Pretty Michal

by Mór Jókai

Now pretty Michal mastered all these sciences not only with edifying assiduity, but even with real enthusiasm; she found pleasure, employment, and profit therein. Her books, her science, and her flowers not only rejoiced her heart, they filled her pockets likewise. Her garden especially was a veritable gold mine, for while in those days a goose cost only a shilling and a young ox ten shillings, no one considered paragon tulip bulbs dear at ten pounds a piece. But (and this in Pastor Fröhlich's opinion was the greatest gain of all) the flowers and the books left the damsel no time for idle pranks; to this end the whole pedagogical system of the reverend gentleman had been directed from the very first.

Whenever his lectures called him away from home, the professor took down his grammars, lexicons, and other folios before he started, and gave Michal as much to learn by heart as would occupy her the whole time he was away at the Lyceum; then he locked the house door and walked off with the key in his pocket. The very first thing he did when he came home again was to make her repeat the set task from beginning to end. Such a method is infallible. A servant-maid, a governess, may deceive the cleverest cross-questioner, the ancient folios never. They tell him at once whether the damsel's eyes have been fixed on the book all the time, or whether they've been straying about elsewhere.

In this way pretty Michal picked up a very considerable store of general information.

Sundays and festivals were the only days on which she left the house, and then she used to walk to church by her father's side. On such occasions she wore a coffee-brown frock, with a collar reaching to the chin, and sleeves which hid the very tips of her fingers. The other girls prided themselves on the taste with which they adorned their girdles, but pretty Michal's girdle could not boast of as much as a silver buckle. Her parta, as the headdress of the Hungarian maidens is called, was quite black, and over it was thrown a veil which completely covered her face in front, and hung down so far over her shoulders behind that it was absolutely impossible to make out whether her twin long, pendent pigtails were blond or chestnut-brown. Her eyes, too, were not permitted to declare whether they were black or blue. During service they were well hidden behind their long lashes, for she modestly kept them fixed upon her prayer-book the whole time, and if she raised them during the sermon it was only to rivet them upon the preacher. Moreover, the very wise and proper regulation which not only separated the sexes, but made the men sit right behind the women, prevented her from ogling anybody even if she had a mind to. As for the students, they sat so high up in the choir that they could see nothing from thence but the notice-boards and the Decalogue.

Further, the reverend gentleman never took Michal to weddings or other entertainments, the canonical prescriptions forbidding a clergyman's daughter to dance. In fact, he did not even let her make the acquaintance of other girls, for fear she should get a liking for the frivolous ways of the gossiping minxes.

We must not forget to mention, too, that his house was so constructed as to exclude by anticipation every possible temptation. All the windows of pretty Michal's bedroom looked out upon the courtyard, which was shut in on two sides by the blank walls of the opposite houses, while the third side opened into the garden, which was cut off from the outer world by a still higher wall richly embroidered with iron nails and sharp spikes. Thus, pretty Michal's heart might be regarded as a stronghold which no foe could capture either by force or by fraud; and in the light of a foe was regarded every mortal of the masculine gender who did not happen to be a favorite of the reverend gentleman.

CHAPTER II.

Wherein is shown how the evil dragon brought to naught all the sage devices of our reverend friend.

The Rev. Professor David Fröhlich had a very particular favorite, who can also be said to have deserved that rare distinction. The name of this young man was Henry Catsrider—a very curious name, certainly, yet the bearer thereof had very little ridicule to fear in consequence, for his big, strong frame inspired his fellow-scholars with respect. For the noble art of wrestling (commended of old, remember, by no less a person than Aristotle) had never been neglected in our schools, and in the art of wrestling no one could vie with Catsrider except a young Calvinist from Kassa called Valentine Kalondai. The latter, however, could well hold his own, even against Catsrider, and a very pretty sight it was to see them contending together on the village green, each hugging the other closely and planting his chin firmly on his opponent's shoulder. Catsrider had long, coarse, light hair, twisted up into a knot on both sides of his head, and a waxed and pointed mustache.