Skating--Death and funeral of Deák--Deák's policy--Uneasiness about
the rise of the Danube--Great excitement about inundations--The
capital in danger--Night scene on the embankment--Firing the
danger-signal--The great calamity averted.
The winter is usually a very pleasant season at Buda-Pest. There is
plenty of amusement; in fact, during the carnival, parties, balls, and
concerts succeed one another without cessation. The Hungarians dance as
though it were an exercise of patriotism; with them it is no languid
movement half deprecated by the utilitarian soul--it is a passion
whirling them into ecstasy. But dancing was not the only diversion. The
winter I was at Buda-Pest a long spell of enduring frost gave us some
capital skating. The fashionable society meet for this amusement in the
park, where there is a piece of ornamental water about five acres in
extent. Here the Skating Club have established themselves, having
erected a handsome pavilion at the side of the lake to serve as a
clubhouse.
From time to time _fêtes_ are given on the ice. I was present on more
than one occasion, and I must say it would be difficult to imagine a
more animated or a prettier scene. The Hungarians always display great
taste in their arrangements for festive gatherings. During the gay
carnival of 1876 "all went merry as a marriage-bell" till the sad news
spread that the great patriot Deák was sick unto death. Then we heard
that he had passed away from our midst--I say "our midst," for Hungary
throws a glamour over the stranger that is within her gates, and, moved
by irresistible sympathy, you are led to rejoice in her joy and mourn
with her in her sorrow.
Buda-Pest presented on the day of Deák's funeral a scene never to be
forgotten. It was a whole people mourning for their friend--their safe
guide in time of trouble, the statesman who of all others had planted a
firm basis of future prosperity.
Francis Deák was endowed with that rare gift of persuasion which can
appeal to hostile parties, and in the end unite them in common patriotic
action. Any one who has attentively considered the state of parties in
Hungary during the last decade will know with what irreconcilable
elements the great statesman had to deal. To the Magyars he said, "He
who will be free himself must be just to others;" while to the Slavs he
said, "Labour with us, that we may labour for you." "Reconciliation"
and "compromise" with Austria were the most unpopular words that could
be uttered at that time, yet Deák bravely spoke them in his famous open
letter on Easter day 1865. He continued his calm and steady appeal to
public opinion till his patriotic efforts were rewarded by the close of
that long-standing strife between the Hungarian people and their king.
On the day of the funeral the ground was white with snow, the cold was
intense, but a vast concourse of people followed Deák to his grave. On
the road to the cemetery every house was hung with black, the city was
really and truly in mourning; and well it might be, for their great
peace-maker was dead, the man who beyond all others of his generation
had the power to restrain the impatient enthusiasm of his countrymen by
wise counsels that had grown almost paternal in their gentle influence.
While we were still thinking and talking of Deáks political career, a
very present cause for anxiety arose in reference to the state of the
Danube. The annual breaking up of the ice is always anticipated with
uneasiness, for during this century no less than thirteen serious
inundations have occurred. This year there was reason for alarm, for
early in January the level of the river was unusually high, and a
further rise had taken place, unprecedented at that season.
The greatest disaster of the kind on record took place in 1838, when the
greater part of Pest was inundated, and something like four thousand
houses were churned up in the flood; nor was this all, for the loss of
life had been very considerable, owing to the sudden nature of the
calamity on that occasion. The recollection of this terrible disaster
within the living memory of many persons kept the inhabitants of
Buda-Pest very keenly alive to any abnormal rise of the Danube waters.
There were, besides, additional circumstances which created uneasiness
and led to very acrimonious discussions. In recent years certain
"rectifications" had been effected in the course of the Danube, which
one-half of the community averred would for ever prevent the chance of
any recurrence of the catastrophe of 1838. But there are always two
parties in every question--"Little-endians" and "Big-endians"--and a
great many people were of opinion that these very "rectifications" were,
in fact, an additional source of peril to the capital.
The case stands thus: the river, left to its own devices, separates
below Pest into two branches, called respectively the Soroksár and the
Promontar; these branches continue their course independently of each
other for a distance of about fifty-seven kilometres, forming the great
island of Csepel, which has an average width of about five kilometres.
By certain embankments on the Soroksár branch the _régime_ of the river
has been disturbed, and according to the opinion of M. Révy, a French
engineer,[22] this has been a grave mistake, and he thinks that the
Danube misses her former channel of Soroksár more and more. He further
remarks in the very strongest terms upon an engineering operation "which
proposes the amputation of a vital limb, conveying about one-third of
the power and life of a giant river when in flood--a step which has no
parallel in the magnitude of its consequences in any river with which I
am acquainted."
Now let us see which side the Danube took in the controversy in the
spring of 1876. On the 17th of February the public mind had been almost
tranquillised by the gradual fall of the water-level, but appearances
changed very rapidly on the morning of the 18th, for alarming
intelligence came to Buda-Pest from the Upper Danube. It seems that a
sudden rise of temperature had melted the vast deposits of snow in the
mountains of the Tyrol and other high ranges which send down their
tributary waters to the Danube. A telegram from Passau announced the
startling news that the waters of the Inn had risen eleven feet since
the afternoon of the previous day, and further news came that the Danube
had risen twelve and a half feet in the same time. Following close upon
this came intelligence of a disastrous inundation at Vienna which had
caused loss of life and property. The boats and barges in the winter
harbour of the Austrian capital had been dragged from their anchorage,
covering the river with the _débris_ of wreckage; in short, widespread
mischief was reported generally from the Upper Danube.
There was a prevalent idea that Buda-Pest had been saved by the flood
breaking bounds at Vienna, but events proved that our troubles were yet
to come. There was a peculiarity in the thaw of this spring which told
tremendously against us. It came westward--viz., down stream instead of
up stream, as it usually does. This state of things greatly increased
the chances of flood in the middle Danube, as the descending volume of
water and ice-blocks found the lower part of the river still frozen and
inert. Even up to the 21st the daily rise in the river was only six
inches, and if the large floes of ice which passed the town had only
gone on their course without interruption all might still have been
well. Unfortunately, however, this was far from being the case. It seems
that at Eresi, a few miles below Buda-Pest, where the water is shallow,
the ice had formed into a compact mass for the space of six miles, and
at this point the down-drifting ice-blocks got regularly stacked, rising
higher and higher, till the whole vast volume of water was bayed back
upon the twin cities of Buda and Pest, the latter place being specially
endangered by its site on the edge of the great plain.
The authorities now devised plans for clearing away this ice-barrier,
which acted as an impediment to the flow of the river. They tried to
blow it up by means of dynamite, but all to no purpose; and it soon
became apparent that the danger to the capital was hourly on the
increase. At Pest the excitement and alarm became intense, for the
mighty waters were visibly and inexorably rising. We saw the steps of
the quay disappear one after another; then the whole subway of the
embankment became engulfed. Ominous cracks appeared in the asphaltic
promenade of the Corso, and the public were warned not to approach the
railings, lest they should give way bodily and fall over into the water,
which was lapping at the stonework. The "High-Water Commission" found it
necessary to close all the drains, and steam-pumps were brought into
requisition; the town was in fact besieged by water, and the enemy was
literally at the gates. The ordinary business of life was suspended. The
greeting in the street was not, "Good-day; how are you?" but, "What of
the Danube?" "Do you know the last reading of the register?" "Does the
water still rise?"
"Still rising"--this was always the answer. On the morning of the 23d
the river had risen upwards of two feet in twenty-four hours. Hundreds
of people now thought seriously of flight from the doomed city. There
was a complete exodus to the heights behind Buda. The suspension bridge
was crowded day and night by the citizens, carrying with them their
wives, their children, and a miscellaneous collection of valuables. In
the town the shopkeepers removed their goods to the upper stories,
plastering up the doors and windows of the basement with cement; and
careful householders laid in provisions for several days' consumption.
The authorities had enough on their hands; amongst other things they had
to provide means of rescue, if necessary, for the inhabitants of Old
Buda, New Pest, and other low-lying quarters. The names of all public
buildings standing on higher levels, or otherwise suitable as places of
refuge, were notified in the event of a catastrophe. Boats also were
drawn up on the Corso and in some of the squares. From the want of these
precautions there had resulted that lamentable loss of life in 1838.
Furthermore, the public were to be informed when the danger became
imminent by the firing of cannon-shots from the citadel on the lofty
Blocksberg, which dominates the town on the Buda side. The day of the
24th had been wild and stormy, the evening was intensely dark; but
notwithstanding, thousands, nay half Pest, crowded the river-bank. For
hours this surging multitude moved hither and thither on the Corso,
drawn together by the sense of common danger and distress.
I was there amongst the rest, peering into the darkness. My brother's
arm was linked in mine, and we stood for some time on the Corso, just
above the fruit-market, facing Buda; but nothing, not even the outline
of the hills, was visible in the thick, black darkness of the night.
"Ah! what is that?--look!" cried my brother, with a pressure of the arm
that sent an electric shock through my body. Yes, sure enough, there was
a flash of fire high up on the Blocksberg that made a rift in the
darkness; and then, before we had time for speech, there came a sharp,
ringing, detonating sound that made every window in the Corso rattle
again. Once, twice, thrice the booming cannon roared out its terrible
warning. It was the appointed signal, and we all knew that now the
waters had risen so high that Old Buda and other low-lying districts
were in danger.
That was a terrible night. The general excitement was intense, and there
were few people, I imagine, in all Pest who slept quietly in their beds.
Every hour news came of the spread of the inundation. The waters were
pouring in behind Pest from the upper bend of the river. Matters looked
very serious indeed. All communication with the suburb of New Pest was
cut off by the inroads of the flood. The night, with its pall of
darkness, seemed interminable; but at length the morning came, and--God
help us!--what a sea of trouble the light revealed! Whole districts
under water; churches and palaces knee-deep in the flood; and above
Pest--a widespread lake creeping on over the vast plain.
The only news of the morning was a despairing telegram from Eresi that
the barrier of ice there was immovable. This meant, as I have said
before, that there was no release for the pent-up waters in the ordinary
course. The accumulated flood must swamp the capital, and that soon. The
river had ceased to flow past; it was no longer the "blue Danube"
running merrily its five miles an hour, but a dead sea, an inexorable
volume of water, slowly, silently creeping up to engulf us. Pest is a
city which literally has its foundations made on the sand; a portion of
it is built on the old bed of the Danube. Assuming a certain point as
zero, the official measurements were made from this, and notices were
published that if a maximum of twenty-five feet were attained by the
rising waters, then Pest must inevitably be flooded.
As evening came on, with the cloudy forecast of more rain, the gravest
anxiety was visible on the face of every soul of that vast multitude.
This anxiety was intensified when it was announced that the latest
measurement was twenty-four feet nine inches; and what was simply
appalling, that the register marked six inches rise in less than an
hour. It was clear to every one that the critical moment had arrived.
There was little to hope, and much to fear. Darkness fell upon as dismal
a scene as imagination could well conceive. If the water once overlapped
the embankment at the fruit-market, it must very soon pour in in vast
volume; for the streets there are considerably lower than the level of
the Corso--as it was, several large blocks of ice had floated or slid
over on the quay. At this spot a serious catastrophe was apprehended.
I think it must have been ten o'clock (my friends and I had just taken a
hasty supper) when the fortress on the Blocksberg again belched forth
its terrible sound of warning. This time there were six shots fired;
this was the signal of "Pest in danger." A profound impression of alarm
fell on the assembled multitude. Some went about wringing their hands;
others left the Corso hastily, going home, I imagine, to tell their
women to prepare for the worst. I was unconscious at the time of taking
note of things passing round me, and it seems strange, considering the
acute tension of my nerves, that I saw, and can now recall with
persistent accuracy, a lot of trivial and utterly unimportant incidents
that happened in the crowd. I remember the size and colour of a dog that
manifested his share in the common excitement by running perpetually
between everybody's legs, and I could draw the face of a frightened
child whom I saw clinging to its mother's skirts.
We never quitted the Corso. Though this was the third night we had not
taken off our clothes, it was impossible to think of rest now. I felt no
fatigue, and I hardly know how the last hour or two passed, but I heard
distinctly above the murmur of voices the town clocks strike twelve.
Just afterwards, a man running at full speed broke through the crowd,
shouting as he went, "The water is falling! the water is falling!" He
spoke in German, so I understood the words directly. There was great
excitement to ascertain if the report was correct. Thank God! he spoke
words of truth. The gauge actually marked a decrease of no less than two
inches in the height of the river, and this decrease had taken place in
the space of half an hour. The river had attained the highest point when
the danger-signal was fired. It had never risen beyond, though the level
had been stationary for some time.
Every one was surprised at the rapid fall of the Danube; it was
difficult to account for. It soon came to be remarked that the vast
volume of water was visibly moved onward. If the river was flowing on
its way, that meant the salvation of the city--the fact was most
important. I myself saw a dark mass--a piece of wreckage, probably, or
the carcass of an animal--pass with some rapidity across a track of
light reflected on the water. It was difficult to make out anything
clearly in the darkness, but I felt sure the object, whatever it was,
was borne onward by the stream.
It was a generally-expressed opinion that something must have happened
farther down the river to relieve the pent-up waters. Very shortly
official news arrived, and spread like wildfire, that the Danube had
made a way for itself right across the island of Csepel into the
Soroksár arm of the river.
Csepel is an island some thirty miles long, situated a short distance
below Pest. The engineering works for the regulation of the Danube had,
as I said before, closed this Soroksár branch, and the river, in
reasserting its right of way to the sea, caused a terrible calamity to
the villages on the Csepel Island, but thereby Hungary's capital was
saved.
[Footnote 22: The Danube at Buda-Pest. Report addressed to Count
Andrassy by J.J. Révy, C.E. 1876.]