'Neath the Hoof of the Tartar; Or, The Scourge of GodJósika, Miklós, báró
History
'Neath the Hoof of the Tartar; Or, The Scourge of God
Jósika, Miklós, báró
Hungary -- History -- Mongol Invasion, 1241-1242 -- Fiction
He was in a most difficult position, poor fellow! He was fond of Dora;
and he was fond of his parents, who would be greatly vexed if he
disappointed them in this matter. It was a serious thing to vex one's
parents, especially when they had it in their power to disinherit one!
His father was a generous, hot-tempered soldier; he would warmly resent
any insult put upon his old friend's daughter; Master Peter might resent
it too, though no word had yet passed between himself and his intended
son-in-law. Truly a difficult position! But for all that, he meant to
please himself, if he could safely do so.
Paul was turning these things over in his mind, and was pitying himself
and racking his brains to discover some way by which his parents might
be induced to take a reasonable view of things, when it occurred to him
that two heads were better than one.
He was staying just now with the Szirmays at their castle, where he was
always made much of, and Master Stephen was constantly arranging hunting
parties and other country amusements in his honour.
Somehow, he never quite knew how it was, he found himself, during a
moment of leisure, near the room occupied by one of the pages; and just
for the sake of talking to somebody he went in, and was received with
obsequious delight by Libor, who murmured his thanks for the great
honour done him by the visit of so high and mighty a gentleman.
The little room was of the plainest description, and not too light, but
the unglazed windows were at least filled in with bladder-skin, and the
bare walls were painted white; the furniture consisted of a small open
stove of earthenware, a roughly-made, unpainted bedstead, a primitive
wooden table, and two or three stools. It was bare enough for a monk's
cell, and it was unceiled, open to the roof, which appeared to consist
of old boards and lattice-work of a rough description.
Libor was attired in a pair of red trousers, rather the worse for wear,
and fastened round his waist by a leather strap, a waistcoat of the same
colour, and a coarse shirt with wide, hanging sleeves. He was wearing
neither coat nor jacket, and he had a slender reed pen stuck behind his
ear. There were writing materials and a book or two on the table, and
the page was busy with his pen, when, to his immense surprise, there
entered the haughty young noble, a tall handsome personage clad in a
"dolmány" of bright blue woollen stuff which reached down to his ankles,
and was not unlike a close-fitting dressing-gown.
Libor started to his feet, and bowed almost to the ground as he
expressed his sense of the great man's condescension, while he wondered
in his own mind to what it was due, and what was wanted of
him--something, he felt pretty confident, and he was quite ready to
serve such an one as Paul, who would be sure to make it worth his while.
But what could it be?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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