The Vadaszkürt and other principal hotels are all in Pest, and only a stone's throw from the Vorasmarty Ter, out of which runs Vaczi Utcza, the equivalent of Bond Street; so Gregory turned in that direction. When he reached the square he saw that the windows of Gerbaud's, the famous patisserie, were, as of old, filled with rich cream cakes, crystallized fruits and sweets; and, on entering the Utcza, found that most of the other shops showed equally little sign of depleted stocks.
Strolling southwards he reached the great Market and spent a quarter of an hour there. Its stalls held an abundance of meat, game, fish and groceries, and the people in it were mainly well clad. He found that less surprising when he suddenly recalled that Hungary had not become seriously involved in the war until Hitler had attacked Russia in the preceding summer; so, apart from a shortage of some manufactured goods, she would hardly have yet been reduced to such stringencies as clothes rationing.
There were quite a few soldiers about in drab wartime uniform, and a number of much smarter girls dressed as nurses and army drivers. In half an hour he had seen only two German officers, and confirmed his earlier impression that after those of Vienna, the girls of Budapest were the prettiest of any city he had ever visited.
On emerging from the Market he had his first view of the Danube. It was a broad, turgid, fast flowing stream, and far from blue; but it sparkled prettily in the August sunshine. To his right lay a broad mile long embankment which was termed the "Corso" for, in front of its many cafes, lay Budapest's most fashionable promenade. Turning along it he now had a fine view of Buda. Across the river it rose upon its hills, a miracle of beauty, its turrets and spires seeming to pierce the almost cloudless blue sky.
By Erzsebet Bridge he crossed the river. Slowly he made his way up past the Royal Palace, which was now the residence of the Regent, Admiral Horthy, and so into Buda's twisting cobbled streets where for a thousand years there had lived men and women who had played a part in Europe's history. Six years before, from a first floor window in one of the ancient houses there, he had witnessed the annual celebration which embodied Hungary's great traditions and it was a sight that he had never forgotten.
At some time in the Dark Ages the tomb of Stephen, the first King of Hungary who had accepted Christianity, had been opened, and it had been found that, although his body had fallen into dust, his right hand lay there unwithered. It had henceforth become the custom for this miraculous hand to be exposed to the veneration of the multitude by being carried through the streets of the city on the fifteenth of each September.
Gregory had seen many processions, but nothing to equal this in medieval pageantry. There had been the Palace Guards wearing silver pointed Saxon helmets, eighteen inches high, and carrying flashing halberds serrated like the prow of a Venetian gondola. The gold and crystal casket containing the sacred relic was surrounded by chanting priests. Behind it walked the Prince Archbishop, the Metropolitan of the Greek Church and the Papal Legate, resplendent in robes of purple, white and crimson, their trains held up by small boys in lace bordered surplices. Then had come the Corps Diplomatique, brave in its orders and gold embroidered uniforms. The black clad Deputies of the Hungarian Parliament had next struck an incongruous note, but after them had come the handsome
Regent Horthy in Admiral's uniform and, following him, the body of men who made the ceremony unique.
They were some three score of the Magnates of Hungary; all nobles who could trace their ancestry back to the times when their forebears had held Hungary as the bastion of Christian Europe against the Infidel. Their costumes were those worn in Napoleonic times, or earlier, and marvellously varied; gold tasselled Hessian boots, silver braided doublets of green, blue, black and cerise, half cloaks trimmed with sable, astrakhan, ermine or sea otter, flat busbies surmounted by plumes and aigrets, dolmans, sabretaches, and great jewel hilted scimitars all jostled together forming a sea of colour, so that the eye was quite incapable of taking in the details of so splendid a spectacle.
As Gregory thought of it again, he thought too of Sabine, who had stood beside him in the window that they had hired, holding his hand and telling him with low voiced but passionate enthusiasm, as the procession moved below them, of the past glories of her country.
From the small square dominated by the Coronation Church, in which reposed the Sacred Hand of St. Stephen, he walked through to the open space behind the church where a great equestrian statue of the Royal Saint looked out over the river and the city.
This lofty emplacement was called the Fisher bastion and from it there was a truly marvellous view. To either side the red roofed houses of Buda seemed to be tumbling away down the steep slope on which the ramparts stood as though at any moment they might fall into the Danube. Seen from here the river looked even broader, and much more tranquil, as it wound its way between the twin cities. To the north it divided into two arms which embraced the mile long Margareten Insel.
This lovely wooded island had been made into a private park by the Archduke Joseph; now it had on it Budapest's latest luxury hotel the Palatinosan enormous open air bathing pool, and several cafe restaurants which after dark become nightclubs offering glamorous floor shows. In the opposite direction the river disappeared behind the lofty Citadel on its way towards distant Belgrade and Rumania. Far below, the famous Suspension Bridge linked Buda's hill with central Pest, along the shore of which stood the Parliament House with its many graceful spires, the Donau Palota and numerous other fine modern buildings. Beyond them rose the three hundred feet high dome of the Leopold Church from a sea of office and apartment blocks stretching away into the blue distance.
As Gregory sat there for a while he recalled that it was on one of these slopes that St. Gellert had met his fate. He was the Bishop who had converted King Stephen to Christianity; but certain full-blooded types had not approved the change, so they had put Gellert in a barrel and sent him rolling down the hill. As the barrel had spikes in it the unfortunate missionary could have been little more than a lacerated corpse by the time it bounced into the Danube.
Not a very pleasant death, Gregory reflected; but, after all, perhaps not so bad, as it must have been quite quick, and easily a hundred times less prolonged and painful than that which he might himself expect should he ever have the ill luck to fall alive into the hands of Herr Gruppenführer Grauber.
Descending through the steep narrow streets, he recrossed the river, walked along to the Corso and, sitting down at a table outside one of the cafés ordered himself a baratsch. This golden liquor is distilled from apricots and is the Hungarian national drink. It is made in every farmhouse in the country, and varies with quality and age from a fiery breathtaking spirit to a smooth and delectable liqueur. As it is unsweetened it is equally suitable for an aperitif or a digestive, and is drunk by all classes at all hours. While renewing his acquaintance with this invigorating tipple, Gregory considered the results of his morning's ramble.
Except perhaps for coffee, and other such items which came from distant lands, Hungarian larders were clearly not yet subject to the stress of war and, although prices had evidently risen considerably, there seemed no reason to suppose that for meat, bread, butter and other basic foods they were beyond the means of the workers.