The beggars of Bucarest--A plan that failed--Was it inspired
by Count Rumford’s Munich scheme?--Where the beggars spend
their holidays--No lack of charity--Footless, and yet wanted
boots--Influence of priests and beggars on the currency--A stroll
through the market--Servians as market gardeners--An exhibition
in Bucarest--Princess Marie and the water-chute--Excessive
gambling--The Moși--English “stupidity”--Nothing to buy
in London--Bucarest to London _via_ the North Sea and
Edinburgh--Jefferson Bricks in Bucarest.
Beggars form a prominent feature of life in the East; and Roumania
being considered the end of Europe and the beginning of Asia, the
country is not lacking in this characteristic. Beggars swarm in the
streets, and are of all kinds. There is the familiar beggar who has his
accustomed pitch; the beggar who has a wound to exhibit; the beggar who
is, or feigns to be, a bit crazy, and twirls himself singing all down
the street. He is, however, always sensible enough to clutch the coin
one offers him.
The practice of begging is winked at by the authorities, as otherwise
they would not know what to do with the beggars. I remember once there
was a change of Government, and sweeping reforms were going to be made
by the incoming party. The first reform was to be the clearance of
beggars from the streets. A notice was issued that all beggars were to
assemble at the police stations in their respective districts on a
certain day. This was done, and great hopes were entertained that at
last we should be rid of this nuisance. Next day we eagerly searched
the newspapers for an account of the proceedings, and how disappointed
we felt, and how futile it all seemed, when we found that it closed
with the words, “The beggars were then dismissed, as no one knew what
to do with them”!
I have a strong impression that the plan was inspired by some
recollection of the work done so successfully in Munich by that
most remarkable of men, Benjamin Thompson, Count Rumford, the
English-American soldier, statesman, and scholar, from whom the famous
_englischen Garten_ derived its name (one wonders if it bears it still).
The “rounding-up” idea, although it was not planned with the genius of
a Rumford, nor carried out with the success which rewarded that great
man’s efforts, was recognised as having something practical about it,
and it remains a cherished practice of the Bucarest police. Before a
fête-day, such as the anniversary of the coronation, the police round
up every suspected person, pickpockets, etc., and put them safely under
lock and key till the festivities are over; and then they are set at
liberty again.
Although the authorities accept no responsibility in regard to beggars,
still there are many private societies formed to help them. One such
society issues little books consisting of ten pages. Any charitably
disposed person can buy a book for a franc and then distribute the
leaves as he wishes. One page entitles the beggar to a basin of soup
and a piece of bread. On presenting two pages he is entitled to a piece
of meat. It is a capital plan, as one feels that one is really feeding
the hungry (if hungry they be) and yet not giving them money to waste
on other things.
Roumanians are very charitable, and will seldom refuse a beggar. That
is probably why there are so many. As they are not used to refusals,
they are very insistent, and sometimes I have had a beggar follow me
for quite a long distance, droning out his customary formula, till
losing patience I have threatened him with the police. One poor little
girl always excited my pity--a child of about eleven or twelve. She
had lost both feet in an accident, but she was such a bright, cheery
little soul that it was a pleasure to see her. She was always carried
to a certain corner by a big boy, who then retired and watched over her
from a distance. I always gave her a small coin, for which she was most
grateful; but one day she highly amused me with the request, “Do please
give me a pair of boots.” Seeing that she had no feet, I was at a loss
to understand what use the boots would be to her, but I could get no
enlightenment from her, only a smile and a repetition of the request,
“Please, a pair of boots.”
The coins used in Roumania are _lei_ and _bani_, the equivalents
of francs and centimes. The smallest nickel coin is five centimes.
Several attempts have been made to introduce one- and two-centime
coins, but after a time they have invariably disappeared from the
currency--withdrawn, as I have been told, for very obvious reasons by
the priests and the beggars.
It is very pleasant to stroll through the market on a fine summer
morning. On all sides there is a wild riot of colour which delights
the eye. There are the fruit stalls piled with oranges, pomegranates,
dates, green grapes of the native variety, and grapes of light amber
hue from Constantinople. Scarcely less effective are the vegetable
stalls with their bright-red tomatoes affording a brilliant contrast to
the fresh greens of cauliflower and cabbage. Here, too, are radishes
and _pimonts_. Then there are stalls with mushrooms of all varieties,
stalls with cheeses, stalls with golden butter and white and brown
eggs, and every here and there are mounds of melons. Some of the melons
are of the yellow variety, but there are also plenty of water melons,
with one here and there cut open to display the luscious pink interior.
Roumanians do not grow all the vegetables that fill the market--often
they are largely due to the labour and care of foreigners. I stayed for
some weeks near Pitesti, a small country town, in the neighbourhood
of which a number of Servians came to settle for the summer months.
They rented a large plot of ground and grew vegetables of all kinds.
They were most industrious and looked well after their produce. When
the melons were ripening they even took it in turns to sit up and
watch all night, so that would-be thieves might have no opportunity
of helping themselves. Very often through the night we were startled
by a rifle-shot. It was only the Servian on guard who fired from
time to time to advertise his wakefulness. Two or three times a week
a big waggon was loaded with produce and driven for miles round the
country, even to Sinaia and beyond. Their produce was eagerly bought,
as vegetables are not too abundant, especially in these summer resorts.
When the market gardeners were quite sold out they retired to Servia
with their profits, where they remained till next season. It must have
been a profitable enterprise, as fifteen Servians were engaged in it at
the place I speak of.
The exhibition that was held in Bucarest some years ago was very
creditable to the country, seeing that it was the first that had
ever taken place. All the ordinary produce of the country was
exhibited--cereals, fruit, cheese and butter, huge blocks of rock-salt,
etc. The home industries of the peasantry--carpets, Roumanian costumes,
embroidery, pillow-lace and fine lace (the making of the latter being
taught in the schools)--formed perhaps the most interesting feature.
A miniature crèche was also shown, fitted with all modern appliances
for the little ones. Although the exhibition was “International,” the
exhibits were mainly Roumanian. Some neighbouring countries took the
opportunity of showing their wares, and Germany was represented by a
display of automatic pianos.
Servia and Bulgaria sent embroidery, carpets, also broad leather
waist-bands in which folk put their money. The colours employed in the
carpets were rather crude, but the work was very good.
One of the most effective exhibits, and that which showed the greatest
taste in its arrangement, was the hall in which the Roumanian industry
of cigar and cigarette making was shown. The entire hall, a fairly
large one, was inlaid with cigars and cigarettes arranged in various
fanciful designs. Small stacks of cigars tied with the Roumanian
colours were placed at intervals down the middle of the hall, whilst
gaily-decorated boxes of cigarettes of all sizes formed a sort of dado
round the wall. A number of young girls, dressed in Roumanian costumes,
busily engaged in the making of cigarettes, packing the boxes, etc.,
completed a picture that would strike the eye of an artist.
Elsewhere was an interesting exhibition showing the improvement in the
treatment of prisoners as contrasted with that of former times. The old
cell was small and badly lighted, with grimy walls and low ceiling; the
modern cell, though also small, had a high ceiling, a good-sized window
letting in plenty of light and air, and whitewashed walls, making
altogether a neat, clean appearance. The clothing of the prisoners had
also undergone a change for the better, as was shown in the figures in
each cell. Close by was the hall in which work done by prisoners was
on view. Well-made carpets, matting of cocoa-nut fibre, fancy articles
carved out of wood, all testified to the ingenuity of the prisoners.
The grounds of the exhibition were beautifully laid out, flowers
growing everywhere in profusion; but sufficient space was reserved for
the various amusements, the favourite one being the water-chute. This
form of diversion was popular with everyone, but more especially with
the present Queen, who took great delight in it. Several times she made
the trip alone--that is, only with the man in charge--as the plunge
into the water was so much more exciting when the boat was not heavily
laden. Unfortunately, during the summer a quarrel arose between the
Americans in charge of the water-chute and the exhibition authorities.
Whatever may have been the cause of the dispute, the result was that
the Americans were obliged to leave the exhibition, the management of
the “chute” being given to a Roumanian company.
Rumours were rife that jealousy of the Americans’ “takings” was at the
bottom of the trouble. Whether that was so or not, I cannot say.
Gaming-tables were numerous, at which roulette, trente-et-un, etc.,
were played; but stakes were so high, and the sums of money that
changed hands so enormous, that the police were obliged to intervene
and forbid all gambling in the exhibition.
It was most enjoyable to lounge away an afternoon in the lovely
grounds, listening to the strains of the string band or the varied
music of the _lautare_; and when the exhibition was finally closed it
was greatly missed, as Bucarest is rather wanting in outdoor amusements
in summer.
THE MOȘI
The Moși, or great annual fair, which is held in the month of May,
probably embraces all the usual features of fairs the world over. Its
special distinctions are that it assumes the importance of a national
exhibition, and that the fair grounds, which occupy a vast area on the
outskirts of Bucarest, are always visited by royalty.
The Moși generally lasts for ten days, and during that time the traffic
in the Calea Moșilor, which leads to the grounds, is the scene by
day and night of a practically continuous procession which not only
includes every kind of noise and extravagance incidental to our Derby
Day, but can also boast of many picturesque features unknown in the
progress to the classic race. The residents in Calea Moșilor deserve
and receive sympathy during this stirring time.
For the peasants the Moși is a great national festival, and, attired in
their gay costumes, and driving in ox-waggons canopied with boughs of
green, they add much to the picturesqueness of these varied scenes.
The first Thursday of the Moși is the great day when royalty honours
the scene with its presence. Both Carmen Sylva and the present Queen,
with their characteristic kindness of heart, always “did” the show
thoroughly, and by the extent and variety of their purchases gladdened
the hearts of an incredible number of stall-holders.
Is there a fair anywhere in the world without gingerbread? I remember
it in this connection in my native Ireland, and I have met it at fairs
in many parts of Europe since. The Moși adheres to the gingerbread
tradition, and displays the popular delicacy (if it be a delicacy) in
every conceivable variety. It is an unwritten law that no one, high or
low, must return from the fair gingerbreadless.
Of course you may eat what you like at the Moși, but the local
connoisseur knows well that the true gastronomical feature of the fair
is an excellent small garlic sausage which I know Queen Marie tried on
at least one occasion and commended very highly.
I feel a slight consciousness of disloyalty now when I acknowledge
that the Turkish stalls particularly attracted me. The beautifully
fine embroidery, with small squares worked in gold and silver thread,
the gorgeous carpets, the wide-sleeved blouses of delicate texture,
richly embroidered in silk, the quaintly decorated pipes with beaded
stems, and many other attractive articles of Ottoman origin, afforded
opportunities for “fairings” of quite distinctive character.
In various country districts fairs are held at stated seasons of
the year. At Campulung, where I once spent the month of July, I was
delighted to watch the peasant girls going to the fair dressed in all
the finery of their national costume, many of them wearing curious
billy-cock hats, and all with neat shoes and stockings.
There was a bench opposite to our house, and here the girls on
returning from the fair always sat down and divested themselves of
their fine shoes and stockings, which they carefully wrapped up in
paper, proceeding on their way both light of heart and light of foot.
It is all very well to describe and criticise a country one visits,
but it is also amusing to hear the criticisms of one’s own country
and people from those who have visited it for the first time. I was
gravely informed once by a gentleman who had been in London for a few
weeks, and who spoke no English, that the English were “very stupid.”
Asked to be a little more explicit, he informed me that when he wished
to visit the docks of London he experienced the greatest difficulty
in making anyone understand where he wanted to go. He stopped a cab
and said to the cabman, “Promenade, dock,” but cabby shook his head
and did not understand. He then spoke louder, and a crowd began to
assemble. Again and again he said “Promenade, dock,” but still no one
understood. At last a policeman put him into the cab and drove with
him to the nearest big hotel, where the mystery was explained. “But,”
the gentleman asked me, “why did they not understand? Promenade is the
same word in English as in French, and dock is dock.”
A lady visited London with her husband for the first time. They had
rooms at the Hotel Cecil, and were very much interested in seeing the
sights, but the complaint of the lady was, “Oh, the shops are not
up to much; there was absolutely nothing to buy.” The remark rather
staggered me for a moment; then I ventured to name some of the big
shops in Oxford Street and Regent Street. It was all of no use: she
still persisted in her assertion. She had been in Paris shortly before,
where she was tempted to buy at every step; but in London, “No, there
was nothing to buy!”
Another lady and gentleman whom I knew started with their son on a
visit to Norway. They had no idea what a sea voyage was like, and after
being buffeted about in the North Sea for a day and a night, they much
wished to be put on shore again. Although the full passage-money had
been paid, the captain agreed to land them at Leith and to refund part
of the money (at which they were very much astonished). For a time they
made their headquarters at Edinburgh, visiting the Trossachs and the
surrounding country. Their admiration for Scotland was unbounded, more
especially for Edinburgh, with which beautiful city they were charmed.
Norway could not be more beautiful, they thought; they had lost nothing
whatever by their change of plans. With occasional stoppages, the
travellers made their way to London. The size of the metropolis, the
traffic and the order with which it was controlled, the numerous parks,
all excited their wonder and admiration; but still London did not charm
them as Edinburgh had done.
I was once at an evening party in Bucarest where some Roumanian
current events were being discussed. They were by no means matters
of importance. Suddenly a lady turned to me and asked, “What do the
English say about it?” I was rather embarrassed for a reply, but at
last managed to suggest that perhaps they knew nothing of the affair.
The lady was highly indignant. “We,” said she, “know all that goes on
in England and France, but the people there never seem to know anything
of us.” I pleaded guilty on their behalf, and remembered Jefferson
Brick and his friends.