The blessing of the waters: a picturesque ceremony--Diving for the
cross--Baptising the Jew--The child rain-makers; a charming
custom--How I watered the human plants--The peasants celebrate the
sowing of the seed.
In the month of January a very curious ceremony takes place, the
blessing of the waters--that is, of all the rivers of Roumania. A
similar ceremony is performed in Russia, so it probably owes its origin
to the Greek Church.
A very smart pavilion, decorated with a profusion of gay flags, is
erected for the occasion on the bank of the Dimbovitza, the river on
which Bucarest is built.
On the morning of the appointed day, crowds throng the streets dressed
in their best, expectancy depicted on every face. Roumanians love shows
of every kind and would not miss one for anything. The crowd becomes
denser as one approaches the pavilion, and it is with difficulty that
the soldiers manage to keep a passage clear for the arrival of the
royal family.
The approach of the King is announced by a fanfare of trumpets, and as
the Court carriage dashes up to the entrance of the pavilion every neck
is craned to catch a glimpse of his Majesty, who is accompanied by his
suite, and sometimes by other members of the royal family.
After the reception of the King by the Metropolitan, the religious
service begins with the intoning of the prayers. These can only be
heard by those in the near vicinity, but the singing by the choir is
audible for a long distance in the clear frosty air. When a certain
stage of the proceedings is reached, the Metropolitan invokes the
blessing on the waters of Roumania, at the same time casting a large
wooden cross into the river. This is the cue for what is the great
event of the day for many people. Large numbers of men and boys who
have been waiting in eager anticipation instantly dive after the cross
(the river is not very deep at this point), and the lucky person who
succeeds in gaining possession of it and bringing it ashore is rewarded
by the King with a hundred-franc note (£4). The spectacle of the poor
wretch emerging shivering from the icy water makes one feel, especially
when the snow is on the ground and a keen wind blowing, that he has
well earned the money.
Woe to the unlucky Jew who ventures to linger in the neighbourhood of
the Dimbovitza on this particular morning. Should he be remarked by the
crowd the chances are that he too will be sent to seek the cross in the
waters of the river. This “baptising of the Jew” is a time-honoured
ceremony.
A very curious custom is observed when, as is frequently the case in
summer, rain is badly needed. A band of children go into the woods and
array themselves from head to foot in verdure. Chains and garlands of
green are wound around their bodies. Crowns and wreaths of foliage,
quaintly and artistically conceived, surround their heads. Even
bunches of grass are disposed about them. Save their little brown
faces, nothing which is not verdant can be seen.
When they come rushing into your courtyard it is as though a little
Birnam Wood were bent on coming to Dunsinane. However, they soon prove
to have peaceful business on hand, for they form up in the courtyard
and perform a singularly weird and impressive dance. When this is ended
your turn comes, for you must go amongst them armed with watering
pots, and even jugs of water, and liberally besprinkle the little
rain-makers. I was reluctant at first to wet the children, but they
appeared to enjoy it so much, shaking themselves delightedly when a
deluge more copious than usual descended upon them, that I soon forgot
my scruples and plied my watering pot with enthusiasm. Then the little
moving bundles of green scrambled for a few handfuls of _bani_, and
ran off to the next house to repeat their performance. Had we failed
to water them well their mission as rain-makers would have been less
likely to prove successful.
On a day in early spring the peasants of the surrounding country
make high holiday in honour of the sowing of the seed. The form the
celebration takes is a visit to the capital, which, indeed, seems to
be practically given over to them for the day. From early morn the
holiday-makers stream into the city, their teams of oxen and their
waggons profusely decorated with gay flowers and green branches,
affording a pretty spectacle. The peasant himself is in gala attire,
and never forgets to have a flower behind his ear, as he may meet in
the town a damsel comelier than those he left behind in the country.
The rustic visitors promenade the principal streets with their teams
amidst much noise and laughter and the incessant cracking of whips.
They are always pleased to accept any small gift offered to them,
and it must be said of them that the festivity is never marred by
drunkenness or license. After a modest glass of _țuica_ they wend their
way homewards, reckoning up the profits of the day and anxious to
relate to those who have remained at home the story of their adventures.