This barren expanse of naked rock is called the Szekler Stone, and was formerly surmounted by the castle of a Hungarian vice-voivode.

Its ruins are still to be seen there.

The lower slopes of this mountainside are cultivated now, and the ploughshare is gradually forcing one terrace after another to yield sustenance to the farmer.
Thus it is that by these cultivated terraces the centuries of the town's history can be numbered.

For there is a village there, deep down in the rocky ravine, as if on the floor of a volcano's crater, and in that village live the happiest people in all the world.

Do not think me unduly prejudiced by the fact that I am one of them.