Chapter XLII: Debreczin

It has been aptly observed that no country in the world presents such a number of paradoxes as Hungary, and this statement is perhaps in no instance more marked than in the terms applied to its towns and villages, which are designated in exactly the opposite way to those in other parts of Europe. The towns (_mezővárosok_) contain an exclusively agricultural population; whereas, the villages (_faluk_) are very large, and often possess many thousand inhabitants, an example of which may be given in Orosháza, “a village” in the neighbourhood of the Theiss, which contains no fewer than 13,000 souls.

Having arrived at another _mezőváros_, we find a tolerable inn, and decide to anchor for the night.

In a few moments the usual scuffle takes place in the _basse-cour_, and the shrieks of feathered bipeds announce the fact that _paprika hendl_ is about to be prepared for our benefit. The cook, a lusty female in top-boots and white petticoat and black bodice, is seen in hot pursuit of a victim, which, once captured, she summarily dismisses from this world by twisting its neck. Then plunging it bodily into a pot of boiling water which is standing on the stove in the kitchen, she allows it to remain for a few seconds, when it is again dragged out minus its feathers and skin, all of which it has lost by the process. It is forthwith cleansed, cut into small pieces, and thrown into another pot containing cream, butter, flour, and a quantity of red pepper, and served--the whole accomplished in the brief space of twenty-five minutes. It is, however, a national dish to which, from the precipitate nature of its manufacture, we do not take kindly, and throw out a gentle hint to the landlady, through the medium of András, that some other kind would be more acceptable, whereupon one passing under the euphonious name of _gulyás húz_ is presented to us--a kind of stew, also swimming in a sauce thickened with red pepper. It must not be supposed, however, that this condiment at all corresponds with cayenne. It is made from the long red pods of a plant called in France _poivreon_, which, though a species of chilli, is not very pungent.

As in other provincial towns and villages on the Alfőld the cottages are here unpoetically neat and uniform, and one looks everywhere in vain for a bit of pictorial dilapidation. No starling ventures to burrow its nest in the warm thatch of a Hungarian cottage nor martin build beneath its eaves; the outer walls are pink as sea-shells, and the casements, painted bright green, with their flower-pots arranged in a row, look like those of Dutch toys.

The tobacco-harvest has begun, and all around the cottages are festoons of leaves hanging up to dry. The leaves are gathered as they become “ripe,” and not all at once, the lowest being taken first and then the higher. The harvest consequently occupies a considerable time, occasionally lasting a month, and depending greatly on the season.

As we take a stroll into the suburbs of the village we see the people coming in from the fields in merry groups, bringing with them the peace-inspiring weed, the men carrying it in large bundles on their shoulders, and the women in the ample folds of their upturned skirts, followed by _székers_ laden with the same. The peasants’ horses appear dreadfully ill-used in this district; their downcast, abject look bearing testimony to years of oppression and wrong. How sad it was to see them dragging their heavy loads, and as I look at them how sure I feel that some “happy hunting-grounds” await these patient servants of man which receive his cruel kicks and cuffs so uncomplainingly and do his work so nobly. God bless a thousand times the patient worker who died a year ago, and left the savings of her own hardly-earned wages to the cause of London horses, and who each morning for many a year in frosty weather might be seen in the heart of the great city with her heavy load of sand, scattering it over the slippery thoroughfares ere she went forth to her daily toil. Some men called thee mad; but, mad or sane, God give thee rest and peace and “keep thy memory green!”

At the extreme end of the village were three gipsy-tents, and near them a camp fire, round which sat smoking a ragged, bronze-faced _Zingary_. At his side stood one of those ancient silver goblets, for the possession of which the gipsies are so noted. A little distance off sat others of both sexes, and the ruddy glow of the fire lighting up their many-coloured rags and creating a zone of darkness beyond, contrasted oddly with the pale, cold grey of the surrounding twilight, and produced weird alternations of glow and gloom. They are a wild uncanny-looking people, very unlike the ordinary itinerant gipsy. As we went across to them they seemed to regard our presence in their midst as a decided intrusion, and several withdrew from the fire and hid themselves in the surrounding darkness.

Tethered a short distance beyond the camp, but hidden by the surrounding darkness, were several horses, and from the frequent neighing and pawing of the ground that proceeded from that direction, we were led to imagine them to belong to a type of animal vastly different from the poor, miserable _Rosinantes_--the beasts of burden which had dragged the heavily-laden carts over the rough roads, and were now left to graze and roam at will on the opposite side of the camp.

“_Bitang!_” exclaimed F. at my elbow in an undertone, throwing away the end of his cigar--“bitang” being a term applied to strayed or stolen cattle.

Possibly the term was correctly applied in this instance, but horse-stealing is by no means “made easy” in this country, and the stringent laws regarding the possession of horses bear evidence to the low state of morals of one or more sections of the community at any rate; no one being permitted to sell a horse without previously presenting to a member of the constabulary, or some other official appointed by Government for the purpose, a paper duly signed by the magistrate of the town or village at which the purchase has been made, and in which a full description is given, not only of the animal itself but of the manner in which its possession has been acquired. Without such a document no horse is admitted for sale at any fair, at which small offices are invariably erected and presided over by officers of the constabulary, whose duty it is to inspect these forms, and where both the sellers and purchasers of horses have to repair before either transaction is completed. Here the seller has to deliver up his “pass,” when another is made out and placed in the hands of the purchaser, giving a full description of the animal and its antecedents.

There are no doubt many instances in which even these preventive measures have proved unavailing, and ways have been found of ingeniously evading the law, but the precautions that are taken must still be a great check on the proverbial cupidity of the “wandering tribe.” Should a horse awaken the suspicion of the _pandurok_, and its pedigree seem of doubtful origin, it is impounded for a year, during which time it is advertised in every police-station throughout the country, or at all events until the true owner comes forward to claim the “_bitang_” as his long-lost steed, or the person whose ownership was doubted can prove beyond all question that he obtained it by lawful means.

Whilst the suspected animal is kept by the police in durance vile, it is let out on hire by the authorities; but whether, in the case of the suspicions of the _pandurok_ having been incorrect, any compensation is made to the unfortunate individual who has lost the use of his beast during the period it was kept in “_bitangság_,” I cannot say. Probably he has to rest satisfied with the ultimate restitution of his rightful property, and like persons in our own land who, when they have been falsely accused of some crime, have been tried for it and found innocent, he will be consoled by receiving a “full and free pardon” at the hands of a benevolent and magnanimous Government.

Familiarity having by this time rendered the gipsies far less formidable, we seat ourselves by their fire, the warmth of which is pleasant, for the nights already begin to be frosty, although we have only arrived at the end of August. The dog had followed us, and was crouching at my side. The gipsies both understood and spoke German, and as we were explaining how we came by him, he looked up sharply, his ears well pointed, and regarded us inquiringly, looking first at one and then at the other. The gipsies, to whom a dog more or less never comes amiss, will, they say, take him off our hands, and we tip them a gulden to confirm the bargain; but on casting our eyes towards the spot where he had been lying, we find he had silently slunk away and hidden himself in the darkness, as though he had heard all we had been saying. Well is it, my _bánya_ (dog), that thou didst so, or thy fate would surely have been decided there and then.

It was not till the following evening, just as the sun was closing his great scorching eye, that we drove through the broad streets of the ancient and “Royal Free City” of Debreczin, and found ourselves not only in the very heart of Hungary, but in the very centre of the most exclusive and rigid Protestantism.

The territory of Debreczin in its capacity of “Royal Free City”--a privilege which it has enjoyed since the middle ages--covers an area of no less extent than 378 English square miles, and as the meaning of that term has already been described, the flourishing state of the municipality can easily be imagined. The city contains between sixty and seventy thousand inhabitants, but, in driving through it--unless he has been previously undeceived--the traveller will imagine it to be scarcely more than a large village. Like every other place on the Alfőld, where land is so abundant, the houses are nearly all built of one storey. There have been great improvements, however, since we were last here, particularly in the paving of the streets. In the place of a mere plank which formerly kept the foot-passengers out of the sea of mud that constituted the road in rainy weather, there now exists a broad and even pavement in all the chief thoroughfares, a fact which does credit to the enterprise of the municipality, who must have accomplished the undertaking at immense cost, every stone having been brought at least a hundred miles. There is a tradition of no very remote date to the effect that at a period anterior to the improvement of the roads a cow had sunk into the “Slough of Despond,” and having been swallowed up in it, was no more seen. But whether this is a mere fable or not, it is quite true that officers quartered on one side of the street formerly were often obliged to mount their chargers to cross over to the other. At that time the “pavements” consisted of merely a single plank, and it is said to have been a great amusement to the inhabitants, whenever they met a soldier of the Imperial Army--whom they cordially hate--to push him off the narrow path into the sea of liquid mud below.

Having brought with us a letter of introduction to one of the Professors of the College, we hasten to deliver it in person. Reaching the edifice in question, we see standing in the square that encloses it a number of students, of whom we inquire the way to the Professor’s quarters, addressing them in German. Great is our surprise, however, to find they cannot understand a word of what we say. Failing to make ourselves intelligible in that tongue, we try in turn French, Italian, Spanish, Latin, and Greek, putting the question in each of these languages in the most simple form possible, with the same result, and, for anything they appeared to comprehend of the European languages, either living or dead, we might have arrived in the very heart of the Chinese Empire. With a look of extreme mystification, and a shrug of the shoulders, they raised their hats, and, passing on, left us to our fate.

At length, spurred on by defeat and waxing bold, F. ascends the broad flight of steps leading to the College, and soon returns, accompanied by two students whose rooms he had invaded, the trio laughing heartily on finding they were unable to understand each other. The letter of introduction, however, bearing the name of the Professor furnished a clue to our inquiries, and beckoning us to follow them across the College garden, the taller of the two students ran to announce our arrival, doing so, as we afterwards learnt, in the following words:--

“Some foreigners have arrived with a letter for you. They speak every language under the sun, and have tried to make themselves intelligible; but to what nation they belong we cannot tell, but think they may be _Ángolok_.”

Following our conductor across a road ankle-deep in dry sand, we reach a wooden archway leading to a porch, where we find the astonished Professor, and standing behind him our pioneer, looking very happy in having at last succeeded in bringing us to the right place. A few words addressed to the former in English accorded us in broken accents a warm greeting in the same tongue. The Professor was a very handsome and distinguished-looking man, dressed in the Hungarian costume, consisting of Hessian boots and braided _attila_.

Knowing we were anxious above all things to see the College, he at once proposed accompanying us.

“Every square yard of this paving,” remarked the Professor, “cost us twenty florins; the stones were brought by railway from Tokay. And is not this nice and soft to the feet?” he continued, as we stepped off the pavement into the dust of the road, which was at least eight inches deep, and which, though doubtless very delightful to a Hungarian, had scarcely suggested itself to us in that light.

We soon again reach the College, which is a large and very imposing structure, where two thousand students are educated. At present there are three hundred studying Theology, one hundred and fifty Law and Philosophy, upwards of one hundred in the Normal Department, and seven hundred in the so-called gymnasium; but we were _not_ informed of the number who were studying as a necessary branch of education any of the modern or ancient languages!

Besides the students who form the academical portion of the College, there are six hundred boys in the elementary school. Within the last three years two new wings have been added where three hundred of the _togati_ (students) are lodged.

In the Hungarian kingdom there are three universities, one at Buda-Pest, one at Koloszvár, and one at Agram, the capital of Croatia. There are also schools of Law and Jurisprudence at Pressburg, Kashau, and Grosswardein, besides the _Collegii_ of Debreczin, Eperies, Raab, and others; that of Debreczin being exclusively Protestant and Calvinistic.

Attached to the College is an immense church in the _Renaissance_ style, capable of containing 2,000 people. There is also a smaller private chapel _within_ the College, which is interesting as having been used by Kossuth for the assembling of his Diets in the memorable year of 1849, and in which he announced the independence of Hungary and the downfall of the Hapsburg Dynasty. To add to the solemnity of this latter occasion, preceded by the great agitator himself, the members of the Diet adjourned to the large Calvinistic church above alluded to, where, standing beneath the pulpit, he read the proclamation which sent such joy into every Hungarian home, but which was destined, alas! to be of such short duration. The windows of the College look out upon the battle-field so memorable in Hungarian history, where Austria, with Russia as her ally, crushed the national independence of the Hungarians which they had only recently regained, and on which occasion so much Magyar blood was shed.

The oldest part of the building is devoted to the Library, which contains many ancient and valuable manuscripts, together with two original copies of the tenets of the Hungarian Calvinistic faith.

Notwithstanding the silence and solemnity which pervade the place, Debreczin is the most commercial town in Hungary, a brisk trade being carried on not only in the manufacture of meerschaum pipes, but of _bundas_ also, between two and three thousand of these splendid garments being exported annually.

It would have been impossible to leave without carrying home as souvenirs to our friends--who are victims to the vice of which pipes are the medium--some of these interesting articles which are displayed so temptingly and in such endless variety in the windows.

Going into a shop to make some purchases on our way from the College the Professor exclaimed to the woman in attendance:--

“I have brought you a lady and gentleman who have come all the way from England.”

“Merciful Heaven!” she replied, “is it possible? And they are not Hungarians? What a pity!” regarding us as she uttered this pious ejaculation with a look in which not only the deepest compassion, but contemptuousness also was mingled.

The Magyars are passionately attached to their country--“_Áldott Magyarország_ (Blessed Hungary), as they call it, the half-educated looking upon the subjects of all other countries with the greatest pity and contempt. The following mediæval rhyme in confirmation of this fact is still quoted:--

“Extra Hungariam non est vita,
Et si est vita, non est ita.”

Whilst the greatest toleration exists in other parts of Hungary amongst all classes of society, the Debrecziners form an exception to the rule, and are exceedingly exclusive in matters of religion.

In the estimation of the Debrecziner, there is only one true faith, which he calls the “_Magyar vallás_,” and which he believes he alone of all others has preserved in its completeness. There may be other forms of religion by the observance of which men may scramble into heaven, but the one true and narrow road is that which was instituted by their apostle Calvin. In consequence of its being the headquarters of this faith, Debreczin is often spoken of as the “Calvinistic Rome,” and its inhabitants, with their plain attire, their simple deportment, and the stillness of the place itself, as well as the earnestness that sits on every countenance, give to it a character wholly different from that met with elsewhere in Hungary; and as we walked through the town pervaded by this deep Calvinistic gloom, and noted the stern and rigid countenances of the people, we felt thankful we were not compelled to cast in our lot with them “for aye.”

Every three months an immense fair is held in the great plains in the vicinity of Debreczin, when an enormous space of ground which the eye can scarce command is covered with tents, booths, and immense flocks and herds. At one time no fewer than 20,000 fairs were held each year in Hungary, their number, however, as well as their importance have lessened considerably since the opening of the Alfőld Railway, before which time the dwellers of the plains were completely locked in from all communication with distant towns.

At the time of our visit to Debreczin, the municipality, or whatever form the governing body takes in these “Royal Free Cities,” was carrying on an anxious debate on the subject of the supply of fuel for its 50,000 inhabitants. Plenty of coal is found in the country, and the prejudice once existing against its use--to which the Hungarians attributed the “pulmonary complaints of the English, their _melancholy disposition, and frequent felo-de-se_”--has partially subsided, but the expense of transport would be enormous. At the same time the forests in the neighbourhood are fast becoming exhausted. The construction of a canal between Debreczin and Tisza-lök--about thirty-five miles distant--has consequently been decided on, by which timber may be floated down from the forests of the north-east Carpathians.