HERMANNSTADT.
What a quaint, funny, mediæval old town Hermannstadt is, with its
heavy stone archways and strong oaken doors leading to passages and
_inner_ archways far far beyond! Wherever we cast our eyes we
see objects that remind us of pictures of Albert Dürer, and one seems
here to be living in the times and place in which Hans Sachs composed
his rhymes whilst hammering away at his boots and shoes. Many of the
houses are built over archways which lead to sombre courtyards, round
which are high wooden balconies, where youthful Juliets make love to
Romeos in the region of the gutters below, and women sit and knit and
gossip--yes, and quarrel too; for have I not heard the sweet rancour
of their tongues, whilst watching them from my own particular balcony,
within the courtyard of the hotel? Aye, and sketched them too.
Beneath these wooden balconies are stables and pumps and dark rooms,
with walls so strongly built and doors so thick and massive that they
might have been made to withstand a siege--as probably they were.
Everything wears such an old-world look, that the brand-new houses
which have managed to crop up here and there between the ancient ones
appear so out-of-place, and altogether such anachronisms, that one
feels inclined to request them to “move on,” in default of which to
burn them down or blow them up, in fact _anything_ to get rid of
them.
What a dear, ugly, hobgobliny old place the hotel is too, at which we
are staying, with its heavy round buttresses bulging out far into the
street, and deep-set windows with here and there a small room clinging
to the walls, in the region of the upper story, like a convenient
parasite. Our room, whose furniture takes us back to the middle ages,
also juts out in the same way, and from the window we look down upon
the heads of the passers-by. Nothing is new in the hotel but the
waiting-maid, a rosy, fair-haired lass, with a pair of such ponderous
“understandings” that we positively shudder as she walks across the
room, everything is so old and shaky.
The hotel itself is ascended by a long flight of irregular stone
steps walled in on either side with heavy masonry, in which are
loopholes commanding an extensive view of the stables and the kitchen
below--apartments which in Transylvania are usually contiguous. The
_Speisesaal_ is entered through a long dark room with a polished
floor, and contains besides a mangle, two oak presses black with age,
and a coffer large enough to have been the sarcophagus of Cheops.
Groping our way along with many a slide--surely the house must have
been built at a time when some stringent law existed for excluding the
light of heaven--we reach the dining hall. Here we nightly consume our
_Hammelsbraten_ and _Kalbs-schnitzel_, and, I am afraid,
grumble. Then making our way back again in fear and trembling to our
own room, we pass a balcony so shaky in its entire constitution that,
were we but to cough or sneeze at the moment of crossing it, we feel
sure the whole crazy structure must topple over into the yard beneath.
Hermannstadt, although politically an important place, being the
military capital of Transylvania, possesses nothing in its outward
aspect to warrant the conclusion, its appearance differing little from
a German town. Should, however, the proposed railway to Bucharest
be carried into effect, Hermannstadt will be the shortest route to
Constantinople, and, by becoming the connecting link between West and
East, must greatly increase both in size and importance.
In no part of Hungary does there exist so great an anomaly as this
district of Transylvania, which is peopled by a race calling themselves
“Saxons,” and their province “Saxon-land,” although their ancestors
emanated from a widely different quarter.
These colonists are in fact of Flemish origin, descendants of a people
inhabiting Flanders, a district of the Upper Rhine, who, styling
themselves Flandrenses, emigrated hither in 1141. Hungary, however,
being a kingdom of anomalies, it is only natural and proper they should
call themselves “Saxons,” and their adopted country “Saxon-land,” or
anything else they choose.
At the period of their immigration, Transylvania--which even now forms
the border-land separating civilisation from barbarism--so beautiful
and peaceful in its outward aspect, was frequently the scene of
bloodshed and devastation arising from the incursions of barbarian
hordes from the East, who, entering through the passes of the Southern
Carpathians, menaced it perpetually, until the fruitful land had
well-nigh become a desert.
Transylvania was not wholly unknown to the ancient dwellers on the
Western river; the Crusaders had passed through it on their way to and
from the “Holy City,” and had carried home with them wondrous tales of
the fair and fertile country on the eastern borders of Europe. It was
a land of green hills and vales, and fertilising streams like their
own, a land literally flowing with milk and honey; in short a goodly
land where men might plant and reap the fruits of the earth, and gather
into barns in rich plenty. So it came to pass that when the Voivode, or
Palatine of the province--who in those days held office under the King
of Hungary--sent an invitation to the quiet and industrious inhabitants
of Flanders to come over and re-people the beautiful but unfortunate
country he ruled, and accompanied his invitation by a promise of grants
of land to any that would avail themselves of it, not a few responded
to the call, nor did they come alone, but brought over with them men
of their own race, skilled in “divers curious arts of workmanship, and
cunning artificers in precious metals,” so that their fame soon spread
abroad throughout the length and breadth, not only of Transylvania, but
of the more eastern countries still, viz., Moldavia, Wallachia, and
Bukovina. Their wares--the wonder and admiration of all--were sought
after from every quarter, and the Flandrenses speedily became, not only
a thriving, but even a wealthy, people.
The position which these early colonists held in the country of
their adoption was assured to them by a kind of _Magna Charta_
which, whilst defining their rights and privileges, constituted them
an entirely free people, ruled by no Voivode--as were the other
inhabitants of the land--but governed simply by their own laws.
It is both curious and interesting to read the history of this brave
little band who ventured to roam thus far from their own kindred and
people and tongue, to dwell in a strange and almost barbarian country;
and--following their fortunes through its pages--note how they managed
to hold their own against all attempts at aggression, and how stern
and unflinching was their determination to prevent all outsiders from
gaining a footing in their newly-acquired territory, not excepting
even the peaceful dwellers of other parts of the Hungarian Monarchy,
some of whom would fain have cast in their lot with these thriving
and more civilised people from the West, of whom all spoke well and
whom all envied. But the Flandrenses, like the Scots of our own time,
are said to have been a “canny” folk, exclusive and conservative to
a degree. They would have no interlopers, “not they.” None should be
permitted directly or indirectly to share their new possessions, or
who could tell but that such interlopers might increase and multiply,
till, waxing bold in numbers, they might even intermeddle with their
laws and manner of governing themselves, and if so there would be war
and dissensions within their otherwise peaceful borders. No! they
would crush at once and for ever such a possibility, and by excluding
all outsiders, ensure peace and tranquillity to themselves and to
their children for all generations. Nor were they firm adherents to
their political institutions only, for they clung to the faith of
their forefathers with the greatest tenacity and became the bulwark of
Christianity in the east of Europe.
Of this so-called “Saxon-land,” a district occupying the south-eastern
portion of Transylvania, Hermannstadt, as we have seen, is
the chief town. It is situated on a plain at the foot of the
Fogaras Mountains--or Transylvanian Alps, as they are frequently
designated--which for eight months in the year are covered with snow,
and which, stretching a hundred miles in an easterly direction, embrace
Kronstadt in their foldings.
Like all towns in Transylvania, which at one time were so frequently
menaced by the Turks and other wild hordes from the East, Hermannstadt
was once surrounded by a wall, the remains of which still exist. In
consequence of being the military capital of the province, and only
twelve miles from Roumania and Moldavia, it is strongly garrisoned,
there never at any time being fewer than 8000 soldiers quartered here.
In 1438 the Turks besieged the town with an army of 70,000 men headed
by the Sultan Amurad himself, who however was killed by an arrow shot
from the battlements by one of the brave little band of Flandrenses.
Times have changed since on taking up their dwelling in the land they
enacted laws to exclude all neighbouring races from becoming residents
in their midst--laws which, though rigidly maintained for centuries,
proved not quite so unalterable as those of the Medes and Persians. By
slow degrees, entering in the first instance either as labourers of
the soil or domestic servants, the Wallachs have at length succeeded
in gaining a permanent footing in “Saxon-land,” till in the 19th
century we find them forming large colonies in that portion of their
country which long years ago was ceded to the stranger. Nor is this
the strangest feature of the case. This industrious and prosperous
“Saxon” folk are not only losing their political ascendency but are
fast dying out, and the Wallachs will soon take their place as the
dominant race even within the ancient Flandrenses’ own borders; for
the Wallach population is increasing in the same ratio as the “Saxon”
is decreasing. In some of the villages in “Saxon-land” the population,
without any emigration or other visible cause, has decreased to one
half, and should the high rate of mortality which for the last century
and a half has been steadily augmenting, continue to increase in future
years in the same proportion, this Flemish people, who have done so
much towards the civilisation of Transylvania, and aided so materially
in the prosperity of the whole province, will soon cease to be lords of
the soil which was given to their ancestors seven hundred years ago,
and take a very secondary position.
Although they have been so prosperous a people, these honest
Flandrenses would have been far happier had they remained in their
own quiet little corner on the peaceful borders of the Rhine than in
allying themselves to the fortunes of this fertile but hapless country;
for until a century ago they were beset with foes, and the troubles
they continually encountered make dark blots on the pages of history.
Like the rest of Hungary, Transylvania--which was annexed to the
Kingdom of Hungary by St. Stephen in 1002 and governed by viceroys
appointed by the king under the title of Voivode--has undergone
manifold political changes as well as very painful vicissitudes. In
the 14th and 15th centuries the Moslems, whose empire was then at its
zenith, entering through the mountain passes, continued to menace this
fair land with their wild hordes, until, like the waves of an advancing
tide, they threatened to inundate the whole country.
During this time, so complete had been the victories of the Turks
that only a small portion of Hungary, and that a long thin strip of
country, bounded on the north-west by Poland and on the west by the
German Empire, remained in the possession of the Christian. At length
Transylvania, which had always been considered an integral portion of
Hungary, was again reunited to that kingdom during the revolutionary
period of 1848.
It is mid-day and the stream of busy life is flowing steadily onwards
to the market--Hermannstadt ladies, with small waists and fashionable,
well-made garments, holding large fans to shield themselves from the
sun in lieu of parasols, and merry laughing “Saxon” girls in large
straw hats, and Wallach matrons with their heads swathed in numberless
yards of snow-white muslin folded turban-wise, a species of head-gear
called a _volutura_. Besides these are grave, but pretty, little
Wallach damsels. Oh, _how_ pretty! with their sweet, smooth, oval
faces, and slender figures robed in the home-made “_kathrincza_,”
an almost Roman dress, differing materially from that worn by the
natives of Wallachia proper and far more classical. It consists of a
long straight piece of cloth of many colours worn over the white under
garment, the bodice and sleeves of the latter being embroidered in
scarlet or black so as to bring out the graceful contour of the figure.
Falling low over the neck and chest are endless rows of coral beads;
whilst large silver earrings of an eastern pattern united to each other
by a silver chain which hangs loosely under the chin complete the
charming _tout ensemble_.
The “Saxons” differ from their Wallach sisters in face as well as
figure, and even if they wore a similar costume it would be quite
impossible not to recognise them. The Wallachs are small and
delicately formed, possessing features of a classic type and generally
dark hair and eyes; the “Saxons,” on the contrary, are of a heavier
build, their complexion is fair, and they have blue eyes, but were
it not for their frank and pleasing expression of countenance, their
features would be almost plain.
[Illustration]
There is no prettier sight in the whole of Hungary than that which
Hermannstadt presents on the weekly market-day. The surroundings of
the market-place itself; the quaint old steeples and metal cupolas of
the cathedral and churches that form the background, the scores of
milk-white oxen with their long horns; the bewitching costumes of the
Wallach girls, and the bright faces and laughing eyes of the “Saxons”
who look up at us archly, yet so innocently, from beneath the warm
shadow of their large broad hats, all forming pictures for an artist.
Look at that “Saxon” lass yonder, with her frank open face! See how
her bosom throbs under her embroidered bodice, and the colour comes
mantling to her brow as she sees she has attracted the attention of
the two strangers, of whose nationality she is in doubt! Let us go
across to that group of Madonna-like vegetable-sellers in their snowy
“_voluturas_,” squatting on the ground all amongst the hay-carts
and the long-horned cattle, and watch the bargaining! Near them sit
other women selling fowls and little families of chickens, and by them
stand “Saxon” _Bürgers_ and natty _cuisinières_ haggling over
their purchases as though the money they had to spend was the very
last farthing they had in the world. A Bürger female comes stalking up
and commences negotiations for a brood so extremely juvenile that they
ought to have been safe at home under the maternal wing. The Wallach
Frau asks four gulden for the lot, at which the Bürger female holds
up her hands in astonishment and declares they are not worth two, and
turns aside. Hitherto they have been peaceably huddled together in a
long circular basket the shape of a cone. But on seeing her customer
depart, the Wallach Frau forces her hand through the small square
hole in the side of the basket, and clutching hold of the chickens as
though they had been a cluster of grapes, drags them forth, thrusts
them into the hand of the Bürger, and asks her to name her own price.
She offers two gulden, whereupon the Wallach Frau, with an air of
offended dignity, uttering not a word, lays hold of the little brood of
feathered bipeds and amidst their screams pushes them one after another
into the basket, head first, legs first, just as it comes, and shuts
down the cover. After a while the Bürger female returns to the charge,
and peers at them again, upon which their possessor once more lugs them
out of the basket in the same promiscuous fashion. The Bürger takes
them in her hand and feels their weight--the whole ten of those little
niggers together could not have weighed a pound--and this time offers
two gulden twenty kreuzers, upon which the Wallach declares on the
soul of her grandmother she will rather take them home than part with
them at the price, and in they go again through the hole.
In a few minutes’ time the sanguine little band, alike forgetful of
their sorrows and their wrongs, and quite at home in their familiar
prison-house, begin to chirp quite a merry gladsome little song.
But the Wallach meanwhile is narrowly watching the movements of her
customer just in the act of concluding a similar bargain with a
broad-faced “Saxon” Frau opposite. Making a sudden grab at them, she
this time drags the poor, ill-used little wretches out by their wings
and eagerly rushing towards the Bürger female, declares she shall have
them for the sum offered, whereupon, crying piteously, they are finally
thrown head over heels into a sack which the purchaser’s servant
carries over his shoulder for the purpose, and are borne away to their
premature doom.
“Who is that youth yonder with his hat adorned with gold tinsel and
flowers?” we inquire of a “Saxon” lady.
“He is one who is just betrothed,” was the reply.
“And those men standing in the centre of that group of people on the
opposite side. Who can _they_ be?”--we further ask on observing
three men carrying white wands to which are attached bunches of flowers
and long ribbons.
“There is evidently to be a marriage in the course of a few days in a
village near Hermannstadt, and they are going about to invite the bride
and bridegroom’s friends. Such things are the custom here,” replied the
same lady.
From the market we stroll into the Cathedral, a very handsome edifice
erected in 1440. Like every other Protestant church in Hungary it
has suffered much from the “besom of reform,” the beautiful pillars
being smothered with whitewash. Service was taking place there, and
the “Saxon” clergyman robed in a garb of the middle ages looked like a
picture of a Puritan “roundhead” in the time of Cromwell.
At the conclusion of the service he offered to show us the sacred
edifice, and conducted us to some vaulted chambers which no doubt
originally constituted the cloisters, the walls of which were covered
with interesting relics of a past age, consisting of life-size
portraits graven in marble and stone of worthies who flourished long
ago--the ancient Bürgers who held office in the town--all depicted in
the costumes of the period, and telling of people and customs long
since passed away, yet barbarously, like the pillars of the church,
daubed with whitewash. Some of these tablets were dated 1300, the
greater number being of the 14th and 15th centuries. To us there was a
strange fascination about these old monuments so grim and silent, and
we lingered gazing at them, till the Herr Pfarrer, taking off his black
cocked hat, requested us to re-enter the church to see the Sacristy,
where he would show us the ancient vestments and sacred vessels.
Returning to the market-place we find a momentary lull in the busy hum
of voices, and all eyes are turned towards a distant street where a
funeral procession is slowly wending its way along. At this moment also
the bells from the various church-steeples begin to twang, each in a
different key, and every one of them pulled so fast and loudly, that
were it not for the din and discord, they would have sounded like a
merry peal. In the direction of the garrison at the other end of the
town come the strains of a military band, and amidst the inharmonious
clamour the melancholy procession, with its flowers, white bows, and
streamers, and delicate festoons of lace, crosses the market-place and
disappears down an opposite street.
[Illustration]