Up the broad high road came a cart full of peasants and a string of thin light-footed horses. Far off in the distance rose a cloud of dust, and from out of it came a herd of white cattle, followed by a crowd of black buffaloes. The great golden plain striped with brown ploughed land, the groups of corn-stacks, the threshing-machine and the teams of buffaloes and oxen with their drivers in white and red, and on the road the herds returning slowly homewards—this was our last clear picture of Hungary.
A book to read, though it does not encourage one to “go and do likewise.”
The north-eastern Carpathians include the Wooded Carpathians and a range of low hills where the much admired wine of Tokay is produced. The town of Tokay nestles at the base of these hills, called Hegyalia, and is itself disillusioning, its population consisting almost entirely of wine-growers and wine-buyers or middlemen, so that a constant chaffering spirit spoils the romance. The essence of Tokay is made of the juice which runs out of the ripe grapes pressed down by their own weight. This is produced by putting the grapes in a cask with holes bored in the bottom through which the juice runs. This essence is so scarce that it is hardly ever offered for sale to outsiders, who, indeed, get very little chance of pure Tokay at any time. The other two kinds are made by mixing juice, pressed artificially out of fresh grapes, with some of the pulp, and these two are known as “ausbruch” and “maslas.” Tokay varies from pale yellow to rich gold in colour, but red wines are produced in Transylvania and elsewhere.
Many are the drinking songs of Hungary, but very difficult to translate in the spirit of the original. Here is a characteristic one:
WINE SONG
Away with grief, away with pain,
Let us bathe our throats in wine,
And quaff it to a tuneful strain.
Wine for me—the joyous wine,
Whose sap can make one strong.