are putting down the shining rails in woods
and glens where no sounds save the song of birds or the carol of the
infrequent passer-by have heretofore been heard. For the present,
however, the old-fashioned, comfortless diligence keeps the roads: the
beribboned postilion winds his merry horn, and as the afternoon sun is
getting low the dusty, antique vehicle rattles up to the court of the inn,
the guard gets down, dusts the leather casing of the gun which
now-a-days he is never compelled to use: then he touches his square hat,
ornamented with a feather, to the maids and men of the hostelry. When
the mails are claimed, the horses refreshed and the stage is covered
with its leathern hood, postilion and guard sit down together in a cool
corner under the gallery in the courtyard and crack various small flasks
of wine. They smoke their porcelain pipes imported from Vienna with
the air of men of the world who have travelled and who could tell you a
thing or two if they liked. They are never tired of talking of Mehadia,
which is one of their principal stations. The sad-faced nobleman,
followed by the decorous old man-servant in fantastic Magyar livery,
who arrived in the diligence, has been to the baths. The master is vainly
seeking cure, comes every year, and always supplies postilion and
guard with the money to buy flasks of wine. This the postilion tells me
and my fellows, and suggests that the "honorable society" should
follow the worthy nobleman's example. No sooner is it done than
postilion and guard kiss our hands; which is likewise an evidence that
they have travelled, are well met with every stranger and all customs,
and know more than they say.
The Romans had extensive establishments at Mehadia, which they
called the "Baths of Hercules," and it is in memory of this that a statue
of the good giant stands in the square of the little town. Scattered
through the hills, many inscriptions to Hercules, to Mercury and to
Venus have been found during the ages. The villages on the road thither
are few and far between, and are inhabited by peasants decidedly
Dacian in type. It is estimated that a million and a half of Roumanians
are settled in Hungary, and in this section they are exceedingly
numerous. Men and women wear showy costumes, quite barbaric and
uncomfortable. The women seem determined to wear as few garments
as possible, and to compensate for lack of number by brightness of
coloring. In many a pretty face traces of gypsy blood may be seen. This
vagabond taint gives an inexpressible charm to a face for which the
Hungarian strain has already done much. The coal-black hair and wild,
mutinous eyes set off to perfection the pale face and exquisitely thin
lips, the delicate nostrils and beautifully moulded chin. Angel or devil?
queries the beholder. Sometimes he is constrained to think that the
possessor of such a face has the mingled souls of saint and siren. The
light undertone of melancholy which pervades gypsy beauty, gypsy
music, gypsy manners, has an extremely remarkable fascination for all
who perceive it. Even when it is almost buried beneath ignorance and
animal craft, it is still to be found in the gypsy nature after diligent
search. This strange race seems overshadowed by the sorrow of some
haunting memory. Each individual belonging to the Tsiganes whom I
saw impressed me as a fugitive from Fate. To look back was
impossible; of the present he was careless; the future tempted him on.
In their music one now and then hears hints of a desire to return to
some far-off and half-forgotten land. But this is rare.
There are a large number of "civilized gypsies," so called, in the
neighborhood of Orsova. I never saw one of them without a profound
compassion for him, so utterly unhappy did he look in ordinary attire.
The musicians who came nightly to play on the lawn in front of the
Hungarian Crown inn belonged to these civilized Tsiganes. They had
lost all the freedom of gesture, the proud, half-savage stateliness of
those who remained nomadic and untrammelled by local law and
custom. The old instinct was in their music, but sometimes there drifted
into it the same mixture of saint and devil which I had seen in the
"composite" faces.
[Illustration: BOATS ON THE DANUBE.]
As soon as supper was set forth, piping hot and flanked by flagons of
beer and wine, on the lawn, and the guests had assembled to partake of
the good cheer, while yet the afterglow lingered along the Danube,
these dusky musicians appeared and installed themselves in a corner.
The old stream's murmur could not drown the piercing and pathetic
notes of the violin, the gentle wail
Continue reading on your phone by scaning this QR Code
Tip: The current page has been bookmarked automatically. If you wish to continue reading later, just open the
Dertz Homepage, and click on the 'continue reading' link at the bottom of the page.