CHAPTER XXVIII

A delightful equestrian excursion--We leave Sinaia in order to witness the sunrise from Omul--Midnight in the forest, and the ghostly hours before the dawn--Gathering edelweiss whilst we await the sunrise--A glorious spectacle--The coveted province spread out before our eyes--An equestrian quadrille on the summit of Omul--The guest-house of the monastery--On the homeward way--We descend the Jeppi on foot and meet with unexpected difficulties--Danger follows upon danger--A dreadful night on a mountain peak--Excitement at Sinaia--Triumphant return of the “heroes” and “heroines.”

A party of us, twenty in number including guides, set out on horseback one evening from Sinaia in order to ascend the Omul and view the sunrise next morning. The moon was just then at the full, and, as our way led by a very steep pathway up the mountain, we could catch glimpses from time to time of Sinaia with its twinkling lights far below. About 1.30 a.m. we stopped to rest the horses, the guides (who were really only horse keepers) made a roaring fire, and we feasted royally on tea and cozonak.

It was sheer delight to sit there and drink in the pure mountain air, and the delight was enhanced by the eerie feeling induced by the solemnity of the hour (when it is said we are nearest the unseen), and by the awe-inspiring influences of the vast silent forest which surrounded us on every side. After a time we broke the spell, and songs and jests went merrily round. We were loth to resume our journey, but we knew that the sun would not wait for us, so the order to march was at last reluctantly given. The guides started to gather in our horses, which had been hobbled near at hand, but mine could not be found. Search was made in every direction, but all in vain--the horse was not to be found. At length one of the gentlemen of the party kindly offered to lend me his mount with the proviso that it should be returned to him when mine was recovered, as his was such a fast trotter. To this I willingly agreed, so off we started again, leaving a guide to recover the lost horse, which I may at once say he did later on. Just at 3 a.m. we arrived at the summit of the Omul, the highest peak in the Carpathians. I felt cold at such a height, although I was well wrapped up in a fur coat. Until his majesty the sun deigned to make his appearance we occupied ourselves in gathering edelweiss, which grew there profusely. It is very highly prized, chiefly I think because of its inaccessibility, growing as it does only at such altitudes; but to my mind it is by no means a pretty flower. Indeed, edelweiss always suggests to me flowers cut out of a piece of grey flannel.

As the supreme moment drew near for the rising of the sun, we were enjoined to fix our eyes on a certain bank of grey cloud, and not to lose sight of it for a single instant. We obeyed, and in a few seconds a tiny crimson line appeared above the bank of cloud. This line gradually grew broader and broader as the sun rose higher, giving one the impression that some great being was behind it pushing it further and further up. Finally, the glorious sun in all his beauty shook himself free from the cloud trammels and flooded the surrounding peaks with radiant light.

The view from the Omul is altogether glorious. The whole province of Transylvania with its lovely valleys, lakes, and winding streams is spread out before one’s eyes--that province so long coveted by the Roumanians, which they have now justly secured for their own.

After a slight refreshment, for which the keen mountain air had given us an appetite, we again mounted our horses in order to proceed to the monastery at which we were to dine. Again one of the horses was missing (this very often happens on these excursions), so, whilst waiting till the guide found it, the rest of us formed up on horseback to go through a quadrille. These country horses are very wiry and are splendid for travelling in the mountains, but graceful they are not. Their awkward movements, as we tried to induce them to go forward, then to retire, were so comical that we could scarcely retain our seats, we laughed so much.

When the missing pony was at last found, and we had calmed down a little, we resumed our journey. Some stiff climbing, a good gallop over undulating country, the fording of a few shallow rivers (nearly all the rivers in Roumania are shallow), and we arrived at our destination. How glad we were to bathe hands and faces in the little brook that babbled along through the fields, then to rest ourselves luxuriously on the wide verandah of the guest-house, knowing that pretty soon our appetites would be satisfied with the simple fare of the monks!

As visitors are only expected during the summer months, the accommodation is of the most primitive kind. A tolerably large room is given up to the guests, well furnished with plenty of hay, in which to pass the night. Ladies sleep at one end, gentlemen at the other; and really, after a day’s hard riding one sleeps very well amongst the hay, and is even thankful to have it. On this particular occasion, however, we only remained for dinner, which was served on rough wooden tables (minus tablecloths), whilst we sat round on equally rough wooden benches. The fare was simple, but we enjoyed it thoroughly. The inevitable _mamaliga_, sour cabbage, eggs and _yaort_, a kind of thick preserved milk, formed the principal dishes of the repast. After many expressions of our grateful thanks to the monks who had so kindly entertained us, and after offering a trifling gift to the church, we started on the return journey, hoping to arrive in Sinaia about 7 o’clock p.m.

But man proposes, God disposes. The old lesson was taught us again. It had been decided by the gentleman in charge of the expedition (who claimed to have an intimate acquaintance with the mountains) that we should descend the Jeppi on foot, and so, after two or three hours’ ride from the monastery, we dismounted, and the horses were led back by another route. Two of our so-called guides came with us to help us in the descent, but what a descent! We had first to cross a grassy slope in order to reach a spur of the mountain from which the real descent began. The short grass had been made so slippery by the heat of the sun that it was with great difficulty we could keep our feet; indeed, at one time some of us were reduced to crawling upon our hands and knees. From the edge of this grassy slope there was a sheer descent of very many feet. A false step would have meant, if not actual death, certainly a broken limb.

Our relief was great when the dangerous stage of our journey was passed (as we thought) and we arrived on the peak of the mountain for which we had been aiming. But what was our horror to find that our situation was as bad as before, if not worse! Imagine twenty people crowded together on an outstanding spur of the mountain, that terrible grassy slope behind us, and before us even worse conditions. At the first glance I thought it would be a sheer impossibility to descend on foot, and that nothing but a balloon could rescue us from the situation if we refused to return as we had come. From where we stood the mountain seemed to fall away directly beneath us, nothing intervening between us and the beginning of the wooded slopes far below but huge boulders that it seemed utterly impossible to get over or get around. What were we to do? After much discussion, it was decided that one of the gentlemen should act as pioneer and discover if the descent was practicable. He was to hail us if he reached the forest in safety. Mr B----, who had a reputation for athletics to sustain, was obviously the man for the task, and he set off willingly, our fears for his safety being perhaps intensified by our anxiety for our own.

After what seemed an interminable time, a cheery cry reached us from amongst the distant trees, and no further time was lost in arranging our own departure. We went--as the animals are said to have entered the Ark--two by two, in this case a lady and a gentleman together. A considerable distance was maintained between each couple, as the danger from displaced boulders was great. It was a horribly difficult and a really dangerous descent, and it took a long time for us all to reach the head of the Jeppi in safety. But so far from our troubles being over, it seemed as though they had only just begun. The darkness was so great on the wooded mountain that it would have been highly dangerous to even attempt to continue our way without more guides. The moon was just at the full, but no ray of light penetrated the thick foliage by which we were surrounded. To add to our troubles, one of the ladies of the party lost the use of her limbs through sheer fright; she could literally not stand on her feet. In this dilemma it was decided that one of our guides should descend to Poiana Țapuliu, the nearest village, and send up more guides and a horse. Our situation was far from enviable, as we huddled together against a shelving bank at the foot of which ran the narrow pathway leading to the valley below. We were afraid to move, enveloped as we were in thick darkness, and having been warned that a sheer descent of unknown depth lay at the other side of the path. As the time dragged slowly on, we wondered what the people in Sinaia were thinking about us. Some of the livelier spirits tried to cheer up the party with song, but without much success. One restless young fellow would insist on moving about on the narrow pathway, to the terror of his sister, and indeed of us all, as we feared he would stumble in the darkness and fall over the precipice. Finally, to our great delight, voices were heard in the distance and lights began to twinkle. It was the guides who had come to rescue us, each one with a blazing torch.

It was with great difficulty that the order of descent could be arranged, as so little space was available. However, at length the lady who was incapacitated was safely seated in the saddle, with a guide to lead the horse; the other members of the party, each one with a guide to lean on, fell in behind, and we slowly began the descent. What a journey that was! Shall I ever forget it? Stumbling over the thick undergrowth, slipping on patches of frozen snow, only kept from falling and rolling down the mountain by a frenzied grip on the guide’s arm: it was a wonder that no further accident happened. But none did, and eventually we all arrived safe and sound at the base of the mountain, there to be received like so many heroes and heroines. The whole population of Poiana Țapuliu was astir, bonfires had been lighted, and carriages were in waiting to drive us back to Sinaia.

Instead of reaching there at 7 p.m. as had been intended, we arrived between 1 and 2 a.m. The excitement was great; all sorts of rumours had been afloat as to what had happened to us when we did not appear at the hour appointed. As a friend told me afterwards, the road between Sinaia and Poiana Țapuliu had never been so animated--carriages passing to and fro, cyclists and foot-passengers, all anxious for news of the missing party. Sinaia is a small place, and such long excursions in the mountain are of rare occurrence; and besides, the members of the party belonged to the best-known families in Roumania. Fortunately, there were no bad results from our expedition. Even the lady who suffered from temporary disablement was quite restored to health after a few days’ rest. It was the principal guide who came in for the greatest amount of blame, as it was considered by expert mountaineers a very risky proceeding indeed to bring ladies down by the Jeppi.

None of us were likely to forget our experience that night; but as nothing very untoward happened, we were able to laugh about it all later on.

Since then I have made many excursions in the Carpathians: twice have I been on the Omul, several times on the Caraiman (where we were overtaken once on the summit by a snowstorm and were able to pelt each other with snowballs), but never have I had such an adventure as that of the Jeppi.

Before leaving the subject of the Omul, which, by the way, means “The Man,” I shall briefly relate the legend connected with it. It appears that a shepherd called Marco had the temerity to aspire to the hand of his master’s daughter. As he was a good, faithful fellow, and the daughter herself favoured his suit, the master agreed to give his consent to the marriage on condition that the shepherd would ascend the Omul and there spend the winter. The shepherd at once consented, and at the beginning of winter he made all his preparations for a long absence. He left his flocks in the care of his friends in Sinaia, then put into his knapsack some maize, cheese, and a few bottles of _țuica_. When all his arrangements were made, he went to the monastery to burn a candle to St Dimitri and to kiss the holy ikons, after which he set out to make the ascent of the Omul, accompanied only by his dog. As he neared the summit snow began to fall heavily, but still he hurried on. At last the goal was reached and he found himself on the lofty summit. There was no sign of animal life--the bears and other animals had all sought the warmer air of the regions below.

Although no shelter was to be had on the summit of the rock, still, as the legend runs, the man and dog survived throughout the bitter winter.

With the coming of spring, the young shepherds, Marco’s companions, decided to climb to the summit of the mountain and discover how he had fared. Very joyously they set out, each one with his primitive instrument of music. As they approached the summit their delight was great on seeing the dog run to meet them, but alas! there was no sign of the dog’s master.

When the summit was gained, however, they caught sight of Marco standing on a rock, living, breathing, but incapable of movement. His companions called him by name. He recognised them and strove to approach them, but his limbs failed him and he fell to the base of the rock on which he had been standing. When his friends reached the spot they stood sorrowfully around him. He spoke but a word to them, and then died.

On the very spot on which he died his friends made his grave. A cross was erected to his memory, and anyone who takes the trouble to ascend the Omul may still see the remains of it.