Snowflakes on the Danube

Dominion, Volume 27, Issue 70, 15 December 1933, Page 13 (Supplement)

Snowflakes on the Danube

YULETIDE IN BUDAPEST

Quaint Enchanting Customs

{By

Lois La Trobe.)

Christmas Eve in Hungary, the snow falling thick and fast on the twinkling city of Budapest, with its colour and laughter and quaint, enchanting customs, ... A young Wellingtonian, recently returned from abroad, paints a pen-picture of a Central European community, where the season of Noel is observed in the traditional manner.

BJT is snowing in Hungary ii ?! tlie month of December. Tht j! day is Christmas Eve. ExciteA inent has been brewing all ! i the month, and has now leapt )! into breathless' expectancy 24 with the first fall of snow. Feast days are kept with child-like devotion and an enthusiasm which time has not yet been able to extinguish. Germany is the recognised home of Christmas trees, and Hungary is near enough to have caught the knack of making them. She has also caught fire on her own account with the rapture of noel. It appeals, the whole story, to the romantic, eternally youthful, pleasure-eager minds of the magyar people. It is snowing, and has been for three days. Towns and countrysides are becoming more and more etheareal, more and more tense with every falling flake. The stage is setting to behold the mystery and love of the Birth of the Saviour. Not a breath moves a leaf in a sparkling countryside, and not a ripple stirs the surface of the Danube. Budapest lies whitely spread. It seems that the city waits-with open arms, and an acquiescent heart, for the miracle which was promised. Sounds are muffled in the streets, and men with birch brooms sweep busily to free the pavements from the

in steadily encroaching snow. The shop ie windows look extremely gay. In many e- are to be seen the same decoration. A 11 scheme of scarlet, black and white. >t “Kis Nicholas’’ with white beards, all y dressed in scarlet and shiny black leggings, make a bewildering array, h Sweets in scarlet wrappers are n lavishly spread—and little children *- stare through the glass, pointing with d small insistent fingers. >’ Occasionally a sleigh passes, cone trusting with the slowly-moving cars, 0 tinkling its bells merrily. In Andrassy - 1 Utca, one of the most beautiful streets e in Pest, the trees of the chestnut f avenue stand black and stark, softened e only by the rim of white trimming on the upper side of their out-stretched B limbs. The birds roost there at night. e Fluffy sparrows perch there in liun- ’ dreds, small dark blobs on the naked branches. They amuse one somehow,* these small waifs of nature, waiting 3 for winter to be gone. ’ The children are in a fever of expuc- ’ tation. Rich children come chattering past holding tight to mother’s hand, t with rosy faces shining out of their white fur caps. Even the little street ‘ urchins have their fun. They dress up as wise men and shopherds and in a cart they draw a wooden stable with J a babe within. On the street they , enact for filler the happening of the first Christmas Eve. They sing in husky child voices which tug at the , heart so that you must listen. Now and then along the pavement comes a gypsy woman—a woman of sixteen with a bold merry glance a«d swinging skirt. Her dark hair is tangled across her gleaming eyes. She ' will tell you of your riches, your lover, and your travels in a voice, with laugh- ' ter in it. It is always a deep husky voice lightened by the birds* note of freedom. There are chestnut women too, who seem to stand out vhjjlly on Christmas Eve. They have their seat at every street - corner, and before them is their round iron stove on the top of which are chestnuts, bristling, hot, and sweet. For ten filler you will get five or six, and these you eat as you walk on, dropping the shells in the gutter carelessly. The hurrying crowds are all very busily shopping. There is much to be done. Housewives and husbands, lovers and grandparents, vagrants and counts, all join in the bustle.

A good dinner must be prepared; a very good dinner. With turkey, sweet sauces, garnishiugs of tempting delicacy. fruits preserved since last year, of an irresistible sweetness, tarts and sweet cakes must be concocted, besides the special Christmas cake made of poppy seeds. There is wine to be got too—sparkling wine of the hills; dark rich wine of the sun-soaked valleys, and the champagne which combines in its draught the spirit of pleasure which sways the childish hearts of these peasants.

As darkness deepens lights pop out jauntily. 'The slim bridges binding new am] fashionable Pest to romantic , old Buda on the hill, are alive with traffic. Everyone is going home, laden and joyful. So many faces smile. Strangers greet one another, and wishes are tossed generously from count to peasant. The unbounded generosity and loving kindness of the race has a chance to-night to leap into labours of love, whispered preparations, and hopes of another’s pleasure. The snow flakes whirl faster, making the lamps fuzzy and luminous, the river rolls so slowly as to be scarcely moving. Buses run merrily over the bridges. The whole world is softly luminous. The King’s Palace from the top of the Buda will gleam with a hundred windows on to the city. All along the banks of the river the avenues where the fashionable world usually lingers are pulsing with lights. It is a fairyland. Later the people are all going to bed. Lights appear and disappear, playing tricks in upstairs windows, while shadows disport themselves on blinds and walls. The city sleeps an innocent sleep of expectation for the joy of Christmas Day. Now come and peep with me into a village household. We will put the clock back, as is possible in imagination, and so we arrive at about live o’clock on the day before Christmas. There is a river called the Sio which runs into the lake Batalon, Europe’s largest Palso. On the Sio is the village of Siofoly which exists from year to year in a contentment which is only disturbed by birth, death and marriage —feast days and holiday. The house into which we are going to peep is set in its small pine wood. L

It is a house built after the style of English houses, because the master has an admiration for England. To-night there is a ghostly beauty in the sunset. A round red sphere drops behind the pines, casting a gleam on the white road as of blood. In the windows of this house there are wax candles shining, brave small beacons of cheer to the traveller. Let us go closer. Now we hear music, and when we at last press our cold noses to the pale glass we see the room within, and. as our eyes take in the scene they are held by the figures of four gypsies who cluster round the stove. It is a kitchen. Gloaming copper dresses all the walls in culinary utensils. The

table is laden with bowls and jars, foi the cooking is in process in honour ol next day. Julie, the cook, is pounding butter and eggs, her short rounded arms twinkling, her kerchiefed head nodding as her shoulders lift and fall. She is smiling. The other servants are listening to the gypsies. They tap their feet, beat time, jerk and sway tlieir bodies in their own inimitable way, while the music tickles the fancy, making one’s own feet tap. All at once a bell is rung through from the mistress of the house. The gypsies swing up their bows, drop their fiddles and cluster nearer the stove, chattering together. The servants, headed by cook, go in a quaint procession through the door. Come on, we must see where they go. The tail of Ilonka’s kerchief twinkles down the dark passage. Another door opens and shuts, we are in the great lounge hall. There a tall china stove gleams brightly, red with its square greedy mouth. It seems also alive and expectant. By the windows stands the tree. It is a beautiful shape. Not too large, not too small, but just right. Tapering from its sturdy base, to a pointing finger surmounted by a cross. It is hung with sweets, baubles, many candles, and draped with silver snow.

■ All around on neighbouring small tables the gifts are spread. The • simple, kindly master of the house stands near with his handsome wife, and sweet daughter. They are smiling as the servants enter, and then the mistress presents the shuffling row in turn with gifts. There is mtich handkissing, and subdued longing' to open the parcels. When .all the gifts are distributed everyone sings the National Anthem. This is done very gravely. Love of country is strong in all Magyar hearts. And now since their beautiful country has been divided and snatched away since, the war, there is much sadness and longing, though hope trembles in the mind of everyone. The master has tears in his eyes. The little kitchen maid looks solemn as an owl, while cook seems to be thinking of her oven, and the sweetmeats which await her attention. Ou the last note there is silence, then the servants are dismissed. As the door closes again on the tail of Ilonka’s kerchief, the family turns and smiles and thanks each other, kiss hands, and lips, and open their gifts. We must stop peeping as they sit and wait for midnight, the Christ Child and the joy of to-morrow.