[Illustration:
DEFILE OF THE LOWER DANUBE. FRONTISPIECE, Vol. II.]
“MAGYARLAND;”
BEING THE NARRATIVE OF OUR TRAVELS THROUGH THE HIGHLANDS
AND LOWLANDS OF HUNGARY.
BY
A FELLOW OF THE CARPATHIAN SOCIETY,
AUTHOR OF ‘THE INDIAN ALPS.’
[Illustration]
IN TWO VOLUMES.--VOL. II.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.
LONDON:
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON,
CROWN BUILDINGS, 188 FLEET STREET.
1881.
[_All Rights reserved._]
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
CHAPTER XXIX.
PAGE
PONS TRAJANI 1
CHAPTER XXX.
THE HEIGHTS OF THE DANUBE 12
CHAPTER XXXI.
MEHADIA 29
CHAPTER XXXII.
THE FAMILY PEDIGREE 43
CHAPTER XXXIII.
GROSSWARDEIN 57
CHAPTER XXXIV.
GOOD FRIDAY IN THE GREEK CHURCH 66
CHAPTER XXXV.
THE “QUEEN OF THE ALFÖLD” 80
CHAPTER XXXVI.
HERMANNSTADT 94
CHAPTER XXXVII.
“THE GOOD OLD TIMES” 107
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
WITH THE WALLACHS 124
CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE ROTHER THURM PASS 135
CHAPTER XL.
THE GREEK HERMITAGE OF BUCSECS 146
CHAPTER XLI.
WESTWARD 160
CHAPTER XLII.
DEBRECZIN 172
CHAPTER XLIII.
THE WINE DISTRICTS OF TOKAY 185
CHAPTER XLIV.
TEMPLES OF THE NIGHT 201
CHAPTER XLV.
DICKENS _alias_ “BOSCH” 215
CHAPTER XLVI.
THE GOLD MINES OF SCHEMNITZ 227
CHAPTER XLVII.
THE “CALVARY” 239
CHAPTER XLVIII.
THE MODERN BABEL 247
CHAPTER XLIX.
ÓBUDA 257
CHAPTER L.
THE WITCHES’ CARNIVAL 267
CHAPTER LI.
PARTINGS 276
CHAPTER LII.
AGRAM 286
CHAPTER LIII.
THE IMPALED RAÏA 301
[Illustration: Going Home.]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
VOL. II.
FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.
DEFILE OF THE LOWER DANUBE _Frontispiece_
ALL AMONG THE SHEAVES _Facing page_ 68
SMALL ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
GOING HOME FROM MARKET vi
A ROUMANIAN SOLDIER 3
A PRIEST OF THE GREEK CHURCH 10
IN THE SUBURBS OF ORSOVA 11
ISLAND OF NEW ORSOVA IN THE DANUBE 17
TURKISH BOAT 28
TRAJAN’S TABLET 31
WALLACHIAN WOMEN 35
HOW WE JOURNEYED TO MEHADIA 42
GROSSWARDEIN 62
STUDY CHARACTERISTIC! 67
BEFORE A SHRINE IN A GREEK CHURCH 72
BOAT ON LAKE BALATON 79
A CITIZEN OF SZEGEDIN 80
THE MARǑS 89
LISTENING TO THE SERMON ON GOOD-FRIDAY AT GROSSWARDEIN 92
FISHING-BOATS ON THE DANUBE 93
IN THE MARKET AT HERMANNSTADT 103
LUTHERAN CHURCH AT HERMANNSTADT 106
FORTIFIED CHURCH AT HILTAU 109
A TRANSYLVANIAN VILLAGE 113
CHURCH COSTUME OF A “SAXON” MÄDCHEN 120
OLD TOWER AT HERMANNSTADT 123
YOUNG WALLACH GIRL 124
DOORWAY OF A WALLACH HOUSE 127
A WALLACH BABY 134
THE TRANSYLVANIAN ALPS 138
BELFREY OF A WALLACH CHURCH 145
CASTLE OF TERZBURG 151
THE HERMITS’ CAVE 157
WAY-SIDE FIGURES 159
MARKET-DAY AT KOLOZSVÁR 162
“COMMON OBJECTS” 258
THE PURSUIT OF ART UNDER DIFFICULTIES 263
THE BLOCKSBERG 270
THE ROYAL PALACE OF BUDA 277
OUR CARRIAGE 285
SUNSET ON THE PLAINS 288
IN A CHURCH AT AGRAM 294
FERRY-BOAT ON THE SAVE 295
THE IMPALED RAÏA 310
NEARING BELGRADE 311
“MAGYARLAND.”
CHAPTER XXIX.
PONS TRAJANI.
“_Ihr Pass, meine Herren! Ihr Pass!_” cried a ferocious Roumanian
official, speaking German with an unquestionably foreign accent, as we
disembark from the steamer at Szörény.
It is the first time we have been asked to show our passport on
the arrival at a frontier since leaving England; but we are now in
Roumania, and beyond the pale of Western civilisation.
There is also a strict examination of our luggage here; and whilst
these ceremonies are proceeding, numerous beggars arrive upon the
scene, who whine and supplicate and show their wounds and hideous
deformities, thrusting them--when the size and nature of them
permit--through the bars of the gates which shut us in. There is
considerable competition in the profession, and it is not easy to see
which carries off the palm. There are beggars of all sorts, shapes, and
sizes; beggars whose shrunk and shrivelled limbs, bound with ragged
and dirty bandages, are suggestive of the malady from which _he_
suffered who lay “at the rich man’s door;” beggars with deformed
hands, arms, and legs; beggars with no arms at all; whilst in the
distance we catch sight of a wretched specimen of humanity, cantering
along on all fours, and whining at the top of his voice, but who, with
all his speed, only arrives in the nick of time to add his supplication
to that of his brethren for “kreuzers, for the love of Heaven.”
Considerable delay was caused here on account of András having failed
to provide himself with a passport. The necessity for his doing so had
never occurred to us; but there was so much fuss and palaver made about
the matter that we began to think it would either end in his being kept
for a time in durance vile, or sent back whence he had come. Since
the Treaty of Berlin, Roumania together with Servia has obtained its
independence, and no longer owns allegiance to Turkey. The Government,
however, of the former province is exceedingly afraid of Russian
spies, and is also suspicious of its neighbour Austria. Its frontier
regulations with regard to passports are consequently very strict.
The incident above narrated caused no small excitement amongst the
bystanders. The gendarmes instantly surrounded us with their bayonets,
all of whom were barbarous but handsome-looking fellows dressed in
a uniform of coarse grey cloth turned up with white, and wearing
black lamb’s wool caps with long peaks hanging down behind; whilst
the beggars, suddenly taken off their guard, and forgetting for once
their respective infirmities, entirely changed their characters. They
no longer whined and wept, but spoke to each other quite cheerily in
their natural voices. Arms, legs, and feet which had previously been
doubled up or turned the wrong way, now assumed their legitimate
position; even the man on “all fours” managed to stand upright, and
peer through the gates; so great and absorbing was the interest one
and all manifested in the dispute that was taking place within. At
length, after much expenditure of lungs on our part, and vociferation
and gesticulation on that of the Roumanian officials, we succeeded in
making them comprehend the harmless and inoffensive nature of András’s
vocation and the precise relation in which he stood to us as our guide,
and he was permitted to accompany us across the frontier; for which act
of grace I feel sure we were indebted to our having an English passport.
[Illustration]
We had already encountered a rather unpleasant episode before landing.
András, thinking we might find it difficult to obtain anything to eat
here, had thoughtfully laid in a little stock of cold provisions from
the steward’s larder; the charge for which was so exorbitant that
the two came to high words on the subject. The steward was a German,
and the epithet “_Swab_,” and other opprobrious titles of a
similar nature, were showered upon him by András, together with the
favourite but by no means complimentary Magyar sentence, “_hunczfut
a német_,” signifying “thief,” “rogue,” etc.; till, failing to
make any impression upon the delinquent by these epithets, he at
length appealed to the passengers, declaring before them all that
as a Magyar--and here the little man drew himself up to his fullest
height--he neither could nor would allow foreigners, much less an
_Ángolok_, to be so imposed on. Looking over the bill we certainly
did think the steward had been rather over-reaching, having not only
charged three florins for a bottle of very ordinary wine, but a florin
for a small quantity of biscuits, and other things after the same rate.
The public exposure, however, of his exorbitant charges soon brought
the recalcitrant steward to reason, who at once deducted half the
amount. But the usually calm and even temper of a Magyar once aroused
is not easy to subdue, and we began to fear that ere long András would
get us into real difficulty, for a third _contretemps_ occurred
just as we were at length leaving the custom-house.
Our intention, on arrival at Szörényi, was to hire some sort of
conveyance, and, driving to the station of the Bucharest and Orsova
line, to leave our luggage there, whilst we made a short excursion to
Turnu Severin to see the remains of Trajan’s noblest work, the bridge
across the Danube; after which, returning to the station, we purposed
picking up our luggage and proceeding to Orsova by train.
The only thing on wheels visible outside the _Douane_ was an
indescribably old and battered phaeton, to which a pair of small, lean
horses were attached.
We were just about to enter the ancient vehicle, when the driver, in an
insolent tone of voice, demanded his fare, viz., five gulden. This, of
course, was also a gross imposition, and proved far too much for our
guide’s present state of excitability. Finding the driver unwilling to
listen to remonstrance, he wrenched the whip out of his hand, and laid
it vigorously across his shoulders.
Unaccustomed to take the law into our own hands in so violent a
fashion, and dreading the consequences in a country like this, we
expostulated with him severely on his behaviour, informing him
that if he was no longer able to keep his temper under control he
must forthwith leave our service. The little man replied quite
calmly, assuring us that, “with all due deference to the august
_Ángolok_--his sweet master and mistress”--the mode of reasoning
he had adopted in the present instance was not the result of any
ebullition of temper whatsoever, but was the only method that ever
had the slightest effect upon a Roumanian Jew; and his words proved
correct, for our Israelitish Jehu, instead of resenting the assault as
we expected, folded his hands, and in the most abject manner begged
us to mount, offering to take us for two gulden thirty kreuzers, that
being rather less than half the sum he had first demanded.
Contrary to our expectations, no one took the slightest notice of the
assault. The delinquent was “only a Jew,” a people cruelly persecuted
in Roumania, where the popular feeling against them is scarcely less
marked than that which existed in England and other countries in the
Middle Ages.
Our luggage deposited in the crazy vehicle, the miserable horses,
regardless of holes and ruts, took us up the steep hill at a
hand-gallop, during which not only we but our belongings also were more
than once threatened with a serious upset.
Having, however, survived the perils and dangers of the way, and seen
our _impedimenta_ safely locked up in a little cobwebby office
at the station, we drove to Turnu Severin, about a quarter of a mile
further down the river, where, climbing a conical mound, upon which
still stands a ruined tower of undoubted Roman origin--supposed to have
been built by Trajan to defend the passage of the bridge--we threw
ourselves down beneath its cool shadow, and partook of our well-earned
meal with very _Trojan_ appetites. Beneath us flowed the Danube,
at this point more than half a mile broad; while from the “Iron Gate
Pass” came the steady but peaceful roar of the cataracts, mingling
with the metallic and incessant “clack, clack,” of the _cicadas_
fluttering in the bushes around us. But our leafy retreat proved rather
a failure: for mosquitoes of a most venomous species made a violent
raid upon us, and, our repast ended, we hastened to the banks of the
river, where we were safer from their attacks.
It was just at this point that that noble structure of antiquity,
Trajan’s Bridge, was erected, the length of which is said to have been
three thousand nine hundred Roman feet--a Roman foot being rather in
excess of that of our English measure. Beneath the surface of the
water the remains of thirteen truncated piers still exist, which once
supported the arches. These piers, which are situated 170 feet apart,
are visible at rare intervals when the river is unusually low, seven
others being covered with a sandy deposit which in the course of ages
has collected round them, and which now forms hillocks in the river’s
bed.
A full description of this bridge was written by Dion Cassius, who was
Governor of Pannonia during the reign of Hadrian, Trajan’s successor,
and who wrote the history of Rome up to the beginning of the first
century. Although the greater part of this valuable history has been
lost, including that portion of it which described the building of the
bridge, an epitome of his writings is still extant containing a short
description of this great work, in addition to which it has also been
described by Merivale.
This noblest of all Trajan’s achievements, however, was not permitted
to be of long duration. Built in A.D. 103, it had virtually
ceased to exist in 120, having been destroyed in that year by Hadrian,
in order, as he affirmed, to prevent the incursions of barbarians, who
might take advantage of the bridge to cross over into the Thracian
Provinces. He is, however, generally believed to have been moved
to destroy it by a jealous dislike to the architect Apollodorus of
Damascus, who erected Trajan’s Column at Rome, as well as the Forum
Trajanum, and who when a young soldier in the Roman camp offended the
dignity of the Emperor; for, soon after Hadrian’s accession to the
throne, he not only overthrew this most ambitious of all Apollodorus’s
works, but, on some very slight pretext, caused him to be put to death.
Little exists in the present day above the surface of the water of any
interest to the ordinary observer, except the ruined walls on each side
rising just above the banks, and which must originally have formed the
piers from which the first arches sprang. But how even these shapeless
masses of masonry link the past to the present, and bring before us, in
living memory, the valour and energy of this great people!
The climate of Europe must have been much colder at that period than
now; for we frequently read of Tartars and other barbarian hordes
from the surrounding steppes making use of the Danube, in the second
century, for the transport from one shore to the other of their
infantry, cavalry, and waggons, from which it would appear that the
river in winter formed a solid bridge of ice. It seldom freezes now,
and even when it does so in exceptionally severe winters the ice lasts
only for a very short time.
Not far from Trajan’s Bridge is a hilly promontory belonging to Servia,
which stretches out into the Danube, and through which it is proposed
to cut a canal to enable ships to pass down the river at low water.
After leaving the banks of the classic stream, we climbed a steep hill
through a herd of formidable-looking buffaloes grazing the arid pasture
on its slopes, and found ourselves in the town of Turnu Severin,
a newly established Roumanian colony situated on the left bank of
the river, a mile and a half from the “Iron Gate Pass,” containing
extensive docks belonging to the Danube Steam Navigation Company. From
this place may be seen, standing on the shore of the river, the Tower
of Severus; whilst on the opposite side lies Skela-Gladova, with its
Turkish fortifications, and its slender minarets rising above the
walls. Twenty years ago Turnu Severin consisted of merely a few houses,
but it is now growing quite an important place. On the promenade the
beauty and fashion of the town are taking their early evening stroll,
dressed in the very extreme of Parisian toilettes, and in skirts so
absurdly tight that it is a marvel how they ever get into them; and, as
we looked towards the buffaloes with their long horns and outstretched
necks, between which and them there existed no fence whatever, we
could not help wondering whether, in the event of one of those animals
taking it into its head to run after them, the “crack of doom” would
immediately supervene to release them from their bondage, or whether
the fair ones would double up entirely, and succumb to the attack
without making any attempt at flight. Oh, how I longed to see them run!
It was evidently with great difficulty that they managed to put one
foot before the other, and the simple act of walking appeared to be a
laborious process--at least with anything like grace--as they shuffled
along in twos and threes, prattling their soft Neo-Latin, and looking
at us wonderingly with their long almond-shaped eyes.
We reach the station just as the train from Bucharest draws up to the
platform, but its departure is considerably delayed, on account of
a search amongst the passengers for a man who was supposed to have
stolen three thousand ducats. The Roumanian gendarmes did their very
best to look ferocious and important, as they stood at the door of the
carriages to prevent egress, whilst others inside were endeavouring to
take note of the passengers and find the delinquent, of whom a full
description had been telegraphed. But whether he succeeded in eluding
the search, or had travelled by some other train, no one seemed to
know. At any rate the gendarmes had not the satisfaction of capturing
him, and we were permitted to take our seats.
Our only fellow traveller was a Greek priest, an effeminate looking
man, with long black hair, which he kept on endeavouring to twist up
under his high stiff cap. As we did not know Roumanian we addressed him
in Latin; but the only phrase he seemed capable of uttering in that
language was “_Non intelligo_.” The priests of the Greek Church
are supposed to study theology in Latin; but, as I have elsewhere said,
they are very ill-educated men, and I doubt whether he knew much of
either one or the other.
At Gladova there is another long delay: two ambassadors are in the
train and they must needs have lunch. Extensive preparations have
been made for them, and the restaurant is prettily decorated with
flowers, whilst waiters in white gloves tear about madly, a young woman
in a very pretty costume of red and white, who also waited on the
illustrious travellers, being the only person who appeared not to have
quite lost her head, and but for whom I suspect they would have had but
a sorry chance of any refreshment whatever.
[Illustration]
At length we reach our destination and for the third time in the
course of the day have not only to show our passports but submit to an
examination of luggage.
It was our intention on arriving at Orsova to have gone to the Hotel
“_König von Ungarn_;” but the station is some distance from the
old town, and the only carriage we found waiting at the place of exit
was harnessed to such miserably lean horses, that we could not make up
our minds to get into it. Their cheeks had fallen in and their heads
were like those of skeletons. Nor was this all: their flanks were
bleeding either from ill-usage or friction against the rope-harness,
and we could not find it in our hearts to subject the poor creatures to
another journey.--So observing a few hundred yards from the station a
small one-storied inn, bearing the imposing title, in colossal letters,
of “Hôtel Tivoli,” we decided to make it our headquarters, at any rate
for the night.
As we leave the station and walk across to the Hôtel Tivoli--which
proves on nearer acquaintance to be about the size of a mouse-trap,
nothing in connection with it being large but the name--the sun is
setting behind the blue mountains which form the boundary of the
Danube. Snake-like vapours are ascending from the river, the air is
chill and so suggestive of ague that we are glad to take shelter
anywhere till twilight is past. In this climate it is dangerous to be
out of doors at sunset. Later in the evening, when night may be said
to have fairly set in, one may go out with impunity, for then the air
is again warm. It is only when the last touch of the sun’s golden
finger has faded upon the highest mountain, and those blue shadows have
wrapped the earth in their sombre mantle, that that peculiar chill in
the air is felt which I have so frequently described, and which is so
dangerous to the traveller to encounter.
[Illustration]