CHAPTER XIX. Want of progress amongst the Saxons--The Burzenland--Kronstadt--Mixed character of its inhabitants--Szeklers--General Bem's campaign.

It was a glorious morning when I left the comfortable village of Zeiden. Before me were the rich pastures of the Burzenland, a tract which tradition says was once filled up by the waters of a great lake, till some Saxon hero hewed a passage through the mountains in the Geisterwald for the river Aluta, thus draining this fertile region.

The mountainous wall to the rear of Zeiden is clothed by magnificent hanging woods, which at the time I describe were just tinged with the first rich touches of autumn. It was a lovely ride through this fertile vale. On every side I saw myself surrounded by the lofty Carpathians, or the lesser spurs of that grand range of mountains; the higher peaks to the south and south-east were already capped with snow. The village in which I had so agreeably sojourned for a couple of days almost rises to the dignity of a little town, for it has nearly 4000 inhabitants. Considering its situation, on the verge of this rich plain, and many other local circumstances, it is, I suppose, a very favourable example of a German settlement in Transylvania. I had been struck by the extreme neatness of the dwellings and the generally well-to-do air of the people, but there is nothing progressive about these Saxons. I saw plainly that what their fathers did before them they do themselves, and expect their sons to follow in the same groove. There is amongst them generally a dead level of content incomprehensible to a restless Englishman.

When I asked why they did not try to turn this or that natural advantage to account, I was met with the reply, "Our fathers have done very well without it, why should not we?" I could never discover any inclination amongst the Saxons to initiate any fresh commercial enterprise either at home or abroad, nor would they respond with any interest to the most tempting suggestions as to ways and means of increasing their possessions. It is all very well to draw the moral picture of a contented people. Contentment under some circumstances is the first stage of rottenness. The inevitable law of change works the deterioration of a race which does not progress. This fact admits of practical proof here. For instance, the cloth manufactures of Transylvania are falling into decay, and there is nothing else of an industrial kind substituted. The result is a decrease of the general prosperity, and a marked diminution in the population of the towns. Nor is this the case in populous places only. The Saxon villager desires to transmit the small estate he derived from his father intact to his only son. He does not desire a large family; it would tax his energies too much to provide for that. It is deeply to be lamented that a superior race like the educated Saxons of Transylvania, who held their own so bravely against Turk and Tartar, and, what was more difficult still, preserved their religious liberty in spite of Austrian Jesuits, should now be losing their political ascendancy, owing mainly to their displacement by the Wallacks. According to the last census, the German immigrants in Hungary are estimated at 1,820,922. I have no means of making an accurate comparison, but I hear on all hands that the numbers are diminished. There are, besides, proofs of it in the case of villages which were exclusively Saxon having now become partly, even wholly, Wallachian.

There are wonderfully few chÂteaux in this picturesque land. In my frequent rides over the Burzenland I rarely saw any dwellings above what we should attribute to a yeoman farmer. As a matter of fact there are fewer aristocrats in this part of Hungary, or perhaps I should say this part of Transylvania, than in any other.

After my pleasant morning's ride I found myself at Kronstadt, and put up at Hotel "No. 1"—an odd name for a fairly good inn. There is another farther in town—the Hotel Bucharest—also a place of some pretension. The charges for rooms generally in the country are out of all proportion to the accommodation given. Travellers are rare, at least they used to be before the present war; but Kronstadt is the terminus of the direct railway from Buda-Pest, which, communicating with the TomÖscher Pass over the Carpathians, is the shortest route to Bucharest.

As far as the buildings are concerned, Kronstadt has much the air of an old-fashioned German town. As you pass along the streets you get a peep now and then of picturesque interior courtyards, seen through the wide-arched doorways. These courts are mostly surrounded by an open arcade. Generally in the centre of each is set a large green tub holding an oleander-tree. This gives rather an Oriental appearance to these interiors. The East and West are here mixed up together most curiously. Amongst the fair-haired, blue-eyed Saxons are dusky Armenians and black-ringleted Jews, wearing strange garments. By the way, the merchants of these two races have ousted the Saxon trader from the field; commerce is almost completely in their hands.

The market-day at Kronstadt is a most curious and interesting sight. The country-people come in, sitting in their long waggons, drawn by four horses abreast, they themselves dressed in cloaks of snow-white sheepskins, or richly-embroidered white leather coats lined with black fur. The head-gear too is very comely, and very dissimilar; for there are flat fur caps—like an exaggerated Glengarry—and peaked hats, and drum-shaped hats for the girls, while the close-twisted white kerchief denotes the matron. The Wallack maiden is adorned by her dowry of coins hanging over head and shoulders, and with braids of plaited black hair—mingled, I am afraid, with tow, if the truth must be spoken.

Kronstadt is rather a considerable place; the population is stated to be 27,766, composed of Saxons, Szeklers, and Wallacks, who have each their separate quarter. It is most beautifully situated, quite amongst the mountains; in fact it is 2000 feet above the sea-level. The Saxon part of the town is built in the opening of a richly-wooded valley. The approach from the vale beyond—the Burzenland, of which I have spoken before—is guarded by a singular isolated rock, a spur of the mountain-chain. This natural defence is crowned by a fortress, which forms a very picturesque feature in the landscape. Formerly the town was completely surrounded by walls, curtained on the hillside, reminding one of Lucern's "coronal of towers." In the "brave days of old" the trade-guilds were severally allotted their forts for the defence of the town—no holiday task for volunteers, as in our "right little, tight little island."

Though the dangers of the frontier are by no means a thing of the past, the town walls and the towers are mainly in ruins, overgrown with wild vines and other luxuriant vegetation. As no guidebook exists to tell one what one ought to see, and where one ought to go, I had all the pleasure of poking about and coming upon surprises. I was not aware that the church at Kronstadt is about the finest specimen of fourteenth-century Gothic in Transylvania, ranking second only to the Cathedral of Kashau in Upper Hungary.

My first walk was to the Kapellenburg, a hill which rises abruptly from the very walls of the town. An hour's climb through a shady zigzag brought me to the summit. From thence I could see the "seven villages" which, according to some persons, gave the German name to the province, SiebenbÜrgen, "seven towns." The level Burzenland looked almost like a green lake; beyond it the chain of the Carpathian takes a bend, forming the frontier of Roumania. The highest point seen from thence is the SchÜlerberg, upwards of 8000 feet, and a little farther off the KÖnigstein, and the Butschrtsch, the latter reaching 9526 feet. Hardly less picturesque is the view from the Castle Hill. Quite separated from the rest of the town is the quarter inhabited by the Szeklers. This people constitute one of four principal races inhabiting Transylvania. They are of Turanian origin, like the Magyars, but apparently an older branch of the family. When the Magyars overran Pannonia in the tenth century, under the headship of the great Arpad, they appear to have found the Szeklers already in possession of part of the vast Carpathian horseshoe—that part known to us as the Transylvanian frontier of Moldavia. They claim to have come hither as early as the fourth century. It is known that an earlier wave of the Turanians had swept over Europe before the incoming of the Magyars, and the so-called Szeklers were probably a tribe or remnant of this invasion, the date of which, however, is wrapped in no little obscurity.

This is certain, that they have preserved their independence throughout all these ages in a very remarkable manner. "They are all 'noble,'" says Mr Boner, "and proudly and steadfastly adhere to and uphold their old rights and privileges, such as right of limiting and of pasture. They had their own judges, and acknowledged the authority of none beside. Like their ancestors the Huns, they loved fighting, and were the best soldiers that Bem had in his army. They guarded the frontier, and guarded it well, of their own free-will; but they would not be compelled to do so, and the very circumstance that Austria, when the border system was established, obliged them to furnish a contingent of one infantry and two hussar regiments sufficed to alienate their regard."[17] In another place Mr Boner says, "The Szekler soldier, I was told, was 'excessive,' which means extreme, in all he did."

In the view of recent events, it may be worth while to recall to mind a few particulars of General Bem's campaign in Transylvania. In no part of Hungary was the war of independence waged with so much bitterness as down here on these border-lands. The Saxons and the Wallacks were bitterly opposed to the Magyars; and on the 12th of May, in the eventful '48, a popular meeting was held at Kronstadt, where they protested vehemently against union with Hungary, and swore allegiance to the Emperor of Austria. Upon this the Szeklers flew to arms—on the side of the Magyars, of course; throughout their history they have always made common cause with them. In the autumn of the same year, Joseph Bem, a native of Galicia, who had fought under Marshal Davoust, later with Macdonald at the siege of Hamburg, and had also taken part in the Polish insurrection of 1830, attached himself to the Hungarian cause. He had formed a body of troops from the wrecks and remnants of other corps, and soon by his admirable tactics succeeded on two occasions in beating the Austrians at the very outset of his campaign; the latter of these victories was near DÉes, to the north of Klausenburg, where he defeated General Wardener. The winter of that terrible year wore on. In Transylvania it was not merely keeping back the common enemy, the invader of the soil, but it was a case where the foes were of the same township, and the nearest neighbours confronted each other on opposite ranks.

The Austrians meanwhile had called in the Russians to aid them in crushing the Hungarians; and at the time it was believed that the Saxons of Transylvania had instigated this measure. It is easy to understand how the Russians would be hated along with their allies; it was a desperate struggle, and well fought out by Magyars and Szeklers, ably handled by General Bem. Herrmannstadt and Kronstadt both fell into his hands, after a vigorous defence by the Austro-Russian garrisons; in fact, by the middle of March '49, the whole of Transylvania, with the exception of Karlsburg and DÈva, was held by the troops of this fortunate general. But, as we all know, the Hungarian arms were not so successful elsewhere, and the end of that struggle was approaching, which was to find its saddest hour at Villagos on the 13th of August, when the Hungarians were cajoled into laying down their arms before the Russians!

The rest of the miserable story had better not be dwelt upon. Much has changed in these few years. Now a Hapsburg recognises the privilege of mercy amongst his kingly attributes. The last words of Maximilian, the ill-fated Emperor of Mexico, were, "Let my blood be the last shed as an offering for my country." Since then capital punishment has become of rare occurrence in Austria; and remembering his brother's death, the Emperor, it is said, can hardly be induced to sign a death-warrant!

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