Chapter XXXVII: “the Good Old Times.”

The country in the vicinity of Hermannstadt is very beautiful, and the villages in many of their characteristics wholly unlike those of any other country in the world. A few miles distant is the village of Hiltau, also a “Saxon” settlement, where the large straw hats are made which adorn the heads of the bonny “Saxon” lasses. At this place also the white frieze is manufactured of which the garments of both Saxon and Wallach men are composed, and which is exported in great quantities to Slavonia and Dalmatia.

Hiltau lies picturesquely embosomed in sheltering hills, whose slopes at this time of year are pink with the blossom of the peach. The village, as we approach it, forms a charming picture, the quaint stone houses with their curious roofs nestling round the old fortress-church, which stands on an eminence in the centre; the whole impressing the stranger with the notion that the site of the church must have been chosen before any of the houses were erected.

Exposed to the incursions of the Turk on one side and the Tartar on the other, these churches in Transylvania were complete fortresses in themselves, and, each possessing a moat, bastions, towers, and loop-holed walls of solid masonry, constituted the place of refuge to which the inhabitants fled when threatened by either foe. Within these consecrated strongholds the people also kept their corn, to the end that they might be ready at any moment to resist a siege. Thither the affrighted peasants repaired on the first approach of danger from the enemy, and whilst the women and children were well protected by the towers and battlements that surrounded the sacred edifice, the men, armed with matchlocks and rude arquebusses, defended them with soldier-like bravery. Within these fortresses the clergyman and schoolmaster invariably lived, and so accustomed were the people to these sieges that during the time they lasted there was no interruption whatever in the customary services of the church, and the children likewise attended school while their fathers fired upon the barbarian cavalry beneath.

The high walls and elevated position of these little citadels rendering them all but invulnerable, they generally held their own against the infidel hordes that so frequently assailed them, and upon their departure the peaceful peasantry, once more emerging from their stronghold, repaired their ruined dwellings, replanted their vineyards, and sowed their crops anew, all of which had been ruthlessly destroyed by the enemy. In those terrible times a loud curfew, called the “Turk’s bell,” rang daily at the hour of noon from the tower of every church throughout the land to summon the people not only in the towns and villages, but others engaged in the pursuits of husbandry in distant fields, to unite in prayer for protection from the Christian’s foe. The bells of these citadel-churches, which are very deep and sonorous, were also used for the purpose of apprising the people of the approaching foe as well as to bid them flee for refuge within the consecrated walls.

These “peasant garrisons,” with their watch-towers, portcullises, and massive ramparts, are peculiarly interesting to the traveller, not only as bearing silent witness to the troublous times which we, in the peace of the nineteenth century, find hard to realise, but also to the bravery and heroism of the little bands who defended themselves so courageously against barbarian invasion; and there is something very beautiful in the sentiment that dictated the people’s thus fortifying their churches and constituting them their “arks of safety” in the time of trouble.

Wandering round the ancient walls of the church in question with its many towers and turrets, we came to the church enclosure. Entering which we rang the bell of an inner door which we rightly conjectured to be that of the Pfarrhaus. It was answered by a “Saxon” Mädchen, who, informing us the Herr Pfarrer was within, ushered us into a room containing numerous flower-stands, on which rested large pots of exotics in full bloom, all seeming strangely at variance with their austere surroundings.

These Lutheran pastors are always ready to welcome the stranger, and after pressing us to partake of refreshment, which in this instance we did not feel obliged to accept, he conducted us to the church, a singular old building, whose benches were full of black-letter prayer-books, and the pulpit surrounded by drapery of Turkish manufacture. After examining the interior of the building we walked round the enclosure, where, under arches built at regular intervals in the fortified walls, still stand the strong oaken coffers filled with corn as of yore; for the “Saxons,” no less than the Magyars, are a conservative people, adhering tenaciously to the customs of their forefathers and slow to relinquish any that have once been adopted, even when--as in this case--the necessity for their existence has long passed away.

The sacred vessels belonging to the church--many of which were hidden in the ground during the stormy period of the Reformation--are of singular beauty and value, and consist of chalices and candlesticks of ancient workmanship, manufactured in silver-gilt by the early “Saxon” colonists, many of them containing enamelled tablets representing the various incidents in the life of our Lord. We were also shown a magnificent baptismal bowl of the 14th century, on which medallions of pure gold were laid in the form of anaglyphs. But besides these relics already enumerated were two of still more ancient date, viz. a superb crucifix containing pearls and rubies, and an “_Ostensorium_,” used for the purpose of exposing the consecrated host to the adoration of the “Faithful.”

After leaving the church enclosure, the Pfarrer led us to the school, and showed us some specimens of free-hand drawing which would have done credit to any English seminary. To our surprise we also learnt that the higher branches of education were likewise taught, including botany and chemistry. Amongst the children we noticed many Wallachs, the Wallach peasantry liking of all things to send their children to the “Saxon” school, not that they appreciate the better education to be obtained there, but it gives them an opportunity of learning German, a language which they are quite as anxious to acquire as the Magyars to forget; one who can speak “High German” being regarded by the orthodox Wallach as a gentleman of distinction, and, in fact, quite a superior order of being.

The windows of the school-house commanded a view not only of the church with its moat and battlemented walls, but of the village also. How peaceful all looked from this eminence, and how difficult it was to believe that such times of war and terror ever existed! How wretched must have been the lives of the inhabitants in those days--not so very long ago either--when they were kept in daily fear of the enemy! How could they toil under such circumstances and persevere in cultivating the land which was so frequently converted into a desert by the Tartar or the Turk, to whom even the stony girdle of the Carpathians proved no barrier? We can imagine the honest peasant as he guided the plough listening for the alarm bell which might echo through the hills at any moment, and the affrighted inhabitants, with their children and aged, when it did so, hurrying for safety to the church citadel. To this day a Transylvanian mother is said to frighten her naughty child into obedience by threats of the Tartar’s approach in the words--“_Jhon jönnek a Tatárok!_”

As we gazed at the picturesque old edifice beneath, which tells such a sad, sad history of the past, and whose pinnacles pointing to the peaceful sky have withstood so many sieges, a glory of sunlight bursting through the clouds shone upon them and kindled the metal balls that surmount each pointed turret into a bright and dazzling star.

In addition to the fortified churches before mentioned, perched here and there on the spur of contiguous mountains or hills are smaller ones, originally designed as supplementary defences to the former; one of which, erected between the years 1175 and 1223, exists at Michaelsburg, a short distance from Hiltau.

Beneath this ancient citadel lies a small hamlet, the houses of which are built entirely of wood, and whose picturesque chimneys, high palings, and beams supporting the walls, give to it a very romantic appearance.

Here we rest our horses, and climbing the staircase of a primitive little inn, find ourselves in a balcony covered in with freshly-cut boughs, whence we look down upon the village, almost deserted now, for most of its inhabitants, men, women, and children, alike have gone off to dig, hoe, or gather into barns the fruits of the fertile soil; for the women here take as active a part as their husbands in the pursuits of agriculture.

Beyond the narrow row of houses with their brown roofs and picturesque accessories, the great mountains capped with snow shine out of the liquid azure like domes of alabaster; whilst a Wallach woman and child walking down the road, the former spinning and clad in a rich mingling of orange, red, and violet, complete the scene and form one of the most beautiful “colour pictures” I almost ever beheld.

The people of these villages speak what is called _Platt Deutsch_, a dialect so singular that we found it quite impossible to understand them. It is, however, the language they brought with them to this alien land, and which they have managed to preserve intact throughout nearly eight centuries of absence from their country, precisely the same dialect being spoken by the dwellers in the district of the Lower Rhine at the present day.

Of all the “Saxon” settlements in Transylvania, the most interesting is perhaps Hamersdorf, also situated a few miles from Hermannstadt. It is here also that the singular costumes of the “Saxons” are seen in the greatest perfection.

It was on a sweet, calm Sunday evening that we visited it for the first time. Too late for Divine service, which took place at an earlier hour than we anticipated, we arrived just as the villagers were pouring out of church, the unmarried women wearing high black velvet hats, from which, reaching to the hem of their garments, countless ribbons of every hue were suspended, the heads of the young married women being covered with embroidered muslin veils. The dress of both is exceedingly elaborate, and preparation for church must, I should say, involve considerable expenditure of time. There surely never were people so hopelessly given over to the pomps and vanities of this wicked world as these “Saxon” maids and matrons. Their ornaments also are not only beautiful, but often of a very costly description, and consist of immense flat circular brooches, resembling breast shields, wrought in a species of filigree and inlaid with garnets, turquoises, pearls, and amethysts, their waists being encircled with belts of scarcely less value and richness of design, inlaid in like manner with precious stones, one and all specimens of an art now obsolete--heirlooms handed down to them by their ancestors; aye! and perhaps even brought with them from the _Vaterland_ when they came over to settle in this far distant country.

“Where does the Herr Pfarrer live?” we inquired of three women whose heads we could just see peering through a number of flower-pots in a window high above us.

“He is at the school,” replied a head enveloped in a blue kerchief, speaking with some difficulty in “High German,” as the pure mother-tongue is called, adding--“If you will walk in we will fetch him.”

The process of “walking in,” however, was one of no small difficulty. First of all, to which flight of steps did the casement in question belong? was it the one round the corner, or that away to the right? or was the room approached through that quaint old doorway yonder leading to a small courtyard? We incline to the latter, but on entering the chamber find it occupied by three men. Meanwhile the owner of the head in blue had been searching for us, and coming to our rescue, just as we were beating a hasty retreat, conducted us through an archway, up six steps, along a passage, in which several immense oak coffers were reposing, across an open balcony and finally into the room itself, which proved to be quite full of womankind, two of whom, as we soon perceived by their dress and general appearance, were Wallachs.

Requesting us to be seated whilst some one fetched the Pfarrer, they subjected us to the usual cross-examination.

“Where do the strangers come from?” (a question interrogated in “High German” by a Saxon Frau).

“England.”

(Chorus of “Saxons.”) “_Ach, die guten Leute!_”--Then turning to the Wallachs and interpreting the interesting fact into Neo-latin, one and all exclaim, “The strangers are from England.”

(Chorus of Wallachs.) “_Englesca! Englesca!_ _la_--_la_--_la!_”--the final syllable prolonged indefinitely--“that _is_ a long way”--a journey that no doubt represented to their minds thousands of miles traversed by the slow medium of a _szekér_ or _Leiterwagen_ filled with hay, the only modes of locomotion with which these simple folk are familiar, or, who knows! perhaps, even a ride on camels or elephants.

“Ah!” said another woman, looking very learned, and reminding us of our Gallician friend Martcha, “that is where the tea comes from and the sugar across the sea in big ships;” for in the uneducated Hungarian mind England and India are generally believed to be contiguous islands!

In a few minutes the Herr Pfarrer arrived, a benevolent-looking old man with grey hair, who, bearing us off at once to the Pfarrhof, conducted us to the room where the family were seated at _Abendessen_ (supper). All rose at our entrance and shook us warmly by the hand, and the Pfarrer, placing chairs by the table, requested us to join them at their meal. Our arrival did not disconcert them in the least. There was no more bustle or fuss than if we had been expected guests, and, with that well-bred ease with which the stranger is everywhere greeted in Hungary, and that graceful inborn courtesy which characterises all classes, they bid us welcome to their frugal board.

The dwelling contained numerous rooms, all of which though carpetless were comfortably furnished, and, like the Pfarrhaus we had visited at Hiltau, there was throughout a fragrant odour of exotic flowers, emanating not only from the white clusters of the beautiful _Stephanotis_ that was trained round the inside of more than one of the windows, but from other flowers blooming on stands in the greatest profusion.

Supper ended, they took us to the garden, a sun-dried plot on the slope of the hill, surrounded by lilacs, and in which lilies and hyacinths were doing their little best to grow; but where nothing seemed to luxuriate, save the vine, from which hung clusters of grapes. In the dustiest and driest portion of the whole garden was a bower of lilacs beneath which were a table and chairs.

“Oh, how pleasant it is on a summer evening to have such a place to sit in,” exclaimed the Frau Pfarrer in gentle and grateful accents. “It is a large garden, is it not? and so full of fruit-trees; only look! Are things so _very_ different in your country? Surely they must be, or you would not come so far. Have you a garden in your land where asparagus, and lilacs, and sweet hyacinths grow?”

It was pleasant to hear these dear people talk, and see how thoroughly contented they were with their simple idyllic lives. After showing us the dry little garden and dusty bower, they took us into the _hof_ (yard), where the horses were being tended by an idyllic groom, dressed in a white leather jacket covered with embroidery, and a felt hat with a feather in it, who was talking to the idyllic Mädchen of the manse, a blue-eyed “Saxon” lass, attired in a short striped skirt of blue and red, violet bodice, and white embroidered chemisette covered with rows of coral beads.

“Do many English persons visit Transylvania?” we inquired.

“No! very few,” was the reply. “Some years ago--ah, how time flies! it must be fifteen--twenty, an Englishman--Herr Bonar, whom everybody loved, stayed many months and wrote a book about our country. He visited us a fortnight, and after his departure we received one letter, but he never wrote again; it was so long, long ago, he must have forgotten us quite, or he would have written,” continued the old Pfarrer with something like a sigh; adding after a few moments’ pause, an expression of joy suffusing his whole countenance as a happy thought occurred to him, “You live in the same country and may see him; if so tell him how he lives in our memories still.”

“We will,” I replied, thinking that as England was such a _very_ small place we should in all probability be able to deliver the message!

* * * * *

The dew was still lingering on the grass as we journeyed towards Hamelsdorf the following Sunday morning on our second visit. The sky was cloudless, and as we drove through the lanes, the villagers, Bible and nosegay in hand, were walking to their respective churches far away. There was a sweet Sabbath feeling in the air, and all nature seemed to have hushed itself in harmony with the day. We were determined not to be late again on this occasion, and as we reached the old pile, which, like all citadel churches in Transylvania, is built upon an eminence, the same friendly heads we saw last time peeped out of the little high casement and asked us to walk in and sit awhile, as it still lacked half an hour ere the bell would sound for _Gottesdienst_ (service).

On entering the cottage an unexpected scene awaited us. Two young girls, one single, the other married, were being dressed in all their finery for church; and, oh! what a heap of pomps and vanities--exhumed weekly from the family locker--we saw lying on the table! Dressing for church in Hamelsdorf is an operation that cannot be accomplished by the individual herself, and is one invariably performed by the old married women who have relinquished such superfluities in favour of their daughters, who sit before a looking-glass whilst they are being attired.

As we stood watching the performance we thought it would never end. The young women, already clothed in their long white garments, the sleeves and bodices of which were beautifully embroidered in stripes of red and orange, were first arrayed in blue petticoats and large white net overskirts handsomely worked in “tambour” stitch, after which, a beautiful girdle studded with turquoises and garnets was fastened round the buxom waist, and a small white net cap put upon the head of the young wife, a girl of seventeen years, whose long hair had been cut off on the day of her marriage in token of subjection to her husband. The cap was bound tightly round the head with a scarlet ribbon four yards in length, which, fastened at the back, hung almost to the heels of the wearer. And now began the real vanities, for over this scarlet band a dozen ribbons of similar length were laid, each varying in colour as well as pattern, the upper one of which consisted of brocade. A thin muslin veil embroidered with gold was now thrown over the head, and secured by large silver pins inlaid with precious stones; and lastly a crimson satin handkerchief edged with fringe was placed at the side, and made to hang down over the dress diagonally by one corner being tucked under the belt. The object of this last article of attire is purely ornamental, but to my mind it injured the effect of an otherwise really pretty costume.

The head-dress of the unmarried girl differs materially from that of her married sister, and consists of a high cardboard hat covered with black velvet, those who are betrothed being distinguished by a band of ribbon worn round the top of the hat, as in the accompanying illustration, taken from a photograph; whilst, to complete the costume, a black garment resembling a clergyman’s hood hangs down behind.

Top boots, which are _de rigueur_ on week days, are not so, however, on Sundays, and the feet are often covered with high-heeled patent leather boots open up the front, and laced so as to show the stocking beneath. But to-morrow these elaborately-dressed daughters of Eve will lay aside their finery, and be seen with bare feet working in the fields, if that term can be truthfully applied to places where no boundaries exist.

It was a pretty sight to see these “Saxon” maids and youthful matrons flocking to the church with their long, bright, many-coloured ribbons fluttering in the breeze, and the whole village looked _en fête_.

The interior of the church is very quaint and curious, and contains, in addition to the ordinary seats, several others high-backed, brightly surmounted with wooden canopies, where sit the deacons, severe-looking men in a costume of the Cromwell period. On each side of the chancel sit the unmarried girls in their high drum-shaped hats; whilst the young married women take their places in the body of the church with their elders, one side of which is set apart for the men, and the other for the women. The sermon, which appeared very earnest and was delivered with great impressiveness of manner, was in the ancient dialect. Every other Sunday, however, it is preached in the pure tongue, the _patois_ being used for the sake of “_die alten Mütterchen_” (old grannies), to whom the former is an almost unintelligible language.

As we left the church with the Pfarrer, the young women of the congregation, who were evidently waiting for the purpose, pressed round him and either kissed his hand, or taking hold of a portion of his long black cassock raised it reverently to their lips. The scene took us back to the times of the early Christian Church, and we left the porch greatly impressed with the simplicity of the service and the patriarchal lives of the people.

All, however, is not “gold that glitters” in this seemingly happy “valley,” for we saw, alas! more than one child-wife already separated from her husband at the age of seventeen. Here, as in France, marriages are those of _convenance_, and, if the Pfarrer spoke truly, they seldom turn out well. The suitor for a girl’s hand, if not actually chosen, is at any rate accepted or refused by her father, totally without reference to her own personal feelings in the matter. If he hold a good position in the little commonwealth, and can give her a good home, he is accepted, the girl is told she is to marry him, and they are betrothed with much ceremony. In due course, when the harvest is over, with which no domestic occurrence is permitted to interfere, save the final and inevitable one over which finite man has no control, the marriage takes place, and the young wife is expected to be “happy ever after.” But unfortunately for these “Saxon” women, they have hearts like those of other lands, and the tender passion is not always to be controlled. Previously to their marriage they are sometimes undutiful enough to set their affections upon some poorer lover, whom they cannot forget, and the marriage turns out ill. Occasionally, however, if she does not like the suitor chosen by her father, the girl refuses to submit to his authority, upon which commences a long-sustained war in the hitherto peaceful and happy family. Her mother, possibly influenced by the bitter remembrance of her own wrongs and heartbreak under similar circumstances--and entertaining, perhaps, in some hidden and secret corner of her heart a sneaking fondness even yet for the old, white-haired man over the way, whom she once loved dearly but was not allowed to marry, and who is now wedded to another buxom Hausfrau--sighs as she sees her pretty fair-haired lass, the reflection of her own girlhood, called upon to unite herself for aye to one she cannot love, and naturally takes her part against the father. Squabbles now take place between John and Joan, and the neighbours, together with the Pfarrer, are summoned to make peace between them, whilst the girl--seldom more than fifteen--mopes and makes her sweet blue eyes red with weeping. Sometimes, however, the father, under combined persuasion and the continuance of female agitation, is compelled to submit, but he does not forgive his daughter for her want of subjection to his rule, and the happiness of the little household is gone for many a day.

We return to Hermannstadt through the waving corn-fields. As we approached the capital the sun was setting, and the porcelain tiles of the steeples and cupolas in the Haupt Platz glistening like liquid fire. How picturesque is the dear old place in the mellow evening light! and how pictorial is it in every line and curve! The streets are full of people in their “Sunday best:” Wallach peasant girls with arms entwined, their large silver earrings and coral beads jingling as they walk along; bonny fair-haired “Saxons,” in large Hiltau hats with ribbons flying out behind, and spruce young soldiers in smart uniforms. As we rattle through the roughly-paved streets and shoot round the corners, heads crane out of windows all amongst the red tiles. A dandy Jew in canary-colour gloves, with a bouquet in his button-hole and a small cane in his hand, comes out of an archway as from a bandbox, and, swaggering down the street, is just about to make an elaborate bow to a group of Hermannstadt ladies coming from the opposite direction, when our droszky, dashing through the gutter that runs down the middle of the street, splashes him, alas! from head to foot, takes the starch out of him both physically and morally, and destroys the effect of the “occasion.”

The bells from the steeples toll the hour of departing day, and at the entrance to the hotel we find András waiting to know our pleasure for the morrow.