by Mór Jókai
PART III
THE MISTRESS OF THE CATS
CHAPTER I
When they heard the call, "Puss, puss!" they scampered down the roof,leaped from the eaves, and vanished, one after the other, between thecurtains of the open window. It was quite an ethnographic, so to speak,collection of cats; a panther-like French pussy from Dund, a Caucasianwith long pointed ears, one from China with wavy silken fur and droopingears. Then the window was closed, for the company were allassembled--four cats, two pug-dogs, and a sparrow, and the hostess, ayoung girl.
The girl, to judge from her figure, was perhaps fifteen years old; buther manner and speech were those of a much younger child. With herarched brow and rainbow-formed eyebrows, she might have served as amodel for a saint, had not the roguish smile about the corners of herred lips betrayed an earthly origin. The sparkling dark eyes, delicatelychiseled nostrils, and rounded chin gave to her face certain familycharacteristics which many persons would have recognized at a firstglance.
Her clothing was richly adorned with lace and embroidery, which was notthe fashion for girls of her age; at the same time, there was about herattire a peculiar negligence, as if she had no one to advise her whatwas proper to wear, or how to wear it.
Her room was furnished with luxurious elegance. Satin hangings coveredthe walls; the furniture was upholstered with rare gobelin tapestry.Gilded cabinets veneered with tortoise-shell held, behind glass doors,all sorts of costly toys, and dolls in full costume. On a Venetian tablewith mosaic top lay a pack of cards and three heaps of money--one ofgold, one of silver, the third of copper. On a low, three-legged tablewas a something shaped like an organ, with a long row of metal andwooden pipes. Near the window stood a drawing-table, on which weresheets of drawing-board, and glasses containing pulverized colors. Therewas also a bookcase; on the shelves were volumes of Vertuch's "Orbispictus," the "Portefeuille des enfants," the "History of RobinsonCrusoe," and several numbers of a fashion magazine, the "Album dessalons," the illustrations of which lay scattered about on tables andchairs.
The guests were all assembled; not one was missing. The little hostessinquired after the health of each one in turn, and how they had enjoyedtheir outing. They all had names. The cats were Hitz, Mitz, Pani, andMiura. They were introduced to the two pugs, Phryxus and Helle. Then thelittle maid fetched a porcelain basin, and with a sponge washed eachnose and paw. Only after this operation had been thoroughly performedwere the guests allowed to take their places at the breakfast-table--thefour cats opposite the two pugs.
Then a clean napkin was tied about the neck of each guest,--that theirjabots might not get soiled with milk,--and a cup of bread and milkplaced in front of each one.
No complaints were allowed (the one that broke this rule was severelylectured), while all of them had patiently to submit when the sparrowhelped himself from whichever cup he chose. The breakfast over, theguests bow-wowed and miaued their thanks, and were dismissed to theirmorning nap.
The musical clock now began to play its shepherd's song; the brassCyclops standing on the dial struck the hour; the cuckoo called, and thehalberdier saluted. Then the little maid changed her toilet. She had awhole wardrobe full of clothes; she might select what she chose to wear.There was no one to tell her what to put on, or to help her attireherself. When her toilet was completed, a bell outside rang once,whereupon she donned her hat and tied over her face a heavy lace veilthat effectually concealed her features. After a few minutes the bellrang a second time, and the sound of wheels in the courtyard was heard.Then three taps sounded on the door, and in answer to the little maid'sclear-voiced "Come in!" a gentleman in promenade toilet entered the roomand bowed respectfully. First he satisfied himself that the veil wassecurely fastened around the young girl's hat; then, drawing her handthrough his arm, he led her to the carriage.
On the box was seated the broad-shouldered groom, now clad in coachman'scostume. The gentleman assisted the little maid into the carriage, tookhis seat by her side, and the black horses set off over the same roadthey had traversed a thousand times, in the regulation trot, avoidingthe main thoroughfare of the village. Those persons whom they chanced tomeet did not salute, for they knew that the occupants of the carriagefrom the Nameless Castle did not wish to be spoken to; and any of thevillagers who were standing idly at their doors stepped inside untilthey had passed; no inquisitive woman face peered after them. And thusthe carriage passed on its way, as if it had been invisible. When itarrived at the forest, the horses knew just where they had to halt. Herethe gentleman assisted his veiled companion to alight, gave her his leftarm, because he held in his right hand a heavy walking-stick, in thecenter of which was concealed a long, three-edged poniard, an effectiveweapon in the hands of him who knew how to wield it.
In silence the man and the maid promenaded along the green sward in theshade of the trees. A campanula had just opened its blue eye at the footof one of the trees, and pale-blue forget-me-nots grew along the path.Blue was the little maid's favorite color; but she was not permitted topluck the flowers herself. She had never been told why she must not dothis; perhaps it was because the flowers belonged to some one else.
Sometimes the little maid's steps were so light and elastic, as if afairy were gliding over the dewy grass; and sometimes she walked soslowly, so wearily, as if a little old grandmother came limping along,hunting for lichens on the mossy ground.
After the promenade, they seated themselves again in the carriage, whichreturned to the Nameless Castle, and the gates were closed again.
The man conducted the maid to her room, and the serious occupation ofthe day began. Books were produced, and the man proceeded to explain theclassics. They were his own favorites; he could not give her any others.She had not yet seen or heard of romances, and she was still too youngto begin the study of history. The man could teach the maid only what hehimself knew; a strange tutor or governess was not allowed to enter thecastle.
Because her instructor could not play the piano, the little maid had notlearned. But in order that she might enjoy listening to music, ahand-organ had been bought for her, and new melodies were inserted in itevery four months.
When the little maid wearied of her organ and her picture-making, sheseated herself at the card-table, and played _l'hombre_, or _tarok_,with two imaginary adversaries, enjoying the manner in which the coppercoins won the gold ones.
At noon, when the bell rang a third time, the man tapped at the dooragain, offered his gloved hand to the maid, and conducted her to thedining-room. At either end of a large table was a plate. The maid tookher place at the head; the man seated himself at the foot. Theyconversed during the meal. The maid talked about her cats and dogs; theman told her about his books. When the maid wanted anything, she calledthe man Ludwig; and when the man addressed his companion, he called hersimply Marie.
After dinner, they went to the library to look at the late newspapers.Ludwig himself made the coffee, after which he read the papers, anddictated his comments and criticisms on certain articles to Marie, whowrote them out in her delicate hair-line chirography.
When Ludwig and Marie separated for the afternoon, he touched his lipsto her hand and brow. Marie then returned to her own apartments, playedthe hand-organ for her pets, changed her dolls' toilets, counted hergains or losses at cards, colored with her paints a few of theillustrations in the magazines, looked through her "Orbis pictus,"reading without difficulty the text which was printed in four languages,and read for the hundredth time her favorite "Robinson Crusoe."
And thus passed day after day, from spring until autumn, from autumnuntil spring.
Evenings, when Marie prepared for bed, before she undressed herself, shespread a heavy silken coverlet over the leather lounge which stood nearthe door. She knew very well that the some one she called Ludwig sleptevery night on the lounge, but he came in so late, and went away soearly in the morning, that she never heard his coming or his going.
The little maid was a sound sleeper, and the pugs never bark
ed at themaster of the house, who gave them lumps of sugar.
Often the little maid had determined that she would not go to sleepuntil she heard Ludwig come into the room. But all her attempts toremain awake were in vain. Her eyelids closed the moment her headtouched the pillow. Then she tried to waken early, in order to wish himgood morning; but when she thrust her little head from between thebed-curtains, and called cheerily, "Good morning, dear Ludwig!" therewas no one there.
Ludwig never slept more than four hours of the twenty-four, and hisslumber was so light that he woke at the slightest noise. Then, too, heslept like a soldier in the field--always clothed, with his weaponsbeside him.
