Well, where
do you come
from? From
Berlin? Do
come in and
have a glass
of wine with
us!”
This was the
welcome we
received
from the “Schwabas”,
the Germans
in the
Batschka.
At first we
took a
breath – a
deep breath,
but then we
shook the
outstretched
hands,
looked into
the blue
eyes beaming
at us like
greetings
from home.
And then we
talked,
talked
without a
break,
almost
breathlessly
– as if the
long-repressed
flood
finally had
to break
through.
For six
months we
had
traversed
the Balkans
- from the
Black Sea to
the Aegean,
from the
Bosporus to
the Adriatic
– at times
on horseback
or on foot,
using
whatever
mode of
travel we
found most
affordable
or
interesting.
Wherever we
went, we
were able to
communicate
in German;
almost every
cultured
person we
met had
studied in
Germany or
Austria or
had spent
years of
training
there, and
besides
having fond
memories of
our
homeland,
had
maintained
fluency in
our
language.
However, despite the many subtle dialectic diversities of our
language,
one can find
the deep
Danube and Save
once formed a vast
swampland, lies
the Batschka –
there live the
Germans, the Schwabas.
Three hundred
years ago their
lives were
plagued with
unrest in their
homeland – in
the Palatinate,
Hessia,
Württemberg,
Baden, Alsace
and Lorraine –
when inbred
German disunity
pitted churches
and worldly
rulers against
each other –
with their
subjects,
whether Catholic
and Protestant.
When they, as
loyal subjects,
were frequently
forced to serve
foreign rulers,
such as the
French – this
gave rise to the
Great Swabian
Migration, Der
Große
Schwabenzug.
Thousands and
thousands of
brave German
men, their wives
and children,
sometimes their
servants, made
their way down
the Danube
towards the
marshes, on the
edges of which
Serbs, Magyars
and Gypsies
lived a squalid,
beggarly
existence.
Maria Theresia,
the judicious
empress, as well
as her
counselor, Field
Marshal and
Governor of the
Banat and the
Batschka, Count
Mercy of
Lorraine, and
subsequently her
astute son,
Joseph II, had
soon recognized
the invaluable
cultural
treasure which
the German
rulers not only
neglected
compassion
and empathy, the
kindred
understanding
only among those
who have imbibed
them from the
time of their
infancy. Genuine rapport
and
understanding
can only be
found with one’s
Landsleute. –
And now we were
with them in
their homes! There, north of Beograd, the “City and Fortress of Belgrade”, where the Theiß,
to utilize, no, they
abused and
mishandled it.
These German
pioneers were
welcomed here with
open arms.
Furnished houses,
complete to the last
teaspoon, cattle
sheds with cow, pig
and horse awaited
the occupants.
Personal freedom and
freedom of faith,
exemption from
taxes, personal
rights and much more
was guaranteed – all
they had to do was to come, the Germans, whose competence and honesty already was known worldwide.
And whatever was
right and proper for
the house was
acceptable for the
settlement and the
village. Wide,
level and smooth
roads were built,
where previously the
only evidence of a
road had been deep
ruts and holes.
Grassy strips now
absorbed the dust
clouds, which had
previously blown
from the “road”.
Fragrant German
linden trees lined
the cheerful village
streets, and clean,
cobbled sidewalks
passed along the
immaculate one-story
houses with their
ornamented facades. A miracle had happened! Normally it would have been enough to use the
heat, the scorching
sun, as an excuse
for the old humdrum
way of life and
everything
connected to it - sloth,
squalor and tardiness. It
had been acceptable to blame
failed harvests on the
droughts. All of a
sudden this did not wash
anymore.
And so they came
with kit and
caboodle and
established
themselves in the
manner they were
accustomed to.
Inevitably, hard times were to follow. Despite huge canalization projects,
costing five million
Kronen, an enormous
sum for those times,
floods, failed
harvests,
pestilence, cholera
and fever swept over
the land, but they
stayed. The German
farmers, living down
there among Magyars,
Gypsies and Slavs,
stood firm in a
repeated defiant
struggle against the
forces of nature
until they won the
battle – until the
deathly swampland
was transformed into
the most fertile
land in the crown of
Austria, enriching
the monarchy and the
Schwaben as well. And as tenaciously as they clung to their land, their second home, they
held on to their
customs and
traditional garb.
If the house was
furnished the way it
was in their
homeland, then it
remained that way
for their children
and grandchildren.
These confounded Schwabas accepted none of these excuses. They had clean
houses, streets and
villages! They
owned the best
cattle, the most
flourishing fields
and gardens! But
how did they ever
manage that? Before
the sun was up, they
arose, and long
after sundown they
were still working!
No grand sitting in
cafes for hours,
sipping black
coffee, rolling
cigarettes, no
chatting, no
shooting the
breeze! Well, then
maybe…but what kind
of life is that?
“Jo jo” (yes, yes),
chuckles Grandfather
Muggenthaler, “they
couldn’t understand
that one can work
eighteen hours a
day, but then they
saw it and even
learned how to do
it!” – “And were
they happy for you,
Grandfather?”, I
asked. “Jo jo”, he nodded, “they were indeed! They were of us, especially
the government!
Prominent gentlemen
were constantly
coming by with
elegant foreigners
and showed them what
can be done with
land when there is
something involved
of which there is
very little around
here: Sweat!”
-
3-
“And they kept their promises to you?” I asked. “Yes, of course they did!
Many of us became
successful people
among the Magyars,
the Hungarians!
They allowed us to
keep our customs and
language – but they
preferred that we
regard ourselves as
Hungarians. We were
none worse off for
it – just look at
our house!” We are welcomed in four adjoining rooms, all immaculately neat and clean.
The painted,
varnished floor
shines as if it
hadn’t been touched,
and we are afraid to
walk on it with our
walking boots,
especially because
the owners are
wearing soft
slippers.
Hand-knotted rugs
adorn the floor and
the walls. One
third of each room
is taken up by large
beds, each almost
one and a half
meters high. To our
inevitable question,
“How do you get into
one of those?”
Grandmother answers
by climbing on a
chair and lifting
the mountains of
snow-white,
beautifully
hand-embroidered
bedding. “And why are there beds in every room?” – “Well, for the guests!”
However, the young
housewife whispers
that this was the
pride and joy of the
old woman. The
richer they were,
the more rooms they
had, and each
contained the
obligatory two
magnificent beds
covered
with mountains of under-
and over-bedding and
pillows, as well as the
customary embroidery.
Grandmother is muttering
to herself, she wants to
say something. At
last she seizes an
opportune moment and
exclaims, “Just have a
look at that; come with
me!’ Now she can finally
show us her treasures.
The old massive
wardrobes are opened and
with hasty fingers and
trembling pride she
shows us the dozens
and dozens of
sheets, giant stacks
of snow-white linen
goods.
Everything has been
home-woven and home
sewn. “Grandmother”,
we marvel in honest
admiration, “all
this is going to be
enough for your
children and
grandchildren!”
Now it’s her turn to
whisper, “I want to
tell you something:
The young people
don’t want to wear
this anymore!
It’s not fancy
enough! And
it’s not comfortable
for them! It’s
like that with our
beautiful old
costumes and with
our old dances!
All that new modern
stuff, that’s what
they like, and they
spend good money for
it!”
So the old woman
told me in a few
words what I wanted
to know, and the
German priest and
the German teacher
expanded on this.
No farmer likes to
spend money, and the
Batschka farmers
even less. Money
and wealth means so
much to them, that
this clinging to
money is beginning
to have harmful
effects on the
people.
Marriages are
entered into
almost
exclusively
within the
community, often
even with
distant
relatives, in
order to
preserve the
property or to
augment it.
This practice of inbreeding will result in weak, incapable descendants,
especially in
view of the
trend of the
one- or
two-children
system.
However, an
aggressive
practice of
education
through the
Schwäbisch
Deutscher
Kulturbund
(Swabian German
Cultural Society)
shows promise of
improvement. The Trachtenvereine
(Traditional
Costume
Societies) also
contribute much
towards the
revival of the
old traditions,
customs, dances
and songs.
On Sundays the older generation can be seen – the men in the festive black
suits and
brilliant white
shirts, and the
women wearing black
Kopftücher (head
scarves), black
jackets and skirts
with a billowing
abundance of a half
to a whole dozen
petticoats!
Don’t laugh,
dear reader!
We have been
permitted to
count up to
a dozen
petticoats
under a
bashfully
raised
skirt.
And
Grandmother
– I forgot
to mention –
had pointed
out the
dozens,
actual
dozens of
starched,
magnificent
skirts and
petticoats,
hanging like
crinolines
on one side
of the other
wardrobe.
The men’s
well-made suits
hung in a row on
the other side. Now the conversation changed to the present times, and it didn’t sound any
different than
in our country.
Market
stagnation in
all areas,
prices that
barely cover the
cost of
production. The
conversation
fell silent, as
suddenly as it
had become
animated
before. The
gleaming eyes
clouded over and
the firm faces
sagged. “Jo, jo”, the old man spoke, “those were the times, when our ‘green train’
transported our
local produce
several times a
week directly to
Vienna and
Berlin!
Nowadays…”
Shaking of heads
all around. –
“But now”, I
started,
“Yugoslavia,
your country,
needs vegetables
as well, and
maybe something
else you
produce?” Their
faces brightened
a little.
“Well, yes,
people want to
buy things, but
no one can
afford them, and
money doesn’t
grow on trees!”
-4-
That sounded a
bit more
positive, so I
dared to ask
another
question, “And
how is life in
your new
homeland?
Are you happy or
do you have any
complaints?
Don’t be afraid
to tell me, be
honest. We
will be going to
Belgrade later
and would be
happy to pass on
your wishes and
complaints!”
“Actually we can’t really complain right now”, the son interjected. “For a few
years, the
Kulturbund was
banned, because
our members of
parliament did
not agree with
the Minister of
Culture.
However, that
has been
resolved and we
can live like
before; we have
our German
school, our
clubs, we even
have a teachers’
college, so we
can’t really say
much. The
taxes have gone
up, but that
applies to
everybody.
The fact that the official language is now Serbian instead of Hungarian,
well, that’s
understandable.
Well, if things
stay that way,
we should be
content.”
“But”, he added, and his eyes and the eyes of the others glowed with pride,
“we think that
the new
government is
also very happy
with us!
We have always
been the most
orderly and
productive
citizens, and
have paid and
given whatever
was asked of us!
Show us the
state, the
government, to
which we cannot
pay all due
taxes!”
That was Bauernstolz (farmer’s pride), which one can only find in genuine
old-established
citizens who are
conscious of
their importance
to their
country!
We were about to bid them farewell when the grandfather chimed in once
more, “Say, tell
us about Hitler.
He’s quite a
fellow, we
really envy you
for him!
How did all that
happen so fast?”
And now we were
bombarded by
questions from
all of them.
So I had to recite the same lecture, which I had so frequently given in
Greece,
Bulgaria,
Hungary and
Yugoslavia.
Having
previously
spoken with
enthusiasm, it
was now
doubled.
Once
again I told the
breathless
listeners of the
fourteen years
of disgraceful
oppression by
the victors, and
of the cynicism
and sadism with
which our
earnest quest
for peace and
equality was
rejected… of the Bonzentum
(system of fat
cats, bigwigs),
of false
socialism which
only fills the
pockets of
individuals…of
the illusion of
international
solidarity which
let the German
workers starve…
of threatening
communism
already standing
on the
threshold…and
finally of the
triumph of the
national social
idea, national
socialism, which
brought a new
belief after
fourteen years
of unspeakably
hard
struggle—the
belief in the
German human
being, whose
erstwhile and
paramount law
is: Service to
all, service to
the people.
This belief
entrusts this
one guideline to
all men: The
common good
comes before
self-interest!
And through its
leader, it
achieved a
miracle no one
has been capable
of before: To
unite the German
people, to weld
it together into
one great,
mighty will.” –
“Jo,” said the
old man, and a
unanimous spirit
glowed in the
blue eyes all
around.
“Jo, now we can
understand it.
We hear the
speeches on the
radio all the
time, but how
can you ask
questions when
you don’t
understand
anything!
People like you
should come here
more often, that
would be very
nice!”
