There was once a poor lad. A rich girl married this poor lad. But before they went before the priest, the girl made a condition that she would do no work. They have enough to live on anyway.
But it was not enough. She even made him swear never to beat her.
Okay. The poor lad agreed to everything. He went to the woods and fields himself. He worked, suffered, shed blood and sweat, and the young woman sat at home. When she wasn't sitting, she went around the village, frog-waving here and there. She went out with the other women.
The days went by. Weeks, months have passed. The poor lad kept silent and did not beat his wife. But one day he heard his wife's indolence, and in the morning, before he went out into the field, he said to the cat:
- Do you hear me, you cat, while I'm in the field, you'd better clean the house, cook supper, and even spin a spool of thread, or I'll beat you so badly you'll be remembered till the day you die!
The woman hears this speech, says nothing, but thinks to herself, "Oh, sweet Jesus, my master must be mad."
Whether or not the cat heard what its owner said, I don't know, but I saw it, just as I saw it today, lying there under the bed, quietly dozing, not looking at its owner.
- "Well, so be it," says the master again, "work, cat, or else!
But the woman could not stand this without saying something. She says:
- Oh, hear him, why does he talk such nonsense, for the cat does not understand your speech!
But so be it, the farmer snapped, whether he understood or not, he must do as I ordered, for I have no one else to command.
With that, the farmer left, the woman stayed at home, and the cat went back to her nap.
One day, around noon, the woman says to the cat:
- Work, cat, or my master will beat you!
But the cat didn't move.
"Well," he thought to himself, "it's you they're beating, not me." And with that he left home, and popped in here and there, and it was evening when he got home.
But the cat had not ransacked the house, nor cooked the dinner, nor spun a bobbin.
The farmer comes home and sees that the cat has not done any work.
Hey, my creator! - he gets angry, takes the cat, pins it on his wife's back, puts the strap in front of her, and starts to beat her in a Hungarian way. The cat meowed bitterly, the wife wept, and wept even more bitterly. She folded her hands and begged her master:
- Oh, my soul, my lord, my pious lord, do not hurt the cat any more, for it cannot work!
- "No," shouted the farmer, "will you take his place, then?
- I'll work, I'll work," she vowed, "just don't hit the cat again.
But the woman thought of one thing, and ran home to her father's house, and told him, weeping, how badly he had beaten the cat on her back. She also tells what she had bet.
Says his father:
- If you've promised to work instead of the cat, you'd better work, or the cat will be beaten tomorrow.
He chased his daughter away, telling her to go home to her lord with God's message, that her place was there.
But it seems that the beating had not yet taken hold of her, because the next day she left everything to the cat again.
It is true that when her master left, he left her to the cat:
- Work, cat, or you'll be in trouble!
The farmer comes home in the evening, and the cat hasn't done any work again. And if he did not work, he tied him to the woman's back and beat her with the strap so hard that the poor cat, in his agony, cut his fingernail into her back.
She ran to her father's house to complain, but he didn't listen, so he chased her back.
On the third morning, the master says to the cat again:
- Come on, cat, clean the house, cook dinner, spin a spool of yarn, or you'll get beaten again today!
The cat now seemed to understand what the master was saying, for as soon as he heard his voice, he ran out of the house in fright.
But he didn't have to work. She did everything for him. She scrubbed the house, fetched water from the well, built a fire, set the kitchen on fire, and cooked a meal that would have made the king lick his lips.
In the meantime, not one, but three phones. Wow! The reason he was so eager all at once was that he felt sorry for the poor cat, very sorry.
Do you think so too, that he felt sorry for the cat and not for his own back.
Either way, by the time the farmer came home, the table was set. The good hot food was simmering. They both sat down at the table. They ate and drank, their spirits rising.
And so the cat was not beaten any more, and the damsel became such a mistress that she had no mate in seven mere miles.
If you don't believe me, check it out.
(Elek Benedek: Hungarian tale- and mythology Volume 1)
