Visits at Transylvanian châteaux--Society--Dogs--Amusements at
Klausenburg--Magyar poets--Count Istvan Széchenyi--Baron
Eötvos--'The Village Notary'--Hungarian self-criticism--Literary
taste.
I must now drop the itinerary of my journey and speak more in
generalities; for after leaving the wilder districts of the Szeklerland,
I took the opportunity of presenting some of the letters of introduction
that I brought with me from England.
For the succeeding six weeks or more I spent my time most agreeably in
the châteaux of some of the well-known Transylvanian nobles. For the
time my wild rovings were over. The bivouac in the glorious forest and
robber-steak cooked by the camp fire--the pleasures of "roughing
it"--were exchanged for the charms of society.
And society is _very_ charming in Transylvania. Nearly all the ladies
speak English well, and are extremely well read in our literature. To
speak French is a matter of course everywhere; but they infinitely
prefer our literature, and speak our language always in preference when
they can.
The works of such men as Darwin, Lyell, and Tyndall are read. I remember
seeing these, and many other leading authors, in a bookseller's shop in
Klausenburg. It is true this last-named place is the capital--viz., the
Magyar capital--of Transylvania, but in most respects it is a mere
provincial town.
A friend and myself happened to be lunching one day in the principal
inn--it was in the _salle à manger_--and we were talking together in
English. Presently I noticed a remarkably little man at the next table,
who looked towards us several times; finally he got up from his chair,
or rather I should say got down, and making a sign to us equivalent to
touching his hat, he said, "Gentlemen, I am an Englishman; I thought it
right to tell you in case you should think there was no one present who
understood what you were talking!" It was very civil of the little
fellow, for we were talking rather unguardedly about some well-known
personages. I then asked him how he came to be in this part of the
world, and he told me he was a jockey, and had been over several times
to ride at the Klausenburg races; but he added he was very sorry that
they always took place on a Sunday! There is certainly no "_bitter_
observance of the Sabbath" in Hungary generally. Offices are open, and
business is conducted as usual--certainly in the morning.
There is some good coursing in the neighbourhood of Klausenburg, which
is kept up closely on the pattern of English sport. I had two or three
good runs with the harriers, and on one occasion got a spill that was a
close shave of breaking my neck. Count T---- had given me a mount. The
horse was all right, but not knowing the nature of the country, I was
not aware that the ground drops suddenly in many places. Coming to
something of this kind without preparation, the horse threw me, and I
was pitched down an embankment upwards of twelve feet in depth. Several
people who saw the mishap thought it was all up with me, but, curiously
enough, I was absolutely unhurt. A pull at my flask set me all right,
and I walked back the five miles to Klausenburg. The horse unfortunately
galloped away, and was not brought back till the next day, and then
minus his saddle; however, it was recovered subsequently.
In the present scare about hydrophobia the following is worth notice.
One day when walking in the principal street of Klausenburg I heard a
great barking amongst the dogs, of which there were some dozen following
a closed van. On inquiry I found that once a-week the authorities send
round to see if there are any dogs at large without the regulation
tax-collar. If any such vagabonds are found they are consigned to the
covered cart, and are forthwith shot. This excellent arrangement has the
effect of keeping down the number of dogs; besides, there is the
safeguard attendant upon the responsibility of ownership. The funny part
of the matter is that the tax-paying dogs are not the least alarmed at
the appearance of the whipper-in, but join with great show of public
spirit in denouncing the collarless vagrants.
Klausenburg has not the picturesque situation of Kronstadt, but it is a
pleasant clean-looking town, with wide streets diverging from the Platz,
where stands the Cathedral, completed by Matthias Corvinus, son of
Hunyadi. This famous king, always called "the Just," was born at
Klausenburg in 1443.
As Herrmannstadt and Kronstadt are chiefly inhabited by Saxon
immigrants, and Maros Vásárhely is the central place of the Szeklers, so
may Klausenburg, or rather Kolozsvár, as it is rightly named, be
considered the Magyar capital of Transylvania.
The gaieties of the winter season had not commenced when I was there,
but I understand the world amuses itself immensely. The nobles come in
from their remote châteaux to their houses, or apartments, as it may be,
in town, and then the ball is set going.
There is a good theatre in Klausenburg. I found the acting decidedly
above the average of the provincial stage generally. I saw a piece of
Moliere's given, and though I could only understand the Hungarian very
imperfectly, I was enabled to follow it well enough to judge of the
acting.
Shakespeare is so great a favourite with the Hungarians that his plays
are certainly more often represented on the stage at Buda-Pest than in
London. The Hungarian translation of our great poet, as I observed
before, is most excellent.
It was a band of patriotic poets who first employed the language of the
Magyars in their compositions. Hitherto all literary utterance had been
confined to Latin, or to the foreign tongues spoken at courts. The rash
attempt of Joseph II. to denationalise the Magyar and to Germanise
Hungary by imperial edicts had a violent reactionary result. The
strongest and the most enduring expression is to be found in the popular
literature which was inaugurated by such men as Csokonai and the two
brothers Kisfaludy, who were all three born in the last century. The
songs of Csokonai have retained their hold on the people's hearts
because, and here is the keynote--"because they breathe the true
Hungarian feeling." The insistent themes of the Magyar poets were the
love of country, the joys of home, the duty of patriotism. Such was the
soul-stirring 'Appeal' ('Szózat') of Varósmazty, the chief of all the
tuneful brethren, the Schiller of Hungary. Born with the nineteenth
century, and at once its child and its teacher, he died in 1855--too
soon, alas! to see the benefits accruing to his beloved country from the
wise reconciliatory policy of his dear friend Deák. His funeral was
attended by more than 20,000 people, and the country provided for his
family.
Whenever the poets of Hungary are mentioned the name of Petoefy will
occur, and he was second to none in originality of thought and poetic
utterance. An intense love of his native scenery, not excepting even the
dreary boundless Alföld, afforded inspiration for his genius. His poetic
temperament and pathetic story give him a certain likeness to the brave
young Körner, dear to every German heart. Petoefy was engaged in editing
a Hungarian translation of Shakespeare when he was interrupted by the
political events of 1848. His pen and sword were alike devoted to the
cause of patriotism, and entering the army under General Bern, he
became his adjutant and secretary. During the memorable winter campaign
in Transylvania he wrote proclamations and warlike songs. We all know
the story of the Russian invasion of Transylvania at Austria's appeal,
and how the brave Hungarians fought and fell at the battle of
Schässburg. This engagement took place on the 31st of July '49. Petoefy
was present, and indeed had been seen in the thick of the fight; but in
the evening he was missing from the roll-call, and, strange to say, his
remains, though searched for, were never identified. The mystery which
hung over his fate caused many romantic stories to be circulated, and
not a few claimants to his name and fame have arisen. Even within the
last three months a report has reached his native village that he had
been seen in the mines of Siberia, where he has been kept a prisoner all
these years by the Russians!
The language of the Magyars was heard not in poetry alone, but in the
sternest prose. "Hungary is not, but Hungary shall be," said Count
Széchcnyi. The men who worked out this problem were politicians,
writers, and orators. Foremost among them may be reckoned Baron Eötvos,
one of the most liberal-minded and enlightened thinkers of the day. His
efforts were specially directed to improving the education of all
classes of the community. With this end and aim he worked unceasingly.
He held the post of Minister of Cultus and Education in the first
independent Hungarian Ministry in 1848, but withdrew in consequence of
political differences with his colleagues. Again in 1867 he held the
same _porte-feuille_ under Count Andrassy, but died in 1870 universally
regretted. His best known literary productions arc two novels, 'The
Carthusian' and 'The Village Notary,' The latter highly-interesting,
indeed dramatic story, may be recommended to any one who desires to know
what really were the sufferings entailed upon the peasantry under the
old system of forced labour. It is one of those fictions which, as old
Walter Savage Landor used to say, "are more true than fact." It was the
'Uncle Tom's Cabin' of that day, and of the cause he had at heart--the
abolition of serfdom. In reading this most thrilling story, one can
understand the evil times that gave birth to the terrible saying of the
peasant, "that a lord is a lord, even in hell."
Yet it was the nobles themselves who abolished at one sweep all the
privileges of their order. It was by their unanimous consent that the
manumission of nearly eight millions of serfs was granted, at the same
time converting the feudal holdings of some 500,000 families into
absolute freeholds.
In Hungary it would appear that public opinion is generously receptive
of new impulses, and in this particular the Hungarians resemble us, as
they claim to do in many things, calling themselves "the English of the
East."
"It is curious," said Baroness B---- to me one day, "that with all our
respect for British institutions, and everything that is English, that
we fail to copy their straight good sense. We have too many talkers, too
few workers. We are not yet a money-making nation; we have no idea of
serious work, and our spirit for business is not yet developed. Almost
all industrial or commercial enterprises are in the hands of Jews,
Armenians, Greeks, who are great scoundrels generally."
"The Armenians are instinctive traders," I remarked.
"Yes, true; just as we are the very reverse. But this change has come
over us. Taking again our cue from England, we see that trade can be
respectable, and those who follow it are respected--with you at least.
We try to _Englishify_ ourselves, and some of the younger members of the
community make a funny hash of it. For instance, a rich young country
swell in our neighbourhood went over to England and came back in
raptures with everything, and tried to turn everything upside down at
home without accommodating his new ideas to the circumstances that were
firmly rooted here. You may see him now sit down to dinner with an
English dresscoat over his red Hungarian waistcoat. His freaks went far
beyond this, and he came to be known as the 'savage Englishman.'"
I asked my hostess if our English novels were much read.
"Everybody likes your English fiction," replied Baroness B----. "It is
immensely read, and has helped to promote the knowledge of the language
more perhaps than anything else. We, too, have our writers of fiction.
Jokai is the most prolific, but he has got to be too much an imitator of
the French school. One of his earlier novels, 'The New Landlord,' has
been translated into English, and gives a good picture of Hungarian life
in the transition state of things. For elegance of style he is not to be
compared to Gzulai Paul and Baron Eötvos."
"There seems to be a growing interest in natural history and
literature," I remarked, "judging from the enormous increase of
newspapers and journals which pass through the post, both foreign and
local."
"With regard to local journals," replied the Baroness, "we have the
'Osszehasonlitó irodalomtörténelmi Lapok' ('Comparative Literary
Journal'), which is published at Klausenburg, at Herrmannstadt, and at
Kesmark in Upper Hungary. There are Natural History Societies, who
publish their reports annually. Added to this, there are few towns of
any size that have not their public libraries. I speak specially of
Transylvania, where we affect a higher degree of culture than in Hungary
Proper."
Baroness B---- was very anxious to impress upon me that certainly in
Transylvania the ladies of good society do not affect "fast" manners or
style. "Very few amongst us," she said, "adopt the nasty habit of
smoking cigarettes. I am very sorry that Countess A---- has attempted to
introduce this fashion from Pest."
Buda-Pest, though the capital, is not the place to find the best
Hungarian society. Many of the old families prefer Pressburg; and
Klausenburg is to Transylvania what Edinburgh was to Scotland, socially
speaking, before the days of railroads. In the season good society may
be met with at the various baths, but every year the facilities of
travel enable people to go farther a-field health-seeking and for
pleasure.