"Has the daughter of the cord[14] been married lately?"
[14] A flowery expression for the gallows.—Jókai.
"Only Marczi Csendes has been elevated lately. He was a fool. He took the crime of two comrades on his shoulders in order to let them go free. They were caught in the act, but he swore he did the deed. They were young bloods, you see, and he had nobody to care for him. And yet it was they who presented the empty pistol at the Jew's head. The Jew himself pointed them out, but Marczi steadfastly maintained that it was he who frightened the fellow."
"So they made him cold against the winter time?"
"Yes, but he didn't very much care. The hour before his execution he took an affectionate leave of his comrades, and to me he bequeathed his warm old sheepskin. When the priest asked him whether he had anything upon his conscience, he merely said the only thing that grieved him was the thought that he would never again be able in this life to eat his fill of well peppered gulyás[15] such as old Ripa knew how to cook. They humoured him, and I was sent into the kitchen to prepare it. My old friend ate with a good appetite and wanted me to take a bit too; but my throat felt as cramped as if they had already taken my measure round it with the gallows rope. He gave each of the two heydukes who accompanied him in the felon's car, one on his right, the other on his left, a silver coin apiece. The heydukes told us afterwards that when he got outside he rose up in the car and addressed the people. He was a tall, handsome fellow with red cheeks, long black hair and a fine sonorous voice like any chaplain's. His last words were: 'Well, I now look upon this fair world for the last time.'"
[15] Hungarian pilau.
"Did he leave behind him any new songs," enquired Hátszegi. "He was always a famous singer."
"Yes, one he made in jail, and a splendid song it was too, I can tell you. Bandi! pipe it to his lordship on your tilinka as I have taught you." At these words one of the youths drew forth from his sleeve one of those flutes made of elder-wood, which in Hungarian goes by the name of a tilinka, and which with its poor six holes is able to give forth as many variations as the throat of a lark; then, without any virtuoso airs he simply piped the plaintive melody.
The baron was immensely pleased. "Margari," cried he, "go to the carriage, look for my fiddle and bring it hither!"
At this command poor Margari had a veritable ague fit of terror. All this time he had remained ducking down in the carriage firmly persuaded that the robbers in this lonely place would cut down every mother's son of them at nightfall. In such a case he was prepared to swear that he had never belonged to the party at all, but would pretend he was only a poor tramp, and so escape that way. And now the baron had ruined his little plan by ordering him to come forth! The robbers would now absolutely believe that he also was a swell. Oh, it is a frightful situation when a poor devil has managed to get a 100 gulden into his purse for the first time in his life and is obliged the very next evening to put up at an inn full of robbers! What the devil did the baron want with the fiddle at all? And then what sort of a thing was a fiddle? When a man is terrified he easily mistakes one thing for another and Margari's first experiment was to carry in to the baron a long leaden box containing the territorial chart of the Kengyelesy estate—was that what his lordship wanted?