A visit at Schloss B------National characteristics--Robber
stories--Origin of the "poor lads"--Audacity of the
robbers--Anecdote of Deák and the housebreaker--Romantic story of a
robber chief.
The three weeks I remained at Schloss B---- were amongst the most
agreeable days I spent in Transylvania. There were a great many visitors
coming and going, affording me an excellent opportunity of seeing the
society of that part of Hungary. With regard to the younger generation,
the Transylvanians are like well-bred people all the world over. The
ladies have something of the frankness of superior Americans--the sort
of Americans that Lord Lytton describes in 'The Parisians'--and in
consequence conversation has more vivacity than with us.
In the elder generation you may detect far more of national peculiarity;
in some cases they retain the national dress, and with it the Magyar
pride and ostentation, so strongly dashed with Orientalism. Then again,
in the houses of the old nobility, one is struck by many curious
incongruities. For example, Count T---- has a large retinue of
servants--five cooks are hardly able at times to supply his hospitable
board, so numerous are the guests--yet the walls of his rooms are simply
whitewashed, and the furniture is a mixture of costly articles from
Vienna and the handiwork of the village carpenter. A whole array of
servants, who are in gorgeous liveries at dinner, may be seen barefooted
in the morning.
In talking with some of the elderly members of the family, I heard many
curious anecdotes of old Hungarian customs; but "the old order changeth"
here as elsewhere, and a monotonous uniformity threatens the social
world. Even as it is, everybody who entertains his friends at dinner is
much the same as everybody else, be he in Monmouth or Macedon.
Distinctive characteristics of race are found more easily in the common
people, who are less amenable to the change of fashion than their
superiors. Baroness B---- had a complete repertory of robber stories,
some of which are so characteristic that I will repeat them here.
I have before alluded to the peculiarity which existed in the old system
preserving to the peasant his personal freedom, though the land was
burdened with duties. It was not till 1838 that the Austrians
introduced the conscription, and subsequently they carried out the law
with a brutality that made the innovation thoroughly detested by the
peasantry. Accustomed to their tradition of personal freedom, the forced
military service in itself was regarded with intense dislike. The richer
classes were enabled to pay a certain sum of money for exemption, but
the poor were helpless; they were dragged from their houses and sent to
distant parts of the empire, to serve for a long period of years. As
cases had not unfrequently occurred of the recruits running away, they
were subjected to the ignominy of being chained together in gangs; and
as if this was not enough, many superfluous brutalities were inflicted
by the Austrian officials.
To escape from this hated service, many a young man fled from his home
in anticipation of the next levy of the conscription, and hid himself in
the shepherds' _tanya_ in the plain. These remote dwellings in the
distant _puszta_ were no bad hiding--places, and the fugitives were
freely harboured by the shepherds, who shared the animosity of the "poor
lads" against the Austrian conscription. In course of time these outlaws
found honest work difficult to procure; they became, in short, vagabonds
on the face of the earth, and ended by forming themselves into robber
bands. They had also their class grievance against the rich, who had
been enabled to buy themselves off from serving in the army. The numbers
of the original fugitives were soon increased by evil-doers from all
sides--ruffians who had a natural bent for rapine--and a plague of
robbers was the result, threatening all parts of Hungary. The mischief
grew to such serious proportions, and it transpired that the robbers had
everywhere accomplices in the towns and villages. Persons of apparently
respectable position were suspected of favouring them; they were called
"poor lads," and a glamour of patriotism was flung over the fugitives
from Austrian tyranny.
During the war of independence these robber bands rallied round their
elected chief, Shandor Bozsa, and actually offered their services to the
Hungarian Government, as they desired to take part in the great national
struggle. The Provisional Government accepted their services, and they
came pouring in from every part of the country. At first they behaved
very well, and in fact many of these "irregulars" distinguished
themselves by acts of great valour. In the end it was the old story;
they soon showed a degree of insubordination that rendered them worse
than useless to the regular army. By the time the struggle for
independence had found its melancholy ending at Villagos, these fellows
were again at their old tricks of horse-stealing and cattle-lifting, and
they went so far as to waylay even the _honved_, the national Hungarian
militia. The well-disposed part of the community was powerless to resist
the robbers, for after the disastrous events of 1849 the Austrian
Government prohibited the possession of firearms, even for hunting
purposes, so that villages and towns, one might almost say, were at the
mercy of a band of well-armed robbers. The Government were so busy
hunting down political conspirators, and hanging, shooting, and
imprisoning patriots, that they were indifferent to the increase of
brigandage. The statistics of the political persecutions which Hungary
suffered at the hands of Austria during the ten years that followed
Villagos were significant. Upwards of two thousand persons were
sentenced to death, nearly ten times that number were thrown into
prison, and almost five thousand Hungarian patriots were driven into
exile--amongst the number Deák, the yet-to-be saviour of his country.
But to return to the robbers. They had spread themselves over the whole
land; from the forests of Bakony to Transylvania, from the Carpathians
to the Danube, no place was free from these desperate marauders. They
committed incredible deeds of boldness. On one occasion seven or eight
robbers attacked a caravan of thirty waggons in the neighbourhood of
Szegedin, the cavalcade being on its way to the fair in that town. The
traders were without a single firearm amongst them, so that the
fully--armed brigands effected their purpose, though it was broad
daylight. Another time they entered a market town in Transylvania and
coolly demanded that the broken wheel of their waggon should be mended,
threatening to shoot down anybody who offered the slightest opposition.
The post was frequently stopped, but it came to be remarked, that though
the passengers were generally killed, the drivers escaped. This,
together with the fact that the post was always stopped when there were
large sums of money in course of transit, led the authorities to suspect
that their employés were in collusion with the robbers, and subsequent
events proved this to be the case.
When the hostility of Austria had somewhat cooled down, the dangerous
up-growth of these robber bands attracted the serious attention of the
Government, and not only _gendarmerie_ but military force were employed
against them. The officials to a man were Germans and Bohemians,
indifferently honest, and hated by the peasantry, who, after all,
preferred a Hungarian robber to an Austrian official. The consequence
was that they were not by any means very ready to depose against the
"poor lads," and the Government found themselves unequal to cope with
the difficulty, so things went from bad to worse.
In 1867, when at last the reconciliation policy of Deák had effected a
substantial peace with Austria, the Hungarian Constitution being
reestablished, and the towns and _comitats_ (counties) having got back
their prerogatives and self-government, the intolerable evil of
brigandage was at once brought before the attention of the Parliament
assembled at Buda-Pest. There were a great many speeches made upon the
subject, and Count Forgács with a considerable military force was
despatched to Zala and the adjoining country against the robbers. He
simply drove them out of one part of the country to carry on their
devastations in another, and dreadful robberies and murders were
reported from Szegedin. On several occasions the post was stopped, and
the passengers were invariably killed. They even stopped the railway
train one day at Péteri.
Government were now obliged to take stronger measures. They recalled
Count Forgács, and despatched Count Rádaz as Royal Commissary with
augmented powers, Parliament in the mean time voting a grant of 60,000
florins for the purpose.
The energetic measures taken by Count Rádaz led to some remarkable
disclosures. He discovered that tradesmen, magistrates, and other
employés in towns and villages were in communication with the brigands,
and in fact shared the booty. It came to be remarked that certain
persons returned suddenly to their homes after a mysterious absence,
which corresponded with the commission of some desperate outrage in
another part of the country.
In the space of fifteen months Count Rádaz had to deal with nearly six
hundred cases of capital offences, and no less than two hundred of the
malefactors were condemned to the gallows.
"Wherever they can the peasants will shelter the 'poor lads' from the
law," said my friend. "It happened only last spring in our neighbourhood
that a robber had been tracked to a village, but though this had
happened on several occasions, yet the authorities failed to find him.
It was known that he had a sweetheart there, a handsome peasant girl,
who was herself a favourite with everybody. One day, however, the
soldiers discovered him hidden in a hay-loft. There was a terrible
struggle; the robber, discharging his revolver, killed one man and
wounded another. At length he was secured, strongly bound, and placed in
a waggon to be conveyed to the nearest fortress. When passing through a
wood the convoy was set upon by a lot of women, who flung flowers into
the waggon, and a little farther on a rescue was attempted; but the
military were in strong force, and the villagers had to content
themselves with loud expressions of sympathy for the 'poor lad.' He was,
in truth, a handsome, gallant young fellow--open-handed, generous to the
poor, and with the courage of a lion--just the sort of hero for a
mischievous romance."
The following story, related by my friend Baroness B----, proves that
there were men amongst these outlaws who were not destitute of patriotic
feeling. In the year 1867 a band of "poor lads" surprised a country
gentleman's house by night. It was their habit to ask for money and
valuables, and woe betide those who refused, unless they were strong
enough to resist the demand. Horrible atrocities were committed by these
miscreants, who have been known to torture the inhabitants of lonely
dwellings, finishing their brutal work by setting fire to house and
homestead.
On the occasion above named the robber band consisted of more than a
dozen well-armed men, and as the household was but small, resistance
was out of the question. They made a forcible entrance, and were going
the round of every room in the house, collecting all valuables of a
portable nature, when it chanced that they entered the guest-chamber,
that had for its occupant no less a person than the great patriot
Francis Deák. The intruders instantly pounced on a very handsome gold
watch lying on a table near the bedside. Mr Deák, thus rudely disturbed,
awoke to the unpleasant fact that his much-prized watch was in the hands
of the robbers. Giving them credit for some feelings of patriotism, he
simply told them who he was, adding that the watch was the keepsake of a
dear departed friend, and begged they would restore it to him. On
hearing his name the chief immediately handed the watch back,
apologising "very much for breaking in on the repose of honoured Mr
Deák, whom they held in so much respect," adding "that the nature of
their occupation obliged them to make use of the hours of the night for
their work."
The chance of interviewing Mr Deák was not to be neglected, so the
robber chief sat down by the bedside of the statesman and had a chat
about political affairs, and finally took his leave with many
expressions of respect. Not an article of Mr Deák's was touched; they
even contented themselves with a very moderate amount of black-mail
from the master of the house, and no one was personally injured in any
way.
My next story is a very romantic one; it was related to me by an English
friend who was travelling in Hungary as long ago as 1846, when the
circumstance had recently occurred. It seems that in those days a
certain lady, the widow of a wealthy magnate, inhabited a lonely castle
not far from the principal route between Buda and Vienna. She received
one morning a polite note requesting her to provide supper at ten
o'clock that night for twelve gentlemen! She knew at once the character
of her self-invited guests, and devised a novel mode of defence. Some
people would have sent post-haste to the nearest town for help, but the
_châtelaine_ could easily divine that every road from the castle would
be watched to prevent communication, so she made her own plans.
At ten o'clock up rode an armed band, twelve men in all; immediately the
gate of the outer court and the entrance door were thrown open, as if
for the most honoured and welcome guests. The lady of the castle herself
stood in the entrance to receive them, richly dressed as if for an
entertainment. She at once selected the chief, bade him welcome, gave
orders that their horses should be well cared for, and then taking the
arm of her guest, she led him into the dining-hall. Here a goodly feast
was spread, the tables and sideboard being covered with a magnificent
display of gold and silver plate, the accumulation of many generations.
The leader of the robber band started back surprised, but immediately
recovering his presence of mind, he seated himself calmly by the side of
his charming hostess, who soon engaged him in conversation about the gay
world of Vienna, whose doings were perfectly familiar to them both. At
length, when the feast was nearly ended, the chief took out his watch
and said, "Madame, the happiest moments of my life have always been the
shortest. I have another engagement this night, but before I leave allow
me to tell you that in appealing to my honour, as you have done
to-night, you have saved me from the commission of a crime. Bad as I am,
none ever appealed to my honour in vain. As for you, my men," he said,
looking sternly round with his hand on his pistol, "I charge you to take
nothing from this house; he who disobeys me dies that instant."
The chief then asked for pen and paper, and writing some sentences in a
strange character, handed it to his hostess, saying, "If you or your
retainers should at any time lose anything of value, let that paper be
displayed in the nearest town, and I pledge you my word the missing
articles shall be returned." After this he took his leave, the troop
mounted their horses and departed.
My friend told me that he was enabled to verify the story; and he
subsequently discovered the real name of the robber chief. He was an
impoverished cadet of one of the noblest families in Hungary. His fate
was sad enough; lie was captured a few months after this incident, and
ended his life under the hands of the common hangman.