CHAPTER XII FIUME, BUDAPEST, AND THE IMMIGRANT
It was a cold, cloudy, windy, rainy day when the little coasting vessel that was to take us across the Adriatic drew out from the gray and misty harbour of the ancient city of Ancona and started in the direction of Fiume, the single point at which the Kingdom of Hungary touches the sea. I had read of the hardships of the early immigrants, and I heard once an old coloured man, who had been carried to America as a slave, tell of the long journey of himself and some fifty others, all crowded together in a little sailing vessel. It was not, however, until this trip of a few hours on the Adriatic in a dirty, ill-smelling little vessel that I began to understand, although I had crossed the ocean several times, how uncomfortable a sea voyage might be.
Fortunately the journey was not a long one, and after the vessel found itself in the shelter of one of the beautiful green islands which are stationed like sentinels along the Dalmatian coast, it was possible to go on deck and enjoy the view of the rugged and broken coast line. It was indeed a splendid sight, in the clear light of the late afternoon, to watch the great blue-gray clouds roll up over the green and glistening masses of the islands, which lifted themselves on every side out of the surrounding sea.
What I had heard and read of the Dalmatian coast had led me to look for the signs of an ancient civilization, not unlike that which I had left in Italy. What impressed me at first sight about Fiume, however, was the brand-new and modern character of everything in view. I do not mean that the city had any of the loose-jointed and straggling newness of some of our western American towns. It had rather the newness and completeness of one of those modern German cities, which seem to have been planned and erected out of hand, at the command of some higher authority. In that part of Germany which I visited I noticed that nothing was allowed to grow up naturally, in the comfortable and haphazard disorder that one finds in some parts of America. This is particularly true of the cities. Everything is tagged and labelled, and ordered with military precision. Even the rose-bushes in the gardens seem to show the effect of military discipline. Trimmed and pruned, they stand up straight, in long and regular rows, as if they were continually presenting arms.
The impression which I got of modern Hungary at Fiume was confirmed by what I saw a few days later at Budapest, the capital. There was the same air of newness and novelty, as if the city had been erected overnight, and the people had not yet grown used to it.
A little further acquaintance with the cities of Fiume and Budapest made it plain, however, in each case, that the new city which filled the eye of the stranger had been, as a matter of fact, built over, or, rather, added to, a more ancient one.
In Fiume, for example, somewhat hidden away behind the new buildings which line the broad avenue of the modern Magyar city, there is still preserved the outlines of the ancient Italian town, with its narrow, winding streets, crowded with all the quaint and vivid life, the petty traffic, and the varied human sights and sounds with which I had become familiar during my journey through Italy.
So in Budapest, across the river from the modern Hungarian, or, rather, Magyar city of Pest, there is the ancient German city of Buda, with its castle and palace, which dates back into the Middle Ages.
What is still more interesting is that in these two modern cities of Fiume and Pest, in which one sees and feels the impress of a strong and masterful people, one meets everywhere, in the midst of this feverish and artificial modern life, evidences of the habit and manners which belong to an older and simpler age.