A delightful equestrian excursion--We leave Sinaia in order to
witness the sunrise from Omul--Midnight in the forest, and the
ghostly hours before the dawn--Gathering edelweiss whilst we
await the sunrise--A glorious spectacle--The coveted province
spread out before our eyes--An equestrian quadrille on the summit
of Omul--The guest-house of the monastery--On the homeward
way--We descend the Jeppi on foot and meet with unexpected
difficulties--Danger follows upon danger--A dreadful night on a
mountain peak--Excitement at Sinaia--Triumphant return of the
“heroes” and “heroines.”
A party of us, twenty in number including guides, set out on horseback
one evening from Sinaia in order to ascend the Omul and view the
sunrise next morning. The moon was just then at the full, and, as
our way led by a very steep pathway up the mountain, we could catch
glimpses from time to time of Sinaia with its twinkling lights far
below. About 1.30 a.m. we stopped to rest the horses, the guides (who
were really only horse keepers) made a roaring fire, and we feasted
royally on tea and cozonak.
It was sheer delight to sit there and drink in the pure mountain air,
and the delight was enhanced by the eerie feeling induced by the
solemnity of the hour (when it is said we are nearest the unseen),
and by the awe-inspiring influences of the vast silent forest which
surrounded us on every side. After a time we broke the spell, and songs
and jests went merrily round. We were loth to resume our journey, but
we knew that the sun would not wait for us, so the order to march was
at last reluctantly given. The guides started to gather in our horses,
which had been hobbled near at hand, but mine could not be found.
Search was made in every direction, but all in vain--the horse was not
to be found. At length one of the gentlemen of the party kindly offered
to lend me his mount with the proviso that it should be returned
to him when mine was recovered, as his was such a fast trotter. To
this I willingly agreed, so off we started again, leaving a guide to
recover the lost horse, which I may at once say he did later on. Just
at 3 a.m. we arrived at the summit of the Omul, the highest peak in
the Carpathians. I felt cold at such a height, although I was well
wrapped up in a fur coat. Until his majesty the sun deigned to make his
appearance we occupied ourselves in gathering edelweiss, which grew
there profusely. It is very highly prized, chiefly I think because of
its inaccessibility, growing as it does only at such altitudes; but to
my mind it is by no means a pretty flower. Indeed, edelweiss always
suggests to me flowers cut out of a piece of grey flannel.
As the supreme moment drew near for the rising of the sun, we were
enjoined to fix our eyes on a certain bank of grey cloud, and not
to lose sight of it for a single instant. We obeyed, and in a few
seconds a tiny crimson line appeared above the bank of cloud. This line
gradually grew broader and broader as the sun rose higher, giving one
the impression that some great being was behind it pushing it further
and further up. Finally, the glorious sun in all his beauty shook
himself free from the cloud trammels and flooded the surrounding peaks
with radiant light.
The view from the Omul is altogether glorious. The whole province of
Transylvania with its lovely valleys, lakes, and winding streams is
spread out before one’s eyes--that province so long coveted by the
Roumanians, which they have now justly secured for their own.
After a slight refreshment, for which the keen mountain air had given
us an appetite, we again mounted our horses in order to proceed to the
monastery at which we were to dine. Again one of the horses was missing
(this very often happens on these excursions), so, whilst waiting till
the guide found it, the rest of us formed up on horseback to go through
a quadrille. These country horses are very wiry and are splendid for
travelling in the mountains, but graceful they are not. Their awkward
movements, as we tried to induce them to go forward, then to retire,
were so comical that we could scarcely retain our seats, we laughed so
much.
When the missing pony was at last found, and we had calmed down a
little, we resumed our journey. Some stiff climbing, a good gallop over
undulating country, the fording of a few shallow rivers (nearly all the
rivers in Roumania are shallow), and we arrived at our destination.
How glad we were to bathe hands and faces in the little brook that
babbled along through the fields, then to rest ourselves luxuriously
on the wide verandah of the guest-house, knowing that pretty soon our
appetites would be satisfied with the simple fare of the monks!
As visitors are only expected during the summer months, the
accommodation is of the most primitive kind. A tolerably large room is
given up to the guests, well furnished with plenty of hay, in which
to pass the night. Ladies sleep at one end, gentlemen at the other;
and really, after a day’s hard riding one sleeps very well amongst the
hay, and is even thankful to have it. On this particular occasion,
however, we only remained for dinner, which was served on rough wooden
tables (minus tablecloths), whilst we sat round on equally rough
wooden benches. The fare was simple, but we enjoyed it thoroughly.
The inevitable _mamaliga_, sour cabbage, eggs and _yaort_, a kind of
thick preserved milk, formed the principal dishes of the repast. After
many expressions of our grateful thanks to the monks who had so kindly
entertained us, and after offering a trifling gift to the church, we
started on the return journey, hoping to arrive in Sinaia about 7
o’clock p.m.
But man proposes, God disposes. The old lesson was taught us again.
It had been decided by the gentleman in charge of the expedition (who
claimed to have an intimate acquaintance with the mountains) that we
should descend the Jeppi on foot, and so, after two or three hours’
ride from the monastery, we dismounted, and the horses were led back by
another route. Two of our so-called guides came with us to help us in
the descent, but what a descent! We had first to cross a grassy slope
in order to reach a spur of the mountain from which the real descent
began. The short grass had been made so slippery by the heat of the
sun that it was with great difficulty we could keep our feet; indeed,
at one time some of us were reduced to crawling upon our hands and
knees. From the edge of this grassy slope there was a sheer descent of
very many feet. A false step would have meant, if not actual death,
certainly a broken limb.
Our relief was great when the dangerous stage of our journey was passed
(as we thought) and we arrived on the peak of the mountain for which we
had been aiming. But what was our horror to find that our situation was
as bad as before, if not worse! Imagine twenty people crowded together
on an outstanding spur of the mountain, that terrible grassy slope
behind us, and before us even worse conditions. At the first glance I
thought it would be a sheer impossibility to descend on foot, and that
nothing but a balloon could rescue us from the situation if we refused
to return as we had come. From where we stood the mountain seemed to
fall away directly beneath us, nothing intervening between us and the
beginning of the wooded slopes far below but huge boulders that it
seemed utterly impossible to get over or get around. What were we to
do? After much discussion, it was decided that one of the gentlemen
should act as pioneer and discover if the descent was practicable. He
was to hail us if he reached the forest in safety. Mr B----, who had
a reputation for athletics to sustain, was obviously the man for the
task, and he set off willingly, our fears for his safety being perhaps
intensified by our anxiety for our own.
After what seemed an interminable time, a cheery cry reached us from
amongst the distant trees, and no further time was lost in arranging
our own departure. We went--as the animals are said to have entered
the Ark--two by two, in this case a lady and a gentleman together.
A considerable distance was maintained between each couple, as the
danger from displaced boulders was great. It was a horribly difficult
and a really dangerous descent, and it took a long time for us all to
reach the head of the Jeppi in safety. But so far from our troubles
being over, it seemed as though they had only just begun. The darkness
was so great on the wooded mountain that it would have been highly
dangerous to even attempt to continue our way without more guides. The
moon was just at the full, but no ray of light penetrated the thick
foliage by which we were surrounded. To add to our troubles, one of the
ladies of the party lost the use of her limbs through sheer fright; she
could literally not stand on her feet. In this dilemma it was decided
that one of our guides should descend to Poiana Țapuliu, the nearest
village, and send up more guides and a horse. Our situation was far
from enviable, as we huddled together against a shelving bank at the
foot of which ran the narrow pathway leading to the valley below. We
were afraid to move, enveloped as we were in thick darkness, and having
been warned that a sheer descent of unknown depth lay at the other side
of the path. As the time dragged slowly on, we wondered what the people
in Sinaia were thinking about us. Some of the livelier spirits tried to
cheer up the party with song, but without much success. One restless
young fellow would insist on moving about on the narrow pathway, to
the terror of his sister, and indeed of us all, as we feared he would
stumble in the darkness and fall over the precipice. Finally, to our
great delight, voices were heard in the distance and lights began to
twinkle. It was the guides who had come to rescue us, each one with a
blazing torch.
It was with great difficulty that the order of descent could be
arranged, as so little space was available. However, at length the lady
who was incapacitated was safely seated in the saddle, with a guide to
lead the horse; the other members of the party, each one with a guide
to lean on, fell in behind, and we slowly began the descent. What a
journey that was! Shall I ever forget it? Stumbling over the thick
undergrowth, slipping on patches of frozen snow, only kept from falling
and rolling down the mountain by a frenzied grip on the guide’s arm:
it was a wonder that no further accident happened. But none did, and
eventually we all arrived safe and sound at the base of the mountain,
there to be received like so many heroes and heroines. The whole
population of Poiana Țapuliu was astir, bonfires had been lighted, and
carriages were in waiting to drive us back to Sinaia.
Instead of reaching there at 7 p.m. as had been intended, we arrived
between 1 and 2 a.m. The excitement was great; all sorts of rumours had
been afloat as to what had happened to us when we did not appear at
the hour appointed. As a friend told me afterwards, the road between
Sinaia and Poiana Țapuliu had never been so animated--carriages passing
to and fro, cyclists and foot-passengers, all anxious for news of the
missing party. Sinaia is a small place, and such long excursions in the
mountain are of rare occurrence; and besides, the members of the party
belonged to the best-known families in Roumania. Fortunately, there
were no bad results from our expedition. Even the lady who suffered
from temporary disablement was quite restored to health after a few
days’ rest. It was the principal guide who came in for the greatest
amount of blame, as it was considered by expert mountaineers a very
risky proceeding indeed to bring ladies down by the Jeppi.
None of us were likely to forget our experience that night; but as
nothing very untoward happened, we were able to laugh about it all
later on.
Since then I have made many excursions in the Carpathians: twice have
I been on the Omul, several times on the Caraiman (where we were
overtaken once on the summit by a snowstorm and were able to pelt each
other with snowballs), but never have I had such an adventure as that
of the Jeppi.
Before leaving the subject of the Omul, which, by the way, means “The
Man,” I shall briefly relate the legend connected with it. It appears
that a shepherd called Marco had the temerity to aspire to the hand
of his master’s daughter. As he was a good, faithful fellow, and the
daughter herself favoured his suit, the master agreed to give his
consent to the marriage on condition that the shepherd would ascend
the Omul and there spend the winter. The shepherd at once consented,
and at the beginning of winter he made all his preparations for a long
absence. He left his flocks in the care of his friends in Sinaia, then
put into his knapsack some maize, cheese, and a few bottles of _țuica_.
When all his arrangements were made, he went to the monastery to burn
a candle to St Dimitri and to kiss the holy ikons, after which he set
out to make the ascent of the Omul, accompanied only by his dog. As he
neared the summit snow began to fall heavily, but still he hurried on.
At last the goal was reached and he found himself on the lofty summit.
There was no sign of animal life--the bears and other animals had all
sought the warmer air of the regions below.
Although no shelter was to be had on the summit of the rock, still, as
the legend runs, the man and dog survived throughout the bitter winter.
With the coming of spring, the young shepherds, Marco’s companions,
decided to climb to the summit of the mountain and discover how he
had fared. Very joyously they set out, each one with his primitive
instrument of music. As they approached the summit their delight was
great on seeing the dog run to meet them, but alas! there was no sign
of the dog’s master.
When the summit was gained, however, they caught sight of Marco
standing on a rock, living, breathing, but incapable of movement.
His companions called him by name. He recognised them and strove to
approach them, but his limbs failed him and he fell to the base of the
rock on which he had been standing. When his friends reached the spot
they stood sorrowfully around him. He spoke but a word to them, and
then died.
On the very spot on which he died his friends made his grave. A cross
was erected to his memory, and anyone who takes the trouble to ascend
the Omul may still see the remains of it.