Part 2 — A LADY'S JOURNEY IN MOLDAVIA.

I am going to describe a journey I made across Moldavia in 1863. Determined to leave the dust and malaria behind us for a time, we set out from Galatz one beautiful morning in the summer of the year 1863, in search of the cooler air which blows on the western side of the Carpathians. A village of the Siebenbürgen, near the old town of Kronstadt, was our destination. Early in the morning we prepared to start—two ladies, two nurses, and four children; all resigned to the absolute control and guidance of Herr F——, our dragoman and courier; a little round bustling man, speaking every European language with the ease of a not particularly refined native; literally splendid in theory and fertility of resource while any plan was under discussion, though hardly equal to himself in a practical emergency.

It was already dark when we arrived at the town of Tekoutch. After a good deal of waiting and difficulty, the Herr succeeded in procuring for us the shelter of two flea-haunted chambers at the top of a steep ladder. Whether this place was the principal hotel of Tekoutch or only one of the Herr's failures, I cannot say. All four children were sleepy, hungry, hot, and unhappy. Oh! for milk to make a refreshing drink for the poor sick baby, who was wailing so piteously! Our repeated calls brought upon the scene a hag—a hag who would have been invaluable in melodrama, but whose presence in the actual state of affairs superadded active terror to the passive discomfort of the children. Her upper-country Moldavian was hardly intelligible, and she quite refused to understand our modes of expressing ourselves. But constant reiteration of the substantive 'Milk,' in every language and dialect known to us, was at last so far successful that we procured a small quantity of a curious gray fluid mixed with fine sand, which the poor little ones were too sleepy to judge critically; and we had soon the satisfaction of seeing them asleep on the divans with their nurses beside them. Before daybreak we were all awake, and renewing the struggle with the hag for the necessary provision of milk, to which she was good enough to add a few cups of black coffee. We removed such traces of yesterday's dust as we could, by dipping the corners of our towels in glasses of water. The Roumanian peasant's idea of washing is so different from ours that it is almost impossible to make them understand one's requirements in that respect. A jar of water, a friend to hold the jar, and standing-room in the open air, are his requisites. He stands bent well forward, to avoid the splashes, while the friend pours a little water—a very little—into his hollowed hands. These he rubs together, then holds them out for a second supply, with which he moistens the region immediately round his nose. The whole process requires a certain amount of skill and dexterity, to which the results are hardly commensurate.

Before five A.M. we were on the road again. Our way lay through a very pleasant region, and we suffered much less from heat and dust than the day before. The country was undulating and less uniform. The roads were real roads, not mere tracks through the fields, or across the steppe. The wheat and barley were luxuriant all round; and great fields of mustard in full bloom made patches of a yellow, perfectly dazzling in its brightness. As we approached the higher country we came on large tracts of grazing-land soft and rich: trees were scattered about—oak, hornbeam, lime, and wild cherry, with an occasional birch or pine. Thorn and rose bushes, tall as trees, shook showers of blossom around. There were groups of feathery tamarisk, clusters of Guelder-rose, and bowers of white clematis thrown from shrub to shrub. The roadside was a garden of wild-flowers; tall spikes bearing alternate rings of deep purple leaves and the brightest of yellow blossoms, blue chichory, rose-coloured pea-blossom, sweet-williams, and aromatic herbs that filled the air with their perfume. A Roumanian cottage is generally a pleasant resting-place in the heat of summer; the roof of reed-thatch, or oak-shingle, projects so far as to shade the whole cottage, and within are whitewashed walls, and cushioned divans covered with rugs of thick home-made cloth, woven in brightly coloured stripes.

In the little inn at Domnul where we next arrived we laid down the children to take siesta; and by four next morning we were astir again and eager to set out, as we knew that a few hours' driving would bring us to the Oïtos Pass, of the beauties of which we had heard so much. By half-past five we were off. The country got more lovely at every step. Low wooded hills rose in front; the glens, between, highly cultivated, though uneven and rugged in places. The road was terraced along the side of an abrupt slope: the driver of the baggage wagon managed to get a wheel on the bank, and over went the wagon, boxes and bundles rolling pell-mell down the hill. An hour's work, not without much vocal accompaniment, put all to rights, and our caravan was again in motion. Many brooks made their way down from the hills, and we had to cross numerous wooden bridges, for the most part in a very sad state of repair. Here a plank was missing, and a hole yawning under the horses' feet, shewed the foaming water beneath; there another rose and tilted up as the horses trod on the end. But the steady little animals never flinched; they picked their footing as mules would have done, and so we passed in safety. At noon our rest only lasted half an hour, and soon after starting we came to the Roumanian guard-house at the entrance of the pass. We were joined at this point by two Austrian soldiers, who accompanied us on horseback through the pass, bringing up the rear of our procession.

On all sides of us the steep, richly wooded hills rose abruptly; higher mountains shewing their snowy caps at intervals as the gorge opened up the distant view. Here, there, and everywhere roared and brawled the little river; now narrow as a winding thread, deep, below the road, which crossed and recrossed it by means of bridges, the safe passing of which seemed each time a fresh miracle; now widening in gleaming shallows, as from time to time the glen spread itself out to hold a little village. Each separate patch of gray rock contained its homestead; white cottages, with dark, quaintly carved, and pinnacled shingle-roofs, overshadowed by orchard trees or festooned with trailing vines. The population seemed to live in the water; men were fishing in the pools, women beating the linen on the flat rocks, or spreading the webs to bleach in the sunshine; while the children waded about in their one short garment, or bathed, diving plunging and chasing each other like veritable troops of 'water-babies.' What a handsome race they were, those Roumans of the Carpathians! Those we met on the road passed us with a courteous greeting, and went on their way; the women in their long white garments, drawn in at the waist by a broad brass-studded leather belt; the many coloured fringe, which fell straight, almost to their ankles, opening here and there as they walked to shew glimpses of the white below. Their feet were bare or covered by moccasins of undressed leather. Over their coils of plaited hair lay a square of embroidered linen, from one corner of which a coin hung over the forehead, and more coins formed earrings and rows of necklaces. The men wore a great loose white blouse, a studded belt, broader and heavier than those of the women, in which were stuck knives, daggers, and heavy pistols. On their feet were either moccasins or boots high above the knee. Their long uncut hair hung over their shoulders; and, twisted round their broad hats were ribbons of the national colours—red, blue, and yellow.

The ascent at first was gradual, but our horses being tired, we all walked for several hours. The soft rich beauty of the glen increased at each moment; hill rose above hill, covered with the mellow green of the young fir shoots, each tree bearing the golden red crown of last year's cones. The hanging birches with their silver stems swept over slopes smooth as a lawn, save where here and there the bold gray rock cropped out. Little glens ran up the mountain sides, scented with wild thyme, which overpowered even the fragrance of birch and fir. An hour before sunset we reached a large village the name of which I have forgotten. Here were more guard-houses, and difficulties about examining our baggage. As we were anxious to avoid this scrutiny, we administered a gratuity to the guards, who speedily became our friends; but as we were preparing to resume our journey an unfortunate difficulty arose.

The Herr announced to us after half an hour's search, that no horses were to be procured. 'Then we had better remain here for the night,' we decided at once. But no. The Herr had undertaken us, and he alone must have an opinion. We felt that he knew the country, and that we did not, and gave way, though unwillingly, on his assurance that less than twenty minutes would bring us to the Austrian frontier, where we would be sure to find fresh horses. So we reluctantly reseated ourselves. The horses had been at work since early morning, and were utterly exhausted, crawling at a foot's pace. The shades were gathering deeper and deeper around us; the ground rose much more rapidly than before; the road in some places was so bad as to be almost impassable; worst opposite a tablet let into the rock, which informed the grateful traveller, in letters of gold and in choice Latin, how Prince Alexander Ghyka had made and finished it in 1855. The Herr's twenty minutes had lengthened to an hour or more when we reached a narrow treeless gorge, the heights crowned on either side by half-ruined fortress towers, while grim loop-holed modern walls ran down to meet in an immense gateway, whose shut doors barred our path. To the left, a small plateau of green turf bordered the crag overhanging the stream, which now held its rapid course many feet below us.

Our arrival was an event. The guardian of the pass was fat, fussy, and important, and quite deaf to any representations of our anxiety to proceed. Had we anything to declare? No; certainly not. No tea? No. Nor tobacco? No. But then it struck him that there must be some tobacco for present use among our drivers; so a strict personal search was made; the tobacco-pouches were emptied, and their contents thrown over the crag. We were injudicious enough to remonstrate, as we would willingly have paid something to allow the poor men to keep their tobacco; and this seemed to determine our douanier to display his authority to the full, for soon the sward was strewn with our possessions, which included bedding, provisions, and books, as well as the clothing of the whole party. The men must have had a dull time of it in this lonely mountain fort, to judge from their excitement at the display of our goods. At last we seized a packet of tapioca and implored the great man to pass it and the nurses and children, that they might find rest and refreshment beyond the gates. To this, after a very critical scrutiny, he consented; and we despatched them to look for a krishma beyond the boundary.

When we had satisfied the douanier and seen such order as was possible restored to our luggage, we followed, and found them installed in a miserably dirty little place, where the children of the family, who were crowding round, looked so evidently ill, that, fearing something infectious, we were constrained to hurry the preparation of the tapioca, and go out again to the open air. At last the Herr appeared, and had to confess his failure. We ought to have passed the night at the village we had left two hours before; to pass it here was impossible.

'We must feed the horses and push on,' said the Herr; 'it is not an hour's drive.'

Alas! we were beginning to understand but too well what the Herr's 'hours' were like. But the night was mild and pleasant, though already dark; and having arranged beds for the children among the cushions, we continued our journey with a briskness on the part of both drivers and horses which was wonderful after the hard day's work they had gone through. There was just light enough from the stars to shew us the dangerous nature of the road, which rose in rapid zigzags. There was no parapet, and the little river ran below at a depth which increased at every turn. The heavy travelling-carriage seemed to drag back the horses, and the drivers of the wagons had to stop and push it up. At last we reached the top; but it was two o'clock before we reached Bereck. All the inhabitants were asleep; but the people of the krishma, after we had roused them, received us very hospitably, and busied themselves in attending to our comforts. It was late next morning when we resumed our journey, and we were now able to perceive that the scene had a beauty of its own—that of vast extent. Nowhere have I seen a wider horizon, and yet hills closed it in all round, but at a great distance. The plain over which we were passing formed a vast amphitheatre, and the eye took in at one sweep at least a dozen villages, all widely apart from each other. The roads were as excellent as, under Austrian management, they always are. Good horses were to be found at all the posting-houses; and by the middle of the following day we had approached the mountains which bounded the other side of the plain, and found ourselves at our journey's end.