I am going to describe a journey I made across Moldavia in 1863.
Determined to leave the dust and malaria behind us for a time, we
set out from Galatz one beautiful morning in the summer of the year
1863, in search of the cooler air which blows on the western side of
the Carpathians. A village of the Siebenbürgen, near the old town of
Kronstadt, was our destination. Early in the morning we prepared to
start--two ladies, two nurses, and four children; all resigned to the
absolute control and guidance of Herr F----, our dragoman and courier;
a little round bustling man, speaking every European language with the
ease of a not particularly refined native; literally splendid in theory
and fertility of resource while any plan was under discussion, though
hardly equal to himself in a practical emergency.
It was already dark when we arrived at the town of Tekoutch. After a
good deal of waiting and difficulty, the Herr succeeded in procuring
for us the shelter of two flea-haunted chambers at the top of a steep
ladder. Whether this place was the principal hotel of Tekoutch or
only one of the Herr's failures, I cannot say. All four children were
sleepy, hungry, hot, and unhappy. Oh! for milk to make a refreshing
drink for the poor sick baby, who was wailing so piteously! Our
repeated calls brought upon the scene a hag--a hag who would have
been invaluable in melodrama, but whose presence in the actual state
of affairs superadded active terror to the passive discomfort of the
children. Her upper-country Moldavian was hardly intelligible, and she
quite refused to understand our modes of expressing ourselves. But
constant reiteration of the substantive 'Milk,' in every language and
dialect known to us, was at last so far successful that we procured
a small quantity of a curious gray fluid mixed with fine sand, which
the poor little ones were too sleepy to judge critically; and we had
soon the satisfaction of seeing them asleep on the divans with their
nurses beside them. Before daybreak we were all awake, and renewing the
struggle with the hag for the necessary provision of milk, to which
she was good enough to add a few cups of black coffee. We removed such
traces of yesterday's dust as we could, by dipping the corners of our
towels in glasses of water. The Roumanian peasant's idea of washing
is so different from ours that it is almost impossible to make them
understand one's requirements in that respect. A jar of water, a friend
to hold the jar, and standing-room in the open air, are his requisites.
He stands bent well forward, to avoid the splashes, while the friend
pours a little water--a very little--into his hollowed hands. These
he rubs together, then holds them out for a second supply, with which
he moistens the region immediately round his nose. The whole process
requires a certain amount of skill and dexterity, to which the results
are hardly commensurate.
Before five A.M. we were on the road again. Our way lay through a very
pleasant region, and we suffered much less from heat and dust than the
day before. The country was undulating and less uniform. The roads were
real roads, not mere tracks through the fields, or across the steppe.
The wheat and barley were luxuriant all round; and great fields of
mustard in full bloom made patches of a yellow, perfectly dazzling in
its brightness. As we approached the higher country we came on large
tracts of grazing-land soft and rich: trees were scattered about--oak,
hornbeam, lime, and wild cherry, with an occasional birch or pine.
Thorn and rose bushes, tall as trees, shook showers of blossom around.
There were groups of feathery tamarisk, clusters of Guelder-rose, and
bowers of white clematis thrown from shrub to shrub. The roadside was
a garden of wild-flowers; tall spikes bearing alternate rings of deep
purple leaves and the brightest of yellow blossoms, blue chichory,
rose-coloured pea-blossom, sweet-williams, and aromatic herbs that
filled the air with their perfume. A Roumanian cottage is generally a
pleasant resting-place in the heat of summer; the roof of reed-thatch,
or oak-shingle, projects so far as to shade the whole cottage, and
within are whitewashed walls, and cushioned divans covered with rugs of
thick home-made cloth, woven in brightly coloured stripes.
In the little inn at Domnul where we next arrived we laid down the
children to take siesta; and by four next morning we were astir again
and eager to set out, as we knew that a few hours' driving would bring
us to the Oïtos Pass, of the beauties of which we had heard so much. By
half-past five we were off. The country got more lovely at every step.
Low wooded hills rose in front; the glens, between, highly cultivated,
though uneven and rugged in places. The road was terraced along the
side of an abrupt slope: the driver of the baggage wagon managed to
get a wheel on the bank, and over went the wagon, boxes and bundles
rolling pell-mell down the hill. An hour's work, not without much
vocal accompaniment, put all to rights, and our caravan was again in
motion. Many brooks made their way down from the hills, and we had to
cross numerous wooden bridges, for the most part in a very sad state of
repair. Here a plank was missing, and a hole yawning under the horses'
feet, shewed the foaming water beneath; there another rose and tilted
up as the horses trod on the end. But the steady little animals never
flinched; they picked their footing as mules would have done, and so we
passed in safety. At noon our rest only lasted half an hour, and soon
after starting we came to the Roumanian guard-house at the entrance of
the pass. We were joined at this point by two Austrian soldiers, who
accompanied us on horseback through the pass, bringing up the rear of
our procession.
On all sides of us the steep, richly wooded hills rose abruptly; higher
mountains shewing their snowy caps at intervals as the gorge opened
up the distant view. Here, there, and everywhere roared and brawled
the little river; now narrow as a winding thread, deep, below the
road, which crossed and recrossed it by means of bridges, the safe
passing of which seemed each time a fresh miracle; now widening in
gleaming shallows, as from time to time the glen spread itself out to
hold a little village. Each separate patch of gray rock contained its
homestead; white cottages, with dark, quaintly carved, and pinnacled
shingle-roofs, overshadowed by orchard trees or festooned with trailing
vines. The population seemed to live in the water; men were fishing in
the pools, women beating the linen on the flat rocks, or spreading the
webs to bleach in the sunshine; while the children waded about in their
one short garment, or bathed, diving plunging and chasing each other
like veritable troops of 'water-babies.' What a handsome race they
were, those Roumans of the Carpathians! Those we met on the road passed
us with a courteous greeting, and went on their way; the women in their
long white garments, drawn in at the waist by a broad brass-studded
leather belt; the many coloured fringe, which fell straight, almost to
their ankles, opening here and there as they walked to shew glimpses
of the white below. Their feet were bare or covered by moccasins of
undressed leather. Over their coils of plaited hair lay a square of
embroidered linen, from one corner of which a coin hung over the
forehead, and more coins formed earrings and rows of necklaces. The men
wore a great loose white blouse, a studded belt, broader and heavier
than those of the women, in which were stuck knives, daggers, and heavy
pistols. On their feet were either moccasins or boots high above the
knee. Their long uncut hair hung over their shoulders; and, twisted
round their broad hats were ribbons of the national colours--red, blue,
and yellow.
The ascent at first was gradual, but our horses being tired, we all
walked for several hours. The soft rich beauty of the glen increased at
each moment; hill rose above hill, covered with the mellow green of the
young fir shoots, each tree bearing the golden red crown of last year's
cones. The hanging birches with their silver stems swept over slopes
smooth as a lawn, save where here and there the bold gray rock cropped
out. Little glens ran up the mountain sides, scented with wild thyme,
which overpowered even the fragrance of birch and fir. An hour before
sunset we reached a large village the name of which I have forgotten.
Here were more guard-houses, and difficulties about examining our
baggage. As we were anxious to avoid this scrutiny, we administered a
gratuity to the guards, who speedily became our friends; but as we were
preparing to resume our journey an unfortunate difficulty arose.
The Herr announced to us after half an hour's search, that no horses
were to be procured. 'Then we had better remain here for the night,'
we decided at once. But no. The Herr had undertaken us, and he alone
must have an opinion. We felt that he knew the country, and that we
did not, and gave way, though unwillingly, on his assurance that less
than twenty minutes would bring us to the Austrian frontier, where
we would be sure to find fresh horses. So we reluctantly reseated
ourselves. The horses had been at work since early morning, and were
utterly exhausted, crawling at a foot's pace. The shades were gathering
deeper and deeper around us; the ground rose much more rapidly than
before; the road in some places was so bad as to be almost impassable;
worst opposite a tablet let into the rock, which informed the grateful
traveller, in letters of gold and in choice Latin, how Prince Alexander
Ghyka had made and finished it in 1855. The Herr's twenty minutes had
lengthened to an hour or more when we reached a narrow treeless gorge,
the heights crowned on either side by half-ruined fortress towers,
while grim loop-holed modern walls ran down to meet in an immense
gateway, whose shut doors barred our path. To the left, a small plateau
of green turf bordered the crag overhanging the stream, which now held
its rapid course many feet below us.
Our arrival was an event. The guardian of the pass was fat, fussy, and
important, and quite deaf to any representations of our anxiety to
proceed. Had we anything to declare? No; certainly not. No tea? No. Nor
tobacco? No. But then it struck him that there must be some tobacco for
present use among our drivers; so a strict personal search was made;
the tobacco-pouches were emptied, and their contents thrown over the
crag. We were injudicious enough to remonstrate, as we would willingly
have paid something to allow the poor men to keep their tobacco; and
this seemed to determine our _douanier_ to display his authority to
the full, for soon the sward was strewn with our possessions, which
included bedding, provisions, and books, as well as the clothing of the
whole party. The men must have had a dull time of it in this lonely
mountain fort, to judge from their excitement at the display of our
goods. At last we seized a packet of tapioca and implored the great man
to pass it and the nurses and children, that they might find rest and
refreshment beyond the gates. To this, after a very critical scrutiny,
he consented; and we despatched them to look for a krishma beyond the
boundary.
When we had satisfied the douanier and seen such order as was possible
restored to our luggage, we followed, and found them installed in a
miserably dirty little place, where the children of the family, who
were crowding round, looked so evidently ill, that, fearing something
infectious, we were constrained to hurry the preparation of the
tapioca, and go out again to the open air. At last the Herr appeared,
and had to confess his failure. We ought to have passed the night
at the village we had left two hours before; to pass it here was
impossible.
'We must feed the horses and push on,' said the Herr; 'it is not an
hour's drive.'
Alas! we were beginning to understand but too well what the Herr's
'hours' were like. But the night was mild and pleasant, though already
dark; and having arranged beds for the children among the cushions,
we continued our journey with a briskness on the part of both drivers
and horses which was wonderful after the hard day's work they had
gone through. There was just light enough from the stars to shew us
the dangerous nature of the road, which rose in rapid zigzags. There
was no parapet, and the little river ran below at a depth which
increased at every turn. The heavy travelling-carriage seemed to drag
back the horses, and the drivers of the wagons had to stop and push
it up. At last we reached the top; but it was two o'clock before we
reached Bereck. All the inhabitants were asleep; but the people of
the krishma, after we had roused them, received us very hospitably,
and busied themselves in attending to our comforts. It was late next
morning when we resumed our journey, and we were now able to perceive
that the scene had a beauty of its own--that of vast extent. Nowhere
have I seen a wider horizon, and yet hills closed it in all round, but
at a great distance. The plain over which we were passing formed a
vast amphitheatre, and the eye took in at one sweep at least a dozen
villages, all widely apart from each other. The roads were as excellent
as, under Austrian management, they always are. Good horses were to be
found at all the posting-houses; and by the middle of the following day
we had approached the mountains which bounded the other side of the
plain, and found ourselves at our journey's end.