FAREWELL TO TRANSYLVANIA—THE ENCHANTED GARDEN.
So the end of our Transylvanian sojourn had actually come, and like
many things whose prospect appears so unconditionally desirable when
viewed in the far distance, the realization of this wish now failed to
bring altogether the anticipated satisfaction.
[Illustration: THE CAVERN CONVENT, SKIT LA JALOMITZA.[84]]
Whoever has read Hans Andersen’s exquisite tale of the fir-tree will
understand the indescribable pathos assumed by commonplace objects as
soon as they are relegated from the present tense into the past; and
those who have not read this fairy tale will understand it equally
well, for is not the story of the fir-tree the history of each of our
own lives?
I had indeed often longed to be back again in the world; I had yearned
to be once more within reach of newspapers and lending-libraries, and
to be able to get letters from England in three days instead of six. Of
course I would return to the world some day or other; but that day need
not have come just yet, I now told myself, and I should have liked to
spend one more summer in face of that glorious chain of mountains I had
got to love so dearly.
All at once I became acutely conscious of a dozen projects not yet
accomplished—of points of interest as yet unvisited, of pictures I had
not yet looked upon, of songs I had not heard. The proud snowy Negoi
I had so often dreamed of ascending now smiled down an icy smile of
unapproachable majesty upon my disappointment; the dark pine forests I
had expected to revisit seemed to grow dim and shadowy as they eluded
my grasp, and with them many other objects of my secret longing. That
other mountain, the Bucsecs, where live those solitary monks, snowed up
during the greater part of the year in their cavern convent scooped out
of the rock; the noble castle of the great Hunyady, pearl of mediæval
citadels; those wondrous salt-mines of Maros-Ujvar, whose description
reads like a vision in a fairy tale; and those rivers whose waters may
literally be said to “wander o’er sands of gold”—the thought of these,
and of many other such items, now rose up like tormenting spectres to
swell the mournful list of my blighted hopes. There were dozens of
old ruined towers whose interior I had not yet seen, scores of little
way-side chapels I had proposed to investigate. Why, even in this very
town of Hermanstadt there were nooks and corners I had not explored,
church-towers I had not ascended, and mysterious little gardens as yet
unvisited. Precisely the most inviting-looking of these gardens, the
most mysteriously suggestive, and the one which showed the richest
promise of blossom peeping over the wall, had hitherto baffled all
attempts at entrance. Nearly every day for the last two years I had
passed by that garden, which towered over my head like a sea-bird’s
nest perched on a steep rocky island, and always had I found the gate
to be persistently locked against the outer world. Was I actually
going to leave the place without having set foot within its enchanted
precincts? without having plucked that head of golden laburnum just
breaking into flower, which nodded so mockingly over the wall? and all
at once an irresistible longing came over me; I felt that I _must_
enter that garden, _must_ gather that flower, even were it defended by
dragons and witches.
And my wish did not seem to be impracticable at first sight—the
garden, as I knew, belonging to the cure, a jovial-faced old man, with
whom I had merely a bowing acquaintance, but who, I felt sure, would
be delighted to show me his garden. Accordingly one forenoon, about a
week before my departure from Hermanstadt, I sent my two boys with a
calling-card, on which was indited my request in the politest terms and
most legible handwriting at my command.
The small messengers I had despatched to the presbytery came back even
sooner than I had expected, but their mien was crestfallen, and their
eyes suspiciously moist.
“What is the matter?” I asked, in surprise. “Have you not brought me
the key of the garden? Did not the cure say Yes?”
[Illustration: CASTLE VAJDA HUNYAD BEFORE ITS RESTORATION.]
“He said nothing; we never saw him. The whole house was full of doctors
and of pails of ice,” was the somewhat incoherent explanation. “And
then there came an old woman with a broom and made us go away.”
Evidently the subject of the broom was too painful to be dwelt upon,
for the moisture in the eyes showed symptoms of reappearing. Further
inquiries elucidated the situation. Alas! it was but too true; the
cure had been seized with a stroke of apoplexy that morning; and after
waiting for two whole years, I had appropriately selected that very
moment to request the loan of his garden key!
Two days later he died, and was buried with much pomp; and then, after
waiting for three days more, I thought I might without indelicacy
repeat my request, applying this time to the sacristan.
The branch of laburnum had now burst into full flower, and the more
I gazed the more absolutely impossible it seemed to leave the place
without it.
This time, in consideration of the broom and the old woman, I had
despatched a full-grown messenger, desiring him on no account to
presume to return without the key; but the answer he brought, though
polite, was yet more hopeless, and he, too, had come back empty-handed.
“Have you been to the sacristan?” I sternly inquired. He had, as he
humbly informed me, and not only to him, but likewise to the next
priest in rank, as well as to the sister and nephew of the deceased,
and to his best friend.
“The gentlemen were all very polite, and much regretted not being able
to oblige me,” he said; “but the garden gate had been closed with the
official seal immediately after the death, and this key, along with all
others, deposited at the _gericht_ (court of justice) till a successor
should be elected.”
“And when will that be?”
“In about six months probably.”
In six months! They dared talk to me of six months, when I should be
gone before as many days! And what cared I for their hypocritical
expressions of regret, now that I knew them to be dragons in disguise?
Hope was now dead within me, for even British pertinacity cannot cope
with supernatural agency, and expect to penetrate realms defended by
witches and dragons.
* * * * *
Driving to the station, we passed for the last time by the impenetrable
stone-wall which masked the object of all this useless longing and
effort, and which, like all unattainable things, looked more than
ever desirable on the balmy May evening we turned our backs upon
Hermanstadt. In vain my eyesight strove to penetrate the dense screen
of flowery shrubs hiding from my view—I know not what. Perhaps an old
temple with shattered columns, or a fountain which has ceased to play?
Maybe an ancient statue draped in ivy, or a tombstone bearing some
long-forgotten name?
Naught could I see but the dense-grown tops of gelder-rose and
bird-cherry pressed tightly together, and one clustering branch of
overblown laburnum dropping its petals in amber showers on to the road.
Were you mocking me, or weeping for me, enigmatical golden flower?
Shall I ever return to gather you?
THE END.
[Illustration: TRANSYLVANIA.]
FOOTNOTES:
[84] Reprinted from a publication of the Transylvanian Carpathian
Society.
* * * * *
[Transcriber’s Note: A number of typesetting errors in the original
where ‘e’ and ‘c’, and ‘u’ and ‘n’ appear to have been used
interchangeably have been corrected without note. In addition, the
following changes have been made to this text:
Page ix: Sehaguna changed to Schaguna.
Page 27: suéde changed to suède.
Page 47: Engene changed to Eugene. Forgarascher changed to Fogarascher.
Page 125: Gerando changed to Gérando.
Page 168: Cogalnitseheann changed to Cogalnitscheanu.
Page 209: Schäsburg changed to Schässburg.
Page 210: Maros-Varshahely changed to Maros-Vasharhely.
Page 236: Grellnan changed to Grellman.
Page 281: badak changed to hadak.
Page 339: Vizkana changed to Vizakna.
Footnote 26: Nyagon changed to Nyagou (twice).]
End of Project Gutenberg's The Land Beyond the Forest, by Emily Gerard