CHAPTER XXXVII.GYPSY POETRY.Verylittle genuine Tzigane poetry has penetrated to the outer world, and many songs erroneously attributed to the gypsies (by Borrow among others) are proved to be adaptations of Spanish or Italian canzonets picked up in the course of their wanderings, while of those few which are undoubtedly their own productions hardly any exceed the length of six or eight lines.“We sing only when we are drunk,” was the answer given by an old gypsy to a collector of folk-songs, which pithy and concise definition of gypsy literature would seem to be a tolerably correct one—though, on the other hand, it might be urged with some show of reason that the gypsy, being often drunk, we might naturally expect his poetical effusions to be proportionately numerous.And perhaps they are in fact more numerous than is generally supposed, only that for lack of a recording pen to take note of them as they arise their momentary inspirations pass by unheeded, leaving no more mark behind than does the song of some wild forest-bird when it has ceased to wake the woodland echoes. The conditions of the gypsy’s life render all but impossible the task of a scribe, who has little chance of picking up anything of interest unless prepared for the time being to become almost a gypsy himself.Nor have there been wanting ardent folk-lorists (if I may coin a word) who have gone this length; so, for instance, Dr. Heinrich von Wlislocki, who, in the summer of 1883, spent several months as member of a wandering troop of tent gypsies in Transylvania and Southern Hungary, and has lately published a volume of gypsy fairy tales, the fruit of his laborious expedition. Yet on the whole the harvest is a meagre one, if we take account of the time and trouble spent on its realization; and even this energetic collector has declared that he would hardly have the courage a second time to face the deceptions and fatigues of such an undertaking.To his pen it is that we owe the first poem contained in this chapter; the second one, entitled, “The Black Voda,” interesting as being an almost solitary instance of a consecutive gypsy ballad, was communicatedto me by the courtesy of Professor Hugo von Meltzl, of Klausenburg, another Transylvanian authority in the matter of folk-lore, who, in his “Acta Comparationis Literarum Universum,” has given many interesting details bearing on these subjects.The other sixteen specimens of the Tzigane muse are so simple as to call for no explanation, though in one or two cases not wholly devoid of poetical merit.GYPSY BALLAD.(From a German translation by Dr. H. von Wlislocki.)O’er the meadow, o’er the wold,Tracks a boy the wand’rer old,Who a scarf wears by his side—Follows him with stealthy stride.Bleeding fells the wand’rer proneIn the forest dark and lone;And the boy has ta’en the lifeOf the man with murd’rous knife.Throws the corse all stained with bloodIn the river’s rushing flood;But, alas! not guessing heWho this ancient wand’rer be.Lightly running home then went,Till he reached his mother’s tent,Held the scarf before her eyes;She, long silent with surprise,Cried at last with passion wild,“Cursed be thou, my only child!May the slayer of his sireBranded be by Heaven’s ire;Hast thy father killed to-day,And his scarf hast stolen away!”THE BLACK VODA.[66]“Rise, arise, my Velvet Georgie,[67]Waken, set you to the bellows;Forge and hammer nails of iron.”Said the husband, “I am coming;Take the broom the dust out-sweeping.”And then Velvet Georgie rises,Straightway on his feet is standing.At the bellows quick down-sitting,Nails of iron he is forging.Then into the market going,Roast-meat fresh and juicy bought he,Roasted meat and white bread also.And he walked into the tavern,And he sat there eating, drinking,Never thinking of his consort,Nothing caring for her wishes—No new dress for her is buying.She to Voda ran complaining.Voda thus his love did answer,“To the merchant quickly hie thee,Ask him what a dress will cost thee.”To the town she ran off smiling,Chose a dress there for her wearing.Quoth the merchant, “Not on credit;Bring me cash before I sell it.”Voda paid him down the money;Paid and went— But Velvet Georgie,From the tavern soon returning,Found his wife, and in his angerThrew her in the glowing furnace,Whence she, loud with cries of anguish,Called upon her absent lover:“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,See how both my feet are burning!”“Let them burn, O faithless lassie,Many pair of boots hast cost me.”“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,See now how my waist is burning!”“Let it burn, thou brazen hussy,Worn out hast thou many dresses.”“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,How my bosom burns and scorches!”“Let it burn, O shameless harlot,Many hands have oft caressed it.”“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,Both my hands are burning sorely!”“Let them burn, O wanton lassie,Many pair of gloves they cost me.”“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,Now my neck is burning also!”“Let it burn, thou brazen hussy,Many beads hast worn around it.”“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,Now my lips the fire is catching!”“Let them burn, O shameless harlot,Many kisses hast thou given.”“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,Now my head itself is burning!”“Let it burn, thou worthless baggage,Let the fire destroy thee wholly.”GYPSY RHYMES.I.The donkey is a lazy brute,That fact there is no hiding;Yet those, methinks, the brute doth suitWho slow are fond of riding.II.Autumn glads the peasant’s breast,Sends the hunter on the quest;Pines the gypsy’s heart aloneFor the sunshine that is gone!III.Since holds the tomb my mother dear,My life is cheerless, bleak, and drear;No sweetheart have on earth’s wide face,So is the grave my better place.IV.I my father never knew,Friend to me was never true,Dead the mother that I loved,Faithless has my sweetheart proved,Still alone with me you fare,Faithful fiddle, everywhere!V.Of coin my purse is bare,My heart is full of care;Come here, my fiddle, ’tis for theeTo banish care and poverty.VI.Heaven grant the boon, I pray;All I ask is but a gown—But a gown with buttons gay,Buttons jingling joyously,Jingling to be heard in town!VII.God of vengeance! give to meThat of wives the best;Give me boot and give me spur,Give me scarlet vest.Then though spite their visage darkenIn the market-place,Fain must look and needs must hearkenAll my foemen’s race.VIII.Where soft the wee burn babbles down over there,Full oft have I pressed these lips to my fair.The burn it still babbles, will babble amain,Shall lips to my fair be pressed never again!The waves of the brook to the valley are flowing,Where on grave of my fairest the blossoms are blowing.IX.Down there in the meadow they’re mowing,And looks at my sweetheart they’re throwing;Such looks at my sweetheart they’re throwing,That mad is this heart of mine going!X.Yonder strapping lass did bake,Put no salt into the cake;Lo! it sticks upon the pan—Eat it, child, as best you can.XI.“Plainly, maiden, lov’st thou me?Which thy true-love—I or he?”“Thou, O thou, when thou art nigh;But for love of him I die!”XII.Boots and shoes were never mine,Seldom have I tasted wine;But I once possessed a wife,And she poisoned all my life!XIII.Hammer the iron! Deal thy blowsHeavy and hard, as a gypsy knows.Poor, yet ever—how poor!—remain;Heart full of bitterness, full of pain.Ah, how well would it be if thereI could but in yon furnace glare,Till soft it grew, my love’s heart ply;No man were then so rich as I.XIV.Underneath the greenwood-treeDays I’ve waited three times three;I would on my love set eyes,Here I know her path-way lies.Could I hope a kiss to earn,Into weeks the days might turn;Could I hope to win my dear,Then each day might be a year!XV.Come, silvery moon, so silent and coy,What does my brown sweetheart that dwells by the mere?Say, was she not kissed by a flaxen-haired boy?Or whispers a stranger soft words in her ear?On second thoughts, better, moon, darling, be mute,The odious trade of a telltale eschewing;Or perhaps you might tell her—and that would not suit—What yesterday evening myself I was doing!XVI.The bee ever makes for the flower,And lads after lassies will go;Was it otherwise, grandam so sour,In the days of thy youth long ago?For Nature her mould never varies,To that can no wisdom say nay;What the ancestor felt, that the heir is,As inheritor, feeling to-day.
Verylittle genuine Tzigane poetry has penetrated to the outer world, and many songs erroneously attributed to the gypsies (by Borrow among others) are proved to be adaptations of Spanish or Italian canzonets picked up in the course of their wanderings, while of those few which are undoubtedly their own productions hardly any exceed the length of six or eight lines.
“We sing only when we are drunk,” was the answer given by an old gypsy to a collector of folk-songs, which pithy and concise definition of gypsy literature would seem to be a tolerably correct one—though, on the other hand, it might be urged with some show of reason that the gypsy, being often drunk, we might naturally expect his poetical effusions to be proportionately numerous.
And perhaps they are in fact more numerous than is generally supposed, only that for lack of a recording pen to take note of them as they arise their momentary inspirations pass by unheeded, leaving no more mark behind than does the song of some wild forest-bird when it has ceased to wake the woodland echoes. The conditions of the gypsy’s life render all but impossible the task of a scribe, who has little chance of picking up anything of interest unless prepared for the time being to become almost a gypsy himself.
Nor have there been wanting ardent folk-lorists (if I may coin a word) who have gone this length; so, for instance, Dr. Heinrich von Wlislocki, who, in the summer of 1883, spent several months as member of a wandering troop of tent gypsies in Transylvania and Southern Hungary, and has lately published a volume of gypsy fairy tales, the fruit of his laborious expedition. Yet on the whole the harvest is a meagre one, if we take account of the time and trouble spent on its realization; and even this energetic collector has declared that he would hardly have the courage a second time to face the deceptions and fatigues of such an undertaking.
To his pen it is that we owe the first poem contained in this chapter; the second one, entitled, “The Black Voda,” interesting as being an almost solitary instance of a consecutive gypsy ballad, was communicatedto me by the courtesy of Professor Hugo von Meltzl, of Klausenburg, another Transylvanian authority in the matter of folk-lore, who, in his “Acta Comparationis Literarum Universum,” has given many interesting details bearing on these subjects.
The other sixteen specimens of the Tzigane muse are so simple as to call for no explanation, though in one or two cases not wholly devoid of poetical merit.
GYPSY BALLAD.
(From a German translation by Dr. H. von Wlislocki.)
O’er the meadow, o’er the wold,Tracks a boy the wand’rer old,Who a scarf wears by his side—Follows him with stealthy stride.Bleeding fells the wand’rer proneIn the forest dark and lone;And the boy has ta’en the lifeOf the man with murd’rous knife.Throws the corse all stained with bloodIn the river’s rushing flood;But, alas! not guessing heWho this ancient wand’rer be.Lightly running home then went,Till he reached his mother’s tent,Held the scarf before her eyes;She, long silent with surprise,Cried at last with passion wild,“Cursed be thou, my only child!May the slayer of his sireBranded be by Heaven’s ire;Hast thy father killed to-day,And his scarf hast stolen away!”
O’er the meadow, o’er the wold,Tracks a boy the wand’rer old,Who a scarf wears by his side—Follows him with stealthy stride.Bleeding fells the wand’rer proneIn the forest dark and lone;And the boy has ta’en the lifeOf the man with murd’rous knife.Throws the corse all stained with bloodIn the river’s rushing flood;But, alas! not guessing heWho this ancient wand’rer be.Lightly running home then went,Till he reached his mother’s tent,Held the scarf before her eyes;She, long silent with surprise,Cried at last with passion wild,“Cursed be thou, my only child!May the slayer of his sireBranded be by Heaven’s ire;Hast thy father killed to-day,And his scarf hast stolen away!”
O’er the meadow, o’er the wold,Tracks a boy the wand’rer old,Who a scarf wears by his side—Follows him with stealthy stride.Bleeding fells the wand’rer proneIn the forest dark and lone;And the boy has ta’en the lifeOf the man with murd’rous knife.Throws the corse all stained with bloodIn the river’s rushing flood;But, alas! not guessing heWho this ancient wand’rer be.Lightly running home then went,Till he reached his mother’s tent,Held the scarf before her eyes;She, long silent with surprise,Cried at last with passion wild,“Cursed be thou, my only child!May the slayer of his sireBranded be by Heaven’s ire;Hast thy father killed to-day,And his scarf hast stolen away!”
O’er the meadow, o’er the wold,
Tracks a boy the wand’rer old,
Who a scarf wears by his side—
Follows him with stealthy stride.
Bleeding fells the wand’rer prone
In the forest dark and lone;
And the boy has ta’en the life
Of the man with murd’rous knife.
Throws the corse all stained with blood
In the river’s rushing flood;
But, alas! not guessing he
Who this ancient wand’rer be.
Lightly running home then went,
Till he reached his mother’s tent,
Held the scarf before her eyes;
She, long silent with surprise,
Cried at last with passion wild,
“Cursed be thou, my only child!
May the slayer of his sire
Branded be by Heaven’s ire;
Hast thy father killed to-day,
And his scarf hast stolen away!”
THE BLACK VODA.[66]
“Rise, arise, my Velvet Georgie,[67]Waken, set you to the bellows;Forge and hammer nails of iron.”Said the husband, “I am coming;Take the broom the dust out-sweeping.”And then Velvet Georgie rises,Straightway on his feet is standing.At the bellows quick down-sitting,Nails of iron he is forging.Then into the market going,Roast-meat fresh and juicy bought he,Roasted meat and white bread also.And he walked into the tavern,And he sat there eating, drinking,Never thinking of his consort,Nothing caring for her wishes—No new dress for her is buying.She to Voda ran complaining.Voda thus his love did answer,“To the merchant quickly hie thee,Ask him what a dress will cost thee.”To the town she ran off smiling,Chose a dress there for her wearing.Quoth the merchant, “Not on credit;Bring me cash before I sell it.”Voda paid him down the money;Paid and went— But Velvet Georgie,From the tavern soon returning,Found his wife, and in his angerThrew her in the glowing furnace,Whence she, loud with cries of anguish,Called upon her absent lover:“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,See how both my feet are burning!”“Let them burn, O faithless lassie,Many pair of boots hast cost me.”“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,See now how my waist is burning!”“Let it burn, thou brazen hussy,Worn out hast thou many dresses.”“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,How my bosom burns and scorches!”“Let it burn, O shameless harlot,Many hands have oft caressed it.”“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,Both my hands are burning sorely!”“Let them burn, O wanton lassie,Many pair of gloves they cost me.”“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,Now my neck is burning also!”“Let it burn, thou brazen hussy,Many beads hast worn around it.”“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,Now my lips the fire is catching!”“Let them burn, O shameless harlot,Many kisses hast thou given.”“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,Now my head itself is burning!”“Let it burn, thou worthless baggage,Let the fire destroy thee wholly.”
“Rise, arise, my Velvet Georgie,[67]Waken, set you to the bellows;Forge and hammer nails of iron.”Said the husband, “I am coming;Take the broom the dust out-sweeping.”And then Velvet Georgie rises,Straightway on his feet is standing.At the bellows quick down-sitting,Nails of iron he is forging.Then into the market going,Roast-meat fresh and juicy bought he,Roasted meat and white bread also.And he walked into the tavern,And he sat there eating, drinking,Never thinking of his consort,Nothing caring for her wishes—No new dress for her is buying.She to Voda ran complaining.Voda thus his love did answer,“To the merchant quickly hie thee,Ask him what a dress will cost thee.”To the town she ran off smiling,Chose a dress there for her wearing.Quoth the merchant, “Not on credit;Bring me cash before I sell it.”Voda paid him down the money;Paid and went— But Velvet Georgie,From the tavern soon returning,Found his wife, and in his angerThrew her in the glowing furnace,Whence she, loud with cries of anguish,Called upon her absent lover:“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,See how both my feet are burning!”“Let them burn, O faithless lassie,Many pair of boots hast cost me.”“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,See now how my waist is burning!”“Let it burn, thou brazen hussy,Worn out hast thou many dresses.”“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,How my bosom burns and scorches!”“Let it burn, O shameless harlot,Many hands have oft caressed it.”“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,Both my hands are burning sorely!”“Let them burn, O wanton lassie,Many pair of gloves they cost me.”“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,Now my neck is burning also!”“Let it burn, thou brazen hussy,Many beads hast worn around it.”“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,Now my lips the fire is catching!”“Let them burn, O shameless harlot,Many kisses hast thou given.”“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,Now my head itself is burning!”“Let it burn, thou worthless baggage,Let the fire destroy thee wholly.”
“Rise, arise, my Velvet Georgie,[67]Waken, set you to the bellows;Forge and hammer nails of iron.”Said the husband, “I am coming;Take the broom the dust out-sweeping.”And then Velvet Georgie rises,Straightway on his feet is standing.At the bellows quick down-sitting,Nails of iron he is forging.Then into the market going,Roast-meat fresh and juicy bought he,Roasted meat and white bread also.And he walked into the tavern,And he sat there eating, drinking,Never thinking of his consort,Nothing caring for her wishes—No new dress for her is buying.She to Voda ran complaining.Voda thus his love did answer,“To the merchant quickly hie thee,Ask him what a dress will cost thee.”To the town she ran off smiling,Chose a dress there for her wearing.Quoth the merchant, “Not on credit;Bring me cash before I sell it.”Voda paid him down the money;Paid and went— But Velvet Georgie,From the tavern soon returning,Found his wife, and in his angerThrew her in the glowing furnace,Whence she, loud with cries of anguish,Called upon her absent lover:
“Rise, arise, my Velvet Georgie,[67]
Waken, set you to the bellows;
Forge and hammer nails of iron.”
Said the husband, “I am coming;
Take the broom the dust out-sweeping.”
And then Velvet Georgie rises,
Straightway on his feet is standing.
At the bellows quick down-sitting,
Nails of iron he is forging.
Then into the market going,
Roast-meat fresh and juicy bought he,
Roasted meat and white bread also.
And he walked into the tavern,
And he sat there eating, drinking,
Never thinking of his consort,
Nothing caring for her wishes—
No new dress for her is buying.
She to Voda ran complaining.
Voda thus his love did answer,
“To the merchant quickly hie thee,
Ask him what a dress will cost thee.”
To the town she ran off smiling,
Chose a dress there for her wearing.
Quoth the merchant, “Not on credit;
Bring me cash before I sell it.”
Voda paid him down the money;
Paid and went— But Velvet Georgie,
From the tavern soon returning,
Found his wife, and in his anger
Threw her in the glowing furnace,
Whence she, loud with cries of anguish,
Called upon her absent lover:
“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,See how both my feet are burning!”
“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,
See how both my feet are burning!”
“Let them burn, O faithless lassie,Many pair of boots hast cost me.”
“Let them burn, O faithless lassie,
Many pair of boots hast cost me.”
“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,See now how my waist is burning!”
“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,
See now how my waist is burning!”
“Let it burn, thou brazen hussy,Worn out hast thou many dresses.”
“Let it burn, thou brazen hussy,
Worn out hast thou many dresses.”
“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,How my bosom burns and scorches!”
“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,
How my bosom burns and scorches!”
“Let it burn, O shameless harlot,Many hands have oft caressed it.”
“Let it burn, O shameless harlot,
Many hands have oft caressed it.”
“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,Both my hands are burning sorely!”
“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,
Both my hands are burning sorely!”
“Let them burn, O wanton lassie,Many pair of gloves they cost me.”
“Let them burn, O wanton lassie,
Many pair of gloves they cost me.”
“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,Now my neck is burning also!”
“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,
Now my neck is burning also!”
“Let it burn, thou brazen hussy,Many beads hast worn around it.”
“Let it burn, thou brazen hussy,
Many beads hast worn around it.”
“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,Now my lips the fire is catching!”
“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,
Now my lips the fire is catching!”
“Let them burn, O shameless harlot,Many kisses hast thou given.”
“Let them burn, O shameless harlot,
Many kisses hast thou given.”
“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,Now my head itself is burning!”
“Voda, Voda, O Black Voda,
Now my head itself is burning!”
“Let it burn, thou worthless baggage,Let the fire destroy thee wholly.”
“Let it burn, thou worthless baggage,
Let the fire destroy thee wholly.”
GYPSY RHYMES.
I.
The donkey is a lazy brute,That fact there is no hiding;Yet those, methinks, the brute doth suitWho slow are fond of riding.
The donkey is a lazy brute,That fact there is no hiding;Yet those, methinks, the brute doth suitWho slow are fond of riding.
The donkey is a lazy brute,That fact there is no hiding;Yet those, methinks, the brute doth suitWho slow are fond of riding.
The donkey is a lazy brute,
That fact there is no hiding;
Yet those, methinks, the brute doth suit
Who slow are fond of riding.
II.
Autumn glads the peasant’s breast,Sends the hunter on the quest;Pines the gypsy’s heart aloneFor the sunshine that is gone!
Autumn glads the peasant’s breast,Sends the hunter on the quest;Pines the gypsy’s heart aloneFor the sunshine that is gone!
Autumn glads the peasant’s breast,Sends the hunter on the quest;Pines the gypsy’s heart aloneFor the sunshine that is gone!
Autumn glads the peasant’s breast,
Sends the hunter on the quest;
Pines the gypsy’s heart alone
For the sunshine that is gone!
III.
Since holds the tomb my mother dear,My life is cheerless, bleak, and drear;No sweetheart have on earth’s wide face,So is the grave my better place.
Since holds the tomb my mother dear,My life is cheerless, bleak, and drear;No sweetheart have on earth’s wide face,So is the grave my better place.
Since holds the tomb my mother dear,My life is cheerless, bleak, and drear;No sweetheart have on earth’s wide face,So is the grave my better place.
Since holds the tomb my mother dear,
My life is cheerless, bleak, and drear;
No sweetheart have on earth’s wide face,
So is the grave my better place.
IV.
I my father never knew,Friend to me was never true,Dead the mother that I loved,Faithless has my sweetheart proved,Still alone with me you fare,Faithful fiddle, everywhere!
I my father never knew,Friend to me was never true,Dead the mother that I loved,Faithless has my sweetheart proved,Still alone with me you fare,Faithful fiddle, everywhere!
I my father never knew,Friend to me was never true,Dead the mother that I loved,Faithless has my sweetheart proved,Still alone with me you fare,Faithful fiddle, everywhere!
I my father never knew,
Friend to me was never true,
Dead the mother that I loved,
Faithless has my sweetheart proved,
Still alone with me you fare,
Faithful fiddle, everywhere!
V.
Of coin my purse is bare,My heart is full of care;Come here, my fiddle, ’tis for theeTo banish care and poverty.
Of coin my purse is bare,My heart is full of care;Come here, my fiddle, ’tis for theeTo banish care and poverty.
Of coin my purse is bare,My heart is full of care;Come here, my fiddle, ’tis for theeTo banish care and poverty.
Of coin my purse is bare,
My heart is full of care;
Come here, my fiddle, ’tis for thee
To banish care and poverty.
VI.
Heaven grant the boon, I pray;All I ask is but a gown—But a gown with buttons gay,Buttons jingling joyously,Jingling to be heard in town!
Heaven grant the boon, I pray;All I ask is but a gown—But a gown with buttons gay,Buttons jingling joyously,Jingling to be heard in town!
Heaven grant the boon, I pray;All I ask is but a gown—But a gown with buttons gay,Buttons jingling joyously,Jingling to be heard in town!
Heaven grant the boon, I pray;
All I ask is but a gown—
But a gown with buttons gay,
Buttons jingling joyously,
Jingling to be heard in town!
VII.
God of vengeance! give to meThat of wives the best;Give me boot and give me spur,Give me scarlet vest.Then though spite their visage darkenIn the market-place,Fain must look and needs must hearkenAll my foemen’s race.
God of vengeance! give to meThat of wives the best;Give me boot and give me spur,Give me scarlet vest.Then though spite their visage darkenIn the market-place,Fain must look and needs must hearkenAll my foemen’s race.
God of vengeance! give to meThat of wives the best;Give me boot and give me spur,Give me scarlet vest.Then though spite their visage darkenIn the market-place,Fain must look and needs must hearkenAll my foemen’s race.
God of vengeance! give to me
That of wives the best;
Give me boot and give me spur,
Give me scarlet vest.
Then though spite their visage darken
In the market-place,
Fain must look and needs must hearken
All my foemen’s race.
VIII.
Where soft the wee burn babbles down over there,Full oft have I pressed these lips to my fair.The burn it still babbles, will babble amain,Shall lips to my fair be pressed never again!The waves of the brook to the valley are flowing,Where on grave of my fairest the blossoms are blowing.
Where soft the wee burn babbles down over there,Full oft have I pressed these lips to my fair.The burn it still babbles, will babble amain,Shall lips to my fair be pressed never again!The waves of the brook to the valley are flowing,Where on grave of my fairest the blossoms are blowing.
Where soft the wee burn babbles down over there,Full oft have I pressed these lips to my fair.The burn it still babbles, will babble amain,Shall lips to my fair be pressed never again!The waves of the brook to the valley are flowing,Where on grave of my fairest the blossoms are blowing.
Where soft the wee burn babbles down over there,
Full oft have I pressed these lips to my fair.
The burn it still babbles, will babble amain,
Shall lips to my fair be pressed never again!
The waves of the brook to the valley are flowing,
Where on grave of my fairest the blossoms are blowing.
IX.
Down there in the meadow they’re mowing,And looks at my sweetheart they’re throwing;Such looks at my sweetheart they’re throwing,That mad is this heart of mine going!
Down there in the meadow they’re mowing,And looks at my sweetheart they’re throwing;Such looks at my sweetheart they’re throwing,That mad is this heart of mine going!
Down there in the meadow they’re mowing,And looks at my sweetheart they’re throwing;Such looks at my sweetheart they’re throwing,That mad is this heart of mine going!
Down there in the meadow they’re mowing,
And looks at my sweetheart they’re throwing;
Such looks at my sweetheart they’re throwing,
That mad is this heart of mine going!
X.
Yonder strapping lass did bake,Put no salt into the cake;Lo! it sticks upon the pan—Eat it, child, as best you can.
Yonder strapping lass did bake,Put no salt into the cake;Lo! it sticks upon the pan—Eat it, child, as best you can.
Yonder strapping lass did bake,Put no salt into the cake;Lo! it sticks upon the pan—Eat it, child, as best you can.
Yonder strapping lass did bake,
Put no salt into the cake;
Lo! it sticks upon the pan—
Eat it, child, as best you can.
XI.
“Plainly, maiden, lov’st thou me?Which thy true-love—I or he?”“Thou, O thou, when thou art nigh;But for love of him I die!”
“Plainly, maiden, lov’st thou me?Which thy true-love—I or he?”“Thou, O thou, when thou art nigh;But for love of him I die!”
“Plainly, maiden, lov’st thou me?Which thy true-love—I or he?”“Thou, O thou, when thou art nigh;But for love of him I die!”
“Plainly, maiden, lov’st thou me?
Which thy true-love—I or he?”
“Thou, O thou, when thou art nigh;
But for love of him I die!”
XII.
Boots and shoes were never mine,Seldom have I tasted wine;But I once possessed a wife,And she poisoned all my life!
Boots and shoes were never mine,Seldom have I tasted wine;But I once possessed a wife,And she poisoned all my life!
Boots and shoes were never mine,Seldom have I tasted wine;But I once possessed a wife,And she poisoned all my life!
Boots and shoes were never mine,
Seldom have I tasted wine;
But I once possessed a wife,
And she poisoned all my life!
XIII.
Hammer the iron! Deal thy blowsHeavy and hard, as a gypsy knows.Poor, yet ever—how poor!—remain;Heart full of bitterness, full of pain.Ah, how well would it be if thereI could but in yon furnace glare,Till soft it grew, my love’s heart ply;No man were then so rich as I.
Hammer the iron! Deal thy blowsHeavy and hard, as a gypsy knows.Poor, yet ever—how poor!—remain;Heart full of bitterness, full of pain.Ah, how well would it be if thereI could but in yon furnace glare,Till soft it grew, my love’s heart ply;No man were then so rich as I.
Hammer the iron! Deal thy blowsHeavy and hard, as a gypsy knows.Poor, yet ever—how poor!—remain;Heart full of bitterness, full of pain.Ah, how well would it be if thereI could but in yon furnace glare,Till soft it grew, my love’s heart ply;No man were then so rich as I.
Hammer the iron! Deal thy blows
Heavy and hard, as a gypsy knows.
Poor, yet ever—how poor!—remain;
Heart full of bitterness, full of pain.
Ah, how well would it be if there
I could but in yon furnace glare,
Till soft it grew, my love’s heart ply;
No man were then so rich as I.
XIV.
Underneath the greenwood-treeDays I’ve waited three times three;I would on my love set eyes,Here I know her path-way lies.Could I hope a kiss to earn,Into weeks the days might turn;Could I hope to win my dear,Then each day might be a year!
Underneath the greenwood-treeDays I’ve waited three times three;I would on my love set eyes,Here I know her path-way lies.Could I hope a kiss to earn,Into weeks the days might turn;Could I hope to win my dear,Then each day might be a year!
Underneath the greenwood-treeDays I’ve waited three times three;I would on my love set eyes,Here I know her path-way lies.Could I hope a kiss to earn,Into weeks the days might turn;Could I hope to win my dear,Then each day might be a year!
Underneath the greenwood-tree
Days I’ve waited three times three;
I would on my love set eyes,
Here I know her path-way lies.
Could I hope a kiss to earn,
Into weeks the days might turn;
Could I hope to win my dear,
Then each day might be a year!
XV.
Come, silvery moon, so silent and coy,What does my brown sweetheart that dwells by the mere?Say, was she not kissed by a flaxen-haired boy?Or whispers a stranger soft words in her ear?On second thoughts, better, moon, darling, be mute,The odious trade of a telltale eschewing;Or perhaps you might tell her—and that would not suit—What yesterday evening myself I was doing!
Come, silvery moon, so silent and coy,What does my brown sweetheart that dwells by the mere?Say, was she not kissed by a flaxen-haired boy?Or whispers a stranger soft words in her ear?On second thoughts, better, moon, darling, be mute,The odious trade of a telltale eschewing;Or perhaps you might tell her—and that would not suit—What yesterday evening myself I was doing!
Come, silvery moon, so silent and coy,What does my brown sweetheart that dwells by the mere?Say, was she not kissed by a flaxen-haired boy?Or whispers a stranger soft words in her ear?
Come, silvery moon, so silent and coy,
What does my brown sweetheart that dwells by the mere?
Say, was she not kissed by a flaxen-haired boy?
Or whispers a stranger soft words in her ear?
On second thoughts, better, moon, darling, be mute,The odious trade of a telltale eschewing;Or perhaps you might tell her—and that would not suit—What yesterday evening myself I was doing!
On second thoughts, better, moon, darling, be mute,
The odious trade of a telltale eschewing;
Or perhaps you might tell her—and that would not suit—
What yesterday evening myself I was doing!
XVI.
The bee ever makes for the flower,And lads after lassies will go;Was it otherwise, grandam so sour,In the days of thy youth long ago?For Nature her mould never varies,To that can no wisdom say nay;What the ancestor felt, that the heir is,As inheritor, feeling to-day.
The bee ever makes for the flower,And lads after lassies will go;Was it otherwise, grandam so sour,In the days of thy youth long ago?For Nature her mould never varies,To that can no wisdom say nay;What the ancestor felt, that the heir is,As inheritor, feeling to-day.
The bee ever makes for the flower,And lads after lassies will go;Was it otherwise, grandam so sour,In the days of thy youth long ago?
The bee ever makes for the flower,
And lads after lassies will go;
Was it otherwise, grandam so sour,
In the days of thy youth long ago?
For Nature her mould never varies,To that can no wisdom say nay;What the ancestor felt, that the heir is,As inheritor, feeling to-day.
For Nature her mould never varies,
To that can no wisdom say nay;
What the ancestor felt, that the heir is,
As inheritor, feeling to-day.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.THE SZEKLERS AND ARMENIANS.Ofthe Hungarians in general, who constitute something less than the third part of the total population of Transylvania, it is not my intention to speak in detail. Hungary and Hungarians have already been exhaustively described by abler pens, and I wish here to confine myself chiefly to such points as are distinctively characteristic of the land beyond the forest. Under this head, therefore, come the Szeklers, as they are named—a branch of the Magyar race settled in the east and north-east of Transylvania, and numbering about one hundred and eighty thousand.SZEKLER PEASANT.There are many versions to explain the origin of the Szeklers, and some historians have supposed them to be unrelated to the great body of Magyars living at the other side of the mountains. They are fond of describing themselves as being descended from the Huns. Indeed one very old family of Transylvanian nobles makes, I believe, a boast of proceeding in line direct from the Scourge of God himself, and there are many popular songs afloat among the people making mention of a like belief, as the following:A noble Szekler born and bred,Full loftily I hold my head.Great Attila my sire was he;As legacy he left to meA dagger, battle-axe, and spear;A heart, to whom unknown is fear;A potent arm, which oft has slainThe Tartar foe in field and plain.The Scourge of Attila the boldStill hangs among us as of old;And when this lash we swing on high,Our enemies are forced to fly.The Szekler proud then learn to know,And strive not to become his foe,For blood of Huns runs in him warm,And well he knows to wield his arm.There is also a popular legend telling us how Csaba, son of Attila, retreated eastward with the wreck of his army, after the last bloody battle, in which he had been vanquished. His purpose was to rejoin the rest of his tribe in Asia, and with their help once more to return and conquer.On the extreme frontier of Transylvania, however, he left behind him a portion of his army, to serve as watch-post and be ready to support him on his return some day. Before parting the two divisions of troops took solemn oath ever to assist each other in hour of need, even though they had to traverse the whole world for that purpose. Accordingly, hardly had Csaba reached the foot of the hills, when the neighboring tribes rose up against the forlorn Szeklers; but the tree-tops rustling gently against one another soon brought news of their distress to their brethren, who, hurrying back, put the enemy to flight.After a year the same thing was repeated, but the stream ran murmuring of it to the river, the river carried the news to the sea, the sea shouted it onward to the warriors, and again quickly returning on their paces they dispersed the foe.Three years went by ere the Szeklers were again hard pressed by their enemies. This time their countrymen were already so far away that only the wind could reach them in the distant east, but they came again, and a third time delivered their brethren.The Szeklers had now peace for many years; the nut-kernels they had planted in the land beyond the forest had meanwhile sprouted and developed to mighty trees with spreading branches and massive trunks; children had grown to be old men, and grandchildren to arms-bearing warriors; and the provisionary watch-post had becomea well-organized settlement. But once again the neighbors, envying the strangers’ welfare, and having forgotten the assistance which always came to them in hour of need, rose up against them. Bravely the Szeklers fought, but with such inferior numbers that they could not but perish; they had no longer any hope of assistance, for their brethren were long since dead, and gone where no messenger could reach them.But the star of the Szeklers yet watched over them, and brought the tidings to another world.The last battle was just being fought, and the defeat of the Szeklers seemed imminent, when suddenly the tramp of hoofs and the clank of arms is heard, and from the starlit vault of heaven phantom legions are seen approaching.No mortal army can resist an immortal one. The sacred oath has been kept; once more the Szekler is saved, and silently as they came the phantoms wend back their way to heaven.Since that time the Szekler has obtained a firm hold on the land, and enemies molest him no more; but as often as on a clear starry night he gazes aloft on the glittering track[68]left of yore by the passage of the delivering army, he thinks gratefully of the past, and calls it by the name of thehadak utja(the way of the legions).Recent historians have, however, swept away these theories regarding the Szeklers’ origin, and explained it in different fashion. The most ancient records of the Magyars do not date farther back than the sixth century after Christ, when they are mentioned as a semi-nomadic race living on the vast plains between the Caucasian and Ural mountains. A portion of them quitted these regions in the eighth and ninth centuries to seek a new home in the territory between the rivers Dnieper and Szereth. From here a small fraction of them, pressed hard by the Bulgarians, traversed the chain of Moldavian Carpathians, and found a refuge on the rich fertile plains of Eastern Transylvania (895), where, living ever since cut off from their kinsfolk, they have formed a people by themselves. According to the most probable version, these fugitives would seem to have been the women, children, and old men, who, left unprotected at home in the absence of the fighting-men of the horde, had thus escaped the vengeance of Simeon, King of Bulgaria.“At the frontier,” or “beyond,” is the signification of the Hungarian word Szekler, which therefore does not imply a distinctive race, but merely those Hungarians who live beyond the forest—near the frontier, and cut off from the rest of their countrymen. One Hungarian authority tells us that the word Szekler, meaning frontier-keeper or watchman, was indiscriminately applied to all soldiers of whatever nationality who defended the frontier of the kingdom.Later, when the greater body of Hungarians had established their authority over this portion of the territory as well, the two peoples fraternized with each other as kinsfolk, descended indeed from one common family tree, but who had acquired certain dissimilarities in speech, manner, and costume, brought about by their separation; and despite sympathy and resemblance on most points, they have never quite merged into one nationality, and the Szeklers have a proverb which says that there is the same difference between a Szekler and a Hungarian as there is between a man and his grandson—meaning that they themselves came in by a previous immigration.The Szeklers had this advantage over their kinsfolk in Hungary proper, of never at any time having been reduced to the state of serfdom. They occupied the exceptional position of a peasant aristocracy, having, among other privileges, the right of hunting, also that of being exempted from infantry service and being enlisted as cavalry soldiers only; whereas the ordinary Hungarian peasant was, up to 1785, attached to the soil under conditions only somewhat lighter than those oppressing the Russian serf. Curiously enough, though the system of villanage had already been formally discarded by King Sigismond in 1405, it was taken up again some years later; and, in point of fact, up to 1848 there was scarcely any limit to the services which the Hungarian peasant was bound to render to his master.Not so the Szeklers, who have always jealously defended their privileges and preserved their freedom, owing to which their bearing is prouder, freer, nobler than that of their kinsfolk. The Hungarian peasant, as a rule, is neither wanting in grace nor dignity. But freedom is just as much a habit as slavery; and as one writer has aptly remarked, “A people does not fully regain the stamp of manhood and its own self-respect in a single generation,” so the man who can count back eight centuries of freeborn ancestors will always have an advantage over one whose fathers were still born in bondage.Like the other Magyars, the Szeklers are an inborn nation of soldiers, and rank among the best of the Austrian army. It was principally on the Szeklers that the brunt fell of resisting attacks from the many barbarous hordes always infesting the eastern frontier. When the Wallachians fled to the mountains at the approach of an enemy, and the Saxons ensconced themselves within their well-built fortresses, the Szeklers advanced into the open plain and ranged themselves for battle, rarely abandoning the field till the ground was thickly strewn with their dead.The Szekler, who has usually more children than his Hungarian brother, is well and strongly built, but rarely over middle size. His face is oval, the forehead flat, hands and feet rather small than large. With much natural intelligence, he cares little for art or science, and has but small comprehension of the beautiful. Even when living in easy circumstances, he does not care to surround himself with books like the Saxon, nor does he betray the latent taste for color and design so strongly characterizing the Roumanian. His inbred dignity seems to place him on a level with whoever he addresses. He is reserved in speech, with an almost Asiatic formality of manner, and it requires the stimulus of wine or music to rouse him to noisy merriment; but on occasions when speech is required of him, he displays inborn power of oration, speaking easily and without embarrassment, finding vigorous expressions and appropriate images wherewith to clothe his meaning. The Hungarian language has no dialect, and each peasant speaks it as purely as a prince.The Hungarian’s character is a singularly simple and open one; he is simple in his love, his hatred, his anger, and revenge, and though he may sometimes be accused of brutality, deceit can never be laid to his charge, while flattery he does not even understand. It is his inherent dignity and self-respect which makes him thus open, scorning to appear otherwise than he really is. You will never see a Hungarian bargaining for his money with clamorous avidity like the Saxon, nor will he accept an alms with humble gratitude like the Roumanian.He uncovers his head courteously to the master of his village, but he will not think of uncovering for a strange gentleman, even were it the greatest in the land. Hospitality is with him not a virtue but an instinct, and he cannot even comprehend the want of it in another.A Hungarian who had stopped to rest the horses in a Saxon village came wonderingly to his master. “What strange people are these?”he said. “They were sitting round the table eating bread and onions, and not one of them asked me to join them!”On another occasion a gentleman travelling with an invalid wife was overtaken by a storm near a Saxon village, and wanted to put up there for the night. There was no inn in the place, and not one of the families would consent to receive them. “You had better drive on to the next village but one,” was the advice volunteered by one of the most good-natured Saxon householders. “Not to the next village, for there they are Saxons like us and will not take you in; but to the village after that, which is Hungarian. They are always hospitable, and will give you a bed.”The Szekler villages, of a formal simplicity, are as far removed from the Roumanian poverty as from Saxon opulence. The long double row of whitewashed houses, their narrow gable-ends all turned towards the road, have something camp-like in their appearance, and have been aptly compared to a line of snowy tents ready to be folded together at the approach of an enemy. The Magyar has a passion for whitewashing his dwelling-house, and several times a year, at the fixed dates of particular festivals, he is careful to restore to his walls the snowy garment of their lost innocence. This custom of whitewashing at stated periods is still said to be practised among the tribes dwelling in the Caucasian regions.In the midst of the village stands the church, whitewashed like the other houses. It is slender and modest in shape, neither surrounded by fortified walls like the Saxon churches, nor made glorious with color like those of the Roumanians. Near to the entrance of the village is the church-yard, and in some places it is still customary to bury the dead with their faces turned towards the east.There are few Roumanian villages in Szekler-land, neither do we find here the inevitable outgrowth of Roumanian hovels tacked on to each village, as is usual in Saxon colonies. The Roumanians do not thrive alongside of their Szekler neighbors, because these do not require their aid and will take no trouble to learn their language. The Szekler cultivates his own soil without help from strangers, whereas the Saxon, whose ground is usually larger than he can manage himself, and obliged to take Roumanian farm-servants, is compelled to learn their language; and it has often been remarked that a whole Saxon household has been brought to speak Roumanian merely on account of one single Roumanian cow-wench.The greater number of Szeklers have remained Catholics, the population of the western district only having adopted the Reformed faith, while the Unitarian sect, which has made of Klausenburg its principal seat, and counts some fifty-four thousand members, is chiefly composed of Hungarians proper.There are not above a dozen really wealthy Hungarian nobles in Transylvania, and of many a one it is jokingly said that his whole possessions consist of four horses, as many oxen, and a respectable amount of debts. The same sort of open-handed hospitality which has ruined so many Poles has also here undermined many fortunes.The conjugal relations are somewhat Oriental among the lower classes, the position of the wife towards the husband involving a sense of social inferiority; for while she addresses him askend(your grace), and speaks of him asuram(lord or master), he calls her thou, and speaks of her asfelsegem(my consort). In walking along the road it is her place to walk behind her lord and master; and at weddings men and women are usually separated, and if the house have but a single room it is reserved for the men to banquet in, while the women, as inferior creatures, are relegated to the cellar or to a stable or byre cleared for the purpose. Bride and bridegroom must eat nothing at this banquet, and only in the evening is a separate meal served up for them, and, like the other guests, the new-married couple must spend this day apart.If we are to believe popular songs, of which the following is a sample, the stick would seem to play no unimportant part in each Hungarianménage:“O peacock fair, O peacock bright,O peacock proud and high!I fool! for though of lowly birth,A noble wife took I;But nothing that I e’er could doWould please my peacock high.To market once I went and boughtA pair of blood-red shoon.I placed my present on the bench—’Twas at the hour of noon.‘Thy duty bids thee call me lord,My darling wife,’ quoth I.‘Nay, nevermore, that will I not,And though I had to die,For gentlemen of noble birthSat round my father’s board,And if I said not “sir” to them,How should I call thee lord?’“O peacock fair, O peacock bright,O peacock proud and high!I fool! for though of lowly birth,A noble wife took I;But nothing that I e’er could doWould please my peacock high.Again to market did I goAnd bought a kirtle fine;’Twas growing dark as on the benchI laid this gift of mine.‘Thy duty bids thee call me lord,My darling wife,’ quoth I.‘Nay, nevermore, that will I not,And though I had to die,For gentlemen of noble birthSat round my father’s board,And if I said not “sir” to them,How should I call thee lord?’“O peacock fair, O peacock bright,O peacock proud and high!I fool! for though of lowly birth,A noble wife took I;But nothing that I e’er could doWould please my peacock high.The moon was shining in the skiesWhen to the woods I sped;I cut a hazel rod full long,And hid it ’neath the bed.‘Thy duty bids thee call me lord,My darling wife,’ quoth I.‘Nay, nevermore, that will I not.And though I had to die.’Then in my hand I took the rodAnd beat my bosom’s wife,Until she cried, ‘Thou art my lord!My lord for death and life!’”The Armenians deserve something more than a passing notice at the fag-end of a chapter; but having had little opportunity of being thrown together with these people, I am unable to furnish many details as to their life and manners.Persecuted and oppressed in Moldavia during the seventeenth century, the Armenians were offered a refuge in Transylvania by the Prince Michael Apafi, and came hither about 1660, at first living dispersed all over the land, till in 1791 the Emperor Leopold granting them among other privileges the right to establish independent colonies, they founded the settlements of Szamos-Ujvar (Armenopolis) and Elisabethstadt, or Ebesfalva. This latter town, which counts to-day about twenty-five hundred Armenian inhabitants, is renowned for the good looks of its women—pale, dark-eyed beauties, with low foreheads and straight eyebrows, whose portraits might be taken in pen and ink only, without any help from the palette. They have the reputation—I know not with what reason—of being very immoral, but in a quiet, unostentatious fashion.In the men the pure Asiatic type is yet more clearly marked—the fine-shaped oval head, arched yet not hooked nose, black eyes, jetty beard, and clean-cut profiles betraying their nationality at the first glance. In manner they are singularly calm and self-possessed, never evincing emotion or excitement. They are much addicted to card-playing. In many parts of Hungary the Armenians have so completely amalgamated with the Magyars as to have forgotten their own language, but where they live together in compact colonies it is still kept up. There are two languages—the popular idiom and the written tongue, the language of science and literature. Their religion is the Catholic one, but their services are conducted in their own language instead of Latin.Like the Hebrews, the Armenians have great natural aptitude for trade; and it is chiefly due to their influence that the Jews have not here succeeded in getting the reins of commerce into their hands. The bankers and money-lenders in Transylvania are almost invariably Armenians.A Saxon legend explains the origin of the Armenians by saying that when God had created all the different sorts of men, there remained over two little morsels of the clay of which he had respectively moulded the Jew and the gypsy; so, in order not to waste these, he kneaded them up together, and formed of them the Armenian.
Ofthe Hungarians in general, who constitute something less than the third part of the total population of Transylvania, it is not my intention to speak in detail. Hungary and Hungarians have already been exhaustively described by abler pens, and I wish here to confine myself chiefly to such points as are distinctively characteristic of the land beyond the forest. Under this head, therefore, come the Szeklers, as they are named—a branch of the Magyar race settled in the east and north-east of Transylvania, and numbering about one hundred and eighty thousand.
SZEKLER PEASANT.
SZEKLER PEASANT.
SZEKLER PEASANT.
There are many versions to explain the origin of the Szeklers, and some historians have supposed them to be unrelated to the great body of Magyars living at the other side of the mountains. They are fond of describing themselves as being descended from the Huns. Indeed one very old family of Transylvanian nobles makes, I believe, a boast of proceeding in line direct from the Scourge of God himself, and there are many popular songs afloat among the people making mention of a like belief, as the following:
A noble Szekler born and bred,Full loftily I hold my head.Great Attila my sire was he;As legacy he left to meA dagger, battle-axe, and spear;A heart, to whom unknown is fear;A potent arm, which oft has slainThe Tartar foe in field and plain.The Scourge of Attila the boldStill hangs among us as of old;And when this lash we swing on high,Our enemies are forced to fly.The Szekler proud then learn to know,And strive not to become his foe,For blood of Huns runs in him warm,And well he knows to wield his arm.
A noble Szekler born and bred,Full loftily I hold my head.Great Attila my sire was he;As legacy he left to meA dagger, battle-axe, and spear;A heart, to whom unknown is fear;A potent arm, which oft has slainThe Tartar foe in field and plain.The Scourge of Attila the boldStill hangs among us as of old;And when this lash we swing on high,Our enemies are forced to fly.The Szekler proud then learn to know,And strive not to become his foe,For blood of Huns runs in him warm,And well he knows to wield his arm.
A noble Szekler born and bred,Full loftily I hold my head.Great Attila my sire was he;As legacy he left to me
A noble Szekler born and bred,
Full loftily I hold my head.
Great Attila my sire was he;
As legacy he left to me
A dagger, battle-axe, and spear;A heart, to whom unknown is fear;A potent arm, which oft has slainThe Tartar foe in field and plain.
A dagger, battle-axe, and spear;
A heart, to whom unknown is fear;
A potent arm, which oft has slain
The Tartar foe in field and plain.
The Scourge of Attila the boldStill hangs among us as of old;And when this lash we swing on high,Our enemies are forced to fly.
The Scourge of Attila the bold
Still hangs among us as of old;
And when this lash we swing on high,
Our enemies are forced to fly.
The Szekler proud then learn to know,And strive not to become his foe,For blood of Huns runs in him warm,And well he knows to wield his arm.
The Szekler proud then learn to know,
And strive not to become his foe,
For blood of Huns runs in him warm,
And well he knows to wield his arm.
There is also a popular legend telling us how Csaba, son of Attila, retreated eastward with the wreck of his army, after the last bloody battle, in which he had been vanquished. His purpose was to rejoin the rest of his tribe in Asia, and with their help once more to return and conquer.
On the extreme frontier of Transylvania, however, he left behind him a portion of his army, to serve as watch-post and be ready to support him on his return some day. Before parting the two divisions of troops took solemn oath ever to assist each other in hour of need, even though they had to traverse the whole world for that purpose. Accordingly, hardly had Csaba reached the foot of the hills, when the neighboring tribes rose up against the forlorn Szeklers; but the tree-tops rustling gently against one another soon brought news of their distress to their brethren, who, hurrying back, put the enemy to flight.
After a year the same thing was repeated, but the stream ran murmuring of it to the river, the river carried the news to the sea, the sea shouted it onward to the warriors, and again quickly returning on their paces they dispersed the foe.
Three years went by ere the Szeklers were again hard pressed by their enemies. This time their countrymen were already so far away that only the wind could reach them in the distant east, but they came again, and a third time delivered their brethren.
The Szeklers had now peace for many years; the nut-kernels they had planted in the land beyond the forest had meanwhile sprouted and developed to mighty trees with spreading branches and massive trunks; children had grown to be old men, and grandchildren to arms-bearing warriors; and the provisionary watch-post had becomea well-organized settlement. But once again the neighbors, envying the strangers’ welfare, and having forgotten the assistance which always came to them in hour of need, rose up against them. Bravely the Szeklers fought, but with such inferior numbers that they could not but perish; they had no longer any hope of assistance, for their brethren were long since dead, and gone where no messenger could reach them.
But the star of the Szeklers yet watched over them, and brought the tidings to another world.
The last battle was just being fought, and the defeat of the Szeklers seemed imminent, when suddenly the tramp of hoofs and the clank of arms is heard, and from the starlit vault of heaven phantom legions are seen approaching.
No mortal army can resist an immortal one. The sacred oath has been kept; once more the Szekler is saved, and silently as they came the phantoms wend back their way to heaven.
Since that time the Szekler has obtained a firm hold on the land, and enemies molest him no more; but as often as on a clear starry night he gazes aloft on the glittering track[68]left of yore by the passage of the delivering army, he thinks gratefully of the past, and calls it by the name of thehadak utja(the way of the legions).
Recent historians have, however, swept away these theories regarding the Szeklers’ origin, and explained it in different fashion. The most ancient records of the Magyars do not date farther back than the sixth century after Christ, when they are mentioned as a semi-nomadic race living on the vast plains between the Caucasian and Ural mountains. A portion of them quitted these regions in the eighth and ninth centuries to seek a new home in the territory between the rivers Dnieper and Szereth. From here a small fraction of them, pressed hard by the Bulgarians, traversed the chain of Moldavian Carpathians, and found a refuge on the rich fertile plains of Eastern Transylvania (895), where, living ever since cut off from their kinsfolk, they have formed a people by themselves. According to the most probable version, these fugitives would seem to have been the women, children, and old men, who, left unprotected at home in the absence of the fighting-men of the horde, had thus escaped the vengeance of Simeon, King of Bulgaria.
“At the frontier,” or “beyond,” is the signification of the Hungarian word Szekler, which therefore does not imply a distinctive race, but merely those Hungarians who live beyond the forest—near the frontier, and cut off from the rest of their countrymen. One Hungarian authority tells us that the word Szekler, meaning frontier-keeper or watchman, was indiscriminately applied to all soldiers of whatever nationality who defended the frontier of the kingdom.
Later, when the greater body of Hungarians had established their authority over this portion of the territory as well, the two peoples fraternized with each other as kinsfolk, descended indeed from one common family tree, but who had acquired certain dissimilarities in speech, manner, and costume, brought about by their separation; and despite sympathy and resemblance on most points, they have never quite merged into one nationality, and the Szeklers have a proverb which says that there is the same difference between a Szekler and a Hungarian as there is between a man and his grandson—meaning that they themselves came in by a previous immigration.
The Szeklers had this advantage over their kinsfolk in Hungary proper, of never at any time having been reduced to the state of serfdom. They occupied the exceptional position of a peasant aristocracy, having, among other privileges, the right of hunting, also that of being exempted from infantry service and being enlisted as cavalry soldiers only; whereas the ordinary Hungarian peasant was, up to 1785, attached to the soil under conditions only somewhat lighter than those oppressing the Russian serf. Curiously enough, though the system of villanage had already been formally discarded by King Sigismond in 1405, it was taken up again some years later; and, in point of fact, up to 1848 there was scarcely any limit to the services which the Hungarian peasant was bound to render to his master.
Not so the Szeklers, who have always jealously defended their privileges and preserved their freedom, owing to which their bearing is prouder, freer, nobler than that of their kinsfolk. The Hungarian peasant, as a rule, is neither wanting in grace nor dignity. But freedom is just as much a habit as slavery; and as one writer has aptly remarked, “A people does not fully regain the stamp of manhood and its own self-respect in a single generation,” so the man who can count back eight centuries of freeborn ancestors will always have an advantage over one whose fathers were still born in bondage.
Like the other Magyars, the Szeklers are an inborn nation of soldiers, and rank among the best of the Austrian army. It was principally on the Szeklers that the brunt fell of resisting attacks from the many barbarous hordes always infesting the eastern frontier. When the Wallachians fled to the mountains at the approach of an enemy, and the Saxons ensconced themselves within their well-built fortresses, the Szeklers advanced into the open plain and ranged themselves for battle, rarely abandoning the field till the ground was thickly strewn with their dead.
The Szekler, who has usually more children than his Hungarian brother, is well and strongly built, but rarely over middle size. His face is oval, the forehead flat, hands and feet rather small than large. With much natural intelligence, he cares little for art or science, and has but small comprehension of the beautiful. Even when living in easy circumstances, he does not care to surround himself with books like the Saxon, nor does he betray the latent taste for color and design so strongly characterizing the Roumanian. His inbred dignity seems to place him on a level with whoever he addresses. He is reserved in speech, with an almost Asiatic formality of manner, and it requires the stimulus of wine or music to rouse him to noisy merriment; but on occasions when speech is required of him, he displays inborn power of oration, speaking easily and without embarrassment, finding vigorous expressions and appropriate images wherewith to clothe his meaning. The Hungarian language has no dialect, and each peasant speaks it as purely as a prince.
The Hungarian’s character is a singularly simple and open one; he is simple in his love, his hatred, his anger, and revenge, and though he may sometimes be accused of brutality, deceit can never be laid to his charge, while flattery he does not even understand. It is his inherent dignity and self-respect which makes him thus open, scorning to appear otherwise than he really is. You will never see a Hungarian bargaining for his money with clamorous avidity like the Saxon, nor will he accept an alms with humble gratitude like the Roumanian.
He uncovers his head courteously to the master of his village, but he will not think of uncovering for a strange gentleman, even were it the greatest in the land. Hospitality is with him not a virtue but an instinct, and he cannot even comprehend the want of it in another.
A Hungarian who had stopped to rest the horses in a Saxon village came wonderingly to his master. “What strange people are these?”he said. “They were sitting round the table eating bread and onions, and not one of them asked me to join them!”
On another occasion a gentleman travelling with an invalid wife was overtaken by a storm near a Saxon village, and wanted to put up there for the night. There was no inn in the place, and not one of the families would consent to receive them. “You had better drive on to the next village but one,” was the advice volunteered by one of the most good-natured Saxon householders. “Not to the next village, for there they are Saxons like us and will not take you in; but to the village after that, which is Hungarian. They are always hospitable, and will give you a bed.”
The Szekler villages, of a formal simplicity, are as far removed from the Roumanian poverty as from Saxon opulence. The long double row of whitewashed houses, their narrow gable-ends all turned towards the road, have something camp-like in their appearance, and have been aptly compared to a line of snowy tents ready to be folded together at the approach of an enemy. The Magyar has a passion for whitewashing his dwelling-house, and several times a year, at the fixed dates of particular festivals, he is careful to restore to his walls the snowy garment of their lost innocence. This custom of whitewashing at stated periods is still said to be practised among the tribes dwelling in the Caucasian regions.
In the midst of the village stands the church, whitewashed like the other houses. It is slender and modest in shape, neither surrounded by fortified walls like the Saxon churches, nor made glorious with color like those of the Roumanians. Near to the entrance of the village is the church-yard, and in some places it is still customary to bury the dead with their faces turned towards the east.
There are few Roumanian villages in Szekler-land, neither do we find here the inevitable outgrowth of Roumanian hovels tacked on to each village, as is usual in Saxon colonies. The Roumanians do not thrive alongside of their Szekler neighbors, because these do not require their aid and will take no trouble to learn their language. The Szekler cultivates his own soil without help from strangers, whereas the Saxon, whose ground is usually larger than he can manage himself, and obliged to take Roumanian farm-servants, is compelled to learn their language; and it has often been remarked that a whole Saxon household has been brought to speak Roumanian merely on account of one single Roumanian cow-wench.
The greater number of Szeklers have remained Catholics, the population of the western district only having adopted the Reformed faith, while the Unitarian sect, which has made of Klausenburg its principal seat, and counts some fifty-four thousand members, is chiefly composed of Hungarians proper.
There are not above a dozen really wealthy Hungarian nobles in Transylvania, and of many a one it is jokingly said that his whole possessions consist of four horses, as many oxen, and a respectable amount of debts. The same sort of open-handed hospitality which has ruined so many Poles has also here undermined many fortunes.
The conjugal relations are somewhat Oriental among the lower classes, the position of the wife towards the husband involving a sense of social inferiority; for while she addresses him askend(your grace), and speaks of him asuram(lord or master), he calls her thou, and speaks of her asfelsegem(my consort). In walking along the road it is her place to walk behind her lord and master; and at weddings men and women are usually separated, and if the house have but a single room it is reserved for the men to banquet in, while the women, as inferior creatures, are relegated to the cellar or to a stable or byre cleared for the purpose. Bride and bridegroom must eat nothing at this banquet, and only in the evening is a separate meal served up for them, and, like the other guests, the new-married couple must spend this day apart.
If we are to believe popular songs, of which the following is a sample, the stick would seem to play no unimportant part in each Hungarianménage:
“O peacock fair, O peacock bright,O peacock proud and high!I fool! for though of lowly birth,A noble wife took I;But nothing that I e’er could doWould please my peacock high.To market once I went and boughtA pair of blood-red shoon.I placed my present on the bench—’Twas at the hour of noon.‘Thy duty bids thee call me lord,My darling wife,’ quoth I.‘Nay, nevermore, that will I not,And though I had to die,For gentlemen of noble birthSat round my father’s board,And if I said not “sir” to them,How should I call thee lord?’“O peacock fair, O peacock bright,O peacock proud and high!I fool! for though of lowly birth,A noble wife took I;But nothing that I e’er could doWould please my peacock high.Again to market did I goAnd bought a kirtle fine;’Twas growing dark as on the benchI laid this gift of mine.‘Thy duty bids thee call me lord,My darling wife,’ quoth I.‘Nay, nevermore, that will I not,And though I had to die,For gentlemen of noble birthSat round my father’s board,And if I said not “sir” to them,How should I call thee lord?’“O peacock fair, O peacock bright,O peacock proud and high!I fool! for though of lowly birth,A noble wife took I;But nothing that I e’er could doWould please my peacock high.The moon was shining in the skiesWhen to the woods I sped;I cut a hazel rod full long,And hid it ’neath the bed.‘Thy duty bids thee call me lord,My darling wife,’ quoth I.‘Nay, nevermore, that will I not.And though I had to die.’Then in my hand I took the rodAnd beat my bosom’s wife,Until she cried, ‘Thou art my lord!My lord for death and life!’”
“O peacock fair, O peacock bright,O peacock proud and high!I fool! for though of lowly birth,A noble wife took I;But nothing that I e’er could doWould please my peacock high.To market once I went and boughtA pair of blood-red shoon.I placed my present on the bench—’Twas at the hour of noon.‘Thy duty bids thee call me lord,My darling wife,’ quoth I.‘Nay, nevermore, that will I not,And though I had to die,For gentlemen of noble birthSat round my father’s board,And if I said not “sir” to them,How should I call thee lord?’“O peacock fair, O peacock bright,O peacock proud and high!I fool! for though of lowly birth,A noble wife took I;But nothing that I e’er could doWould please my peacock high.Again to market did I goAnd bought a kirtle fine;’Twas growing dark as on the benchI laid this gift of mine.‘Thy duty bids thee call me lord,My darling wife,’ quoth I.‘Nay, nevermore, that will I not,And though I had to die,For gentlemen of noble birthSat round my father’s board,And if I said not “sir” to them,How should I call thee lord?’“O peacock fair, O peacock bright,O peacock proud and high!I fool! for though of lowly birth,A noble wife took I;But nothing that I e’er could doWould please my peacock high.The moon was shining in the skiesWhen to the woods I sped;I cut a hazel rod full long,And hid it ’neath the bed.‘Thy duty bids thee call me lord,My darling wife,’ quoth I.‘Nay, nevermore, that will I not.And though I had to die.’Then in my hand I took the rodAnd beat my bosom’s wife,Until she cried, ‘Thou art my lord!My lord for death and life!’”
“O peacock fair, O peacock bright,O peacock proud and high!I fool! for though of lowly birth,A noble wife took I;But nothing that I e’er could doWould please my peacock high.To market once I went and boughtA pair of blood-red shoon.I placed my present on the bench—’Twas at the hour of noon.‘Thy duty bids thee call me lord,My darling wife,’ quoth I.‘Nay, nevermore, that will I not,And though I had to die,For gentlemen of noble birthSat round my father’s board,And if I said not “sir” to them,How should I call thee lord?’
“O peacock fair, O peacock bright,
O peacock proud and high!
I fool! for though of lowly birth,
A noble wife took I;
But nothing that I e’er could do
Would please my peacock high.
To market once I went and bought
A pair of blood-red shoon.
I placed my present on the bench—
’Twas at the hour of noon.
‘Thy duty bids thee call me lord,
My darling wife,’ quoth I.
‘Nay, nevermore, that will I not,
And though I had to die,
For gentlemen of noble birth
Sat round my father’s board,
And if I said not “sir” to them,
How should I call thee lord?’
“O peacock fair, O peacock bright,O peacock proud and high!I fool! for though of lowly birth,A noble wife took I;But nothing that I e’er could doWould please my peacock high.Again to market did I goAnd bought a kirtle fine;’Twas growing dark as on the benchI laid this gift of mine.‘Thy duty bids thee call me lord,My darling wife,’ quoth I.‘Nay, nevermore, that will I not,And though I had to die,For gentlemen of noble birthSat round my father’s board,And if I said not “sir” to them,How should I call thee lord?’
“O peacock fair, O peacock bright,
O peacock proud and high!
I fool! for though of lowly birth,
A noble wife took I;
But nothing that I e’er could do
Would please my peacock high.
Again to market did I go
And bought a kirtle fine;
’Twas growing dark as on the bench
I laid this gift of mine.
‘Thy duty bids thee call me lord,
My darling wife,’ quoth I.
‘Nay, nevermore, that will I not,
And though I had to die,
For gentlemen of noble birth
Sat round my father’s board,
And if I said not “sir” to them,
How should I call thee lord?’
“O peacock fair, O peacock bright,O peacock proud and high!I fool! for though of lowly birth,A noble wife took I;But nothing that I e’er could doWould please my peacock high.The moon was shining in the skiesWhen to the woods I sped;I cut a hazel rod full long,And hid it ’neath the bed.‘Thy duty bids thee call me lord,My darling wife,’ quoth I.‘Nay, nevermore, that will I not.And though I had to die.’Then in my hand I took the rodAnd beat my bosom’s wife,Until she cried, ‘Thou art my lord!My lord for death and life!’”
“O peacock fair, O peacock bright,
O peacock proud and high!
I fool! for though of lowly birth,
A noble wife took I;
But nothing that I e’er could do
Would please my peacock high.
The moon was shining in the skies
When to the woods I sped;
I cut a hazel rod full long,
And hid it ’neath the bed.
‘Thy duty bids thee call me lord,
My darling wife,’ quoth I.
‘Nay, nevermore, that will I not.
And though I had to die.’
Then in my hand I took the rod
And beat my bosom’s wife,
Until she cried, ‘Thou art my lord!
My lord for death and life!’”
The Armenians deserve something more than a passing notice at the fag-end of a chapter; but having had little opportunity of being thrown together with these people, I am unable to furnish many details as to their life and manners.
Persecuted and oppressed in Moldavia during the seventeenth century, the Armenians were offered a refuge in Transylvania by the Prince Michael Apafi, and came hither about 1660, at first living dispersed all over the land, till in 1791 the Emperor Leopold granting them among other privileges the right to establish independent colonies, they founded the settlements of Szamos-Ujvar (Armenopolis) and Elisabethstadt, or Ebesfalva. This latter town, which counts to-day about twenty-five hundred Armenian inhabitants, is renowned for the good looks of its women—pale, dark-eyed beauties, with low foreheads and straight eyebrows, whose portraits might be taken in pen and ink only, without any help from the palette. They have the reputation—I know not with what reason—of being very immoral, but in a quiet, unostentatious fashion.
In the men the pure Asiatic type is yet more clearly marked—the fine-shaped oval head, arched yet not hooked nose, black eyes, jetty beard, and clean-cut profiles betraying their nationality at the first glance. In manner they are singularly calm and self-possessed, never evincing emotion or excitement. They are much addicted to card-playing. In many parts of Hungary the Armenians have so completely amalgamated with the Magyars as to have forgotten their own language, but where they live together in compact colonies it is still kept up. There are two languages—the popular idiom and the written tongue, the language of science and literature. Their religion is the Catholic one, but their services are conducted in their own language instead of Latin.
Like the Hebrews, the Armenians have great natural aptitude for trade; and it is chiefly due to their influence that the Jews have not here succeeded in getting the reins of commerce into their hands. The bankers and money-lenders in Transylvania are almost invariably Armenians.
A Saxon legend explains the origin of the Armenians by saying that when God had created all the different sorts of men, there remained over two little morsels of the clay of which he had respectively moulded the Jew and the gypsy; so, in order not to waste these, he kneaded them up together, and formed of them the Armenian.
CHAPTER XXXIX.FRONTIER REGIMENTS.Thesouth-west of Transylvania used to form part of the territory called theMilitär-Grenze(military frontier)—a peculiar institution now extinct, which, interesting as being to some extent of Roman origin, may here claim a few lines of notice.When the Roman conquerors had taken possession of the countries north of the Danube, they found it necessary to organize a sort of standing rampart of troops to be always at hand, ready to oppose unexpected attacks from the barbarian hordes on the other side. These soldiers, who might be designated as military agriculturists, found their sustenance in cultivating the ground assigned to each of them, and, being always ready on the spot, could be speedily formed in line at the slightest alarm of an enemy.Similar circumstances caused the Hungarian kings to imitate these institutions, and organize the population of the southern frontier to that purpose, allotting to them the task of protecting the country against the frequent invasions of Turks. Not content, however, with resisting attacks from without, these troops often adopted an offensive line of action, making raids over the frontier to plunder, burn, and massacre in the enemy’s country. The continual state of skirmishing warfare resulting from these arrangements kept up the martial spirit of the population, and many are the legends recorded of doughty deeds accomplished at that time.After the fall of the Hungarian kingdom in 1526, the noblemen subscribed among themselves to keep up the frontier in the same fashion, often availing themselves of the assistance of these troops in their attempted insurrections against Austria.But the Hungarian soldiers, who in this somewhat rough school of chivalry had acquired objectionable habits—such, for instance, as that of bringing back their enemies’ heads attached to the saddle-bow whenever they returned from a skirmish—had, despite their evident utility, fallen into bad odor at Vienna; so when the Hungarian nobles themselves lost their independence, these frontier troops were sufferedto fall into disorganization. Only after Maria Theresa had ascended the throne, and, having consolidated the Austrian power, obtained for herself and her descendants the irrevocable right to the Hungarian crown, was it thought necessary to reorganize in more regular fashion this living rampart along the frontier, with a view to keeping out the Turks, who were again showing signs of being troublesome. Accordingly, the population of the whole southern frontier, from Poland to the Adriatic, was classified in military companies and regiments, and the ground distributed to the peasants under condition that they and their children should live and die on the spot, their sons inheriting the obligation of serving in like manner as their fathers.Of these frontier regiments, altogether fourteen in number, six were created in Transylvania. Of these two infantry and one dragoon regiment were recruited from the Wallachian population; the remaining three, two infantry and one hussar, from the Hungarians.This system was carried out without trouble in the provinces recently reconquered from the Turks, which, being thinly populated, offered greater inducements for fresh settlers; but elsewhere, where there already existed a fixed population of Hungarians and Roumanians, there was much difficulty in establishing it. In former days the peasants had consented to pass their life on horseback in order to protect the frontier; but those days were long since gone by when people found such life to be congenial, and many of the novel conditions imposed by the Austrians were exceedingly distasteful. They did not care to be commanded by German officers, nor to feel themselves amalgamated with the Austrian regular troops, liable to be sent to fight on foreign territory.Among the Wallachians whole villages emigrated in order to evade these new laws. Those who declined to serve, and were not inclined to leave their homes, were driven from their huts at the point of the bayonet, and replaced by other settlers brought from a distance. Much cruelty was resorted to in order to compel their obedience, the Austrians sparing neither fire nor sword to gain their ends; and the year 1784 in particular was most disastrous to those poor people, who, after all, were only trying to escape from unjustifiable tyranny. Also, a few years later, when some of these troops had risen in insurrection, declaring themselves only obliged to defend the frontier, not to espouse foreign quarrels in which Austria alone had a personal interest, whole regiments were decimated, shot down by thecannon; and the place is still shown where the bodies of the victims of this wholesale butchery repose under two giant hillocks.From an Austrian point of view, no doubt this institution was a most excellent and practical one; eighty thousand trained men, who cost but little in time of peace, were ready at a moment’s notice for war. Before the officer’s dwelling-house at each station stood a high pole, wound over with ropes of straw and other combustible matter, which was set fire to at the slightest alarm of an enemy. The signal being thus taken up and repeated from station to station, the whole frontier was speedily marked out in a fiery line, and the men collected and in arms in an incredibly short space of time.When serving against an enemy their pay was equal to that of the regular troops, while in time of peace they received no pay except a few kreuzers per day whenever a soldier was on duty—that is, whenever he had frontier inspection.On these troops devolved the duty of keeping in order all roads, buildings, etc., within their circuit, and nowhere in Hungary and Transylvania were to be found such excellent, well-kept roads, bridges, and buildings as those within the territory of the military frontier.The men could not marry without permission of their superiors, their sons being, so to say, enrolled as soldiers before their birth; while daughters could only inherit their share of the father’s land on condition of marrying a soldier.The lot of those born and bred in this species of military bondage has been pathetically rendered in a Hungarian song, of which I offer a translation:The wild wood was my native home,Though born unto a soldier’s doom.Amid the green leaves sighing,And gentle cushats crying,My father nurtured me.But soon as I, a stripling grown,Could sit a horse’s back alone,I to the plough remaining,My sire must go campaigningAgainst the French afar.Drive furrows deeper and more deep!Outbursting tears in torrents leap!My father ne’er returning,My mother pining, yearning,Soon wore her life away.Now we to war to-morrow go;The Ruler’s word has bid it so.Ah me! ye green leaves sighing,And gentle cushats crying,When shall I hear you more?THE ROTHENTHURM PASS.In former days, when the country was in a state of semi-barbarism, this system answered well enough; the military discipline was in itself an education, and the bribe of becoming landed proprietors induced many, no doubt, to accept the conditions involved. Later on, however, when all peasants obtained possession of the soil they tilled, the tables were turned, and the frontier soldier found himself to be considerably worse off than his neighbor. Likewise, the original reason of these institutions no longer existed; the Ottoman power was rapidly decreasing, and surprises at the frontier were no more to be looked for. The spirit, the adventure, the poetry of warfare (which alone had caused these people to accept their lot) had departed, and they could no longer be induced to let themselves be led to butchery in distant climes to gratify a stranger’s whim. Therefore, in the reorganization of the Austrian army after the disastrous campaign of1866, these frontier regiments were, like other antiquated institutions, finally abolished, and have left no other trace behind but here and there a ruined watch-tower standing deserted in a mountain wilderness.Many of the points selected for the erection of these military establishments lay amid the wildest and most beautiful mountain scenery, and for a keen sportsman, or an ardent lover of nature, the lot of an Austrian officer in one of these beautiful wildernesses must have been a very El Dorado.One of the most beautiful, and from a military point of view, most important, of these military cordon stations was the Rothenthurm Pass (Pass of the Red Tower), so named from the color of a fortress-tower whose ruins may yet be seen beside the road.This lovely mountain-gorge, traversed by the river Aluta, and to be reached in a pleasant two hours’ drive from Hermanstadt, has been the scene of much cruel strife in by-gone days. Many a time have the wild devastation—bringing hordes poured into the land by this narrow defile; and here it was that in 1493 George Hecht, the burgomaster of Hermanstadt, obtained a signal victory over the Turks, whom he butchered in wholesale fashion, dyeing the river ruddy red, it is said, with the blood of the slain.Nowadays the river Aluta flows by peaceably enough, and the primitive little inn which stands at the boundary of the two countries offers an inviting retreat to any solitary angler who cares to study the characters of TransylvanianversusRoumanian trout.
Thesouth-west of Transylvania used to form part of the territory called theMilitär-Grenze(military frontier)—a peculiar institution now extinct, which, interesting as being to some extent of Roman origin, may here claim a few lines of notice.
When the Roman conquerors had taken possession of the countries north of the Danube, they found it necessary to organize a sort of standing rampart of troops to be always at hand, ready to oppose unexpected attacks from the barbarian hordes on the other side. These soldiers, who might be designated as military agriculturists, found their sustenance in cultivating the ground assigned to each of them, and, being always ready on the spot, could be speedily formed in line at the slightest alarm of an enemy.
Similar circumstances caused the Hungarian kings to imitate these institutions, and organize the population of the southern frontier to that purpose, allotting to them the task of protecting the country against the frequent invasions of Turks. Not content, however, with resisting attacks from without, these troops often adopted an offensive line of action, making raids over the frontier to plunder, burn, and massacre in the enemy’s country. The continual state of skirmishing warfare resulting from these arrangements kept up the martial spirit of the population, and many are the legends recorded of doughty deeds accomplished at that time.
After the fall of the Hungarian kingdom in 1526, the noblemen subscribed among themselves to keep up the frontier in the same fashion, often availing themselves of the assistance of these troops in their attempted insurrections against Austria.
But the Hungarian soldiers, who in this somewhat rough school of chivalry had acquired objectionable habits—such, for instance, as that of bringing back their enemies’ heads attached to the saddle-bow whenever they returned from a skirmish—had, despite their evident utility, fallen into bad odor at Vienna; so when the Hungarian nobles themselves lost their independence, these frontier troops were sufferedto fall into disorganization. Only after Maria Theresa had ascended the throne, and, having consolidated the Austrian power, obtained for herself and her descendants the irrevocable right to the Hungarian crown, was it thought necessary to reorganize in more regular fashion this living rampart along the frontier, with a view to keeping out the Turks, who were again showing signs of being troublesome. Accordingly, the population of the whole southern frontier, from Poland to the Adriatic, was classified in military companies and regiments, and the ground distributed to the peasants under condition that they and their children should live and die on the spot, their sons inheriting the obligation of serving in like manner as their fathers.
Of these frontier regiments, altogether fourteen in number, six were created in Transylvania. Of these two infantry and one dragoon regiment were recruited from the Wallachian population; the remaining three, two infantry and one hussar, from the Hungarians.
This system was carried out without trouble in the provinces recently reconquered from the Turks, which, being thinly populated, offered greater inducements for fresh settlers; but elsewhere, where there already existed a fixed population of Hungarians and Roumanians, there was much difficulty in establishing it. In former days the peasants had consented to pass their life on horseback in order to protect the frontier; but those days were long since gone by when people found such life to be congenial, and many of the novel conditions imposed by the Austrians were exceedingly distasteful. They did not care to be commanded by German officers, nor to feel themselves amalgamated with the Austrian regular troops, liable to be sent to fight on foreign territory.
Among the Wallachians whole villages emigrated in order to evade these new laws. Those who declined to serve, and were not inclined to leave their homes, were driven from their huts at the point of the bayonet, and replaced by other settlers brought from a distance. Much cruelty was resorted to in order to compel their obedience, the Austrians sparing neither fire nor sword to gain their ends; and the year 1784 in particular was most disastrous to those poor people, who, after all, were only trying to escape from unjustifiable tyranny. Also, a few years later, when some of these troops had risen in insurrection, declaring themselves only obliged to defend the frontier, not to espouse foreign quarrels in which Austria alone had a personal interest, whole regiments were decimated, shot down by thecannon; and the place is still shown where the bodies of the victims of this wholesale butchery repose under two giant hillocks.
From an Austrian point of view, no doubt this institution was a most excellent and practical one; eighty thousand trained men, who cost but little in time of peace, were ready at a moment’s notice for war. Before the officer’s dwelling-house at each station stood a high pole, wound over with ropes of straw and other combustible matter, which was set fire to at the slightest alarm of an enemy. The signal being thus taken up and repeated from station to station, the whole frontier was speedily marked out in a fiery line, and the men collected and in arms in an incredibly short space of time.
When serving against an enemy their pay was equal to that of the regular troops, while in time of peace they received no pay except a few kreuzers per day whenever a soldier was on duty—that is, whenever he had frontier inspection.
On these troops devolved the duty of keeping in order all roads, buildings, etc., within their circuit, and nowhere in Hungary and Transylvania were to be found such excellent, well-kept roads, bridges, and buildings as those within the territory of the military frontier.
The men could not marry without permission of their superiors, their sons being, so to say, enrolled as soldiers before their birth; while daughters could only inherit their share of the father’s land on condition of marrying a soldier.
The lot of those born and bred in this species of military bondage has been pathetically rendered in a Hungarian song, of which I offer a translation:
The wild wood was my native home,Though born unto a soldier’s doom.Amid the green leaves sighing,And gentle cushats crying,My father nurtured me.But soon as I, a stripling grown,Could sit a horse’s back alone,I to the plough remaining,My sire must go campaigningAgainst the French afar.Drive furrows deeper and more deep!Outbursting tears in torrents leap!My father ne’er returning,My mother pining, yearning,Soon wore her life away.Now we to war to-morrow go;The Ruler’s word has bid it so.Ah me! ye green leaves sighing,And gentle cushats crying,When shall I hear you more?
The wild wood was my native home,Though born unto a soldier’s doom.Amid the green leaves sighing,And gentle cushats crying,My father nurtured me.But soon as I, a stripling grown,Could sit a horse’s back alone,I to the plough remaining,My sire must go campaigningAgainst the French afar.Drive furrows deeper and more deep!Outbursting tears in torrents leap!My father ne’er returning,My mother pining, yearning,Soon wore her life away.Now we to war to-morrow go;The Ruler’s word has bid it so.Ah me! ye green leaves sighing,And gentle cushats crying,When shall I hear you more?
The wild wood was my native home,Though born unto a soldier’s doom.Amid the green leaves sighing,And gentle cushats crying,My father nurtured me.
The wild wood was my native home,
Though born unto a soldier’s doom.
Amid the green leaves sighing,
And gentle cushats crying,
My father nurtured me.
But soon as I, a stripling grown,Could sit a horse’s back alone,I to the plough remaining,My sire must go campaigningAgainst the French afar.
But soon as I, a stripling grown,
Could sit a horse’s back alone,
I to the plough remaining,
My sire must go campaigning
Against the French afar.
Drive furrows deeper and more deep!Outbursting tears in torrents leap!My father ne’er returning,My mother pining, yearning,Soon wore her life away.
Drive furrows deeper and more deep!
Outbursting tears in torrents leap!
My father ne’er returning,
My mother pining, yearning,
Soon wore her life away.
Now we to war to-morrow go;The Ruler’s word has bid it so.Ah me! ye green leaves sighing,And gentle cushats crying,When shall I hear you more?
Now we to war to-morrow go;
The Ruler’s word has bid it so.
Ah me! ye green leaves sighing,
And gentle cushats crying,
When shall I hear you more?
THE ROTHENTHURM PASS.
THE ROTHENTHURM PASS.
THE ROTHENTHURM PASS.
In former days, when the country was in a state of semi-barbarism, this system answered well enough; the military discipline was in itself an education, and the bribe of becoming landed proprietors induced many, no doubt, to accept the conditions involved. Later on, however, when all peasants obtained possession of the soil they tilled, the tables were turned, and the frontier soldier found himself to be considerably worse off than his neighbor. Likewise, the original reason of these institutions no longer existed; the Ottoman power was rapidly decreasing, and surprises at the frontier were no more to be looked for. The spirit, the adventure, the poetry of warfare (which alone had caused these people to accept their lot) had departed, and they could no longer be induced to let themselves be led to butchery in distant climes to gratify a stranger’s whim. Therefore, in the reorganization of the Austrian army after the disastrous campaign of1866, these frontier regiments were, like other antiquated institutions, finally abolished, and have left no other trace behind but here and there a ruined watch-tower standing deserted in a mountain wilderness.
Many of the points selected for the erection of these military establishments lay amid the wildest and most beautiful mountain scenery, and for a keen sportsman, or an ardent lover of nature, the lot of an Austrian officer in one of these beautiful wildernesses must have been a very El Dorado.
One of the most beautiful, and from a military point of view, most important, of these military cordon stations was the Rothenthurm Pass (Pass of the Red Tower), so named from the color of a fortress-tower whose ruins may yet be seen beside the road.
This lovely mountain-gorge, traversed by the river Aluta, and to be reached in a pleasant two hours’ drive from Hermanstadt, has been the scene of much cruel strife in by-gone days. Many a time have the wild devastation—bringing hordes poured into the land by this narrow defile; and here it was that in 1493 George Hecht, the burgomaster of Hermanstadt, obtained a signal victory over the Turks, whom he butchered in wholesale fashion, dyeing the river ruddy red, it is said, with the blood of the slain.
Nowadays the river Aluta flows by peaceably enough, and the primitive little inn which stands at the boundary of the two countries offers an inviting retreat to any solitary angler who cares to study the characters of TransylvanianversusRoumanian trout.
CHAPTER XL.WOLVES, BEARS, AND OTHER ANIMALS.Transylvaniahas often been nicknamed the Bärenland, and though bears and wolves do not exactly walk about the high-roads in broad daylight, as unsophisticated travellers are apt to expect, yet they are common enough features in the landscape, and no one can be many weeks in the country without hearing them mentioned as familiarly as foxes or grouse are spoken of at home.The number of bears shot in Transylvania in the course of the year 1885 was about sixty. Eight of these fell to the share of theCrown-prince Rudolf of Austria, who for the last few years has rented achasseat Gyergyó Szent Imre, in one of the most favorable bear-hunting neighborhoods.[69]As to the wolves destroyed each year, they are not to be reckoned by dozens, nor even by scores, but by hundreds, and I was assured by a competent authority that between six and seven hundred is the number of those who last year perished by the hand of man.It is the commonest thing in the world on market-days to see a group of shepherds in the ironmonger’s shop (where a store of common fire-arms is kept), in deep consultation as to the merits of the pistol or revolver they are in want of for scaring the wolves so constantly molesting their flocks; and occasionally a snapping and snarling wolf, or a pair of bear cubs, are brought in a cart to the town in quest of an amateur of such fierce pets.Even in the neighborhood of Hermanstadt it is not safe to walk far into the country alone in very cold weather for fear of wolves, which can easily approach the town under cover of the forest, which runs unbroken up to the hills; and while I was at Hermanstadt a large gray wolf was reported to have been seen several nights in succession prowling about within the actual precincts of the lower town.At one of the toll-bars marking the limits of the town, and whence stretches off a lonely plain towards the south, a large fierce dog is kept chained up; but he never retains his situation two years running, because he is invariably destroyed by wolves before the winter is out. “The dog at the Poplaka toll-bar has been eaten again,” is the matter-of-fact announcement one hears every year when the cold is rising, and which has long since lost all flavor of sensation or novelty; and one only wonders how any Hermanstadt dog can still be found infatuated enough to undertake this forlorn hope.Up in the mountains, however, the wolves do not slink in stealthy groups of twos and threes, but assemble in such mighty packs that sometimes on the high pasturages the snow is found to be trampled down by the tread of many hundred feet, as though large droves of cattle had passed over the place. Officers who have been engaged inthe work of going over the country, classifying all horses for purposes of national defence, have told me that in many out-of-the-way places up the hills they used to find the horses frequently bitten or scarred about the nose—as many keepsakes from the wolves, whose invariable habit it is first to spring at the horse’s head.Many are the ruses which the wolf employs in order to induce a horse or foal to detach itself from a drove of grazing animals. Sometimes he will roll himself up into a shapeless mass, and lie thus immovable for hours on the ground, till some young inexperienced colt, bitten with curiosity, wanders from its mother’s side to investigate the strange bundle it espies at a distance. The wily murderer lets himself be approached without moving, and only then, when the hapless victim bends down to snuff the packet, he springs at the throat, and makes of it an easy prey.The more experienced horses have long since learned that their only safety is in numbers; so at the approach of wolves they draw themselves together in a wheel, each head turned inward touching the others, their tails all pointing outward, and with their hind-hoofs dealing out such furious kicks as to enable them to keep at bay several enemies at a time.The Transylvanian bears will rarely attack a man unless provoked, experiencing as much terror from a chance encounter as any they are likely to occasion. A Saxon peasant told me of such a meeting he had some years ago, when up in the mountains with some gentlemen who had come there in quest of deer. As they were to sleep in the open air, he had gone to collect firewood on the ground between a scattered group of fir-trees. When issuing from behind a tree-trunk he suddenly found himself face to face with a gigantic bear—not ten paces off. “We were both so taken aback,” he said, “that for nearly a minute we stood staring at each other without moving. Then I called out, ‘Der Teufel!’ and took to my heels; and the bear, he just gave a grunt, which perhaps also meant ‘Der Teufel’ in his language, and he also turned to run; and when I looked back to see where he was, there, to be sure, he was still running down the hill as hard as ever he could go.”Only a couple of summers ago two Hungarian gendarmes were patrolling near Szent Mihaly where each of them, walking at a different side of a deep ravine, could see, without being able to reach, his comrade. As one of them came round a point of rock, he was suddenlyconfronted by a bear carrying a sheep in his mouth. In this case, also, man and bear stared at each other for some seconds; then the bear turned away in order to carry off his booty to a safe place. The gendarme, recovering from his surprise, fired at the retreating bear, which, wounded, gave a loud roar. A second shot likewise took effect, for now the bear, dropping the sheep, raised himself on his hind-legs, and advanced on his assailant. By the time a third shot was fired the bear had come up close and seized the muzzle of the gun. A fearful struggle now began between man and beast. The gendarme was holding on convulsively to his gun, when, his foot catching in a tree-root, he stumbled and fell to the ground. Already he saw the dreadful jaws of the bear close to his face, and gave himself up for lost. However, the bear was getting weaker, and let go its hold on the gun to seize the leg of the man, who, with a last desperate effort, struck the animal on the breast with the butt-end of his rifle. This turned the scale, and the animal fled down the ravine to hide itself in the stream. In the mean time the second gendarme, who from the other side had been spectator of the scene, arrived, along with some shepherds armed with clubs and pickaxes, and pursued the bear into his retreat. The animal received them with terrific roars, and began to pick up large stones, which he hurled at his adversaries with such correct aim as severely to wound one of the shepherds on the head. Finally the beast was killed, and his stomach discovered to be full of fresh ox-flesh. The wounded gendarme had to be conveyed home on horseback, and his gun was found to have been completely bent in the struggle.At the costumed procession commemorating the arrival of the Saxons in Transylvania, which I have described inChapter V., the most conspicuous object in the group of hunting-trophies was a gigantic stuffed bear, which, as a current newspaper announced, “had been shot expressly for the occasion.” This paragraph excited considerable derision among non-Transylvanian sportsmen, who mockingly inquired whether a bear could be killed to order like an ox or a prize pig.In this case, however, the newspapers said no more than the simple truth, the bear in question having been literally shot to order by Oberlieutenant Berger, a native of the place, and one of the most noteworthy Nimrods in the land.It happened, namely, that about a fortnight before the day fixed for the procession, some of the gentlemen charged with its arrangementwere lamenting that the only bear they had for figuring in the hunting-group was of somewhat shabby dimensions; on hearing which Oberlieutenant Berger volunteered to go into the mountains in quest of a better one. Chance favored his expedition, for within forty-eight hours he met and shot the magnificent animal which had the honor of figuring in the historical pageant.Besides the two fresh bullets which had caused its death, no less than eleven old lead balls were found completely grown into the flesh and muscles of the animal.Two young bear cubs captured alive by another sportsman earlier in the year had originally been destined to join the procession as well as their dead relative; but proving too unruly, they had to be discarded from the programme, as it was feared that their roaring might alarm the horses.Though stocked by nature with a profusion of every sort of game, such as roe-deer, stags, chamois, etc., sportsmen generally find Transylvania to be an unsatisfactory country for hunting purposes. It is just sufficiently preserved in order to hamper an ardent sportsman who wishes, gun in hand, to roam unmolested about the hills; yet not enough protected to prevent the Roumanian peasants from calmly appropriating everything which happens to cross their path. They can hardly be called poachers either, because they are simply and utterly wanting in comprehension for this sort of personal property, and it would be as easy to persuade one of them that it is wrong to slake his thirst at a mountain spring as get him to believe that any of the animals he sees running wild in the forest can belong to any one man more than to another.Even when regular huntingbattuesare organized, the Roumanians employed as beaters will not fail to put in a shot whenever they have the chance, nor will they hesitate to despoil your bag of half its booty whenever your back is turned.In a large shooting-party in the neighborhood of Hermanstadt two years ago, two roe-deer had been shot down at the first drive. More than one of the gentlemen had distinctly marked the place where the animals fell, yet on coming up to it no trace of either was there to be seen save a little blood upon the grass, and the beaters who had first reached the spot loudly swore that the wounded animals had made their escape. All search was unavailing to discover where the carcasses had been hidden, and neither threat nor bribe could induce thepeasants to disgorge the booty; but early next morning there were offered for sale at the Hermanstadt market-place two fine roe-deer, which, without rash judgment, may be safely asserted to be identical with those so mysteriously spirited away the day before.On the occasion of this same shooting-party some of the beaters had formed the further ingenious project of stealing the gun from one of the gentlemen as he lay asleep near the camp-fire; but they had reckoned without their host, not having counted on the exceptional contingency of there being one honest man among them, who took upon himself to put his masters on their guard. The other beaters, enraged at this treachery on the part of a comrade, revenged themselves by destroying the saddle and cutting out the tongue of his horse.Chamois are sometimes to be seen in numbers of thirty to forty heads at once. Roe and stags are common, but the lynx and marten are growing rare; while the ibex and urus have completely died out, the last urus known of in Transylvania having been killed near Udvarhely in 1775.Small game, such as hares, partridges, etc., are rarely to be purchased in the market, and still more rarely to be met with in the stubble-fields.Haselhühner[70]and capercailzie are, however, sufficiently numerous in the pine woods to reward more than a passing acquaintance; and whoever takes the trouble to approach the river Alt with anything resembling a civilized rod may be sure of a basketful of well-flavored trout.The wild-cat, badger, fox, and otter are still plentiful, as well as almost every European variety of eagle and falcon. Vultures are likewise numerous; and a friend of ours who, to attract these birds of prey, lately invested in the unsavory purchase of five dead dogs, which were deposited on a sand-bank near the river, had presently the satisfaction of seeing nine well-grown vultures settle on the place.Those same bear cubs which had shown themselves so unworthy of figuring in the historical procession were a great source of amusement to us. When they arrived they were tiny round balls of fur yelpingpiteously for their mother, and hardly able to walk, but soon got reconciled to their position, and became most intimate with the soldiers at the barracks, where they were lodged. One day when we went to visit them in the barrack-yard, accompanied by several terriers, one of the cubs, happening to be in a playful mood, began making advances to the dogs, which mostly took to their heels in terror at sight of this formidable playmate. One white fox-terrier only stood his ground and entered into the spirit of the thing, and in the wild game of gambols which ensued the ponderous antics of the baby bear beside the lightning-like movements of the wiry terrier, as they chased each other round and round the barrack-yard, were a sight worth seeing.In spite of their apparent awkwardness, however, it is wonderful to see with what agility these young bears could run up and down a tree-trunk, leading one to the uncomfortable conclusion that if pursued by one of their kinsfolk in a forest the hope of saving one’s self by climbing a tree would be a slender one.These two cubs, which for some incomprehensible reason had been christened Dick and John, grew warmly attached to the officer who had brought them here, and would rush impetuously to meet him whenever he was seen approaching. Both of them seemed likewise to be much attracted by the sight of scarlet, and whenever they espied a pair of red hussar breeches, or the scarlet stripe down a general’s legging, there was instantly a race to this brilliant goal, not always relished by the object of these attentions, who sometimes failed to see the fun of being folded in their uncouth embrace.Dick was apt to be sulky at times, and wont to misinterpret a friendly poke from a parasol, but John had an angelic disposition, and soon became the favorite. Dick had a bad habit of sucking his brother’s ears, who used patiently to submit to the operation for an hour at a time, which course of treatment soon transformed his beautiful bushy ears into two limp fleshy flaps, devoid of the slightest appearance of hair.They both very soon learned to know the soldiers’ dinner-hour, and while the food was preparing used to push open the kitchen door in hopes of a share, till their importunities were baffled by an order to keep the kitchen locked in future. This much aggrieved the cubs, which stood outside thumping the door for admittance; and one day when the key had been merely turned, and left sticking on the outside, Dick seized hold of it between his teeth, working it backward and forwardwith such persistency that he finally forced the lock and marched triumphant into the kitchen.Unfortunately the golden age of childish grace and innocence is but of short duration in the case of bears, and Dick and John proved no exception to this rule. After a very few months they began to grow large and gawky; the amount of butcher’s meat required for their sustenance was something terrific, and Dick’s temper was daily growing more precarious. Arrangements for their removal to more suitable quarters were therefore made, and finding their kennel empty one day, we received the mournful intelligence that the furry brothers had been transferred to the safer guardianship of a zoological establishment at Pesth.
Transylvaniahas often been nicknamed the Bärenland, and though bears and wolves do not exactly walk about the high-roads in broad daylight, as unsophisticated travellers are apt to expect, yet they are common enough features in the landscape, and no one can be many weeks in the country without hearing them mentioned as familiarly as foxes or grouse are spoken of at home.
The number of bears shot in Transylvania in the course of the year 1885 was about sixty. Eight of these fell to the share of theCrown-prince Rudolf of Austria, who for the last few years has rented achasseat Gyergyó Szent Imre, in one of the most favorable bear-hunting neighborhoods.[69]
As to the wolves destroyed each year, they are not to be reckoned by dozens, nor even by scores, but by hundreds, and I was assured by a competent authority that between six and seven hundred is the number of those who last year perished by the hand of man.
It is the commonest thing in the world on market-days to see a group of shepherds in the ironmonger’s shop (where a store of common fire-arms is kept), in deep consultation as to the merits of the pistol or revolver they are in want of for scaring the wolves so constantly molesting their flocks; and occasionally a snapping and snarling wolf, or a pair of bear cubs, are brought in a cart to the town in quest of an amateur of such fierce pets.
Even in the neighborhood of Hermanstadt it is not safe to walk far into the country alone in very cold weather for fear of wolves, which can easily approach the town under cover of the forest, which runs unbroken up to the hills; and while I was at Hermanstadt a large gray wolf was reported to have been seen several nights in succession prowling about within the actual precincts of the lower town.
At one of the toll-bars marking the limits of the town, and whence stretches off a lonely plain towards the south, a large fierce dog is kept chained up; but he never retains his situation two years running, because he is invariably destroyed by wolves before the winter is out. “The dog at the Poplaka toll-bar has been eaten again,” is the matter-of-fact announcement one hears every year when the cold is rising, and which has long since lost all flavor of sensation or novelty; and one only wonders how any Hermanstadt dog can still be found infatuated enough to undertake this forlorn hope.
Up in the mountains, however, the wolves do not slink in stealthy groups of twos and threes, but assemble in such mighty packs that sometimes on the high pasturages the snow is found to be trampled down by the tread of many hundred feet, as though large droves of cattle had passed over the place. Officers who have been engaged inthe work of going over the country, classifying all horses for purposes of national defence, have told me that in many out-of-the-way places up the hills they used to find the horses frequently bitten or scarred about the nose—as many keepsakes from the wolves, whose invariable habit it is first to spring at the horse’s head.
Many are the ruses which the wolf employs in order to induce a horse or foal to detach itself from a drove of grazing animals. Sometimes he will roll himself up into a shapeless mass, and lie thus immovable for hours on the ground, till some young inexperienced colt, bitten with curiosity, wanders from its mother’s side to investigate the strange bundle it espies at a distance. The wily murderer lets himself be approached without moving, and only then, when the hapless victim bends down to snuff the packet, he springs at the throat, and makes of it an easy prey.
The more experienced horses have long since learned that their only safety is in numbers; so at the approach of wolves they draw themselves together in a wheel, each head turned inward touching the others, their tails all pointing outward, and with their hind-hoofs dealing out such furious kicks as to enable them to keep at bay several enemies at a time.
The Transylvanian bears will rarely attack a man unless provoked, experiencing as much terror from a chance encounter as any they are likely to occasion. A Saxon peasant told me of such a meeting he had some years ago, when up in the mountains with some gentlemen who had come there in quest of deer. As they were to sleep in the open air, he had gone to collect firewood on the ground between a scattered group of fir-trees. When issuing from behind a tree-trunk he suddenly found himself face to face with a gigantic bear—not ten paces off. “We were both so taken aback,” he said, “that for nearly a minute we stood staring at each other without moving. Then I called out, ‘Der Teufel!’ and took to my heels; and the bear, he just gave a grunt, which perhaps also meant ‘Der Teufel’ in his language, and he also turned to run; and when I looked back to see where he was, there, to be sure, he was still running down the hill as hard as ever he could go.”
Only a couple of summers ago two Hungarian gendarmes were patrolling near Szent Mihaly where each of them, walking at a different side of a deep ravine, could see, without being able to reach, his comrade. As one of them came round a point of rock, he was suddenlyconfronted by a bear carrying a sheep in his mouth. In this case, also, man and bear stared at each other for some seconds; then the bear turned away in order to carry off his booty to a safe place. The gendarme, recovering from his surprise, fired at the retreating bear, which, wounded, gave a loud roar. A second shot likewise took effect, for now the bear, dropping the sheep, raised himself on his hind-legs, and advanced on his assailant. By the time a third shot was fired the bear had come up close and seized the muzzle of the gun. A fearful struggle now began between man and beast. The gendarme was holding on convulsively to his gun, when, his foot catching in a tree-root, he stumbled and fell to the ground. Already he saw the dreadful jaws of the bear close to his face, and gave himself up for lost. However, the bear was getting weaker, and let go its hold on the gun to seize the leg of the man, who, with a last desperate effort, struck the animal on the breast with the butt-end of his rifle. This turned the scale, and the animal fled down the ravine to hide itself in the stream. In the mean time the second gendarme, who from the other side had been spectator of the scene, arrived, along with some shepherds armed with clubs and pickaxes, and pursued the bear into his retreat. The animal received them with terrific roars, and began to pick up large stones, which he hurled at his adversaries with such correct aim as severely to wound one of the shepherds on the head. Finally the beast was killed, and his stomach discovered to be full of fresh ox-flesh. The wounded gendarme had to be conveyed home on horseback, and his gun was found to have been completely bent in the struggle.
At the costumed procession commemorating the arrival of the Saxons in Transylvania, which I have described inChapter V., the most conspicuous object in the group of hunting-trophies was a gigantic stuffed bear, which, as a current newspaper announced, “had been shot expressly for the occasion.” This paragraph excited considerable derision among non-Transylvanian sportsmen, who mockingly inquired whether a bear could be killed to order like an ox or a prize pig.
In this case, however, the newspapers said no more than the simple truth, the bear in question having been literally shot to order by Oberlieutenant Berger, a native of the place, and one of the most noteworthy Nimrods in the land.
It happened, namely, that about a fortnight before the day fixed for the procession, some of the gentlemen charged with its arrangementwere lamenting that the only bear they had for figuring in the hunting-group was of somewhat shabby dimensions; on hearing which Oberlieutenant Berger volunteered to go into the mountains in quest of a better one. Chance favored his expedition, for within forty-eight hours he met and shot the magnificent animal which had the honor of figuring in the historical pageant.
Besides the two fresh bullets which had caused its death, no less than eleven old lead balls were found completely grown into the flesh and muscles of the animal.
Two young bear cubs captured alive by another sportsman earlier in the year had originally been destined to join the procession as well as their dead relative; but proving too unruly, they had to be discarded from the programme, as it was feared that their roaring might alarm the horses.
Though stocked by nature with a profusion of every sort of game, such as roe-deer, stags, chamois, etc., sportsmen generally find Transylvania to be an unsatisfactory country for hunting purposes. It is just sufficiently preserved in order to hamper an ardent sportsman who wishes, gun in hand, to roam unmolested about the hills; yet not enough protected to prevent the Roumanian peasants from calmly appropriating everything which happens to cross their path. They can hardly be called poachers either, because they are simply and utterly wanting in comprehension for this sort of personal property, and it would be as easy to persuade one of them that it is wrong to slake his thirst at a mountain spring as get him to believe that any of the animals he sees running wild in the forest can belong to any one man more than to another.
Even when regular huntingbattuesare organized, the Roumanians employed as beaters will not fail to put in a shot whenever they have the chance, nor will they hesitate to despoil your bag of half its booty whenever your back is turned.
In a large shooting-party in the neighborhood of Hermanstadt two years ago, two roe-deer had been shot down at the first drive. More than one of the gentlemen had distinctly marked the place where the animals fell, yet on coming up to it no trace of either was there to be seen save a little blood upon the grass, and the beaters who had first reached the spot loudly swore that the wounded animals had made their escape. All search was unavailing to discover where the carcasses had been hidden, and neither threat nor bribe could induce thepeasants to disgorge the booty; but early next morning there were offered for sale at the Hermanstadt market-place two fine roe-deer, which, without rash judgment, may be safely asserted to be identical with those so mysteriously spirited away the day before.
On the occasion of this same shooting-party some of the beaters had formed the further ingenious project of stealing the gun from one of the gentlemen as he lay asleep near the camp-fire; but they had reckoned without their host, not having counted on the exceptional contingency of there being one honest man among them, who took upon himself to put his masters on their guard. The other beaters, enraged at this treachery on the part of a comrade, revenged themselves by destroying the saddle and cutting out the tongue of his horse.
Chamois are sometimes to be seen in numbers of thirty to forty heads at once. Roe and stags are common, but the lynx and marten are growing rare; while the ibex and urus have completely died out, the last urus known of in Transylvania having been killed near Udvarhely in 1775.
Small game, such as hares, partridges, etc., are rarely to be purchased in the market, and still more rarely to be met with in the stubble-fields.Haselhühner[70]and capercailzie are, however, sufficiently numerous in the pine woods to reward more than a passing acquaintance; and whoever takes the trouble to approach the river Alt with anything resembling a civilized rod may be sure of a basketful of well-flavored trout.
The wild-cat, badger, fox, and otter are still plentiful, as well as almost every European variety of eagle and falcon. Vultures are likewise numerous; and a friend of ours who, to attract these birds of prey, lately invested in the unsavory purchase of five dead dogs, which were deposited on a sand-bank near the river, had presently the satisfaction of seeing nine well-grown vultures settle on the place.
Those same bear cubs which had shown themselves so unworthy of figuring in the historical procession were a great source of amusement to us. When they arrived they were tiny round balls of fur yelpingpiteously for their mother, and hardly able to walk, but soon got reconciled to their position, and became most intimate with the soldiers at the barracks, where they were lodged. One day when we went to visit them in the barrack-yard, accompanied by several terriers, one of the cubs, happening to be in a playful mood, began making advances to the dogs, which mostly took to their heels in terror at sight of this formidable playmate. One white fox-terrier only stood his ground and entered into the spirit of the thing, and in the wild game of gambols which ensued the ponderous antics of the baby bear beside the lightning-like movements of the wiry terrier, as they chased each other round and round the barrack-yard, were a sight worth seeing.
In spite of their apparent awkwardness, however, it is wonderful to see with what agility these young bears could run up and down a tree-trunk, leading one to the uncomfortable conclusion that if pursued by one of their kinsfolk in a forest the hope of saving one’s self by climbing a tree would be a slender one.
These two cubs, which for some incomprehensible reason had been christened Dick and John, grew warmly attached to the officer who had brought them here, and would rush impetuously to meet him whenever he was seen approaching. Both of them seemed likewise to be much attracted by the sight of scarlet, and whenever they espied a pair of red hussar breeches, or the scarlet stripe down a general’s legging, there was instantly a race to this brilliant goal, not always relished by the object of these attentions, who sometimes failed to see the fun of being folded in their uncouth embrace.
Dick was apt to be sulky at times, and wont to misinterpret a friendly poke from a parasol, but John had an angelic disposition, and soon became the favorite. Dick had a bad habit of sucking his brother’s ears, who used patiently to submit to the operation for an hour at a time, which course of treatment soon transformed his beautiful bushy ears into two limp fleshy flaps, devoid of the slightest appearance of hair.
They both very soon learned to know the soldiers’ dinner-hour, and while the food was preparing used to push open the kitchen door in hopes of a share, till their importunities were baffled by an order to keep the kitchen locked in future. This much aggrieved the cubs, which stood outside thumping the door for admittance; and one day when the key had been merely turned, and left sticking on the outside, Dick seized hold of it between his teeth, working it backward and forwardwith such persistency that he finally forced the lock and marched triumphant into the kitchen.
Unfortunately the golden age of childish grace and innocence is but of short duration in the case of bears, and Dick and John proved no exception to this rule. After a very few months they began to grow large and gawky; the amount of butcher’s meat required for their sustenance was something terrific, and Dick’s temper was daily growing more precarious. Arrangements for their removal to more suitable quarters were therefore made, and finding their kennel empty one day, we received the mournful intelligence that the furry brothers had been transferred to the safer guardianship of a zoological establishment at Pesth.