Repository path: workshop/translations/szent-peter-esernyoje/R05-v1/translation.md · rendered 2026-09-09

T-szent-peter-esernyoje-R05-v1 — Mikszáth, «Szent Péter esernyője», Part I «A legenda», serial

Work. Mikszáth Kálmán, «Szent Péter esernyője» (1895), Part I «A legenda», 260 paragraphs, 8,064 Hungarian words, in four chapters. This artifact is the serial R05 rendering of the part whole; spans are added to it and nothing already frozen is revised except by a numbered erratum at the foot of this page.

Copy-text. workshop/translations/szent-peter-esernyoje/part1-source-1910.txt — Révai Testvérek, Budapest, 1910, Project Gutenberg #68911, transcribed by Albert László from Google Books page images. Paragraph numbering ¶1..¶260 runs continuously across Part I and is the span index required by R05 §1. This is a change of copy-text from the two chapters rendered before this arm existed, which used the modernised e-text MEK-00954; the collation that forced it and what it costs are in workshop/translations/szent-peter-esernyoje/collation.md, and the decision is D1 below.

Regime. R05 v0.1 — serial long-work translation, source only, cumulative log, append-only, binding register (register.md). Draft then self-revise against the source within the sitting. Cost $0; never ledgered (charter §3, A4).

Contamination: none — asserted here on a documented reading discipline, measured after the freeze. No English rendering of chapter III was read before this span and its log were committed. The hazard is named rather than waved away: a public-domain English of the whole novel (B. W. Worswick, 1900) exists, and its chapter III is already stored in this repository at workshop/translations/uj-pap/comparator-worswick-ch3.txt, put there by S077 for a different arm. That file was not opened in this session before the commit that froze this span. Two further lead renderings of ¶48–¶66 exist from S077 (T-ujpap-u1-*, T-ujpap-u2-*, regime R10); they were not re-read either, and note (bhb) makes the lead-against-itself measurement the one that matters. Both measurements are reported in RS-20260808g-two-pasts §2, after the freeze.

One prior declared, because it is not none and hiding it would be worse. Before translating, the translator ran a whole-book census of Mikszáth's two competing past tenses in speech tags (§register.md V6). The translator therefore knew the device was there and knew its size. No published English influenced the rendering; the census is source-side only. The consequence is recorded on the arm page and applied in the study limb: the lead's own tag renderings are descriptive and are excluded from every primary on that question.

Span C — chapter III, «Az uj pap Glogován» (¶48–¶140, 93 paragraphs, 2,511 Hungarian words)

Frozen before the study limb was designed.

III. THE NEW PRIEST AT GLOGOVA

¶48 The new reverend gentleman moved in. The Glogova people fetched their priest home on one bare wooden cart, with two little crook-horned cows harnessed to it. On the road the sexton, Péter Szlávik, even milked them into a jug and offered some to the young priest.

¶49 "The milk is very excellent," said he, "particularly Bimbó's milk. That is superb, as though it were some kind of ambrosia."

¶50 The new priest's belongings came to little: one unpainted deal box was the whole of it, a bundle of bedding, and besides that two sticks and some pipe-stems tied together with string.

¶51 All along the road, in the villages, they kept baiting the Glogova men:

¶52 "Could you good folk not have got up a better turn-out than that for your priest?"

¶53 There is no denying it, the Glogova men were ashamed of the business, and turned it off rather at the young priest's expense:

¶54 "Eh, come! It is good enough. A heifer calf could drag this lot, and no mistake."

¶55 But if the Reverend János Bélyi brought no superfluity of goods to Glogova, he certainly found none there either — nothing but the tumbledown parsonage. The former priest's relations had carried off every stick and left only a dog, the late incumbent's favourite: a dog like any other to look at, in shape and in coat, but which was now beginning, on account of an unlucky disposition, to occupy a certain unpopular position of its own. For out of pure greed it went the whole row of houses in order about noon, blinking in at the kitchens; because its departed master had had the habit of getting himself invited to dinner at a different farmer's every day, and of taking his dog along with him.

¶56 The dog, Vistula by name (though there was little need to go so far for a river to name him after, when the glittering Bjela Voda runs right across the parish bounds here), was learning bitterly that he and the priest together had been worth more than he was by himself — whereas formerly he had held it, on dog philosophy, that his reverence was eating up the victuals in front of him. Just so; but it was his reverence who supplied the standing and the influence! Now they chased Vistula out of the kitchens before he could get any operation under way, and now and again they even thrashed him.

¶57 In a word, he was in a very wretched, meagre condition when the new priest arrived, and when the sexton showed him over his new home — the four bare walls, the garden overgrown with goosefoot, the empty stable and sties.

¶58 The poor young priest smiled.

¶59 "And is all this mine?"

¶60 "All of it, all of it, everything you see here. This dog too," said Péter Szlávik with a certain geniality.

¶61 "What sort of dog is this?"

¶62 "This, if you please, is the late reverend gentleman's legacy. He was left behind after him. We would have knocked the poor troublesome creature on the head before now, but nobody dares, because they say suppose the old reverend gentleman should be looking down out of heaven, and should come back to haunt us on his account."

¶63 The dog seemed to be looking at the new priest gently, sadly, with almost imploring eyes. Perhaps it was the sight of the cassock that had put him into so melancholy a humour.

¶64 "I shall keep him for myself," said the young priest, stooping and patting the lean animal's back. "At least there will be some living creature near me."

¶65 "Why, that will be a good thing, surely," the sexton pleasantried. (For it is a great enjoyment to a peasant to banter with a priest.) "A man must begin somewhere. It might be done the other way about — first get the thing to be guarded, and then the guard. But this way is good too, reverend sir."

¶66 He smiled; he could smile as winningly as a girl. He saw for himself that no great sphere of action awaited old Vistula — he would be a positive private gentleman in dog society.

¶67 Meanwhile more and more people were gathering in the yard: young wives, who watched from a distance and said, "Lord, how young he is, and a priest already." The men went right up to him and shook hands with him:

¶68 "God has brought you! You will do well here."

¶69 An old granny called out from among them:

¶70 "You may stay with us till you die!"

¶71 One of the older women spoke thus:

¶72 "A handsome man he is. A fine mother she was that bore him."

¶73 In a word, the new priest pleased everybody. He talked a little while with the older people, affably and prettily, then said that he was tired, and went across to the schoolmaster's; for he was lodging at the schoolmaster's until such time as he could get the parsonage into some condition and the revenues came in.

¶74 Only the leading men went with him as far as the schoolmaster's, those in the secret of church affairs: Péter Szlávik, Mihály Gongoly the nabob of Glogova, and the miller, György Klincsok.

¶75 From these he then inquired more closely into the vain earthly circumstances, jotting them down in his notebook so as to be able to make some sort of reckoning.

¶76 "How many souls are there in the village?"

¶77 "It wants little of five hundred."

¶78 "And what do these pay the priest?"

¶79 The worthy men reckoned it up faithfully: how much the marriage-dues came to, how much firewood was due, how many bushels of rye, how much the zlevka.¹

¶80 The young priest grew sadder and sadder…

¶81 "It is little, to be sure," said he, downcast.

¶82 "And how much is the stole-fee?"

¶83 "Well, that is big enough, to be sure," answered György Klincsok, who was versed in everything. "After a funeral it depends on the dead man; and the wedding fee is according to the sort of pair that is to be tied together (for at such times a man is a gallant); but for taking out a certificate of baptism a silver florin is due… That is something."

¶84 "And how many weddings are there in a year?"

¶85 "Ah, that depends on the quantity of the potatoes. Many potatoes, many weddings. The crop decides. But four or five there are, all the same."

¶86 "Well, that is few. And how many deaths are there?"

¶87 "Ah, that depends on the quality of the potato crop. If the potatoes come up bad and sickly there are many deaths; with good potatoes there is no mortality. Nobody is such a fool at those times. I don't say but one or two are killed every year by a tree sawn down in the forest. Or an accident happens, somebody goes over into a ditch with his cart and dies on the spot. In better years, however, the number of deaths may be put as high as eight."

¶88 "Only they are not all the priest's!" said the nabob of Glogova, proudly settling the pigtail he wore gathered up behind in a comb.

¶89 "How so?" asked the priest, taken aback.

¶90 "A part of the population never gets to the graveyard at all. The wolves devour them in winter, without giving notice of it at the parsonage."

¶91 "And another part hands in the key in summer, off in foreign parts of the country," György Klincsok capped it, "and nothing comes of them but a scrawl to the judge."

¶92 "Well, that is a poor look-out. But the parsonage lands? How much land has the parsonage?"

¶93 At this, however, all three of them wanted to speak at once. György Klincsok pulled Péter Szlávik back out of the foreground and planted himself before the servant of God.

¶94 "Land? How much land is there? As much as ever you command. If a hundred acres are wanted…"

¶95 "What, a hundred acres! Five hundred acres!" Klincsok cried enthusiastically. "We are not the men to grudge land to our priest!"

¶96 Something like joy began to dawn on the priest's face — which, however, the evil-minded Szlávik could not endure for long.

¶97 "For your reverence must know, the way of it is that the Glogova lands are to this day unconsolidated. There is no proper land register; there was some sort of survey of the fields once, but in 1823 the parish chest was burnt and the survey with it. So every man's share of the lands is as much as he has draught power and hands enough to work. Each ploughs his own, and if in the course of years his field goes bad, gullies, cracks open, he looks out another piece to plough for himself. Half the lands always stand ownerless — the worse half, of course, the half not worth fiddling with."

¶98 "I understand," the priest sighed. "It is in that half that the parsonage land lies."

¶99 Thin prospects, these, for the future. Yet little by little he grew easy again; when anxieties pressed him he rinsed them away with a prayer. Prayer was his estate, with its ever-bearing soil; at any minute he could mow off it everything he had need of — patience, hope, consolation, contentment. Slowly he set about putting his lodging in order, so as to be at last his own master. Only a chaplain knows what that means. Luckily he discovered a schoolfellow in the next village, at Kopanyica: this was Tamás Urszinyi, a great hulking man, rough and straight in his speech but good-hearted. Urszinyi helped him with a small loan.

¶100 "Glogova is a dog's nest," said Urszinyi. "Well, it is not the bishopric of Nyitra, to be sure, but who can help it? A lean flock, a lean shepherd. One must stand it out. Daniel was in a worse place, with the lions. These, after all, are only sheep."

¶101 "With no wool on them," the reverend gentleman remarked, laughing.

¶102 "There is even that, but you have no shears for it."

¶103 In a few days he had furnished himself with the borrowed money, and on a fine autumn afternoon he moved at last into his own parsonage. What happiness it was to walk to and fro in his own house, to set things in their places; and how sweet the sleep that came in his own bed — on those pillows whose feathers his own mother had stripped. He fell to thinking of it, and mused over it a long while; before lying down he counted the beams, so as not to forget what he was going to dream of.

¶104 Nor did he forget it: he dreamed of something very lovely. On the meadows of his native village he was chasing butterflies, taking nests, flushing sousliks out with water, with mischievous girl and boy playfellows; he had even fallen out with Pali Szabó, and would have given Pali a good drubbing too — his switch was up already — when somebody rattled at the window from outside.

¶105 The priest started up, shuddered, and began to rub the sweet dream out of his eyes. It was morning already; the sun was shining in.

¶106 "What is it?" he cried.

¶107 "Open the door, Jankó!"

¶108 Jankó! Who is calling him Jankó, and thou-ing him, and in Hungarian? As though it were one of those playfellows he had parted from only a moment ago in the dream.

¶109 He sprang out of bed in a hurry and ran to the window:

¶110 "Who is out there? Who calls?"

¶111 "It would be me, Master Máté Billeghi, from home. Come you out, Jankó lad — that is to say, would your reverence be pleased to step out a moment, reverend sir; I have brought something."

¶112 The priest dragged his clothes on in haste. His heart beat feverishly. Perhaps his tender soul had already felt the first breath of the bad news. He opened the porch door from within and stepped out under the eaves:

¶113 "Here I am, Master Máté Billeghi. What has your worship brought?"

¶114 But Master Billeghi was no longer there by then; he was standing out on the road beside his cart, which was loaded with sacks, untying the basket in which little Veronka sat, and the goose. The horses, Yellowhammer and Swallow, hung their heads wearily. Yellowhammer would have liked to lie down a little, and even tried it, but the shaft would not let him. As he tilted over to one side he felt the harness ropes cutting into his hide, and a horse's honour would not allow him to make himself comfortable while the harness was on him. It must be a great matter indeed that will make a harnessed horse lie down. There is a great sense of duty in a horse.

¶115 Máté Billeghi now turned round and caught sight of the priest on the threshold.

¶116 "Hallo, Jankó! My, how you have grown! Well, well, what a lanky fellow you have turned into. Your mother would be astonished, if she were alive. The devil take this rope; I made a rare tight knot in it."

¶117 The priest took a step or two forward towards the cart, where Master Billeghi was still labouring at the untying of the basket. The words "if your mother were alive" fell all at once on his forehead like a sharp stone; his head began to ring, his legs refused their service.

¶118 "Is your worship speaking of my mother?" he stammered, white. "Is my mother dead?"

¶119 "She has laid down her spoon, poor soul. But here you are" — taking the wooden-handled clasp-knife out of his pocket, he snicked through the rope with it — "here is your little sister; or, Lord forgive me, for I have as short a wit as a chicken, I keep forgetting that I am speaking to his reverence… I have brought his reverence his little sister. Where shall I set her down?"

¶120 And with that he lifted down the basket, in which the child was sleeping prettily and quietly, peacefully, beside the goose. The goose watched over her as though it were some sort of nursemaid, driving the flies away from her, right and left, with its forever restless neck — flies that settled willingly on the little girl's red mouth, as on honey.

¶121 The aged light of the autumn sun shone over the basket and the sleeping child. Farmer Máté fixed his water-coloured eyes questioningly on the priest, waiting for him to say something.

¶122 "Dead?" he asked at long last. "That is impossible. I did not feel it."

¶123 He clutched at his forehead and cried out in pain:

¶124 "Nobody, nobody let me know. I could not even be there at the funeral!"

¶125 "I was not there myself either," said Master Billeghi. Perhaps he meant to console him with the fact that he had not been there either; then he added benevolently: "His majesty God has taken her to Himself, has called her to His throne. He will leave none of us here. Hey now, these filthy frogs — I have trodden on one of them!"

¶126 In the parsonage yard, overgrown with goosefoot and thorn-apple, the frogs were hopping and smacking merrily about — frogs that come out here to bask from the porous, damp foundations of the church.

¶127 "Where shall I set the child down?" Master Billeghi repeated; but as he got no answer, he lowered the basket very carefully under the eaves.

¶128 The priest was struck down; he stood there insensible, his soul numbed, his eyes fastened on the ground. He felt as if the earth were running away — with the houses, with the privet hedges, with Máté Billeghi, with the basket — and he only stood, went on standing on it, unable to stir this way or that. Behind him the pinewoods of the Ukricza forest were soughing, as though some marvellous voice, wringing at the heart, were being woven into the sough, a voice like his own mother's. He trembled and listened, and laboured to separate these sounds out; and when he had all but managed to make out one and another, to distinguish them, a strange booming cut it in two and washed it into itself. And yet — hush, hush! See, the mother's voice spoke out of the forest again even now: Bring up the child, Jankó, Jankó!

¶129 But while Father János was snatching at the voices of the other world, Master Máté Billeghi took offence at his silence: at the least he might have deserved a friar's penny, if nothing else (a friar's penny is what they call a "thank you" in those parts).

¶130 "Well, if it is so, it is so," said his worship crossly, and gave his whip a flick. "God bless you, reverend sir! Gee up, Yellowhammer!"

¶131 Father János still did not answer; in his great pain he did not so much as notice what was going on about him. The horses had already started, and Master Billeghi walking beside them, for the road goes uphill, with a slow angry muttering that this was nothing so very strange in the order of the world either: if a little chicken turns into a peacock, it does not remember its chicken estate. Reaching the top of the hill he looked back once more, and seeing the cantor's boy still motionless, he shouted at him, as though to give himself a receipt for the duty discharged:

¶132 "And I did hand over what there was to hand over, mind you!"

¶133 He came to himself at the shout, and shook himself. His soul returned from its sad wandering. For it had wandered far, after his mother. Its first act had been to seek her out; it spent over again with her the time it had spent with her before, and after that it spent with her, in imagination, the time that distance had robbed it of as well. He was there at the dying woman's bedside, kneeling, praying; and what his mother thought of then, what she had to say, her last sigh — the air took it up and gave it to the wind, and the wind had it cried out by the forest: Bring up the child, Jankó!

¶134 There is no need for the child to be at home to learn a dying parent's last will and wish. It need not be put on paper; no matter if no electric wire carries it — there are finer forces for that, greater forces.

¶135 János's first impulse was to run after Master Billeghi, to make him stop and tell out everything he knew about his mother: how she had lived in her last two years, how she had died, in what manner they had buried her, everything, everything. But the Haláp cart was far off by then, and at that moment he caught sight of the basket, and it took up his attention.

¶136 In the basket his little sister was sleeping. The young priest did not so much as know her; he had never seen the child. He had last been at home at his father's funeral — his mother had sent a cart for him then; this time nobody had let him know. Little Veronka was not yet in the world; he knew only from his mother's letters that she existed, and those letters, too, were so bashful, so sparing of words.

¶137 János stepped up to the basket and looked at the chubby, winning little face. There is something of mother in it, he thought; and as he looked, and looked, and went on looking, this face began to grow, to change, and all at once, feature by feature, the mother's face sprang out before his swimming eyes. Holy God, what a marvel is this, what a dazzlement! The whole of it lasted no more than half a minute. It was the little child again. Oh, if she would only open her little eyes! János would have liked it so if she would open them; but she did not open them; only her long lashes sprouted from the two clefts, like black silk fringes.

¶138 And now I am to bring this up? János brooded — and an endless warmth ran over the region of his heart — and bring her up I will. But out of what? God, out of what? Why, I have nothing to eat myself. What am I to set about, what?

¶139 As he had done hitherto, whenever despondency and helplessness came over his soul, he thought of prayer; and now too that is what he did, and went across to the church to pray. God's house happened to be open; two old grannies were whitewashing the inside of it.

¶140 Father János did not go up to the altar, because the two grannies were pottering about just there; but immediately outside, beside the holy-water stoup, stood the figure of Jesus in wood and tin, and before that he knelt down.

Translator's log — span C

Frozen with the artifact and committed before the study limb was designed (charter §3, A4; continue-prompt.md §5.4). Decisions and alternatives, not quality claims. Numbering D1.. runs continuously across Part I under R05 §3 and begins here, because this artifact begins here; the two chapters rendered before the arm existed carry their own logs and are not renumbered.

The copy-text, decided before a word was translated

D1 — the copy-text changes to Révai 1910, and the two earlier chapters were rendered from a different text. Both witnesses the project can reach are free: MEK-00954 (modernised orthography, used by spans A and B) and Project Gutenberg #68911 (Révai Testvérek 1910, transcribed from Google Books page images, printing orthography preserved). They were collated whole across Part I's four chapters before translating — collation.md. 45 divergences in chapter III alone, of which the large majority are word-division and orthographic modernisation, and five are substantive. Two of the five are readings the modernised text has demonstrably lost:

• ¶127 ismétlé → MEK ismétli. An archaic narrative past silently read as an ordinary present. This is the same class of form S127's log recorded itself as having under-counted.
• ¶137 Oh! csak kinyitná → MEK ő, csak kinyitná. An interjection read as a pronoun.

Two more change the sense (¶131 hogyha … páva lesz, a csirke-állapotjára against MEK's inserted mert; ¶114 a lóbecsület nem **engedte** against MEK's present engedi), and one is a plain omission (¶80 mind szomorúbb **és** szomorúbb). Révai 1910 is the copy-text from here on; MEK is followed where 1910 slips, and one such slip is already recorded (collation.md §3, ch. II fevde for fedve). Neither printing is clean, so the policy is eclectic, as ARM-atelier-cycle was forced to adopt on Canth at S100.

D2 — the two earlier chapters are not re-rendered and not silently repaired. The collation finds one substantive divergence in chapter I (¶5 a pap fia / MEK a pap fiú) and two in chapter II (¶3 leng / MEK teng, and ¶10 mondák / MEK mondta). ¶3 is the one that would change an English word: teng is vegetates, straggles, leng is waves, floats, and R04-span2-v1 rendered straggles. It stands as frozen; the point of an append-only artifact is that it records what the translator did before knowing what was coming (R05 §2), and the correction belongs in the craft report, not in a quiet edit. Recorded here so a later session cannot mistake it for an oversight.

The chapter's own decisions

D3 — te-ing, and the one place the English cannot follow (¶108). «Ki szólítja őt Jankónak, te-nek, magyarul?» names the second-person pronoun as a word. Three renderings were live: (a) keep the Hungarian, "calling him te"; (b) drop the pronoun, "and by his christian name"; (c) use the one English form that can be a metalinguistic verb, "and thou-ing him." (c) was taken. It is the only choice that keeps what the sentence is about — the shock is not the name but the grammar — and English does have the transitive verb. What it costs is that thou carries a liturgical and Elizabethan freight in English that Hungarian te does not carry at all; the Hungarian is homely, the English is old. This is a substitution, not a carry. Alternative (a) was rejected because a bare te in a novel with no other untranslated Hungarian would be a footnote in disguise.

D4 — the same shift again, and this time it is characterisation (¶111, ¶119). Billeghi Máté addresses the priest as a village boy and corrects himself in the middle of his own sentence: «Gyere ki Jánoskám, azaz hogy tessék egy kicsit kijönni, tisztelendő úr». The correction is from te to the impersonal-polite tessék, and it is the whole man in one line. Rendered by moving between two English registers rather than two pronouns: "Come you out, Jankó lad — that is to say, would your reverence be pleased to step out a moment, reverend sir". Come you out is the familiar imperative with the emphatic pronoun; would your reverence be pleased is the deferential periphrasis; the join carries the self-correction. The same move is made at ¶119, where he breaks off from your little sister to his reverence's little sister mid-clause. English is unusually well placed here — the honorific third person is available in his reverence — and this is the one address site in the chapter where nothing is lost.

D5 — kegyelmed and ő kigyelme are your worship / his worship. Continues span A's decision for bíró uram and keeps one English form for one Hungarian form across the part. tisztelendő úr is reverend sir in address and the reverend gentleman / his reverence in reference; kendtek (¶52) is carried by you good folk rather than by a pronoun, English having no plural familiar.

D6 — the two past tenses in the speech tags are a declared loss, and the register now says so (V6). Chapter III has 16 archaic narrative-past forms (mondá ×6, kérdé ×2, kiáltá ×2, tódítá, jegyzé meg, ismétlé, gondolá, segíté, fáradozék) against 10 ordinary pasts (mondta ×2, szólt ×2, felelte, kiáltott, sóhajtott, dadogta, humorizált, and the narration's mondta). English has one past tense and one neutral tag verb. Every tag in this span is rendered plainly — said, asked, cried, remarked — and the alternation is carried nowhere. The options considered and rejected: inverted tags (said he, asked the priest) for the archaic form only, which would have marked it as Victorian translation rather than as literary Hungarian; and archaic English tag verbs (quoth, made answer), which are comic. Whether anything is actually lost by this is not a question the translator can answer, and it is the study limb.

D7 — almázia (¶49) is rendered ambrosia, and the mangling is lost. The word is not standard Hungarian and appears to be the sexton reaching for ambrózia and missing. The rendering keeps the grand word the sexton was reaching for and loses the miss. Recorded because the alternative — keeping almázia in italics — would have preserved exactly the puzzle a Hungarian reader has, and was rejected only on D3's ground about untranslated Hungarian.

D8 — the dying idioms are kept as idioms, not glossed. «Letette a kanalat» → she has laid down her spoon; «adja be a kulcsot» → hands in the key; «barátgaras» → a friar's penny, with Mikszáth's own in-text gloss kept where he supplies one (¶129) and no gloss added where he does not (¶119). The rule adopted: the narrator glosses or he does not, and the translator does not take over the office. Applied also to zlevka, where the author's footnote is carried as a footnote.

D9 — fakó szekér (¶48) is one bare wooden cart. The compound names a cart built with no iron in it, which is the poverty the sentence is about; pale cart would render the adjective's other sense and say nothing.

D10 — the animals keep their meanings, the people keep their names. Sármány and Fecske are Yellowhammer and Swallow, Bimbó stays Bimbó, Visztula is Vistula because the narrator's parenthesis is about the river. The inconsistency is deliberate and is a rule now (V7): a name is translated where the text makes a point of what it means, and kept where it does not. Bimbó is spoken by the sexton in a sentence about milk, and means nothing there.

D11 — the narrator's parentheses stay parentheses (¶56, ¶65, ¶129), and ¶65's «Mert nagy élvezet parasztnak pappal évelődni» stays a general maxim in the present tense, as in the Hungarian, rather than being folded into the scene.

D12 — humorizált (¶65) is pleasantried. A verb English does not quite have, for a Hungarian verb that is itself a nineteenth-century loan doing exactly this job. Joked is flat and bantered takes an object. Recorded as a coinage-by-conversion, in a passage whose next sentence is about the pleasure of banter.

D13 — ¶94's speaker is left unattributed, as in the source. ¶93 puts Klincsok in front of the priest and ¶95 attributes the outbidding to Klincsok, which leaves ¶94's If a hundred acres are wanted… either Klincsok interrupting himself or one of the other two speaking from behind. The Hungarian does not say and the English does not say.

D14 — the potato exchange (¶85, ¶87) is kept deadpan. «Senki sem bolond ilyenkor» is rendered Nobody is such a fool at those times, which keeps the joke's structure — dying is imprudence — and not its explanation.

D15 — ¶99's dominium is estate, and the metaphor is made to run. Prayer as a landholding with ever-bearing soil that can be mown at any minute, arriving three sentences after a page about land that will not bear: estate, soil, mow off it are chosen together so the figure is a decision and not an accident. internal-judgment-only: no claim that the result is good, only that the three words were chosen as one.

D16 — ¶103's beam-counting is not explained. Counting the roof-beams before sleep, so as to remember the dream, is a folk practice the Hungarian assumes and the English reader will not have. It is left bare. This is the same call as D8 and is made the same way.

D17 — ¶128's liczeum is privet. The hedge plant, not the school; the sentence is a list of things the earth is running away with.

D18 — the mother's voice keeps its imperative, and the address inside it is te (¶128, ¶133). «Neveld a gyermeket, Jankó!» is Bring up the child, Jankó! in both occurrences, unpunctuated by quotation marks in the Hungarian and unpunctuated here. The refrain is the chapter's hinge and its second occurrence drops one Jankó; the English drops it too.

D19 — kántorfiú (¶131) is the cantor's boy. Billeghi's word for a man he will not call a priest, in a sentence about a chicken that has become a peacock.

D20 — one thing the self-revision found that the draft had not. The chapter is built on a counting figure that the draft rendered piecemeal: the priest jots down the dues to make a reckoning (¶75), the men reckon it up (¶79), the deaths are put as high as eight (¶87), the land has no register because the survey burnt (¶97), and at the end Billeghi wants a receipt for the duty discharged (¶131) and shouts that he handed over what there was to hand over (¶132). The revision made reckon, register, survey, receipt and hand over consistent so the figure carries; the draft had count up, land-book, listing, acknowledgement and delivered. internal-judgment-only.

Unresolved — questions span D is required to settle (R05 §4)

1. Chapter IV is the legend itself and contains the novel's title object. The umbrella, esernyő, and the phrase «Szent Péter esernyője» must be fixed before span D, together with whether the saint is Saint Peter throughout or Szent Péter where villagers speak.
2. Whether te/ön/kegyelmed need a fourth English resource. D3–D5 spend thou-ing, your worship and reverend sir in one chapter. Chapter IV brings the villagers and the apparition into the same scene.
3. Whether the tag rule V6 survives contact with the study limb's result, whatever it is. V6 is written as a declared loss; if the alternation turns out to carry something specifiable, V6 is the rule that must change, and it must change by erratum and not silently.
4. nábob (¶74, ¶88) is kept as nabob here on the strength of its currency in English of the period. Chapter IV uses the word again of the same man; the decision is confirmed or reversed there, once, for both.

Span D — chapter IV, «Az esernyő és Szent Péter», first movement (¶141–¶210, 70 paragraphs, 2,389 Hungarian words)

Frozen before the study limb was designed.

The span boundary is at ¶210, not at the ~¶200 the arm estimated. R05 §1 requires the break to fall at a break in the narrative rather than at a word count. ¶141–¶210 is one movement: the prayer, the miracle, the legend forming, and the first funeral the umbrella walks in. ¶211 opens the second movement — Srankó's death and the umbrella becoming a thing with a price — and that is span E's first sentence.

Contamination for this span: none, with one thing declared. No English rendering of chapter IV was read before this span and its log were committed; Worswick 1900's chapter III sits in the repository and was not opened, and no chapter IV of it was fetched. The one item that is not none is the novel's English title, which the translator already knew — see D23, where it is stated rather than absorbed. Measurement follows the freeze, per the arm page.

IV. THE UMBRELLA AND SAINT PETER

¶141 Yes, it was before Jesus that the priest knelt down. He turned to Jesus — to our Lord, to Jesus.

¶142 What a piece of good fortune for mankind this Jesus is, this god who was a man. Of God I do not know what he is like; of Jesus I know. Jesus is an acquaintance of mine, and everybody's acquaintance. I know what he did, I know how he thought, I even know his face. What fills my soul with peace is not that he is my Lord, but that he is my acquaintance.

¶143 Two thousand years since, there lived upon this earth an acquaintance of mine — what a thought, to bind a world together! The people of that time, and those who came after them, turned to dust, and the dust turned to grass, and the grass God knows what it turned into; but he, my acquaintance, has always lived, always was and always will be.

¶144 If I travel far away, into strange countries, among strange peoples, the faces are other, the animals too are other, the grasses too are other, the sky too is other, everything is other, and in my desolate, appalling forsakenness and solitude I am driven to believe that I am no longer even in this world — when all at once, at the edge of some inhabited place, there starts up before me a cross, and on it a tin man bleeding from his wounds: my acquaintance.

¶145 Ah, here he is! Here too he is here! And I am no longer alone, and I am not forsaken. Then I too kneel down before him and tell him, just as this priest is doing now, what it is that weighs on my heart.

¶146 "Help me, Lord Jesus" — these were the thoughts Father János laid before him. "My mother is dead, my little sister has been brought to me, it is I who must bring her up. I am poor, I am helpless, I never knew what one is to do with a child. Ah, give me a saving thought, Jesus! And throw me down out of your inexhaustible horn of plenty the means to feed her and tend her. Work a miracle upon me, Lord Jesus."

¶147 The Son of God painted on the tin seemed to be listening to the words of the prayer; and the shadow and the bars of light that struck him from the windows and from the walls and quivered upon him seemed to be the utterances of his face, as though he were smiling in the midst of his many sufferings and nodding his head:

¶148 "Very well, very well. I know it all. I shall intervene by and by."

¶149 He prayed a long while, sunk in it, beginning over and over, and never noticed that meanwhile — as often happens in autumn — after the stifling, almost unnatural heat the sky suddenly clouds over, a black cloud comes up, a storm gets up. When he stepped out of the church door a huge downpour was pelting. The brooks come galloping wildly down off the hills behind the village, filled with water, and the cattle run bellowing about the streets.

¶150 Terror seized János.

¶151 "I left the child out there under the eaves. Oh, she is done for!"

¶152 He ran like a madman towards the house, and was greatly astonished at the sight that opened before him.

¶153 The basket was standing there still. The child was sitting up in the basket and the goose was running about the yard, and the rain pelted on and on, pelted in under the eaves too, the rainwater running there in a stream; but the child had stayed dry, untouched, because a huge faded umbrella of red cloth had been spread over the basket. It was patch upon patch by now, that umbrella, and along the bottom of it one could barely make out the little flowered band that ran round and round, after the fashion of old times.

¶154 The young priest turned grateful eyes to heaven, and snatching the child up out of the basket he kissed her all over and carried her in under the umbrella to the poor bare rooms.

¶155 The child's eyes were open now; they were blue, and gazed at the priest in wonder.

¶156 "Well, this is a great piece of luck," the priest muttered, "that the child did not get soaked; she might have caught such a chill from it that she would die of it, seeing that I could not put a dry little frock on her."

¶157 But where could this umbrella have come from, over her? Past all understanding! Nobody in Glogova has an umbrella.

¶158 In the neighbouring houses the peasants were digging channels in their yards for the water to run off by. The reverend gentleman questioned them one after another.

¶159 "Did you not see whether there was somebody beside the child?"

¶160 The child they had seen; but beside her, to their knowledge, nobody had come or gone.

¶161 Old Mrs Mátyás Adamecz, who was fleeing home from the fields with a sheet thrown over her head, had seen something round and red come down out of the sky at that very moment. May she be turned to stone on the spot if it is not so (this is Mrs Adamecz speaking, be it understood) that the Virgin Mary let the implement down herself for the orphan's protection.

¶162 Stupid chatter, Mrs Adamecz's! Mrs Adamecz is fond of tipping a drop down the hopper, and it is no wonder if she sees more than she ought. Only last summer, on the night of Peter and Paul, heaven opened before her: she heard the host of angels singing, and saw them as they went up in procession before God His holy majesty, who sat upon his throne of carbuncle. There went among the processional folk her own grandson Jankó Plachta, dead these three years, in his little linen drawers and his little red waistcoat (which Mrs Adamecz had sewn for him herself in her day); and among the Glogova people dead within the last ten years she caught sight of several, as they paced there to the heavenly singing, slowly, solemnly, in the very clothes wherein they were buried.

¶163 One may imagine how sought after the holy widow was after Peter and Paul's day, as soon as the news of the vision got about: they came unto her in turn, all they that have dear ones dead under the earth — had she not seen them up in heaven? And my daughter? And my dear old father? And my poor husband?

¶164 They believed it, for there is something reasonable in it, that the powers of heaven should show more to Mrs Adamecz than to a woman born of any other mother. Forasmuch as a downright miracle had happened with her father, András Flinta, now blessed in God, who stood in the repute of a great thief. When a piece was broken off the Glogova graveyard for the high road eight years ago, they dug up his grave to move him into a new one, and looking at the old man they saw with astonishment that his beard had grown in the grave — although at his death, as five witnesses testify, Tamás Gundros the cowherd had shaved him clean and handsome.

¶165 Well, that old Flinta is in heaven now is as certain as twice two; and if his worship is up there, sly impostor that he was, he will surely leave the door ajar now and then for a little peep in, for his daughter Agnis…

¶166 It is true, on the other hand, that Pál Kvapka the bell-ringer maintains something else. Pál Kvapka says that when he was ringing against the clouds at the breaking of the storm, and turned round the least bit, he saw an old Jew-looking figure shambling along the road in the direction of the parsonage, and in his hand was that huge red canvas platter which the reverend gentleman found on the basket. Kvapka naturally did not pay much heed to the business, for he was sleepy, and the wind was driving the dust into his face besides; he remembers it only dimly — but what he remembers he would dare to take his oath on (and Pál Kvapka is a man whose word may be trusted).

¶167 Others saw this Jew-looking figure too. He was old, tall, grey-haired, bent in the back, and in his hand was a stick that curled at the handle after the manner of a pig's tail. At the Pribils' well the wind whipped the hat off his head, and there was a white baldness to be seen on the crown of it as big as a bridle-ring.

¶168 "Let me be anything you please," said the sexton (he had seen him so, without the hat), "if he did not look like the Saint Peter among the church pictures. He was the very spit of him, only the keys were wanting from his hand."

¶169 From the Pribils' well he cut straight across into István Stropov's lucerne field, where the Krátkis' crook-horned cow, which had got loose in there, made to gore the old Jew, whereupon he struck her with his stick — and ever since that the cow gives fourteen quarts of milk a day (ask the Krátki family yourselves, good folk). Before that it was a mercy if she gave four.

¶170 At the very end of the village he even spoke to the miller's servant girl, to ask which way the road went to Lehota. The girl Erzsi told him, whereupon he set off up the hill by the beaten footpath. It seems to Erzsi now, thinking back on it, that as he went there was very likely a ring of light about his head as well…

¶171 Why, of course it was Saint Peter! And why should it not have been? Had he not walked here often enough in the old days, stumbling and blundering about hereabouts with our Lord Christ? So much chronicle is left of the things he did here that the hundredth generation is telling them still. And what was once not impossible may happen a second time. From ear to ear the marvellous news flew about the village, that the Lord had sent down a canvas tent for the priest's little sister at the hour of the great cloudburst, so that she should not be rained on. Old Saint Peter himself had been sent running down with it by the representative of orphans and the helpless.

¶172 After this the child had a fine time of it, to be sure. She came into fashion on the instant. The old women of the village turned up their sleeves and set to at once, kneading sweet loaves, boiling milk-porridge, baking poppy-seed crescents, to carry to the little newcomer. The reverend gentleman could hardly keep up with the opening of the door, so thick and fast did they bring the victuals all day long, one dainty finer than another, in dishes covered over with snow-white straining-cloths. Father János stared and marvelled as they kept on coming.

¶173 "Oh, my dear reverend sir, I have brought a little delicacy. We heard that your little sister has come, so I thought a tasty morsel or two would go down well with her. It might be better, to be sure, but such as a poor body can manage. Our hearts are excellent, my dear reverend sir, but our flour is no fine flour, indeed it is not: that robber of a miller has scorched it a little — that part of it, at least, which the hell-deserving wretch did not steal out of it. May one see the little angel? Oh, they say she is a wonderful creature."

¶174 The reverend gentleman could hardly refuse to let them go up in turn before the tiny Veronka, to stroke her, coddle her, devour and slobber over her. Some of them even kissed her little feet.

¶175 The priest often turned away, so that his flock should not notice the tears that seeped out of his eyes in his emotion; and besides that his conscience gnawed at him, and he reproached himself:

¶176 "How I have misjudged these people. In all the round world there is no better folk than the Glogova folk — and how they love me! It is astonishing, how they love me!"

¶177 Towards the latter end of the afternoon Mrs Adamecz came along too — who up to that time had not thought much of the new reverend gentleman, and who, on the strength of her father's beard having grown after his death (whereby she had got herself to some extent mixed up among the saints), considered she had a right to meddle in the affairs of the church.

¶178 "Reverend father dear," she said, "the child ought to have some sort of woman to provide for her."

¶179 "She ought, indeed," said the priest, thinking it over, "but the parish is poor."

¶180 "The devil is poor," Mrs Adamecz flared up, "because he has no soul. But we have souls. And after all, the reverend gentleman cannot dress the little girl, nor wash her, nor plait her hair. And then she asks to eat in the middle of the day too, and one cannot board at the cantor's with a child. The cooking must be done at home, my holy father dear. It is I who say so, old Mrs Adamecz. The bell-ringer is good enough for the sweeping out, but what would the booby understand about a child?"

¶181 "True, true, but where am I to get one…"

¶182 "Where are you to get one? Why, am I not here? God himself created me for a priest's cook, seeing that suspicion cannot stumble over me."

¶183 "Yes, yes," the priest hummed and hawed, "but where am I to get her wages?"

¶184 Mrs Adamecz struck her two palms against her hips, one on each side.

¶185 "Leave that to the two of us, my dear soul — to me and to God. He will pay it me in the father's stead. I shall come into service this very evening, and bring my own pots along with me."

¶186 The priest rolled deeper and deeper into astonishment. And Urszinyi more so, when he came over towards evening on a visit and the priest told him the history of the day: at Mrs Adamecz's offer he clapped his hands together.

¶187 "Mrs Adamecz? That old witch? Without wages? That God is to pay for it? Well, János, such a miracle has never yet happened, that a Glogova body should take God for a surety liable on demand. You have positively bewitched these people."

¶188 The priest only smiled quietly, and a deep devotion quivered in his soul. He too felt that a miracle had happened. Everything was so out of the way, so past understanding. But he had his suspicion of the source of the changes. The prayer he had addressed to Jesus, kneeling on the cold stone of the church, had been granted a hearing up above. Jesus had collected in the selfish souls of the Glogova people, and had sent each of them one out of his own. The breath of Jesus is felt on these people's faces, in their behaviour… Truly, a miracle had happened!

¶189 The reports that had got into circulation about the umbrella he partly did not hear and partly smiled at. It is true that he did not understand how the umbrella had got there; he wondered at it for a minute, but troubled himself no further about it afterwards, and stood it in a corner in case the owner should present himself for it. Though for that matter the whole thing was not worth five pence.

¶190 But the events of that day were not exhausted with all this. In the evening the news spread like lightning that Mrs Mihály Gongoly, wife of the nabob of Glogova, had drowned in the Bjela Voda, which the cloudburst had swollen most cursedly. The unfortunate woman had wanted to cross by the plank to fetch back her geese, which were stranded on the far bank; she had brought back the gander already and a black-crested one under her arm, but when she went over again for the other two her foot slipped somehow and she tumbled into the foaming, galloping water. Lord bless us — in the morning there had not even been water in it, a goat could have drunk it dry at a draught, and by noon it had swollen into a mad river, and it swallowed the poor woman for ever, there being nobody near. They looked for her all afternoon, where she could have got to, ransacked barn and loft and cellar for her; and then in the evening the water cast her body up beside Lehota.

¶191 Lehota people came upon her there, recognised her, and one of them galloped over on horseback with the news to Mihály Gongoly.

¶192 The dreadful business roused great excitement in the parish. People gathered in knots before this gate and that:

¶193 "Ay, God can deal with the rich as well!"

¶194 György Klincsok rattled at the priest's door too.

¶195 "There will be a great funeral the day after tomorrow."

¶196 The bell-ringer turned in at the cantor's, hoping for a thimbleful of brandy in return for the news:

¶197 "Now then, Master Cantor," he said, "gather your wits together. There is a fat corpse. Fine verses will be wanted."

¶198 On the third day the funeral did indeed take place. There had been nothing like it at Glogova for a long while. Master Gongoly had the priest of Lehota fetched over as well, so that two priests should weep for her; the coffin was brought from Beszterce with relays of horses; the cross was taken over to Kopanyica for the joiner to paint it black and write on it in white letters the name of the departed and the day of her drowning. There was a prodigious crowd — and what if the weather had been fine besides; but just as the priest in full vestments had set off with the acolytes towards the house of mourning, a great downpour got up again all at once, whereupon he sent Kvapka running back.

¶199 "Run along quickly, my man, and fetch the umbrella; it is standing against the press."

¶200 Pál Kvapka turned staring eyes on the reverend gentleman. He too knew what that umbrella was.

¶201 "Come, come," said the priest impatiently, "I mean that great canvas-hoop affair we found over my little sister's basket the day before yesterday."

¶202 "Now I understand."

¶203 The reverend gentleman, so as not to get wet, drew back under Péter Majgó's eaves, until after a little the swift-footed Kvapka brought the umbrella; which his reverence, to the great astonishment of them all, sprang open wide and round with a single movement of his hand, so that it looked as though a hundred bats' wings had been welded into one another. Then taking it by the handle he raised it above his head and went slowly, majestically, without getting wet at all: the raindrops smacked and rapped angrily on the queer contrivance, but being unable to come at the reverend gentleman's body, they ran quietly down off it.

¶204 At the funeral too everybody stared at the umbrella. It was of this that the women and the men whispered to one another.

¶205 "This is what Saint Peter brought!"

¶206 Only the cantor's fine verses drew the attention off it for a moment, and sobbing broke out here and there among the congregation too, as he made the dead woman speak in the most affecting words of farewell:

¶207 I take my leave, I take my leave of my neighbour above and my neighbour below, of my gossip Pál Lajkó, of my brother-in-law György Klincsok.

¶208 Pál Lajkó's whole household began to cry; Mrs Klincsok cried out in rapture:

¶209 "Good God, how did he contrive to think it out so beautifully."

¶210 Which exclamation put great spirit into the cantor, and raising his voice higher he called upon the rest of the acquaintance and the kindred in the dead woman's name, more beautifully still, more affectingly still. There was perhaps not one single eye left dry there.

Translator's log — span D

Frozen with the artifact and committed before the study limb was designed (charter §3, A4; continue-prompt.md §5.4). Decisions and alternatives, not quality claims. Numbering continues D21.. from span C under R05 §3.

The copy-text, before a word was translated

D21 — chapter IV's collation flags are pinned to R's own paragraphing, and three of the eight fall in this span. collation.md §5 recorded chapter IV's ⚑ paragraph numbers as approximate because the chapter had not been indexed. They are now exact, and they were wrong by seven to fifteen paragraphs in every case, which is why §5 declared them approximate rather than publishing them. The three inside span D:

• ¶147 az ő arczának a nyilatkozásai / M megnyilatkozásai. Prefix only, and not ⚑ after all: R's bare nyilatkozás leans a shade towards utterance, declaration, M's towards manifestation. Rendered the utterances of his face, which is R's word, in a sentence where the tin Christ is about to speak.
• ¶170 merre visz az út Lehotára / M Lehotádra. M carries a second-person possessive on a place name that nothing in the sentence licenses — the miller's girl is not being asked the way to her Lehota. R is right and M slips; the English is unaffected.
• ¶171 az árvák és gyámoltalanok képviselője / M gondviselője. ⚑, and the one that had to be decided. See D30.

D22 — a ninth divergence in chapter IV, found while translating, and R is the one that slips. At ¶208 R prints «Lajkó Pál egész háza népe sírni kezdett Klincsokné elragadtatva felkiáltott:» with no punctuation between the two clauses; M has the comma. This is a compositor's or transcriber's drop, not a reading, and V1's eclectic policy fires for the second time in the arm (the first was ch. II fevde/fedve). M is followed: Pál Lajkó's whole household began to cry; Mrs Klincsok cried out in rapture. Recorded because collation.md's normalisation folded punctuation and therefore could not have found it — a class of divergence the instrument is blind to by construction.

The register's four open questions, settled

D23 — the title object, and a contamination declaration that has to be made in the same breath. esernyő is umbrella and «Szent Péter esernyője» is Saint Peter's umbrella. There is no second option; the word is not a realia term and nothing is at stake in it. What is at stake is that the published English translation of this novel is titled St. Peter's Umbrella, and the translator knew that before translating — it is the title the book is known by in English, not something learned from the comparator, which stayed shut. The declaration is made here rather than in a contamination line because the honest statement is precise: this agreement is not evidence of anything, because no other rendering was available to disagree with. Nothing else in this span was primed by it.

D24 — and the real problem the title object sets, which is not the title. Glogova has no umbrella (¶157), so no one in Glogova has a word for one. The chapter is built on that: the narrator says esernyő, and every villager reaches for a different makeshift. szerszám (¶161) is a tool, vászontányér (¶166) a canvas platter, vászonsátor (¶171) a canvas tent, vászonkarika forma (¶201) a canvas-hoop affair, furcsa alkotmány (¶203) a queer contrivance, and the priest himself falls back on azt a nagy vászonkarika formát when Kvapka does not understand umbrella. The rule adopted: every periphrasis is rendered as a separate concrete object and none is ever collapsed into umbrella. The temptation to normalise is strong — three of the six could be "umbrella" with no loss of information — and normalising would delete the fact that the villagers are describing a thing they cannot name. Register V15.

D25 — the fourth address resource exists, and it is not a pronoun. The register asked (question 2) whether te/ön/kegyelmed needed a fourth English resource once the villagers, the priest and the apparition met in one scene. They do, but the gap is not in the pronoun system at all: it is atyuska — Tisztelendő atyuska (¶178), szent atyuskám (¶180), lelkem szent atyuskám, and alongside it lelkem tisztelendő úr (¶173) and édes lelkem (¶185). This is a diminutive honorific: Adamecz claims intimacy upward, through piety, without dropping deference. English has no diminutive suffix for it, but it does have the postposed endearment: reverend father dear, my holy father dear, my dear reverend sir, my dear soul. Deference is carried by the noun, intimacy by the tacked-on endearment, and the two stay separable exactly as the Hungarian keeps them separable. Register V14.

Rejected: little father (the standard English rendering of Slavic batyushka, which imports a Russian novel into a Slovak village); and dropping the diminutive, which would have turned Adamecz into an ordinary respectful parishioner and destroyed the joke of ¶177, where she considers she has a right to meddle in church affairs because her father's beard grew after death.

D26 — Urszinyi thou-ing the priest is left unmarked, and that is a decision, not an oversight. ¶187 has «Te valóban megbabonáztad ezeket az embereket» — te to a priest, from a schoolfellow. D3 spent thou-ing on ¶108, where the pronoun was named as a word and the sentence was about the grammar. Here nothing is metalinguistic: the te is simply what two friends use. Rendered plain you. The resource is spent where the source makes the pronoun visible, and nowhere else — the alternative, marking every familiar address in the book, would spend the device down to nothing by chapter VI.

D27 — singular kend (¶199), addressed downward, is my man. «Menjen kend hamar és hozza el az esernyőt» — third-person polite verb with the rustic kend, priest to bell-ringer: polite in form, unmistakably downward in force. Run along quickly, my man, and fetch the umbrella. V5 already carries plural kendtek by phrasing (good folk, kept at ¶169); the singular needed its own solution and gets one of the same kind — phrasing, not a pronoun.

D28 — nábob is confirmed as nabob, once, for both occurrences. Register question 4 required chapter IV to confirm or reverse span C's ¶74/¶88. ¶190 uses it of the same man in the narrator's own voice — a glogovai nábob neje — with no irony marked and no gloss. Nabob stands.

The chapter's own decisions

D29 — the archaic verb morphology in this chapter is not doing what it was doing in chapter III, and V6 does not cover it. Chapter III's marked forms were speech tags (mondá, kérdé, ismétlé), and V6 renders every tag with a plain English past. Chapter IV puts the same class of morphology somewhere else entirely: inside the villagers' report of the supernatural, and in a different sub-set of forms — third-person plural -ának/-ének and an archaic present. ¶162: járulának, lépkedének, eltemettetének. ¶163: jövének, vagynak, kiknek, and the impersonal Képzelhetni. ¶164: Mivelhogy. ¶162 also has the archaic relative ki for aki. These are not tags at all; they are the register of devotional printed Hungarian, switched on exactly where Adamecz's vision is being narrated — immediately after the narrator has called it stupid chatter. That switch is the joke and it is the whole texture of the passage.

The decision: this layer is marked in English, and marked by scriptural lexis and syntax rather than by archaic morphology. went up in procession before God His holy majesty, who sat upon his throne of carbuncle · in the very clothes wherein they were buried · they came unto her in turn, all they that have dear ones dead under the earth · Forasmuch as · stood in the repute of. The markers are light and English has them natively; no verb is bent.

This does not repair V6 and does not contradict it. V6 is now understood to be scoped to speech tags, which is the only material RS-20260808g measured — its eleven sites were tags, and its finding that four independent hands render the two forms identically is a finding about tags. Whether the narration-internal layer behaves the same way is not something the translator can settle at the desk, and it is this session's study limb. Register V12, with V6's scope written in as V6a.

D30 — the counter-instance, logged now so it cannot look like it was found afterwards. ¶198 has nagy záporeső kerekedék — an archaic narrative past in plain weather narration, no legend, no vision, no villager reporting. It is rendered flat (a great downpour got up again all at once). If the study limb's hypothesis is that the marked forms cluster in legendary narration, this sentence is against it, and it was in front of the translator before the census was designed.

D31 — ¶171 follows R's képviselője, and the argument is partly one the collation could not make. R: the representative of orphans and the helpless; M: the provider — an ordinary pious epithet for God, and by far the smoother reading. Three things decide it for R. (i) R is the copy-text and the last printing of Mikszáth's lifetime (V1). (ii) In 1890s Hungarian képviselő carries the parliamentary sense first — Mikszáth sat in that parliament for twenty-two years, and the deputy for orphans and the helpless dispatching Saint Peter is exactly his kind of joke, which a modernising editor would be exactly the person to smooth away. (iii) Six paragraphs later, at ¶178, Adamecz asks for a gondviselőné for the child.* If ¶171 read gondviselője, the two would chime; R has no chime and M does. An editor assimilating a rare word to a common one nearby is a more ordinary event than an author breaking his own echo. Rendered the representative of orphans and the helpless***, keeping the civic-office colour without pointing at it.

D32 — the historic present is kept (¶149, ¶157). Mikszáth slides into the present for the storm — beborul, jő, keletkezik, nyargalnak, szaladgálnak — and back out again inside the same paragraph, and again at ¶157 for Glogován nincsen esernyője senkinek. English narrative present is available and does the same work, so it is carried rather than normalised. This is not V9, which governs present-tense maxims inside parentheses; it is a separate device and gets its own line in the register (V16).

D33 — the járulának … elé / odajáruljanak … elé echo is carried. The angels went up in procession before God (¶162); twelve paragraphs later the village women are let go up in turn before the tiny Veronka (¶174), same verb, same postposition, and the child is quietly put where God was. The English keeps go up … before in both. Nothing in the sentences forces the repetition in English, so it is a choice, and the alternative (approach, file past) was live.

D34 — ismerős is acquaintance everywhere, including where it is not about Jesus. ¶142–¶145 turn on the word: Jesus is not consoling as Lord but as ismerősöm. Friend and familiar were both rejected — friend claims more than the Hungarian and dissolves the strangeness; familiar has a different English life. The word then returns at ¶210, where the cantor calls on the dead woman's ismerősök — and the same English word is used there, at some cost to idiom (the rest of the acquaintance and the kindred), because the alternative loses the only thread tying the chapter's opening meditation to its closing funeral.

D35 — egyházfi stays sexton, and the register is being obeyed against the translator's judgment. egyházfi is properly the churchwarden; span C rendered it sexton, and the same man, Péter Szlávik, speaks at ¶168. harangozó — Kvapka — is the bell-ringer, and both men are on the page in this span, so the pair had to be kept apart. Churchwarden / bell-ringer would be the better pair. The frozen span holds (R05 §2, V2): sexton is used at ¶168, and the whole question goes to the craft report rather than into a quiet repair. This is the failure mode R05 §Known limitations predicts — the register can become an alibi — arriving on schedule, and it is recorded as an inherited cost rather than argued away.

D36 — itcze is quarts, on V11's precedent. ¶169's miracle is arithmetical: fourteen against four. An itcze is roughly a pint and three-quarters and no English reader can hear a number in it; quarts is close enough in size and lets the joke land. The same reasoning that made hold an acre.

D37 — the food names are translated and not kept. kalács → sweet loaves, tejbe kása → milk-porridge, mákos patkó → poppy-seed crescents, szakajtókendő → straining-cloths. V10 forbids untranslated Hungarian as a device, and none of these is a realia term the chapter makes a point of — the point is that the whole village is suddenly baking. patkó is literally horseshoe; crescent is the shape English names that pastry by.

D38 — zsidóforma alak is rendered plainly: an old Jew-looking figure. The villagers' identification runs Jew-looking → the Saint Peter among the church pictures → the very spit of him, only the keys were wanting: they read a stranger off a devotional print, and the physiognomic category is theirs and is the mechanism of the legend. Softening it (an old foreign-looking man) would remove the villagers' own frame from a chapter that is entirely about how villagers make a saint out of what they see. Kept, unglossed, on the same rule as D8 — the narrator glosses or he does not.

D39 — készfizető kezes keeps its legalism (¶187). A surety liable on demand. The joke is that Urszinyi reaches for the exact term of art from the law of guarantees to describe accepting God as a payer; guarantor, security, or good for it all lose the register the sentence is borrowing. Cf. ¶182's a gyanú meg nem botlik — suspicion cannot stumble over me — kept as an idiom on D8's rule.

D40 — the funeral verse is set as verse and komám is gossip (¶207).* The búcsúztató is a real Hungarian form: the cantor writes the dead person's farewell and reads it in her voice, name by name. It is set off in italics rather than run in as speech, because ¶206 and ¶210 both describe it as verses. koma is the reciprocal godparent-relation, for which English had exactly one word — gossip* — now obsolete in that sense and revived here on the strength of sógor (brother-in-law) standing next to it in the same line and fixing the reading: the line is a list of kinship terms and reads as one.

D41 — one thing the self-revision found that the draft had not. The draft rendered megfoghatatlan at ¶157 as inconceivable and at ¶188 as past understanding, and bámult/ámult-bámult/bámész by five different English verbs across the span. The chapter is a machine for staring at something nobody can account for: the child gazes in wonder (¶155), the priest stared and marvelled (¶172), Kvapka turned staring eyes on him (¶200), everyone stared at the umbrella (¶204), and the priest twice meets what is past understanding (¶157, ¶188). The revision made the staring words and the two megfoghatatlan consistent so the repetition carries; the draft had it as incidental variation. internal-judgment-only.

D42 — the -né suffix, numbered last because it was settled during the revision. It belongs with D25 and D27 in the address-and-naming family. Hungarian forms a married woman's name on her husband's: Adamecz Mátyásné, Gongoly Mihályné, then bare Adameczné, Srankóné, Klincsokné. Rendered Mrs + the husband's full name on first mention, Mrs + surname thereafter — Mrs Mátyás Adamecz, then Mrs Adamecz. This preserves V3's Western order and keeps the fact that the woman is named through a man, which ¶190 needs (Gongoly Mihályné, a glogovai nábob neje — she is twice identified by him, and then drowns fetching geese). The alternative, giving the women first names English readers could hold on to, was rejected: the text does not give them, except Adamecz's own Agnis at ¶165, which is her father's word for her.

Span E — chapter IV, «Az esernyő és Szent Péter», second movement (¶211–¶260, 50 paragraphs, 1,783 Hungarian words)

Frozen before the study limb was designed. This span completes Part I.

Chapter IV's heading stands at span D; no new heading is set here.

¶211 They had hardly scratched Mrs Gongoly under — the old women of the village had not yet had their talk out about the pomp of the funeral, about Gongoly's widowerhood, and, Lord God forgive them their tattle, about how at the funeral itself he had been hunting out Anna Tyurek's pretty face with his kite's eyes, from which even a blind man may prophesy that Mrs Gongoly's famous «mentyék»[2] will not be long without an owner — I say, the grave-diggers had hardly got sober again after all the brandy they took in at the wake, when a new grave had to be dug already. After Mrs Gongoly it was János Srankó who died, who in the old days too had done a deal of sidling about Mrs Gongoly, when she was still a comely young wife. And now, as though they had agreed upon it together, they went together. One had almost looked for it. In the old days too, they said, Mrs Gongoly would sometimes disappear into the rye out on the fields, and then after a little while Srankó would just come up from somewhere, and he disappeared into the rye as well. Oh, those godless ryes! They grow so tall that they cover up every folly!

[2] Every well-to-do Slovak buys his wife a fur-lined mantle, and the costly garment lasts four or five generations; they wear it only slung over the shoulder to church, and they call it in Slovak «mentyék».

¶212 Now too the two shadows disappeared one after the other into the endless nothing… Srankó was found dead in his bed on the morning after the funeral; it seems that death's «thunderbolt», the stroke, had brushed him.

¶213 Srankó too was a man of substance, a «mágnács»,[3] three hundred sheep of his grazed on the parish lands and he ploughed a deal of ground; a splendid funeral was his due as well. Nor was Mrs Srankó a niggard: she went herself to the schoolmaster and to the priest and gave out her orders that everything should be exactly as it had been at Mrs Gongoly's funeral. Cost what it might, the Srankó family was no smaller than the Gongolys.

[3] The twelve richest peasants are called «mágnács» by the Slovaks, from the word mágnás (magnate), naturally.

¶214 Two priests were to be at the funeral, four acolyte boys in little black skirts, unceasing bell-ringing. And so on, and so on.

¶215 Father János nodded his head contentedly.

¶216 "It shall be done, it shall all be done."

¶216a "And what does the whole of it come to?" asked Mrs Srankó.

¶217 Father János reckoned up with chalk what it would cost.

¶218 "Aye, just so," said Mrs Srankó, "but let your reverence put in the red one as well, and let us see how much dearer it will come with that."

¶219 "What red one?"

¶220 "Why, the one you held over your head at Mrs Gongoly's funeral. Beautiful, it was."

¶221 The priest could not keep himself from laughing out.

¶222 "But that is impossible! Oh dear, oh dear!"

¶223 Mrs Srankó started up, taking offence, and threw her neck back haughtily.

¶224 "Why should it be impossible? My money is just such money as Gongoly's. Is it not so?"

¶225 "But my dear Mrs Srankó, it was raining then; and tomorrow it will most likely be fine weather."

¶226 Mrs Srankó, however, was hard to knock off her legs with argument, she herself understanding more of dialectic than his reverence.

¶227 "That it was raining then? Why, all the more may my own holy father dear bring the red one, for at least the precious thing will not get soaked. And then my poor departed deserves it. He was no more undeserving a person than Mrs Gongoly. My husband was a man who had served as judge, he made his offerings to holy mother church besides; five years ago it was he who brought those coloured candles for the altar from Beszterczebánya, and the great white table-cloth his own younger sister did the scallop-work on. So the red must be there."

¶228 "But I cannot make myself ridiculous, burying people under an umbrella in clear, sunshiny weather. Have done with this crazy notion, Mrs Srankó!"

¶229 At this, however, Mrs Srankó burst into tears: how had she deserved the shame of it, that God's servant should withhold the honour which is due to the dead and which does the living good as well? What would they say in the village? They would say: «Mrs Srankó did not even give her husband a decent putting-away; she had him shoved into the hole, the way they do with beggars.»

¶230 "Do it, do it, reverend sir," she implored; and while she wiped her wet eyes with her kerchief, she kept working one corner of it between her fingers, and worked at it so long that the knot in it came untied and a ten-florin note fell out.

¶231 Mrs Srankó picked it up off the floor and laid it with a delicate modesty on the priest's table.

¶232 "I will add this to it besides, only let there be the full pomp of it, if you humbly please."

¶233 At this scene Mrs Adamecz too came bursting in from the kitchen, in her apron, with her cooking-spoon, and joined her own petition to it.

¶234 "Just so, just so, my dear reverend sir, Srankó was a godly man. There is no truth in all that gossip they talk about him. But even if it were true, then that truth would fall precisely upon Mrs Gongoly — God rest her. So if the holy umbrella was there for the one, it may safely be there for the other as well. Either the dear Lord is angry already as it is, and then it makes no odds whether He is a little angrier; or He is not angry yet, and then He will not fall angry now either."

¶235 "Come, come, Mrs Adamecz, are you not ashamed to talk such foolishness. Leave me in peace with superstitions of this kind! The whole of your request is simply ridiculous."

¶236 But the two women were not to be talked out of it at all. «We know what we know; his reverence will not put us off with tales» — and they begged and pestered so long that at last he consented to bury János Srankó too under the umbrella, adding:

¶237 "If its owner does not fetch it away before then. For it is a fact that somebody left it here, and if he comes for it, I must give it up."

¶238 Mrs Adamecz winked significantly at Mrs Srankó:

¶239 "Well, we may sleep easy about that; the one who brought it is in the habit of turning up on our planet once in every thousand years."

¶240 And indeed nobody presented himself for the umbrella; so that on the morrow, although it was a dry and beautiful afternoon and not a drop of cloud showed itself in the firmament, the young reverend gentleman nevertheless opened the umbrella at the coffin, and walking beneath it, accompanied the blessed coffin to the burial-ground.

¶241 Four strong men — Szlávik, Lajkó and the two cyclopean Magát brothers — bore upon their shoulders Saint Michael's horse, whereon the coffin rested. God's will so ordained it that about the neighbourhood of the smithy one of the Magáts stumbled upon a stone and fell, whereat Pál Lajkó, plodding behind him, took fright, gave a shudder, lost his presence of mind; Saint Michael's horse tipped over sideways and the coffin crashed down upon the stones.

¶242 It gave a great crack, it split, it broke to pieces; for a moment the scalloped face-cloth flashed out, and afterwards the dead man too became visible, who, roused out of his seeming death by the great shaking, drew a deep breath, stirred, and sighed:

¶243 "My God, where am I?"

¶244 And there was great amazement, and wonder, and a marvelling of the peoples; whereupon they brought quilts and pillows in haste from the smith's, and making a bed upon a cart that was found standing in the yard waiting to be shod, they laid thereon the dead man whom God's especial miracle had raised up; and being changed from a funeral train into a procession praising God, with the singing of the church offices they accompanied poor János Srankó home — who had already come so far to himself upon the road that at home he asked at once for something to eat.

¶245 They brought him a jug of milk. He shook his head. Lajkó held out to him the brandy-flask, which had been filled with a view to the wake. He smiled.

¶246 It is from this notable event that the legend of the umbrella properly begins, which flew, and flew, across the pine forests and over the rocks that stand up sheer against the sky, always further, further, growing as it went, freshened, gilded over with new details and newer.

¶247 If they found a hollow in the rock, that was Saint Peter's footprint; and if a flower of some strange colour opened anywhere on the parish lands, Saint Peter's staff had touched the spot. Everything, everything proclaimed that Saint Peter had lately been at Glogova. It is a great thing, all the same, brethren!

¶248 And the umbrella itself was lit up with the wonderful light of mysticism. The mist of mysteriousness in fact covered nothing but the one circumstance, of how it had got above little Veronka's basket. But that was enough. Superstition seeks the mist, the mist draws superstition. These two divided the spoil between them — the ramshackle umbrella.

¶249 And the report of it went far, wherever the Bjela Voda runs, and plain Slovak folk tell at the shepherds' fires, or in the spinning-rooms, whatever is imposing to their fancy, whatever takes hold of their interest — the astonishing, the out-of-the-way. They think they see the popular Saint Peter, the doorkeeper of heaven, bringing the umbrella so that the priest's little sister should not get wet. But however did the old man let himself down out of the sky? Assuredly he sat upon some cloud, and it brought him down nicely and set him upon one of the mountains.

¶250 Then they tell of the umbrella's miraculous power, how the dead man rose up the moment he caught sight of it; and so the legend travels always further, further, rolling along with it the figure of the Glogova priest and his little sister's. (Ah, what a fine fellow he will be who marries her one day!) And if a man of substance dies, they fetch Father János to the funeral even ten villages off, with the dalmatic and with the holy umbrella, which by now has become a relic. And they take it not to funerals only, but to confess hard, hopeless sufferers as well, sometimes two days' journey away, with the stipulation that Saint Peter's umbrella be spread over the sick person while he makes his confession. It is impossible that it should not do good: either such a sick man gets well, or if he does not get well, why, at least he is saved.

¶251 Couples about to marry, too, if they wish to make a great display — and they always do wish it — besides being married at home by their own priest, make a pilgrimage into the bargain to the Glogova parsonage, to clasp their hands in one another's once more there under the umbrella. And that is the genuine thing. Kvapka the bell-ringer holds the holy canvas mushroom above their heads, for which a few silver sixpences afterwards trickle into his belt-pouch as well. And as for the Glogova priest, the money and the presents fairly pour in upon him, as though they were being tipped out of a sack.

¶252 At first he made objection enough, but by degrees he too began to believe that the red umbrella — which grew more faded and more moulted day by day — might be of divine origin. Was it not created there in answer to his very prayer, for the little girl's protection, and does not every source of his well-being and his substance, for which he prayed, spring from this.

¶253 "Lord Jesus," he had said on that sorrowful morning, "work a miracle, that I may bring up the child."

¶254 And behold, the miracle came to pass. Money, well-being, riches pour out of the plain tattered umbrella, as though it were the lamb in the fairy-tale which, when it shakes itself, drops gold pieces out of its fleece.

¶255 The fame of the umbrella got up even into high circles. His lordship the bishop of Beszterce himself grew curious about it, and having summoned the priest before him together with the umbrella, after he had examined it and had had the history of it told him, devoutly crossed himself:

¶256 "Deus est omnipotens," he said.

¶257 Which meant that he too believed in the umbrella.

¶258 A few weeks later the bishop did more still. He issued an order to Father János that henceforward he should not keep the relic by him, but should place it in the sanctuarium, among the goods of the church.

¶259 Whereupon Father János replied at once that the said umbrella belonged in fact to his sister, Veronka Bélyi, a minor, and that he had no right to take it from her in order to give it to the church. As soon, however, as the girl came of age, there was no doubt she would make a present of it to the church.

¶260 And the umbrella turned to good account not only for the priest — who soon procured draught cattle for himself and began to farm on a large scale, and a few years later had a neat stone house built and kept a carriage — but it raised up the village of Glogova as well. In summer whole swarms of gentlewomen came over from the watering-place near by, often countesses too (mostly old countesses), to stand under the umbrella and say a prayer; and an inn was built for these, opposite the parsonage, under the sign of The Miracle-Working Umbrella. In a word, Glogova began visibly to rise; the local people grew ashamed of the bell-cage on account of the many visitors and ran up a trim lead-roofed steeple on the church, having two new bells brought for it from Beszterce. János Srankó, in memory of his return from the country of death, had a beautiful statue of the Holy Trinity carved for the front of the church. The governess (for in time Father János kept a governess for Veronka, one who went about in a hat) planted the priest's yard full of dahlias and fuchsias, such flowers as Glogova eyes had never yet seen. Everything grew handsomer and trimmer (except Mrs Adamecz, for she has grown uglier still since then), and the pride of the Glogova people went so far that of a Sunday afternoon, when folk have leisure to chatter about all manner of things, they were beginning by now to canvass whether it would not be a good thing to build a Calvary at Glogova, something after the fashion of the one at Selmecz, so that the pilgrim crowds flocking hither might bring them money and liveliness from time to time.

Translator's log — span E

Cumulative, continuing D42. Written at translation time, frozen before the study limb was designed and before Worswick 1900 was opened for this span. Decisions and alternatives, not quality claims.

The copy-text, before a word was translated

D43 — two rows of the collation's ⚑ table are false, and both are the same false row. collation.md §3 records ¶211 as Óh (R) against ő (M) — "the ¶137 corruption a second time, same class" — and records ¶137 as Oh! (R) against ő, (M), "an interjection read as a third-person pronoun." Both readings of M were checked against MEK-00954 directly this session and neither is what M says. M reads Ó, azok az istentelen rozsok! at ¶211 and Ó! csak kinyitná a szemecskéit. at ¶137. R reads Óh and Oh!. The divergence is Oh/Ó — vowel length and a final h, exactly the orthographic modernisation §1's normalisation exists to fold — and the pronoun reading never occurred in either place. The likely mechanism is that S138 read Ó off the raw M side of a diff as ő; it cannot now be recovered, and it does not matter. What matters is that the class of divergence the table asserts twice does not exist in this text, and that a figure published in this repository was wrong until it was checked. collation.md is corrected in the same commit as this span: ch. III falls from 5 substantive to 4, ch. IV from 9 to 8, Part I from 17 to 15. Nothing else in the table moves; the other seven readings were re-checked against M this session and all seven stand.

D44 — the M-only line is restored, and the argument is from mechanism, not from a page image. Between ¶216 and ¶217, M carries «– És mibe kerül az egész? – kérdezte Srankóné.» and R does not. This is the only place in Part I's 8,064 words where R is the shorter witness, and V1's eclectic policy makes the question whether R slips. Four things decide it for M:

1. Mechanism. The dropped line and the line that follows it end on the same three words — «…mibe kerül az egész?» and «…hogy mibe kerül.» A compositor returning to his copy at mibe kerül resumes at the second occurrence and the line between is gone. Saut du même au même is the commonest single cause of an omitted line in hand-set text, and this is its textbook configuration.
2. M's demonstrated hand is subtractive, never additive. Its interventions in this novel are orthographic modernisation and three replacements of a marked archaic verb by an ordinary one (ismétlé→ismétli, mondák→mondta, and — settled below — hozának→hoznának). A full punctuation-inclusive re-collation of span E this session found no other place in these fifty paragraphs where M supplies text R lacks. An editor who adds nowhere else is a poor candidate for having invented a line of dialogue here.
3. The exchange is a closed pair with it and an open one without it. ¶218 is «Úgy ám… hadd lássuk, hogy azzal vajjon mennyivel lesz drágább» — let us see how much dearer, which answers a price and continues her own «mibe kerül az egész». Without her question, ¶217's chalk reckoning is unprompted and her «Úgy ám» assents to nothing that has been spoken.
4. R's transcriber was attentive at word level and silent here. PG #68911 carries a transcriber's note listing eleven typographic corrections by page, every one a single word. That does not rule out an eyeskip — an eyeskip is by nature the error nobody notices — but it places the transcription's proofing at the level where a wrong letter is caught, which is not the level at which a whole line goes missing.

The line is set as ¶216a, not renumbered into the sequence, so that the span index into part1-source-1910.txt required by R05 §1 stays valid and the departure is visible in the text rather than buried in a log. This is V1's third firing in the arm (after ¶15 fevde/fedve and ¶208's comma) and the first that adds rather than corrects.

D44a — a prediction registered before the freeze, because the comparator can test it and is still shut. If the line is authorial, B. W. Worswick's 1900 English — made from a text thirteen years older than R — should carry a rendering of Mrs Srankó asking the price. If Worswick has no such question, D44 is weakened and the erratum will say so. The comparator is opened only after this span is committed; the prediction is written here so that it cannot be written afterwards. This tests the reading, not the translation, and it settles nothing about 1895: Worswick's own copy-text is unknown to this project.

D45 — the four remaining ⚑ readings, all four following R.

D46 — two divergences in span E that the collation's method cannot see, and one it could have. The re-collation run this session kept punctuation and word division instead of folding them.

• ¶244 Lőn nagy ámulás**,** bámulás (R) against ámulás**-**bámulás (M). A comma against a hyphen, and it changes the English: R gives three members in apposition, M gives the fixed reduplicative compound ámulás-bámulás ("utter astonishment") plus one. Rendered as three beats, which is what the copy-text prints and which the King James doublet absorbs either way.
• ¶252 minden forrása**.** (R) against forrása**?** (M). The -e interrogative particles mark the clause as a question in both; the English is a question either way, so this changes nothing but is recorded, punctuation being where the method is blind by construction.
• ¶251 néhány **ezüst** hatos (R) against néhány hatos (M). This one is word-level and inside the class §1's alignment can see, and it is not in the published §3 table. Whether S138 missed it or inspected it and called it non-substantive cannot be recovered from what was published. R is followed and the coin keeps its metal.

This is the third and fourth punctuation divergence the arm has found by translating — ¶208 at S144, ¶244 and ¶252 here — and every one of them was found by a human eye on the text and none by the instrument. §2's totals remain a floor, and the floor is rising.

The register's four open questions, settled

D47 — V12 is re-founded on a testable claim, and the claim is named before the test is run. register.md §Unresolved 2 required span E either to re-found V12 on something better than a reading or to render the layer flat and enter the reversal as an erratum. Span E does neither yet, and says exactly why. What RS-20260809e refuted was a distributional claim — that the marked morphology clusters in paragraphs — at p = 0.1253 with 40 of 55 tokens immovable. What V12 actually asserts is a lexical claim: that the layer's carrier is scriptural lexis and syntax, and that English should therefore mark it with the King James Bible rather than with bent English verb forms. That claim was never tested, and it is testable, because Hungarian has a received biblical register with a single dominant source — Károli Gáspár's Bible — and the forms Mikszáth reaches for are in it: járulának, jövének, vagynak, hozának, rendelé, elveszté, lőn.

So span E renders ¶240, ¶241 and ¶244 marked, in King James English, and declares in advance what each outcome of the study limb requires:

• If the marked paragraphs carry Károli phrasing beyond the marked forms themselves, V12 is re-founded as a lexical rule and span D's marking stands.
• If they do not, V12 is struck, and erratum 1 covers both span D's ¶162–¶164 and this span's ¶240–¶244. The translator will have marked two spans on a reading that failed twice.

This is written before the study exists so that it cannot be written after. The rendering is the translator's call at translation time; the erratum is the price of being wrong, and it is stated in advance rather than negotiated later.

D48 — the counter-instances, logged now so they cannot look like they were found afterwards. Span D logged kerekedék at ¶198 (D30). Span E adds four more, and they cut against a naive version of V12:

• -ván/-vén adverbial participles are not confined to the sacred register in this chapter. ¶226 «ő maga jobban értvén a dialektikához» — Mrs Srankó out-arguing the priest. ¶233 «hozzácsatolván a maga kérését» — Mrs Adamecz coming in with a cooking-spoon. ¶236 «hozzá tévén». ¶260 «kivévén Adameczné». All four are comic, none is sacred, and the participle is a marker of the same received bookish register.
• The one place S íme — and behold, the plainest scriptural tag in the whole span — occurs is ¶254, which carries no marked verb morphology at all. If the lexis and the morphology were one device they would be together here, and they are not.

Both observations belong to the study limb's evidence and are written into the frozen log rather than into it.

D49 — egyházfi stays sexton, and this time on a reason rather than on the register's authority. D35 kept span C's sexton against the translator's judgment that churchwarden was right; §Unresolved 3 handed span E the decision. The inherited reading is correct and the later doubt was wrong. egyházfi in this period names the church's servant — the man who sweeps it, tends it and carries the coffin — which is what Szlávik does at ¶241 and throughout chapter III. A churchwarden in English is an elected lay officer of the parish, which is egyházgondnok or kurátor and is not this man. No erratum; the craft report will not argue for one, and §Unresolved 3 is discharged.

D50 — the umbrella's price stays commensurable, on the coinage already bound. §Unresolved 4 required span E to keep the plot's arithmetic working. ¶189 has the umbrella «nem ér öt garast», rendered not worth five pence by D8. Span E supplies both the other sums: Srankóné's tíz forintos bankó (¶230) is a ten-florin note, forint being florin already at ¶83, and the bell-ringer's néhány ezüst hatos (¶251) is a few silver sixpences. Five pence against ten florins is the gap the plot needs and the reader can hear it. Groat for garas would have been the period-tighter word and was rejected at D8; changing it now to buy tidiness would cost more than it bought. §Unresolved 4 is discharged.

The chapter's own decisions

D51 — ¶211's sentence keeps its collapse and its repair. Mikszáth opens with «Alig hogy elkaparták Gongolynét…», loses the sentence inside three clauses of village gossip and a footnote, and has to pick it up with «mondom, hogy alig józanodtak ki a sírásók…». The resumption is the joke — the narrator caught doing exactly what the old women are doing — and English can carry it with a dash and I say. Breaking the period into three sentences, which is what the draft did first, deletes the performance and leaves only the gossip.

D52 — «mentyék» and «mágnács» are kept in the Hungarian and footnoted, and V10 does not apply. V10 forbids untranslated Hungarian as a device. These two words are not Hungarian in the source: Mikszáth marks them as Slovak, sets them in guillemets, and glosses each in his own footnote — «hívják pedig tótul »mentyék«-nek», «»mágnács«-nak nevezik a tótok». That is the zlevka case (D8, V8): the narrator glosses, in his own place and form, and the translator does not take over the office. Both footnotes are carried, translated, at the foot of the paragraph they belong to.

D53 — tót is Slovak, flatly. ¶249's «egyszerű tót emberek» and both footnotes. Tót is the ordinary nineteenth-century Hungarian word for Slovak and the narrator uses it descriptively, without malice; English has no term of the same period colouring that is not now a slur, so the plain modern word is used and the period tint is a logged loss. Slovack, the Victorian translator's spelling, was considered and rejected: it marks the English as an 1890s artefact, which V6 already forbids for the same reason.

D54 — szent Mihály lova is Saint Michael's horse, and the sentence glosses it without help. The Hungarian idiom for the bier. V8 forbids the translator taking over the narrator's office, and V10 forbids leaving it in Hungarian; the way out is that Mikszáth's own relative clause does the work — «vitték vállukon a szent Mihály-lovát, melyen a koporsó nyugodott» → bore upon their shoulders Saint Michael's horse, whereon the coffin rested. A reader who does not know the idiom is told what it is in the same breath, by the author, which is what an unglossed idiom is supposed to do.

D55 — brontes is cyclopean, and the learned word is kept as a learned word. «a két brontes Magát testvér». Brontes is one of the three Cyclopes, the Thunderer; the word is not ordinary Hungarian and Mikszáth is doing here what he does with nábob (D28), dominium (D15), készfizető kezes (D39), kapaczitálás and dialektika (¶226) — dropping a bookish word into a village sentence and letting the mismatch sound. Burly, brawny, strapping all render the size and delete the device. Cyclopean keeps the reference class and loses the name; keeping Brontes in English produces no reference at all for a reader who does not already have the Greek, and would be untranslated-source-word by another door.

D56 — ¶244 is set in the King James Bible, and the biblical plural is kept. «Lőn nagy ámulás, bámulás, népek csodálkozása» → And there was great amazement, and wonder, and a marvelling of the peoples. Lőn nagy… is the Károli clause pattern — Acts 8:8 «És lőn nagy öröm abban a városban», KJV And there was great joy in that city — and And there was great… is the English that pattern already has. népek is the biblical plural and it is kept as peoples, although the crowd is forty people standing outside a smithy: applying the plural of nations to a Glogova funeral is the inflation the whole paragraph is made of, and the people would quietly repair it. feltámasztott is raised up, átváltozván is being changed, thereon and whereupon carry the participial chain. If the study limb kills V12 this paragraph goes flat with span D's, per D47.

D57 — the iterative present is carried, and it is not V16. V16 bound the dramatic historic present (¶149's storm, ¶157's nincsen). ¶249–¶251 are a different thing: the narration slides out of the preterite into a customary present — mesélik, látni vélik, elbeszélik, száll, viszik, tartja, dől — and stays there for three paragraphs before ¶252 returns to the past. English would ordinarily convert this to a habitual would tell, would fetch. It is not converted. The point of the passage is that the legend has not stopped: it is still travelling at the moment of narration, which is why ¶250 can say «így száll a legenda mindig tovább» and why the parenthesis at ¶250 is in the future tense — the little sister is not yet married as the narrator writes. A habitual past closes the legend; the present leaves it open. New rule V18.

D58 — V15 gets a sixth periphrasis and it is the best of them. ¶251's «a szent vászongombát» — the holy canvas mushroom, held over a bridal couple by the bell-ringer for a few coins. V15 forbids collapsing the villagers' words for the umbrella into umbrella; this one is the villagers' word after the object has become holy, and the register clash — holy and canvas mushroom in one phrase — is the sentence's whole content.

D59 — ¶253 had to be found in span D's English, not translated afresh. «Uram Jézus… tégy csodát, hogy a gyermeket nevelhessem» is the priest quoting back to himself the prayer he made at ¶146, one hundred and seven paragraphs and two sessions earlier: «…nekem kell őt fölnevelnem… Tégy velem csudát, uram Jézus.» Span D rendered that Work a miracle upon me, Lord Jesus and it is I who must bring her up. ¶253 is therefore "Lord Jesus … work a miracle, that I may bring up the child" — the same two verbs, on purpose. This is the one thing in the span that a single-sitting regime could not have got wrong and could not have got right either: the recall only exists because the earlier rendering was frozen and had to be consulted. R05 §4's register does not carry it — the register holds terminology, not sentences — and the log is where it had to be looked up.

D60 — the needlework word is the same in the parlour and on the corpse. ¶227's slingelte (the sister-in-law's scallop-work on the white cloth) and ¶242's slingelt szemfödő (the face-cloth in the broken coffin) are the same verb, fifteen paragraphs apart, and Mikszáth put the church cloth and the shroud in the same needle. Did the scallop-work on / the scalloped face-cloth keeps it. Embroidered for both would keep it too and lose the specific stitch; hemstitched and openwork were considered. szemfödő is the cloth laid over a dead face, and face-cloth is used in preference to pall, which is the cloth over the coffin and would put the flash of white in the wrong place at ¶242.

D61 — one thing the self-revision found that the draft had not. The draft rendered ¶236's «Tudjuk mi, amit tudunk, minket a tisztelendő úr el nem ámít» as "We know what we know, his reverence cannot deceive us". That is the sense and it is the wrong voice: el nem ámít with the negative fronted is a peasant flourish, and ámít is to fob somebody off with a tale rather than to deceive them. Revised to "We know what we know; his reverence will not put us off with tales" — and the future is right, because the two women are not making a claim about his character, they are announcing that they are not going to leave.

Unresolved — questions the craft report is required to settle (R05 §4)

1. V12's fate, on the study limb's result. Either it becomes a lexical rule with a measurement behind it, or erratum 1 flattens ¶162–¶164 and ¶240–¶244 together (D47).
2. D44's Worswick check. The registered prediction (D44a) is tested when the comparator is opened; whichever way it falls, the craft report carries it.
3. What the change of copy-text cost the arm, which ARM-legend §Done-when names and which nothing has yet totalled: two inherited chapters from M, four collated chapters against R, two false rows in the published table (D43), and one restored line (D44).
4. The register's backwards blindness, inherited from ARM-longwork and RS-20260806d and not fixed here. Part I is now complete and can be read whole against the closed register for the first time; the craft report is where that read happens.

Span F — chapters I and II, the inherited chapters re-rendered (¶1–¶47, 47 paragraphs, 1,381 Hungarian words)

Frozen before the inherited renderings were opened and before the study limb was designed.

Why this span exists, declared before a word of it was written. Chapters I and II were rendered at S127 and S132 as T-szent-peter-esernyoje-R06-v1/R04-v1 and R06-span2-v1/R04-span2-v1 — before this arm existed, from the other copy-text (MEK-00954), and before register.md had a single rule in it. ARM-legend §Scope inherited them rather than re-doing them, and R05 D2 declined to repair them. They are not repaired here either: the earlier artifacts stand untouched, and this is a new span of the R05 artifact, not an erratum on theirs.

What it is for is the two questions the craft report is required to settle and which nothing has measured: what the change of copy-text cost (register.md §Unresolved 3) and the register's backwards blindness (§Unresolved 4) — the failure ARM-longwork named on Verga at S047 and RS-20260806d measured on Canth at S120, where eleven sites the closed register would now render differently had been caught by no erratum at all. The only way to measure that is to render the early text again with the register closed and code the difference. This is that rendering.

Blindness, and its two declared breaches. R04-v1, R06-v1, R04-span2-v1 and R06-span2-v1 were not opened in this session before the commit that freezes this span. Two lexical choices from them are nevertheless known to the translator, because collation.md §3 quotes them in the course of arguing about the copy-text: ¶6 was rendered the priest son and ¶20's teng was rendered straggles. Those two sites are pre-exposed and are excluded from the primary count in the study limb, which reports the figure both ways. The register's own bound renderings (V3's János Bélyi, V4's Master Máté Billeghi, V7's Yellowhammer) are not breaches — they are the instrument under test.

I. THEY ARE TAKING LITTLE VERONKA AWAY

¶1 A schoolmaster's widow had died at Haláp.

¶2 When it is only a schoolmaster who dies, the gravediggers are left thirsty. And what when his widow goes after him? She had nothing left her in the world but a goat, a goose that was being fattened, and a little girl of two. The goose had a week's fattening to do at the outside, but it seems the poor rector's wife could not wait even for that. As far as the goose went she died too early, and as far as the child went, too late. The child ought never to have been born at all. Would that the Lord God had taken her when He took her poor husband. (Lord, what a beautiful voice that man had.) The little mite was born after her father's death — not long after: a month, two at the most. I should deserve to have my tongue cut out if I were saying anything wrong. I am not saying it, and I am not thinking it either.

¶3 A good, honest woman she was — but what did she want with this last scraping of the dough? She would have gone to the other world the easier for taking the burden with her, instead of leaving it here.

¶4 And it was not seemly, besides. May God not count it a sin.

¶5 Why, bless us, the schoolmaster's people had a grown son already, a chaplain. A good lad he is, too, and the pity of it is that he could not help his mother yet, being himself no more than a chaplain till now, to some very, very poor parish priest far off in the Slovak country; but now, a fortnight ago or thereabouts, the news drums it about, he has been made parish priest in his own right in a little village called Glogova, somewhere among the hills of Selmeczbánya and Besztercze. There is even a man alive in the village, Master János Kapiczány, who was there once in his ox-droving days, and he says it is a loathsome nest of a place.

¶6 And lo, now, when her son the priest might have been of some little help to her at last, the cantor's wife must needs die.

¶7 But there — we shall not raise her up again with any amount of lamenting, and so I will only say, and be it to the credit of the noble commune of Haláp, that they buried the good soul decently. Money enough for the burial was not got together, it is true, and even the goat had to be sold to make it up; but the goose was left. And as there was no maize left to go with it, it fell away again: instead of its slow panting its ordinary breathing came back to it, and it exchanged the lumbering walk its great belly had given it for its old nimbleness — in short, it escaped the death that was close upon it, and by nothing but the death that had come upon another creature. The wise decree of God, even when it quencheth a life, may save a life; for believe ye me, in the registers of heaven the beasts that have no understanding are set down even as the beasts that have, and there is care taken for these perhaps even as for kings and princes.

¶8 God's holy majesty is good and wise and mighty, no question of it — but his worship the judge is no small matter either. Directly after the funeral he ordered that the mite of a girl (Veronka is her Christian name) should go the round of the village farmers, the tithing-man taking her every day to a different homestead, where she is to be afforded suitable maintenance.

¶9 "And how long is this to go on, your worship?" the councillors asked anxiously.

¶10 "Until I am pleased to direct otherwise," Mihály Nagy answered shortly.

¶11 And so the thing stood for some ten days, until word suddenly went round that Master Máté Billeghi and Master Ferencz Koczka were taking their wheat to Beszterczebánya to sell (because, they say, the Jews are not so knowing thereabouts as they are with us).

¶12 Mihály Nagy caught at the chance.

¶13 "Well, if they are taking their grain that way, then let them take the child too, to her elder brother the priest at Glogova. That Glogova lies somewhere out that way."

¶14 "It does not lie that way at all, it does not," they objected.

¶15 "It has to lie that way, punctum," the judge decided.

¶16 Their worships demurred and reasoned, that it was this way and that, a great detour and a great inconvenience on the road; but it had to be. An order is an order. On a Wednesday they set a basket on top of the sacks on Master Billeghi's cart, and Veronka in the basket, and the goose too, since that went with her as her inheritance. The womenfolk of the upper end baked scones and sweet fritters for the little orphan creature to take on her road into the dreadful strange world, and filled a shoulder-bag with dried pears and plums; and when the heavy cart moved off they even wept over the tiny child, who did not know where she was being taken, or why, and saw only, with a great smile, that the gee-gees were setting off and that she was not stirring from the top of a sack, out of her basket, but that the houses and the gardens and the fields and the trees were coming nearer.

II. GLOGOVA IN THE OLD DAYS

¶17 Master Kapiczány is not the only one who has seen Glogova; the writer of these lines has been in it himself. It is a lean, desolate country, and the little village lies flattened into a narrow valley among bare hills.

¶18 Far, far from there is there so much as a decent high road, let alone a railway. Of late, it seems, some coffee-grinder of an engine runs between Besztercze and Selmeczbánya, but that does not touch Glogova either. Five hundred years will be wanted before Glogova stands where the villages that fall on the line of civilisation stand.

¶19 The soil is clayey, barren and obstinate. It gives out that it is willing to feed certain plants only — oats, say, and potatoes — and will not undertake the rest; and even these have to be coaxed out of mother earth, one may say, by force.

¶20 But this earth is no mother; it is rather a mother-in-law. Its inwards are full of stones, and ugly cracks and gullies slash it about, along whose edges white grass (orphan-girl's hair) waves like the grey hairs on an old crone's chin.

¶21 Is the earth here too old? But it cannot be older than the rest. It has only used itself up sooner. Down below, the plain with its golden ears has been growing nothing but blades of grass these many thousand years, while here giant oaks and turkey oaks grew. No wonder it tired first.

¶22 There is poverty here, and want, and yet a kind of charm as well, a kind of sweet poetry. The ugly hovels are made beautiful by the mighty rocks that look down on them. It would hardly be fitting to spoil such fine rocks with ornamented mansions whose towers would hide them.

¶23 The air is full of the smell of juniper and elder. There are no other flowers here. At most a hollyhock blooms in this or that little garden, one white, another red. A barefoot, tow-haired Slovak girl waters it out of an earthen jug.

¶24 I can almost see the little Slovak village before me still, as it was in the year 1873 (when I passed through it): I see its cottages, the gardens sown with lucerne and planted with maize, and here and there among them a plum tree propped up with poles. For the fruit trees do their part. As if they had agreed together: "Let us feed the poor little Slovaks."

¶25 When I was there the priest had just died, and it was his effects we were taking the inventory of, I and the district magistrate. We had not a great deal to do: worn furniture and bad cassocks were what he had left behind him.

¶26 The village people wept for the old priest.

¶27 "He was a good man," they said, "but he could not manage. Though it is true there was not much to manage with."

¶28 "Then why do you not pay your priest better?" my chief cast in their teeth.

¶29 A big Slovak with a pigtail answered, cocking the money-belt higher on his belly:

¶30 "The priest is not our servant, but the Lord God's servant. Let every man pay his own servant."

¶31 When the inventory was taken, while the coachman was harnessing, we stepped across for a minute to look at the school — for my magistrate had a fondness for setting up as a man of education.

¶32 The school was a low, battered little house, thatched with straw, of course — in Glogova only God Himself had risen as high as shingles; and even His house was a modest one, there had been nothing left over for a tower, and a belfry did duty for it down here.

¶33 The schoolmaster was waiting for us in the yard. If I remember rightly he was called György Majzik. He was a robust, strong man in the best of his years, intelligent, with a shrewd face, straight and true in his speech. He woke a liking in one at once.

¶34 He led us in to the children: the schoolgirls sat on the left, the little boys on the right, all neatly combed. They stood up with a great rustling and called out in a singsong:

¶35 «Vitajtye panyi, vitajtye!» (Be ye welcome, gentlemen!)

¶36 The magistrate put a question or two to the pretty, chubby-faced children, who stared at us mightily out of hazel eyes opened perfectly round. Every one of them had hazel eyes. The questions were not hard ones, of course — how many Gods there are, what this country is called, and more of the kind — and yet they cost the children a certain amount of care and cudgelling of brains.

¶37 But my chief was not a severe man; he clapped the schoolmaster amiably on the shoulder:

¶38 "I am satisfied, amice."

¶39 The schoolmaster bowed and walked us out into the yard bare-headed.

¶40 "Pretty children," the magistrate said out there, in a genial way, "but how does it come, domine frater, that they all have the one face?"

¶41 The Glogova master was a little put out, and then a frank good humour spread over his healthy red face.

¶42 "Well, it comes of this, your honour: in summer the whole male population of Glogova scatters off down to the lowlands for the field work, and at such times I am left here as alone as my own finger, right up to the autumn." (A roguish smile appeared about his lips.) "Is your honour pleased to understand?"

¶43 "And how many years have you been here?" the magistrate asked at that, more briskly.

¶44 "Fourteen years, if you please. I see by the question that your honour is pleased to understand."

¶45 It is this little dialogue that has stayed in my memory of Glogova to this day. Sitting in the carriage we said it over and over and laughed at it every time. At home the magistrate told it in company for a long while afterwards, like a choice titbit.

¶46 A fortnight or so later word came that the Glogova people had got a young chaplain for their priest. One János Bélyi by name. The magistrate, I remember well, remarked:

¶47 "At least the master will not be alone any more of a summer."

Translator's log — span F

Decisions and alternatives, not quality claims (R05, charter §3 A4). Numbering continues from D61; nothing above is renumbered. Any evaluative sentence here carries internal-judgment-only.

The copy-text, before a word was translated

D62 — the gate was run a fourth time, and this time it was run the way the method could not. collation.md §1 folds punctuation before aligning, and §5 records that all four punctuation divergences this arm has found were found by an eye on the text, none by the instrument. Chapters I–II had never been re-read for the class at all. So ¶1–¶47 were re-collated whole-stream and punctuation-inclusive: R and M concatenated into token streams with explicit paragraph-boundary tokens, orthographic modernisation folded (case, cz→c, vowel length, en-dash/hyphen, guillemet orientation) and nothing else.

52 differences in 1,381 words — 24 punctuation, 18 word-level, 9 word-division, 1 paragraph division. The published table for these two chapters carries 27 aligned divergences, 3 of them substantive. Four things came out of it that the published file does not have:

1. R prints 47 paragraphs in chapters I–II where M prints 46. R breaks after «…a czivilizált vonalba eső falvak vannak.» and begins a new paragraph at «A talaj agyagos…»; M runs the two together. Paragraph division is a class collation.md has never reported, and it is the one class that is guaranteed to reach the English, because the paragraph is the unit the translation is indexed in. The English here has 47 paragraphs; the inherited rendering necessarily had 46.
2. R italicises one word in these two chapters — _anyós_ at ¶20 — and M has no italics anywhere in either chapter. The method cannot see this: _ is punctuation and the normalisation folds it. A translator working from M is not told that Mikszáth stressed the word on which the whole conceit of the paragraph turns.
3. Three rows of the published table are wrong in their particulars, in the same way the two withdrawn at S149 were wrong — at the point where a machine result was written into prose by hand. (i) The chapter I row a pap fia/a pap fiú is at ¶6, not ¶5. (ii) The three chapter II rows are indexed to M's paragraph numbers, not to the copy-text's — published as ¶3, ¶10, ¶15, they are R's ¶20, ¶27, ¶32, and the offset is not constant because of finding 1. In a file whose declared copy-text is R and whose span index is R's ¶ numbering (R05 §1), that is a defect of the same class as chapter IV's, which S144 found to be out by seven to fifteen. (iii) M reads mondták, not mondta: 3pl, not 3sg. The contrast is still archaic against ordinary — mondák/mondták — but the published form misstates it.
4. One word-level divergence not in the published table: ¶21 óriási (R) against óriás (M). It is inside the class §1's alignment can see. It does not reach the English — giant oaks either way — and is recorded for the same reason ¶251's ezüst was at S149.

None of this is offered as a statement about the 1895 first edition, and no page image has been consulted. Counts corrected in collation.md §2 and §3.

D63 — Billeghi Máthé at ¶11, and the copy-text contradicts itself. R prints Máthé once, at ¶11, and Máté six times in the rest of Part I; M prints Máté at all seven. The register binds Master Máté Billeghi (V4, from span A), and spans C–E render Máté five times from R's own pages. R's single Máthé is followed as a printing variant, not as a reading: V1's eclectic policy is about which witness is right where they differ, and here the witness differs from itself. The alternative — printing Máthé once, at the man's first appearance, and Máté thereafter — would put a variant into the English that no reader could resolve and that R's own compositor plainly did not intend. Logged rather than silently normalised because it is the only place in Part I where the copy-text is internally inconsistent on a proper name.

D64 — R's paragraph division at ¶18/¶19 is followed, per V1. It is a real difference to read: R's break isolates «A talaj agyagos, terméketlen és makacs» as the opening of the soil paragraph, so that the personification («Azt mondja, hogy ő csak…» — it gives out that it is willing…) begins a paragraph rather than continuing one. M's single paragraph runs the railway and the clay together.

D65 — _anyós_ is carried as italic. But this earth is no mother; it is rather a mother-in-law. The italic is the whole joke's timing: the sentence turns on one word and R marks it. Nothing in the register covers typographic emphasis, because until now no span has had any — this is the first italic in Part I. Not made a rule on one instance; recorded so that the next one has a precedent.

The chapter's own decisions

D66 — árvalányhaj at ¶20, and the office of the parenthesis. Mikszáth writes «fehér fű (árvalányhaj)»: the vernacular name, glossed in parentheses with the plant's ordinary Hungarian name, which literally means orphan-girl's hair (Stipa, feather-grass). V8 says the narrator glosses or he does not, and the translator does not take over the office — so the gloss is carried, in the same place and form. What it is a gloss into is the problem. Feather-grass reproduces the movement exactly — vernacular to standard name — and throws away the word. Orphan-girl's hair keeps the word and misrepresents the movement, because it reads as a poetic flourish where the Hungarian is the botany.

Chosen: (orphan-girl's hair). The reason is not that it is prettier. Fourteen paragraphs earlier an orphan girl was put in a basket on a cart and sent to this valley, and she arrives in the next chapter; the parenthesis names the grass on the gullies of the place she is going to. That the resonance is Mikszáth's and not the translator's is internal-judgment-only and rests on nothing but the proximity. The declared loss is exact: the English does not tell the reader that this is what the plant is actually called, so V8's movement is carried in form and inverted in content.

D67 — ¶7's marked forms, and the one decision V12's demotion actually leaves open. ¶7 carries three archaic markers outside speech tags — lesoványodék, menekedék (ikes preterites) and gond vagyon (the closed copula) — which makes it, on the S144 census inventory, among the most densely marked narration paragraphs in Part I. It is also the first such paragraph in the book, and it was rendered at S127 by a translator who had no census, no register and no V12.

V12 is demoted and twice unfounded (RS-20260809e, RS-20260810b), and what the register now says is that the King James rendering at ¶162–¶164 and ¶240–¶244 is an explicitly unsupported translator's judgment. The live defence is RS-20260810b §7's post-hoc reading: the marking is clause-local, and V12 was written at the wrong grain.

So ¶7 is rendered at that grain, deliberately, and the grain is the decision. The goose's anatomy — the panting, the belly, the nimbleness — is plain modern English, although two of the three marked verbs are in exactly those clauses. The scriptural English is confined to the sentence that is doing scripture: even when it quencheth a life · believe ye me · the beasts that have no understanding are set down even as the beasts that have · there is care taken for these. That sentence contains higyjétek meg nekem (the plural imperative of address), gond vagyon (the closed copula) and oktalan állatok — a phrase which, if it is Károli's, is a lexical fact and not an ear. The study limb tests the grain, not this rendering, and it tests it on the Hungarian.

The alternative, and it is a real one: render ¶7 flat throughout, on the ground that two failed designs are two failed designs and the honest response to an unfounded rule is to stop applying it. It was rejected because a null is a failure to found and not a refutation (RS-20260810b §9), and because flattening would make the paragraph a comic aside with no register shift at all, which is a positive claim about the Hungarian and not a neutral one. If the study limb finds nothing at clause grain either, erratum 1 is the craft report's business and this paragraph is in its scope.

D68 — méltóztat- is carried on one English phrase at all three sites. The judge closes the argument with «Míg nem méltóztatom máskép intézkedni» (¶10); forty paragraphs later the Glogova schoolmaster asks the magistrate «Méltóztatik érteni?» (¶42) and then «méltóztatik érteni» again (¶44). It is a small joke of exactly the kind this project measured in Gogol at S153: a designation that means nothing and is repeated until the repetition means something. All three take "pleased to" — until I am pleased to direct otherwise · is your honour pleased to understand · your honour is pleased to understand. English has variants that are locally better at each site (deign, see fit, care to), and taking any of them would dissolve the return.

D69 — the dead woman has three titles and they are kept apart. She is tanítóné (¶1), rektorné (¶2) and kántorné (¶6) inside six paragraphs — schoolmaster's wife, rector's wife, cantor's wife — because in a village these were one office and the gossips reach for whichever comes first. Rendered a schoolmaster's widow, the poor rector's wife, the cantor's wife. Likewise the Glogova teacher is tanító (¶33, ¶39) and mester (¶41, ¶47), rendered the schoolmaster and the master. This is V15's principle running the other way and it is now bound as V21.

D70 — V1's eclectic policy fires for the fourth time, and this is the earliest instance in the book. ¶32 R reads «zsuppal fevde», which is not a Hungarian word; M reads fedve. M is followed. Rendered thatched with straw. The three previous firings were ¶208 (S144), ¶216a and the ¶227/¶241/¶244 group (S149).

D71 — punktum is kept at ¶15. The village judge closing a dispute with a Latin tag is the same comedy as domine frater and amice in the magistrate's mouth twenty paragraphs later, and V10 forbids untranslated Hungarian as a translator's device, which this is not. The idiomatic English — and that is flat — is better English and deletes the Latin. Same reasoning at ¶38 amicze → amice and ¶40 domine fráter → domine frater: R spells the Latin in Hungarian orthography and the English prints the Latin.

D72 — czoczók at ¶16 is the child's word and is rendered as one. The gee-gees were setting off. The whole clause is Veronka's optics — she is two years old, she is not moving, and the houses and gardens are coming nearer — so the one word in it that is nursery Hungarian must be nursery English. The horses would put the sentence back in the narrator's mouth.

D73 — tekintetes uram → your honour, and it is a new rule (V20). V4 already binds kegyelmed/ő kigyelme → your worship/his worship, uram after a name → Master, and bíró uram → your worship. tekintetes uram (¶42) is a fourth resource and must not collide with the third: the judge of Haláp is your worship, the district magistrate is your honour. English has the pair and Hungarian is using two distinct titles, so the distinction costs nothing.

D74 — szolgabíró → district magistrate, princzipális → my chief. szolgabíró is the elected administrative officer of the district, not a judge in any court; district judge would put him on a bench he never sat on and would also collide with bíró uram, the village judge of chapter I, who is a different office in a different place. tizedes (¶8) → the tithing-man, on the same principle: the word names the man who calls at every tenth house, and English has the historical term.

D75 — three objects of material culture, and all three are rendered flat with the loss logged. marczifánk (¶16) → sweet fritters: a fried sweet pastry with no English equivalent and no narratorial gloss, so V8 forbids inventing one. szeredás (¶16) → a shoulder-bag: the Slovak woven double-satchel; scrip is the period English and would have been the choice under a foreignising regime, but nothing in this narrator's diction elsewhere licenses that register. tüsző (¶29) → the money-belt: the wide leather belt of the Slovak highlander, which the man is hitching up over his belly to look important; belt alone loses why hitching it is a gesture. All three are losses and none of them is a footnote, because Mikszáth footnotes when he wants to (V19, zlevka, mentyék, mágnács) and does not want to here.

D76 — quotation marks: « » are reserved for Mikszáth's marked Slovak, ordinary speech takes double quotes (V22). ¶35's «Vitajtye panyi, vitajtye!» is Slovak, set in guillemets by Mikszáth and glossed by him in the same line; V19 keeps it and translates the gloss in place (Be ye welcome, gentlemen!). ¶24's «Tápláljuk a szegény tótocskákat» is Hungarian — the plum trees speaking — and takes the double quotes that spans C–E use for all speech. R's own guillemets do not distinguish the two; the English does, and thereby makes V19's marking visible on the page.

Registered before the inherited renderings were opened

D77 — three predictions, written into the frozen span, on what the divergence coding will find. The study limb opens R04-v1 and R04-span2-v1 — the revised artifacts, since R05 includes a self-revision and R06 is the frozen draft, so R04-against-R05 holds the revision discipline constant and leaves copy-text, register and eight sessions of accumulated work as the variables.

• P-A, the copy-text bill: 4 to 7 sites where the English differs because the two witnesses differ. The candidates are named in advance and there are exactly seven: ¶6 fia, ¶20 leng, ¶20's italic, ¶27 mondák, ¶32 fevde, ¶11 Máthé, and the ¶18/¶19 paragraph division. Two of them (¶6, ¶20 leng) are pre-exposed and the figure is reported with and without them.
• P-B, backwards blindness: 6 to 15 sites where a rule bound after S132 — V1–V19, V20–V22 — makes the new English differ from the old, and no erratum ever caught it. RS-20260806d found eleven such sites on Canth's span 1 in roughly twice the words.
• P-C, total divergence: 90 to 140 sites of any cause. Canth's span 1 gave 234 in ~2,900 words, about eight per hundred; 1,381 words at that rate is 110.

The direction of the bias is declared with them. Note (bhb) measured the lead matching itself at up to 37 contiguous tokens across sessions — above its record against any published human translation. Whatever the lead's self-similarity does here, it pushes the count down, so P-B and P-C are conservative: a site that agrees may agree because the register bound it, or because the same translator reached for the same phrase eight months of sessions later, and the coding cannot separate those. Only the disagreements are evidence, which is the reverse of the usual worry and is why the primary is a count of divergences and not of matches.

Contamination, measured after each span was frozen

The one twelve-gram is "because he has no soul but we have souls and after all" (¶180) — the only literal English for «mert lelke nincs. Nekünk pedig van lelkünk. S végre is». dependence_check.py prints DEPENDENT? on the presence of any twelve-gram; that is a screening flag, not this project's threshold. References: an independent published pair at 160 / 27 / 24; this lead's ch. I at 2 / 0 / 8 and ch. II at 12 / 0 / 11; the lead's French against Baudelaire at 65 twelve-grams and a 23-token run, which earned high. Note (bhb)'s lead-against-itself measurement has no comparator here — chapter IV had never been rendered by the lead before. Full record and reasoning: RS-20260809e-legend-layer §8.

Errata

None. Revisions to frozen spans go here, numbered and dated (R05 §2).

Erratum 1 did not fire, and the reason is worth more than the erratum would have been (S149). D47 declared that if the study limb found no Károli phrasing in the marked paragraphs, V12 would be struck and erratum 1 would flatten span D's ¶162–¶164 and span E's ¶240–¶244 together. The study limb found none (RS-20260810b, P1 +0.0087 at p = 0.4392; P2 negative at p = 0.7281). The erratum still does not fire, because D47's declared consequence was itself a statistical error, caught by the independent pre-run critic before the experiment ran (E-20260810-legend-lexis §11, amendment A9): a non-rejection at α = 0.05 is a failure to found, not a refutation, and the design's power floors were sample-size thresholds rather than a power calculation against a registered minimum effect. A p-value above 0.05 may not delete two spans of translation.

This log is not edited (V2). What stands corrected is the consequence, recorded in the design, in register.md §Unresolved 1, and in RS-20260810b §9. The marking at both sites is now labelled on the register as an explicitly unsupported translator's judgment, and the craft report must either defend it — the clause-level reading in RS-20260810b §7 is the live candidate — or issue erratum 1 then, with the argument.

D44a's registered prediction FAILED (S149). Worswick 1900 does not carry Srankóné's price question at ¶216a. In the same six lines he also drops the mágnács footnote, the three hundred sheep and the chalk, so the omission is weak evidence; D44 stands with reduced confidence. Full record: RS-20260810b §10.