Chapter XXXVI: Hermannstadt

What a quaint, funny, mediæval old town Hermannstadt is, with its heavy stone archways and strong oaken doors leading to passages and _inner_ archways far far beyond! Wherever we cast our eyes we see objects that remind us of pictures of Albert Dürer, and one seems here to be living in the times and place in which Hans Sachs composed his rhymes whilst hammering away at his boots and shoes. Many of the houses are built over archways which lead to sombre courtyards, round which are high wooden balconies, where youthful Juliets make love to Romeos in the region of the gutters below, and women sit and knit and gossip--yes, and quarrel too; for have I not heard the sweet rancour of their tongues, whilst watching them from my own particular balcony, within the courtyard of the hotel? Aye, and sketched them too.

Beneath these wooden balconies are stables and pumps and dark rooms, with walls so strongly built and doors so thick and massive that they might have been made to withstand a siege--as probably they were. Everything wears such an old-world look, that the brand-new houses which have managed to crop up here and there between the ancient ones appear so out-of-place, and altogether such anachronisms, that one feels inclined to request them to “move on,” in default of which to burn them down or blow them up, in fact _anything_ to get rid of them.

What a dear, ugly, hobgobliny old place the hotel is too, at which we are staying, with its heavy round buttresses bulging out far into the street, and deep-set windows with here and there a small room clinging to the walls, in the region of the upper story, like a convenient parasite. Our room, whose furniture takes us back to the middle ages, also juts out in the same way, and from the window we look down upon the heads of the passers-by. Nothing is new in the hotel but the waiting-maid, a rosy, fair-haired lass, with a pair of such ponderous “understandings” that we positively shudder as she walks across the room, everything is so old and shaky.

The hotel itself is ascended by a long flight of irregular stone steps walled in on either side with heavy masonry, in which are loopholes commanding an extensive view of the stables and the kitchen below--apartments which in Transylvania are usually contiguous. The _Speisesaal_ is entered through a long dark room with a polished floor, and contains besides a mangle, two oak presses black with age, and a coffer large enough to have been the sarcophagus of Cheops. Groping our way along with many a slide--surely the house must have been built at a time when some stringent law existed for excluding the light of heaven--we reach the dining hall. Here we nightly consume our _Hammelsbraten_ and _Kalbs-schnitzel_, and, I am afraid, grumble. Then making our way back again in fear and trembling to our own room, we pass a balcony so shaky in its entire constitution that, were we but to cough or sneeze at the moment of crossing it, we feel sure the whole crazy structure must topple over into the yard beneath.

Hermannstadt, although politically an important place, being the military capital of Transylvania, possesses nothing in its outward aspect to warrant the conclusion, its appearance differing little from a German town. Should, however, the proposed railway to Bucharest be carried into effect, Hermannstadt will be the shortest route to Constantinople, and, by becoming the connecting link between West and East, must greatly increase both in size and importance.

In no part of Hungary does there exist so great an anomaly as this district of Transylvania, which is peopled by a race calling themselves “Saxons,” and their province “Saxon-land,” although their ancestors emanated from a widely different quarter.

These colonists are in fact of Flemish origin, descendants of a people inhabiting Flanders, a district of the Upper Rhine, who, styling themselves Flandrenses, emigrated hither in 1141. Hungary, however, being a kingdom of anomalies, it is only natural and proper they should call themselves “Saxons,” and their adopted country “Saxon-land,” or anything else they choose.

At the period of their immigration, Transylvania--which even now forms the border-land separating civilisation from barbarism--so beautiful and peaceful in its outward aspect, was frequently the scene of bloodshed and devastation arising from the incursions of barbarian hordes from the East, who, entering through the passes of the Southern Carpathians, menaced it perpetually, until the fruitful land had well-nigh become a desert.

Transylvania was not wholly unknown to the ancient dwellers on the Western river; the Crusaders had passed through it on their way to and from the “Holy City,” and had carried home with them wondrous tales of the fair and fertile country on the eastern borders of Europe. It was a land of green hills and vales, and fertilising streams like their own, a land literally flowing with milk and honey; in short a goodly land where men might plant and reap the fruits of the earth, and gather into barns in rich plenty. So it came to pass that when the Voivode, or Palatine of the province--who in those days held office under the King of Hungary--sent an invitation to the quiet and industrious inhabitants of Flanders to come over and re-people the beautiful but unfortunate country he ruled, and accompanied his invitation by a promise of grants of land to any that would avail themselves of it, not a few responded to the call, nor did they come alone, but brought over with them men of their own race, skilled in “divers curious arts of workmanship, and cunning artificers in precious metals,” so that their fame soon spread abroad throughout the length and breadth, not only of Transylvania, but of the more eastern countries still, viz., Moldavia, Wallachia, and Bukovina. Their wares--the wonder and admiration of all--were sought after from every quarter, and the Flandrenses speedily became, not only a thriving, but even a wealthy, people.

The position which these early colonists held in the country of their adoption was assured to them by a kind of _Magna Charta_ which, whilst defining their rights and privileges, constituted them an entirely free people, ruled by no Voivode--as were the other inhabitants of the land--but governed simply by their own laws.

It is both curious and interesting to read the history of this brave little band who ventured to roam thus far from their own kindred and people and tongue, to dwell in a strange and almost barbarian country; and--following their fortunes through its pages--note how they managed to hold their own against all attempts at aggression, and how stern and unflinching was their determination to prevent all outsiders from gaining a footing in their newly-acquired territory, not excepting even the peaceful dwellers of other parts of the Hungarian Monarchy, some of whom would fain have cast in their lot with these thriving and more civilised people from the West, of whom all spoke well and whom all envied. But the Flandrenses, like the Scots of our own time, are said to have been a “canny” folk, exclusive and conservative to a degree. They would have no interlopers, “not they.” None should be permitted directly or indirectly to share their new possessions, or who could tell but that such interlopers might increase and multiply, till, waxing bold in numbers, they might even intermeddle with their laws and manner of governing themselves, and if so there would be war and dissensions within their otherwise peaceful borders. No! they would crush at once and for ever such a possibility, and by excluding all outsiders, ensure peace and tranquillity to themselves and to their children for all generations. Nor were they firm adherents to their political institutions only, for they clung to the faith of their forefathers with the greatest tenacity and became the bulwark of Christianity in the east of Europe.

Of this so-called “Saxon-land,” a district occupying the south-eastern portion of Transylvania, Hermannstadt, as we have seen, is the chief town. It is situated on a plain at the foot of the Fogaras Mountains--or Transylvanian Alps, as they are frequently designated--which for eight months in the year are covered with snow, and which, stretching a hundred miles in an easterly direction, embrace Kronstadt in their foldings.

Like all towns in Transylvania, which at one time were so frequently menaced by the Turks and other wild hordes from the East, Hermannstadt was once surrounded by a wall, the remains of which still exist. In consequence of being the military capital of the province, and only twelve miles from Roumania and Moldavia, it is strongly garrisoned, there never at any time being fewer than 8000 soldiers quartered here. In 1438 the Turks besieged the town with an army of 70,000 men headed by the Sultan Amurad himself, who however was killed by an arrow shot from the battlements by one of the brave little band of Flandrenses.

Times have changed since on taking up their dwelling in the land they enacted laws to exclude all neighbouring races from becoming residents in their midst--laws which, though rigidly maintained for centuries, proved not quite so unalterable as those of the Medes and Persians. By slow degrees, entering in the first instance either as labourers of the soil or domestic servants, the Wallachs have at length succeeded in gaining a permanent footing in “Saxon-land,” till in the 19th century we find them forming large colonies in that portion of their country which long years ago was ceded to the stranger. Nor is this the strangest feature of the case. This industrious and prosperous “Saxon” folk are not only losing their political ascendency but are fast dying out, and the Wallachs will soon take their place as the dominant race even within the ancient Flandrenses’ own borders; for the Wallach population is increasing in the same ratio as the “Saxon” is decreasing. In some of the villages in “Saxon-land” the population, without any emigration or other visible cause, has decreased to one half, and should the high rate of mortality which for the last century and a half has been steadily augmenting, continue to increase in future years in the same proportion, this Flemish people, who have done so much towards the civilisation of Transylvania, and aided so materially in the prosperity of the whole province, will soon cease to be lords of the soil which was given to their ancestors seven hundred years ago, and take a very secondary position.

Although they have been so prosperous a people, these honest Flandrenses would have been far happier had they remained in their own quiet little corner on the peaceful borders of the Rhine than in allying themselves to the fortunes of this fertile but hapless country; for until a century ago they were beset with foes, and the troubles they continually encountered make dark blots on the pages of history.

Like the rest of Hungary, Transylvania--which was annexed to the Kingdom of Hungary by St. Stephen in 1002 and governed by viceroys appointed by the king under the title of Voivode--has undergone manifold political changes as well as very painful vicissitudes. In the 14th and 15th centuries the Moslems, whose empire was then at its zenith, entering through the mountain passes, continued to menace this fair land with their wild hordes, until, like the waves of an advancing tide, they threatened to inundate the whole country.

During this time, so complete had been the victories of the Turks that only a small portion of Hungary, and that a long thin strip of country, bounded on the north-west by Poland and on the west by the German Empire, remained in the possession of the Christian. At length Transylvania, which had always been considered an integral portion of Hungary, was again reunited to that kingdom during the revolutionary period of 1848.

It is mid-day and the stream of busy life is flowing steadily onwards to the market--Hermannstadt ladies, with small waists and fashionable, well-made garments, holding large fans to shield themselves from the sun in lieu of parasols, and merry laughing “Saxon” girls in large straw hats, and Wallach matrons with their heads swathed in numberless yards of snow-white muslin folded turban-wise, a species of head-gear called a _volutura_. Besides these are grave, but pretty, little Wallach damsels. Oh, _how_ pretty! with their sweet, smooth, oval faces, and slender figures robed in the home-made “_kathrincza_,” an almost Roman dress, differing materially from that worn by the natives of Wallachia proper and far more classical. It consists of a long straight piece of cloth of many colours worn over the white under garment, the bodice and sleeves of the latter being embroidered in scarlet or black so as to bring out the graceful contour of the figure. Falling low over the neck and chest are endless rows of coral beads; whilst large silver earrings of an eastern pattern united to each other by a silver chain which hangs loosely under the chin complete the charming _tout ensemble_.

The “Saxons” differ from their Wallach sisters in face as well as figure, and even if they wore a similar costume it would be quite impossible not to recognise them. The Wallachs are small and delicately formed, possessing features of a classic type and generally dark hair and eyes; the “Saxons,” on the contrary, are of a heavier build, their complexion is fair, and they have blue eyes, but were it not for their frank and pleasing expression of countenance, their features would be almost plain.

There is no prettier sight in the whole of Hungary than that which Hermannstadt presents on the weekly market-day. The surroundings of the market-place itself; the quaint old steeples and metal cupolas of the cathedral and churches that form the background, the scores of milk-white oxen with their long horns; the bewitching costumes of the Wallach girls, and the bright faces and laughing eyes of the “Saxons” who look up at us archly, yet so innocently, from beneath the warm shadow of their large broad hats, all forming pictures for an artist. Look at that “Saxon” lass yonder, with her frank open face! See how her bosom throbs under her embroidered bodice, and the colour comes mantling to her brow as she sees she has attracted the attention of the two strangers, of whose nationality she is in doubt! Let us go across to that group of Madonna-like vegetable-sellers in their snowy “_voluturas_,” squatting on the ground all amongst the hay-carts and the long-horned cattle, and watch the bargaining! Near them sit other women selling fowls and little families of chickens, and by them stand “Saxon” _Bürgers_ and natty _cuisinières_ haggling over their purchases as though the money they had to spend was the very last farthing they had in the world. A Bürger female comes stalking up and commences negotiations for a brood so extremely juvenile that they ought to have been safe at home under the maternal wing. The Wallach Frau asks four gulden for the lot, at which the Bürger female holds up her hands in astonishment and declares they are not worth two, and turns aside. Hitherto they have been peaceably huddled together in a long circular basket the shape of a cone. But on seeing her customer depart, the Wallach Frau forces her hand through the small square hole in the side of the basket, and clutching hold of the chickens as though they had been a cluster of grapes, drags them forth, thrusts them into the hand of the Bürger, and asks her to name her own price. She offers two gulden, whereupon the Wallach Frau, with an air of offended dignity, uttering not a word, lays hold of the little brood of feathered bipeds and amidst their screams pushes them one after another into the basket, head first, legs first, just as it comes, and shuts down the cover. After a while the Bürger female returns to the charge, and peers at them again, upon which their possessor once more lugs them out of the basket in the same promiscuous fashion. The Bürger takes them in her hand and feels their weight--the whole ten of those little niggers together could not have weighed a pound--and this time offers two gulden twenty kreuzers, upon which the Wallach declares on the soul of her grandmother she will rather take them home than part with them at the price, and in they go again through the hole.

In a few minutes’ time the sanguine little band, alike forgetful of their sorrows and their wrongs, and quite at home in their familiar prison-house, begin to chirp quite a merry gladsome little song. But the Wallach meanwhile is narrowly watching the movements of her customer just in the act of concluding a similar bargain with a broad-faced “Saxon” Frau opposite. Making a sudden grab at them, she this time drags the poor, ill-used little wretches out by their wings and eagerly rushing towards the Bürger female, declares she shall have them for the sum offered, whereupon, crying piteously, they are finally thrown head over heels into a sack which the purchaser’s servant carries over his shoulder for the purpose, and are borne away to their premature doom.

“Who is that youth yonder with his hat adorned with gold tinsel and flowers?” we inquire of a “Saxon” lady.

“He is one who is just betrothed,” was the reply.

“And those men standing in the centre of that group of people on the opposite side. Who can _they_ be?”--we further ask on observing three men carrying white wands to which are attached bunches of flowers and long ribbons.

“There is evidently to be a marriage in the course of a few days in a village near Hermannstadt, and they are going about to invite the bride and bridegroom’s friends. Such things are the custom here,” replied the same lady.

From the market we stroll into the Cathedral, a very handsome edifice erected in 1440. Like every other Protestant church in Hungary it has suffered much from the “besom of reform,” the beautiful pillars being smothered with whitewash. Service was taking place there, and the “Saxon” clergyman robed in a garb of the middle ages looked like a picture of a Puritan “roundhead” in the time of Cromwell.

At the conclusion of the service he offered to show us the sacred edifice, and conducted us to some vaulted chambers which no doubt originally constituted the cloisters, the walls of which were covered with interesting relics of a past age, consisting of life-size portraits graven in marble and stone of worthies who flourished long ago--the ancient Bürgers who held office in the town--all depicted in the costumes of the period, and telling of people and customs long since passed away, yet barbarously, like the pillars of the church, daubed with whitewash. Some of these tablets were dated 1300, the greater number being of the 14th and 15th centuries. To us there was a strange fascination about these old monuments so grim and silent, and we lingered gazing at them, till the Herr Pfarrer, taking off his black cocked hat, requested us to re-enter the church to see the Sacristy, where he would show us the ancient vestments and sacred vessels.

Returning to the market-place we find a momentary lull in the busy hum of voices, and all eyes are turned towards a distant street where a funeral procession is slowly wending its way along. At this moment also the bells from the various church-steeples begin to twang, each in a different key, and every one of them pulled so fast and loudly, that were it not for the din and discord, they would have sounded like a merry peal. In the direction of the garrison at the other end of the town come the strains of a military band, and amidst the inharmonious clamour the melancholy procession, with its flowers, white bows, and streamers, and delicate festoons of lace, crosses the market-place and disappears down an opposite street.