CHAPTER XXVIII. Visits at Transylvanian chateaux--Society--Dogs--Amusements at Klausenburg--Magyar poets--Count Istvan SzEchenyi--Baron EOtvos--'The Village Notary'--Hungarian self-criticism--Literary taste.

I must now drop the itinerary of my journey and speak more in generalities; for after leaving the wilder districts of the Szeklerland, I took the opportunity of presenting some of the letters of introduction that I brought with me from England.

For the succeeding six weeks or more I spent my time most agreeably in the chÂteaux of some of the well-known Transylvanian nobles. For the time my wild rovings were over. The bivouac in the glorious forest and robber-steak cooked by the camp fire—the pleasures of "roughing it"—were exchanged for the charms of society.

And society is very charming in Transylvania. Nearly all the ladies speak English well, and are extremely well read in our literature. To speak French is a matter of course everywhere; but they infinitely prefer our literature, and speak our language always in preference when they can.

The works of such men as Darwin, Lyell, and Tyndall are read. I remember seeing these, and many other leading authors, in a bookseller's shop in Klausenburg. It is true this last-named place is the capital—viz., the Magyar capital—of Transylvania, but in most respects it is a mere provincial town.

A friend and myself happened to be lunching one day in the principal inn—it was in the salle À manger—and we were talking together in English. Presently I noticed a remarkably little man at the next table, who looked towards us several times; finally he got up from his chair, or rather I should say got down, and making a sign to us equivalent to touching his hat, he said, "Gentlemen, I am an Englishman; I thought it right to tell you in case you should think there was no one present who understood what you were talking!" It was very civil of the little fellow, for we were talking rather unguardedly about some well-known personages. I then asked him how he came to be in this part of the world, and he told me he was a jockey, and had been over several times to ride at the Klausenburg races; but he added he was very sorry that they always took place on a Sunday! There is certainly no "bitter observance of the Sabbath" in Hungary generally. Offices are open, and business is conducted as usual—certainly in the morning.

There is some good coursing in the neighbourhood of Klausenburg, which is kept up closely on the pattern of English sport. I had two or three good runs with the harriers, and on one occasion got a spill that was a close shave of breaking my neck. Count T—— had given me a mount. The horse was all right, but not knowing the nature of the country, I was not aware that the ground drops suddenly in many places. Coming to something of this kind without preparation, the horse threw me, and I was pitched down an embankment upwards of twelve feet in depth. Several people who saw the mishap thought it was all up with me, but, curiously enough, I was absolutely unhurt. A pull at my flask set me all right, and I walked back the five miles to Klausenburg. The horse unfortunately galloped away, and was not brought back till the next day, and then minus his saddle; however, it was recovered subsequently.

In the present scare about hydrophobia the following is worth notice. One day when walking in the principal street of Klausenburg I heard a great barking amongst the dogs, of which there were some dozen following a closed van. On inquiry I found that once a-week the authorities send round to see if there are any dogs at large without the regulation tax-collar. If any such vagabonds are found they are consigned to the covered cart, and are forthwith shot. This excellent arrangement has the effect of keeping down the number of dogs; besides, there is the safeguard attendant upon the responsibility of ownership. The funny part of the matter is that the tax-paying dogs are not the least alarmed at the appearance of the whipper-in, but join with great show of public spirit in denouncing the collarless vagrants.

Klausenburg has not the picturesque situation of Kronstadt, but it is a pleasant clean-looking town, with wide streets diverging from the Platz, where stands the Cathedral, completed by Matthias Corvinus, son of Hunyadi. This famous king, always called "the Just," was born at Klausenburg in 1443.

As Herrmannstadt and Kronstadt are chiefly inhabited by Saxon immigrants, and Maros VÁsÁrhely is the central place of the Szeklers, so may Klausenburg, or rather KolozsvÁr, as it is rightly named, be considered the Magyar capital of Transylvania.

The gaieties of the winter season had not commenced when I was there, but I understand the world amuses itself immensely. The nobles come in from their remote chÂteaux to their houses, or apartments, as it may be, in town, and then the ball is set going.

There is a good theatre in Klausenburg. I found the acting decidedly above the average of the provincial stage generally. I saw a piece of Moliere's given, and though I could only understand the Hungarian very imperfectly, I was enabled to follow it well enough to judge of the acting.

Shakespeare is so great a favourite with the Hungarians that his plays are certainly more often represented on the stage at Buda-Pest than in London. The Hungarian translation of our great poet, as I observed before, is most excellent.

It was a band of patriotic poets who first employed the language of the Magyars in their compositions. Hitherto all literary utterance had been confined to Latin, or to the foreign tongues spoken at courts. The rash attempt of Joseph II. to denationalise the Magyar and to Germanise Hungary by imperial edicts had a violent reactionary result. The strongest and the most enduring expression is to be found in the popular literature which was inaugurated by such men as Csokonai and the two brothers Kisfaludy, who were all three born in the last century. The songs of Csokonai have retained their hold on the people's hearts because, and here is the keynote—"because they breathe the true Hungarian feeling." The insistent themes of the Magyar poets were the love of country, the joys of home, the duty of patriotism. Such was the soul-stirring 'Appeal' ('SzÓzat') of VarÓsmazty, the chief of all the tuneful brethren, the Schiller of Hungary. Born with the nineteenth century, and at once its child and its teacher, he died in 1855—too soon, alas! to see the benefits accruing to his beloved country from the wise reconciliatory policy of his dear friend DeÁk. His funeral was attended by more than 20,000 people, and the country provided for his family.

Whenever the poets of Hungary are mentioned the name of Petoefy will occur, and he was second to none in originality of thought and poetic utterance. An intense love of his native scenery, not excepting even the dreary boundless AlfÖld, afforded inspiration for his genius. His poetic temperament and pathetic story give him a certain likeness to the brave young KÖrner, dear to every German heart. Petoefy was engaged in editing a Hungarian translation of Shakespeare when he was interrupted by the political events of 1848. His pen and sword were alike devoted to the cause of patriotism, and entering the army under General Bern, he became his adjutant and secretary. During the memorable winter campaign in Transylvania he wrote proclamations and warlike songs. We all know the story of the Russian invasion of Transylvania at Austria's appeal, and how the brave Hungarians fought and fell at the battle of SchÄssburg. This engagement took place on the 31st of July '49. Petoefy was present, and indeed had been seen in the thick of the fight; but in the evening he was missing from the roll-call, and, strange to say, his remains, though searched for, were never identified. The mystery which hung over his fate caused many romantic stories to be circulated, and not a few claimants to his name and fame have arisen. Even within the last three months a report has reached his native village that he had been seen in the mines of Siberia, where he has been kept a prisoner all these years by the Russians!

The language of the Magyars was heard not in poetry alone, but in the sternest prose. "Hungary is not, but Hungary shall be," said Count SzÉchcnyi. The men who worked out this problem were politicians, writers, and orators. Foremost among them may be reckoned Baron EÖtvos, one of the most liberal-minded and enlightened thinkers of the day. His efforts were specially directed to improving the education of all classes of the community. With this end and aim he worked unceasingly. He held the post of Minister of Cultus and Education in the first independent Hungarian Ministry in 1848, but withdrew in consequence of political differences with his colleagues. Again in 1867 he held the same porte-feuille under Count Andrassy, but died in 1870 universally regretted. His best known literary productions arc two novels, 'The Carthusian' and 'The Village Notary,' The latter highly-interesting, indeed dramatic story, may be recommended to any one who desires to know what really were the sufferings entailed upon the peasantry under the old system of forced labour. It is one of those fictions which, as old Walter Savage Landor used to say, "are more true than fact." It was the 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' of that day, and of the cause he had at heart—the abolition of serfdom. In reading this most thrilling story, one can understand the evil times that gave birth to the terrible saying of the peasant, "that a lord is a lord, even in hell."

Yet it was the nobles themselves who abolished at one sweep all the privileges of their order. It was by their unanimous consent that the manumission of nearly eight millions of serfs was granted, at the same time converting the feudal holdings of some 500,000 families into absolute freeholds.

In Hungary it would appear that public opinion is generously receptive of new impulses, and in this particular the Hungarians resemble us, as they claim to do in many things, calling themselves "the English of the East."

"It is curious," said Baroness B—— to me one day, "that with all our respect for British institutions, and everything that is English, that we fail to copy their straight good sense. We have too many talkers, too few workers. We are not yet a money-making nation; we have no idea of serious work, and our spirit for business is not yet developed. Almost all industrial or commercial enterprises are in the hands of Jews, Armenians, Greeks, who are great scoundrels generally."

"The Armenians are instinctive traders," I remarked.

"Yes, true; just as we are the very reverse. But this change has come over us. Taking again our cue from England, we see that trade can be respectable, and those who follow it are respected—with you at least. We try to Englishify ourselves, and some of the younger members of the community make a funny hash of it. For instance, a rich young country swell in our neighbourhood went over to England and came back in raptures with everything, and tried to turn everything upside down at home without accommodating his new ideas to the circumstances that were firmly rooted here. You may see him now sit down to dinner with an English dresscoat over his red Hungarian waistcoat. His freaks went far beyond this, and he came to be known as the 'savage Englishman.'"

I asked my hostess if our English novels were much read.

"Everybody likes your English fiction," replied Baroness B——. "It is immensely read, and has helped to promote the knowledge of the language more perhaps than anything else. We, too, have our writers of fiction. Jokai is the most prolific, but he has got to be too much an imitator of the French school. One of his earlier novels, 'The New Landlord,' has been translated into English, and gives a good picture of Hungarian life in the transition state of things. For elegance of style he is not to be compared to Gzulai Paul and Baron EÖtvos."

"There seems to be a growing interest in natural history and literature," I remarked, "judging from the enormous increase of newspapers and journals which pass through the post, both foreign and local."

"With regard to local journals," replied the Baroness, "we have the 'OsszehasonlitÓ irodalomtÖrtÉnelmi Lapok' ('Comparative Literary Journal'), which is published at Klausenburg, at Herrmannstadt, and at Kesmark in Upper Hungary. There are Natural History Societies, who publish their reports annually. Added to this, there are few towns of any size that have not their public libraries. I speak specially of Transylvania, where we affect a higher degree of culture than in Hungary Proper."

Baroness B—— was very anxious to impress upon me that certainly in Transylvania the ladies of good society do not affect "fast" manners or style. "Very few amongst us," she said, "adopt the nasty habit of smoking cigarettes. I am very sorry that Countess A—— has attempted to introduce this fashion from Pest."

Buda-Pest, though the capital, is not the place to find the best Hungarian society. Many of the old families prefer Pressburg; and Klausenburg is to Transylvania what Edinburgh was to Scotland, socially speaking, before the days of railroads. In the season good society may be met with at the various baths, but every year the facilities of travel enable people to go farther a-field health-seeking and for pleasure.

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