“THE GOOD OLD TIMES.”
The country in the vicinity of Hermannstadt is very beautiful, and
the villages in many of their characteristics wholly unlike those of
any other country in the world. A few miles distant is the village of
Hiltau, also a “Saxon” settlement, where the large straw hats are made
which adorn the heads of the bonny “Saxon” lasses. At this place also
the white frieze is manufactured of which the garments of both Saxon
and Wallach men are composed, and which is exported in great quantities
to Slavonia and Dalmatia.
Hiltau lies picturesquely embosomed in sheltering hills, whose slopes
at this time of year are pink with the blossom of the peach. The
village, as we approach it, forms a charming picture, the quaint stone
houses with their curious roofs nestling round the old fortress-church,
which stands on an eminence in the centre; the whole impressing the
stranger with the notion that the site of the church must have been
chosen before any of the houses were erected.
Exposed to the incursions of the Turk on one side and the Tartar on
the other, these churches in Transylvania were complete fortresses
in themselves, and, each possessing a moat, bastions, towers, and
loop-holed walls of solid masonry, constituted the place of refuge
to which the inhabitants fled when threatened by either foe. Within
these consecrated strongholds the people also kept their corn, to the
end that they might be ready at any moment to resist a siege. Thither
the affrighted peasants repaired on the first approach of danger from
the enemy, and whilst the women and children were well protected
by the towers and battlements that surrounded the sacred edifice,
the men, armed with matchlocks and rude arquebusses, defended them
with soldier-like bravery. Within these fortresses the clergyman and
schoolmaster invariably lived, and so accustomed were the people to
these sieges that during the time they lasted there was no interruption
whatever in the customary services of the church, and the children
likewise attended school while their fathers fired upon the barbarian
cavalry beneath.
The high walls and elevated position of these little citadels
rendering them all but invulnerable, they generally held their own
against the infidel hordes that so frequently assailed them, and
upon their departure the peaceful peasantry, once more emerging from
their stronghold, repaired their ruined dwellings, replanted their
vineyards, and sowed their crops anew, all of which had been ruthlessly
destroyed by the enemy. In those terrible times a loud curfew, called
the “Turk’s bell,” rang daily at the hour of noon from the tower of
every church throughout the land to summon the people not only in the
towns and villages, but others engaged in the pursuits of husbandry in
distant fields, to unite in prayer for protection from the Christian’s
foe. The bells of these citadel-churches, which are very deep and
sonorous, were also used for the purpose of apprising the people of
the approaching foe as well as to bid them flee for refuge within the
consecrated walls.
[Illustration]
These “peasant garrisons,” with their watch-towers, portcullises, and
massive ramparts, are peculiarly interesting to the traveller, not
only as bearing silent witness to the troublous times which we, in the
peace of the nineteenth century, find hard to realise, but also to the
bravery and heroism of the little bands who defended themselves so
courageously against barbarian invasion; and there is something very
beautiful in the sentiment that dictated the people’s thus fortifying
their churches and constituting them their “arks of safety” in the time
of trouble.
Wandering round the ancient walls of the church in question with its
many towers and turrets, we came to the church enclosure. Entering
which we rang the bell of an inner door which we rightly conjectured
to be that of the Pfarrhaus. It was answered by a “Saxon” Mädchen,
who, informing us the Herr Pfarrer was within, ushered us into a room
containing numerous flower-stands, on which rested large pots of
exotics in full bloom, all seeming strangely at variance with their
austere surroundings.
These Lutheran pastors are always ready to welcome the stranger, and
after pressing us to partake of refreshment, which in this instance
we did not feel obliged to accept, he conducted us to the church,
a singular old building, whose benches were full of black-letter
prayer-books, and the pulpit surrounded by drapery of Turkish
manufacture. After examining the interior of the building we walked
round the enclosure, where, under arches built at regular intervals
in the fortified walls, still stand the strong oaken coffers filled
with corn as of yore; for the “Saxons,” no less than the Magyars, are
a conservative people, adhering tenaciously to the customs of their
forefathers and slow to relinquish any that have once been adopted,
even when--as in this case--the necessity for their existence has long
passed away.
The sacred vessels belonging to the church--many of which were hidden
in the ground during the stormy period of the Reformation--are of
singular beauty and value, and consist of chalices and candlesticks of
ancient workmanship, manufactured in silver-gilt by the early “Saxon”
colonists, many of them containing enamelled tablets representing
the various incidents in the life of our Lord. We were also shown a
magnificent baptismal bowl of the 14th century, on which medallions of
pure gold were laid in the form of anaglyphs. But besides these relics
already enumerated were two of still more ancient date, viz. a superb
crucifix containing pearls and rubies, and an “_Ostensorium_,”
used for the purpose of exposing the consecrated host to the adoration
of the “Faithful.”
After leaving the church enclosure, the Pfarrer led us to the school,
and showed us some specimens of free-hand drawing which would have done
credit to any English seminary. To our surprise we also learnt that the
higher branches of education were likewise taught, including botany and
chemistry. Amongst the children we noticed many Wallachs, the Wallach
peasantry liking of all things to send their children to the “Saxon”
school, not that they appreciate the better education to be obtained
there, but it gives them an opportunity of learning German, a language
which they are quite as anxious to acquire as the Magyars to forget;
one who can speak “High German” being regarded by the orthodox Wallach
as a gentleman of distinction, and, in fact, quite a superior order of
being.
The windows of the school-house commanded a view not only of the church
with its moat and battlemented walls, but of the village also. How
peaceful all looked from this eminence, and how difficult it was to
believe that such times of war and terror ever existed! How wretched
must have been the lives of the inhabitants in those days--not so very
long ago either--when they were kept in daily fear of the enemy! How
could they toil under such circumstances and persevere in cultivating
the land which was so frequently converted into a desert by the Tartar
or the Turk, to whom even the stony girdle of the Carpathians proved
no barrier? We can imagine the honest peasant as he guided the plough
listening for the alarm bell which might echo through the hills at any
moment, and the affrighted inhabitants, with their children and aged,
when it did so, hurrying for safety to the church citadel. To this
day a Transylvanian mother is said to frighten her naughty child into
obedience by threats of the Tartar’s approach in the words--“_Jhon
jönnek a Tatárok!_”
As we gazed at the picturesque old edifice beneath, which tells such
a sad, sad history of the past, and whose pinnacles pointing to the
peaceful sky have withstood so many sieges, a glory of sunlight
bursting through the clouds shone upon them and kindled the metal balls
that surmount each pointed turret into a bright and dazzling star.
In addition to the fortified churches before mentioned, perched here
and there on the spur of contiguous mountains or hills are smaller
ones, originally designed as supplementary defences to the former;
one of which, erected between the years 1175 and 1223, exists at
Michaelsburg, a short distance from Hiltau.
Beneath this ancient citadel lies a small hamlet, the houses of which
are built entirely of wood, and whose picturesque chimneys, high
palings, and beams supporting the walls, give to it a very romantic
appearance.
Here we rest our horses, and climbing the staircase of a primitive
little inn, find ourselves in a balcony covered in with freshly-cut
boughs, whence we look down upon the village, almost deserted now, for
most of its inhabitants, men, women, and children, alike have gone off
to dig, hoe, or gather into barns the fruits of the fertile soil; for
the women here take as active a part as their husbands in the pursuits
of agriculture.
Beyond the narrow row of houses with their brown roofs and picturesque
accessories, the great mountains capped with snow shine out of the
liquid azure like domes of alabaster; whilst a Wallach woman and child
walking down the road, the former spinning and clad in a rich mingling
of orange, red, and violet, complete the scene and form one of the most
beautiful “colour pictures” I almost ever beheld.
[Illustration]
The people of these villages speak what is called _Platt Deutsch_,
a dialect so singular that we found it quite impossible to understand
them. It is, however, the language they brought with them to this alien
land, and which they have managed to preserve intact throughout nearly
eight centuries of absence from their country, precisely the same
dialect being spoken by the dwellers in the district of the Lower Rhine
at the present day.
Of all the “Saxon” settlements in Transylvania, the most interesting is
perhaps Hamersdorf, also situated a few miles from Hermannstadt. It is
here also that the singular costumes of the “Saxons” are seen in the
greatest perfection.
It was on a sweet, calm Sunday evening that we visited it for the first
time. Too late for Divine service, which took place at an earlier hour
than we anticipated, we arrived just as the villagers were pouring out
of church, the unmarried women wearing high black velvet hats, from
which, reaching to the hem of their garments, countless ribbons of
every hue were suspended, the heads of the young married women being
covered with embroidered muslin veils. The dress of both is exceedingly
elaborate, and preparation for church must, I should say, involve
considerable expenditure of time. There surely never were people so
hopelessly given over to the pomps and vanities of this wicked world
as these “Saxon” maids and matrons. Their ornaments also are not only
beautiful, but often of a very costly description, and consist of
immense flat circular brooches, resembling breast shields, wrought in
a species of filigree and inlaid with garnets, turquoises, pearls,
and amethysts, their waists being encircled with belts of scarcely
less value and richness of design, inlaid in like manner with precious
stones, one and all specimens of an art now obsolete--heirlooms handed
down to them by their ancestors; aye! and perhaps even brought with
them from the _Vaterland_ when they came over to settle in this
far distant country.
“Where does the Herr Pfarrer live?” we inquired of three women whose
heads we could just see peering through a number of flower-pots in a
window high above us.
“He is at the school,” replied a head enveloped in a blue kerchief,
speaking with some difficulty in “High German,” as the pure
mother-tongue is called, adding--“If you will walk in we will fetch
him.”
The process of “walking in,” however, was one of no small difficulty.
First of all, to which flight of steps did the casement in question
belong? was it the one round the corner, or that away to the right? or
was the room approached through that quaint old doorway yonder leading
to a small courtyard? We incline to the latter, but on entering the
chamber find it occupied by three men. Meanwhile the owner of the head
in blue had been searching for us, and coming to our rescue, just as
we were beating a hasty retreat, conducted us through an archway, up
six steps, along a passage, in which several immense oak coffers were
reposing, across an open balcony and finally into the room itself,
which proved to be quite full of womankind, two of whom, as we soon
perceived by their dress and general appearance, were Wallachs.
Requesting us to be seated whilst some one fetched the Pfarrer, they
subjected us to the usual cross-examination.
“Where do the strangers come from?” (a question interrogated in “High
German” by a Saxon Frau).
“England.”
(Chorus of “Saxons.”) “_Ach, die guten Leute!_”--Then turning to the
Wallachs and interpreting the interesting fact into Neo-latin, one and
all exclaim, “The strangers are from England.”
(Chorus of Wallachs.) “_Englesca! Englesca!_ _la_--_la_--_la!_”--the
final syllable prolonged indefinitely--“that _is_ a long way”--a
journey that no doubt represented to their minds thousands of miles
traversed by the slow medium of a _szekér_ or _Leiterwagen_ filled with
hay, the only modes of locomotion with which these simple folk are
familiar, or, who knows! perhaps, even a ride on camels or elephants.
“Ah!” said another woman, looking very learned, and reminding us of our
Gallician friend Martcha, “that is where the tea comes from and the
sugar across the sea in big ships;” for in the uneducated Hungarian
mind England and India are generally believed to be contiguous islands!
In a few minutes the Herr Pfarrer arrived, a benevolent-looking old man
with grey hair, who, bearing us off at once to the Pfarrhof, conducted
us to the room where the family were seated at _Abendessen_
(supper). All rose at our entrance and shook us warmly by the hand, and
the Pfarrer, placing chairs by the table, requested us to join them at
their meal. Our arrival did not disconcert them in the least. There
was no more bustle or fuss than if we had been expected guests, and,
with that well-bred ease with which the stranger is everywhere greeted
in Hungary, and that graceful inborn courtesy which characterises all
classes, they bid us welcome to their frugal board.
The dwelling contained numerous rooms, all of which though carpetless
were comfortably furnished, and, like the Pfarrhaus we had visited
at Hiltau, there was throughout a fragrant odour of exotic flowers,
emanating not only from the white clusters of the beautiful
_Stephanotis_ that was trained round the inside of more than
one of the windows, but from other flowers blooming on stands in the
greatest profusion.
Supper ended, they took us to the garden, a sun-dried plot on the slope
of the hill, surrounded by lilacs, and in which lilies and hyacinths
were doing their little best to grow; but where nothing seemed to
luxuriate, save the vine, from which hung clusters of grapes. In the
dustiest and driest portion of the whole garden was a bower of lilacs
beneath which were a table and chairs.
“Oh, how pleasant it is on a summer evening to have such a place to sit
in,” exclaimed the Frau Pfarrer in gentle and grateful accents. “It
is a large garden, is it not? and so full of fruit-trees; only look!
Are things so _very_ different in your country? Surely they must
be, or you would not come so far. Have you a garden in your land where
asparagus, and lilacs, and sweet hyacinths grow?”
It was pleasant to hear these dear people talk, and see how thoroughly
contented they were with their simple idyllic lives. After showing us
the dry little garden and dusty bower, they took us into the _hof_
(yard), where the horses were being tended by an idyllic groom, dressed
in a white leather jacket covered with embroidery, and a felt hat with
a feather in it, who was talking to the idyllic Mädchen of the manse,
a blue-eyed “Saxon” lass, attired in a short striped skirt of blue and
red, violet bodice, and white embroidered chemisette covered with rows
of coral beads.
“Do many English persons visit Transylvania?” we inquired.
“No! very few,” was the reply. “Some years ago--ah, how time flies!
it must be fifteen--twenty, an Englishman--Herr Bonar, whom everybody
loved, stayed many months and wrote a book about our country. He
visited us a fortnight, and after his departure we received one
letter, but he never wrote again; it was so long, long ago, he must
have forgotten us quite, or he would have written,” continued the
old Pfarrer with something like a sigh; adding after a few moments’
pause, an expression of joy suffusing his whole countenance as a happy
thought occurred to him, “You live in the same country and may see him;
if so tell him how he lives in our memories still.”
“We will,” I replied, thinking that as England was such a _very_
small place we should in all probability be able to deliver the message!
* * * * *
The dew was still lingering on the grass as we journeyed towards
Hamelsdorf the following Sunday morning on our second visit. The sky
was cloudless, and as we drove through the lanes, the villagers,
Bible and nosegay in hand, were walking to their respective churches
far away. There was a sweet Sabbath feeling in the air, and all
nature seemed to have hushed itself in harmony with the day. We were
determined not to be late again on this occasion, and as we reached
the old pile, which, like all citadel churches in Transylvania, is
built upon an eminence, the same friendly heads we saw last time
peeped out of the little high casement and asked us to walk in and sit
awhile, as it still lacked half an hour ere the bell would sound for
_Gottesdienst_ (service).
On entering the cottage an unexpected scene awaited us. Two young
girls, one single, the other married, were being dressed in all their
finery for church; and, oh! what a heap of pomps and vanities--exhumed
weekly from the family locker--we saw lying on the table! Dressing
for church in Hamelsdorf is an operation that cannot be accomplished
by the individual herself, and is one invariably performed by the old
married women who have relinquished such superfluities in favour of
their daughters, who sit before a looking-glass whilst they are being
attired.
As we stood watching the performance we thought it would never end.
The young women, already clothed in their long white garments, the
sleeves and bodices of which were beautifully embroidered in stripes of
red and orange, were first arrayed in blue petticoats and large white
net overskirts handsomely worked in “tambour” stitch, after which, a
beautiful girdle studded with turquoises and garnets was fastened round
the buxom waist, and a small white net cap put upon the head of the
young wife, a girl of seventeen years, whose long hair had been cut off
on the day of her marriage in token of subjection to her husband. The
cap was bound tightly round the head with a scarlet ribbon four yards
in length, which, fastened at the back, hung almost to the heels of the
wearer. And now began the real vanities, for over this scarlet band a
dozen ribbons of similar length were laid, each varying in colour as
well as pattern, the upper one of which consisted of brocade. A thin
muslin veil embroidered with gold was now thrown over the head, and
secured by large silver pins inlaid with precious stones; and lastly a
crimson satin handkerchief edged with fringe was placed at the side,
and made to hang down over the dress diagonally by one corner being
tucked under the belt. The object of this last article of attire is
purely ornamental, but to my mind it injured the effect of an otherwise
really pretty costume.
The head-dress of the unmarried girl differs materially from that
of her married sister, and consists of a high cardboard hat covered
with black velvet, those who are betrothed being distinguished by a
band of ribbon worn round the top of the hat, as in the accompanying
illustration, taken from a photograph; whilst, to complete the
costume, a black garment resembling a clergyman’s hood hangs down
behind.
[Illustration]
Top boots, which are _de rigueur_ on week days, are not so,
however, on Sundays, and the feet are often covered with high-heeled
patent leather boots open up the front, and laced so as to show the
stocking beneath. But to-morrow these elaborately-dressed daughters of
Eve will lay aside their finery, and be seen with bare feet working in
the fields, if that term can be truthfully applied to places where no
boundaries exist.
It was a pretty sight to see these “Saxon” maids and youthful matrons
flocking to the church with their long, bright, many-coloured ribbons
fluttering in the breeze, and the whole village looked _en fête_.
The interior of the church is very quaint and curious, and contains,
in addition to the ordinary seats, several others high-backed,
brightly surmounted with wooden canopies, where sit the deacons,
severe-looking men in a costume of the Cromwell period. On each side
of the chancel sit the unmarried girls in their high drum-shaped hats;
whilst the young married women take their places in the body of the
church with their elders, one side of which is set apart for the men,
and the other for the women. The sermon, which appeared very earnest
and was delivered with great impressiveness of manner, was in the
ancient dialect. Every other Sunday, however, it is preached in the
pure tongue, the _patois_ being used for the sake of “_die
alten Mütterchen_” (old grannies), to whom the former is an almost
unintelligible language.
As we left the church with the Pfarrer, the young women of the
congregation, who were evidently waiting for the purpose, pressed
round him and either kissed his hand, or taking hold of a portion of
his long black cassock raised it reverently to their lips. The scene
took us back to the times of the early Christian Church, and we left
the porch greatly impressed with the simplicity of the service and the
patriarchal lives of the people.
All, however, is not “gold that glitters” in this seemingly happy
“valley,” for we saw, alas! more than one child-wife already separated
from her husband at the age of seventeen. Here, as in France, marriages
are those of _convenance_, and, if the Pfarrer spoke truly, they
seldom turn out well. The suitor for a girl’s hand, if not actually
chosen, is at any rate accepted or refused by her father, totally
without reference to her own personal feelings in the matter. If he
hold a good position in the little commonwealth, and can give her a
good home, he is accepted, the girl is told she is to marry him, and
they are betrothed with much ceremony. In due course, when the harvest
is over, with which no domestic occurrence is permitted to interfere,
save the final and inevitable one over which finite man has no control,
the marriage takes place, and the young wife is expected to be “happy
ever after.” But unfortunately for these “Saxon” women, they have
hearts like those of other lands, and the tender passion is not always
to be controlled. Previously to their marriage they are sometimes
undutiful enough to set their affections upon some poorer lover, whom
they cannot forget, and the marriage turns out ill. Occasionally,
however, if she does not like the suitor chosen by her father, the
girl refuses to submit to his authority, upon which commences a
long-sustained war in the hitherto peaceful and happy family. Her
mother, possibly influenced by the bitter remembrance of her own wrongs
and heartbreak under similar circumstances--and entertaining, perhaps,
in some hidden and secret corner of her heart a sneaking fondness even
yet for the old, white-haired man over the way, whom she once loved
dearly but was not allowed to marry, and who is now wedded to another
buxom Hausfrau--sighs as she sees her pretty fair-haired lass, the
reflection of her own girlhood, called upon to unite herself for aye to
one she cannot love, and naturally takes her part against the father.
Squabbles now take place between John and Joan, and the neighbours,
together with the Pfarrer, are summoned to make peace between them,
whilst the girl--seldom more than fifteen--mopes and makes her sweet
blue eyes red with weeping. Sometimes, however, the father, under
combined persuasion and the continuance of female agitation, is
compelled to submit, but he does not forgive his daughter for her want
of subjection to his rule, and the happiness of the little household is
gone for many a day.
We return to Hermannstadt through the waving corn-fields. As we
approached the capital the sun was setting, and the porcelain tiles
of the steeples and cupolas in the Haupt Platz glistening like liquid
fire. How picturesque is the dear old place in the mellow evening
light! and how pictorial is it in every line and curve! The streets
are full of people in their “Sunday best:” Wallach peasant girls with
arms entwined, their large silver earrings and coral beads jingling as
they walk along; bonny fair-haired “Saxons,” in large Hiltau hats with
ribbons flying out behind, and spruce young soldiers in smart uniforms.
As we rattle through the roughly-paved streets and shoot round the
corners, heads crane out of windows all amongst the red tiles. A dandy
Jew in canary-colour gloves, with a bouquet in his button-hole and a
small cane in his hand, comes out of an archway as from a bandbox, and,
swaggering down the street, is just about to make an elaborate bow to a
group of Hermannstadt ladies coming from the opposite direction, when
our droszky, dashing through the gutter that runs down the middle of
the street, splashes him, alas! from head to foot, takes the starch
out of him both physically and morally, and destroys the effect of the
“occasion.”
The bells from the steeples toll the hour of departing day, and at the
entrance to the hotel we find András waiting to know our pleasure for
the morrow.
[Illustration]