CHAPTER XXXIII. Expedition to the Marmaros Mountains--Railways in Hungary--The train stopping for a rest--The AlfOld--Shepherds of the plain--Wild appearance of the Rusniacks--Slavs of Northern Hungary--Marmaros Szigeth--Difficulty in slinging a hammock--The Jews of Karasconfalu--Soda manufactory at Boeska--Romantic scenery--Salt mines--Subterranean lake.

The spring was already melting into summer—and the melting process is pretty rapid in Hungary—when an opportunity occurred enabling me to visit the north-eastern part of the country with a friend who was going to the Marmaros Mountains on business. Even this wild and remote district is not without railway communication, and we took our tickets for Szigeth, in the county of Marmaros, learning at the same time, to our great satisfaction, that we could go straight on to our destination without stopping. Though my friend is a Hungarian the route was as new to him as to myself.

The railway system has been enormously extended in this country during the last ten years. In Transylvania, in the Tokay Hegyalia, in the Zipsland, and in the mining district of Schemnitz a whole network of lines has been opened up. Our route from Debreczin to Szigeth is one of those recently opened. The railway statistics of Hungary are very significant of progress. In 1864 only 1903 kilometres were open, whereas ten years later the figures had risen to 6392 kilometres; and the extension has been very considerable even subsequently, though enterprise of every kind received a check in 1873, from which the country has not yet recovered.

I confess I was very glad to have come in for the days of the iron horse, for it would be difficult to imagine anything more tiresome than a drive on ordinary wheels across the vast Hungarian plain. It is so utterly featureless as to be even without landmarks. Except for the signs of the heavenly bodies, a man might, in a fit of absence, turn round and fail to realise whether he was going backwards or forwards. Right or left, it is all the same monotonous dead level, with scarce an object on which to rest the eye. Here and there a row of acacia-trees may be seen marking the boundary of an estate, and near by the sure indication of a well in the form of a lofty pole balanced transversely; but even this does not help you, for "grove nods at grove," and what you have just seen on the right-hand side is sure somehow to be repeated on the left, so you are all at sea again.

Sometimes a mirage deludes the traveller in the Hungarian plain with the fair presentment of a lake fringed with forest-trees; but the semblance fades into nothingness, and he finds himself still in an endless waste, "without a mark, without a bound." Dreary, inexpressibly dreary to all save those who are born within its limits; for, strange to say, they love their level plain as well, every bit as well, as the mountaineer loves his cloud-capped home.

This plain—the AlfÖld, as it is called—comprises an area of 37,400 square miles, composed chiefly of rich black soil underlain by water-worn gravel—a significant fact for geologists. It is worthy of remark that the Magyar race is here found in its greatest purity. Here the followers of Arpad settled themselves to the congenial life of herdsmen. At the railway stations one generally sees a lot of these shepherds from the puszta, each with his axe-headed staff and sheepskin cloak, worn the woolly side outwards if the weather is hot. They can be scented from afar, and their scent, of all bad smells, is one of the worst. The fact is, the shepherds keep their bodies well covered with grease to prevent injurious effects from the very sudden changes of temperature so common in all Hungary. This smearing of the skin with grease is also a defence against insects, which seems probable, if insects have noses to be offended.

Nowhere does the intrusion of modern art and its appliances strike one more curiously by force of contrast than in the wilder parts of Hungary. Just outside the railway station life and manners are what they were two centuries ago, and yet here are the grappling-irons of civilisation. No doubt a change will come to all this substratum of humanity, but it takes time. Even the railways in these wilder parts have not exactly settled themselves down to the inexorable limits of "time tables." It occurred on this very journey that we stopped at some small station, for no particular reason as far as I could see, for nobody got in or out; but the heat was intense, and so we just made a halt of nearly an hour. I could not make out what was up at first, but looking out I saw the stokers, pokers, and engine-driver all calmly enjoying their pipes, seated on the footboard on the shady side of the train! Some one or two people remarked that the officials in this part of the world were lazy fellows, but the passengers generally appeared in no great hurry, and after a while the train moved on again. At several places on the line we passed luggage trains waiting on the siding for their turn to be sent on to Buda-Pest. In many of these open trucks we noticed a considerable number of those fine Podolian oxen, common in these parts, and lots of woolly-haired pigs, that look for all the world like sheep at a distance.

The effect of tapping these out-lying districts is already producing its natural result; the cultivator finds a ready market for his produce, and the value of land is rising, and "must rise in Hungary," says Professor Wrightson in his report on the agriculture of the Austro-Hungarian empire.[23]

In approaching Debreczin we noticed frequent instances of the efflorescence of soda-salts upon the surface of the soil. This occurrence greatly impairs the fertility of some parts of the AlfÖld. Land drainage would probably cure this evil, but I do not fancy any serious experiments have been tried. Skill and labour have not yet been brought to bear on the greater part of the land in Hungary. It is a country where a vast deal has yet to be done, and such are the prejudices of the common people that improvements cannot be introduced at once and without some caution; in fact, the material conditions of the country itself and the climate necessitate considerable experience on the part of any foreigner who may settle in Hungary and think to import new fashions in agriculture.

Stopping at Debreczin only long enough to get a little supper at the station restaurant, we pursued our journey through the night. I do not imagine that we lost much that was worthy of note owing to the darkness, for the line continues to traverse a sanely plain utterly devoid of good scenery. Towards morning we passed two important towns—namely, Nagy KÁroly and SzathmÁr. The hitter is the seat of a Catholic bishop, and has no less than 19,000 inhabitants—a good-sized place for Hungary. In 1711 the peace between the Austrians and RÁkoczy was signed in this town. Not far from here are the celebrated gold, silver, and lead mines of Nagy Banya.

We arrived at the junction station of Kiraly-haza early in the morning, and there learned the agreeable news that we must wait ten hours, though only a few miles from our destination. From this place there is a line to SÁtoralja-Uihely, a junction on the main line between Buda-Pest and Lemberg. The town of Kiraly-haza is situated in a wide valley bounded by high mountains. The plain is left far behind, and we are once more under the shadow of the Carpathians. The heat of the day was intense, and there was not much in the immediate neighbourhood to tempt us out in the broiling sun, so we just got through the time as best we could. The food was very bad and the wine execrable, an adulterated mixture not worthy of the name. This is a rare occurrence in Hungary, and it ought not to have been the case here, for there are good vineyards close to the town.

It was getting towards evening before our train appeared, and when it stopped at the station as wild a looking crew turned out of the carriages as I ever remember to have seen. On inquiry I found that these people were Rusniacks. Their occupation at this time of the year is to convey rafts down the Theiss. It seems their work was done, and they were returning by train. After the halt of ten minutes, and when the passengers were resuming their seats, I found that these fellows were all crowded into some empty horse-boxes attached to the train. The officials treated them as if they were very little better than cattle. These people, with their shoeless feet encased in thongs of leather, with garments unconscious of the tailor's art, and in some instances regardless of the primary object of clothes as a human institution, were the most uncivilised of any I had yet seen in Hungary.

These Rusniacks, or "Little Russians," as they are called, are tolerably numerous—not less than 470,000, according to statistical returns. They are to be found almost exclusively in the north-east of Hungary. They were fugitives in the old days from Russia, to whom they are intensely antagonistic, having probably suffered from her persecutions. In religion they are dissenters from the orthodox Greek Church, assimilating more with Roman Catholicism. These people are another variety in the strange mixture of races to be found in Hungary. It is thought, and it would seem probable, that the very fact of the military conscription will help to civilise these Rusniacks by drawing them out of their savage isolation in the wild valleys of the Marmaros Mountains.

There are many peculiarities respecting the races inhabiting the northern parts of Hungary. It would be a great mistake to put the Slavs of the north in the same category with the Slavs of the south: the former are on far better terms with the Magyars; they are for the most part contented, hard-working people, not troubling themselves at all about Panslavism. The reason is not far to seek. The Slovacks, as they are called by way of distinction, numbering about two millions, do not belong to the Greek Church. The greater proportion are Roman Catholics, the rest Lutherans and Calvinists. Many of the Catholics are said to be descended from refugees who fled from the tyranny of the Greek Church in Polish Russia.

After leaving Kiraly-haza we got into charming scenery. As we approached the Carpathians we passed through vast oak-forests, and here and there had a glimpse of the Theiss rushing along over its stony bed. Occasionally we caught sight of herds of buffaloes bathing in the river. It is difficult to imagine that these fierce-looking creatures, with their massive shaggy heads, can ever be tractable; yet they can be managed, though only by kindness—"the rod of correction they cannot bear." At length we reached the end of our railway journey. Marmaros Szigeth is the present terminus of the line, and I should say will very probably remain such; for the iron road would hardly meander through the denies and over the heights of the Carpathians, to descend into the sparsely-inhabited wilds of the Bukovina. We sought out the principal inn at Szigeth, a wretched place, with only one room and a single bed at our disposal.

My friend took possession of the bed at my request, for I told him I was quite independent of the luxury, having provided myself before I left England with an excellent hammock made of twine. I had learned to sleep in these contrivances during my naval volunteer days, but the order to "sling hammocks" would not have been easy to obey under the present circumstances. I was forced to put my screws in the floor and hang my net over some heavy furniture; but when I got in, the table that I had chiefly depended upon gave way with a crash, and I found myself on the floor. My friend laughed heartily; he had never seen a hammock before, and, spite of my representations, I do not think he was properly impressed by the great utility of the invention. Of course I was not to be foiled, so I cast about for another method of "fixing." I tried several dodges, but nothing answered exactly; something always gave way after a few minutes of repose—either I came down with a bump, or some abominable, ramshackle chest of drawers got over-turned.

Now my friend was very tired and sleepy, and desired nothing so much as a little repose. My experiments ceased to interest him, and the noise caused by my repeated misfortunes irritated him. A large-minded man would have admired my tenacity of purpose, but he did not. One can never tell what people are till we travel with them. In a tone of mingled solicitude and irritation he offered to vacate his bed in my favour. He declared he would willingly lie on the hard floor, or indeed, if I would only consent to take his place, he would sit bolt upright in a chair through the livelong night.

"I will do anything," he added piteously, "if you will only be quiet and not try to hang yourself any more in that horrible netting."

I would not hear of my friend leaving his bed, and after one or two more mischances self and hammock were suspended for the night at an angle a trifle too low for the head. Except for the honour and glory of the thing, perhaps I might have slept as well on the floor; but one does not carry a patent contrivance all across Europe to be balked of its use after all.

My friend woke me once during the night by shaking me roughly. He said I had nightmare, and made "such a devil of a row that he could not sleep." I have some dreamy recollection of finding myself in a London drawing-room in the inexpressibly scanty garments of a Rusniack, and when I turned to leave in all decent haste I found the way barred by an insolent fellow with the head of a buffalo bull. When I awoke in the early morning I found my friend already dressed and rather sulky. He observed that he had never met a man so addicted to nightmare as myself, adding, that another time if I must sleep in my hammock, it would be better to see that the head was higher than the feet.

"It does not make any difference to me," I replied cheerfully, "I am as fresh as a lark."

There was no time for further discussion, for our breakfast was ready (a very bad breakfast it was, too), and the vehicle we had chartered the night before was also waiting to convey us some miles into the interior of the country, to the soda manufactory at Boeska. On our way we passed through the village of Karasconfalu, inhabited entirely by Polish Jews. The dirt and squalor of this place beggar description. The dwellings are not houses, but are simply holes burrowed in the sandbanks, with an upright stone set up in front to represent a door; windows and chimneys are unknown. If it were not for a few erections more like ordinary human habitations, the place might have passed for a gigantic rabbit-warren. As we drove through we saw some of the villagers engaged in slaughtering calves and sheep in the middle of the road, the blood running down into a self-made gutter; it was a sickening sight. The people themselves have a most peculiar physiognomy, especially the men, who in addition to long beards wear corkscrew ringlets, which give them a very odd appearance. Their principal garment is a kind of long brown dressing-gown, which in its filthy grimness suits the wearer down to the ground. The feet are bound up in thongs of leather. The shoemaker's trade is apparently unknown in these parts. The inhabitants of this delightful village have the reputation of being a set of born cheats and swindlers; if it is true, then certainly the moral is plain, that dishonesty is not a thriving trade. The fact is, being all of one sort, the profession is overcrowded, and the result is that the sharpest amongst them emigrate, or rather I should say go farther a-field to exercise their craft. I am told that many of the low Jews, who make themselves a byword and a reproach by their practices of cheating and usury throughout Hungary, may be traced back to this foul nest in the Marmaros Mountains. It would be well for the credit of the Jewish community in Hungary, as well as elsewhere, if something were done to raise these people out of the utter degradation which surrounds them from their birth.

Not far beyond Karasconfalu we came upon Boeska, situated in the midst of the most beautiful and romantic scenery, not at all suggestive of the neighbourhood of a chemical manufactory. Putting up at the house of the manager of the works, we remained here two or three days, during which time we made some excursions into the heart of the mountains. One of our drives took us some miles along the side of the beautiful river Theiss, which though a proverbial sluggard when it reaches the plain, is here a swift and impetuous stream. Our object was to see the timber-rafts pass over the rapids; it was a very exciting scene, and as this was a favourable season, owing to the state of the river, we came in just at the right time. The Rusniacks—the people generally employed in this perilous work—certainly display great skill and coolness in the management of their ticklish craft. If by any mischance the timbers come in contact with the rocks, then the danger is extreme; and hardly a year passes that some of the poor fellows do not get carried away in the swirling waters, which have made for themselves deep and treacherous holes in this part of the stream.

The pine-trees in the forests of the Marmaros Mountains are simply magnificent; the birch and oak are hardly less remarkable. It is really grievous to see the amount of ruthless destruction which is allowed to go on in these valuable forests, more especially in those belonging to the State. It is the old story—the Rusniack herdsman, to get herbage for his cattle, will set fire to the forest, and perhaps burn some hundreds of acres of standing timber. The result brings very little good to himself; but the blackened trunks of thousands of half-burned trees bear witness to the peasant's inveterate love of waste, and the utter inefficiency of the forest laws, or rather of their administration. Throughout Hungary it is the same, the power of the law does not make itself felt in the remoter provinces. For example, in the year 1877 there have been scores of incendiary fires in the county of Zemplin; homesteads, hayricks, and woods have suffered, and yet punishment rarely falls on the offender. Government should look to this, for lawlessness is a most infectious disorder.

The Marmaros district is chiefly known for the salt mines, which have been worked here for centuries. Salt is a Government monopoly in Hungary, and is sold at the high price of five florins the hundredweight, forming, in fact, an important source of revenue. The mines at Slatina, not far from Szigeth, are well worth a visit. One of the chambers is of immense size; in this a pyramid of salt is left untouched, and by its downward growth marks the progress of excavation. At the foot of this pyramid is a little altar, where every year, on the 3d of March, mass is celebrated with great ceremony, that being the day of Kunigunde, the patron saint of the mines.

One of our expeditions was to visit the mines at Ronasick. Here, too, is an enormous cave with a dome-shaped roof, one hundred and fifty feet above the surface of the water, which covers the floor to the amazing depth, it is said, of three hundred feet. Part of the visitor's programme is to be paddled about on this subterranean lake. We embarked on a raft slowly propelled by rowers; a cresset fire burning brightly at the prow of our craft cast strange lights and shadows on the black waters, added to which the shimmering reflection of the white-ribbed walls had a very singular effect. But the sensation was still more weird when we saw other mystic forms appearing from out the black darkness; first a mere speck of red light was visible, till nearing us we beheld other boats freighted with grim-looking figures that glided past into the further darkness. These phantom-like forms, steering their rafts through the black and silent waters, were grotesquely lit up from time to time by the pulsating red firelight. It might have been a scene from Dante's 'Inferno'!

It was with the sense of escape from a living tomb that we emerged from the depths below into the upper air, and here awaited us a sight never to be forgotten, more especially for its singular contrast to the horrid gloom of the under-world. Here, above ground, in the blessed free expanse of earth and sky, we beheld the heavens ablaze with all the intensest glory of a magnificent sunset. One's soul in deep gladness drank in the ineffable loveliness of nature, as if athirst for the beauty of light and life.

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