Chapter XLVIII: The Modern Babel

It is Fair-day in the Hungarian capital, and the hotels are as full as they can cram. There is not an inch of space left anywhere. The restaurants, as we pass them, are so choked with human life, half savage, half civilised, that not even an eel, were it ever so hungry, could manage to insinuate itself, suppose it had the _courage_ to face so polyglot an assemblage.

In the streets the traveller is jostled not only by Hungarians of each nationality, Magyars, Slovaks, Ruthenians, Széklers, Wallachs, Croatians, Serbs, and Illyrians--a “mosaic of nations” which, constituting the inhabitants of the entire Austro-Hungarian dominions, numbers upwards of 150,000--but Germans, Poles, Muscovites, Bohemians, Frenchmen, Italians, Turks, Heretics, and Infidels. There are Jews and gipsies by the thousand, German Jews, Hungarian Jews in the costume of the _Magyar-orság_, Polish Jews, in black toga and corkscrew curls, from the province of Gallicia, Transylvanian Jews, in greasy brown cloth dressing-gown and sandalled feet, looking like dissipated Capuchin friars out for a holiday, and who evidently ignore the maxim concerning the proximity of cleanliness to godliness no less than their Christian brethren.

There are men in hats made of rushes, others with conical-shaped hats of fur, the precise pattern of that worn by Robinson Crusoe; others again wearing large broad ones like Spanish _sombreros_. There are men whose pale olive complexions proclaim them to be Greeks. There are Turks and Bosnians wearing the becoming fez, and here and there an Arab in a turban, besides whom there are also men from Upper Hungary whose long hair hanging to the waist is plaited in four tails, and who wear immense leather belts and sandals, and such wonderful garments, that they must be seen even to be believed in; men, too, from the country of Somogy clad in blanket-like cloaks, like those of Bedouins, whilst working their way in and out amongst the crowd, their looks bold and defiant, are numerous Magyars in snow-white petticoats fringed or embroidered at the edges. There are women, too, with coloured scarves coiled gracefully round the head; women--beautiful women, whose raven hair is covered with gold coins, flashing and quivering in the sunlight! Women again--natives of Pest--wearing dark-blue kerchiefs so disposed as to conceal the whole face, with the exception of eyes, nose, and mouth, and who only need the addition of a _yashmak_ to give them the appearance of veritable daughters of the Prophet. What a medley! and what a Babel of tongues greets the ear of the stranger as he stands in the thick of the fair. At these fairs, four of which take place annually, no fewer than twenty-eight thousand strangers pour into Pest.

No wonder that _mein Herr_ Dulovic shook his head and intimated that he could not take us in as we dashed up to the door of his hotel one morning in a droszky and pair, some Armenians having previously engaged the room we had occupied for two days at the “_Königinn von England_,” a circumstance that compelled us to seek shelter in some other hotel.

The little old man was well-nigh beside himself; his tow-coloured wig almost stood on end, and his countenance was suffused by a warm dew as he endeavoured to withstand the importunities of three other “parties,” who had arrived at the same moment, on the same errand as ourselves.

We however, as may be remembered, had stayed at this small but well-ordered hotel once before, and, as old acquaintances, had no intention of being turned away. Moreover we were _Ángolok_, and just at that time the English nation happened to be at an unusual premium in the estimation of the Hungarians.

“Stay! Yes! No! Yes!” exclaimed Herr Dulovic, hesitatingly--“If you do not mind----”

“Mind?” broke in F., descending from the carriage. “We don’t mind anything at such a time as this,” adding, as we follow mein Herr up the stairs and into a chamber of such limited dimensions that to have swung even a cat in it one must have taken that animal by the head and not by the tail, “_Si on ne peut pas avoir ce qu’on veux, il faut prendre ce qu’on peut_.”

After a hurried repast we stroll out to have a peep at the fair, which, save in the matter of costumes and diversity of peoples and tongues, differs little from that of other countries. There are the same long avenues of booths, containing every conceivable article for man or beast. Stands of juicy melons, pomegranates and oranges from Croatia, presided over by girls and stately women, looking like Druidical priestesses in their long white robes; booths of _édességek_ (sweetmeats); booths of imitation jewellery much frequented by the Magyar girls; booths of hard-ware, and wooden utensils, belonging to nut-brown specimens of the wandering tribe; Slovak cheese, carpets from Servia, bacon from Slavonia, booths of ready-made under-clothing, sheepskin _bundas_, _pelz-röckel_, and beautifully embroidered cloaks; high boots for men, and others for women and girls, with scarlet and yellow sides, trimmed with coquettish little rosettes, not to speak of Turkish-looking slippers worn by the women of Szegedin. There are Jews in the characters of money-lenders and sellers of _bijouterie_; gipsies in that of horse-dealers, cunning-looking men with long whips ornamented with bows of many-coloured ribbons, and gourds hanging from their girdles; there are shepherds, too, splendid looking fellows with forms like those of Roman athletes; besides which are men in coarse gabardines directing games of chance, acrobats by the dozen, and the off-scourings of the four winds of heaven. What a hurly-burly!

Along the banks of the Danube, however, an entirely novel scene presents itself to our gaze. For the space of half a mile boats and barges are moored together in close proximity; some of them are heavy, flat-bottomed craft, whilst others, gaudily painted in red, white, and green, look like miniature Chinese junks. These boats and barges, in conjunction with the _quai_, form a market-place of themselves for articles consisting chiefly of the produce of the country; wines, badacsony, from the Platten-See; the white wines of Transylvania, and the more delicious ones of Tokay; _slivovitz_ and _fenüviz_, a spirit made from juniper-berries; tobacco, wool, hides, and other commodities “far too numerous to mention.”

Beyond, there are the usual vast herds of sheep, pigs, and cattle, guarded by wild, top-booted graziers and strange, fierce-looking shepherds; whilst outside the fair the road is lined with vehicles of every description.

Opposite is a booth where a sheep is being roasted whole, while on stands arranged in front are savoury “gipsy roasts,” consisting of small pieces of hot meat for the refection of the hungry. Hard by is a seller of macaroni soup, ladling out her steaming esculent to numerous comers; and near her a stout Magyar _Frau_ vending “_Tisch-wein_.”

It is when the fires of sunset have faded in the west, and the curtain of night has dropped upon the most beautiful scene in the world--the Blocksberg and the Danube and the rock-built citadel of Buda--that the real fun begins. By that time the stern business of the day is over, the bargaining has come to an end till the morrow, and the whole twenty-eight thousand visitors give themselves up to pleasure. In the warm shadow of the booths merry groups stand idly chatting. Managers of theatres shout and scream and yell. Marionettes whirl and twirl and curtsey, and move their heads up and down with sudden jerks, and go through their little antics with the same melancholy precision as elsewhere. Acrobats climb poles and perform juggling tricks to the astonished multitude. In the eating-booths the fires gleam like “mad Sarabands,” and the people cooking the gipsy roasts stand out against them like black imps.

Passing the Jägerhorn on our way back to our hotel, we find the _Czigánok_ are sawing away there as usual, whilst the people sitting beside the snowy tables pave the way for night-mares as they devour their “_gebratene Ente_” and “_geschmortes Lämmerchen_.” It is worth while entering to see the costumes and various physiognomies of the visitors: the soft, caressing, and almost effeminate features of the Sláv from the South, and the pale, olive-complexioned Greek, contrasting forcibly with the robust and majestic Magyars--off-shoots of a kingly race--with their frank and manly countenances.

On reaching the hotel, we find ourselves unexpectedly plunged in the lap of luxury, a Hungarian gentleman having offered to exchange our little chamber _au quatrième_ all amongst the chimneys and the cats, for his own handsome and commodious room on the first floor, one of the thousand acts of kindness we received whilst travelling in this country. There is no city where there is greater amusement and gaiety than Pest, particularly in the winter, when the “nobles” bring their families to the Capital from their country chateaux. At this season there is a perpetual round of balls and entertainments, skating being the favourite occupation during the hours of day. In May the _beau monde_ return to their country seats, and the traveller may then look in vain for the beautiful horses and handsome equipages, which in the winter months brighten the streets of the city.

Pest, too, is the seat of the National Government. Accompanied by a member of the Diet, to whom we had a letter of introduction, we visited the Lower House at the time when the Delegates were sitting. Received at the entrance hall by a number of lackeys, dressed in a handsome Hussar uniform of black and scarlet, we were at once shown to the visitors’ gallery. Many of the members wore the black cloth _attila_, and embroidered waistcoat, but by far the greater number the severe garments of Western Europe, even the nobles having relinquished the brilliant costumes with which they formerly sat in Assembly.

There are 441 Delegates, all of whom are chosen irrespective of religious sects. Of this number 39 are Croatians, who speak in their native language--Slavonian.

The Magyars, as a rule, evince great calmness in council. Their warm and impulsive natures, however, and susceptibility to excitement, render them victims to the most violent and rapid changes of temperament, and, even in the midst of the calmest deliberation, they not unfrequently manifest the wildest outbursts of feeling.

On the occasion of our visit, the debate was rather a noisy one, and the President’s bell was in frequent requisition, but the very instant Baron Sennyei rose to speak, the most perfect silence reigned, and the eyes of every Delegate in the House were steadily fixed upon him. He is a great politician and the present leader of the Conservative party, or what is called _Mérsékett ellenzék_ (moderate adverse party), and is spoken of as the one who will, in all probability, be chosen President of the Council at the next election.

The Magyar language, which is spoken by almost 6¼ millions of inhabitants, or 40 per cent. of the entire population, is forcible, energetic, and capable of the most impassioned eloquence, and although pathetic in its tones when spoken in conversation, when declaimed it becomes bold and emphatic. It is copious in idiomatic expressions, and rich in its vocabulary of words. Although the Magyar language possesses no auxiliary verb “to have,” no primitive possessive pronouns, no gender for the distinction of sexes, and scarcely any true declension for objective terms, yet it is said to surpass every Teutonic, Slavonic, Italic, and IndoEuropean language in the richness of its verbal formations. Of all the letters in the alphabet, _k_ is the one most conspicuously heard, and all the more so from the fact of its coming at the end of so many words, being generally used to denote the plural.

The Magyar language, if for no other reason, would be deeply interesting to the stranger from the fact of its being the only non-Aryan tongue throughout Europe (if we except that of the Finns) in which Christian rites are performed and Parliamentary debates carried on, and also from its having been established in Europe and subjected to Aryan influences for nearly a thousand years, without having lost its essential Turanian features, its etymology and syntax still preserving their ancient characteristics.

Until forty-five years ago, Latin was the language universally used throughout Hungary in all proceedings connected with law and diplomacy. The country having at one period been under the dominion of two foreign powers, viz., the Austrian and Mahomedan, a common language was necessary for these deliberations. By mutual consent, therefore, the mediæval Latin was adopted, and but for this the three languages spoken in the country, viz., Magyar, German, and Turkish, would necessarily have created great confusion.

In fact, so commonly was it in use until twenty or thirty years ago, that it was called “_Stataria_,” whilst Magyar itself was even taught by the means of Latin, the grammar being designated “_Hungarica_.”

In some parts of Hungary, even in comparatively recent times, Latin was used by the peasantry to converse with persons belonging to nationalities other than their own, whilst the Huns, whose language was a harsh and barren idiom, likewise strove to make Latin--which was spoken in Pannonia in the time of Augustus--the medium of communication with their fellows.

After we had remained listening some time to the expressive utterances of Baron Sennyei, Herr Franz Pulszky--a man of considerable note, not only in his own country, but in many European circles--conducted us to the Upper House, situated over the National Museum, where sit the nobles. The gallery surrounding the grand staircase by which the room and its antechambers are approached is adorned with fresco-paintings--very creditably executed by Hungarian artists--representing the history of the civilisation of Hungary and, beginning with the entry of the Huns into the country, portraying the various epochs of history, and ending with the revolutionary period of 1848.

Our cicerone was one whose features proclaimed that nature had destined him for no ordinary career. Pointing to a fresco situated in one of the most conspicuous places, viz., close to the entrance of the Chamber of Debate, he exclaims:

“You see there the great leader of our Patriotic party.”

“What, _Kossuth_ here, and Louis Batthyani?” we cried as we observed a figure bearing the palm branch of martyrdom, and knew at once for whom it was intended.

“Yes, and _I_ am here,” he added significantly. “The Austrian Government made a great fuss about it at first, but was obliged to give in at last.” And as I looked up at the commanding figure of the revolutionary leader haranguing the populace, I must say I could not help wondering it had done so.

The picture in question besides Kossuth represented Deák, Széchenyi, Louis Batthyani, who was executed at Temesvár, and Petőfy, the poet of the Revolution.

It was pleasant to hear the very grateful terms in which Herr Pulszky alluded to the Emperor of Austria for having spared his life. He was condemned to death on two occasions, once to be shot and the other to be hanged. He had, however, the honour of being burnt in effigy.

The Hall of Assembly, though small, is a very handsomely decorated apartment. On the lowest tier stand the chairs of crimson and gold, where sit the Cardinals, whilst on the desks in front of the seats above we recognised the familiar names of Graf Festetics and Prince Windishgraitz, which, on those gentlemen paying a visit to England some years ago, were, as might have been anticipated, converted into the more intelligible, if not euphemistic ones, of “Count Fiddlesticks,” and “Prince Windowscratch.”

It is singular that Count Andrássy--the correct pronunciation of whose name is _Andrasshy_--though a Magyar and also condemned to death for the part he took in the insurrection under Kossuth, should until recently have filled the post of Prime Minister to the Austrian Government, an anomalous position one can scarcely understand any Hungarian patriot occupying with their very natural repugnance to the Austrian supremacy.