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Around the World on a Bicycle V1

T >> Thomas Stevens >> Around the World on a Bicycle V1




My Austrian escort rides out with me to a certain cross-road, to make
sure of heading me direct toward Budapest, and as we part they bid me
good speed, with a hearty "Eljen." - the Hungarian "Hip, hip, hurrah."
After leaving Presburg and crossing over into Hungary the road-bed is
of a loose gravel that, during the dry weather this country is now
experiencing, is churned up and loosened by every passing vehicle, until
one might as well think of riding over a ploughed field. But there is a
fair proportion of ridable side-paths, so that I make reasonably good
time. Altenburg, my objective point for the night, is the centre of a
sixty-thousand-acre estate belonging to the Archduke Albrecht, uncle of
the present Emperor of Austro-Hungary, and one of the wealthiest land-owners
in the empire. Ere I have been at the gasthaus an hour I am honored by
a visit from Professor Thallmeyer, of the Altenburg Royal Agricultural
School, who invites me over to his house to spend an hour in conversation,
and in the discussion of a bottle of Hungary's best vintage, for the
learned professor can talk very good English, and his wife is of English
birth and parentage. Although Frau Thallmeyer left England at the tender
age of two years, she calls herself an Englishwoman, speaks of England
as "home," and welcomes to her house as a countryman any wandering
Briton happening along. I am no longer in a land of small peasant
proprietors, and there is a noticeably large proportion of the land
devoted to grazing purposes, that in France or Germany would be found
divided into small farms, and every foot cultivated. Villages are farther
apart, and are invariably adjacent to large commons, on which roam flocks
of noisy geese, herds of ponies, and cattle with horns that would make
a Texan blush - the long horned roadsters of Hungary. The costumes of the
Hungarian peasants are both picturesque and novel, the women and girls
wearing top-boots and short dresses on holiday occasions and Sundays,
and at other times short dresses without any boots at all; the men wear
loose-flowing pantaloons of white, coarse linen that reach just below
the knees, and which a casual observer would unhesitatingly pronounce a
short skirt, the material being so ample. Hungary is still practically
a land of serfs and nobles, and nearly every peasant encountered along
the road touches his cap respectfully, in instinctive acknowledgment,
as it were, of his inferiority. Long rows of women are seen hoeing in
the fields with watchful overseers standing over them - a scene not
unsuggestive of plantation life in the Southern States in the days of
slavery. If these gangs of women are not more than about two hundred
yards from the road their inquisitiveness overcomes every other
consideration, and dropping everything, the whole crowd comes helter-skelter
across the field to obtain a closer view of the strange vehicle; for it
is only in the neighborhood of one or two of the principal cities of
Hungary that one ever sees a bicycle.

Gangs of gypsies are now frequently met with; they are dark-skinned,
interesting people, and altogether different-looking from those occasionally
encountered in England and America, where, although swarthy and dark-skinned,
they bear no comparison in that respect to these, whose skin is wellnigh
black, and whose gleaming white teeth and brilliant, coal-black eyes
stamp them plainly as alien to the race around them. Ragged, unwashed,
happy gangs of vagabonds these stragglers appear, and regular droves of
partially or wholly naked youngsters come racing after me, calling out
"kreuzer! kreuzer! kreuzer!" and holding out hand or tattered hat in
a supplicating manner as they run along-side. Unlike the peasantry, none
of these gypsies touch their hats; indeed, yon swarthy-faced vagabond,
arrayed mainly in gewgaws, and eying me curiously with his piercing black
eyes, may be priding himself on having royal blood in his veins; and,
unregenerate chicken-lifter though he doubtless be, would scarce condescend
to touch his tattered tile even to the Emperor of Austria. The black
eyes scintillate as they take notice of what they consider the great
wealth of sterling silver about the machine I bestride. Eastward from
Altenburg the main portion of the road continues for the most part
unridably loose and heavy.

For some kilometres out of Raab the road presents a far better surface,
and I ride quite a lively race with a small Danube passenger steamer
that is starting down-stream. The steamboat toots and forges ahead, and
in answer to the waving of hats and exclamations of encouragement from
the passengers, I likewise forge ahead, and although the boat is going
down-stream with the strong current of the Danube, as long as the road
continues fairly good I manage to keep in advance; but soon the loose
surface reappears, and when I arrive at Gonys, for lunch, I find the
steamer already tied up, and the passengers and officers greet my
appearance with shouts of recognition. My route along the Danube Valley
leads through broad, level wheat-fields that recall memories of the
Sacramento Valley, California. Geese appear as the most plentiful objects
around the villages: there are geese and goslings everywhere; and this
evening, in a small village, I wheel quite over one, to the dismay of
the maiden driving them homeward, and the unconcealed delight of several
small Hungarians.

At the village of Nezmely I am to-night treated to a foretaste of what
is probably in store for me at a goodly number of places ahead by being
consigned to a bunch of hay and a couple of sacks in the stable as the
best sleeping accommodations the village gasthaus affords. True, I am
assigned the place of honor in the manger, which, though uncomfortably
narrow and confining, is perhaps better accommodation, after all, than
the peregrinating tinker and three other likely-looking characters are
enjoying on the bare floor. Some of these companions, upon retiring,
pray aloud at unseemly length, and one of them, at least, keeps it up
in his sleep at frequent intervals through the night; horses and work-cattle
are rattling chains and munching hay, and an uneasy goat, with a bell
around his neck, fills the stable with an incessant tinkle till dawn.
Black bread and a cheap but very good quality of white wine seem about
the only refreshment obtainable at these little villages. One asks in
vain for milch-brod, butter, kdsc, or in fact anything acceptable to the
English palate; the answer to all questions concerning these things is
"nicht, nicht, nicht." - "What have you, then?" I sometimes ask, the
answer to which is almost invariably "brod und wein." Stone-yards thronged
with busy workmen, chipping stone for shipment to cities along the Danube,
are a feature of these river-side villages. The farther one travels the
more frequently gypsies are encountered on the road. In almost every
band is a maiden, who, by reason of real or imaginary beauty, occupies
the position of pet of the camp, wears a profusion of beads and trinkets,
decorates herself with wild flowers, and is permitted to do no manner
of drudgery. Some of these gypsy maidens are really quite beautiful in
spite of their very dark complexions. Their eyes glisten with inborn
avarice as I sweep past on my "silver" bicycle, and in their astonishment
at my strange appearance and my evidently enormous wealth they almost
forget their plaintive wail of "kreuzer! kreuzer!" a cry which readily
bespeaks their origin, and is easily recognized as an echo from the land
where the cry of "backsheesh" is seldom out of the traveller's hearing.

The roads east of Nezmely are variable, flint-strewn ways predominating;
otherwise the way would be very agreeable, since the gradients are gentle,
and the dust not over two inches deep, as against three in most of Austro-
Hungary thus far traversed. The weather is broiling hot; but I worry
along perseveringly, through rough and smooth, toward the land of the
rising sun. Nearing Budapest the roads become somewhat smoother, but at
the same time hillier, the country changing to vine-clad slopes; and all
along the undulating ways I meet wagons laden with huge wine-casks.
Reaching Budapest in the afternoon, I seek out Mr. Kosztovitz, of the
Budapest Bicycle Club, and consul of the Cyclists' Touring Club, who
proves a most agreeable gentleman, and who, besides being an enthusiastic
cycler, talks English perfectly. There is more of the sporting spirit
in Budapest, perhaps, than in any other city of its size on the Continent,
and no sooner is my arrival known than I am taken in hand and practically
compelled to remain over at least one day. Svetozar Igali, a noted cycle
tourist of the village of Duna Szekeso, now visiting the international
exhibition at Budapest, volunteers to accompany me to Belgrade, and
perhaps to Constantinople. I am rather surprised at finding so much
cycling enthusiasm in the Hungarian capital. Mr. Kosztovitz, who lived
some time in England, and was president of a bicycle club there, had the
honor of bringing the first wheel into the Austro-Hungarian empire, in
the autumn of 1879, and now Budapest alone has three clubs, aggregating
nearly a hundred riders, and a still greater number of non-riding members.
Cyclers have far more liberty accorded them in Budapest than in Vienna,
being permitted to roam the city almost as untrammelled as in London,
this happy condition of affairs being partly the result of Mr. Kosztovitz's
diplomacy in presenting a ready drawn-up set of rules and regulations
for the government of wheelmen to the police authorities when the first
bicycle was introduced, and partly to the police magistrate, being himself
an enthusiastic all-'round sportsman, inclined to patronize anything in
the way of athletics. They are even experimenting in the Hungarian army
with the view of organizing a bicycle despatch service; and I am told
that they already have a bicycle despatch in successful operation in the
Bavarian army. In the evening I am the club's guest at a supper under
the shade-trees in the exhibition grounds. Mr. Kosztovitz and another
gentleman who can speak English act as interpreters, and here, amid the
merry clinking of champagne-glasses, the glare of electric lights, with
the ravishing music of an Hungarian gypsy band on our right, and a band
of swarthy Servians playing their sweet native melodies on our left, we,
among other toasts, drink to the success of my tour. There is a cosmopolitan
and exceedingly interesting crowd of visitors at the international
exhibition: natives from Bulgaria, Servia, Roumania, and Turkey, in their
national costumes; and mingled among them are Hungarian peasants from
various provinces, some of them in a remarkably picturesque dress, that
I afterward learn is Croatian. A noticeable feature of Budapest, besides
a predilection for sport among the citizens, is a larger proportion of
handsome ladies than one sees in most European cities, and there is,
moreover, a certain atmosphere about them that makes them rather agreeable
company. If one is travelling around the world with a bicycle, it is not
at all inconsistent with Budapest propriety for the wife of the wheelman
sitting opposite you to remark that she wishes she were a rose, that you
might wear her for a button-hole bouquet on your journey, and to ask
whether or not, in that case, you would throw the rose away when it
faded. Compliments, pleasant, yet withal as meaningless as the coquettish
glances and fan-play that accompany them, are given with a freedom and
liberality that put the sterner native of more western countries at his
wits' end to return them. But the most delightful thing in all Hungary
is its gypsy music. As it is played here beneath its own sunny skies,
methinks there is nothing in the wide world to compare with it. The music
does not suit the taste of some people, however; it is too wild and
thrilling. Budapest is a place of many languages, one of the waiters in
the exhibition cafe claiming the ability to speak and understand no less
than fourteen different languages and dialects.

Nine wheelmen accompany me some distance out of Budapest on Monday
morning, and Mr. Philipovitz and two other members continue with Igali
and me to Duna Pentele, some seventy-five miles distant; this is our
first sleeping-place, the captain making his guest until our separation
and departure in different directions next morning. During the fierce
heat of mid-day we halt for about three hours at Adony, and spend a
pleasant after-dinner Lour examining the trappings and trophies of a
noted sporting gentleman, and witnessing a lively and interesting set-to
with fencing foils. There is everything in fire-arms in his cabinet,
from an English double-barrelled shot-gun to a tiny air-pistol for
shooting flies on the walls of his sitting-room; he has swords, oars,
gymnastic paraphernalia - in fact, everything but boxing gloves. Arriving
at Duna Pentele early in the evening, before supper we swim for an hour
in the waters of the Danube. At 9.30 P.M. two of our little company board
the up-stream-bound steamer for the return home, and at ten o'clock we
are proposing to retire for the night, when lo, in come a half-dozen
gentlemen, among them Mr. Ujvarii, whose private wine-cellar is celebrated
all the country round, and who now proposes that we postpone going to
bed long enough to pay a short visit to his cellar and sample the
"finest wine in Hungary." This is an invitation not to be resisted by
ordinary mortals, and accordingly we accept, following the gentleman and
his friends through the dark streets of the village. Along the dark,
cool vault penetrating the hill-side Mr. Ujvarii leads the way between
long rows of wine-casks, heber* held in arm like a sword at dress parade.
The heber is first inserted into a cask of red wine, with a perfume and
flavor as agreeable as the rose it resembles in color, and carried, full,
to the reception end of the vault by the corpulent host with the stately
air of a monarch bearing his sceptre. After two rounds of the red wine,
two hebers of champagne are brought - champagne that plays a fountain of
diamond spray three inches above the glass. The following toast is
proposed by the host: "The prosperity and welfare of England, America,
and Hungary, three countries that are one in their love and appreciation
of sport and adventure." The Hungarians have all the Anglo-American love
of sport and adventure.* A glass combination of tube and flask, holding
about three pints, with an orifice at each end and the bulb or flask
near the upper orifice; the wine is sucked up into the flask with the
breath, and when withdrawn from the cask the index finger is held over
the lower orifice, from which the glasses are filled by manipulations
of the finger.

>From Budapest to Paks, about one hundred and twenty kilometres, the roads
are superior to anything I expected to find east of Germany; but the
thermometer clings around the upper regions, and everything is covered
with dust. Our route leads down the Danube in an almost directly southern
course.

Instead of the poplars of France, and the apples and pears of Germany,
the roads are now fringed with mulberry-trees, both raw and manufactured
silk being a product of this part of Hungary. My companion is what in
England or America would be considered a "character;" he dresses in the
thinnest of racing costumes, through which the broiling sun readily
penetrates, wears racing-shoes, and a small jockey-cap with an enormous
poke, beneath which glints a pair of "specs;" he has rat-trap pedals to
his wheel, and winds a long blue girdle several times around his waist,
consumes raw eggs, wine, milk, a certain Hungarian mineral water, and
otherwise excites the awe and admiration of his sport-admiring countrymen.
Igali's only fault as a road companion is his utter lack of speed, six
or eight kilometres an hour being his natural pace on average roads,
besides footing it up the gentlest of gradients and over all rough
stretches. Except for this little drawback, he is an excellent man to
take the lead, for he is a genuine Magyar, and orders the peasantry about
with the authoritative manner of one born to rule and tyrannize; sometimes,
when, the surface is uneven for wheeling, making them drive their clumsy
ox-wagons almost into the road-side ditch in order to avoid any possible
chance of difficulty in getting past. Igali knows four languages: French,
German, Hungarian, and Slavonian, but Anglaise nicht, though with what
little French and German I have picked up while crossing those countries
we manage to converse and understand each other quite readily, especially
as I am, from constant practice, getting to be an accomplished pantomimist,
and Igali is also a pantomimist by nature, and gifted with a versatility
that would make a Frenchman envious. Ere we have been five minutes at a
gasthaus Igali is usually found surrounded by an admiring circle of
leading citizens - not peasants; Igali would not suffer them to gather
about him - pouring into their willing ears the account of my journey;
the words, "San Francisco, Boston, London, Paris, Wien, Pesth, Belgrade,
Constantinople, Afghanistan, India, Khiva," etc., which are repeated in
rotation at wonderfully short intervals, being about all that my linguistic
abilities are capable of grasping. The road continues hard, but south
of Paks it becomes rather rough; consequently halts under the shade of
the mulberry-trees for Igali to catch up are of frequent occurrence.

The peasantry, hereabout, seem very kindly disposed and hospitable.
Sometimes, while lingering for Igali, they will wonder what I am stopping
for, and motion the questions of whether I wish anything to eat or drink;
and this afternoon one of them, whose curiosity to see how I mounted
overcomes his patience, offers me a twenty-kreuzer piece to show him.
At one village a number of peasants take an old cherry-woman to task for
charging me two kreuzers more for some cherries than it appears she
ought, and although two kreuzers are but a farthing they make quite a
squabble with the poor old woman about it, and will be soothed by neither
her voice nor mine until I accept another handful of cherries in lieu
of the overcharged two kreuzers.

Szekszard has the reputation, hereabout, of producing the best quality
of red wine in all Hungary - no small boast, by the way - and the hotel and
wine-gardens here, among them, support an excellent gypsy band of fourteen
pieces. Mr. Garay, the leader of the band, once spent nearly a year in
America, and after supper the band plays, with all the thrilling sweetness
of the Hungarian muse, "Home, sweet Home," "Yankee Doodle," and "Sweet
Violets," for my especial delectation.

A wheelman the fame of whose exploits has preceded him might as well try
to wheel through hospitable Hungary without breathing its atmosphere as
without drinking its wine; it isn't possible to taboo it as I tabooed
the vin ordinaire of France, Hungarians and Frenchmen being two entirely
different people. Notwithstanding music until 11.30 P.M., yesterday, we
are on the road before six o'clock this morning - for genuine, unadulterated
Hungarian music does not prevent one getting up bright and fresh next
day - and about noon we roll into Duna Szekeso, Igali's native town, where
we have decided to halt for the remainder of the day to get our clothing
washed, one of my shoes repaired, and otherwise prepare for our journey
to the Servian capital. Duna Szekeso is a calling-place for the Danube
steamers, and this afternoon I have the opportunity of taking observations
of a gang of Danubian roustabouts at their noontide meal. They are a
swarthy, wild-looking crowd, wearing long hair parted in the middle, or
not parted at all; to their national costume are added the jaunty trappings
affected by river men in all countries. Their food is coarse black bread
and meat, and they take turns in drinking wine from a wooden tube
protruding from a two-gallon watch-shaped cask, the body of which is
composed of a section of hollow log instead of staves, lifting the cask
up and drinking from the tube, as they would from the bung-hole of a
beer-keg. Their black bread would hardly suit the palate of the Western
world; but there are doubtless a few individuals on both sides of the
Atlantic who would willingly be transformed into a Danubian roustabout
long enough to make the acquaintance of yonder rude cask.

After bathing in the river we call on several of Igali's friends, among
them the Greek priest and his motherly-looking wife, Igali being of the
Greek religion. There appears to be the greatest familiarity between the
priests of these Greek churches and their people, and during our brief
visit the priest, languid-eyed, fat, and jolly, his equally fat and jolly
wife, and Igali, caress playfully, and cut up as many antics as three
kittens in a bay window. The farther one travels southward the more
amiable and affectionate in disposition the people seem to become.

Five o'clock next morning finds us wheeling out of Duna Szekeso, and
during the forenoon we pass through Baranyavar, a colony of Greek Hovacs,
where the women are robed in white drapery as scant as the statuary which
the name of their religion calls to memory. The roads to-day are variable;
there is little but what is ridable, but much that is rough and stony
enough to compel slow and careful wheeling. Early in the evening, as we
wheel over the bridge spanning the River Drave, an important tributary
of the Danube, into Eszek, the capital of Slavonia, unmistakable rain-
signs appear above the southern horizon.






CHAPTER VII.




THROUGH SLAVONIA AND SERVIA.

The editor of Der Drau, the semi-weekly official organ of the Slavonian
capital, and Mr. Freund, being the two citizens of Eszek capable of
speaking English, join voices at the supper-table in hoping it will rain
enough to compel us to remain over to-morrow, that they may have the
pleasure of showing us around Eszek and of inviting us to dinner and
supper; and Igali, I am constrained to believe, retires to his couch in
full sympathy with them, being possessed of a decided weakness for
stopping over and accepting invitations to dine. Their united wish is
gratified, for when we rise in the morning it is still raining. Eszek
is a fortified city, and has been in time past an important fortress.
It has lost much of its importance since the introduction of modern arms,
for it occupies perfectly level ground, and the fortifications consist
merely of large trenches that have been excavated and walled, with a
view of preventing the city from being taken by storm - not a very
overshadowing consideration in these days, when the usual mode of procedure
is to stand off and bombard a city into the conviction that further
resistance is useless. After dinner the assistant editor of Der Drau
comes around and pilots us about the city and its pleasant environments.
The worthy assistant editor is a sprightly, versatile Slav, and, as
together we promenade the parks and avenues, the number and extent of
which appear to be the chief glory of Eszek, the ceaseless flow of
language and wellnigh continuous interchange of gesticulations between
himself and Igali are quite wonderful, and both of them certainly ought
to retire to-night far more enlightened individuals than they found
themselves this morning.

The Hungarian seems in a particularly happy and gracious mood to-day,
as I instinctively felt certain he would be if the fates decreed against
a continuation of our journey. When our companion' s conversation turns
on any particularly interesting subject I am graciously given the benefit
of it to the extent of some French or German word the meaning of which,
Igali has discovered, I understand. During the afternoon we wander through
the intricacies of a yew-shrub maze, where a good-sized area of impenetrably
thick vegetation has been trained and trimmed into a bewildering net-work
of arched walks that almost exclude the light, and Igali pauses to favor
me with the information that this maze is the favorite trysting place
of Slavonian nymphs and swains, and furthermore expresses his opinion
that the spot must be indeed romantic and an appropriate place to "come
a-wooin' " on nights when the moonbeams, penetrating through a thousand
tiny interspaces, convert the gloomy interior into chambers of dancing
light and shadow. All this information and these comments are embodied
in the two short words, "Amour, lima" accompanied by a few gesticulations,
and is a fair sample of the manner in which conversation is carried on
between us. It is quite astonishing how readily two persons constantly
together will come to understand each other through the medium of a few
words which they know the meaning of in common. Scores of ladies and
gentlemen, the latter chiefly military officers, are enjoying a promenade
in the rain-cooled atmosphere, and there is no mistaking the glances of
interest with which many of them favor-Igali. His pronounced sportsmanlike
make-up attracts universal attention and causes everybody to mistake him
for myself - a kindly office which I devoutly wish he would fill until the
whole journey is accomplished. In the Casino garden a dozen bearded
musicians are playing Slavonian airs, and, by request of the assistant
editor, they play and sing the Slavonian national anthem and a popular
air or two besides. The national musical instrument of Slavonia is the
"tamborica"-a small steel-stringed instrument that is twanged with a
chip-like piece of wood. Their singing is excellent in its way, but to
the writer's taste there is no comparison between their tamboricas and
the gypsy music of Hungary. There are no bicycles in all Eszek save ours -
though Mr. Freund, who has lately returned from Paris, has ordered one,
with which he expects to win the admiration of all his countrymen - and
Igali and myself are lionized to our hearts' content; but this evening
we are quite startled and taken aback by the reappearance of the assistant
editor, excitedly announcing the arrival of a tricycle in town. Upon
going down, in breathless anticipation of summarily losing the universal
admiration of Eszek, we find an itinerant cobbler, who has constructed
a machine that would make the rudest bone-shaker of ancient memory seem
like the most elegant product of Hartford or Coventry in comparison. The
backbone and axle-tree are roughly hewn sticks of wood, ironed equally
rough at the village blacksmith's; and as, for a twenty-kreuzer piece,
the rider mounts and wobbles all over the sidewalk for a short distance,
the spectacle would make a stoic roar with laughter, and the good people
of the Lower Danubian provinces are anything but stoical. Six o'clock
next morning finds us travelling southward into the interior of Slavonia;
but we are not mounted, for the road presents an unridable surface of
mud, stones, and ruts, that causes my companion's favorite ejaculatory
expletive to occur with more than its usual frequency. For a portion of
the way there is a narrow sidepath that is fairly ridable, but an
uninvitingly deep ditch runs unpleasantly near, and no amount of persuasion
can induce my companion to attempt wheeling along it. Igali's bump of
cautiousness is fully developed, and day by day, as we journey together,
I am becoming more and more convinced that he would be an invaluable
companion to have accompany one around the world; true, the journey would
occupy a decade, or thereabout, but one would be morally certain of
coming out safe and sound in the end. During our progression southward
there has been a perceptible softening in the disposition of the natives,
this being more noticeably a marked characteristic of the Slavonians;
the generous southern sun, shining on the great area of Oriental gentleness,
casts a softening influence toward the sterner north, imparting to the
people amiable and genial dispositions. It takes but comparatively small
deeds to win the admiration and applause of the natives of the Lower
Danube, with their childlike manners; and, by slowly meandering along
the roadways of Southern Hungary occasionally with his bicycle, Igali
has become the pride and admiration of thousands.

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