Chapter LVI Farewell to Transylvania — The Enchanted Garden
So the end of our Transylvanian sojourn had actually come, and like many things whose prospect appears so unconditionally desirable when viewed in the far distance, the realization of this wish now failed to bring altogether the anticipated satisfaction.
Whoever has read Hans Andersen’s exquisite tale of the fir-tree will understand the indescribable pathos assumed by commonplace objects as soon as they are relegated from the present tense into the past; and those who have not read this fairy tale will understand it equally well, for is not the story of the fir-tree the history of each of our own lives?
I had indeed often longed to be back again in the world; I had yearned to be once more within reach of newspapers and lending-libraries, and to be able to get letters from England in three days instead of six. Of course I would return to the world some day or other; but that day need not have come just yet, I now told myself, and I should have liked to spend one more summer in face of that glorious chain of mountains I had got to love so dearly.
All at once I became acutely conscious of a dozen projects not yet accomplished—of points of interest as yet unvisited, of pictures I had not yet looked upon, of songs I had not heard. The proud snowy Negoi I had so often dreamed of ascending now smiled down an icy smile of unapproachable majesty upon my disappointment; the dark pine forests I had expected to revisit seemed to grow dim and shadowy as they eluded my grasp, and with them many other objects of my secret longing. That other mountain, the Bucsecs, where live those solitary monks, snowed up during the greater part of the year in their cavern convent scooped out of the rock; the noble castle of the great Hunyady, pearl of mediæval citadels; those wondrous salt-mines of Maros-Ujvar, whose description reads like a vision in a fairy tale; and those rivers whose waters may literally be said to “wander o’er sands of gold”—the thought of these, and of many other such items, now rose up like tormenting spectres to swell the mournful list of my blighted hopes. There were dozens of old ruined towers whose interior I had not yet seen, scores of little way-side chapels I had proposed to investigate. Why, even in this very town of Hermanstadt there were nooks and corners I had not explored, church-towers I had not ascended, and mysterious little gardens as yet unvisited. Precisely the most inviting-looking of these gardens, the most mysteriously suggestive, and the one which showed the richest promise of blossom peeping over the wall, had hitherto baffled all attempts at entrance. Nearly every day for the last two years I had passed by that garden, which towered over my head like a sea-bird’s nest perched on a steep rocky island, and always had I found the gate to be persistently locked against the outer world. Was I actually going to leave the place without having set foot within its enchanted precincts? without having plucked that head of golden laburnum just breaking into flower, which nodded so mockingly over the wall? and all at once an irresistible longing came over me; I felt that I must enter that garden, must gather that flower, even were it defended by dragons and witches.
And my wish did not seem to be impracticable at first sight—the garden, as I knew, belonging to the cure, a jovial-faced old man, with whom I had merely a bowing acquaintance, but who, I felt sure, would be delighted to show me his garden. Accordingly one forenoon, about a week before my departure from Hermanstadt, I sent my two boys with a calling-card, on which was indited my request in the politest terms and most legible handwriting at my command.
The small messengers I had despatched to the presbytery came back even sooner than I had expected, but their mien was crestfallen, and their eyes suspiciously moist.
“What is the matter?” I asked, in surprise. “Have you not brought me the key of the garden? Did not the cure say Yes?”
“He said nothing; we never saw him. The whole house was full of doctors and of pails of ice,” was the somewhat incoherent explanation. “And then there came an old woman with a broom and made us go away.”
Evidently the subject of the broom was too painful to be dwelt upon, for the moisture in the eyes showed symptoms of reappearing. Further inquiries elucidated the situation. Alas! it was but too true; the cure had been seized with a stroke of apoplexy that morning; and after waiting for two whole years, I had appropriately selected that very moment to request the loan of his garden key!
Two days later he died, and was buried with much pomp; and then, after waiting for three days more, I thought I might without indelicacy repeat my request, applying this time to the sacristan.
The branch of laburnum had now burst into full flower, and the more I gazed the more absolutely impossible it seemed to leave the place without it.
This time, in consideration of the broom and the old woman, I had despatched a full-grown messenger, desiring him on no account to presume to return without the key; but the answer he brought, though polite, was yet more hopeless, and he, too, had come back empty-handed. “Have you been to the sacristan?” I sternly inquired. He had, as he humbly informed me, and not only to him, but likewise to the next priest in rank, as well as to the sister and nephew of the deceased, and to his best friend.
“The gentlemen were all very polite, and much regretted not being able to oblige me,” he said; “but the garden gate had been closed with the official seal immediately after the death, and this key, along with all others, deposited at the gericht (court of justice) till a successor should be elected.”
“And when will that be?”
“In about six months probably.”
In six months! They dared talk to me of six months, when I should be gone before as many days! And what cared I for their hypocritical expressions of regret, now that I knew them to be dragons in disguise? Hope was now dead within me, for even British pertinacity cannot cope with supernatural agency, and expect to penetrate realms defended by witches and dragons.
Driving to the station, we passed for the last time by the impenetrable stone-wall which masked the object of all this useless longing and effort, and which, like all unattainable things, looked more than ever desirable on the balmy May evening we turned our backs upon Hermanstadt. In vain my eyesight strove to penetrate the dense screen of flowery shrubs hiding from my view—I know not what. Perhaps an old temple with shattered columns, or a fountain which has ceased to play? Maybe an ancient statue draped in ivy, or a tombstone bearing some long-forgotten name?
Naught could I see but the dense-grown tops of gelder-rose and bird-cherry pressed tightly together, and one clustering branch of overblown laburnum dropping its petals in amber showers on to the road.
Were you mocking me, or weeping for me, enigmatical golden flower? Shall I ever return to gather you?
The End
Footnotes
1 The Turkish sway does not seem to have been a very oppressive one, if we are to believe this account of how the Turkish tax-collector used to gather his tithes:
“In a cart harnessed with four horses, the Turkish tax-collector used to drive round the villages in Transylvania; and when he cracked his whip the people came running out and threw, each according to his means, a piece of money into the vat. Sometimes it was but a groat, sometimes even less, for there was but little money in the land at that time; but the Turk was satisfied with what he got, and drove on without further ado.”
2 The late Count Beust.
3 Reprinted from a publication of the Transylvanian Carpathian Society.
4 The Hungarian name of is Nagy-Szeben, and its Roumanian appellation Sibiiu.
5 This, however, may be doubted, as I do not believe that, under any circumstances, a natural amalgamation between Germans and Magyars could ever have come about. There is a too deeply inrooted dislike between the two races.
6 “There is space in the smallest hut
To contain a happy, loving couple.”
7 This abuse, however, is entirely confined to the villages, the towns showing a far more favorable rate of increase among the Saxon population.
8 The assertion that the Transylvanian Saxons—taken as a body—show a yearly decrease is, however, incorrect, as has been conclusively proved by Dr. Oskar von Meltzl, in his recent interesting work, “Statistik der Sächsischen Landbevölkerung in Siebenbürgen.” By the author’s own acknowledgment, however, the increase within the last thirty-two years has been but insignificant; while of 227 Saxon communities established in the country 92 have diminished in number between the years 1851-1883 to the extent of nearly 11 per cent.
9 Dr. Fronius.
10 New-year’s gift from the honorable brotherhood.
11 The late King of Bavaria, Ludwig II., made an attempt at reviving these brotherhoods, such as they existed in Germany in the Middle Ages. He himself was the head of the confraternity, and designed the costumes to be worn by its members, who, with their long pilgrim robes, cockle-shells, and wide flapping hats, were among the most conspicuous figures at the royal funeral last summer.
12 This would seem to be an allusion to the Roumanian fashion in some districts of twisting up the veil into a horn-like shape on the head.
13 The borten is the high, stiff head-dress worn by all Saxon girls, and which they only lay aside with their marriage.
14 St. Catherine is throughout Germany the patroness of old maids—likewise in France, “coiffer la Sainte Catherine.”
15 Out of the several slightly different versions of this song to be found in different districts I have selected those verses which seemed most intelligible.
16 Two fir-trees were often planted before Saxon peasant houses.
17 So in the Altmark the newly married couple used to be served with a soup composed of cattle-fodder, hay, beans, oats, etc., to cause the farm animals to thrive.
18 In Sweden the mother takes her seat on the coffer containing her daughter’s effects, and refuses to part with it till the son-in-law has ransomed it with money.
19 On the rare occasions when the Saxon peasant consults a physician, he is determined to reap the utmost advantage from the situation. An amusing instance of this was related to me by a doctor to whom a peasant had come for the purpose of being bled. Deeming that the patient had lost sufficient blood, the doctor was about to close the wound, when the Saxon interposed. “Since I have come this long way to be bled, doctor,” he remonstrated, “you might as well let ten kreuzers’ worth more blood flow!”
20 The Roumanian peasant has a passion for white snowy linen. Usually it is his sweetheart on whom devolves the duty of keeping it clean, or, when he has no sweetheart, then his mother or sister.
21 In Sweden, when the guests sit down to the bridal banquet, an old woman decked in a wreath of birch-bark, in which straw and goose-feathers are interwoven, and grotesquely dressed up with jingling harness, is led in and presented to the bridegroom as his consort, while in a pompous speech her charms are expatiated upon. She is chased away with clamorous hooting, whereupon the bridesmen go out again, and after a mock search they lead in the bride.
22 Supposed to denote fruitfulness.
23 There is a story told of a village (but whether Hungarian or Roumanian I am unable to say) which, up to the year 1536, used to be inhabited by cripples, hunchbacks, lame, maimed, and blind men only, and which went by the name of the “Republic of Cripples.” No well-grown and healthy persons were ever suffered to settle here, for fear of spoiling the deformity of their race, and all new-born children unlucky enough to enter the world with normally organized frames were instantly mutilated.
The inhabitants of this village, turning these infirmities to account, made a play of wandering over the country begging and singing at all fairs and markets, and trading on the compassion excited by their wretched appearance. They had also their own language, called the language of the blind, and were in so far privileged above the useful and industrious citizens as to be exempted from all taxes.
24 The Council of Constantinople, 869, forbade the members of the Oriental Church to keep the feast of the pagan goddess Kolinda, or Lada, occurring on the shortest day. These Kolinda songs appear to be of Slav origin, since we find the Koleda among the Bohemians, Serbs, and Slavonians, the Koleda among Poles, and the Kolad with the Russians. Yet further proof of this would seem to be that unmistakable resemblance to the Slav words Kaulo, Kul, Kolo, a round dance—applying, no doubt, to the rotation of the sun, which on this day begins afresh. Grimm, however, in his Mythology, makes out the name to be derived from the Latin Calendæ.
25 The meaning of this I take to be, that the dangers we recognize and run away from are smaller than those we encounter without knowing it.
26 The Hospodar Negru, or Nyagou as he is sometimes called, reigned from 1513 to 1521. Long detained as hostage at the Court of Sultan Selim I., he had the opportunity of studying Oriental architecture, and himself directed the building of a celebrated mosque which had, we are told, no less than 999 windows and 366 minarets. This edifice so delighted the Sultan that he set Nyagou at liberty, presenting him with all the rich materials remaining over from the building of the mosque, in order to erect a church in his native country. Returning thither, he is said to have brought with him the celebrated architect Manoll, or Manolli, by birth a Phanariot, who, with his wife Annika, is immortalized in this ballad.
27 A prose translation of this poem appeared in Stanley’s “Rouman Anthology,” 1856.
28 This allusion to prayer and magic in the same breath is thoroughly characteristic of the Roumanian’s religion.
29 By B. Alexandri.
30 By K. A. Rosetti.
31 The real name of this celebrated Wallachian rebel, born in 1740, was Nykulaj Urszu. Under the reign of the Emperor Joseph II. he became the chief instigator of a revolution among the sorely oppressed Transylvanian Wallachs, who, rising to the number of thirty thousand men, proceeded to murder the Hungarian nobles, and plunder, sack, and burn their possessions. Hora’s project was to raise himself to the position of sovereign, and he had already adopted the title of King of Dacia when he was captured, and, together with his confederate Kloska, very cruelly put to death at Karlsburg in 1785.
32 Both Greeks and Romans attached an ominous meaning to a dream of falling-out teeth.
33 “Der Aberglaube in seiner bunten Mannigfaltigkeit bildet gewissermassen eine Religion für den ganzen neideren Hausbedarf.”
34 Dracu, which in Roumanian does duty for the word devil, really means dragon; as for devil proper the word is wanting.
One writer, speaking of the Roumanians, observes that they swear by the dragon, which gives their oaths a painful sense of unreality.
35 This would seem to suggest a German or Scandinavian element—the thunder-god Donar, or Thor, who with his hammer confirms unions.
36 This spirit corresponds to the Polednice of the Bohemians and the Poludnica of Poles and Russians. Grimm, in speaking of the Russians in his “German Mythology,” quotes from Boschorn’s “Resp. Moscov.:” “Dæmonem quoque meridianum Moscovitæ et colunt.”
37 Also practised by the Saxons.
38 This plant, Ocimum basilicum, is much used by the Roumanians, who ascribe to it both medicinal and magic properties.
39 The Serbs have also a corresponding day, called the Theodor Saturday (Todoroma Sumbota), on which no work is done, on account of the sintotere, a monster, half man half horse, who rides upon whoever falls in his power.
40 Similar customs exist among the Hindoos, Slavs, and Serbs.
41 Also believed by most Slav races.
42 Also usual in Moldavia.
43 St. Elias is also known in Serbia as “Thunderer;” Bohemians and Russians have a thunder-god named Perum; the Poles, Piorun; the old Russians had Perkun, and the Lithuanians Perkunos—all of which may be assumed to be derived from the Indian sun-god, Surjar, or Mihirar, who, as personification of fire, is also named Perus.
44 Swine have been regarded as sacred animals by various people, which is probably the explanation of the German expression of sauglück (sow’s luck), and of the glückschweinchen (little luck-pigs) which have lately become fashionable as charms to hang to the watch-chain.
45 Also practised by the Saxons.
46 Likewise in Bavaria.
47 Believed by most Slav races.
48 Likewise in Poland.
49 The original signification of this seems to have gone astray, but was probably based on some former worship of the horse, long regarded as a sacred animal by Indians, Parsees, Arabs, and Germans.
50 See “Saxon Superstition,” chap. xxix.
51 Also believed by most Slav races.
52 Archæologists have derived this word from Pri, which in Sanscrit means fruitful, and Hu, the god of the Celtic deluge tradition, and likewise regarded as the personification of fruitful nature.
53 So in India the Matris, known also among Egyptians, Chaldeans, and Mexicans. A corresponding spirit is likewise found in Scandinavian and Lithuanian mythology; in the latter, under the name of the medziajna.
54 Surely a corruption of “great Pan,” who, it would seem, is not dead after all, but merely banished to the land beyond the forest.
55 The ancients used likewise to cook for their household demons (cæna dæmonum).—Plaut. Pseudol. Also, the Hindoos prepared food for the house-spirit.
56 Instances of weather-makers are also common in Germany. We are told that there used to live in Suabia long ago a pastor renowned for his proficiency in exorcising the weather, and whenever a thunder-storm came on he would stand at the open window invoking the clouds till they had all dispersed. But the work was heavy and difficult to do, and the pastor used frequently to be so exhausted after dispersing a storm that large drops of perspiration would trickle down his face.
57 An old German saying, “Hier liegt der Hund begraben”—and which is equivalent to saying, That now we penetrate the true meaning of something not previously understood—has been explained in the same way in Büchner’s “Geflügelte Worte:” There the dog lies buried; that is why the tree bears fruit.
58 The Greeks also observed this at their banquets in order to appease the gods.
59 In the Harz and Westphalia Tuesday is considered the luckiest day for entering on a new service.
60 This custom, which appears to be a very old one, is also prevalent among various Slav peoples, Poles, Serbs, etc. In Poland it used to be de rigueur that the water be poured over a girl who was still asleep; so in each house a victim, usually a servant-maid, was selected, who had to feign sleep, and patiently receive the cold shower-bath which was to insure the luck of the family during that year. The custom has now become modified to suit a more delicate age, and instead of formidable horse-buckets of water, dainty little perfume-squirts have come to be used in many places.
61 The word Götzen in German is exclusively used to express pagan gods.
62 In the original the phrase runs:
“This grows not in my garden.”
63 The present river Strell.
64 Evidently funeral urns.
65 The solitary inns standing on the wide pusztas are called csardas, and have given their name to the national dance.
66 This ballad, which in the original is called “Kalai Wodas,” and begins thus:
“T’ushtyi, t’ushtyi, Barshon Gyuri,
Thai besh tuke pre tri vina,”
is, with slight variations, sung all over Transylvania, often by the gypsy smiths, who mark the time on the anvil as they sing; the dialogue between husband and wife, which forms the last part, being usually divided between two voices.
67 Such names as “Velvet George,” “Black Voda,” etc., are very common among the gypsies, and have probably had their origin in some peculiarity of costume or complexion.
68 The Milky Way.
69 Since writing this, Crown-prince Rudolf has terminated another successful bear-hunting expedition in Transylvania (November, 1887), the booty on this occasion being a dozen head.
70 The technical name of the Haselhuhn is Tetrao bonasia. They reside chiefly in pine woods.
71 Reprinted from a publication of the Transylvanian Carpathian Society.
72 It was to me a curious sensation in this out-of-the-way place to come across a copy of my great-grandfather’s work, “Gerard on Taste,” translated into German. I had not been before aware of any such translation existing.
73 Not only the furriers, but many other guilds, flourished here in a remarkable degree, the goldsmiths in particular taking rank along with Venetian and Genoese artists of the same period. After the middle of last century, the guilds began to fall into decadence; and finally, when the old restrictions on trade were abolished in 1860, they began to disappear. Yet the guild system, in all its essentials, was here kept up much longer than in any part of Germany; and even long after it had nominally exploded, many little customs relating to the guilds were still retained—as, for instance, that of all members sitting together in church, each corporation having its arms painted up above the seats. It is only within the last twenty years that this custom has fallen into disuse, for Mr. Boner, writing in 1865, makes mention of it as still extant. Also, to this day, in several of the Saxon towns it is quite usual to see signboards bearing such inscriptions as “lodging-house for joiners,” tailors, etc.
74 In justice to Saxon national feeling, I have been specially requested to mention the fact that neither of these two young German murderers was of Saxon extraction.
75 As a curious instance of the precariousness of human life, I may here make mention of Colonel P——, a distinguished countryman of ours, then occupying a diplomatic post at Vienna. This gentleman, who had an unwholesome liking for witnessing executions, having accidentally learned that Hermanstadt boasted two candidates for the gallows, had requested a Transylvanian acquaintance to send him timely notice of their hanging, in order that he might assist at the spectacle. This morbid desire was, however, not destined to be satisfied, as long before the slow march of justice had culminated in a death-warrant, Colonel P—— himself had been carried off by the far more rapid Egyptian fever.
76 I failed to obtain any reliable information as to when and how this dance had been here imported, but it seems to have been in use for a good many generations past.
77 Why the elephant was also buried is not very apparent, as it is hardly to be supposed that it was killed by the same shot which slew the pacha.
78 According to others, the name of Kronstadt would be derived from the Kronenbeeren (cranberries) which grow profusely on the surrounding hills.
79 It is of this monarch that the people still say, “King Matthias is dead, and Justice along with him.” He was, in fact, a sort of Hungarian Haroun-al-Raschid, going about in disguise among his people, rewarding them according to their deserts.
80 Reprinted from a publication of the Transylvanian Carpathian Society.
81 These feathers, of a bluish color, we identified as those of the garrulous roller, Coracias garrula; and as this bird is never to be found at the aforementioned height, it must apparently have been crossing the mountains to migrate southward, when its travelling arrangements were disturbed by the watchful falcon.
82 Reprinted from a publication of the Transylvanian Carpathian Society.
83 The meeting of the Emperors of Austria and Russia at Skiernevice, in September, 1884.
84 Reprinted from a publication of the Transylvanian Carpathian Society.