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Updated: June 25, 2025
Gyuri wished the worthy Klincsok in Jericho, and he could even have found him a companion for the journey, for behind him was the first demon, again whispering: "Go and look for your inheritance!" "But I suppose they kept the old handle?" he asked. "I do not think so," answered the priest. "It was only of common wood; I believe Mrs. Adamecz asked Veronica for it."
Only the beautiful verses the schoolmaster had composed for the occasion distracted their attention for a while, and sobs broke forth as the various relations heard their names mentioned in the lines in which the dead woman was supposed to be taking leave of them: "Good-by, good-by, my dearest friends; Pál Lajkó my brother, György Klincsok my cousin," etc.
At the threshold of a pretty little stone house stood Gongoly, much stouter than some years before. In front of the smithy sat Klincsok, quietly smoking, while the smith mended a wheel. "Hallo!" he called out. "So you've come back! Why, we were thinking of looking out for another priest!" Which showed that Father János' absence had been noticed. How Glogova had changed in the last few years!
"Oh, they are large enough," answered Klincsok; "at a funeral it depends on the dead person, at a wedding it depends on the people to be married; but they are pretty generous on that occasion as a rule; and at a christening one florin is paid. I'm sure that's enough, isn't it?" "And how many weddings are there in a year?" "Oh, that depends on the potato harvest.
My parishioners had it made last summer as a surprise for me while I was away at the baths. The old handle had been broken off, and it was almost impossible to make use of the umbrella. I expect it was Klincsok's idea, for he started the collection. There are still plenty of good Christian hearts to be found." Then he turned to Gyuri. "I will introduce you to Klincsok, he is a very worthy man."
"Many of the inhabitants of Glogova are never buried in the cemetery at all. The wolves eat them without ever announcing it in the parish." "And some die in other parts of the country," went on György Klincsok, "so that only very few of them are buried here." "It is a bad lookout," said the priest. "But the parish fields, what about them?"
Now they all wanted to speak at once, but Klincsok pulled the sacristan aside, and stood up in front of the priest. "Fields?" he said. "Why you can have as much ground as you like. If you want one hundred acres ..." "One hundred acres!" shouted Szlávik, "five hundred if you like; we shall not refuse our priest any amount of ground he likes to ask for."
The whole of Pál Lajkó's household began to weep bitterly, and Mrs. Klincsok exclaimed rapturously: "How on earth does he manage to compose such beautiful lines!" Which exclamation inspired the schoolmaster with fresh courage, and, raising his voice, he continued haranguing the assembled friends in the dead woman's name, not forgetting a single one, and there was not a dry eye among them.
"Yes, God takes the rich ones too," they said. György Klincsok came running in to the priest. "There will be a grand funeral the day after to-morrow," he exclaimed. The sacristan appeared at the schoolmaster's in the hope of a glass of brandy to celebrate the event. "Collect your thoughts," he exclaimed, "there will be a grand funeral, and they will expect some grand verses."
Only a few of the more important villagers accompanied him to talk over the state of affairs: Péter Szlávik, the sacristan; Mihály Gongoly, the nabob of Glogova; and the miller, György Klincsok. He began to question them, and took out his note-book, in order to make notes as to what his income was likely to be. "How many inhabitants are there in the village?" "Rather less than five hundred."
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