The salt hill of Parajd is another sight.
It is steep and precipitous, its sides as white as snow, bright as the finest polished marble of Carrara.
There are many other watering-places with mineral springs; one of the most curious is at Kovásna, which stands at the foot of the wooded hills separating Hungary and Roumania.
In the square a fine towered building attracts our attention. Even if not pointed out to us the front of the structure would tell us that this is one of the great natural wonders of Transylvania. It is the Pokolsár (hell-mud). Within the building a strange murmur is heard, like that of boiling water. On entering a peculiar pungent smell greets us. A basin divided in half by a plank wall stands before us, it is the Pokolsár with its spouting, whirling, wheeling, boiling water. From the wall of the basin with terrific force and in huge volume, carbon dioxide pours forth and not only keeps the water in continual undulation, but softens and crushes the clayey slate that constitutes the wall of the basin and turns its colour to an ashen grey. The water of the Pokolsár, like some heaving volcano, at times overflows its basin and threatens to inundate the surrounding country. It tears up the wooden floor of the basin, vomits forth heavy stones and discharges volumes of vapour, the development of gas is so large and rapid that the choking fumes render it impossible to enter the building, while birds flying above the bath fall lifeless into the water. The water has a wonderful effect, especially in the case of rheumatic disorders. It is an alkaline mineral water. There are many mineral springs of the kind in the neighbourhood.
Another beauty spot is the lake of St. Anne, in the crater of an extinct volcano, which is in circumference 1800 metres.
It can be seen that Transylvania is a country for those to visit who love natural beauty and the wonders of nature and want to get off the ordinary tourist track. The Circular Railway, which now traverses it under State direction, makes this comparatively easy, and the civilisation of the towns will astonish those who think of Transylvania as still primitive.
In the north-east corner of the Dual Monarchy, to the north of Transylvania, lies the large and important country of Galicia, a slice of the now vanished kingdom of Poland, wiped off the map by the three great powers surrounding her. Galicia is larger than Bohemia but lacks picturesqueness of scenery, and is the least known of all the provinces of the Austrian Empire. It is nearly all mountainous, the land falling down from the Carpathians, which form the southern boundary, toward Russia. The highest peaks are the Woman’s Mountain, 5648 feet, and the Waxmundska, 7189 feet. The Vistula and the Dniester both rise in this country, which lies outside the system of the Danube, to which so great a part of the dominions of Franz Joseph belongs. There is a good deal of traffic in light boats down the Dniester to Odessa. The people are divided between Ruthenians (Red Russians) and Poles, the latter being in the western part.
By the end of the eighteenth century Poland was in a miserable state of decay and helplessness, and the proposal for her partition came from Prussia. Catherine II., ruling in Russia at the time, was quite ready to agree, Maria Teresa of Austria was doubtful and had many scruples but was at length over-persuaded, and the treaty was signed in 1772. Frederick II. of Prussia is said to have remarked of Maria Teresa, “She is always weeping, but she is always taking,” which was cynical. But the real truth is that Maria Teresa was unable to help herself. Unless she had been in a position to fight her two powerful neighbours single-handed she could hardly have prevented the spoliation, and she may have thought by taking her share in Galicia she ensured at least good government and justice for some of the unhappy Poles. However, of all three nations it is Russia in reality who has done most for her acquired subjects, and she has treated the peasants fairly well. Probably the strong kinship of race and tongue, stronger than in the case of either of the other nations, has helped to cement this fragment. In Germany the native tongue is strenuously suppressed, and grinding poverty reigns in many districts.
Up to the end of the eighteenth century Poland was still a powerful kingdom and had a long history of worthy exploits behind her. The name is derived from polé, meaning plain or field, as the greater part of the kingdom lay low and flat. There is no place here to go into the history of that kingdom, of which only a small part belongs to Austria. But it may be shortly said that her kings have ruled often well and wisely, and made a name for themselves in other fields than that of war or administration. Her literary men, in spite of the peculiarly difficult language which had to be used as a medium, have made themselves known beyond the borders of their own country. Of all her sons, John Sobieski is the one who stands out most clearly in the sight of other nations. He was one of the best generals Poland ever had, and in 1674 was elected king under the title of John III. His most famous successes were against the Turks, and when in 1683 the Turkish armies advanced on Vienna and Leopold the Emperor fled ignominiously, it was Sobieski who rallied his troops together and proceeded to the rescue. The Turks were besieging the city and assaulted it no less than eighteen times while it was held by Count Strahrenburg. Sobieski co-operated with Charles Duke of Lorraine, brother-in-law of the Emperor, and appeared on the heights of Kablenburg. The two armies met in a terrific encounter, and the Turks were badly beaten, leaving twenty thousand men behind them. When all was safe Leopold returned to his capital, but was jealous of the success of Sobieski, and showed it. In a letter to his wife Sobieski speaks of this treatment:
Our people have been much annoyed and have loudly complained because the emperor never deigned to thank them not even by a bow for all their troubles and privations. They give us neither forage nor provisions; our sick are lying on dunghills and our many wounded cannot obtain a single boat to carry them down to Pressburg, where I could more easily provide for them at my own cost.... Many of our men, finding that they were dying of hunger in the country, hurried to the town to find food; but the commandant of Vienna had given orders that they should not be allowed to enter, and that they should be fired on. After this great battle in which we have lost so many members of our most illustrious families, we are treated like plague-stricken men, whom everyone must avoid.