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With all their ignorance and lawlessness, it is curious that they pride themselves on being descendants of the ancient Romans, ignoring their "Dacian sires." The next day we went on to Karansebes a good road and charming scenery. This is the highroad into Transylvania, called the Eisenthor Pass; but it hardly merits the name of pass, inasmuch as it only crosses the spur of the hills.
After a week of such weather as we had had in the mountains, a water-tight roof over one's head was in itself a luxury; so we were not inclined to quarrel with our quarters at the hotel at Mehadia, had they been even less good than they were. F and I wished the next day to get back to Karansebes; he had left his carriage, and I my Servian horse.
After this they thought proper to draw aside, but even then leaving us so little room that we risked our necks in passing them in a very awkward corner. I was told afterwards by the postmaster of Karansebes that a diligence had fallen over the precipice at this very place, only a very short time before, owing to the Wallack drivers purposely obstructing the road.
As there were some awkward turns not far ahead of us, it was perhaps just as well that the horses stopped on this occasion. Well, we jogged on all that day, reaching Karansebes between one and two o'clock. We had been some eighteen hours on the road! Here F and I parted, my friend returning to Uibanya, while I pursued my way to Transylvania.
I slept the night at Karansebes, rising very early; indeed I started soon after four o'clock. I was again on my little Servian horse, who was quite fresh after his long rest, and I saw no reason why I should not reach Hatszeg the same evening, as the distance is not more than forty-five miles.
He further invited us to take part in it, and I gladly accepted, as it fitted in very well indeed with my plans. Karansebes is directly on the route to Transylvania, whither I was bound. The district we were to shoot over is the rocky border-land between Hungary and Roumania. My friend F agreed to accompany me, and on our way we proposed visiting the celebrated baths of Mehadia.
In the gray of the morning they reached Karansebes. Here they found some few of the regiments, the emperor's suite, and his beloved nephew Franz, who, like his uncle, had been almost hurried to destruction by the hapless army, but had been rescued by his bold and faithful followers. All danger was past, but the events of that night were too much for the exhausted frame of the emperor.
I had left my own horse at Karansebes, because he was in need of rest; so F and I had to select horses from amongst the promiscuous lot brought up by the "hunt." We chose out a couple of decent-looking animals indeed I rather prided myself on my selection, drew attention to his good points, and rallied F on his less successful choice. At length everything was ready.
About two miles from Karansebes I passed a hill crowned with a picturesque ruin, locally called Ovid's Tower. Tradition fondly believes that Ovid spent the last years of his banishment, not on the shores of the stormy Euxine, but in the tranquillity of these lovely valleys.
Back at Mehadia Troubles about a carriage An unexpected night on the road Return to Karansebes On horseback through the Iron Gate Pass Varhely, the ancient capital of Dacia Roman remains Beauty of the Hatszeg Valley.
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