The Golden Age in Transylvania

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Before we cross theKiralyhago, let us cast a parting glance at Hungary. I will unroll beforeyour eyes a scene, partly the result of an adverse fate, partly of a darkmystery, representing joy and also deep sorrow. An incident of a momentbecomes the turning-point of a whole century.
My soul is saddened by the images thusconjured up; the figures out of the past blind my sight. Would that my handwere mighty enough to write down what my soul sees in that magic mirror. Mayyour impressions, your recollections, complete the scene wherever the writerfails through weariness.
We find ourselves in the valley of theDrave, in one of those boundless tracts where even the wild beasts losethemselves. Here are primeval forests, the roots of which rest in the waterof a great swamp encircled not by water lilies and reed-grass, but by gianttrees whose branches, dropping below the surface, form new roots in thequickening water. Here the swan builds its nest; this is the haunt of theheron and all those wild creatures one of which only now and then marches outinto more frequented regions. On the higher ground, where in late summer thewaters ebb, spring such flowers as might have been seen just after thedeluge, so luxuriant and so strange is their mighty growth out of the slimymud. The branches of ivy, stout as grape vines, reach from tree to treewinding about the trunks and decking the dark maples as if some wood-nymphhad garlanded her own consecrated grove.

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