CHAPTER XXX

The beggars of Bucarest--A plan that failed--Was it inspired by Count Rumford’s Munich scheme?--Where the beggars spend their holidays--No lack of charity--Footless, and yet wanted boots--Influence of priests and beggars on the currency--A stroll through the market--Servians as market gardeners--An exhibition in Bucarest--Princess Marie and the water-chute--Excessive gambling--The Moși--English “stupidity”--Nothing to buy in London--Bucarest to London _via_ the North Sea and Edinburgh--Jefferson Bricks in Bucarest.

Beggars form a prominent feature of life in the East; and Roumania being considered the end of Europe and the beginning of Asia, the country is not lacking in this characteristic. Beggars swarm in the streets, and are of all kinds. There is the familiar beggar who has his accustomed pitch; the beggar who has a wound to exhibit; the beggar who is, or feigns to be, a bit crazy, and twirls himself singing all down the street. He is, however, always sensible enough to clutch the coin one offers him.

The practice of begging is winked at by the authorities, as otherwise they would not know what to do with the beggars. I remember once there was a change of Government, and sweeping reforms were going to be made by the incoming party. The first reform was to be the clearance of beggars from the streets. A notice was issued that all beggars were to assemble at the police stations in their respective districts on a certain day. This was done, and great hopes were entertained that at last we should be rid of this nuisance. Next day we eagerly searched the newspapers for an account of the proceedings, and how disappointed we felt, and how futile it all seemed, when we found that it closed with the words, “The beggars were then dismissed, as no one knew what to do with them”!

I have a strong impression that the plan was inspired by some recollection of the work done so successfully in Munich by that most remarkable of men, Benjamin Thompson, Count Rumford, the English-American soldier, statesman, and scholar, from whom the famous _englischen Garten_ derived its name (one wonders if it bears it still).

The “rounding-up” idea, although it was not planned with the genius of a Rumford, nor carried out with the success which rewarded that great man’s efforts, was recognised as having something practical about it, and it remains a cherished practice of the Bucarest police. Before a fête-day, such as the anniversary of the coronation, the police round up every suspected person, pickpockets, etc., and put them safely under lock and key till the festivities are over; and then they are set at liberty again.

Although the authorities accept no responsibility in regard to beggars, still there are many private societies formed to help them. One such society issues little books consisting of ten pages. Any charitably disposed person can buy a book for a franc and then distribute the leaves as he wishes. One page entitles the beggar to a basin of soup and a piece of bread. On presenting two pages he is entitled to a piece of meat. It is a capital plan, as one feels that one is really feeding the hungry (if hungry they be) and yet not giving them money to waste on other things.

Roumanians are very charitable, and will seldom refuse a beggar. That is probably why there are so many. As they are not used to refusals, they are very insistent, and sometimes I have had a beggar follow me for quite a long distance, droning out his customary formula, till losing patience I have threatened him with the police. One poor little girl always excited my pity--a child of about eleven or twelve. She had lost both feet in an accident, but she was such a bright, cheery little soul that it was a pleasure to see her. She was always carried to a certain corner by a big boy, who then retired and watched over her from a distance. I always gave her a small coin, for which she was most grateful; but one day she highly amused me with the request, “Do please give me a pair of boots.” Seeing that she had no feet, I was at a loss to understand what use the boots would be to her, but I could get no enlightenment from her, only a smile and a repetition of the request, “Please, a pair of boots.”

The coins used in Roumania are _lei_ and _bani_, the equivalents of francs and centimes. The smallest nickel coin is five centimes. Several attempts have been made to introduce one- and two-centime coins, but after a time they have invariably disappeared from the currency--withdrawn, as I have been told, for very obvious reasons by the priests and the beggars.

It is very pleasant to stroll through the market on a fine summer morning. On all sides there is a wild riot of colour which delights the eye. There are the fruit stalls piled with oranges, pomegranates, dates, green grapes of the native variety, and grapes of light amber hue from Constantinople. Scarcely less effective are the vegetable stalls with their bright-red tomatoes affording a brilliant contrast to the fresh greens of cauliflower and cabbage. Here, too, are radishes and _pimonts_. Then there are stalls with mushrooms of all varieties, stalls with cheeses, stalls with golden butter and white and brown eggs, and every here and there are mounds of melons. Some of the melons are of the yellow variety, but there are also plenty of water melons, with one here and there cut open to display the luscious pink interior.

Roumanians do not grow all the vegetables that fill the market--often they are largely due to the labour and care of foreigners. I stayed for some weeks near Pitesti, a small country town, in the neighbourhood of which a number of Servians came to settle for the summer months. They rented a large plot of ground and grew vegetables of all kinds. They were most industrious and looked well after their produce. When the melons were ripening they even took it in turns to sit up and watch all night, so that would-be thieves might have no opportunity of helping themselves. Very often through the night we were startled by a rifle-shot. It was only the Servian on guard who fired from time to time to advertise his wakefulness. Two or three times a week a big waggon was loaded with produce and driven for miles round the country, even to Sinaia and beyond. Their produce was eagerly bought, as vegetables are not too abundant, especially in these summer resorts. When the market gardeners were quite sold out they retired to Servia with their profits, where they remained till next season. It must have been a profitable enterprise, as fifteen Servians were engaged in it at the place I speak of.

The exhibition that was held in Bucarest some years ago was very creditable to the country, seeing that it was the first that had ever taken place. All the ordinary produce of the country was exhibited--cereals, fruit, cheese and butter, huge blocks of rock-salt, etc. The home industries of the peasantry--carpets, Roumanian costumes, embroidery, pillow-lace and fine lace (the making of the latter being taught in the schools)--formed perhaps the most interesting feature. A miniature crèche was also shown, fitted with all modern appliances for the little ones. Although the exhibition was “International,” the exhibits were mainly Roumanian. Some neighbouring countries took the opportunity of showing their wares, and Germany was represented by a display of automatic pianos.

Servia and Bulgaria sent embroidery, carpets, also broad leather waist-bands in which folk put their money. The colours employed in the carpets were rather crude, but the work was very good.

One of the most effective exhibits, and that which showed the greatest taste in its arrangement, was the hall in which the Roumanian industry of cigar and cigarette making was shown. The entire hall, a fairly large one, was inlaid with cigars and cigarettes arranged in various fanciful designs. Small stacks of cigars tied with the Roumanian colours were placed at intervals down the middle of the hall, whilst gaily-decorated boxes of cigarettes of all sizes formed a sort of dado round the wall. A number of young girls, dressed in Roumanian costumes, busily engaged in the making of cigarettes, packing the boxes, etc., completed a picture that would strike the eye of an artist.

Elsewhere was an interesting exhibition showing the improvement in the treatment of prisoners as contrasted with that of former times. The old cell was small and badly lighted, with grimy walls and low ceiling; the modern cell, though also small, had a high ceiling, a good-sized window letting in plenty of light and air, and whitewashed walls, making altogether a neat, clean appearance. The clothing of the prisoners had also undergone a change for the better, as was shown in the figures in each cell. Close by was the hall in which work done by prisoners was on view. Well-made carpets, matting of cocoa-nut fibre, fancy articles carved out of wood, all testified to the ingenuity of the prisoners.

The grounds of the exhibition were beautifully laid out, flowers growing everywhere in profusion; but sufficient space was reserved for the various amusements, the favourite one being the water-chute. This form of diversion was popular with everyone, but more especially with the present Queen, who took great delight in it. Several times she made the trip alone--that is, only with the man in charge--as the plunge into the water was so much more exciting when the boat was not heavily laden. Unfortunately, during the summer a quarrel arose between the Americans in charge of the water-chute and the exhibition authorities. Whatever may have been the cause of the dispute, the result was that the Americans were obliged to leave the exhibition, the management of the “chute” being given to a Roumanian company.

Rumours were rife that jealousy of the Americans’ “takings” was at the bottom of the trouble. Whether that was so or not, I cannot say.

Gaming-tables were numerous, at which roulette, trente-et-un, etc., were played; but stakes were so high, and the sums of money that changed hands so enormous, that the police were obliged to intervene and forbid all gambling in the exhibition.

It was most enjoyable to lounge away an afternoon in the lovely grounds, listening to the strains of the string band or the varied music of the _lautare_; and when the exhibition was finally closed it was greatly missed, as Bucarest is rather wanting in outdoor amusements in summer.

THE MOȘI

The Moși, or great annual fair, which is held in the month of May, probably embraces all the usual features of fairs the world over. Its special distinctions are that it assumes the importance of a national exhibition, and that the fair grounds, which occupy a vast area on the outskirts of Bucarest, are always visited by royalty.

The Moși generally lasts for ten days, and during that time the traffic in the Calea Moșilor, which leads to the grounds, is the scene by day and night of a practically continuous procession which not only includes every kind of noise and extravagance incidental to our Derby Day, but can also boast of many picturesque features unknown in the progress to the classic race. The residents in Calea Moșilor deserve and receive sympathy during this stirring time.

For the peasants the Moși is a great national festival, and, attired in their gay costumes, and driving in ox-waggons canopied with boughs of green, they add much to the picturesqueness of these varied scenes.

The first Thursday of the Moși is the great day when royalty honours the scene with its presence. Both Carmen Sylva and the present Queen, with their characteristic kindness of heart, always “did” the show thoroughly, and by the extent and variety of their purchases gladdened the hearts of an incredible number of stall-holders.

Is there a fair anywhere in the world without gingerbread? I remember it in this connection in my native Ireland, and I have met it at fairs in many parts of Europe since. The Moși adheres to the gingerbread tradition, and displays the popular delicacy (if it be a delicacy) in every conceivable variety. It is an unwritten law that no one, high or low, must return from the fair gingerbreadless.

Of course you may eat what you like at the Moși, but the local connoisseur knows well that the true gastronomical feature of the fair is an excellent small garlic sausage which I know Queen Marie tried on at least one occasion and commended very highly.

I feel a slight consciousness of disloyalty now when I acknowledge that the Turkish stalls particularly attracted me. The beautifully fine embroidery, with small squares worked in gold and silver thread, the gorgeous carpets, the wide-sleeved blouses of delicate texture, richly embroidered in silk, the quaintly decorated pipes with beaded stems, and many other attractive articles of Ottoman origin, afforded opportunities for “fairings” of quite distinctive character.

In various country districts fairs are held at stated seasons of the year. At Campulung, where I once spent the month of July, I was delighted to watch the peasant girls going to the fair dressed in all the finery of their national costume, many of them wearing curious billy-cock hats, and all with neat shoes and stockings.

There was a bench opposite to our house, and here the girls on returning from the fair always sat down and divested themselves of their fine shoes and stockings, which they carefully wrapped up in paper, proceeding on their way both light of heart and light of foot.

It is all very well to describe and criticise a country one visits, but it is also amusing to hear the criticisms of one’s own country and people from those who have visited it for the first time. I was gravely informed once by a gentleman who had been in London for a few weeks, and who spoke no English, that the English were “very stupid.” Asked to be a little more explicit, he informed me that when he wished to visit the docks of London he experienced the greatest difficulty in making anyone understand where he wanted to go. He stopped a cab and said to the cabman, “Promenade, dock,” but cabby shook his head and did not understand. He then spoke louder, and a crowd began to assemble. Again and again he said “Promenade, dock,” but still no one understood. At last a policeman put him into the cab and drove with him to the nearest big hotel, where the mystery was explained. “But,” the gentleman asked me, “why did they not understand? Promenade is the same word in English as in French, and dock is dock.”

A lady visited London with her husband for the first time. They had rooms at the Hotel Cecil, and were very much interested in seeing the sights, but the complaint of the lady was, “Oh, the shops are not up to much; there was absolutely nothing to buy.” The remark rather staggered me for a moment; then I ventured to name some of the big shops in Oxford Street and Regent Street. It was all of no use: she still persisted in her assertion. She had been in Paris shortly before, where she was tempted to buy at every step; but in London, “No, there was nothing to buy!”

Another lady and gentleman whom I knew started with their son on a visit to Norway. They had no idea what a sea voyage was like, and after being buffeted about in the North Sea for a day and a night, they much wished to be put on shore again. Although the full passage-money had been paid, the captain agreed to land them at Leith and to refund part of the money (at which they were very much astonished). For a time they made their headquarters at Edinburgh, visiting the Trossachs and the surrounding country. Their admiration for Scotland was unbounded, more especially for Edinburgh, with which beautiful city they were charmed. Norway could not be more beautiful, they thought; they had lost nothing whatever by their change of plans. With occasional stoppages, the travellers made their way to London. The size of the metropolis, the traffic and the order with which it was controlled, the numerous parks, all excited their wonder and admiration; but still London did not charm them as Edinburgh had done.

I was once at an evening party in Bucarest where some Roumanian current events were being discussed. They were by no means matters of importance. Suddenly a lady turned to me and asked, “What do the English say about it?” I was rather embarrassed for a reply, but at last managed to suggest that perhaps they knew nothing of the affair. The lady was highly indignant. “We,” said she, “know all that goes on in England and France, but the people there never seem to know anything of us.” I pleaded guilty on their behalf, and remembered Jefferson Brick and his friends.