Itt-Ott, 1990 (23. évfolyam, 114-117. szám)

1990 / 116. szám

ant’s dream, and 3) not so much to avoid religious persecution as to isolate themselves from the evils of the world, to be “in this world, but not of it,” as the Bible instructs. The mother’s objection to alcohol is also a bit of evidence for such an interpretation. But of course if the Hungarians did indeed have a “church” here in Orenco, there must be some record of it somewhere, and it should be possible to establish their denominational affiliation. The subject’s reference to “Christians” as opposed to others is again not typically Hungarian: American “born-again” people do this. I cannot conceive of a Hungarian Baptist, etc. denying, by implication even, that Lutherans, Calvinists, or even Roman Catholics are Christians. Non-Christians in Hungary in those days meant: Jews. Even an atheist (referred to in the script) would not likely have been labeled a non- Christian, but rather an “unbeliever.” Of course “Christian” could be simply a linguistic problem here. But note, too, that in this country the theme of religious freedom here vs. religious persecution “there” — wherever — is a fetish that is drummed into us from childhood — in schools, churches, etc. It should not always be taken at face value, especially with reference to 19th century Europe.

The most interesting part of the subject’s story is about the village on the Romanian border, where they were denied water. I cannot explain it; the mere fact that the locals were of a different religion is not a convincing explanation for the alleged events. That a difference in religion existed is almost certain if the village itself was Romanian, as it is likely. Romanians were either Eastern Orthodox or Uniate, denominations to which very few ethnic Hungarians belonged. (The blessing of bread is an Orthodox ceremony and custom.) However, we are talking about a very superstitious region and people, and if the subject’s mother was officially posted there as a midwife, she and her family may well have been shunned at first. Also, if the woman was a baptist who did not have her infants baptized, that would probably indeed have subjected her to all kinds of prejudice by the community, though certainly not by the state.

5. As to the mother’s dominance in the family, it would be unusual if true. Obviously, she was left alone with the children for at least two years, and had to take care of them under difficult circumstances. The subject had a closer attachment to her mother than to her father; that, too, is fairly clear, although she was not prodded on the question, so it may be that the interview is not entirely valid on this point. Her training: although it is nonsense that she was the county doctor, as a midwife she had to have training. That it took place in Vienna is not impossible. It is not likely, simply because of the language difference. In Vienna she would have had to know German.

Until 1876, midwives were not licensed in the Kingdom of Hungary. In that year, Public Health Law No. XIV decreed that anyone entering the profession had to be licensed. Licensing could be obtained either by attending a course in midwifery, or by being certified by a county’s chief health officer (who had to be a medical doctor in the civil service). The latter route was available only to those who lived at a distance of more

than 75 km. from one of the country’s seven training schools. These were well-distributed: Medical University of Budapest, a two-semester course, in Hungarian and German; Kolozsvár (now Cluj-Napoca, Romania), a one-semester course, in Hungarian, German and Romanian; Pozsony (now Bratislava, Czechoslovakia), a one-semester course, in Hungarian, German and Slovak; Nagyvárad (now Oradea, Romania), a onesemester course, in Hungarian and Romanian; Szeged, a five-week course, in Hungarian and German; and one each in Nagyszeben (now Sibiu, Romania), and in Ungvár (now Uzhgorod, Soviet Union), for which I have no further information. The point is that it was hard to live more than 75 km. from one of these. Furthermore, note that at least three, but probably four (ind. Nagyszeben) gave instruction in Romanian language also. It is likely that the mother was trained in one of these institutes. Every village with a population of 1,500 or more had to have a certified midwife, by law. Certified midwives could be appointed for life, and had the status of civil servants. In return for their salary (which was no doubt meager) and probably public housing (hence the “big house”), they had to provide their services at no cost to the needy, and to others according to a fee set by the state. One more thing: poor women received stipends from the state to attend the courses, provided they agreed to serve in a locality that had no midwife. Qualification for admittance to these courses: age between 20 and 40, good health, unobjectionable morals, and the ability to read and write.

Now the picture may be this: the subject’s mother was indeed a peasant girl. She attended a midwifery course on a state stipend at one of the institutes that also taught in Romanian. She was then later assigned to, or volunteered for, an impoverished Romanian village. She therefore became a public health official of the county. (And perhaps the unlicensed local midwife, who feared the competition, started a rumor that she was a witch. Who knows.) Then again, perhaps she volunteered for hardship duty among the poor really to serve the poor.

And where is the husband all this time'? Probably off tending the Emperor’s horses all right — in the army. Or dodging military duty, on his way to America. The wife is left alone with the “godless” in-laws, and would prefer to practice her profession instead, no matter where. Possible?

6. From the sound of it, this is a pseudo class conflict, because if the husband indeed trained horses, he was not upper class, not even middle class. But he could have come from a rich peasant family. Békés, otherwise a strong Calvinist nest, was the very place where those who had made it would look down their noses at those who had not, and where the latter would hate the former. Too, there is a hint of an attempted seduction of the mother, probably during her husband’s absence, by someone in the circle of the in-laws. But there is insufficient information, and. this is just speculation.

7. Hungarian peasant dress customs are a complicated matter. However, the everyday dress of married peasant women was, in most regions, black, while the Sunday wear of the unmarried young was very colorITT-OTT 23. évf. (1990), őszi (116.) szám 37