth up his pursuits
and interests had not been such as to make him take pleasure in
agriculture. Accounts and calculations were not at all in his way
either, and accordingly, no one was more imposed upon and plundered by
his stewards than himself. He was generous in everything, open-handed, a
true gentleman, delighted to help or oblige anyone, and much more
thoughtlessly profuse than many who were far richer than himself.
The dwelling-house on that one of his estates to which he had decided to
go, was, it is hardly needful to say, very much out of repair, almost a
ruin in fact. It had never been handsome, being, in truth, but a great
shapeless barn, or store-house, which consisted merely of a ground floor
nearly as broad as it was long. The original building had been of stone,
built in the shape of a tent, and, of course, open to the roof; for
ceilings, except in churches, were long looked upon as luxuries.
The first inhabitants had slept and cooked, lived and died, all in this
one great hall, or barn; and their successors, as they found more space
needed, had made many additions, each with its own separate roof of
split fir-poles, straw, or reeds. By degrees the original building had
been surrounded by a whole colony of such roofs, with broad wooden
troughs between them to carry off the rain water. Most of these
additions had open roofs, and were as much like barns as the first; but
some were covered in with great shapeless beams; and in a few there were
even fireplaces, built up of logs thickly coated with plaster.
Various alterations and improvements had been made before Master Peter's
arrival, the most important of which was that the openings in the walls
which had hitherto done duty as windows, had been filled in with
bladder-skin, and provided with wooden lattices. The floors were not
boarded, but the earth had been carefully levelled, and was concealed by
coarse reed-mats, while the walls had been plastered and whitened.
Altogether, the place was not uncomfortable, according to the ideas of
the time, and Dora was not at all disgusted with its appearance, even
coming from her uncle's house, where she was accustomed to a good deal
of splendour of a certain kind.
Hungarians, even in those days, could make a splendid appearance upon
occasion, as they did at the King's wedding, when all the guests wore
scarlet, richly embroidered with gold. But their chief luxuries at home
took the form of such articles as could be easily converted into money
in case of need.
They had, for instance, plates and dishes of gold and silver, precious
stones, court-dresses, not embroidered and braided in the present
fashion, but adorned with pearls and stones of great value, as well as
with plates of beaten gold and silver. Master Peter's great dining-hall
contained many valuables of this description. Huge, much-carved oak
chests were ranged along the bare walls, some open, some closed, these
latter being laden with silver plates and dishes, gold and silver cups,
tankards and numberless other articles required at table. Here and
there, the statue of a saint, a piece of Grecian or Roman armour, and
various antique curiosities were to be seen.
Seats had not been forgotten, and the high-backed chairs and broad
benches were supplied with comfortable cushions of bright colours.
Similar gay cushions were in use throughout that part of the house
inhabited by Peter and his daughter; and whatever deficiencies there
were, everything at least was now in good order and scrupulously clean.
As for Dora's own room, her father had done all that he could think of
to make it pleasant and comfortable; and though many a village maiden in
these days would look on it with disdain, Dora was well satisfied. There
were even a few pictures on the bare white walls, though of course they
were not in oil; but the special luxury of her little apartment was that
the window was filled with horn, which was almost as transparent as
glass, and was, moreover, decorated with flowers and designs, painted in
bright colours.
Window glass was not unknown at this date, but it was too precious to be
commonly used, and was reserved for churches and the palaces of kings
and magnates. Bladders and thin skins were in ordinary use, or, where
people were very wealthy, plates of horn; but there were plenty of
gentlemen's houses in which the inhabitants had no light at all in
winter but such as came from the great open hearths and fireplaces, for
the windows were entirely closed up with reeds or rush mats.
One of the additions made to the original building had been what was
called a "far-view" or "pigeon tower," much higher than the house
itself, and the top of which could not be reached without the help of a
ladder. This tower, which was more like a misshapen obelisk in shape,
was roofed in with rough boards. In the lower storey there was a
good-sized room, with a door opening from it into the large hall. It
contained a wooden, four-post bedstead, clean and warm, and a small
table; and all along the walls were clothes-pegs and shelves, such
necessaries as we call "furniture" being very uncommon in the days we
are speaking of. Dora's chests had been placed here, and served the
purpose of seats, and there were also a few chairs, a praying-desk, and
a few other little things. The walls were covered with thick stuff
hangings, and the lower part of them was also protected by coarse grey
frieze to keep out the cold and damp. This was Dora's own room.
Like all gentlemen of the time, even if they were reduced in means,
Peter had a considerable train of servants, and these were lodged in the
very airy, barn-like buildings already mentioned.
The courtyard was enclosed by a wall, high and massive, provided with
loopholes, parapet, bastions, and breastwork; and the great gate, which
had not yet been many weeks in its place, was so heavy that it was as
much as four men could do to open and close it.
Master Peter had been anxious to have his horses as well lodged as they
had been at his brother's; but, after all, the stables, which were just
opposite the house, were not such as horses in these days would consider
stables at all. They were, in fact, mere sheds with open sides, such as
are now put up to shelter the wild horses of the plains.
When all this was done there still remained the digging of a broad, deep
ditch or moat, in which the master himself and all his servants took
part, assisted by some of the neighbouring peasants; and in about three
months' time all was finished, and the curious assemblage of irregular
buildings was more or less fortified, and capable of being defended if
attacked by any wandering band of brigands.
It merely remains to add that Master Peter's castle stood in a
contracted highland valley, and was surrounded by pine-woods and
mountains. Behind it was the village, of which some few straggling
cottages, or rather huts, had wandered away beyond it into the woods.
The inhabitants were not Hungarians, except in so far as that they lived
in Hungary; they were not Magyars, that is, but Slovacks, remnants of
the great Moravian kingdom, who had retired, or been driven, into the
mountains, when the Magyars occupied the land. The Magyars loved the
green plains, the lakes--full of fish, and frequented by innumerable
wild fowl--to which they had been accustomed in Asia; the Slovacks,
whether from choice or necessity, loved the mountains.
These latter were an industrious, honest people, no trouble to anyone,
and able to make a living in spite of the hard climate. They had
suffered in more ways than one by the absence of the family; for the
gentry at the great house had as a rule been good to them; and when they
were away, or coming but seldom, and then only for sport with the bears,
boars, and wolves which abounded, the poor people were treated with
contempt and tyranny by those in charge of the property. They no doubt
were glad when Master Peter came to live among them, and as for their
landlord, time had passed pleasantly enough with him in spite of his
being so far out of the world.
What with looking after the estate, in his own fashion, hunting, riding,
sometimes going on a visit or having friends to stay, he had found
enough to occupy him; but being a hospitable soul, he was always
delighted to welcome the rare guests whom chance brought into the
neighbourhood, and considered that he had a right to keep them three
days--if they could be induced to stay longer, so much the better for
him!
As for companionship, besides Dora, who could ride and shoot too, as
well as any of her contemporaries, he had Talabor the page, who had come
to him a pale, delicate-looking youth, but had gained so much in health
and strength since he had been in service that his master often pitied
him for not having parents better able to advance his prospects in life.
They were gentry, originally "noble," as every free-born Magyar was, but
they were poor gentry, and had been glad to place their son with Master
Peter to complete his education, as was the custom of the time. The
great nobles sent their sons to the King's court to be instructed in all
manly and courtly accomplishments; the lower nobility and poor
gentlefolk sent theirs to the great nobles, who often had in their
households several pages. These occupied a position as much above that
of the servants as beneath that of the "family," though they themselves
were addressed as "servant," until they were thought worthy the title of
"_deák_," which, though meaning literally "Latinist," answered pretty
much to "clerk" or "scholar," and implied the possession of some little
education.
Master Peter was so well satisfied with Talabor that he now always
addressed him as "clerk" in the presence of strangers. He was growing
indeed quite fond of him, and was pleased to see how much he had gained
in strength and good looks, and how well able he was to take part in all
the various forms of exercise, the long hunting excursions, the feats of
arms, to which he was himself devoted.