The history of the town of Petrosèny is as short as that of some of the western cities of America. It began life in 1868, and is now the terminus of a branch railway.
Before the wicked days of dynamite, and as long ago as the year 1834, a fisherman was leisurely catching salmon-trout up the Sil; he had time to look about him, and he noticed that in many places the rocks had a black appearance. He broke off some pieces and carried them home, when he found that they burned like coal; in fact he had discovered a coal mine! Those were simple-minded days, for instead of running off with these valuable cinders under his arm, fixing on an influential chairman and a board of directors for his new company, this good man did nothing but talk occasionally of the black rock that he had seen when fishing.Many years elapsed before any advantage was taken of this valuable discovery. At length a more careful search was made, and it proved that coal existed there in abundance! In 1867 mining was commenced on a large scale by the Kronstäder Company. The next year a town was already growing up in the neighbourhood of the mines, and increased in a most surprising manner. In 1870 the railway was opened from Petrosèny to Piski, on the main line from Arad. The growth of the place, however, received a check in the financial crisis of 1873.
The town itself is in no way remarkable, being a mere collection of dwellings for the accommodation of the miners and the employés; but the scenery in the neighbourhood is simply magnificent. In approaching Petrosèny the railway rises one foot in forty, no inconsiderable gradient.
The coal-fields are partly in the hands of Government, and partly owned by the before-named Kronstäder Company. Between these separate interests there is not much accord. The Kronstäders say that Government has not behaved fairly or openly, but has secured to itself so many "claims" as to damage considerably the prospects of the private speculators.
While at Petrosèny, I heard great complaints against the Government for selling coal at such alow price that they must actually work at a loss. The Kronstäder Verein say they are prevented in this way from making their fair profits, as they are obliged to sell down to the others. It would appear to be a suicidal policy for the pockets of the tax-payers to be mulcted for the sake of securing a prospective monopoly and the ruin of a private enterprise. As it stands it is a pretty quarrel.
Writing in 1862, Professor Ansted says: "The coal of Hungary is of almost all geological ages, and though none is first-rate in point of quality, a large proportion is excellent fuel. The coals most valued at the present moment in Hungary are those of theSecondaryandnotof thePalæozoicperiod. But the great body of coal is very much newer; it isTertiary, and till lately was regarded as of comparatively modern date. In the Ysil Valley there is a splendid deposit oftruecoal."[14]Since the time when the above was written the resources of the Ysil or Sil Valley—viz., Petrosèny—have been abundantly developed, as we see, and it has been pronounced to be "one of the finest coal mines in Europe." One of the seams of coal is ninety feet in thickness; but up to the present time it has been found impossible to make it into coke.
The miners at Petrosèny are great offenders inregard to the abominable practice of killing fish by means of dynamite. It is very well to say that the law forbids it; but the administrators of the law are not always a terror to evil-doers, and perhaps the timely present of a dish of fine trout does not sharpen the energies of the officials. Another mode of destroying fish is practised by the Wallacks. There grows in this locality a poisonous plant, of which they make a decoction and throw it into the river, thereby killing great numbers of fish at a time.
While driving round Petrosèny I had an opportunity of seeing the Hungarian manner of making roads. The peasants have to work on the roads a certain number of days in the year, and if they possess a pair of oxen, these must also be brought for a specified time. An inspector is supposed to watch over them. One afternoon we came upon a score of peasants, men and women, who were engaged in mending a bridge. Their proceedings were just an instance of how "not to do a thing." They were placing trees across the gap, and the interstices they were filling up with leafy branches, over which was thrown a quantity of loose earth and stones well patted down to give the appearance of a substantial and even surface. Of course the first rain would wash away the earth and leave as nice a hole as you could wish your enemy to put his foot into. Forall purposes of traffic the bridge was safer with the honest gap yawning in the traveller's face.
It is said that the magistrates make matters easy and convenient for the peasants, if the latter, by being let off public work, attend gratuitously to the more pressing wants of the individual magistrate.
"You see, nobody suffers but the Government," says the man of easy conscience, not seeing that, after all, the good condition of the roads concerns themselves more than the officials in the capital.
In many things the Hungarians are like children, and they have not yet grown out of the idea that it is patriotic to be unruly. The fact is, the Central Government was so long in the hands of the Vienna Cabinet, who were obnoxious in the highest degree to the Hungarians, that the latter cannot get the habit of antagonism out of their minds, though the reconciliation carried through by Deák in 1867 entirely restored self-government to Hungary. "What do we want with money?" said a gentleman of the old school. "Money is only useful for paying taxes, and if we have not got it for that purpose, never mind!"
On leaving Petrosèny the route I proposed to myself was to take the bridle-path over the mountains to Herrmannstadt. But in following this out, I omitted to visit the Castle of Hunyad—a great mistake, forcastles are rare in this part of Europe, and the romantic and singular position of Schloss Hunyad renders it quite unique in a way. It is situated, I am told, on a lofty spur of rock, washed on three sides by two rivers which unite at its base, a draw-bridge connecting the building with a fortified eminence high above the stream.
The place is associated with the name of Hungary's greatest hero, John Hunyadi, who was born near by, and who subsequently built the castle. The story of his birth, which took place somewhere about 1400, is romantic enough. His mother was said to be a beautiful Wallack girl called Elizabeth Marsinai, who was beloved by King Sigismund. When he left her he gave her his signet ring, which she was to bring to him in Buda if she gave birth to a son.
Showing all proper respect to the wishes of its parents, a child of the "male persuasion" made its appearance in due course of time; and the joyful mother, accompanied by her brother, set off walking to Buda, with the small boy and the ring for credentials. When resting by the way in a forest the child began playing with the ring, and a jackdaw, who in all ancient story has a weakness for this sort of ornament, pounced upon the shining jewel and carried it off to a tree. The brother with commendable quickness took up his bow and shot the bird;thus the ring was recovered, and the story duly related to the king, who evolved out of the incident a prophetic omen of the boy's future greatness. His majesty had the child brought up at the Court, and bestowed upon him the town of Hunyad and sixty surrounding villages.
It was in the reign of Sigismund that the Turks first regularly invaded Hungary; and the young Hunyadi soon distinguished himself by a series of victories over the Moslems. To him Europe is indebted for the check he gave the Turks. He forced them to relinquish Servia and Bosnia, and in his time both provinces were placed under the vassalage of Hungary. We may go further and say that had Hunyadi's plans for hurling back the Moslem invaders been seconded by the other Christian powers, we should not have the Eastern Question upon our hands in this our day. But, alas! all the solicitations of this great patriot were met with short-sighted indifference by the Courts of Europe. It is true that the Diet of Ratisbon, summoned by the Emperor Frederick, voted 10,000 men-at-arms and 30,000 infantry to assist in repelling the Turks; and it is true that the Pope in those days was anti-Turkish, and vowed on the Gospels to use every effort, even to the shedding of his blood, to recover Constantinople from theinfidels. The old chronicles give a curious account of the monk Capestrano, who, bearing the cross that the Pope had blessed, traversed Hungary, Transylvania, and Wallachia, to rouse the people to the danger that threatened them from the intrusion of the Moslem into Europe. Special church services were instituted; and at noon the "Turks' bell" was daily sounded in every parish throughout these border-lands, when prayers were offered up to arrest the progress of the common enemy of Christendom.
Hunyadi's son, Matthias Corvinus, rivalled his father as a champion against the Turks. He was elected King of Hungary, and after reigning forty-two years, passed away; and the people still say, "King Matthias is dead, and justice with him."
I found some difficulty while at Petrosèny in getting a guide to convoy me over the mountains to Orlat, near Herrmannstadt. My Hungarian friend proposed that, choosing a saint's day, we should ride over to the neighbouring village of Pétrilla, where I would certainly find some peasant able and willing amongst the numbers who crowd into the village on these occasions.
Accordingly we went over, and I was very pleased I had gone, for the rural gathering was a very pretty and characteristic sight. The people from all the country round were collected together in the churchyard, dressed of course in their bravery, and a very goodly show they made. They were the finest Wallacks I had seen anywhere; they were superior looking in physique, and many of them must really have been well off, if one may judge a man's wealth by the richness of the wife's dress.
Some of the young girls were very pretty, and wore their silver-coin decorations with quite a fashionable coquettish air. The Wallack women, whether walking or standing, never have the spindle out of their hands: the attitude is very graceful, added to which the thread must be held daintily in the fingers. They are very industrious, making nearly all the articles of clothing for the family.
After a great deal of palavering—I think we must have spoken to every able-bodied man in the churchyard—I at last induced a young Wallachian to say he would accompany me. He spoke a little German, which was a great advantage. I told him to procure himself a good horse, and to take care that all his arrangements were completed before night, as I wished to start very early the following morning.
To this he replied that it would be quite necessary to start early, and begged to know if five o'clock would be too soon; adding that as I must pass through Pétrilla, would I meet him at the corner of the churchyard?
To this I agreed, repeating that we were to meet not a moment later than five o'clock. My friend and I returned to Petrosèny, and the afternoon was occupied in making preparations for two days on the mountains. I supplied myself with a goodamount ofslivovitz, as a medium of exchange for milk and cheese with the shepherds, who understand this kind of barter much better than any money transactions.
The next day, when it came, brought a continuance of good weather, and I was up betimes, looking forward with pleasure to the mountain ride. I reached Pétrilla a few minutes after five o'clock; but my man was not at the churchyard corner, whereupon I rode all round the churchyard, thinking he might by mistake have pitched on some odd corner, and be out of sight under the trees. However, I looked in vain—a man on horseback is not hidden like a lizard between two stones! Verily he was not there.
I waited half an hour all to no purpose. I now resolved to try and find out where he lived. I had understood that he belonged to the village. After a great deal of trouble and bother, and poking of my nose into various interiors where the families were stillen déshabillé, I unearthed my guide. He coolly said that he was waiting for the horse, which was to be brought to him by some other lazy fellow not yet up.
I could not speak Wallachian, and he pretended not to understand a word of my wrathful tirade in German, which was all nonsense, because I foundlater that he spoke that language fairly well. I insisted that he should come with me to find the horse, and so he did at last, in a dilatory sort of way, and then it turned out that the animal was waiting at the other end of the village for his rider.
Well, thought I, we shall start now; but no, there were two to that bargain. The Wallack calmly informed me that he must return to his hut, for he had not breakfasted. Not to lose sight of him, I returned too. He then with Oriental deliberation set about making a fire, and proceeded to cook hispolentaof maize. I had got hungry again by this time, though I had breakfasted at Petrosèny before starting, so I partook of some of his mess, which was exceedingly good, much better than oatmeal porridge.
In consequence of all these delays it was after eight o'clock before we really started. The horse which my guide had procured for himself was a wretched animal—a tantalising object for vultures and carrion-crows—instead of being a good strong horse, as I had stipulated he should be; but there was no help for it now, so on we went.
My companion soon gave me to understand in good German that he was a superior sort of fellow. He had been to school at Hatszeg, and knew a thing or two. I have heard it stated that the Wallacksare so quick that they make great and rapid progress at first, distancing the German children; but that they seem to stop after a while, and even fall back into ignorance and their old slovenly ways of life.
On referring to the statistics of Messrs Keleti and Beöthy, I see that only eleven per cent of Roumains (Wallacks) attend the primary schools, and this percentage had not increased between the years 1867 and 1874. The percentage of the Magyars attending the primary schools is forty-nine per cent, while the Slavs, again, are twenty-one.
"The world is only saved by the breath of the school-children," says the Talmud. A conviction of this truth makes every inquiry into educational progress extremely interesting. According to M. Keleti's tables, fifty-three per cent of the males and sixty-two per cent of the females in Hungary generally are still illiterates. This excludes from the calculation children under six years of age. On comparing notes, other countries do not come out so very much better. It is calculated that 30 per cent of French conscripts are unable to read; moreover, inour"returns" of marriages in England in 1845, a percentage of forty-one signed the register withmarks. In 1874 the number of illiterates was reduced to twenty-one per cent.
I elicited a good many interesting facts from myWallack guide, several that were confirmatory of the terrible ignorance existing amongst the priesthood of the Greek Church. The popes do not commend themselves to the good opinion of the male part of the community, whatever hold they may have on the superstition of the women. I cannot see myself how things are to be mended till the position and education of the priesthood are improved. It is said that, in the old days before '48, when the peasants had to render forced labour to the lord of the land, the Transylvanian nobles would have the village pope up to the castle, and keep him there for a fortnight in a state of intoxication, thus preventing his giving out the saints' days at the altar on Sunday. This was done that their own harvest-work should proceed without the inconvenience of suspending operations at a critical time onfêtedays, the people themselves being too ignorant to consult the calendar!
The Magyar nobles are improved, and do not play these pranks now; but very little progress, I imagine, has been made on the side of the priests. Chatting with my Wallack guide helped to beguile the tedious nature of the ride, an ascent over roughish ground all the way. Arriving at the summit, we made a noonday halt.
A fire was soon burning, whereat our dinner ofrobber-steak was roasted; but the halt was shorter than usual, for I was anxious to push on, remembering how much time had been lost at starting.
We now gained the other side of the mountain-chain, passing the remains of an old Turkish camp, the outlines of which were quite visible. From this point there is a magnificent view, interminable forests to the eastward clothing the deep ravines that score the hillsides. The accidents of light and shade were particularly happy on this occasion, bringing out various details in the picture in a very striking manner. As a general rule, there is no time so unpropitious for scenic effect as noonday.
We passed from the grassy Alpen down into the thick of the forest, losing very soon any glimpse of the distant view, or any help from conspicuous landmarks. It was a labyrinth of trees, with tracks crossing each other in a most perplexing manner. I could not have got on without a guide.
When the evening approached I thought it was time to look out for quarters for the night. Our first necessity was water, but we went on and on without coming upon a stream. It was provoking, for we had passed so many springs and rivulets earlier in the day, and now darkness threatened to wrap us round with the mantle of night before we had arranged our bivouac. When the sun sets inthe East, it is like turning off the gas; you are left in darkness suddenly, without any intervening twilight. As a fact one knows this perfectly well; but habit is stronger than reason, and day after day I went on being perplexed, and often unready for the "early-closing" system.
"Water we must have," said I to the Wallack. "Let us strike off from the direct route and follow the lead of this valley, we shall find water in the bottom for a certainty."
We hurried forward, leading our horses through the thick undercover, always diving deeper into the ravine. At length I discovered a trickling amongst the stones, and a little farther on we came upon a grassy spot beneath some enormous pine-trees. It was an ideal place for a bivouac!
When the horses had been carefully picketed, we proceeded to make a fire and cook our supper, which consisted of gipsy-meat and tea.
The meal finished to my perfect satisfaction, (how good everything tastes under such circumstances!) I then stretched myself on a sloping bank overspread by a thick covering of dryneedle-wood, as the Germans call the leaves of the fir-tree. How soft and clean it felt, and how sweet the aromatic perfume that pervaded the whole place! Lighting my pipe, I gave myself up to the perfect enjoymentof repose amidst this romantic scene. The Wallack, covered by his furbunda, was already asleep, and save the bubbling of the water in the little stream, and the crackling of the fire, there was absolutely not a sound or a breath. Through the tasselled pine branches, festooned with streamers of grey moss, I could see the stars shining in the blue depths of ether. One can realise in these regions the intensedepthof the heavens when seen at night; we never get the same effect in our "weeping skies."
Before wrapping my plaid round me for the night, I threw some fresh wood on the fire, which, crushing down upon the hot embers, sent up a scintillating shower of sparks that ran a mad race in and out of the greenery. I saw that the horses were all right, I put my gun handy, and then I gave myself up to sleep.
I do not know how long I had slept, but I was conscious of being bothered, and could not rouse myself at once. I dreamed that a bear was sniffing at me, but instead of being the least surprised or frightened, I said to myself in my dream, as if it was quite a common occurrence, "That's the bear again, he always comes when I am asleep." The next moment, however, I was very effectually awakened by a tug that half lifted me off the ground. I must mention that I had tied my horse'shalter to my waist-belt in case of any alarm in the night, for I sleep so soundly always that no ordinary noise or movement ever wakes me. I sprang up of course, calling the Wallack at the same time. Something had frightened the horses, and they had attempted to bolt. We found them trembling from head to foot, but we could not discover the cause of their fright. I fired off my revolver twice; the Wallack in the meantime had lighted a bundle of resinous fir branches as a torch. He had carefully arranged it before he slept; it is a capital thing, as it gives a good light on an emergency.
After making an examination of the place all round, and finding nothing, we made up a bright fire, and again laid ourselves down to rest. I had my saddle for a pillow, and it was not half bad. Before giving myself over to sleep I listened and listened again, but I heard nothing except the hooting of the owls answering each other in the distance. The night had grown very cold, and a heavy dew was falling, but notwithstanding these discomforts I had another good nap.
Next morning, after a hearty breakfast, we were off early. Instead of going uphill again to recover our former route, we followed the stream, which gradually increased in size, and we came at last to a place where a dam had been thrown across thevalley with the object of floating the wood cut in the forest. This small lake was very pretty; the water was as clear as crystal. Farther on we came upon another dam of larger dimensions; but though it had evidently been quite recently constructed, there was no one about, and no signs of wood-cutting. Here we began to ascend again, and about mid-day got to a place called La Durs, a customhouse for cattle coming from Roumania; it is not absolutely on the frontier, but very near it. I heard later that this district has a bad reputation for smugglers and robbers, the latter being on the increase, it is said; always the same story of unrepressed lawlessness on the frontier.
We made no stay at the customhouse, but rode on a couple of miles farther, where, coming upon a nice spring, we dined. Not a single shepherd had we met, so there had been no chance of bartering for milk; it was not surprising, because our track had been almost entirely in the forests, and of course the shepherds are higher up on the Alpen. At this last halting-place we nearly set the forest on fire. The grass was very dry all round, and before I was aware of it, the fire ran along the ground and caught the trees. It blazed up in an inconceivably short time. I rushed up directly, to cut off what branches I could withmy bowie-knife; but though calling loudly to the Wallack to assist me, he never concerned himself in the least. This exasperated me beyond measure, seeing what mischief was likely to accrue from the misadventure. Luckily a man came up, riding on one horse and leading another, and he readily gave me a helping hand, and between us we put out the fire. The Wallack never raised a finger!
Getting into conversation with the new-comer, I found that he was going to Orlat, whereupon I arranged to go on with him. Accordingly I paid my guide, and was not sorry to have done with him, he had so disgusted me about the fire, and I was especially glad to get quit of his wretched horse, which had greatly retarded our progress. I transferred my saddle-bags to the spare horse, and we got on much faster, reaching Orlat by sunset.
Before descending into the plain we had a magnificent view. Herrmannstadt seemed almost at our feet, though in reality it was still a long way off; the Fogaraser Mountains stretching away towards Kronstadt, appeared in all their picturesque irregularity, and along the plain at their base were scattered the villages of the Saxonland, each with its fortress-church, a relic of the old time, when the brave burghers had to hold their own against Turk and Tartar.
At Orlat I found a small inn, but they had no travellers' room in it; however some of the family were good enough to turn out, and I was very glad to turn in, and that rather early.
The following morning a ride of ten miles brought me to Herrmannstadt. Here I put up at the Hotel Neurikrer, a comfortable house; it was a new sensation getting into the land of inns. The fact is, the Saxons are not indifferent to the existence of inns; it relieves them of the necessity of hospitality. The Hungarian will take the wheels off his guest's carriage and hide them to prevent his departure, whereas the Saxon would be more inclined to speed the parting guest with amiable alacrity. There is an old-world look about Herrmannstadt that gives one the sensation of being landed in another age; it is a case of Rip Van Winkle, only "t'other way round," as the saying is: one has awakened from the sleep in the hills to walk down into a mediæval town, finding the speech and fashions of old Germany—Luther's Germany!
The Saxon immigrants in Hungary number nearlytwo millions. The greater proportion of these is found in Transylvania; the rest, some forty thousand, have a compact colony under the shadow of the Tatra Mountains, in the north of Hungary, called from time immemorable the "Free District." But it was to the slopes of the Southern Carpathians, to the "land beyond the forest," where the first Saxons came and settled. It is still called "Altland," being the oldest of their possessions in Hungary. In fact this appellation of the "Oldland" belongs, strictly speaking, to the Herrmannstadt district. Formerly no Hungarian was allowed to settle in the town, so jealous were the burghers of their privileges. I believe the earliest date of the Saxon immigration is 1143. The country had been wasted by the incursions of the Tartars, and in consequence the Servian Princess Helena, widow of the blind King Bela of Hungary, invited them hither during the minority of her son, Geysa II. They appear to have come from Flanders, and from the neighbourhood of Cologne. They were tempted to this strange land by certain privileges and special rights secured to them by the rulers of Hungary, and faithfully preserved through many difficulties; as a fact the Saxons of Transylvania retained their self-government down to the middle of this century.
These people have played no unimportant part inEuropean history; for Herrmannstadt and Kronstadt, the sister towns of Saxon Transylvania, were called the bulwarks of Christianity all through the evil days of Moslem invasion. Herrmannstadt was called by the Turks the "Red Town" on account of the colour of its brick walls. It was besieged in 1438 with a force of 70,000 men headed by the Sultan Amurad himself, and great were the rejoicings amongst the brave burghers when it became known that an arrow directed from one of the towers had rid them of their foe! Trade and commerce must have prospered, by all accounts, in those days; and the burghers made themselves of importance, for King Andrew II., a man far in advance of his time, summoned them to assist in consultation at the Imperial Parliament. The wealth of Herrmannstadt is a thing of the past; the place has now the appearance of a dead level of competence, where riches and poverty are equally absent. There were no new houses building to supply an increasing population, nor, I should say, had any been built for many years.
The town is prettily situated on a slight elevation above the surrounding plain; it has the fine range of the Fogaraser Mountains as a background. The old moat, where Amurad fell pierced by the well-directed arrow, has been turned into a promenade; parts of the fortifications remain in a state of picturesque ruin. Herrmannstadt is the seat of the Protestant Bishop of Transylvania, and there is a fine old church, which, however, has suffered severely in the process of restoration.
The interior of the church is in that unhappy condition which bespeaks the churchwarden's period—whitewash plastered over everything, obliterating lights and shades and rare carvings beneath a glare of uncouth cleanliness. In their desire to remove every object that could harbour dust or obstruct the besom of reform, they have bodily removed from the church many rich monuments and interesting effigies, and these are to be seen huddled away in an obscure corner of the churchyard. The church has a large collection of richly-embroidered vestments belonging to the pre-Reformation days.
Herrmannstadt is decidedly rich in collections. The Bruckenthal Library contains an illuminated missal of great beauty; the execution is singularly fine, and the designs very artistic. The curious thing is that the history of this rare volume is unknown; by some it is believed to have come from Bohemia during the time of the troubles in that country, however nothing is positively known. The book is of the finest vellum, containing 630 pages in small quarto. The pictures of architectureand scenery are extremely interesting; the first represent buildings familiar to us in old German towns, and the rural scenes depict a variety of agricultural instruments, together with many details of home life in the olden time. The colours of the birds and flowers are as bright as if only finished yesterday. The ingenuity of the design is very striking; no two objects are alike. It would have taken hours to have looked over the volume thoroughly.
In the palace, of which the museum forms a part, there is a gallery of pictures, collected by the Baron Bruckenthal, formerly governor of Transylvania. The history of these pictures is very curious, they were mostly purchased from French refugees at the time of the first revolution. It appears that both at that period, and at the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, many French families had sought an asylum in Hungary and Transylvania. In the Banat I am told there are two or three villages inhabited entirely by people who came originally from France; they retain only their Gallic names, having adopted the Magyar tongue and utterly lost their own. This little colony of the Banat belonged of course to the Huguenot exodus. I had now an opportunity of examining a collection of the Roman antiquities obtained from the Hatszeg Valley.
I remained several days at Herrmannstadt, principally for the sake of resting my horse, which unfortunately had been rubbed by the saddle-bags on my ride from Petrosèny. I spent the time agreeably enough, exploring the neighbourhood and making chance acquaintances. I bought here Bishop Teusch's 'History of Transylvanian Saxons,' a handy-book in two volumes. It interested me very much, especially reading it in the country itself where so many stirring scenes had been enacted.
Wishing to see some of the neighbouring villages, I set off one fine day on a walking expedition. I chose Sunday, because on that day one can see to best advantage the costume of the peasants. Hammersdorf is a pretty enough village, "fair with orchard lawns," but not so charming as Heltau, which, standing on high ground, commands an extensive view of the whole plain, with the old "Red Town" in the foreground of the picture. The church in this village is a very fine specimen of the fortified churches, which are a unique feature of the Transylvanian border-land. The origin of this form of architecture is very obvious; it was necessary to have a defence against the incursions of the Tartars and Turks, who for centuries troubled the peace of this fair land. In every village of theSaxons in the south and east of Transylvania the church is also a fortified place, fitted to maintain a siege if necessary. The construction of these buildings varies according to circumstances: the general character is that the sacred edifice is surrounded, or forms part of a strong wall with its watch-towers; not unfrequently a second and even a third wall surround the place. In every case a considerable space of ground is enclosed around the church, sufficient to provide accommodation for the villagers; in fact every family with a house outside had a corresponding hut within the fortified walls. Here, too, was a granary, and some of the larger places had also their school-tower attached to the church. It happened not unfrequently that the villagers were obliged to remain for some weeks in their sanctuary.
Heltau is an industrious little place. Here is manufactured the peculiar white frieze so much worn by the Wallacks. Nearly every house has its loom, but I was told the trade is less flourishing than formerly. The woollen-cloth manufacturers of Transylvania have suffered very much from the introduction of foreign goods; but, on the other hand, if they would bestir themselves they might enormously increase their exports. Heltau is a market-place, and reserves many old privileges veryjealously. Its inhabitants were often in dispute with the burghers of Herrmannstadt, and on one occasion they had the audacity, in rebuilding their church-tower, to place four turrets upon it. Their neighbours regarded this with great indignation, for are not four turrets the sign and symbol ofcivicauthority? The burghers of Herrmannstadt hereupon obliged the men of Heltau to sign a bond, saying that "they were but humble villagers," and promising to treat their haughty neighbours with all due "honour, fear, and friendship."
From Heltau I went on to Michaelsburg, an extremely curious place. In the centre of a lovely valley rises a conical rock of gneiss, protruding to the height of 200 feet or more. This is crowned by the ruins of a Romanesque church. There are, I believe, only two other specimens of this kind of architecture in the country. The time of the building of Michaelsburg is stated to be between 1173 and 1223. Before the use of artillery this fortified church on the rock must have been really impregnable. Inside the walls I found a quantity of large round stones—the shot and shell of those days; these stones were capable of making considerable havoc amongst a besieging party I should say. The custom was in the old time that no young man should be allowed to take unto himselfa wife till he had carried one such stone from the bed of the river where they are found, to the summit of the rock within the church walls. As these stones weigh between two and three hundredweight, and the ascent is very steep, it was a test of strength. The villagers were anxious to prevent the weaklings from marrying lest they should spoil the hardy race.
The view from the village itself is very pretty, home-like, and with a more familiar look about the vegetation than I had seen elsewhere. There were orchards of cherry-trees, and hedges, as in our west country, festooned with wild hops and dog-roses. Every girl I met was busily engaged plaiting straw as she walked. This straw is for hats of a particular kind for which the place is famed. Besides this industry, the people are great bee-keepers, and make a good trade by selling the honey. The produce of the hives in the Southern Carpathians is the very poetry of honey; it is perfectly delicious, not surpassed by that of Hymettus or Hybla, so famed in ancient story. This "mountain honey" sometimes reaches the London market, but, unfortunately, not with any regularity. It is most difficult to make these people practical in their trade dealings; and as fortime, they must have come into the world before it was talked about.
I made a short excursion into the Rothen Thurm Pass, the principal road across the Southern Carpathians, if we except the Tomöscher Pass from Kronstadt, which, owing to local circumstances, has become more important. The Rothen Thurm or Red Tower Pass is extremely picturesque. It is traversed by the Aluta, which though rising in the Szeklerland in the north-east, finds its way through the Carpathian range, flowing at length into the Lower Danube. The red tower stands at the narrowest part of the defile, an important position of defence; and not far from this spot signal victory was gained by the Christians over the infidels. In the year 1493 the Turks made one of their frequent raids into Transylvania. They had succeeded in collecting a vast amount of booty, including many fair young maidens and tender youths, and were returning in long cavalcade through the Red Tower Pass. Here, however, they fell into an ambuscade arranged by the men of Herrmannstadt, headed by their burgomaster, the brave George Hecht. At a concerted signal the Saxons rushed upon the despoilers with such a fierce and sudden onslaught, that though the Turks far exceeded them in number, they were completely overpowered. Many a turbaned corpse lay that day on the green margin of the classical Aluta, andfew, very few, of the hated Turks, it is said, escaped over the frontier to tell the tale of their disaster. How many a home must have been gladdened by the sight of the rescued children after that happy victory!
These abductions are not altogether a thing of the past. In the autumn of 1875, the very date of my tour, a paragraph appeared in a Pest newspaper stating that a young girl of great beauty in the neighbourhood of Temesvar, in the Banat of Hungary, had been secretly carried off into Turkey without the knowledge or consent of her parents. It was further stated that these scandalous proceedings were of very frequent occurrence in the border provinces. For some years past the supply of beautiful Circassians has been deficient, it is said, so doubtless the harems of Constantinople are supplied with Christian maidens to make up the numbers. The late Sultan—I mean the one who committed suicide—was considered a moderate man, and he had eight hundred women in his harem, at least so a relative of mine was credibly informed at Constantinople.
My horse being all right again, I thought it high time to push on to Kronstadt, which is nearly ninety miles from Herrmannstadt by road. There is railway communication, but not direct; you have to get on the main line at the junction of Klein Köpisch—in Hungarian, Kis Kapus—and hence to Kronstadt, called Brasso by the non-Germans. This confusion of names is very difficult for a foreigner when consulting the railway tables. I have often seen the names of stations put up in three languages. Herrmannstadt is Nagy Szeben. The confusion of tongues in Hungary is one of the greatest stumbling-blocks to progress; and unfortunately it is considered patriotic by the Magyar to speak his own language and ignore that of his neighbour.
It happened to me once that I entered an inn in a Hungarian town, and addressing the waiter, I gave my orders in German, whereupon an elderly gentleman turned sharply upon me, saying—also in German, observe—"It is the custom to speak Hungarian here."
"I am not acquainted with the language, sir," I replied. "German is not to be spoken here—Hungarian or nothing," he retorted. I simply turned on my heel with a gesture of impatience. It was rather too much for any old fellow, however venerable and patriotic, to condemn me to silence and starvation because I could not speak the national lingo, so in the irritation of the moment I rapped out an English expletive, meant as an aside. Enough! No sooner did the testy old gentleman hear the familiar sound, invariably associated with the travelling Britisher in old days, than he turned to me with the utmost urbanity, saying in French, "Pardon a thousand times, I thought you were a German from the fluency of your speech; I had no idea you were an Englishman. Why did you not tell me at once? What orders shall I give for you? How can I help you?" It ended in our dining together and becoming the best friends; in fact he invited me to spend a week with him at his château in the neighbourhood. In the course of conversation I could not help askinghim why, as he spoke German himself and the people in the inn also understood it—in fact I am not sure but what it was their mother-tongue—why he would not allow the language to be spoken?
"We are Hungarians here," he replied, going off into testiness again, "and we do not want that cursed German spoken on all sides. I, for one, will move heaven and earth to get my own language used in my own country. Ha, ha! the Austrians wanted us to have their officials everywhere on the railway. We have put a stop to that; now every man-jack of them must speak Hungarian. It gave an immensity of trouble, and they did not like it at all, I can tell you."
I did not attempt to argue with the old gentleman, for his views were inextricably mixed up with feelings and patriotism.
As a matter of fact, in the early part of this century the Magyar language was hardly spoken by the upper classes except in communicating with their inferiors; but when the patriotic Count Stephen Széchenyi first roused his fellow-countrymen to nobler impulses and more enlightened views, he held forth the restoration of the national language as the first necessity of their position. In his time it meant breaking down the barrier which separated classes. He was the first in the Chamber of Magnates whospoke in the tongue understood by the people; hitherto Latin had been the language of the Chambers. With the exception of a group of poets—Varósmazty, Petoefy, Kolcsey, and the brothers Kisfaludy—there were hardly any writers who employed their native language in literature or science. Count Széchenyi set the fashion, he wrote his political works in Hungarian, and what was more, assisted in establishing a national theatre.
There is perhaps no place where Shakespeare is so often given as at the Hungarian theatre at Buda-Pest, and it is said by competent judges that their translation of our great poet is unequalled in any language, German not excepted.
To a foreigner the Hungarian tongue appears very difficult, because of its isolated character and its striking difference from any other European language. In Cox's 'Travels in Sweden,' published in the last century, he mentions that Sainovits, a learned Jesuit, a native of Hungary, who had gone to Lapland to observe the transit of Venus in 1775, remarked that the Hungarian and Lapland idioms were the same; and he further stated that many words were identical. As a Turanian language, Hungarian has also an alliance with the Turkish as well as the Finnish; but there are only six and a half millions of Magyars who speak the language,and by no possibility can it be adopted by any other peoples.
For their men of letters it is an undeniable misfortune to have so restricted a public; a translated work is never quite the same. The question of language must also limit the choice of professors in the higher schools and at the university. But political grievances are mixed up with the language question, and of those I will not speak now, while I am still in Saxonland, where they do not love the Magyar or anything belonging to him.
Returning to the itinerary of my route, I left Herrmannstadt very early one morning, getting to Fogaras by four o'clock; it was about forty-seven miles of good road. This little town is celebrated for the cultivation of tobacco. There is a large inn here, which looked promising from the outside, but that was all; it had noinsideto speak of—no food, no stable-boy, nothing. After foraging about I got something to eat with great difficulty, and feeling much disgusted with my quarters, I sallied forth to find the clergyman of the place, to whom I introduced myself.
I spent the evening at his house, and found him a very jolly old fellow; he entertained me with a variety of good stories, some of them relating to the tobacco-smuggling. The peasants are allowed togrow the precious weed on condition that they sell it all to the State at a fixed rate. Naturally, if they otherwise disposed of it, they would be able to make a much larger profit, as it is a monopoly of the State. They have a peculiar way of mystifying the exciseman as to the number of leaves on a string, for this is the regulation way of reckoning; besides which, wholesale smuggling goes on at times, and waggon-loads are got away. Occasionally there is a fight between the officials and the peasants.
I had intended getting on to Kronstadt the next day, but I stopped at the Saxon village of Zeiden. The clergyman, on hearing that there was a stranger in the place, hastened to the inn, where he found me calmly discussing my mid-day meal. He would not hear of my going on to Kronstadt, but kindly invited me to be his guest. I heard a great deal later of his unvarying hospitality to strangers.
The next day being Sunday, of course I went to church with my host. The congregation, including their pastor, wore the costume of the middle ages; it was a most curious and interesting sight. I am never a good hand at describing the details of dress, but I know my impression was that the pastor—wearing a ruff, I think, or something like it—might just have walked out of a picture, such as one knows so well of the old Puritans in Cromwell'stime. The dress of the peasants, though unlike the English fashion of any period, had an old-world look. The married women wore white kerchiefs twisted round the head, sleeveless jackets, with a mystery of lace adornments. The marriageable girls sat together in one part of the church, which I thought very funny; they wore drum-shaped hats poised on the head in a droll sort of way. Some of them had a kind of white leather pelisse beautifully wrought with embroidery. Each girl carried a large bouquet of flowers. These blue-eyed German maidens were many of them very pretty, and all were fresh looking and exquisitely neat. It was an impressive moment when the whole congregation joined in singing—