THE MODERN BABEL.
It is Fair-day in the Hungarian capital, and the hotels are as full
as they can cram. There is not an inch of space left anywhere. The
restaurants, as we pass them, are so choked with human life, half
savage, half civilised, that not even an eel, were it ever so hungry,
could manage to insinuate itself, suppose it had the _courage_ to
face so polyglot an assemblage.
In the streets the traveller is jostled not only by Hungarians of
each nationality, Magyars, Slovaks, Ruthenians, Széklers, Wallachs,
Croatians, Serbs, and Illyrians--a “mosaic of nations” which,
constituting the inhabitants of the entire Austro-Hungarian dominions,
numbers upwards of 150,000--but Germans, Poles, Muscovites, Bohemians,
Frenchmen, Italians, Turks, Heretics, and Infidels. There are Jews and
gipsies by the thousand, German Jews, Hungarian Jews in the costume
of the _Magyar-orság_, Polish Jews, in black toga and corkscrew
curls, from the province of Gallicia, Transylvanian Jews, in greasy
brown cloth dressing-gown and sandalled feet, looking like dissipated
Capuchin friars out for a holiday, and who evidently ignore the maxim
concerning the proximity of cleanliness to godliness no less than their
Christian brethren.
There are men in hats made of rushes, others with conical-shaped hats
of fur, the precise pattern of that worn by Robinson Crusoe; others
again wearing large broad ones like Spanish _sombreros_. There are
men whose pale olive complexions proclaim them to be Greeks. There are
Turks and Bosnians wearing the becoming fez, and here and there an Arab
in a turban, besides whom there are also men from Upper Hungary whose
long hair hanging to the waist is plaited in four tails, and who wear
immense leather belts and sandals, and such wonderful garments, that
they must be seen even to be believed in; men, too, from the country
of Somogy clad in blanket-like cloaks, like those of Bedouins, whilst
working their way in and out amongst the crowd, their looks bold and
defiant, are numerous Magyars in snow-white petticoats fringed or
embroidered at the edges. There are women, too, with coloured scarves
coiled gracefully round the head; women--beautiful women, whose
raven hair is covered with gold coins, flashing and quivering in the
sunlight! Women again--natives of Pest--wearing dark-blue kerchiefs
so disposed as to conceal the whole face, with the exception of eyes,
nose, and mouth, and who only need the addition of a _yashmak_ to
give them the appearance of veritable daughters of the Prophet. What a
medley! and what a Babel of tongues greets the ear of the stranger as
he stands in the thick of the fair. At these fairs, four of which take
place annually, no fewer than twenty-eight thousand strangers pour into
Pest.
No wonder that _mein Herr_ Dulovic shook his head and intimated
that he could not take us in as we dashed up to the door of his hotel
one morning in a droszky and pair, some Armenians having previously
engaged the room we had occupied for two days at the “_Königinn von
England_,” a circumstance that compelled us to seek shelter in some
other hotel.
The little old man was well-nigh beside himself; his tow-coloured wig
almost stood on end, and his countenance was suffused by a warm dew as
he endeavoured to withstand the importunities of three other “parties,”
who had arrived at the same moment, on the same errand as ourselves.
We however, as may be remembered, had stayed at this small but
well-ordered hotel once before, and, as old acquaintances, had no
intention of being turned away. Moreover we were _Ángolok_, and
just at that time the English nation happened to be at an unusual
premium in the estimation of the Hungarians.
“Stay! Yes! No! Yes!” exclaimed Herr Dulovic, hesitatingly--“If you do
not mind----”
“Mind?” broke in F., descending from the carriage. “We don’t mind
anything at such a time as this,” adding, as we follow mein Herr up the
stairs and into a chamber of such limited dimensions that to have swung
even a cat in it one must have taken that animal by the head and not by
the tail, “_Si on ne peut pas avoir ce qu’on veux, il faut prendre ce
qu’on peut_.”
After a hurried repast we stroll out to have a peep at the fair,
which, save in the matter of costumes and diversity of peoples and
tongues, differs little from that of other countries. There are the
same long avenues of booths, containing every conceivable article
for man or beast. Stands of juicy melons, pomegranates and oranges
from Croatia, presided over by girls and stately women, looking like
Druidical priestesses in their long white robes; booths of _édességek_
(sweetmeats); booths of imitation jewellery much frequented by the
Magyar girls; booths of hard-ware, and wooden utensils, belonging to
nut-brown specimens of the wandering tribe; Slovak cheese, carpets
from Servia, bacon from Slavonia, booths of ready-made under-clothing,
sheepskin _bundas_, _pelz-röckel_, and beautifully embroidered cloaks;
high boots for men, and others for women and girls, with scarlet and
yellow sides, trimmed with coquettish little rosettes, not to speak
of Turkish-looking slippers worn by the women of Szegedin. There are
Jews in the characters of money-lenders and sellers of _bijouterie_;
gipsies in that of horse-dealers, cunning-looking men with long whips
ornamented with bows of many-coloured ribbons, and gourds hanging from
their girdles; there are shepherds, too, splendid looking fellows with
forms like those of Roman athletes; besides which are men in coarse
gabardines directing games of chance, acrobats by the dozen, and the
off-scourings of the four winds of heaven. What a hurly-burly!
Along the banks of the Danube, however, an entirely novel scene
presents itself to our gaze. For the space of half a mile boats and
barges are moored together in close proximity; some of them are heavy,
flat-bottomed craft, whilst others, gaudily painted in red, white, and
green, look like miniature Chinese junks. These boats and barges, in
conjunction with the _quai_, form a market-place of themselves
for articles consisting chiefly of the produce of the country; wines,
badacsony, from the Platten-See; the white wines of Transylvania, and
the more delicious ones of Tokay; _slivovitz_ and _fenüviz_,
a spirit made from juniper-berries; tobacco, wool, hides, and other
commodities “far too numerous to mention.”
Beyond, there are the usual vast herds of sheep, pigs, and cattle,
guarded by wild, top-booted graziers and strange, fierce-looking
shepherds; whilst outside the fair the road is lined with vehicles of
every description.
Opposite is a booth where a sheep is being roasted whole, while on
stands arranged in front are savoury “gipsy roasts,” consisting of
small pieces of hot meat for the refection of the hungry. Hard by
is a seller of macaroni soup, ladling out her steaming esculent to
numerous comers; and near her a stout Magyar _Frau_ vending
“_Tisch-wein_.”
It is when the fires of sunset have faded in the west, and the curtain
of night has dropped upon the most beautiful scene in the world--the
Blocksberg and the Danube and the rock-built citadel of Buda--that
the real fun begins. By that time the stern business of the day is
over, the bargaining has come to an end till the morrow, and the whole
twenty-eight thousand visitors give themselves up to pleasure. In the
warm shadow of the booths merry groups stand idly chatting. Managers
of theatres shout and scream and yell. Marionettes whirl and twirl
and curtsey, and move their heads up and down with sudden jerks, and
go through their little antics with the same melancholy precision as
elsewhere. Acrobats climb poles and perform juggling tricks to the
astonished multitude. In the eating-booths the fires gleam like “mad
Sarabands,” and the people cooking the gipsy roasts stand out against
them like black imps.
Passing the Jägerhorn on our way back to our hotel, we find the
_Czigánok_ are sawing away there as usual, whilst the people sitting
beside the snowy tables pave the way for night-mares as they devour
their “_gebratene Ente_” and “_geschmortes Lämmerchen_.” It is worth
while entering to see the costumes and various physiognomies of
the visitors: the soft, caressing, and almost effeminate features
of the Sláv from the South, and the pale, olive-complexioned Greek,
contrasting forcibly with the robust and majestic Magyars--off-shoots
of a kingly race--with their frank and manly countenances.
On reaching the hotel, we find ourselves unexpectedly plunged in the
lap of luxury, a Hungarian gentleman having offered to exchange our
little chamber _au quatrième_ all amongst the chimneys and the
cats, for his own handsome and commodious room on the first floor, one
of the thousand acts of kindness we received whilst travelling in this
country. There is no city where there is greater amusement and gaiety
than Pest, particularly in the winter, when the “nobles” bring their
families to the Capital from their country chateaux. At this season
there is a perpetual round of balls and entertainments, skating being
the favourite occupation during the hours of day. In May the _beau
monde_ return to their country seats, and the traveller may then
look in vain for the beautiful horses and handsome equipages, which in
the winter months brighten the streets of the city.
Pest, too, is the seat of the National Government. Accompanied by
a member of the Diet, to whom we had a letter of introduction, we
visited the Lower House at the time when the Delegates were sitting.
Received at the entrance hall by a number of lackeys, dressed in a
handsome Hussar uniform of black and scarlet, we were at once shown
to the visitors’ gallery. Many of the members wore the black cloth
_attila_, and embroidered waistcoat, but by far the greater
number the severe garments of Western Europe, even the nobles having
relinquished the brilliant costumes with which they formerly sat in
Assembly.
There are 441 Delegates, all of whom are chosen irrespective of
religious sects. Of this number 39 are Croatians, who speak in their
native language--Slavonian.
The Magyars, as a rule, evince great calmness in council. Their warm
and impulsive natures, however, and susceptibility to excitement,
render them victims to the most violent and rapid changes of
temperament, and, even in the midst of the calmest deliberation, they
not unfrequently manifest the wildest outbursts of feeling.
On the occasion of our visit, the debate was rather a noisy one, and
the President’s bell was in frequent requisition, but the very instant
Baron Sennyei rose to speak, the most perfect silence reigned, and the
eyes of every Delegate in the House were steadily fixed upon him. He is
a great politician and the present leader of the Conservative party,
or what is called _Mérsékett ellenzék_ (moderate adverse party),
and is spoken of as the one who will, in all probability, be chosen
President of the Council at the next election.
The Magyar language, which is spoken by almost 6¼ millions of
inhabitants, or 40 per cent. of the entire population, is forcible,
energetic, and capable of the most impassioned eloquence, and although
pathetic in its tones when spoken in conversation, when declaimed it
becomes bold and emphatic. It is copious in idiomatic expressions, and
rich in its vocabulary of words. Although the Magyar language possesses
no auxiliary verb “to have,” no primitive possessive pronouns, no
gender for the distinction of sexes, and scarcely any true declension
for objective terms, yet it is said to surpass every Teutonic,
Slavonic, Italic, and IndoEuropean language in the richness of its
verbal formations. Of all the letters in the alphabet, _k_ is the
one most conspicuously heard, and all the more so from the fact of its
coming at the end of so many words, being generally used to denote the
plural.
The Magyar language, if for no other reason, would be deeply
interesting to the stranger from the fact of its being the only
non-Aryan tongue throughout Europe (if we except that of the Finns) in
which Christian rites are performed and Parliamentary debates carried
on, and also from its having been established in Europe and subjected
to Aryan influences for nearly a thousand years, without having lost
its essential Turanian features, its etymology and syntax still
preserving their ancient characteristics.
Until forty-five years ago, Latin was the language universally used
throughout Hungary in all proceedings connected with law and diplomacy.
The country having at one period been under the dominion of two foreign
powers, viz., the Austrian and Mahomedan, a common language was
necessary for these deliberations. By mutual consent, therefore, the
mediæval Latin was adopted, and but for this the three languages spoken
in the country, viz., Magyar, German, and Turkish, would necessarily
have created great confusion.
In fact, so commonly was it in use until twenty or thirty years
ago, that it was called “_Stataria_,” whilst Magyar itself was
even taught by the means of Latin, the grammar being designated
“_Hungarica_.”
In some parts of Hungary, even in comparatively recent times, Latin
was used by the peasantry to converse with persons belonging to
nationalities other than their own, whilst the Huns, whose language was
a harsh and barren idiom, likewise strove to make Latin--which was
spoken in Pannonia in the time of Augustus--the medium of communication
with their fellows.
After we had remained listening some time to the expressive utterances
of Baron Sennyei, Herr Franz Pulszky--a man of considerable note,
not only in his own country, but in many European circles--conducted
us to the Upper House, situated over the National Museum, where
sit the nobles. The gallery surrounding the grand staircase by
which the room and its antechambers are approached is adorned
with fresco-paintings--very creditably executed by Hungarian
artists--representing the history of the civilisation of Hungary and,
beginning with the entry of the Huns into the country, portraying the
various epochs of history, and ending with the revolutionary period of
1848.
Our cicerone was one whose features proclaimed that nature had destined
him for no ordinary career. Pointing to a fresco situated in one of the
most conspicuous places, viz., close to the entrance of the Chamber of
Debate, he exclaims:
“You see there the great leader of our Patriotic party.”
“What, _Kossuth_ here, and Louis Batthyani?” we cried as we
observed a figure bearing the palm branch of martyrdom, and knew at
once for whom it was intended.
“Yes, and _I_ am here,” he added significantly. “The Austrian
Government made a great fuss about it at first, but was obliged to
give in at last.” And as I looked up at the commanding figure of the
revolutionary leader haranguing the populace, I must say I could not
help wondering it had done so.
The picture in question besides Kossuth represented Deák, Széchenyi,
Louis Batthyani, who was executed at Temesvár, and Petőfy, the poet of
the Revolution.
It was pleasant to hear the very grateful terms in which Herr Pulszky
alluded to the Emperor of Austria for having spared his life. He was
condemned to death on two occasions, once to be shot and the other to
be hanged. He had, however, the honour of being burnt in effigy.
The Hall of Assembly, though small, is a very handsomely decorated
apartment. On the lowest tier stand the chairs of crimson and gold,
where sit the Cardinals, whilst on the desks in front of the seats
above we recognised the familiar names of Graf Festetics and Prince
Windishgraitz, which, on those gentlemen paying a visit to England some
years ago, were, as might have been anticipated, converted into the
more intelligible, if not euphemistic ones, of “Count Fiddlesticks,”
and “Prince Windowscratch.”
It is singular that Count Andrássy--the correct pronunciation of
whose name is _Andrasshy_--though a Magyar and also condemned to
death for the part he took in the insurrection under Kossuth, should
until recently have filled the post of Prime Minister to the Austrian
Government, an anomalous position one can scarcely understand any
Hungarian patriot occupying with their very natural repugnance to the
Austrian supremacy.
[Illustration]