Here he walks through our country. We all know it. Our pride and mourning. We love and dread, it destroys us, and we could not live without it. Our cemetery and our re-creator. It intimidates us every year. There is a constant column in the gossip among our newsletters. We are mobilizing an entire camp against him. Ministers, deputy ambassadors, government commissioners lead the campaign. Strong people fight him, weak men run away from him.
This big enemy is the – Danube.
The Danube has a campaign chronicle like that of Turkish rule, full of sieges and defeats.
I had such a chronicle in my hands these days, something I had read long ago, and since then I have completely forgotten.
A young man who came with my father’s letter of recommendation brought me to ask for my intercession.
He had no great desire; he did not want to get into office, nor did he want me to write to his professors to pass through the matriculation examination. He was a learned machine-building assistant; wanted to get into the state machine factory. I gladly lend a hand to such endeavors, and I hold my shoulder so that the aspiring young man will go through the difficulties through it. I also have a nephew who is a machine locker. I really appreciate that career.-225-
After reading the cover letter, I sat the young worker down and asked about his condition.
His father referred in his letter to the fact that I went to school with his father, and he commemorates some foal-age poem I once wrote at his father’s father’s house. – I remember it! I even knew his father’s grandfather. I also talked to that once. Now I have the picture of the whole family in front of me, the waist of Sóki Nagy’s family.
The boy asking for my patronage introduced himself as John the Great. His father signed the letter under the name of István Nagy. I didn’t know that. But its father was my schoolmate (fifty-one years ago). This even registered itself as József Nagy Sóki. Its father even added to his name that he was «noble». – «Nemes Sóki Márton Nagy.»
And his father was called a “national lord.” The old people I knew were talented, wealthy people.
They had a large mill: a stream mill; it was also famous at the time. No such mundlour was ground anywhere along the entire Danube. He who desired flour for a delicious strudel dough was all ground with him. A four-wheel mill was the name of that famous flour factory. In addition to the mill, they also had a nice large field, a meadow, as much as could belong to a noble family, and they had an island on the nearby river Danube, which was surrounded by a strong dam protected on all sides by bundles of roses. The island was planted with fruit trees, beautiful aquatic flowers were rare in the ditches of the embankment. There I botanized with great pleasure. Maybe even now I have the beautiful, dark blue clematis I found there printed between the leaves of Diószegim.
The old miller had white hair: thick, long; he passed it to the back of his neck with a large, curved comb. He wore a miller-colored dolman with large silver buttons. His son is already dark blue-226- he walked in a dolman: but it was also full of frills. Three rows of silver buttons. It was also a miller.
The old man even had another son; he was taught this to a priest (a Calvinist priest); but its fate did not materialize. It would have been better for a soldier. He had no ecclesia, quarreled with curators, presbyters everywhere; he then preached to them. Other times he did sit in a ladik, set off to hunt with a rifle on his shoulder; it coded along the Danube to great distances. He only noticed when he heard the bell somewhere around Dunaföldvár that it was Sunday: then it would have been too late to turn back; so he just shoveled on until he found a calm somewhere at Bogyiszló. Kosta could preach to his followers.
But then, when he returned, his boat was full of stuffed birds and otters, and his crab scientist’s notes, which may have been more precious to a diver, but were completely useless to the presbyter of Bergengóc.
Because of this, he then had constant quarrels with his followers, the consistory, the bishop, the bishop. His followers carried him out to the border. One fine day, when he was back from a long Danube road again, the surprise awaited him that he had found the door of the rectory nailed; his retyututy was accumulated there on the outskirts of the village; the bacterium kept it from being worn. The last time he had nowhere to stay, he rushed home to his father’s house, where he spent time.
His father was ashamed of his son’s business. That would have been his pride. A priest! And that became his shame. He became Peregrinus!
In order to save the honor in some way, the old Gábor Sóki Nagy (the father of Márton, the beautiful father of the young man who turned to me) founded it the last time he built a small church on his own plot and put his son as a priest. He had a large number of servants: millers,-227-hired workers, celery, gardeners, sailors, bonfires, shepherds, stickers, most family members; their dwellings formed a whole small village around the mill. They, too, longed for the sacred malt and could not go to the distant city for divine reverence. Well, this is how they helped them, as well as in Lőrinczen. (That was the name of the worn-out priest).
But biz the reverend here is also very vomiting throw away manner fulfilled his duty. It was a rarity to show up in the cathedral on Sunday.
The old man finally took out the last device. He made a will. Then he called both his sons to himself, and spoke to their souls:
– «You know that I have property, I got it all myself. I did not inherit any ancient possessions. I am free to testify. I’ve already done it. Here is my will. In this I leave all my secular possessions to my son Martin, the miller. To Lőrincz, the priest, I leave my hunting harness, which is full of emptiness. However, next to the will there is a codicillus in which it is said that: if my son Lőrincz comes to my deathbed and gives me his last lord’s supper with a true Calvinist ceremony, then this will be void, and he will take part. in my possession, according to fraternal class. Well, stick to that. ”
This would indeed have been the most successful way to deter the depraved boy from his usual wanderings. The father was in a very coughing state; he could no longer lie down, only sitting in his large armchair. Every day he could be expected to die suddenly. It would have been good for Lőrincz to stay close by to comfort the last bite with bread and drink wine for the dying soul. He also stood for contumination or half a year.
It was at this time that during the Pentecostal vacation I wandered for a few days in the company of my schoolmate, Jóska Sóki Nagy, to the Kapron mill, famous in the far land. I also found the whole family together.-228-
On this year’s Pentecost, the small church of the Kapron miller was inaugurated with the usual Protestant simplicity. The ceremony consisted of bringing the «harmony» from the neighboring city.
This is how they believed in the quadrate of the deaf children. I was a pseudoist in that. This is when the boy still has a girl voice. In this office, I was caught up in the many old songs that no one picked up on a note. As an indispensable singer, I was also taken to the inauguration of the mill church. There were eight of us; a large companion cart was sent in for us, we all understood that.
That these childhood experiences will be remembered! In the temple we sang this hymn, “You faithful guardian of Bethel, Jer ascend to the roof!” “As you know, the bishop was the faithful guardian of Bethel, and the” roof “was the cathedral. And at the abundant feast that followed the divine reverence, we reaped general liking with this song: “Then I just fall, rose, That if you look at me one. – Look! – I kiss your little red mouth. – Oh! if you deny me this, I have no pleasure in the world.
(Because this is a love song! Of course it is a love song! A boy who is not yet in love at the age of ten must be given a skirt. I wrote a poem for my ideal even then. It remained there in memory of the Kapron mill.)
On the second day of Pentecost, we crossed by boat early in the morning to the beautiful island of the Danube, where the trees were full of flowers; only so did man’s lungs expand from that heavenly scent! The shores, the hedgerows, were full of wild vegetation; I was boxing with reality in flower collecting. Mr. Lőrincz noticed my passion for botanization and therefore accepted me completely. He was a skilled scuba diver. We were so immersed in the autopsy of the plants that I had to warn the priest that he was already making the second preparation.-229-they ring the bell over there (there was also a belfry). We’re late. Believers were already singing “Lord Sue with My Squirrels” when the priest arrived at the temple. Then, by mistake, instead of the bible, he found Diószegi to take with him; but he also preached of the theme, «which endows the lilies of the fields,» so beautifully that the whole coetus wept over it.
After lunch, the singing students were given one silver twenties per head, packed in a chariot, and sent back to the city.
Reverend Lawrence Lőrincz put me there.
– «Stay here today; I’ll show you something; tomorrow you can go home on top of the flour sacks. ”
That something was a chunky manuscript, sewn together with thread only, that «studios» used to be. With that, I could be very condemned.
It contained Mr. Lőrincz’s notes along the entire Danube in the wake of his own dives: that he had been destroyed, that he had shaped new landscapes for many hundreds of years by the huge mother stream that did not give birth but absorbs his daughters.
It started immediately nearby, at the old convent of friends, which can be seen from the banks of the Almás: the walls of the cellas sometimes still appear at low water levels, laden with tortoises.
Below, at Nyerges-Ujfalu, the wave rises on the ruins of the reefed Villa Curtia, from which old money and bronze bibs are still being carved, who have time to waste. One thousand seven hundred years ago, the Pannonian Legion ruled there.
The Danube riverbed in Adony covers the famous Ptolomeo Sabinum with its gravel dams; now only fishermen know about it. Very good spawning ground for fish.
In the willows of Pentele, the cane cutters often stumble in those strange, carved stones that do not indulge in the rush of the dead trees and the reed roots. -230-to bury. A vaulted carved column serves as a rest for the workers; it was the gateway to the former city of Anamaria.
An entire museum treasury was collected from Bregio of Ó-Szőny, and protective embankments were made from its walls to break the power of the great destroyer. He crushes them slowly as well.
Under Paks, there is no trace of the famous castle donated by King Louis I to the Knight of the Apostles, who saved his life in the fight against the Tartars, nor of the abbey whose founding letter is kept in the Vatican archives. Above the castle and monastery, the reed hedges of the water catchers can be seen today. Avoid dangerous places for sailors.
There are two large hills on the border of St. Benedict and Uszód. There were castles. The Danube knocked them down, covering them with mud. The houses of the two villages are built on stilts. The Danube sweeps through it every year. Then they flee to those two hills and shout from there teasing each other, “I swim in swimming pools!” – “You fall Benedictines!”
At Race you can see a famous lunar hill surrounded by a strong pile. The people of the village used to flee here with their cattle, when the icing starts and waits here until the judgment of God recedes. He will sweep it away one day. The mound is called the “Kovács mound”.
Tolna was once a huge fortress; Place of parliament in the time of St. Stephen; now to see the ridges of the bastions in times of great drought only to rise out of the Danube riverbed: swallowed by earth, washed away by water. There is no memory of the old splendor.
In the last century, the Hungarian village of Szeremle was still lying on the big island of the Danube, from where they crossed the ferry with a flying bridge. There were three islands in a group. There are only two now. The one on which the locality stood was carried all the way by the Danube; the village now stands on the banks of the Pest, while the Danube tolerates it.-231- The ferry, along with the path to it, is only visible in the folder.
Kupuszina was a huge fortress in the Turkish world. He was surrounded by a double rampart. Now in their sunken towers they catch turtles; their favorite homestead is the former castle. There is a weight room in the castle garden. Fishermen and eagles farm in flocks on large alder trees. Coral blackberries, golden-bellied poplars, silver-tufted ribbons creep up the green ribbed stone walls and hang under long garlands to the frog-rearing blades.
The Danube showed its demiurgical power more terribly than the large village called Monostorszeg. On these shores stood the monastery of the abbey named after St. Peter; opposite it is a royal town, Bodrog, which gave a name to a county; and between the two on an island is the famous monastery of the friends of Camalduli: «Holy Cross». All three have disappeared from the face of the earth in three hundred years: both the clusters and the city. Nothing, a piece of stone, was left out of the Danube. Only the pale parchments speak of their existence. The people are there now. The thatched village has as many inhabitants as the former royal city; but the citizen, the noble, became a peasant, a farmer, a shepherd, a fisherman.
Thus he continues his equalizing work, the fight against all human greatness on the mighty, invincible Danube.
There were such notes in my priest’s special diary.
And even then we didn’t understand 1838! It happened in 35.