Hajh was certainly not the present-day city of Miskolc, but it was a city a hundred and a few years ago; it is not a metropolis adorned with palaces, theatrical, town hall, which sends two deputies to parliament.

He was also subject to many great changes; once the fire ruined it to dust; at other times the rushing flood swept away that only the houses of the «priestly» remained of it; even on a terrible day it was broken into rubble by the stone rain. Not hail, but a real rock fall: the collapse of some meteor cloud that crosses the Earth’s orbit; a stone the size of a man is still being shown in the museum.

The houses of the last century did not form a row of streets leaning against each other, but there was a spacious courtyard between them all, enclosed by a plank; the house was made of stone at the bottom to the height of man, without a window, its corners fortified: it was against the flood; the apartment was built on a stone wall, with vaulted rooms, iron-paneled windows: it was against the fire. Then on the outward-facing corner of each house was a cul-de-sac and a narrow window on it: it was designed to observe the raiders.5)

Because King Charles the Ambassador ordered that the city of Miskolc be surrounded by thorns to protect against the invasions of the Kurucz raids, and they robbed the city all the way.

Mr. András Quercina lived in such a half-storey house between Szinyva and Pecze. His courthouse was symbolized by a pallet stretched out at his gate; his craft-57-and there was his coat of arms hanging there, on a rod stuck out of the house, on a plaque, with a lynx’s head beneath it, and under it three fox tails. He had to enter through the door of the plank; the workshop door opened into the hallway. That furrier shop, it authenticates the door kiszegezett wolf-skins. It could have been a summer shot because it was very shabby. His ears were missing. Certainly they are already listening there in the chimney of the county hall.

The Baron opened the inner glass door. The workshop was also a formal waiting room. In one corner stood a tropical strong figure, in a very strange outfit, consisting of a pointed hat, holding it in his hand, then a white-red striped jacket with fist-shaped zinc buttons, plenty of variegated plundra, and red Turkish slippers.

The baron did not even see this. He was below his dignity to notice.

But behind the “poodle” dividing the workshop in two, he had already found an old acquaintance.

It was yesterday’s table mate, waist Matus.

This time he was no longer in festive attire; he just paraded in elbow-rolled sleeves.

But as Matus saw the baron entering the workshop, utczu him, throw yourself! he ran up to the attic. A wooden ladder led me straight up from the workshop.

The pious Matus, with his straight-minded mind, concluded that he had received the twenty-five sticks yesterday at the county hall for why he had found such a great blow to the back of the great Baron; now it then comes to the judge to complain and now even from the city he will get his own dog portion, that ducal.

Dejsz Matus will not be lured from the tumble dryer in the attic these days. Now, in self-defense, he figured out that with a reed stick he had begun to dust the skins lined up in a row in the attic (as is necessary for the moths), so that not a word could be heard from the big puff.-58-

Yet in all this matter it was not Matus who was at fault, but the language knowledge of the first Viczispan lake, who, instead of «uder», means our stroke, commanded it to be «zabi», and our means stroke.

However, the door leading inwards from the workshop opened a little in anticipation, and a figure worth seeing stepped out of it, who could be recognized at first glance as the urban drabant.

He was humped from front to back, with his knees bent inwards with his knees bent, his palms hanging below his knees. Such a room is not for anything other than an urban drabant. He had a salt-shaped pike on his head, his body adorned with a green tailcoat with a red collar; a large curved sword hung from his shoulder on a strap collar, making our appearance all the more frightening.

From the inner room came this command-line instruction:

– Zavolaty toje prkoprczár.

The drabant’s eyes and mouth remained open as he looked around the workshop. He just left the instance to report to the judge, leaving only one instance out here and now here are two.

He announced the other (following his own confession) to my judge as «povrazolezecz», which means rope dancer.

And now Mr. Judge orders you to call in the «prkoprczár», who is nothing but a noose.

Before Mr. Biró, a rope dancer or a somersault may be right.

If there is logic in the world, the drabant had to conclude that this other is the somersault. His son had enough of his son.

He motioned for the Baron to come before the color of my judge.

Mr. Biró was a short, stocky, chubby man; smallpox face; one eyebrow stood higher than the other; because of his large teeth, he could not close his mouth. Arms hidden in flannel sleeves from his sleeveless leather vest-59-they reached out with big palms; a large wildcat hat was pressed into his head, so tightly that he pressed his ears in half.

– Well, fresh! fresh! Spjevácz! Musician! he shouted at the baron entering.

The Baron did not understand the word he heard.

The drabant then explained the thing to him.

“Mr. Biró, do you want to know first how we can sing and make music?”

– We don’t know.

Mr. Biró became impatient for this, he categorized the baron:

– Csi znacze, csi nye znacze, ale spjevacze, muzsikacze!

(Whether you know it or not, sing, make music.)

The Baron was laughing now.

– What the hell am I playing with?

Mr. Judo pointed to the long leather case hanging on the Baron’s shoulder; he thought there was some bassoon in it.

The Baron then pulled the beautiful lazzarino double rifle from his leather case.

– Ojoj! said Mr. Judge. Puska? (It’s also a rifle.)

The drabant noticed that he had hardly made a mistake; he asked the baron with a cold cheek:

“Isn’t the gentleman a somersault comedian?”

In response, the baron slapped the drabant so that he slid along his salt shaker to his right ear; he could not fly off his head because he was tied there to his chin with a strap. The baron shouted at the judge with his throat full:

“I’m Baron Kadarkuthy, Mr. Earth!” Created by Atta!

This changed the situation a lot at once. Of course, it should have started with “he created it!” They literally understand Hungarian.

Mr. Judo suddenly snatched the catskin cap off his head -60-and he said, “What do you like, please?” He already knew Hungarian.

However, as the Baron shouted his name aloud, that other man stuck his head through the door from the workshop and hurried to enlighten the mistake.

– I’m the comedian.

Mr. Judge at this was utterly horrified.

– Oh, you stariospicza! he rivaled the drabant and slapped the other still immune half of his face so much that the salt shaker slid back to his left ear. Bring some real comedy to Mingy!

Then, rubbing his two big palms, he asked with a smiling figure, “what do you like to command Baron Pan welkomozsnye?”

“Well, I want to order a waist-wolf ram for you.”

– With a cord or a bayonet?

– As usual. Then find such a fur cap as Mr. Judge.

– Aha. Diva made of sow leather. That’s very beautiful.

“Then a goatskin pants like Matus’s.”

– Ah! What is Matus like? I’m just Matus! Bring your koza-ircha-nohavicza here!

But as he heard this word, Matus upstairs in the attic said, «nohavicza!»: He began to beat the skins with two reeds.

– Go up to the attic! my judge commanded the drabant, who returned in the meantime with the rope dancer. Get Matus by the ear from the attic.

The drabant stroked one of his facial jaws with one palm, the other with the other, and replied, “I have no third jaw!” and he did not go to hear Matus.

– Well, then come with me to the magazine! said Mr. Judge, swinging his guard over his collar,-61-you, comedian, amuse the dignified Baron until then; lamatye gypsy colisa!

Although the comedian who stayed with Mr. Baron did not cast a gypsy wheel to disturb the dignified gentleman, he instead stepped in front of him and looked him in the eye and then spoke to him in German with a good Lerchenfeld dialect:

«Herr Baron von Kadarkuthy! how can Frater Seraphinus geheissen? »

Kadarkuthy’s figure first stretched long; his mouth remained open, his eyes sunken; in the middle of his pale facial skin, a red spot of anger ignited. Unheard of recklessness! To confront Baron Viktor Kadarkuthy with the interpellation that he was never called Frater Seraphinus.

But soon the angry face twisted back into a familiar smile as he looked more closely into the addresser’s face. Memory began to rise. The! The! Not just Frater Seraphinus, but even better. «Dóri, der amerikanische Affe!» That was a nice time! In Vienna’s “Paradies!”

– Ah! ah! Titanides Samson! cried the baron, my former mæstrom? Who I was a monkey.

“And whose Colombina was escaped by the ape.”

“So what happened to Colombina?”

– He didn’t come back; he is now working on his own hands.

“But how do I know Master Samson?”

– Well, as I liked to say, “I’m Viktor Kadarkuthy.” After the name.

“But I never told my family name when we were fooling around.”

“The Baron didn’t tell me, but they told me in the monastery where he had escaped when I hit his trail with a stick because of my Colombina. Then I had a big fat with the name of Kadarkuthy Viktor back then. This caused all my misfortune. I traveled the world in the company of a great celebrant blindfold, who Cagliostro-62-was his disciple, his name was Ludolfus of Cairo. We once produced ourselves in the castle of a huge rich gentleman in Csallóköz, who celebrated the engagement of his daughter. Her fiancé was believed to be Viktor Kadarkuthy. That’s when I first heard that name. He was a nice, slender lad. I brought the peasants to wrestling and beat one to the ground after another. Then the young groom hung up with me. Well I had great respect for the gentleman’s familia; I didn’t want the groom to break into a cripple between my hands, I treated him just as easily; and the cunning suhancz took advantage of this exclamation and, with an outlaw throw, decided to hit the ground that I was dizzy, slapping my head into an iron rod.

– Donner und Dória! cried the Baron. (Not just a wolf hunter, but an acrobat?)

“It was a great misfortune for me.” Because my principal, the Cairo magician, slammed along for shame. I was then forced to put together a comedy troupe again. I set off to look for my ape and Colombina. I inquired in the monastery after the frater Seraphinus. There I learned that it was called Baron Viktor Kadarkuthy. Then the other one who dealt with me in the aristocratic castle was not the real one. He lives his world in real Paris. This is a pseudo baron. That’s when I wrote to the Baron to come home. Don’t you remember it?

– How can I remember!

– And thank you?

– Thank you elf! I sat in the Košice Prison for a year for this favor.

“But now at least Baron Kadarkuthy has become a gentleman, but I am despised; for wherever I strike my comedy stall that the invincible Titanides Samson is here, they all shout at me, “The deceived groom has struck the earth!” About who now-63- I know very well that no one is other than the Levite of the friendly village.

“How does the master know that?”

– How do I know? After all, everyone in this country knows its history. They know the Viczpanians, the servant judge, the bishop, the peasants, the hajduk; but none of it tells them, because they all sympathize with him. Every man, man, woman, child loves it. Miracles are spoken of him. That he saved ten children from the great mountain flood alone; to destroy the roaring wolves; to convert bad people to a true way of life; to teach people to make fruit trees from wild trees, to twist oil from stone as well; and then what sermons can he hold to go to Barátfalva from the third village for them. But when a stranger asks where Barátfalva is, everyone says, “know the hell!”

– Ah! According to this, has anyone deliberately fooled me so far?

– Of course it is. Last sent to the judge, the szűcsmesterhez, who is the wolf skins normally buys lévitától. But let’s bet that when it comes to the question of where the waist hunter who shoots these toadworms lives, Mr. Judge will make a moonlight-looking face and answer, «ojojoj! it lives beyond Verkhovina, even beyond Poland, it lives there in Muscat. ”

“What do I do with these people now?”

– Nothing with these. But the Baron can do something with me.

– Kenddel, hey?

– I think so. I have to find that damn jerk that made me a world bullshit. I’m going to sniff out its hiding place like a truffle dog’s truffle, so that if I scratched it out, I could shout, “Well, now show me what an acrobat you are?”-64-

– Here, here! in the middle of the big market in Miskolc, he has to deal with me in front of the eyes of the people, the Levite of Draugfalva! Dejsz I will not let this go to your skin.

He laughed at this capital idea with the comedic telethorns. The Levite of Draugfalva will wrestle with Samson in the market! It will also cut to the floor. Then Samson will treat the student quite differently than he treated the cifra groom!

But Kadarkuthy murmured from his teeth,

– That’s it! If I leave you something of it.

“Well, you’re leaving,” Samson growled back.

And then they both kept to themselves what he thought.

The discourse was continued in German.

Even if the sister-in-law could find you listening through the door, she wouldn’t understand anything of it.

But do you know German? Well, not the judge, he can’t, just overheard; but the master furrier learn German, the Hungarian learned that the first “teremtettére.”

He had already opened the door.

Mr. Querczina came from the front, behind him the drabant.

The armed warrior could scarcely stand out from the pile of fur coats, rams that had been placed on our two shoulders. He brought the whole magazine with him.

The judge, on the other hand, chipped the finished goatskin pants and fur caps with a beam.

The many precious porters were all laid on each other in a row on the long table. You could choose from them; there was also sheepskin and a foxtail.

The baron only liked the wolfskin graves. Have you tried two or three, which one will be more comotic?

– Well, it’s going to be really modal! Said the judge, pulling one out of the others. Such a ram, I know, does not have the emperor either. All the way to black wolfskin.

– Black Wolf? Well, it’s really a rarity. Let’s stay with this. What is the price of? Said the Baron.

– Just like the others. Forty traits forint.-65-

– Ah, that’s expensive! The Baron objected. After all, your cloth takes the wolf cattle from the Levites of the friendly village for ten marriages.

– Who? What? Cso ti robis! Let me sink into the ground here if I have ever heard the news of the Levite of the friendly village!

– Nono! Master! The respectable perceptor told me, who used to pay the hunter ten marriages for wolf ears.

– Is that so? is that the hunter the Levite? Well, I didn’t know, I just know he’s a vlkójáger.

“Well, if you know him, he only knows where he lives.”

– Ojojo! How could I know? That Barátfalva has a mink factory here next door, beyond Verkhovina, next to Dunajecz, in the cold valley, where the most beautiful wolves breed.

The two kuncsaft looked at each other.

– Do you drink nid xagt? Samson muttered in German.

The baron then negotiated the price of the rams at forty short forints. He then received the cap and the sleeve, out of generosity. He also armored himself with them.

– Are you another, what do you need? The judge growled at the comedy.

– Concessa needs to market for production.

– Then what do you know?

– I’m Samson.

“If you’re Samson, let me see you raise this table with the bet?”

And that was loaded with fur guesses.

Instead of answering, Samson did so by grabbing the small humped drabant by the arm and tossing it even on the table, lifting it with his teeth.

– Hujúj! You get the concess. You pay a mare first! This is a fee for you. Not for you! Tüled! For me. Rozumis?