Carlowitz—Peterwarradin—Bridge of Boats—Neusatz—The Journey
of Life—The Chevalier Peitrich—Austrian Officers—The
Hungarian Poet—Illok—The Ancient Surnium—Peel Tower—Intense
Cold—Flat Shores—Mohasch—Földvar—Pesth—German
Postillion—A Few Last Words.
Early on the morrow we were off Carlowitz, a cathedral town beautifully
situated; of which, owing to the abrupt windings of the river, we had
two distinct views. The Cathedral is a handsome edifice, with two light
and graceful spires; having from a distance very much the appearance of
minarets. The prevailing religion on the Sclavonian shore of the Danube
is that of the Greek Church, which has also obtained considerably in
Hungary; but the Roman Catholic worship is to be found everywhere along
its banks. Carlowitz contains about twelve thousand inhabitants; and its
shore was crowded with passage and fishing boats—while the whole height
beneath which it is built was covered with vineyards and orchards, in
the finest state of cultivation; the latter being principally composed
of trees bearing a small blue plum, used in the distillation of brandy;
which, we were told, was of a very fine quality. A short distance beyond
the city, the tributary river Thuss empties itself into the Danube;
offering extraordinary facilities for the transport of produce, in the
very heart of a rich and prolific country.
A sudden angle of the river immediately after leaving Carlowitz, brought
us within sight of Peterwarradin, a very fine fortress with strong and
extensive outworks; and in its position greatly resembling Belgrade. It
is garrisoned by three thousand Austrian troops; and on arriving
opposite to the height on which it is seated, we observed the remains of
an outwork, on an island in the centre of the river, that has been
abandoned, owing to its annual destruction by the ice; the outlay
necessary to preserve its efficiency having been considered greater than
its probable utility was thought to warrant.
A second bold sweep of the Danube, which winds like a girdle about the
hill-seated fortress, disclosed to us the bridge of boats that links
Peterwarradin with Neusatz, a cheerful-looking town containing six
churches; and here the Francis I. fired her three pigmy guns, ere she
passed on to the wooden pier where she was to take on board her new
passengers; and, greatly to our regret, to land our courtly and amiable
friend the Chevalier, whose estate was situated within three leagues of
the river.
A long voyage resembles a long life—Friends and associates fall from
you on all sides as you advance; and those who join company more
tardily, generally fail to fill up the void occasioned by the loss of
the earlier and better known. Both in the one and the other, you set
forward with high hopes and unexhausted energies; and you lend yourself
readily to the companionship of those among whom your fate has flung
you. But as you become accustomed to the scrip and the staff; and learn
by experience the weariness, and the withering, incident to your
pilgrimage, you turn not with the same joyousness to greet the new
wayfarer who joins your company. You may indeed share with him your loaf
of bread and your cruise of water; but the heart no longer goes forth
with the hand, to mingle in the gift.
Long will the Chevalier Peitrich live in the memory of the party with
whom he travelled up the Danube; and shared the captivity of the
quarantaine. He did the honours of his country so gracefully and so
graciously—his patience and his politeness were so untiring—and he was
in himself so agreeable and intelligent a companion, that the greatest
deprivation which we had been called upon to suffer since our departure
from Constantinople, was that of his society.
Our influx of passengers from Neusatz was considerable; and for the
first time since I left the Bosphorus, I found myself compelled to share
the after-cabin with two ladies; while the gentlemen’s party was
increased by half a dozen young Austrian officers on their way to a new
quarter; all very noisy, and very good-natured; great smokers, great
talkers, and great card-players; and as many civilians; among whom was a
lame, benevolent-looking, elderly Hungarian, who spent the whole of his
time in reading Horace, and writing poetry.
Late in the afternoon we reached Illok; a fine town, crowned by the
ruins of a very extensive castle, whose castellated remains stretch for
a considerable distance along the brow of the hill. This noble property
belongs to Il Principe Odeschak, the Pope’s nephew; and is distant only
three miles from the Ancient Surnium.
At night-fall we passed another ruined pile, apparently a peel-tower;
perched on an abrupt rock; which had a beautiful effect as the moonlight
touched its mouldering walls. Near it stood a small castle, also in
ruin, but we could not distinguish more than its outline, owing to the
lateness of the hour, and the rapid gathering of the darkness. We
anchored for the night at the small town of Vacova, having been
seventeen hours under steam.
The following morning we passed three more feudal and picturesque
remains; and about noon arrived off the mouth of the Drave, a
considerable river dividing Sclavonia from Hungary Proper: and pouring
forth its tributary waters in a noble stream to the all-absorbing
Danube. But the cold was so extreme, and had come upon us so suddenly,
that we were unable to keep the deck for any length of time—a
circumstance which we regretted the less, however, as both the banks of
the river had become flat, swampy, and uninteresting—the beautiful
mountains of the Banût having given place in Hungary to the
far-stretching and monotonous plain to which I have already alluded; and
the Sclavonian shore being a mere line of sand and marsh-willows; with
here and there a village scattered along its edge. In the evening at
sunset we reached Mohasch, where the coals were wheeled on board by
women, while groups of men lounged on the wooden pier watching their
labours.
The steam was on at daybreak the following morning, and during the whole
day we remained prisoners in the cabin, the cold being so intense as to
drive even the sturdiest of the party below. The country continued to
present one unvaried flat; and books, pens, and pencils, were in
requisition until sunset; when we anchored a little below Földvar on the
Hungarian side of the river, and remained there quietly until the
morrow.
The evening of that morrow was to see us at Pesth; and the transition
was so great from the overpowering heats to which we had for so many
months been accustomed in the East, to the heavy and clinging damps of
the Danube, that we resolved on abandoning the river at that point, and
pursuing our journey by post to Vienna—a determination in which we were
strengthened by the discovery that there was a detention of six days at
Pesth, ere the vessel continued her voyage.
The approach to the city was between an avenue of floating mills, of
nearly half a mile in length, producing an extraordinary effect to an
unaccustomed eye; and, as the day was falling before we reached it, the
myriad lights of the streets were reflected like lines of stars in the
river-ripple. The situation of Pesth is beautiful; and the town itself
well-built, cleanly, and cheerful. The Opera House is a handsome pile,
and the _artistes_ are far from contemptible; the Hotels are spacious
and comfortable; the Palace of the Palatinate is finely seated on an
eminence, and in extremely good taste; and there is a _business look_
about the inhabitants as they hurry to and fro, which gives an air of
animation to the scene essentially European.
A bridge of boats, four hundred yards in length, links the more modern
city of Pesth to the ancient Hungarian capital of Buda on the opposite
shore, and now called Offen. The hill of Blocksburg on this bank of the
Danube is crowned by an observatory; and the gently undulating heights
which hem in the town, on the south and east sides, are covered with
vineyards, and celebrated for the superior quality of their produce.
We left Pesth in the afternoon, two hours later than we had intended,
owing to the difficulties started with regard to our luggage, but these
were ultimately overcome by the potent argument with which English
travellers generally contrive to carry a point. When we issued from the
gate of the _Jägerhorn_ in our heavy and lumbering carriage, we were
infinitely amused by the appearance of the postillion; a youth of about
eighteen, who wore a sort of hussar jacket, with a small bugle hung
about his neck; jack boots, and a formidable cocked-hat and feather. We
travelled, however, at a tolerable pace; and, as we bade adieu to the
Hungarian Capital, and saw the laughing vineyards spreading away into
the distance, we congratulated ourselves on our emancipation from the
damps and delays of the river-voyage; even purchased as it was by the
fatigue of six-and-thirty hours of German posting.
A few words may now close the Volume. I had believed that I should
rejoice when my task was ended; but it is not so. I cannot part from
the reader who has lingered with me in strange lands without a feeling
of regret; and, as I look back upon the pages that I have written, and
the scenes that I have sketched; a heaviness of heart comes over me, as
though I were looking upon the face of a dead friend. As I traced the
one and the other, the images of the past rose up before me; and, even
although the vividity of each was lost, enough yet remained to me; for
there was still a tie, though every hour weakened it. May I be permitted
to pursue the melancholy fancy that I have conjured up? I have been as
one who watched a death-couch; clinging to the fast-failing remnant of
that which once was bright, and was soon to pass away.
My vigils now are ended. The pleasant spell is broken; I turn my face
towards Mecca, and remember my pilgrimage; but the distant landscape is
veiled in mist.
The Propontis is but a memory; the glorious Bosphorus is seen only in a
dream; the “Sea of Storms” no longer bears the roar of its breakers to
my ear; and the Danube rolls along in sullen majesty, bathing rock and
mountain, islet, and city, in its proud waters; but I ride not upon its
tide.
It is midnight. The tall houses of a dense city rise before me; the hum
of many voices comes upon the wind; a bright firelock flashes in the
guard-fire; a stern voice challenges the strangers as they pass; the
jaded horses, conscious of approaching rest, put forth their failing
power; and ere many moments pass, the heavy carriage rattles under the
arched gateway of the Stadt-London in Vienna.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Professional Story-tellers.
[2] Street-porter.
[3] It is an extraordinary coincidence that at the moment in
which this work is passing through the press, intelligence has
arrived in Europe of the disgrace of this hitherto-favoured
individual: the prostration of a life-long ambition.
[4] It is not without pain that I have, on passing my work
through the press, to record the death of this amiable and
gifted man. He perished by Plague a few weeks subsequently to
our departure for England.
[5] Some of the more distinguished harems have their arabas
drawn by oxen of so pale a colour as to be almost white: and
their sleek skins are painted all over in patches of orange
colour, which give them a most extraordinary appearance.
[6] The Eastern salutation.
[7] Fate.
[8] Jasmin.
[9] The September of 1836.
[10] I have again to record a plague-victim in this
distinguished man; the intelligence of whose death has reached
me since my return to England.
[11] Since our return to England, we have learnt that, for
political reasons, the Austrian Government have withdrawn, or
at least suspended, their assistance to this undertaking; as
well as discountenanced the formation of the canals destined to
perfect the navigation of the Danube.
THE END.
LONDON:
P. SHOBERL, JUN., LEICESTER STREET, LEICESTER SQUARE.