THE GOLD MINES OF SCHEMNITZ.
A narrow mountain gorge with irregularly built houses on either side,
and churches with red domes and shining cupolas, backed by wondrous
mountains, introduce us to Schemnitz.
The street is both steep and rugged, so that, leaving our coachman
to find some place below where he can deposit the carriage, we walk
leisurely up the hill, where women are sitting surrounded by huge
baskets of lilies of the valley and forget-me-nots; whilst other women
are selling snow-white lambs, the little creatures, whose legs are tied
together, panting piteously as they lie on their backs in baskets much
too small to contain them. At length, reaching the hotel, and passing
under the archway, we are shown through a yard, up two flights of stone
steps, across a balcony built against the steep side of the mountain,
and commanding a near view of the shingled roofs of neighbouring houses
with their respective cats, and are ushered into a large apartment,
where we are welcomed by mediæval celebrities, who, as we enter, gaze
at us furtively out of their dark frames, and follow us suspiciously
about the room with staring eyes--a most ghostly chamber truly, and one
that looks anything but conducive to sleep.
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Although we have ascended at least thirty steps, we still find
ourselves on a level with the heads of persons walking in the street;
a window at the end of the room looking out upon a fountain where
women stand gossiping and slopping, exchanging salutations with the
passers-by, and occasionally screaming at the top of their voices
at other females leaning far out of windows in the upper stories of
the high houses. Pretty girls in red bodices and large white sleeves
frilled at the elbow, come tripping down the hill, laughing merrily,
and carrying wooden pails to fill with the yellow water of the
fountain, its colour _said_ to be due to the attrition of the
rocks containing gold ore, through which the stream flows that feeds
this fountain.
A great deal of gold dust is found in the rivers of Transylvania,
caused either by the decomposition of the metalliferous rocks or from
the rupture of ore-veins. The upper part of the river Maros is one of
the richest streams in Hungary, pieces of the precious metal being
sometimes found in it as large as a marble. The gold found in these
rivers is, or was until a comparatively recent period, a monopoly in
the hands of the gipsies, who paid an annual tax to Government for
the privilege. It is found in the greatest abundance after rain, when
the sand left by the flood has collected on the edges of the mountain
torrents.
This celebrated town, the capital of the mining districts, founded in
745, contains twenty thousand inhabitants. The town itself, together
with the mountain on which it is built, is completely undermined,
veins of the precious metal traversing it in all directions. In 1865
the quantity of gold raised from the Schemnitz mines was 650 lbs. in
weight, and of silver, 13,000 lbs. The mines throughout the whole
of Hungary that year produced no less than 5000 lbs. weight of the
former, and about 63,000 lbs. of the latter. The mines richest in gold
and silver at present are, however, those in the east of Hungary, in
the province of Transylvania, the metal found here in the greatest
abundance now being lead, in which, however, gold and silver, to some
extent, are always intermingled.
There are two principal adits, the upper and the lower. Having applied
for permission to view the mines at the office immediately opposite
the entrance to the latter, we were ushered into an inner apartment
where we were vested in two loose long garments like surplices, and,
if the truth must be told, very ragged and dirty ones too, in addition
to which F. was provided with a species of green felt jelly-bag by way
of head gear, the exact pattern of those worn by the ancient Druids.
Having resigned ourselves into the hands of a stout foreman of the
mines, who gives us both a mining lamp to carry, we issue from the
office with the farewell salutation from those within of “_glück
auf!_” an expression invariably used by the miners to each other
on descending the mines, and which literally means “Happy return to
daylight!”
As we crossed the street in this strange guise we wondered what our
friends at home would think was happening to us if we could have been
photographed at that instant! The passers-by however were evidently
accustomed to such apparitions, for they took no notice of us, nor did
they even turn their heads as they also exclaimed “_glück auf!_”
and we vanished in the darkness.
This adit, which is worked by Government, extends to galleries and
other adits. The passage is about eight feet high by four broad; but,
the floor being only roughly covered with planks, beneath which water
rushes, progress is neither a pleasant nor easy task.
The mountain perforated by these mines is of Trachyte formation and
contains Plutonic rock, which geologists affirm must have been sent up
from beneath by volcanic agency after the deposition of the Tertiary
deposits. It is in this Plutonic rock that the veins exist which
contain the precious metals.
No fewer than three thousand families--the greater number of whom are
Slovaks--are employed in the various Schemnitz mines, twelve of which
are worked by Government, the others belonging to private companies.
After following our guide through the damp, dark passage by a gradual
but continuous descent of about eighteen hundred feet, we came to the
huge iron tube through which the water flows that drains the mines,
and the noise was almost deafening. We were here joined by a second
guide, and at length reached a staircase leading to the machinery and a
still lower level. As we descended and stood by the immense wheel, we
looked down into a black and, to our eye, measureless abyss; bridged
by a narrow and frail platform on which the man stood who was working
the machinery. As he stood there alone with his one feeble lamp--no one
within ear-shot--there was something appalling in the thought of his
being there day after day without any companionship save that of the
great broad, black wheel, which keeps turning slowly round and round in
endless revolution to the deafening splash of waters, and we wondered
he did not actually go mad. His fate seemed somehow much more terrible
than that of the men who were working far beneath in the depths of the
earth, for they were not alone but in companies. As a rule, the men
work alternately twelve and eight hours a day, but in some portions,
the mines are so hot and unhealthy that they are only allowed to work
fourteen days at a time, when they are changed, the heat and foul air
acting very prejudicially upon their health. How can they work, these
poor creatures, all their lives in this living grave? As we saw them
with their feeble lamps hacking away at the hard rock, I realised for
the first time, with what labour and misery the beautiful metals are
procured with which we so unthinkingly adorn ourselves.
The gigantic wheel to which--after having descended deeper into the
mine--we have just returned, pumps the water out of the passages, the
water being utilised by means of a smaller wheel, to raise the ore from
the lower adits. The ore is first placed in large square sacks, and,
after being raised, is shunted through a hole in the rock into another
adit, where a train-truck waits to receive it, after which it is sent
either to Neusohl or Kremnitz to be smelted.
These mines were also begun by the Romans, who, having in those days
no such force as dynamite or gunpowder within their command, drilled
some of these passages, as in the cobalt mines of Dobsina, by the
slow method of chisel and hammer. Such portions even yet are easily
distinguishable by the smoothness and evenness of their surface.
In the “Roselia,” the oldest of all the mines here, coins, lamps, and
even articles of dress of the Roman period have been found. There is
also a cavern of considerable extent likewise attributed to Roman
excavation, a process believed to have been accomplished by fire and
vinegar, a method alluded to by Pliny, the rocks having been evidently
split and not hewn, traces of fire in both caverns and passages being
still visible.
But, however interesting and instructive our exploits had been, we
felt thankful when, after having traversed the mine a distance of no
less than three thousand six hundred feet, we once more saw the sweet,
fair daylight gleaming through the aperture, and knew that our journey
through the dark and toilsome regions of the night was accomplished.
There is a mining school at Schemnitz founded by Maria Theresa, where
two hundred students receive a gratuitous and liberal education. The
branches taught, besides metallurgy, mineralogy, and mining, being
chemistry, mathematics, drawing, and surveying. The students wear
a uniform of dark green, turned up with red; the sleeves of their
jackets curiously padded at the shoulders to protect the arms from
being grazed by the walls of the mines. They also wear funny little
leather aprons behind. Both their caps and jackets are ornamented with
the mining _insignia_, a crossed hammer and pickaxe. In full
dress, these academical students, the more advanced of whom are called
“Practicants,” wear black velvet aprons, gold epaulets, and a sabre.
Having explored the mines, the next thing to be done, after an hour
or two’s rest from fatigue, was to inspect some of the treasure they
contain. The mineralogical collection, however, is not so good as might
be expected, all the finest specimens being sent to the National Museum
of Pest, which possesses the third best collection in Europe; there is,
however, a very fair one here, and quite sufficiently good to give the
visitor an idea of all the minerals and stones which the mountain holds
concealed within its hidden recesses.
The gold is found in various forms, sometimes in round smooth globules
the size of shot, embedded in a porous and spongy-looking stone; at
others it assumes the most beautiful shapes, simulating a succession of
leaflets on a stalk, anaglyphs, and every sort of device conceivable,
so exquisitely moulded that it was difficult at first to realise that
some had not been wrought by a skilled goldsmith, from special designs;
whilst silver is often found in a thin, brittle, and yellowish stone
called _spath_, which looks as though it had been moulded from
the most beautiful vine, or some other large leaf. More frequently,
however, it is seen lying in compact beds, either in small angular
pieces of a slightly leaden colour, or in bead-like masses.
It would be impossible to describe the variety and splendour of the
minerals, one of the most beautiful stones being the amethyst, which
is found in large beds, in which the dark purple rectangular crystals,
shooting upwards in cones of equal size, are so polished and regularly
formed that they appear as if they had just come out of the hands
of the lapidary. Malachite is likewise found in a transition state,
together with ocherite, both of which stones are intermingled with
globules of gold. These Plutonic rocks also contain opal; which is
found in the whitish-grey calcined rock, generally in strata of about
four inches thick, where it forms a compact and seeming opaque mass,
possessing the appearance--if I may so express it--of petrified and
etherealised fire. When seen in its original stratum, opal presents
quite a different aspect from that which it assumes after it has passed
into the hands of the lapidary, and is far less beautiful to my mind in
its _rounded_ and artificial form. Of all the stones found in the
Hungarian mountains, none impressed us so greatly as this one in its
natural state.
It is exceedingly interesting to see the minerals which are used by
the professors in lecturing to the mining students. There are the
round hollow stones in which crystals are just beginning to form,
and others showing the progressive stages of their growth. Amethysts
are invariably found, like other crystals, in pebbles, some of which
measure half a yard in diameter, and which, on being broken in two,
are seen to be thickly lined with lustrous purple stones. There were
clayey substances also in every phase of transition, from the primary
matter, which in the process of drying had cracked into small squares
of equal size, to the fully developed marble, which, when cut through
diagonally, formed the most beautiful hexagons, each as perfect as
those of a honeycomb, and each hexagon separated from the other by a
perfectly white and well-defined line created by a deposit of chalk
working its way into the original interstices in the course of--who
shall conjecture how many ages?
* * * * *
A wet evening sends us home to our dismal room, where in due time they
bring us candles and a pair of snuffers--modern improvements in the
manufacture of the former not having apparently extended to Schemnitz.
In the feeble, glimmering light, the large room appears even more
hobgobliny than ever, whilst the eyes of the ancient celebrities in
the picture frames seem to grow larger and to revolve in their sockets
as we look at them. To make matters worse, we are perpetually reducing
ourselves to a state of darkness whenever it becomes necessary to snuff
the candles--which it does about every five minutes--and we realise
that, like the wearing of pattens, candle-snuffing is an art which, to
be accomplished gracefully, must be acquired in early life.
Fortunately all the rain fell during the night. Towards the small
hours we could hear it tearing madly down the street like a mountain
torrent, which I should imagine the narrow gorge in which the town
is situated must originally have been. Looking out of the window at
nine A.M. we see above the mountain a small piece of sky
about the size of a pocket-handkerchief. It is all that is visible
of that aerial region, but it is intensely and encouragingly blue,
and, after breakfast, we sally forth to see the town with its fine
old castle built against the steep hill-side, and looking down at
us over the picturesque roofs of the houses, every one of which was
formerly a fortification. The castle dates from 1491, and the custodian
entertained us with blood-curdling tales of Turkomans and Templars, and
told us how that the Christians fought and the infidel marauders fled.
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It is the weekly market. Forcing our way through sacks of scarlet
pepper, stands of Slovak cheeses--which, moulded in cloths, look
precisely like gigantic puddings--baskets running over with pink and
white radishes, the classic garlic, and other commodities, we reach
the opposite side of the road. The little lambs we saw yesterday have
been kept alive for to-day--God knows how--and are lying in the same
baskets, only panting more sadly, their heads thrown back and eyes
half-open, the whites of which alone are visible. So cruel and piteous
a sight makes our hearts ache, and we endeavour by much gesture, to
induce their owners to change their constrained positions, and give
them a little food. They only think we are beginning a bargain, and
lug them out of the baskets by the four legs, which we can see are
tied together far too tightly, and then, finding we are not bent on
purchasing, they throw them in again, just as if they had been bundles
of turnips or vegetables. The lilies of the valley have been freshened
up, and the forget-me-nots, reflecting with their meek blue eyes the
sky above, appear as though they had but just awakened from their bath
of dew. Women, hundreds of women, in dark blue skirts bordered with
light green, stand about the stalls, and look like figures painted on
old china. Priests, in long black robes which sweep the street, come
wriggling in and out of the crowd. Now and then we hear close behind us
a plaintive, supplicating voice, uttering words, the meaning of which
we cannot understand, save that of “_Christus_.” It is a beggar,
asking kreuzers for the love of Him who died for us. And everywhere
the people throng and jostle each other in the narrow street. Looking
upwards, all is colour, motion, and a sea of heads, above which rise
the high houses, with their overhanging roofs, and the black domes and
cupolas of the _Rath-haus_ and the beautiful old churches, with
their lancet windows and porches, entered by long flights of steps.
There is a rapid stir in the crowd as way is made for a long country
cart, drawn by three donkeys and two small black oxen, the latter
forming the wheelers of the rustic team!
In the lateral streets, which are almost as steep as the roofs of
houses, we see bullock-waggons laden with hay and corn, and pots and
pans innumerable. Up these steeps women struggle and toil, with large,
square, wooden pails or baskets attached to their backs, and carrying
babies swathed in linen, like small white mummies.
Presently we descry above the sea of heads a tall man, in what has been
graphically designated a “stove-pipe” hat.
“_Buval Jankó!_” we hear a Hungarian gentleman observe, in a
somewhat amused tone, to a friend standing at his elbow.
He is certainly an Englishman of some sort, we could swear to the cut
of his sartorial garments anywhere. Is he an archdeacon, with that high
collar and swallow-tailed coat? What an incongruous object he looks
amongst all these pretty costumes, so full of colour! No wonder that
the Arab who first saw an Englishman in this guise hastened to inform
his neighbours and acquaintances that he had seen “his Satanic Majesty
with a saucepan on his head, and his tail slit in two!”
Strange as it may appear, he is the only Englishman we have seen during
either of our travels in Hungary, and it is quite impossible to pass
him by without a greeting.
His speech soon reveals the mystery of his _genre_. He belongs to
the “Society of Friends,” and is, he informs us, a travelling agent for
a firm in Birmingham.
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