TEMPLES OF THE NIGHT.
Kashau--the winter residence of many of the “Nobles”--is an exceedingly
nice little city, and, after Pest, by far the most pleasant in Hungary.
The houses are irregular and picturesque, and the cathedral, erected in
1300, is a splendid Gothic structure with five naves, and contains rich
fret-work of great elegance and purity of style. The whole, however, is
spoilt, in a great measure, by the gilded and gaudily painted altars,
which, resting against the beautiful groups of pillars, greatly detract
from the harmony and size of the building.
The best time to see this splendid edifice is at the hour of
“Benediction,” when the shades of evening are gathering beneath the
lofty arches of the central nave, and the setting sun, glistening
through the painted windows, shoots soft arrows of gold and blue and
crimson, which fall upon the pavement and the white kerchiefs of the
women kneeling below the altar in the western transept.
It was pleasant to linger in the cathedral whilst the evening service
was taking place, listening to the heavenly voices of the choir singing
high up over the western porch, and hearkening with bated breath to the
sounds which, travelling along the Gothic roof and in and out amongst
the arches and side chapels, seemed not to come from human lips, but
through the painted windows; as though angels had brought it on their
wings.
On our second visit, one of the _Dom Herren_ (canons of the
cathedral) observing we were foreigners, showed us several costly
chalices, libariums, ancient missals and vestments, all of which were
well worth seeing. He also caused to be uncovered the forty-eight
pictures over the high altar illustrative of incidents in the lives
of Jesus and Mary, twelve only of which are exhibited save on high
festivals.
To the south of the cathedral is the little mediæval church dedicated
to St. Michael, and further still, opposite the Promenade, that of the
Jesuits.
As at Kolozsvár, one of the first things that arrests the stranger as
he walks along the streets of Kashau, and looks into the shop windows,
is the conspicuous display of coffins of all shapes and sizes, some
of very elaborate designs, the most common being a sarcophagus in
white enamel, with gilt cornices, standing on lion’s claws. There
are, however, others to suit all comers and all tastes. One of these
shops is situated close to a grocer’s, and hard by a Jew of elastic
conscience sells crucifixes.
In spite of all its gaiety there was something very sad to us in Kashau
after all.
Close to the hotel at which we were staying, a large building was
being erected, upon which prisoners were employed in such numbers that
they swarmed about the scaffolding, and in and out of the windows and
doorways, like a lot of busy ants. They were all young men, and it was
painful to watch them working under the vigilant eyes of the guards
who stood over them with their bayonets, and to notice how they toiled
hour after hour without pausing for an instant--working on with a
perpetual motion that made one weary and wretched to witness.
It is in the hilly country, the Felföld of Kashau, that are found the
mines from which the precious opal is taken, a gem that is alleged to
exist in no other part of the world, for the species called “Oriental”
is in reality brought from these mines, which also contain jasper,
agate, and chalcedony of great brilliancy.
Anxious as we were to see these celebrated and interesting mines, we
had no time to visit both these and the caves of Aggtelek. We therefore
decided to accomplish the latter, for which purpose we requested
András to be ready with the carriage and four horses at five o’clock
the following morning, the distance being considerable. The hotel bill
was accordingly paid over night, our luggage packed even to the rugs,
and we retired to our “_napi_” with the uncomfortable sensation
all travellers have who know they must be up in the morning before the
world is awake. Since leaving Debreczin, we have been spoiled for early
rising and got into bad habits in this respect, taking our coffee in
our own room, and coming down to breakfast at the sluggard hour of ten.
On the following morning at dawn, we were awakened by a loud pattering
against the window panes. It was raining heavily. At half-past five,
the inevitable porter comes, “rapping, tapping, at my chamber door.”
But so strongly do we object to starting on a journey in wet weather,
unless obliged, that we send a message to András and inform him that we
shall not leave Kashau till the morrow.
The morn had indeed broken drearily. On the rigid leaves of the
oleander trees in the balcony outside, doing their best to grow in
tubs much too small for them, the rain drips from the roof in heavy
drops. An hour later, and chamber-maids with skirts held tightly round
them, and heads bent low, dodge in and out of doorways, and waiters,
carrying steaming coffee and other creature-comforts to the gentlemen
guests, likewise pass and re-pass on their errands of mercy, holding
dripping umbrellas. Dark clouds hang over head; there is a steady
and calm determination about the rain as it comes pattering down
perpendicularly, and falls from the roof through a shoot outside, with
a swish, swash, and gurgle, that seems to say it is not going to cease
yet awhile now it has come at last. A little half-drowned bird perches
on the window-sill, and shakes itself, and then looks in pathetically
with its head on one side. More little birds do likewise, and trim
their dripping feathers, and then go hopping amongst the oleander
branches, carolling as sweetly as if they had been in their native
woods. How much they must have “made believe” those happy little birds,
and what an example of contentment under difficulties did they not
preach to us who were grumbling within. But it was such a dreary sight
looking down upon the dingy streets--the draggle-tailed Hungarians
with their white-fringed _gatyák_ dangling against their muddy
top-boots as they walked along, and the poor ants opposite still
toiling in their “daily round and common task”--that after breakfast we
hailed a _droszky_ and drove to the station. A train happened to
be just leaving for Abos, by which we could also return early in the
evening, and jumping into a coupé, we soon felt glad we had come, for
the scenery in the neighbourhood of Kashau is exceedingly beautiful;
our route takes us through a narrow gorge along which winds the Hernat,
changing its fitful course from right to left and left to right
continually. The mountains, scarcely less than 4000 feet in height,
which enclose the gorge on either side, consist of rugged limestone,
and the further we go, the more sublime the scenery becomes--mountain
rising above mountain, and crag above crag, foaming torrents, and
pyramids of rock jutting out here and there, over which the birch
droops its slender and silvery stems. At length we come to the region
of dark pines, which, spreading their branches, almost span the gorge.
At long distances apart are little hamlets, whose cottages are built
on the extreme edge of rocks. What fairy glens we pass, filled with
lovely wild flowers, lilies of the valley, Alpine anemones, and the
_Polygada amara_ with its purple spikes! And wherever we turn our
eyes we see a bewildering prodigality of beauty and luxuriance.
In an hour’s time we reach our destination. There had been no rain
here, which had evidently been confined to the region of the Plains;
and we spent a most delightful day in wandering about amongst the
woods, entering some of the little cottages and making friends with
their simple dwellers. The peasantry in this locality eke out their
livelihood by keeping bees, which they guard in little sheds, built
high up the mountain slopes. The honey is delicious, perfectly clear,
and much esteemed by people of other countries whither it is sent for
sale.
On our returning to the Abos station to take the down train for Kashau,
we found it crowded with emigrants on their way to America, viâ
Hamburg; and as there was not sufficient room in the train to contain
them, a delay was occasioned on account of more carriages having to
be attached. A crowd of persons--men, women, and children--had come
to see them off. The Hungarians are a warm-hearted people, deeply
attached to their kindred, and it was almost more than we could witness
unmoved--the fine, stalwart young fellows sobbing on the necks of aged
parents, and bidding adieus to wives, children, and sweethearts, whom
they might never again behold on earth.
It is a singular fact that, notwithstanding the superabundance of
land and the thinness of the population, the Hungarians are every day
leaving their country in vast numbers. There surely must be something
radically wrong in the system of a Government which does not offer
inducements to the labouring classes under these circumstances to
remain in their own country.
In the same carriage with us was a gentleman on his way to Debreczin,
who, in course of conversation, informed us he was a tobacco planter,
having an estate of 3000 _jochs_--a _joch_ being, I believe,
rather less than an acre--for which he had paid at the rate of £15
per _joch_. With land, then, not only so cheap, but so abundant
everywhere, we again wonder what is the reason for these people
emigrating?
It had evidently been raining all day at Kashau, but as we arrive, the
leaden clouds, gathering themselves together, are sailing away from the
golden west, where the sun, setting gloriously, promises better things
for the morrow.
Sitting at dinner in the hotel restaurant we were taken aback by a
person at an opposite table accosting us in English in the following
words, which were uttered in the most unmistakable Transatlantic
brogue, and with a fine, bold, nasal twang that would have done credit
to the oldest inhabitant of that quarter of the globe:
“How long since you left England, sir, and what have ye come here for?
I guess there isn’t much in Hungary that you have found to your liking.”
“Where do _you_ come from?” was the reply that followed his
questions, which seemed slightly to savour of impertinence.
“I’ve jest come from Amurica, sir. I’ve been there ten years.”
“But you are surely an American yourself?”
“Wall, sir, I guess I’m a Hungarian. I went to the United States to
make my fortune, but instead of that I lost one.”
“What do your countrymen do when they get there--such men, for
instance, as we saw leaving to-day?” inquired F.
“They die by a fence,” was the laconic reply.
“What do you mean?”
“Why, jest this. When they get out there, they can’t speak any language
the Amuricans know, and so no one will employ them. They go around from
place to place in search of work, but find none; then, having spent the
few florins they had in their pockets when they landed, they starve
right away.”
“Who induces them to emigrate? Surely some prospect must be held out to
them of doing better there than in their own country, or they would not
go in such numbers.”
“It’s the newspapers that does it,” continued he, with the same brogue,
in which he was evidently an apt scholar, “the _Government_
newspapers, I mean. They are always telling our chaps the wonderful
things they will do if they go there, and how that in a few years’
time they will come home rich, and he able to settle down in the old
country and be landowners; and they know it is a wicked lie they are
telling all the while, and that there is nothing good to be gained
there by our poor fellows. But what do they care _what_ happens
to them? they only want to get them out of the way that they may
_Austrianise_ our country the easier by colonising it with their
own people.”
Whether the above statement is correct or not I cannot say; I only
repeat exactly what we heard. It is quite possible, and would doubtless
be in the interest of Austria to induce Hungary’s oft-times too
patriotic sons to emigrate, that she might be enabled by degrees to
colonise it with her own; but this, of course, is one of those matters
which can never be more than mere conjecture.
At five o’clock A.M. we took our leave of this pleasant
little city. Notwithstanding the matutinal hour, a crowd of attendants
benevolently presented themselves to bid us adieu, possibly remembering
that it is the early bird that catches the worm. “Worms” we were on
that occasion at any rate, as well as on most others of the like
nature, but a small _douceur_ goes a long way with Hungarian
servants, who are often ill-paid. Passing other hotels we see similar
little performances being enacted, where more disinterested menials are
assembled to speed the parting guest.
The Magyars are by no means a grasping people, and are always satisfied
with whatever is given them, returning a hearty “Thank you,” no matter
how small the gift, which, by the way, they have the good taste never
to look at in your presence.
About noon, arriving at a village, we found some difficulty in
procuring a relay of horses, and whilst strolling about its labyrinths
to pass away the time, we saw before us a church, and were just about
to enter it, when a woman, who had evidently witnessed our approach,
and who was standing at the door, closed it abruptly on the outside
to prevent our doing so. Upon our asking her the reason in German,
she replied, somewhat uncivilly, in her own tongue, that as we spoke
an _idegen nyelv_ (foreign language), we could not belong to the
Magyar religion, and therefore it could afford us neither pleasure nor
profit to see her church. “The national religion of the noble Magyar,”
I regret to say, does not “light up well.” Its people are, for the
most part, stern, demure, and exclusive--a fact even more apparent
on our journey from Debreczin to Kashau than in the capital of the
“_Magyar vallas_” itself, and of which the above little episode is
an example. It was an amusing instance of bigotry, but I felt sorry it
should have been from a Protestant that for the first time throughout
the whole of our previous and present travels amongst Gallicians,
Rusniaks, Slovaks, Wallachs, and even Croat-Serbs, we received any
incivility. In the minds of the ignorant, the Magyar language and
Protestantism are inseparable, whilst the Magyar language is, they
believe, the only one known in heaven.
It is related of an old Magyar nurse attending a sick lady, that on
hearing her make use of the common German exclamation, addressed to the
Deity, she cried, “Ah, my lady, forgive me! but how can you expect the
good God to listen to you if you speak to Him in a language He does not
understand?”
At nine o’clock at night we reach Rosenau, a mining town situated on
the river Sajó. The roads were execrable the whole way, but the scenery
was both varied and beautiful. Our fatigue, however, had not been
great, and the mountain air infused such new life into us that the next
day we felt equal to anything; even to the announcement which greeted
us on descending to the little restaurant of the inn for breakfast,
that we should have to proceed to Agtalek by “_shaker_,” the roads
being, as we were assured, too bad for anything else on wheels.
We had already passed over so many hundred miles of Hungarian roads,
that we scarcely believed there could be anything in store for us
of a worse nature than we had hitherto experienced. Our ardour was
consequently not in the least degree damped by the above announcement,
and we set out with light hearts, András and _the dog_ accompanying us.
_A propos_ of the latter, we had found a home for him at our friend’s
with whom we stayed, near Tokay, who assured us he was in need of
just such a quadruped, but who advised us to keep him with us until
we should be returning to Tokay, when we could leave him behind as we
passed through the district.
As this waif was now a respectable member of society, and belonged to
“the quality,” it was necessary to give him some name. We therefore
bestowed upon him that of _Essek_--the Magyar signification for
Archbishop--on account of his resemblance to that ecclesiastical
dignitary; his long black hair, and white front, giving him the
appearance, when assuming a sitting posture, of a person in a black
robe and lawn sleeves. We are once more in the land of gipsies, whom we
have not met with on our travels for some time, but who now greet us
at the entrance to every village, and exhibit, as elsewhere, the old
Roman contempt for the superfluous.
Essek--a name which for the sake of brevity soon resolved itself into
Esk--was at first a dog of somewhat low proclivities, much given to
fraternise with gipsy children; but he already begins to turn up his
episcopal nose whenever we now happen to fall in with a party of
_Czigánok_, and is wont to pass by proudly on the other side.
Arrived at the village of Agtalek, after many a jolt and bump--our
_shaker_ true to its appellation to the last--we are met by guides
who accompany us to the caverns situated a short distance above the
village.
Like all others of the kind they are formed in the limestone rock, and
extend a distance of many miles into the heart of the mountains. On
entering, the _Tanz-saal_ is the first great cavern we see, a vast
hall where the peasants of the neighbourhood often resort on festivals,
and dance by torch-light, arrayed in their pretty costumes.
Magnificent, however, as is the _Tanz-saal_ in its vast
proportions, we do not linger here, our desire being to penetrate
farther into this marvellous region by one or more of its intricate
windings.
Leading from the “great dome” is a narrow passage, through which a
brook forces its way. Following it we reach, in a quarter of an hour’s
time, what is called the _Paradiesgarten_, a name given to this
part of the cavern on account of the resemblance which the objects
it contains bear to those which are supposed to have existed in the
garden of Eden, and certainly the exquisite beauty and elegance of form
which the stalactite and stalagmite matter here assume, far exceeds
anything of the kind we ever beheld. Trees, fruits, and even the
serpent--a good likeness of him too--were severally pointed out to us,
nothing being absent, in fact, but Adam and Eve to complete the guide’s
_epitome_!
How those guides wearied us! In vain we besought them to be still, and
leave us to our own imaginings; they continued to point out first this
object and then that, and talked so perpetually, whilst we desired
nothing so much as complete silence, in which to admire in awe and
wonder, these great mysteries of nature, that, maddened at last by
their persistence, F. let off, like a succession of pistol-shots, a
string of telling Magyar expletives which he had previously learnt by
diligent study, and which so astonished the guides by the fervour with
which they were administered, that we heard nothing afterwards but the
beating of our own hearts.
As we henceforth pursue our way, we do so almost with bated breath, for
the farther we wander through these labyrinths the more the feeling of
awe grows upon us; and as the guides precede us with their torches, the
giant fragments of dripping stalagmite gleam grimly in the fitful light
and take shape of living things, which seem to move, or stand spectral,
and colourless before us. Sometimes these passages lead to small side
chambers, hewn out roughly and majestically by nature in the solid
rock, like ancient funereal vaults, in which lie rude _sarcophagi_
and dead men’s bones, guarded by wan figures, standing enveloped in
half transparent drapery which covers them from head to foot. Anon we
come upon shattered and ruined temples with Gothic arches, and fonts,
and windows, and the Hand that formed these objects of weird and
fantastic beauty is still at work upon them, for we hear, above the
muffled sound of our foot-fall, the steady “drip, drip” of the water in
near and far-off passages.
Whilst examining a beautiful little grotto enclosed on all sides
by slender pillars and drooping garlands, and in which were ferns
and mosses and a net-work of fanciful leaves engraved on a mass of
stalagmite, I suddenly found myself in darkness. F. and the guides had
all passed on, and I was alone. It was useless to attempt to follow, I
could only shout to them to return, and as I did so, how my own voice
frightened me, as it echoed above, below, around, and then went rolling
off into distant passages till it seemed to die away in boundless space!
They soon responded to my call and came tramping back with all speed,
and then we reached the brook again flowing on through its lonely
prison-house, the torches reflecting themselves strangely in its black
waters.
We could not ascertain whether this subterranean stream contained
the little animal, half-fish half-lizard--the _Proteus_
_Auquinus_--found in the river Poik in the caverns of Adelsberg
near Triste; those poor little eyeless creatures which, born
in darkness, have--when taken by the curious from their native
solitudes--to be shielded from the light of heaven in order to be kept
alive.
The temperature of the caverns was so low that on returning to the hot
outer atmosphere I nearly fainted. We were in fact both exhausted by
fatigue and fasting; but found on reaching the village inn, where we
had left András, that but for his exertions we must have lunched off
honey, milk, and rye bread. There was in fact literally nothing else
to be had. The brave little man, however, during our absence had again
gone to the priest and obtained from him a fat pullet which had been
already trussed for his Reverence’s own dinner; and which, stewed and
served with cranberry sauce, quite set us up for the day, and sent us
on our way rejoicing.
[Illustration]