No, he would rather go to look for the fiddle himself.

So he found the violin case at last somehow, and handing it to the baron through the _csarda_ window (for he durst not trust himself inside), he retired again beneath the coach-house, although the rain was now splashing down upon it.
Baron Leonard took from its morocco case his splendid Straduarius, that relic of the greatest master of fiddle-making, for which he had paid a small fortune, and following the lead of the young vagabond's _tilinka_ played the bitter-sweet melancholy air on the sonorous instrument, and at the third trial he enriched it with so many variations as to astonish everyone.

Then Ripa became enthusiastic and chimed in with his hoarse old voice.
When the baron once had the violin in his hands, he was not content with playing a single song, one melody enticed another forth, and so, one after another, his fiddle-bow ran through all those rhapsodies of the last century, those compositions of the "Gipsy-Beethoven," Bihari, and other great popular masters, with the most classical variations.

Princes listen not to such a concert as now resounded through that wretched, desolate _csarda_.

Even Henrietta arose from her couch the better to enjoy these melancholy airs.