Chapter XLIV: Temples of the Night

Kashau--the winter residence of many of the “Nobles”--is an exceedingly nice little city, and, after Pest, by far the most pleasant in Hungary. The houses are irregular and picturesque, and the cathedral, erected in 1300, is a splendid Gothic structure with five naves, and contains rich fret-work of great elegance and purity of style. The whole, however, is spoilt, in a great measure, by the gilded and gaudily painted altars, which, resting against the beautiful groups of pillars, greatly detract from the harmony and size of the building.

The best time to see this splendid edifice is at the hour of “Benediction,” when the shades of evening are gathering beneath the lofty arches of the central nave, and the setting sun, glistening through the painted windows, shoots soft arrows of gold and blue and crimson, which fall upon the pavement and the white kerchiefs of the women kneeling below the altar in the western transept.

It was pleasant to linger in the cathedral whilst the evening service was taking place, listening to the heavenly voices of the choir singing high up over the western porch, and hearkening with bated breath to the sounds which, travelling along the Gothic roof and in and out amongst the arches and side chapels, seemed not to come from human lips, but through the painted windows; as though angels had brought it on their wings.

On our second visit, one of the _Dom Herren_ (canons of the cathedral) observing we were foreigners, showed us several costly chalices, libariums, ancient missals and vestments, all of which were well worth seeing. He also caused to be uncovered the forty-eight pictures over the high altar illustrative of incidents in the lives of Jesus and Mary, twelve only of which are exhibited save on high festivals.

To the south of the cathedral is the little mediæval church dedicated to St. Michael, and further still, opposite the Promenade, that of the Jesuits.

As at Kolozsvár, one of the first things that arrests the stranger as he walks along the streets of Kashau, and looks into the shop windows, is the conspicuous display of coffins of all shapes and sizes, some of very elaborate designs, the most common being a sarcophagus in white enamel, with gilt cornices, standing on lion’s claws. There are, however, others to suit all comers and all tastes. One of these shops is situated close to a grocer’s, and hard by a Jew of elastic conscience sells crucifixes.

In spite of all its gaiety there was something very sad to us in Kashau after all.

Close to the hotel at which we were staying, a large building was being erected, upon which prisoners were employed in such numbers that they swarmed about the scaffolding, and in and out of the windows and doorways, like a lot of busy ants. They were all young men, and it was painful to watch them working under the vigilant eyes of the guards who stood over them with their bayonets, and to notice how they toiled hour after hour without pausing for an instant--working on with a perpetual motion that made one weary and wretched to witness.

It is in the hilly country, the Felföld of Kashau, that are found the mines from which the precious opal is taken, a gem that is alleged to exist in no other part of the world, for the species called “Oriental” is in reality brought from these mines, which also contain jasper, agate, and chalcedony of great brilliancy.

Anxious as we were to see these celebrated and interesting mines, we had no time to visit both these and the caves of Aggtelek. We therefore decided to accomplish the latter, for which purpose we requested András to be ready with the carriage and four horses at five o’clock the following morning, the distance being considerable. The hotel bill was accordingly paid over night, our luggage packed even to the rugs, and we retired to our “_napi_” with the uncomfortable sensation all travellers have who know they must be up in the morning before the world is awake. Since leaving Debreczin, we have been spoiled for early rising and got into bad habits in this respect, taking our coffee in our own room, and coming down to breakfast at the sluggard hour of ten.

On the following morning at dawn, we were awakened by a loud pattering against the window panes. It was raining heavily. At half-past five, the inevitable porter comes, “rapping, tapping, at my chamber door.” But so strongly do we object to starting on a journey in wet weather, unless obliged, that we send a message to András and inform him that we shall not leave Kashau till the morrow.

The morn had indeed broken drearily. On the rigid leaves of the oleander trees in the balcony outside, doing their best to grow in tubs much too small for them, the rain drips from the roof in heavy drops. An hour later, and chamber-maids with skirts held tightly round them, and heads bent low, dodge in and out of doorways, and waiters, carrying steaming coffee and other creature-comforts to the gentlemen guests, likewise pass and re-pass on their errands of mercy, holding dripping umbrellas. Dark clouds hang over head; there is a steady and calm determination about the rain as it comes pattering down perpendicularly, and falls from the roof through a shoot outside, with a swish, swash, and gurgle, that seems to say it is not going to cease yet awhile now it has come at last. A little half-drowned bird perches on the window-sill, and shakes itself, and then looks in pathetically with its head on one side. More little birds do likewise, and trim their dripping feathers, and then go hopping amongst the oleander branches, carolling as sweetly as if they had been in their native woods. How much they must have “made believe” those happy little birds, and what an example of contentment under difficulties did they not preach to us who were grumbling within. But it was such a dreary sight looking down upon the dingy streets--the draggle-tailed Hungarians with their white-fringed _gatyák_ dangling against their muddy top-boots as they walked along, and the poor ants opposite still toiling in their “daily round and common task”--that after breakfast we hailed a _droszky_ and drove to the station. A train happened to be just leaving for Abos, by which we could also return early in the evening, and jumping into a coupé, we soon felt glad we had come, for the scenery in the neighbourhood of Kashau is exceedingly beautiful; our route takes us through a narrow gorge along which winds the Hernat, changing its fitful course from right to left and left to right continually. The mountains, scarcely less than 4000 feet in height, which enclose the gorge on either side, consist of rugged limestone, and the further we go, the more sublime the scenery becomes--mountain rising above mountain, and crag above crag, foaming torrents, and pyramids of rock jutting out here and there, over which the birch droops its slender and silvery stems. At length we come to the region of dark pines, which, spreading their branches, almost span the gorge. At long distances apart are little hamlets, whose cottages are built on the extreme edge of rocks. What fairy glens we pass, filled with lovely wild flowers, lilies of the valley, Alpine anemones, and the _Polygada amara_ with its purple spikes! And wherever we turn our eyes we see a bewildering prodigality of beauty and luxuriance.

In an hour’s time we reach our destination. There had been no rain here, which had evidently been confined to the region of the Plains; and we spent a most delightful day in wandering about amongst the woods, entering some of the little cottages and making friends with their simple dwellers. The peasantry in this locality eke out their livelihood by keeping bees, which they guard in little sheds, built high up the mountain slopes. The honey is delicious, perfectly clear, and much esteemed by people of other countries whither it is sent for sale.

On our returning to the Abos station to take the down train for Kashau, we found it crowded with emigrants on their way to America, viâ Hamburg; and as there was not sufficient room in the train to contain them, a delay was occasioned on account of more carriages having to be attached. A crowd of persons--men, women, and children--had come to see them off. The Hungarians are a warm-hearted people, deeply attached to their kindred, and it was almost more than we could witness unmoved--the fine, stalwart young fellows sobbing on the necks of aged parents, and bidding adieus to wives, children, and sweethearts, whom they might never again behold on earth.

It is a singular fact that, notwithstanding the superabundance of land and the thinness of the population, the Hungarians are every day leaving their country in vast numbers. There surely must be something radically wrong in the system of a Government which does not offer inducements to the labouring classes under these circumstances to remain in their own country.

In the same carriage with us was a gentleman on his way to Debreczin, who, in course of conversation, informed us he was a tobacco planter, having an estate of 3000 _jochs_--a _joch_ being, I believe, rather less than an acre--for which he had paid at the rate of £15 per _joch_. With land, then, not only so cheap, but so abundant everywhere, we again wonder what is the reason for these people emigrating?

It had evidently been raining all day at Kashau, but as we arrive, the leaden clouds, gathering themselves together, are sailing away from the golden west, where the sun, setting gloriously, promises better things for the morrow.

Sitting at dinner in the hotel restaurant we were taken aback by a person at an opposite table accosting us in English in the following words, which were uttered in the most unmistakable Transatlantic brogue, and with a fine, bold, nasal twang that would have done credit to the oldest inhabitant of that quarter of the globe:

“How long since you left England, sir, and what have ye come here for? I guess there isn’t much in Hungary that you have found to your liking.”

“Where do _you_ come from?” was the reply that followed his questions, which seemed slightly to savour of impertinence.

“I’ve jest come from Amurica, sir. I’ve been there ten years.”

“But you are surely an American yourself?”

“Wall, sir, I guess I’m a Hungarian. I went to the United States to make my fortune, but instead of that I lost one.”

“What do your countrymen do when they get there--such men, for instance, as we saw leaving to-day?” inquired F.

“They die by a fence,” was the laconic reply.

“What do you mean?”

“Why, jest this. When they get out there, they can’t speak any language the Amuricans know, and so no one will employ them. They go around from place to place in search of work, but find none; then, having spent the few florins they had in their pockets when they landed, they starve right away.”

“Who induces them to emigrate? Surely some prospect must be held out to them of doing better there than in their own country, or they would not go in such numbers.”

“It’s the newspapers that does it,” continued he, with the same brogue, in which he was evidently an apt scholar, “the _Government_ newspapers, I mean. They are always telling our chaps the wonderful things they will do if they go there, and how that in a few years’ time they will come home rich, and he able to settle down in the old country and be landowners; and they know it is a wicked lie they are telling all the while, and that there is nothing good to be gained there by our poor fellows. But what do they care _what_ happens to them? they only want to get them out of the way that they may _Austrianise_ our country the easier by colonising it with their own people.”

Whether the above statement is correct or not I cannot say; I only repeat exactly what we heard. It is quite possible, and would doubtless be in the interest of Austria to induce Hungary’s oft-times too patriotic sons to emigrate, that she might be enabled by degrees to colonise it with her own; but this, of course, is one of those matters which can never be more than mere conjecture.

At five o’clock A.M. we took our leave of this pleasant little city. Notwithstanding the matutinal hour, a crowd of attendants benevolently presented themselves to bid us adieu, possibly remembering that it is the early bird that catches the worm. “Worms” we were on that occasion at any rate, as well as on most others of the like nature, but a small _douceur_ goes a long way with Hungarian servants, who are often ill-paid. Passing other hotels we see similar little performances being enacted, where more disinterested menials are assembled to speed the parting guest.

The Magyars are by no means a grasping people, and are always satisfied with whatever is given them, returning a hearty “Thank you,” no matter how small the gift, which, by the way, they have the good taste never to look at in your presence.

About noon, arriving at a village, we found some difficulty in procuring a relay of horses, and whilst strolling about its labyrinths to pass away the time, we saw before us a church, and were just about to enter it, when a woman, who had evidently witnessed our approach, and who was standing at the door, closed it abruptly on the outside to prevent our doing so. Upon our asking her the reason in German, she replied, somewhat uncivilly, in her own tongue, that as we spoke an _idegen nyelv_ (foreign language), we could not belong to the Magyar religion, and therefore it could afford us neither pleasure nor profit to see her church. “The national religion of the noble Magyar,” I regret to say, does not “light up well.” Its people are, for the most part, stern, demure, and exclusive--a fact even more apparent on our journey from Debreczin to Kashau than in the capital of the “_Magyar vallas_” itself, and of which the above little episode is an example. It was an amusing instance of bigotry, but I felt sorry it should have been from a Protestant that for the first time throughout the whole of our previous and present travels amongst Gallicians, Rusniaks, Slovaks, Wallachs, and even Croat-Serbs, we received any incivility. In the minds of the ignorant, the Magyar language and Protestantism are inseparable, whilst the Magyar language is, they believe, the only one known in heaven.

It is related of an old Magyar nurse attending a sick lady, that on hearing her make use of the common German exclamation, addressed to the Deity, she cried, “Ah, my lady, forgive me! but how can you expect the good God to listen to you if you speak to Him in a language He does not understand?”

At nine o’clock at night we reach Rosenau, a mining town situated on the river Sajó. The roads were execrable the whole way, but the scenery was both varied and beautiful. Our fatigue, however, had not been great, and the mountain air infused such new life into us that the next day we felt equal to anything; even to the announcement which greeted us on descending to the little restaurant of the inn for breakfast, that we should have to proceed to Agtalek by “_shaker_,” the roads being, as we were assured, too bad for anything else on wheels.

We had already passed over so many hundred miles of Hungarian roads, that we scarcely believed there could be anything in store for us of a worse nature than we had hitherto experienced. Our ardour was consequently not in the least degree damped by the above announcement, and we set out with light hearts, András and _the dog_ accompanying us. _A propos_ of the latter, we had found a home for him at our friend’s with whom we stayed, near Tokay, who assured us he was in need of just such a quadruped, but who advised us to keep him with us until we should be returning to Tokay, when we could leave him behind as we passed through the district.

As this waif was now a respectable member of society, and belonged to “the quality,” it was necessary to give him some name. We therefore bestowed upon him that of _Essek_--the Magyar signification for Archbishop--on account of his resemblance to that ecclesiastical dignitary; his long black hair, and white front, giving him the appearance, when assuming a sitting posture, of a person in a black robe and lawn sleeves. We are once more in the land of gipsies, whom we have not met with on our travels for some time, but who now greet us at the entrance to every village, and exhibit, as elsewhere, the old Roman contempt for the superfluous.

Essek--a name which for the sake of brevity soon resolved itself into Esk--was at first a dog of somewhat low proclivities, much given to fraternise with gipsy children; but he already begins to turn up his episcopal nose whenever we now happen to fall in with a party of _Czigánok_, and is wont to pass by proudly on the other side.

Arrived at the village of Agtalek, after many a jolt and bump--our _shaker_ true to its appellation to the last--we are met by guides who accompany us to the caverns situated a short distance above the village.

Like all others of the kind they are formed in the limestone rock, and extend a distance of many miles into the heart of the mountains. On entering, the _Tanz-saal_ is the first great cavern we see, a vast hall where the peasants of the neighbourhood often resort on festivals, and dance by torch-light, arrayed in their pretty costumes.

Magnificent, however, as is the _Tanz-saal_ in its vast proportions, we do not linger here, our desire being to penetrate farther into this marvellous region by one or more of its intricate windings.

Leading from the “great dome” is a narrow passage, through which a brook forces its way. Following it we reach, in a quarter of an hour’s time, what is called the _Paradiesgarten_, a name given to this part of the cavern on account of the resemblance which the objects it contains bear to those which are supposed to have existed in the garden of Eden, and certainly the exquisite beauty and elegance of form which the stalactite and stalagmite matter here assume, far exceeds anything of the kind we ever beheld. Trees, fruits, and even the serpent--a good likeness of him too--were severally pointed out to us, nothing being absent, in fact, but Adam and Eve to complete the guide’s _epitome_!

How those guides wearied us! In vain we besought them to be still, and leave us to our own imaginings; they continued to point out first this object and then that, and talked so perpetually, whilst we desired nothing so much as complete silence, in which to admire in awe and wonder, these great mysteries of nature, that, maddened at last by their persistence, F. let off, like a succession of pistol-shots, a string of telling Magyar expletives which he had previously learnt by diligent study, and which so astonished the guides by the fervour with which they were administered, that we heard nothing afterwards but the beating of our own hearts.

As we henceforth pursue our way, we do so almost with bated breath, for the farther we wander through these labyrinths the more the feeling of awe grows upon us; and as the guides precede us with their torches, the giant fragments of dripping stalagmite gleam grimly in the fitful light and take shape of living things, which seem to move, or stand spectral, and colourless before us. Sometimes these passages lead to small side chambers, hewn out roughly and majestically by nature in the solid rock, like ancient funereal vaults, in which lie rude _sarcophagi_ and dead men’s bones, guarded by wan figures, standing enveloped in half transparent drapery which covers them from head to foot. Anon we come upon shattered and ruined temples with Gothic arches, and fonts, and windows, and the Hand that formed these objects of weird and fantastic beauty is still at work upon them, for we hear, above the muffled sound of our foot-fall, the steady “drip, drip” of the water in near and far-off passages.

Whilst examining a beautiful little grotto enclosed on all sides by slender pillars and drooping garlands, and in which were ferns and mosses and a net-work of fanciful leaves engraved on a mass of stalagmite, I suddenly found myself in darkness. F. and the guides had all passed on, and I was alone. It was useless to attempt to follow, I could only shout to them to return, and as I did so, how my own voice frightened me, as it echoed above, below, around, and then went rolling off into distant passages till it seemed to die away in boundless space!

They soon responded to my call and came tramping back with all speed, and then we reached the brook again flowing on through its lonely prison-house, the torches reflecting themselves strangely in its black waters.

We could not ascertain whether this subterranean stream contained the little animal, half-fish half-lizard--the _Proteus_ _Auquinus_--found in the river Poik in the caverns of Adelsberg near Triste; those poor little eyeless creatures which, born in darkness, have--when taken by the curious from their native solitudes--to be shielded from the light of heaven in order to be kept alive.

The temperature of the caverns was so low that on returning to the hot outer atmosphere I nearly fainted. We were in fact both exhausted by fatigue and fasting; but found on reaching the village inn, where we had left András, that but for his exertions we must have lunched off honey, milk, and rye bread. There was in fact literally nothing else to be had. The brave little man, however, during our absence had again gone to the priest and obtained from him a fat pullet which had been already trussed for his Reverence’s own dinner; and which, stewed and served with cranberry sauce, quite set us up for the day, and sent us on our way rejoicing.