Chapter XLVI: The Gold Mines of Schemnitz

A narrow mountain gorge with irregularly built houses on either side, and churches with red domes and shining cupolas, backed by wondrous mountains, introduce us to Schemnitz.

The street is both steep and rugged, so that, leaving our coachman to find some place below where he can deposit the carriage, we walk leisurely up the hill, where women are sitting surrounded by huge baskets of lilies of the valley and forget-me-nots; whilst other women are selling snow-white lambs, the little creatures, whose legs are tied together, panting piteously as they lie on their backs in baskets much too small to contain them. At length, reaching the hotel, and passing under the archway, we are shown through a yard, up two flights of stone steps, across a balcony built against the steep side of the mountain, and commanding a near view of the shingled roofs of neighbouring houses with their respective cats, and are ushered into a large apartment, where we are welcomed by mediæval celebrities, who, as we enter, gaze at us furtively out of their dark frames, and follow us suspiciously about the room with staring eyes--a most ghostly chamber truly, and one that looks anything but conducive to sleep.

Although we have ascended at least thirty steps, we still find ourselves on a level with the heads of persons walking in the street; a window at the end of the room looking out upon a fountain where women stand gossiping and slopping, exchanging salutations with the passers-by, and occasionally screaming at the top of their voices at other females leaning far out of windows in the upper stories of the high houses. Pretty girls in red bodices and large white sleeves frilled at the elbow, come tripping down the hill, laughing merrily, and carrying wooden pails to fill with the yellow water of the fountain, its colour _said_ to be due to the attrition of the rocks containing gold ore, through which the stream flows that feeds this fountain.

A great deal of gold dust is found in the rivers of Transylvania, caused either by the decomposition of the metalliferous rocks or from the rupture of ore-veins. The upper part of the river Maros is one of the richest streams in Hungary, pieces of the precious metal being sometimes found in it as large as a marble. The gold found in these rivers is, or was until a comparatively recent period, a monopoly in the hands of the gipsies, who paid an annual tax to Government for the privilege. It is found in the greatest abundance after rain, when the sand left by the flood has collected on the edges of the mountain torrents.

This celebrated town, the capital of the mining districts, founded in 745, contains twenty thousand inhabitants. The town itself, together with the mountain on which it is built, is completely undermined, veins of the precious metal traversing it in all directions. In 1865 the quantity of gold raised from the Schemnitz mines was 650 lbs. in weight, and of silver, 13,000 lbs. The mines throughout the whole of Hungary that year produced no less than 5000 lbs. weight of the former, and about 63,000 lbs. of the latter. The mines richest in gold and silver at present are, however, those in the east of Hungary, in the province of Transylvania, the metal found here in the greatest abundance now being lead, in which, however, gold and silver, to some extent, are always intermingled.

There are two principal adits, the upper and the lower. Having applied for permission to view the mines at the office immediately opposite the entrance to the latter, we were ushered into an inner apartment where we were vested in two loose long garments like surplices, and, if the truth must be told, very ragged and dirty ones too, in addition to which F. was provided with a species of green felt jelly-bag by way of head gear, the exact pattern of those worn by the ancient Druids. Having resigned ourselves into the hands of a stout foreman of the mines, who gives us both a mining lamp to carry, we issue from the office with the farewell salutation from those within of “_glück auf!_” an expression invariably used by the miners to each other on descending the mines, and which literally means “Happy return to daylight!”

As we crossed the street in this strange guise we wondered what our friends at home would think was happening to us if we could have been photographed at that instant! The passers-by however were evidently accustomed to such apparitions, for they took no notice of us, nor did they even turn their heads as they also exclaimed “_glück auf!_” and we vanished in the darkness.

This adit, which is worked by Government, extends to galleries and other adits. The passage is about eight feet high by four broad; but, the floor being only roughly covered with planks, beneath which water rushes, progress is neither a pleasant nor easy task.

The mountain perforated by these mines is of Trachyte formation and contains Plutonic rock, which geologists affirm must have been sent up from beneath by volcanic agency after the deposition of the Tertiary deposits. It is in this Plutonic rock that the veins exist which contain the precious metals.

No fewer than three thousand families--the greater number of whom are Slovaks--are employed in the various Schemnitz mines, twelve of which are worked by Government, the others belonging to private companies. After following our guide through the damp, dark passage by a gradual but continuous descent of about eighteen hundred feet, we came to the huge iron tube through which the water flows that drains the mines, and the noise was almost deafening. We were here joined by a second guide, and at length reached a staircase leading to the machinery and a still lower level. As we descended and stood by the immense wheel, we looked down into a black and, to our eye, measureless abyss; bridged by a narrow and frail platform on which the man stood who was working the machinery. As he stood there alone with his one feeble lamp--no one within ear-shot--there was something appalling in the thought of his being there day after day without any companionship save that of the great broad, black wheel, which keeps turning slowly round and round in endless revolution to the deafening splash of waters, and we wondered he did not actually go mad. His fate seemed somehow much more terrible than that of the men who were working far beneath in the depths of the earth, for they were not alone but in companies. As a rule, the men work alternately twelve and eight hours a day, but in some portions, the mines are so hot and unhealthy that they are only allowed to work fourteen days at a time, when they are changed, the heat and foul air acting very prejudicially upon their health. How can they work, these poor creatures, all their lives in this living grave? As we saw them with their feeble lamps hacking away at the hard rock, I realised for the first time, with what labour and misery the beautiful metals are procured with which we so unthinkingly adorn ourselves.

The gigantic wheel to which--after having descended deeper into the mine--we have just returned, pumps the water out of the passages, the water being utilised by means of a smaller wheel, to raise the ore from the lower adits. The ore is first placed in large square sacks, and, after being raised, is shunted through a hole in the rock into another adit, where a train-truck waits to receive it, after which it is sent either to Neusohl or Kremnitz to be smelted.

These mines were also begun by the Romans, who, having in those days no such force as dynamite or gunpowder within their command, drilled some of these passages, as in the cobalt mines of Dobsina, by the slow method of chisel and hammer. Such portions even yet are easily distinguishable by the smoothness and evenness of their surface.

In the “Roselia,” the oldest of all the mines here, coins, lamps, and even articles of dress of the Roman period have been found. There is also a cavern of considerable extent likewise attributed to Roman excavation, a process believed to have been accomplished by fire and vinegar, a method alluded to by Pliny, the rocks having been evidently split and not hewn, traces of fire in both caverns and passages being still visible.

But, however interesting and instructive our exploits had been, we felt thankful when, after having traversed the mine a distance of no less than three thousand six hundred feet, we once more saw the sweet, fair daylight gleaming through the aperture, and knew that our journey through the dark and toilsome regions of the night was accomplished.

There is a mining school at Schemnitz founded by Maria Theresa, where two hundred students receive a gratuitous and liberal education. The branches taught, besides metallurgy, mineralogy, and mining, being chemistry, mathematics, drawing, and surveying. The students wear a uniform of dark green, turned up with red; the sleeves of their jackets curiously padded at the shoulders to protect the arms from being grazed by the walls of the mines. They also wear funny little leather aprons behind. Both their caps and jackets are ornamented with the mining _insignia_, a crossed hammer and pickaxe. In full dress, these academical students, the more advanced of whom are called “Practicants,” wear black velvet aprons, gold epaulets, and a sabre.

Having explored the mines, the next thing to be done, after an hour or two’s rest from fatigue, was to inspect some of the treasure they contain. The mineralogical collection, however, is not so good as might be expected, all the finest specimens being sent to the National Museum of Pest, which possesses the third best collection in Europe; there is, however, a very fair one here, and quite sufficiently good to give the visitor an idea of all the minerals and stones which the mountain holds concealed within its hidden recesses.

The gold is found in various forms, sometimes in round smooth globules the size of shot, embedded in a porous and spongy-looking stone; at others it assumes the most beautiful shapes, simulating a succession of leaflets on a stalk, anaglyphs, and every sort of device conceivable, so exquisitely moulded that it was difficult at first to realise that some had not been wrought by a skilled goldsmith, from special designs; whilst silver is often found in a thin, brittle, and yellowish stone called _spath_, which looks as though it had been moulded from the most beautiful vine, or some other large leaf. More frequently, however, it is seen lying in compact beds, either in small angular pieces of a slightly leaden colour, or in bead-like masses.

It would be impossible to describe the variety and splendour of the minerals, one of the most beautiful stones being the amethyst, which is found in large beds, in which the dark purple rectangular crystals, shooting upwards in cones of equal size, are so polished and regularly formed that they appear as if they had just come out of the hands of the lapidary. Malachite is likewise found in a transition state, together with ocherite, both of which stones are intermingled with globules of gold. These Plutonic rocks also contain opal; which is found in the whitish-grey calcined rock, generally in strata of about four inches thick, where it forms a compact and seeming opaque mass, possessing the appearance--if I may so express it--of petrified and etherealised fire. When seen in its original stratum, opal presents quite a different aspect from that which it assumes after it has passed into the hands of the lapidary, and is far less beautiful to my mind in its _rounded_ and artificial form. Of all the stones found in the Hungarian mountains, none impressed us so greatly as this one in its natural state.

It is exceedingly interesting to see the minerals which are used by the professors in lecturing to the mining students. There are the round hollow stones in which crystals are just beginning to form, and others showing the progressive stages of their growth. Amethysts are invariably found, like other crystals, in pebbles, some of which measure half a yard in diameter, and which, on being broken in two, are seen to be thickly lined with lustrous purple stones. There were clayey substances also in every phase of transition, from the primary matter, which in the process of drying had cracked into small squares of equal size, to the fully developed marble, which, when cut through diagonally, formed the most beautiful hexagons, each as perfect as those of a honeycomb, and each hexagon separated from the other by a perfectly white and well-defined line created by a deposit of chalk working its way into the original interstices in the course of--who shall conjecture how many ages?

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A wet evening sends us home to our dismal room, where in due time they bring us candles and a pair of snuffers--modern improvements in the manufacture of the former not having apparently extended to Schemnitz. In the feeble, glimmering light, the large room appears even more hobgobliny than ever, whilst the eyes of the ancient celebrities in the picture frames seem to grow larger and to revolve in their sockets as we look at them. To make matters worse, we are perpetually reducing ourselves to a state of darkness whenever it becomes necessary to snuff the candles--which it does about every five minutes--and we realise that, like the wearing of pattens, candle-snuffing is an art which, to be accomplished gracefully, must be acquired in early life.

Fortunately all the rain fell during the night. Towards the small hours we could hear it tearing madly down the street like a mountain torrent, which I should imagine the narrow gorge in which the town is situated must originally have been. Looking out of the window at nine A.M. we see above the mountain a small piece of sky about the size of a pocket-handkerchief. It is all that is visible of that aerial region, but it is intensely and encouragingly blue, and, after breakfast, we sally forth to see the town with its fine old castle built against the steep hill-side, and looking down at us over the picturesque roofs of the houses, every one of which was formerly a fortification. The castle dates from 1491, and the custodian entertained us with blood-curdling tales of Turkomans and Templars, and told us how that the Christians fought and the infidel marauders fled.

It is the weekly market. Forcing our way through sacks of scarlet pepper, stands of Slovak cheeses--which, moulded in cloths, look precisely like gigantic puddings--baskets running over with pink and white radishes, the classic garlic, and other commodities, we reach the opposite side of the road. The little lambs we saw yesterday have been kept alive for to-day--God knows how--and are lying in the same baskets, only panting more sadly, their heads thrown back and eyes half-open, the whites of which alone are visible. So cruel and piteous a sight makes our hearts ache, and we endeavour by much gesture, to induce their owners to change their constrained positions, and give them a little food. They only think we are beginning a bargain, and lug them out of the baskets by the four legs, which we can see are tied together far too tightly, and then, finding we are not bent on purchasing, they throw them in again, just as if they had been bundles of turnips or vegetables. The lilies of the valley have been freshened up, and the forget-me-nots, reflecting with their meek blue eyes the sky above, appear as though they had but just awakened from their bath of dew. Women, hundreds of women, in dark blue skirts bordered with light green, stand about the stalls, and look like figures painted on old china. Priests, in long black robes which sweep the street, come wriggling in and out of the crowd. Now and then we hear close behind us a plaintive, supplicating voice, uttering words, the meaning of which we cannot understand, save that of “_Christus_.” It is a beggar, asking kreuzers for the love of Him who died for us. And everywhere the people throng and jostle each other in the narrow street. Looking upwards, all is colour, motion, and a sea of heads, above which rise the high houses, with their overhanging roofs, and the black domes and cupolas of the _Rath-haus_ and the beautiful old churches, with their lancet windows and porches, entered by long flights of steps. There is a rapid stir in the crowd as way is made for a long country cart, drawn by three donkeys and two small black oxen, the latter forming the wheelers of the rustic team!

In the lateral streets, which are almost as steep as the roofs of houses, we see bullock-waggons laden with hay and corn, and pots and pans innumerable. Up these steeps women struggle and toil, with large, square, wooden pails or baskets attached to their backs, and carrying babies swathed in linen, like small white mummies.

Presently we descry above the sea of heads a tall man, in what has been graphically designated a “stove-pipe” hat.

“_Buval Jankó!_” we hear a Hungarian gentleman observe, in a somewhat amused tone, to a friend standing at his elbow.

He is certainly an Englishman of some sort, we could swear to the cut of his sartorial garments anywhere. Is he an archdeacon, with that high collar and swallow-tailed coat? What an incongruous object he looks amongst all these pretty costumes, so full of colour! No wonder that the Arab who first saw an Englishman in this guise hastened to inform his neighbours and acquaintances that he had seen “his Satanic Majesty with a saucepan on his head, and his tail slit in two!”

Strange as it may appear, he is the only Englishman we have seen during either of our travels in Hungary, and it is quite impossible to pass him by without a greeting.

His speech soon reveals the mystery of his _genre_. He belongs to the “Society of Friends,” and is, he informs us, a travelling agent for a firm in Birmingham.