DEBRECZIN.
It has been aptly observed that no country in the world presents
such a number of paradoxes as Hungary, and this statement is perhaps
in no instance more marked than in the terms applied to its towns
and villages, which are designated in exactly the opposite way to
those in other parts of Europe. The towns (_mezővárosok_)
contain an exclusively agricultural population; whereas, the villages
(_faluk_) are very large, and often possess many thousand
inhabitants, an example of which may be given in Orosháza, “a village”
in the neighbourhood of the Theiss, which contains no fewer than 13,000
souls.
Having arrived at another _mezőváros_, we find a tolerable inn,
and decide to anchor for the night.
In a few moments the usual scuffle takes place in the
_basse-cour_, and the shrieks of feathered bipeds announce the
fact that _paprika hendl_ is about to be prepared for our benefit.
The cook, a lusty female in top-boots and white petticoat and black
bodice, is seen in hot pursuit of a victim, which, once captured, she
summarily dismisses from this world by twisting its neck. Then plunging
it bodily into a pot of boiling water which is standing on the stove
in the kitchen, she allows it to remain for a few seconds, when it is
again dragged out minus its feathers and skin, all of which it has lost
by the process. It is forthwith cleansed, cut into small pieces, and
thrown into another pot containing cream, butter, flour, and a quantity
of red pepper, and served--the whole accomplished in the brief space of
twenty-five minutes. It is, however, a national dish to which, from the
precipitate nature of its manufacture, we do not take kindly, and throw
out a gentle hint to the landlady, through the medium of András, that
some other kind would be more acceptable, whereupon one passing under
the euphonious name of _gulyás húz_ is presented to us--a kind
of stew, also swimming in a sauce thickened with red pepper. It must
not be supposed, however, that this condiment at all corresponds with
cayenne. It is made from the long red pods of a plant called in France
_poivreon_, which, though a species of chilli, is not very pungent.
[Illustration]
As in other provincial towns and villages on the Alfőld the cottages
are here unpoetically neat and uniform, and one looks everywhere in
vain for a bit of pictorial dilapidation. No starling ventures to
burrow its nest in the warm thatch of a Hungarian cottage nor martin
build beneath its eaves; the outer walls are pink as sea-shells, and
the casements, painted bright green, with their flower-pots arranged in
a row, look like those of Dutch toys.
The tobacco-harvest has begun, and all around the cottages are festoons
of leaves hanging up to dry. The leaves are gathered as they become
“ripe,” and not all at once, the lowest being taken first and then
the higher. The harvest consequently occupies a considerable time,
occasionally lasting a month, and depending greatly on the season.
As we take a stroll into the suburbs of the village we see the people
coming in from the fields in merry groups, bringing with them the
peace-inspiring weed, the men carrying it in large bundles on their
shoulders, and the women in the ample folds of their upturned skirts,
followed by _székers_ laden with the same. The peasants’ horses
appear dreadfully ill-used in this district; their downcast, abject
look bearing testimony to years of oppression and wrong. How sad it was
to see them dragging their heavy loads, and as I look at them how sure
I feel that some “happy hunting-grounds” await these patient servants
of man which receive his cruel kicks and cuffs so uncomplainingly and
do his work so nobly. God bless a thousand times the patient worker who
died a year ago, and left the savings of her own hardly-earned wages
to the cause of London horses, and who each morning for many a year in
frosty weather might be seen in the heart of the great city with her
heavy load of sand, scattering it over the slippery thoroughfares ere
she went forth to her daily toil. Some men called thee mad; but, mad or
sane, God give thee rest and peace and “keep thy memory green!”
At the extreme end of the village were three gipsy-tents, and near
them a camp fire, round which sat smoking a ragged, bronze-faced
_Zingary_. At his side stood one of those ancient silver goblets,
for the possession of which the gipsies are so noted. A little distance
off sat others of both sexes, and the ruddy glow of the fire lighting
up their many-coloured rags and creating a zone of darkness beyond,
contrasted oddly with the pale, cold grey of the surrounding twilight,
and produced weird alternations of glow and gloom. They are a wild
uncanny-looking people, very unlike the ordinary itinerant gipsy. As we
went across to them they seemed to regard our presence in their midst
as a decided intrusion, and several withdrew from the fire and hid
themselves in the surrounding darkness.
Tethered a short distance beyond the camp, but hidden by the
surrounding darkness, were several horses, and from the frequent
neighing and pawing of the ground that proceeded from that direction,
we were led to imagine them to belong to a type of animal vastly
different from the poor, miserable _Rosinantes_--the beasts of
burden which had dragged the heavily-laden carts over the rough roads,
and were now left to graze and roam at will on the opposite side of the
camp.
“_Bitang!_” exclaimed F. at my elbow in an undertone, throwing
away the end of his cigar--“bitang” being a term applied to strayed or
stolen cattle.
Possibly the term was correctly applied in this instance, but
horse-stealing is by no means “made easy” in this country, and the
stringent laws regarding the possession of horses bear evidence to
the low state of morals of one or more sections of the community at
any rate; no one being permitted to sell a horse without previously
presenting to a member of the constabulary, or some other official
appointed by Government for the purpose, a paper duly signed by the
magistrate of the town or village at which the purchase has been made,
and in which a full description is given, not only of the animal itself
but of the manner in which its possession has been acquired. Without
such a document no horse is admitted for sale at any fair, at which
small offices are invariably erected and presided over by officers of
the constabulary, whose duty it is to inspect these forms, and where
both the sellers and purchasers of horses have to repair before either
transaction is completed. Here the seller has to deliver up his “pass,”
when another is made out and placed in the hands of the purchaser,
giving a full description of the animal and its antecedents.
There are no doubt many instances in which even these preventive
measures have proved unavailing, and ways have been found of
ingeniously evading the law, but the precautions that are taken must
still be a great check on the proverbial cupidity of the “wandering
tribe.” Should a horse awaken the suspicion of the _pandurok_,
and its pedigree seem of doubtful origin, it is impounded for a year,
during which time it is advertised in every police-station throughout
the country, or at all events until the true owner comes forward to
claim the “_bitang_” as his long-lost steed, or the person whose
ownership was doubted can prove beyond all question that he obtained
it by lawful means.
Whilst the suspected animal is kept by the police in durance vile,
it is let out on hire by the authorities; but whether, in the case
of the suspicions of the _pandurok_ having been incorrect, any
compensation is made to the unfortunate individual who has lost the
use of his beast during the period it was kept in “_bitangság_,”
I cannot say. Probably he has to rest satisfied with the ultimate
restitution of his rightful property, and like persons in our own land
who, when they have been falsely accused of some crime, have been tried
for it and found innocent, he will be consoled by receiving a “full and
free pardon” at the hands of a benevolent and magnanimous Government.
Familiarity having by this time rendered the gipsies far less
formidable, we seat ourselves by their fire, the warmth of which is
pleasant, for the nights already begin to be frosty, although we have
only arrived at the end of August. The dog had followed us, and was
crouching at my side. The gipsies both understood and spoke German, and
as we were explaining how we came by him, he looked up sharply, his
ears well pointed, and regarded us inquiringly, looking first at one
and then at the other. The gipsies, to whom a dog more or less never
comes amiss, will, they say, take him off our hands, and we tip them a
gulden to confirm the bargain; but on casting our eyes towards the spot
where he had been lying, we find he had silently slunk away and hidden
himself in the darkness, as though he had heard all we had been saying.
Well is it, my _bánya_ (dog), that thou didst so, or thy fate
would surely have been decided there and then.
It was not till the following evening, just as the sun was closing his
great scorching eye, that we drove through the broad streets of the
ancient and “Royal Free City” of Debreczin, and found ourselves not
only in the very heart of Hungary, but in the very centre of the most
exclusive and rigid Protestantism.
The territory of Debreczin in its capacity of “Royal Free City”--a
privilege which it has enjoyed since the middle ages--covers an area
of no less extent than 378 English square miles, and as the meaning
of that term has already been described, the flourishing state of the
municipality can easily be imagined. The city contains between sixty
and seventy thousand inhabitants, but, in driving through it--unless
he has been previously undeceived--the traveller will imagine it to
be scarcely more than a large village. Like every other place on the
Alfőld, where land is so abundant, the houses are nearly all built
of one storey. There have been great improvements, however, since we
were last here, particularly in the paving of the streets. In the
place of a mere plank which formerly kept the foot-passengers out of
the sea of mud that constituted the road in rainy weather, there now
exists a broad and even pavement in all the chief thoroughfares, a
fact which does credit to the enterprise of the municipality, who must
have accomplished the undertaking at immense cost, every stone having
been brought at least a hundred miles. There is a tradition of no very
remote date to the effect that at a period anterior to the improvement
of the roads a cow had sunk into the “Slough of Despond,” and having
been swallowed up in it, was no more seen. But whether this is a mere
fable or not, it is quite true that officers quartered on one side of
the street formerly were often obliged to mount their chargers to
cross over to the other. At that time the “pavements” consisted of
merely a single plank, and it is said to have been a great amusement to
the inhabitants, whenever they met a soldier of the Imperial Army--whom
they cordially hate--to push him off the narrow path into the sea of
liquid mud below.
Having brought with us a letter of introduction to one of the
Professors of the College, we hasten to deliver it in person. Reaching
the edifice in question, we see standing in the square that encloses
it a number of students, of whom we inquire the way to the Professor’s
quarters, addressing them in German. Great is our surprise, however,
to find they cannot understand a word of what we say. Failing to make
ourselves intelligible in that tongue, we try in turn French, Italian,
Spanish, Latin, and Greek, putting the question in each of these
languages in the most simple form possible, with the same result, and,
for anything they appeared to comprehend of the European languages,
either living or dead, we might have arrived in the very heart of the
Chinese Empire. With a look of extreme mystification, and a shrug of
the shoulders, they raised their hats, and, passing on, left us to our
fate.
At length, spurred on by defeat and waxing bold, F. ascends the broad
flight of steps leading to the College, and soon returns, accompanied
by two students whose rooms he had invaded, the trio laughing heartily
on finding they were unable to understand each other. The letter of
introduction, however, bearing the name of the Professor furnished
a clue to our inquiries, and beckoning us to follow them across the
College garden, the taller of the two students ran to announce our
arrival, doing so, as we afterwards learnt, in the following words:--
“Some foreigners have arrived with a letter for you. They speak every
language under the sun, and have tried to make themselves intelligible;
but to what nation they belong we cannot tell, but think they may be
_Ángolok_.”
Following our conductor across a road ankle-deep in dry sand, we reach
a wooden archway leading to a porch, where we find the astonished
Professor, and standing behind him our pioneer, looking very happy in
having at last succeeded in bringing us to the right place. A few words
addressed to the former in English accorded us in broken accents a warm
greeting in the same tongue. The Professor was a very handsome and
distinguished-looking man, dressed in the Hungarian costume, consisting
of Hessian boots and braided _attila_.
Knowing we were anxious above all things to see the College, he at once
proposed accompanying us.
“Every square yard of this paving,” remarked the Professor, “cost us
twenty florins; the stones were brought by railway from Tokay. And is
not this nice and soft to the feet?” he continued, as we stepped off
the pavement into the dust of the road, which was at least eight inches
deep, and which, though doubtless very delightful to a Hungarian, had
scarcely suggested itself to us in that light.
We soon again reach the College, which is a large and very imposing
structure, where two thousand students are educated. At present there
are three hundred studying Theology, one hundred and fifty Law and
Philosophy, upwards of one hundred in the Normal Department, and seven
hundred in the so-called gymnasium; but we were _not_ informed of
the number who were studying as a necessary branch of education any of
the modern or ancient languages!
Besides the students who form the academical portion of the College,
there are six hundred boys in the elementary school. Within the last
three years two new wings have been added where three hundred of the
_togati_ (students) are lodged.
In the Hungarian kingdom there are three universities, one at
Buda-Pest, one at Koloszvár, and one at Agram, the capital of Croatia.
There are also schools of Law and Jurisprudence at Pressburg, Kashau,
and Grosswardein, besides the _Collegii_ of Debreczin, Eperies,
Raab, and others; that of Debreczin being exclusively Protestant and
Calvinistic.
Attached to the College is an immense church in the _Renaissance_
style, capable of containing 2,000 people. There is also a smaller
private chapel _within_ the College, which is interesting as
having been used by Kossuth for the assembling of his Diets in the
memorable year of 1849, and in which he announced the independence
of Hungary and the downfall of the Hapsburg Dynasty. To add to the
solemnity of this latter occasion, preceded by the great agitator
himself, the members of the Diet adjourned to the large Calvinistic
church above alluded to, where, standing beneath the pulpit, he read
the proclamation which sent such joy into every Hungarian home, but
which was destined, alas! to be of such short duration. The windows of
the College look out upon the battle-field so memorable in Hungarian
history, where Austria, with Russia as her ally, crushed the national
independence of the Hungarians which they had only recently regained,
and on which occasion so much Magyar blood was shed.
The oldest part of the building is devoted to the Library, which
contains many ancient and valuable manuscripts, together with two
original copies of the tenets of the Hungarian Calvinistic faith.
Notwithstanding the silence and solemnity which pervade the place,
Debreczin is the most commercial town in Hungary, a brisk trade being
carried on not only in the manufacture of meerschaum pipes, but of
_bundas_ also, between two and three thousand of these splendid
garments being exported annually.
It would have been impossible to leave without carrying home as
souvenirs to our friends--who are victims to the vice of which pipes
are the medium--some of these interesting articles which are displayed
so temptingly and in such endless variety in the windows.
Going into a shop to make some purchases on our way from the College
the Professor exclaimed to the woman in attendance:--
“I have brought you a lady and gentleman who have come all the way from
England.”
“Merciful Heaven!” she replied, “is it possible? And they are not
Hungarians? What a pity!” regarding us as she uttered this pious
ejaculation with a look in which not only the deepest compassion, but
contemptuousness also was mingled.
The Magyars are passionately attached to their country--“_Áldott
Magyarország_ (Blessed Hungary), as they call it, the half-educated
looking upon the subjects of all other countries with the greatest pity
and contempt. The following mediæval rhyme in confirmation of this
fact is still quoted:--
“Extra Hungariam non est vita,
Et si est vita, non est ita.”
Whilst the greatest toleration exists in other parts of Hungary amongst
all classes of society, the Debrecziners form an exception to the rule,
and are exceedingly exclusive in matters of religion.
In the estimation of the Debrecziner, there is only one true faith,
which he calls the “_Magyar vallás_,” and which he believes
he alone of all others has preserved in its completeness. There
may be other forms of religion by the observance of which men may
scramble into heaven, but the one true and narrow road is that which
was instituted by their apostle Calvin. In consequence of its being
the headquarters of this faith, Debreczin is often spoken of as the
“Calvinistic Rome,” and its inhabitants, with their plain attire, their
simple deportment, and the stillness of the place itself, as well as
the earnestness that sits on every countenance, give to it a character
wholly different from that met with elsewhere in Hungary; and as we
walked through the town pervaded by this deep Calvinistic gloom, and
noted the stern and rigid countenances of the people, we felt thankful
we were not compelled to cast in our lot with them “for aye.”
Every three months an immense fair is held in the great plains in the
vicinity of Debreczin, when an enormous space of ground which the eye
can scarce command is covered with tents, booths, and immense flocks
and herds. At one time no fewer than 20,000 fairs were held each year
in Hungary, their number, however, as well as their importance have
lessened considerably since the opening of the Alfőld Railway, before
which time the dwellers of the plains were completely locked in from
all communication with distant towns.
At the time of our visit to Debreczin, the municipality, or whatever
form the governing body takes in these “Royal Free Cities,” was
carrying on an anxious debate on the subject of the supply of fuel
for its 50,000 inhabitants. Plenty of coal is found in the country,
and the prejudice once existing against its use--to which the
Hungarians attributed the “pulmonary complaints of the English, their
_melancholy disposition, and frequent felo-de-se_”--has partially
subsided, but the expense of transport would be enormous. At the same
time the forests in the neighbourhood are fast becoming exhausted.
The construction of a canal between Debreczin and Tisza-lök--about
thirty-five miles distant--has consequently been decided on, by
which timber may be floated down from the forests of the north-east
Carpathians.
[Illustration]