CHAPTER XIII. Hungarian hospitality--Wallack laziness--Fishing--"Settled gipsies"--Anecdote--Old rEgime --Fire--Old Roman bath--The avifauna of Transylvania--Fly-fishing.

I had brought with me from London a letter of introduction to a Hungarian gentleman residing near Hatszeg, and finding his place was not far off, I rode over to see him the evening of my arrival.

I had merely intended to make a call, but Herr von B——, with true Hungarian hospitality, insisted that I should stay at his house as long as I remained in the neighbourhood.

"What! allow a stranger to remain at the inn?—impossible!" he said with resolute kindness.

It was in vain that I made any attempt to plead that I felt it was trespassing too much on his hospitality. His answer was very decided. He put the key of the stable which held my horse in his pocket, and turning to one of his people he gave orders that my things should be brought hither from the Hatszeg inn.

I was soon quite at home with my new friends, a young married couple, whose mÉnage, though very simple, was thoroughly refined and agreeable. As it was my first visit to a Hungarian house, I found many things to interest me. Several of the dishes at table were novelties, the variety consisting more in the cooking than in the materials; for instance, we had maize dressed in a dozen different ways. It was generally eaten as a sort of pudding at breakfast, at which meal there was also an unfailing dish of water-melons. Of course we had paprika handl (chicken with red pepper), and gulyas, a sort of improved Irish stew; and gipsy's meat, also very good, besides excellent soups and many nameless delicacies in the way of sweets.

All Hungarian men are great smokers, but as a rule the ladies do not smoke; there are some exceptions, but it is considered "fast" to do so.

The peasants in the Hatszeg Valley are all Wallacks, and as lazy a set as can well be imagined; in fact, judging by their homes, they are in a lower condition than those of the Banat. So much is laziness the normal state with these people that I think they must regard hard work as a sort of recreation. Their wants are so limited that there is no inducement to work for gain. What have they to work for beyond the necessary quantity of maize, slivovitz, and tobacco? Their women make nearly all the clothes. Wages of course are high—that is the trouble throughout the country. If the Wallack could be raised out of the moral swamp of his present existence he might do something, but he must first feel the need of what civilisation has to offer him.

The village of Rea, where I was staying, is about the wildest-looking place one can well imagine in Europe. The habitations of the peasants are made of reed and straw; the hay-ricks are mere slovenly heaps, partially thatched; the fences are made up of odds and ends. As for order, the whole place might have been strewn with the dÉbris of a whirlwind and not have looked worse. As a natural consequence of all this slatternly disorder, fire is no uncommon occurrence; and when a fire begins, it seldom stops till it has licked the whole place clean—a condition not attainable by any other process.

Fishing was a very favourite amusement with us, and Herr von B—— several times organised some pleasant excursions with that object. One day we went up the Lepusnik, a magnificent trout-stream.

We drove across the valley, and then followed a narrow gorge near the village of Klopotiva. The scenery was enchanting, but our fishing was only moderately successful; for the trout were very much larger than in the valley nearer home, and they bothered us sadly by carrying away our lines.

Some way up the valley we came upon a little colony of gipsies, who were settled there. Their dwellings were more primitive than the Wallacks even. The huts are formed of plaited sticks, with mud plastered into the interstices; this earth in time becomes overgrown with grass, and as the erection is only some seven feet high, it has very much the appearance of an exaggerated mound or anthill, and would never suggest a human habitation.

A fire was burning in the open, with a tripod to support the iron pot—just as we see in England in a gipsy's camp; and the people had a remarkable resemblance in complexion and feature, only that here they were far less civilised than with us.

I entered one of the huts, in which by the way I could scarcely stand upright, and found there a man employed in making a variety of simple wooden articles for household use. The gipsies are remarkably clever with their hands; many of these wooden utensils are fashioned very dexterously, and even display some taste. The gipsy, moreover, is always the best blacksmith in all the country round; and as for their music, I have before spoken of the strange power these people possess of stirring the hearts of their hearers with their pathetic strains. It has often seemed to me that this marvellous gift of music is, as it were, a language brought with them in their exile from another and a higher state of existence.

That these poor outcasts are capable of noble self-sacrifice, the story I am about to relate will testify. Not far from this very gipsy settlement, in a wild romantic glen, is a steep overhanging rock, which is known throughout the country as the "Gipsy's Rock," and came to be so called from the following tragical occurrence. It seems that many years ago—about the middle of the last century, I believe—there was a famine in the land, and the poor gipsies, poorer than all the rest, were reduced to great straits. Some of them came to the neighbouring village and begged hard for food. The selfish people turned them away, or at least tried to do so; but one poor fellow would not cease his importunities, and said that his children were literally starving. "Then," said one of the villagers in a mocking tone, "I will give your family a side of bacon if you will jump that rock."

"You hear his promise?" cried the gipsy, appealing to the idle crowd. He said not another word, but rushing from their midst, clambered up the rock, and in another instant took the fatal leap!

I see no reason to discredit the story, generally believed as it is in the district; and, happily for the honour of human nature, it has many a parallel, in another way perhaps, but equal in self-sacrifice and devotion.

The gipsies in Hungary are supposed to number at least 150,000. The Czigany, as they are called, made their appearance early in the fifteenth century, having fled, it is believed, from the cruelty of the Mongol rulers. They were allowed by King Sigismund to settle in Hungary, and were called in law the "new peasants." Before the reforms of 1848 they were in a state of absolute serfdom, and could not legally take service away from the place where they were born. The case of the gipsy was the only instance in Hungary, even in the Hungary of the old rÉgime, of absolute serfdom; for oppressive as were the obligations of the land-holding peasant to his lord, yet the relation between them was never that of master and slave. As a matter of fact, if the Hungarian peasant gave up his session—that is to say, the land he occupied in hereditary use—he was free to go wheresoever he pleased, and was not forced to serve any master. In practice the serf would not readily relinquish the means of subsistence for himself and family, and generally preferred the burden, odious though it was, of the robot, or forced labour. This personal liberty, which the Hungarian peasant in the worst of times has preserved, is deep-rooted in the growth of the nation, and accounts for their characteristic love of freedom in the present day. It was this that made the freedom-loving peasant detest the military conscription imposed by the Austrians in 1849, an innovation the more obnoxious because enforced with every species of official brutality.

The poor Czigany had not been so fortunate as to preserve even the Hungarian serf's modicum of liberty. Mr Paget mentions that forty years ago he saw gipsies exposed for sale in the neighbouring province of Wallachia.

There are a great many "settled gipsies" in Transylvania. Of course they are legally free, but they attach themselves peculiarly to the Magyars, from a profound respect they have for everything that is aristocratic; and in Transylvania the name Magyar holds almost as a distinctive term for class as well as race. The gipsies do not assimilate with the thrifty Saxon, but prefer to be hangers-on at the castle of the Hungarian noble: they call themselves by his name, and profess to hold the same faith, be it Catholic or Protestant. Notwithstanding that, the gipsy has an incurable habit of pilfering here as elsewhere; yet they can be trusted as messengers and carriers—indeed I do not know what people would do without them, for they are as good as a general "parcels-delivery company" any day; and certainly they are ubiquitous, for never is a door left unlocked but a gipsy will steal in, to your cost.

The gipsy is sometimes accused of having a hand in incendiary fires; but I believe the general testimony is in his favour, and against the Wallack, whose love of revenge is the ugliest feature in his character. These people seem to forget the saying that "curses, like chickens, come home to roost," for they will set fire to places under circumstances that not unfrequently involve themselves in ruin.

We were calmly sitting one day at dinner when we heard a great row all at once; looking out of the window, we saw dense clouds of smoke and flame not a hundred yards from the house. We rushed out immediately to render assistance, but without water or engines of any kind it was difficult to do much. However, Herr von B—— and myself got on the top of the outhouse that was in flames, and stripped off the wooden tiles, removing out of the way everything that was likely to feed the fire. There stood close by a crowd of Wallacks, utterly panic-stricken it seemed: they did nothing but scream and howl as if possessed. The building belonged to one of them, but he only screamed louder than the rest, and was not a bit of use, though he was repeatedly called on to help. If the wind had set the other way, it would have been just a chance if the whole village had not been burned down. In this instance the fire was caused by mere carelessness.

The number of excursions to be made in the Hatszeg Valley is endless. On one occasion I took my horse and rode off alone to inspect mines and mining works in the mountains. While looking over the ironworks at Kalan, I was told of the existence of some Roman remains in the neighbourhood, so taking a boy from the works with me to act as guide, I set off, walking, to examine the spot. He led me into the middle of a field, not far off the main road; and here I found the remains of a Roman bath of a very interesting character.

It was singularly constructed. I must observe first that there was a protruding mass of rock rising about fifteen feet above the surrounding ground, and of considerable circumference. In the middle of this there was a circular excavation ten feet in diameter and ten feet deep. At the bottom I discovered a spring of tepid mineral water, which flowed away through a small section cut perpendicularly out of the wall of the great bath; judging from other incisions in the stone, a wooden slide may have been used to bay back the water. On the face of the rock I noticed a Roman inscription, but too much mutilated for me to make anything of it. An attempt had been evidently made to utilise this mineral water, for in the field were some primitive wooden bathing-houses, and not far off there was actually a little inn, but I fear the public had not encouraged the revival of the Roman bath.

In poking about after game or minerals, one frequently comes upon evidence of the former occupation of the country. Speaking of game, the partridges are not preserved, and they are scarce; of course I was too early, but in autumn the woodcock-shooting, I understand, is first-rate. Quails and snipes are also common in the Hatszeg Valley.

Herr von Adam Buda, or, as one should say in Hungarian, Buda Adam (for the Christian name always comes last), has devoted much time to the avifauna of Transylvania. He has a fine collection of stuffed birds at his residence at Rea, near Hatszeg. These are birds which he has himself shot, and he is quite the local authority upon the subject.

I have alluded to the trout-fishing in the district. I went out frequently, and had generally very fair sport indeed. Mr Danford, in his paper in 'The Ibis,'[13] in speaking of fishing, says: "Perhaps the best stream in the country is the Sebes, which joins the Strell near Hatszeg. The trout are not bad, one to two lbs. in weight; and the grayling-fishing is really good—almost any number may be taken in autumn, when weather and water are in good order. The Sil also, near PetrosÈny, is a fine-looking river, and used to be celebrated for its so-called 'salmon-trout;' but these had quite disappeared when we saw it, having been blown up with dynamite, a method of fishing very commonly practised in the country, but now forbidden by law. Indeed fly-fishing is gaining ground, and English tackle in great demand."

This practice of the wholesale destruction of fish by the use of dynamite has not been stopped a moment too soon; and some time must now elapse in certain waters before they can become properly stocked again.

It was now time for me to quit the happy valley, and I bade adieu to my kind friends near Hatszeg. I believe if I had remained to this day, I should not have outstayed my welcome. I had come to pay a morning visit, and I stopped on more than a fortnight.

The Hungarian has a particularly pleasant way of greeting a stranger under his own roof. He gives you the idea that he has been expecting you, though in reality your existence and name were unknown to him till he read the letter or the visiting-card with which you have just presented him.

I now sent my portmanteau, &c., on to Herrmannstadt, packed my saddle-bags to take with me, and once more rode off into the wilds. My destination this time was PetrosÈny.

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