CHAPTER XIII
The blessing of the waters: a picturesque ceremony--Diving for the cross--Baptising the Jew--The child rain-makers; a charming custom--How I watered the human plants--The peasants celebrate the sowing of the seed.
In the month of January a very curious ceremony takes place, the blessing of the waters--that is, of all the rivers of Roumania. A similar ceremony is performed in Russia, so it probably owes its origin to the Greek Church.
A very smart pavilion, decorated with a profusion of gay flags, is erected for the occasion on the bank of the Dimbovitza, the river on which Bucarest is built.
On the morning of the appointed day, crowds throng the streets dressed in their best, expectancy depicted on every face. Roumanians love shows of every kind and would not miss one for anything. The crowd becomes denser as one approaches the pavilion, and it is with difficulty that the soldiers manage to keep a passage clear for the arrival of the royal family.
The approach of the King is announced by a fanfare of trumpets, and as the Court carriage dashes up to the entrance of the pavilion every neck is craned to catch a glimpse of his Majesty, who is accompanied by his suite, and sometimes by other members of the royal family.
After the reception of the King by the Metropolitan, the religious service begins with the intoning of the prayers. These can only be heard by those in the near vicinity, but the singing by the choir is audible for a long distance in the clear frosty air. When a certain stage of the proceedings is reached, the Metropolitan invokes the blessing on the waters of Roumania, at the same time casting a large wooden cross into the river. This is the cue for what is the great event of the day for many people. Large numbers of men and boys who have been waiting in eager anticipation instantly dive after the cross (the river is not very deep at this point), and the lucky person who succeeds in gaining possession of it and bringing it ashore is rewarded by the King with a hundred-franc note (£4). The spectacle of the poor wretch emerging shivering from the icy water makes one feel, especially when the snow is on the ground and a keen wind blowing, that he has well earned the money.
Woe to the unlucky Jew who ventures to linger in the neighbourhood of the Dimbovitza on this particular morning. Should he be remarked by the crowd the chances are that he too will be sent to seek the cross in the waters of the river. This “baptising of the Jew” is a time-honoured ceremony.
A very curious custom is observed when, as is frequently the case in summer, rain is badly needed. A band of children go into the woods and array themselves from head to foot in verdure. Chains and garlands of green are wound around their bodies. Crowns and wreaths of foliage, quaintly and artistically conceived, surround their heads. Even bunches of grass are disposed about them. Save their little brown faces, nothing which is not verdant can be seen.
When they come rushing into your courtyard it is as though a little Birnam Wood were bent on coming to Dunsinane. However, they soon prove to have peaceful business on hand, for they form up in the courtyard and perform a singularly weird and impressive dance. When this is ended your turn comes, for you must go amongst them armed with watering pots, and even jugs of water, and liberally besprinkle the little rain-makers. I was reluctant at first to wet the children, but they appeared to enjoy it so much, shaking themselves delightedly when a deluge more copious than usual descended upon them, that I soon forgot my scruples and plied my watering pot with enthusiasm. Then the little moving bundles of green scrambled for a few handfuls of _bani_, and ran off to the next house to repeat their performance. Had we failed to water them well their mission as rain-makers would have been less likely to prove successful.
On a day in early spring the peasants of the surrounding country make high holiday in honour of the sowing of the seed. The form the celebration takes is a visit to the capital, which, indeed, seems to be practically given over to them for the day. From early morn the holiday-makers stream into the city, their teams of oxen and their waggons profusely decorated with gay flowers and green branches, affording a pretty spectacle. The peasant himself is in gala attire, and never forgets to have a flower behind his ear, as he may meet in the town a damsel comelier than those he left behind in the country.
The rustic visitors promenade the principal streets with their teams amidst much noise and laughter and the incessant cracking of whips. They are always pleased to accept any small gift offered to them, and it must be said of them that the festivity is never marred by drunkenness or license. After a modest glass of _țuica_ they wend their way homewards, reckoning up the profits of the day and anxious to relate to those who have remained at home the story of their adventures.