For the succeeding six weeks or more I spent my time most agreeably in
the chateaux of some of the well-known Transylvanian nobles. For the
time my wild rovings were over. The bivouac in the glorious forest and
robber-steak cooked by the camp fire--the pleasures of "roughing
it"--were exchanged for the charms of society.
And society is _very_ charming in Transylvania. Nearly all the ladies
speak English well, and are extremely well read in our literature. To
speak French is a matter of course everywhere; but they infinitely
prefer our literature, and speak our language always in preference when
they can.
The works of such men as Darwin, Lyell, and Tyndall are read. I remember
seeing these, and many other leading authors, in a bookseller's shop in
Klausenburg. It is true this last-named place is the capital--viz., the
Magyar capital--of Transylvania, but in most respects it is a mere
provincial town.
A friend and myself happened to be lunching one day in the principal
inn--it was in the _salle a manger_--and we were talking together in
English. Presently I noticed a remarkably little man at the next table,
who looked towards us several times; finally he got up from his chair,
or rather I should say got down, and making a sign to us equivalent to
touching his hat, he said, "Gentlemen, I am an Englishman; I thought it
right to tell you in case you should think there was no one present who
understood what you were talking!" It was very civil of the little
fellow, for we were talking rather unguardedly about some well-known
personages.
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