WALLACHIAN HOSPITALITY.
Manasseh had not much choice of routes in making his way, with his
companion, to Transylvania. After leaving Italy, he bent his course
first to Deés, as the road thither seemed to offer no obstacles to
peaceful travellers. Troops were, indeed, encountered here and there on
the way; but they suffered Manasseh and Blanka to pass unmolested.
Manasseh had fortunately provided a generous hamper of supplies, so that
his companion was not once made aware that they were passing through a
district lately overrun by a defeated army, which had so exhausted the
resources of all the wayside inns that hardly a bite or a sup was to be
had for love or money.
The weather was unusually fine, as the sunny autumn had that year
extended into the winter. The Transylvanian was perfectly familiar with
the region, and entertained his fellow-traveller with legends and
stories of the places through which they passed. In the splendid
chestnut forests that crowned the heights of Nagy-Banya he told her the
adventures of the bandit chief, Dionysius Tolvaj, who kept the whole
countryside in terror, until at last the men of Nagy-Banya hunted him
down and slew him. In his mountain cave are still to be seen his stone
table, his fireplace, and the spring from which he drank. Manasseh also
related the adventures of bear-hunters in these woods, and told about
the search for gold that had long been carried on in the mountains, and
often with success, so that many of them were now honeycombed with
shafts and tunnels.
Up from yonder valley rose the spirit of the mountains, a white and
vapoury form, with which the sturdy mountaineers fought for the
possession of the hidden treasure. In reality, however, it was no genie,
but simply the fumes of sulphur and arsenic from the smelting works of
the miners, who never drew breath without inhaling poison. And yet they
lived and throve and were a healthy and happy people, the men strong,
the women fair, and one and all fondly attached to their mountain home.
One evening Manasseh pointed to a town in the distance, and told his
companion that it was Kolozsvar. As they drew nearer they saw that it
was garrisoned with a division of the national guard. Manasseh was now
among people who knew him well, and he did not expect to be asked to
show his passport. But he was mistaken. Suddenly a hand was laid on his
arm and a firm voice saluted his ears.
"So you thought you'd slip by me without once showing your papers, did
you? A pretty way to act, I must say!"
Manasseh turned to the speaker, who proved to be a short,
broad-shouldered, thick-set man, in a coarse coat such as the Szeklers
wear, high boots, and a large hat. His arms were disproportionately long
for his short body, his beard was either very closely cut or sadly in
need of the razor, and his legs were planted widely apart as he
confronted the travellers in a challenging attitude. Perhaps he wished
to invite Manasseh to a wrestling bout.
Blanka looked on in surprise as she saw the two men fling their arms
around each other. But it was not the embrace of wrestlers. They
exchanged a hearty kiss, and then Manasseh cried, joyfully:
"Aaron, my dear brother!"
"Yes, it is Aaron, my good Manasseh," returned the stocky little man,
with a laugh; and, throwing aside the jacket that hung from his neck, he
extended his right hand to his brother. Then he turned to Blanka. "And
this pretty lady is our future sister-in-law, isn't she? God bless you!
Pray bend down a bit and let me give your rosy cheek a little smack of a
kiss."
Blanka complied, and brother Aaron gave her blushing cheek much more
than "a little smack."
"There," declared the honest fellow, with great apparent satisfaction,
"I'm delighted that you didn't scream and make a fuss over my bristly
beard. You see, I haven't had a chance to shave for four days. Three
days and nights I've been here on the watch for my brother and his
bride."
"And what about our two brothers, Simon and David?" asked Manasseh,
anxiously. "Are they alive and well?"
"Certainly, they are alive," was the answer. "Have you forgotten our
creed? Our life is from everlasting to everlasting. But they are really
alive and in the flesh, and, what is more"--turning to Blanka--"they are
sure to come to meet us and will expect to receive each a nosegay from
their brother's sweetheart."
Blanka smiled and promised not to disappoint them, for there were still
plenty of autumn flowers in the woods and fields.
"Yes," said Aaron, "you'll find posies enough on the road. We are going
by a way that is covered with them. If you don't believe it, look at
this bouquet in my hat; it is still quite fresh, and I picked it in the
Torda Gap. Have you ever heard of the Torda Gap? There is nothing like
it in all the world; you'll remember it as long as you live. It is a
splendid garden of wild flowers, and there you will see the cave of the
famous Balyika,--he was Francis Rakoczy's general. Thence it is only a
step to the Szekler Stone, and we are at home. Do you like to walk in
the woods?"
"Nothing better!"
Here Manasseh pulled his brother's sleeve. "Do you really mean to take
us by the way of Torda Gap?" he whispered.
"Yes," returned the other, likewise in an undertone; "there is no other
way."
A blare of trumpets interrupted this conversation, and presently a squad
of hussars came riding down the street, every man of them a raw recruit.
"Look, see how proud he is on his high horse!" interjected Aaron. "He
never even looks at a poor foot-passenger like me. Halloa there,
brother! What kind of a cavalryman do you call yourself, with no eyes
for a pretty girl? Oh, you toad!"
With this salutation Aaron called to his side the young lieutenant who
rode at the head of the hussars. He bore a striking resemblance to
Manasseh,--the same face, the same form, the same eyes. Indeed, the two
had often been mistaken for each other. There was only a year's
difference in their ages. The young hussar gave his hand to Manasseh,
and while they exchanged cordial greetings they looked each other
steadfastly in the eye.
"Whither away, brother?" asked the elder.
"I am going to avenge my two brothers," was the reply.
"And I am going to rescue them," declared Manasseh.
"I am going forth to fight for my country," was the other's rejoinder.
Then the rider bent low over his horse's neck, and the two brothers
kissed each other.
"But aren't you going to ask your new sister for a kiss, you young
scapegrace?" cried Aaron.
The youthful soldier blushed like a bashful girl. "When I come
back--when I have earned a kiss--then I will ask for it. And you will
give me one, won't you, dear sister-in-law, even if they bring me back
dead?"
Blanka gave him her hand, while a nameless dread showed itself in her
face.
"Never fear!" cried the young man. As he gave Blanka a radiant look he
saw tears glistening in her eyes. "I shall not die. _Egy az Isten!_"[1]
[Footnote 1: See preface.]
"_Egy az Isten!_" repeated the elder brother.
Then the young hussar put spurs to his horse and galloped to the head of
his little company.
"Come, let us be going," said Aaron, and he led the way toward the
farther end of the town, where the family owned a villa which they used
whenever occasion called them from Toroczko to Kolozsvar. Adjoining the
house lay a garden which was now rented to a market-woman, who made
haste to prepare supper for the travellers. Blanka went into the
kitchen and helped her, but not before the woman had been instructed in
what was going on and warned not to breathe a word to the young mistress
of the dangers that encompassed them all in those troublous times. It
was Manasseh's desire to lead his bride home without giving her cause
for one moment of disquiet on the way.
"Can you sleep in a carriage?" the market-woman asked her, without
pausing in her baking and boiling. "Now as for me, many's the time I've
slept every night for two weeks in my cart when I was taking apples to
market. One gets used to that sort of thing. The gentlemen propose to
set out for Torda this very night, because to-morrow is the great
market-day in Kolozsvar, and there'll be troops of peddlers and dealers
of all sorts coming into town, and farmers driving their cattle and
sheep and swine, so that you couldn't possibly make head against them if
you should wait till morning."
Blanka readily gave her consent to any plan that seemed best to her
conductors.
Aaron meanwhile had brought out three good horses from the stable and
harnessed them to a travelling carriage. "Water behind us, fire before
us," he remarked to Manasseh as he buckled the last strap.
Wallachian troops were holding the mountain passes about Torda, and had
even threatened Toroczko; but thus far the inhabitants had not allowed
themselves to be frightened. Now, however, there was a report that
General Kalliani was approaching from Hermannstadt with a brigade of
imperial soldiery. Consequently it was to be feared that a general
flight from Torda to Kolozsvar would soon follow; and, when once the
stream of fugitives began, it would be impossible to make one's way in
an opposite direction. Therefore our travellers had not a moment to
lose.
Blanka was by this time well used to travelling by night, and she
entered cheerfully and without question into the proposed plan. A
longing to reach "home," and perhaps a vague suspicion of the perils
that threatened her party, made her the more willing to push forward.
When danger braces to action, a high-bred woman's power of endurance is
almost without limit.
Aaron drove, Manasseh sat beside him, and thus the entire rear seat was
left to Blanka, who was so swathed and muffled in wraps and furs that
she was well-nigh hidden from view. Despite all the plausible
explanations, she came very near guessing the well-meant deceit that was
practised upon her.
"Why, your horses are saddled!" she exclaimed to Aaron.
"Yes, to be sure," calmly replied the mountaineer. "That's the custom
in Transylvania; we put saddles on our carriage-horses just as in Styria
they buckle a block of wood over the horse's neck."
Blanka appeared satisfied with this explanation of Transylvanian usage.
Aaron gave his good Szekler steeds a free rein. They were raised in the
mountains and could, if need were, trot for twenty-four hours on a
stretch without food or water; then, if they were unharnessed and
allowed to graze a little, they were able to resume the journey with
unslackened pace. The driver had no occasion to use reins or whip: they
knew their duty,--to pull lustily when the road led up-hill, to hold
back in going down-hill, to trot on a level, to overtake and pass any
carriage in front of them, to quicken their pace when they heard one
behind, and to halt before every inn.
Aaron, turning half around on his seat, beguiled the time by telling
stories to his fair passenger, to whom his fund of amusing anecdotes
seemed inexhaustible. When at length, as they were ascending a long
hill, he noticed that she ceased to laugh at his tales, but sat inert
and with head sunk on her bosom, he put his hand into his waistcoat
pocket and, drawing out an enamelled gold watch, pressed the stem and
held it to his ear.
"Half-past twelve," he murmured.
The man himself was a gold watch encased in a rough exterior, a noble
heart in a rude setting. His horny hands were hardened by toil, but he
had a clever head on his shoulders; he was well endowed with mother-wit,
quick at repartee, merciless in his satire toward the haughty and
overbearing, cool and good-humoured in the presence of danger,--in
short, a genuine Szekler, heart and soul.
When, then, his repeater had told him the hour, Aaron turned and
addressed his brother. "The young lady is asleep," said he, "and now you
and I can have a little talk together. You asked me how our two brothers
came to be captured. Let me begin at the beginning, and you shall hear
all about it. You know when freedom is first born she is a puny infant
and has to be suckled. That she cries for blood instead of milk is
something we can't help. So all the young men of Toroczko enlisted in
the militia,--every mother's son of them,--and they are now serving in
the eleventh, the thirty-second, and the seventy-third battalions. You
ask me, perhaps, why we mountain folk must needs take the field when
already we are fighting for our country all our life long in the bowels
of the earth. You say it is enough for us to dig the iron in our
mountains without wielding it on the battle-field; else what do the
privileges mean that were granted us by Andreas II. and Bela IV., by
which we are exempted from military service? It's no use your talking,
Manasseh; you've been away from home. But had you been here and seen
and heard your brother David when he stood up in the middle of the
marketplace, made a speech to the young men around him, and then buckled
on his sword and mounted his horse, you would certainly have mounted and
followed him. How can you quench the flames when every house is ablaze?
All the young men were on fire and it was out of the question to dampen
their ardour. Besides, this is no ordinary war; freedom itself is at
stake, and that is a matter that concerns Toroczko. All the Wallachians
around us, stirred up by imperial officers sent from Vienna, took up
arms against us, and nothing was left us but to defend ourselves. The
people took such a fancy to our brothers that there was no other way but
to make them officers. You cry out against the good folk for letting
their commanders be taken prisoners. But don't make such a noise about
it." (Manasseh had thus far not once opened his mouth.) "You shall soon
see that your brothers were no fools, and did not rush into danger
recklessly. You know that soon after the Wallachian mass-meeting at
Balazsfalva came the Szekler muster at Agyagfalva, and presently we
found ourselves like an island in the midst of the sea. A Wallachian
army ten thousand strong, under Moga's command, beset us on all sides,
while we had but three hundred armed men all told,--just the number that
Leonidas had at Thermopylæ. Our eldest brother, Berthold, who, since he
turned vegetarian, can't bear to see a chicken killed for dinner, and is
dead set against all bloodshed, advised us to make peaceful terms with
the enemy. So we drew lots to see who should go out and parley with
them, and it fell to our brother Simon. He took a white flag and went
into the enemy's camp; but they held him prisoner and refused to let him
go. Then David started up and went after him, with an offer of ransom
for his release. But they seized him, too, and so now they have them
both. Meanwhile the Wallachs are threatening, if we don't surrender to
them and admit them into Toroczko, to hang our two brothers before our
eyes. We on our part, however, turn a deaf ear to the rascally knaves,
and would perish to the last man before we would think of yielding. It's
no use your screaming in my ears, you won't make me change my mind. I'm
ready to treat with people that are reasonable, but when they bite me I
bite back. I agree with you it's a hateful thing to have two of our
brothers hanged; noblemen are not to be insulted with the halter; their
honour should be spared and their heads taken off decently. But what can
we do? Can we hesitate a moment between two noblemen's deaths and the
destruction of all the peasantry? One man is as good as another now. So
you may make as much rumpus as you please, it won't do any good. I am
taking you to Toroczko, and as our two brothers are as good as lost to
us, you must take the command of the Toroczko forces. You have seen the
barricade fighting in Vienna and Rome, and you understand such things.
So, then, not another word! I won't hear it."
Manasseh had not uttered a syllable, but had permitted his brother to
argue out the matter with himself.
"I don't gainsay you, brother Aaron," he calmly rejoined, "not in the
least. Take me to Toroczko, the sooner the better; but we shall not get
there by this road. Do you see that great cloud of dust yonder moving
toward us?"
"Aha! What sharp eyes you have to see it, by moonlight too! I hadn't
noticed it before. All Torda and Nagy-Enyed are coming to meet us. They
must have set out about the same time we did, to make the most of the
night. We can't get through this way, that's sure. But don't you worry.
It's a sorry kind of a fox that has only one hole to hide in. Do you see
that gorge there on our right? It leads to Olah-Fenes. The people there
are Wallachs, it is true, but they side with us; to prove it, they have
cut their hair short. Next we shall come to Szent-Laszlo, where Magyars
live. So far we can drive, though it's a frightful road and one of us
must walk beside the carriage and keep it from tipping over. We must
wake up the young lady, too, and tell her to hold on tight, or she'll
be thrown out. But never fear. The horses can be depended on, and the
carriage is Toroczko work and good for the jaunt."
There was a halt, and Blanka awoke of her own accord. Manasseh turned to
her, chatted with her a moment on the brightness of the stars and the
clearness of the sky, then kissed her hand and bade her draw it back
again under her furs, else it would get frost-bitten. Thereupon Aaron
reined his horses toward the mountain gorge he had pointed out, and they
began their dangerous journey over a rough wood-road that led through
the ravine. At one point it ran along the brink of a precipice, and as
they paused to breathe their horses the rumble of wagons on the highway
from Torda fell on their ears, sounding like distant thunder in the
still night. Then, to the north and south, red lights began to glimmer
on the mountain peaks.
"How beautiful!" exclaimed Blanka, as she gazed at them. Little did she
suspect that they were beacon-fires calling to deeds of blood and
rapine.
A turn in the road at length conducted the travellers through a gap in
the mountain range, and they had a view of the moonlit landscape before
them. A noisy brook went tumbling and foaming down the ravine, and over
it led a wooden bridge, at the farther end of which could be seen a rude
one-story house surrounded by a palisade. Five smaller houses of
similar architecture were grouped about it. The barking of dogs greeted
the travellers while they were still some distance off, and the crowing
of cocks soon followed.
"Do you hear Ciprianu's roosters?" Aaron asked his brother.
"So you are acquainted with Ciprianu and his poultry?" returned
Manasseh.
"Yes, I know them well. Ciprianu is a Wallach, but a nobleman of Hungary
for all that, and his poultry unique of its sort. The cocks are white,
but in head and neck they bear a strong resemblance to turkeys, and they
gobble like turkeys, too. They are a special breed and Ciprianu wouldn't
part with one of them for a fortune. He guards them jealously from
thieves, and that explains why he has so many dogs. As soon as he hears
our carriage-wheels he'll come out on his veranda and fire off his
gun--not at us, but into the air, to let us know he's awake and ready to
meet friend or foe."
The barking increased, the dogs sticking their noses out from between
the stakes of the palisade and joining in a full chorus. Presently a
shot was heard from the front porch of the house.
"Oh, they are firing at us!" cried Blanka, startled.
"Don't be afraid, sister-in-law," Aaron reassured her; "that shot wasn't
aimed at us." Then he shouted, in stentorian tones: "Don't shoot,
Ciprianu, don't shoot! There's a lady with us, and she can't bear the
noise."
At this there was heard a great commotion among the dogs, as of some one
quieting the unruly beasts with a whip. Then the gate opened and a
six-foot giant in a sheepskin coat, wool outward, and bearing a club,
appeared. He exchanged greetings in Rumanian with Aaron, and the
conversation that followed was likewise in that language, so that Blanka
could not understand a word of it. The Wallach pointed to the
signal-fires on the mountains, and his face assumed an expression of
alarm. Finally he took one of the horses by the bridle, and conducted
the carriage through the gate and into his stronghold.
"Why are we stopped here?" asked Blanka.
Aaron gave her a reassuring reply. "Ciprianu says it is not best for us
to go any farther to-night, as the rains have washed out the road in
some places, and we might get into trouble in the dark. So we must
accept his invitation and spend the rest of the night under his roof."
Aaron had explained the situation only in part. The Wallachian's
argument for detaining them had much less to do with water than with the
fires on the mountain tops.
The dogs were kicked aside to make room for the strangers, and sundry
villagers appeared out of the gloom to reconnoitre the new arrivals.
The country peasantry never give themselves a regular night's sleep, but
lie down half-dressed in order to get up occasionally and look around in
house and stable, to make sure all is as it should be.
Ciprianu had a handsome daughter, as tall as himself and with regular
features of the old Roman cast. At her father's call she came out,
lifted Blanka like a child from the carriage, and carried her into the
house. It was a pleasant little abode, built of smoothly planed oak
beams and planks. The kitchen, which served also as entrance hall, was
as neat as wax and cheerfully adorned with brightly polished tinware.
The fire on the hearth was still smouldering, and it needed only a
handful of shavings to make it blaze up and crackle merrily. The wall
which separated the great fireplace from the next room was of glazed
tiles, and thus the adjoining apartment was heated by the same fire that
warmed the kitchen. Both the master of the house and his daughter were
most cordial toward their guests. The father spread the table, while the
girl put on the kettle and brought out the best that the house had to
offer of food and drink, pressing the refreshments upon Blanka in words
that sounded to her not unlike Italian, but were nevertheless quite
unintelligible.
"They can both speak Hungarian," whispered Aaron, when father and
daughter were out of the room for a moment, "but these are times when
they choose to forget all tongues except their own."
Blanka soon learned that her hostess's name was Zenobia. When they sat
down to the table, Zenobia made as if to kiss her fair guest's hand;
Blanka, however, would not allow it, but embraced the young woman and
kissed her on the cheek.
This act was noted by the father with no little pride and satisfaction.
Blanka could not understand his words; she could only guess his meaning
by the gestures and the play of countenance with which a Wallachian
knows so well how to convey his thoughts. Thus, when Ciprianu put his
hand first to his head, then tapped Aaron on the shoulder, kissed his
own fingers and then stretched them heavenward, made a motion with his
head and raised his eyebrows, bowed low, stood erect again, thumped his
bosom, and finally extended his great, muscular hands toward Blanka as
if to caress her, she could not but infer that the Wallachian-Hungarian
nobleman was proud of the courtesy shown to his daughter.
After this bit of eloquent pantomime, Ciprianu turned and hastened out
of the room and into the courtyard, whence he soon reappeared amid a
great cackling of poultry. He brought with him, tied together by the
feet, a cock and a hen of that splendid breed that so strangely
resembles, in head and neck, the proudest of Calcutta turkeys. This
pair of fowls he presented to Blanka. She smiled her pleasure, and
gladly accepted the gift, mindful of the new duties soon to be imposed
upon her as a young housewife, and thinking that this present would be a
welcome addition to her establishment. The generous host did not wait
for his guest's thanks, but disappeared again from the room.
"Sister-in-law," said Aaron, "you little suspect the value of the
present you have received. Even to his bishop Ciprianu has never given a
cock and a hen of this breed at one time. So now we can sleep soundly in
this house, for we have a sure proof that you have won its master's
heart. With Ciprianu's cock and hen we can make our way unchallenged
through the whole Wallachian army. They are as good as a passport for
us."
Blanka laughed, unaware of the full significance of his words. She was
like a saint walking over red-hot coals without once singeing the hem of
her robe.
Ciprianu's house was, as is usual among the Wallachian nobility, well
fitted for the reception of guests. Everything savoured of the
householder's nationality, but comfort and abundance were everywhere
manifest. Canopied beds were provided for all, only the master of the
house, according to established custom, lay down before the kitchen
door, wrapped in his sheepskin, and with his double-barrelled musket by
his side. In an adjoining room stood two beds for Blanka and Zenobia.
Aaron and Manasseh were likewise given a chamber in common.
Curiously enough, one is often most wakeful when most in need of sleep.
All her surroundings were so strange to Blanka that she found herself
wide awake and listening to the barking of the dogs, the occasional
crowing of the cocks, the snoring of the master of the house, and his
frequent mutterings as he dreamed of fighting with thieves and
housebreakers. Then her companion began to moan and sob in her sleep,
and to utter disjointed sentences in Hungarian, of which she had so
studiously feigned ignorance a few hours before. "Oh, dear Jonathan,"
she whispered, passionately, "do not leave me! Kiss me!" Then she moaned
as if in anguish.
Blanka could not compose herself to sleep. Only a wooden partition
separated her from the room in which the two brothers slept. She could
hear Manasseh turning restlessly on his couch and muttering in his sleep
as if in dispute with some one.
"No, I will not let you go!" she heard him exclaim. "You may plunge my
whole country in blood, you may baptise my countrymen with a baptism of
fire, but I will never despair of my dear fatherland. Your hand has girt
it round about with cliffs and peopled it with a peaceful race. It is my
last refuge, and thither I am carrying my bride. With your strong arm
restore me to my beloved home. I will wrestle with you, fight with you;
you cannot shake me off. I will not let you go until you have blessed
me."
The fisticuffs and elbow-thrusts that followed must have all spent
themselves on poor Aaron's unoffending person. At length the elder
brother wearied of this diversion and aroused his bedfellow.
"With whom are you wrestling, brother?" he cried in the sleeper's ear.
"With God," returned Manasseh.
"Like Jacob at Peniel?"
"Yes, and I will not let him go until he blesses me--like Jacob at
Peniel."
"Take care, or he will put your thigh out of joint, as he did Jacob's."
"Let him, if it is his will."
With that Manasseh turned his face to the wall, on the other side of
which lay Blanka, who likewise turned her face to the wall, and so they
both fell asleep.
And the Lord blessed them and spake to them: "I am Jehovah, almighty.
Increase and be fruitful. From your seed shall spring peoples and races;
for you have prevailed with God, and shall prevail also with men."