Transcriber’s Notes

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AUSTRIA-HUNGARY

In the same series
ENGLAND
FRANCE
ITALY
SWITZERLAND

THE WACHAU: AGGSTEIN

AUSTRIA-
HUNGARY

BY
G. E. MITTON

WITH 32 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR

LONDON
ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK
1915

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
IN COLOUR

AUSTRIA-HUNGARY

CHAPTER I
THE DUAL MONARCHY

No one can rightly enjoy a visit to a country unless he knows something of its history and its heroes; otherwise much that is seen remains meaningless. It is a common saying among oculists that we see with the brain and not with the eye, and the saying is fulfilled when we pass by, as without meaning, this or that magnificent statue embodying in concrete marble or bronze an epoch of vital action in the history of a nation.

But besides what we miss from want of that observation whose roots are embedded in knowledge, there are other things duly noted, and but half comprehended, with a vagueness that is irritating. Especially is this the case in a country of such an amalgamate nature as Austria-Hungary, where at every turn something unexpected challenges query. How comes it, for instance, that having left behind a Parliament House in Vienna we find another in Budapest though both own allegiance to the same sovereign? Why should Hungarians be so much exasperated if their country is spoken of as part of an empire when they acknowledge an Emperor as their ruler?

To gain some grip of these matters a short historical introduction is undoubtedly necessary. I do not think, however, that history should always begin at the beginning, though many people have a passion for delving into the past and groping after the roots of a subject, which often prove, when unearthed, to be exceedingly dry. The same tendency may be observed in writers of biography, who are rarely content to begin with the man or woman whose life they are undertaking, or even with their parents, but frequently go back through many centuries, dwelling at dreary length upon tedious details which occupy half the book before the pith and core of the matter is reached.

Hence in this very cursory sketch of the Dual Monarchy only so much as is essential to give colour and life to the whole book in all its aspects shall be dealt with.

At the present time Austria and Hungary are governed by Francis Joseph, Emperor of Austria and King of Hungary. The two countries are united for the purposes of Defence, Foreign Affairs, and Finance, including the Post Office, but have separate Houses of Parliament, an Upper and a Lower, in each capital, namely Vienna and Budapest. The respective Houses of Parliament are for common purposes represented by two Delegations, each composed of sixty members, and convened by the Emperor once a year alternately at Vienna and Budapest. These members, of which twenty are chosen from each Upper House and forty from each Lower one, are only appointed for one year.

As a composite State, Austria-Hungary plays a forceful part in the concert of the great European nations and wields authority which neither half could achieve alone. The very first necessity of power among modern nations is preparedness for war, and in spite of the curiously differing races and nationalities represented in the Austro-Hungarian army with its two and a half millions of soldiers, the army owns solidarity and force enough to make itself respected.

Hungary is the inner part of this composite country, the core, so to speak, and she lies in the arms of Austria somewhat after the fashion that the “old” moon may be seen lying in the arms of the “new” one; for the provinces included in the Empire ring her round on the north and west in what is more or less a semicircle.

In some particulars we may draw a parallel between the Dual Monarchy and the United Kingdom of Great Britain, for in both cases the union was effected by the fact of the countries concerned having the same reigning house. The differences, however, are manifold. It was by inheritance that the Scottish Stuarts came to the English throne on the dying out of the elder branches; it was by election the Austrian Hapsburgs were chosen for the Hungarian monarchy. Again there has been between Austria and Hungary no Act of Union, though the Pragmatic Sanction of 1723 formed a more “personal” union than before. It is the tie of the Royal House alone which unites them, and it is expediency only which dictates the amalgamation of the military power and finance in the two countries. Even here there are sore jealousies. It is obviously necessary that the same words of command should be used for the whole army, or disaster would result on the field of battle. These words are given in German, a foreign language to the rawly-joined Hungarian recruit, and Hungarian national pride is sorely wounded thereby. The dilemma is a difficult one, and this question remains ever an open wound. The Hungarians have besought the King that their own language might supersede German, but though he has proved kindly to his Hungarian subjects in many other ways, he remains adamant on this.

The greatest difference, however, between the Dual Monarchy and the United Kingdom is the difference brought into high relief by the above point, namely the racial and linguistic diversity between Austria and Hungary. The inhabitants of the two countries are not men of one blood and one tongue as the English and Scots are, but are separated by lines of deep cleavage. And this main cleavage is repeated in numerous smaller fractures, so that the kingdom is split and cracked in many directions. Fiercely as the Hungarians demand full play for their own nationality, yet they would stamp it out in the lesser races within their borders, who just as eagerly demand their own rights. Never was any country so split up and divided, and the difficulty is increased by the fact that the political boundaries are not coterminous with the national ones, but in many cases the frontiers run through the middle of the same race, so that half of it lies within and half without the territory owning Francis Joseph as sovereign! Insurrections outside the borders naturally set aflame the sympathies of those of similar blood within, and disturbances are chronic. It is natural enough therefore that, even setting aside her own desire to snatch an outlet to the sea as the result of the resettling occasioned by the Balkan War, Austria-Hungary should be aroused and shaken to the core by the fighting between races to whom many of her own subjects are blood-brothers.

The Hungarian, Dr. Julius de Vargha, thus sums up the situation; he says:

However strong the specially Austrian traditions may be, the Germans (in Austria-Hungary) stand under the alluring influence of the splendour and power of the great German Empire. The Italians long to join Italy; the Slovenians, Croatians and Servians dream of the establishment of a great southern Slav Empire; the Roumanians are drawn toward the independent kingdom of Roumania. The Hungarians alone (Magyars) are possessed of no dreams of disintegration; their past, present and future binds them to their present home; and they are consequently the firmest pillar in the monarchy of the Hapsburg.

He further says that the Magyar nation stands between the Germanic and Slav worlds “like an insulator between two opposing electric currents.” This is of course a bit of special pleading, and we fancy the Austrian would hotly disclaim any leaning toward Germany; but it is interesting as showing how the matter appears to the Hungarian mind.

The Dual Monarchy is split into numerous small territories, each with its own history and its own importance. There are no less than eleven languages in this polyglot country, and over all rules the one German-speaking monarch. Part of the Tyrol, one of the best known of the European playgrounds, lies in Austria, but part is in Italy. Bosnia and Herzegovina, the latest acquisitions, do not seem, geographically speaking, to belong to Austria at all, yet they are now included in her territory. Dalmatia, with its Italian population, is another outlying district, and it is vitally important because of its sea-coast. The smaller districts of Carinthia, Carniola, and Moravia lie northward, and above them again is Bohemia, once a kingdom by itself, with a stirring history. North of Hungary is the huge and little known Galicia, not to be confounded with Galicia in the north-west corner of Spain, though the name is spelt precisely in the same way. To the east of Hungary is Transylvania, and south of it Slavonia and Croatia. Still we have only named the best-known divisions.

The whole comprises an immense area; a line drawn round it runs to over 5000 miles and encloses a territory larger than that of any other European country except Russia.

One quarter of the population is German, another quarter Magyar (or Hungarian) and Roumanian, whilst the remaining half is made up of Italians together with Slavs, namely Poles, Croatians, Czechs, Slovaks.

The Magyars, a wild and interesting gipsy race, live in the centre of Hungary, more or less, while the Slavs, of the same blood as the Servians, are ringed round to the north and south, and outside them again on the German side come the Germans.

How did such diverse elements come to be included in one empire?

As might be supposed the centre of Europe took long to settle down. In the case of a country so happily situated as Great Britain the boundaries are natural ones. As for Spain (including Portugal) any child could rule off a line across the Pyrenees and say that the territory beyond would make a compact kingdom. France again is favoured by nature, though on one side she lies open. But when you come to the middle part of Europe there is nothing to indicate where one country should end and another begin, and the friction over boundaries never dies down; as a fact, it seems pure chance that the matter for the moment remains as it is. It might just as well have been the Austrian Empire which comprised the whole of the middle of Europe as the German one, had not the “luck” of the Austrian Emperor been adverse when the moment was ripe. Indeed, it is but a short time since the map gained its present outlines, and who can say it will remain stable?

The Holy Roman Empire included the present Austria-Hungary, with all that is now Germany. It was only about the beginning of our era that the name Austria arose, meaning the Ost-land or East-land; before that time the country was a dependency of Bavaria. About the same date Hungary emerged into a recognised kingdom under St. Stephen (997–1038), who was to that nation what King Alfred was to England. He endowed the church with great liberality, and was cultured far beyond the measure of his contemporaries. He advanced civilisation and trade, and was one of those enlightened souls which are now and then born out of due time to give light and leading to their fellows. The 20th of August is consecrated to him, and on that day a great procession is formed to carry through the capital his right hand embalmed and enclosed in a golden casket. To this day the Kings of Hungary are crowned with the crown presented by the Pope to the first King of Hungary. This forms the upper part of the present diadem, which stands on a new base. Once at least in its history this glorious and ancient crown was lost in the mud! When Otto the Bavarian came to be King of Hungary in 1301 he brought with him the sacred crown, which had before been taken away by the Germans, his allies. But the crown, in the confusion of the entry, was lost, and was only found at length in the deep mud of the hill tracks through which the party had passed.

In 1301 Stephen’s dynasty, the House of Arpad, became extinct, after giving to the nation many good kings, besides the two canonised, St. Stephen and St. Ladislas. Hungary had later as well good kings of other blood, including Louis the Great (1342–82), King of Poland also, when it was for a while the most powerful nation in central Europe.[1]

[1] The national poet Bajza says that at this epoch “the shores of three seas formed the frontiers of the kingdom.”

The Turks were always a thorn in the side of their northern neighbours, and their endless incursions and alarms were shared almost equally by Austria and Hungary, and in the end were the means of uniting the two countries. In his warfare with the Turks the great general, Janos Hunyadi, proved amazingly valiant and gained victories against desperate odds. Unluckily in one such combat the reigning King, Ladislas, was slain, and his head, raised aloft by his enemies, inspired panic among his own people and ensured their defeat. Nothing daunted, Hunyadi pursued his successes in the reign of the next King, and in 1456 scattered a Turkish host under the walls of Belgrade. It is said that 40,000 of his men were killed, and just in the hour of victory the great commander himself died. Besides being a notable general he was a wise statesman and a strong unselfish man.

His son, Matthias Corvinus Hunyadi (1458–1490), who was only fifteen, was afterwards elected King, and his name is one of the most remarkable in the whole roll of the Hungarians. From his youth up he had been accustomed to take care of himself in the midst of danger, and he developed into a resolute and strong soldier; what was perhaps more remarkable was that he was a patron of the arts and learning. His library was his chief pride, and in an age when reading was scorned he spent hours daily in this favourite resort. Here is a description of it taken from Hungary by Arminius Vambery (The Story of the Nations).

The library was in the castle of Buda, and the place assigned to it comprised two large halls, provided with windows of artistically stained glass opening into each other. The entrance consisted of a semi-circular hall commanding a magnificent view of the Danube. Both halls were provided with rich furniture. One of them contained the king’s couch, covered with tapestry embroidered with pearls, upon which he spent his leisure hours reading. Tripod-shaped chairs, covered with carpet, were placed about, recalling the Delphian Apollo. Richly carved shelves ran along the walls and were curtained with purple velvet tapestry, interwoven with gold. It would be difficult to describe properly the magnificence of the books themselves. They were all written on white vellum and bound in coloured skins, ornamented with rose diamonds and precious stones, and with the king’s portrait or his arms. The pages are illuminated with miniature paintings and ornaments, vying with each other in excellence, and the work of some of the most famous illuminators of the age.

The palace of Matthias was enriched by the work of the best sculptors of the time, and his library was continually increased by the labour of copyists, whom he employed to transcribe manuscripts in Italy. It was the Golden Age in Hungary, and the chivalrous and strong monarch attracted to himself poets, painters, and literary men from all the civilised countries of Europe. Among other things he founded an academy of letters. These indications of a scholarly mind would have been of no avail in that rude age unless there had been strong physical prowess behind them; a weakling, whatever his intellectual calibre, would have been scorned. King Matthias, however, was one of those unusual men who combine mental and physical qualities of the highest order. He was as much a soldier as a scholar, and he asked no luxury in the camp or on the battlefield, content to share in all the hardships imposed upon his men. His courage was proverbial, and his heedlessness of danger so great that he was supposed to bear a charmed life, though not invulnerable, as numerous scars testified.

In person Matthias was tall and broad, with a massive head and keen eyes. He gave the most scrupulous and impartial justice to all his people alike, so that he was surnamed “The Just,” and when he died there was a current saying, “King Matthias is dead and justice is no more.” His death was due to apoplexy, and he left no legitimate son to succeed him.

By this time the House of Hapsburg had come to the fore. They had originally held possessions in Switzerland and later gained position and power as Dukes of Austria, Styria, Carniola, etc. When the German Emperor Conrad died in 1254 there was no successor until Rudolph of Hapsburg was elected to fill the vacant place. The German Emperor, or “King of the Romans,” as he was called, was always elected, and the honour was not hereditary, hence it did not pass of right to Rudolph’s descendants, though some of them were subsequently chosen for the position.

While Matthias was on the throne of Hungary Frederick III. of Hapsburg was ruling in Austria. Matthias attacked him and drove him out of Vienna; but Matthias was short-lived, dying at the age of forty-seven, and his successors were feeble and unable to hold what he had gained.

For generations back the Turks had been a thorn in the side of Hungary and had worried the kings by their constant incursions. They persecuted the land much as the Danes harried Britain, and thirty-six years after Matthias’ death the culmination came in a terrific battle fought at Mohács, where the Turks, in prodigious force and fury, almost wiped the Hungarian nation off the face of the map. The reigning King, Louis II., was but a boy, and his army of 25,000 men was practically annihilated by one twelve times as great, under Suleiman the Turk. Seven archbishops and bishops and thousands of nobles laid down their lives on the field that day, and the defeat was to the nation as poignant and humiliating as the battle of Flodden Field was to Scotland. The Turk has always stood out conspicuously as the only Mussulman power in Europe, and in our time we have seen slice after slice cut away from his territory and set up as independent kingdoms. The time is surely not far distant when the Ottoman power will be pushed across into Asia, to which it so much more fitly belongs; in fact, only the jealousies of the great nations adjacent have so long delayed this consummation.

The Hungarians, driven frantic by their disasters, appealed to the Kings of the House of Hapsburg for help, and accepted them as rulers, alien though they were in blood and race. The solution was accepted loyally by the majority of the people, but it led to little relief, for even the Hapsburgs could not hold back the savage Turks, who overran the great plain of Hungary, and were accepted as suzerains by the people of Transylvania. For a century and a half before the year 1686 the Hungarian capital was in the hands of the Turks. Such divisions and dissensions tore the nation in pieces, and there was nothing but misery for the people.

“But,” writes the distinguished Hungarian, Dr. Julius de Vargha, already quoted, “it was the national disaster that displayed the heroic valour and ardent patriotism of the Hungarian nation. Such splendid instances of intrepid bravery, undaunted self-sacrifice and chivalrous virtues brighten these dark pages of our history, that we may justly call this period the heroic age of the Hungarian nation. But it was not only military prowess that preserved the national character of this country, torn, as it was, to pieces and bleeding from a thousand wounds. It is remarkable that just at this very period a rich and flourishing national literature sprang into being. During the reign of Matthias humanistic literature and culture took deep root in the country; its tongue however was not Hungarian but Latin. The intellectual movement of the Reformation made the soil of Hungary, that had already been cultivated, bring forth a national literature, which the struggle evoked by the anti-Reformation succeeded in fostering to a higher development.”

Successive rulers of the Austrian House of Hapsburg were chosen as German Emperors too, and the effect of this was to make Hungary seem to them insignificant, and they tried to incorporate it as a part of their dominions without recognising the Hungarian people as a strong nation which had freely invited them to rule.

However, when the Turks were driven out of Buda, and the nation had time to settle her internal affairs, things began to look better. The Hungarians voluntarily gave up their right of election in the case of their kings, and settled the succession in the House of Hapsburg; unfortunately, it was only a short time after this that the then reigning monarch, Leopold I., treated them with such disdain that they arose against him in fury, and made war on him, a struggle which continued for eight years and was ended by an honourable peace in 1711, when the constitutional independence of Hungary was fully confirmed.

In 1740 the Emperor, Charles VI., died, and left an only daughter, but before his death he had done his best to secure her inheritance to her by inducing the Pragmatic Sanction in 1723 to extend the right of succession to the female line. She was only twenty-three at the time of her accession, and had four years before married Francis Stephen of Lorraine, who became Grand Duke of Tuscany. Though the way had been cleared for her, yet on her father’s death a host of claimants for the inheritance sprang up. The Prussian, Bavarian, French, Saxon, Spanish, and Neapolitan rulers all wanted what she had got! The chivalry of the Hungarians was called to the surface by her position, and when she appeared at Pressburg (called by the Hungarians Pozsony), then the capital, with her infant son in her arms she was greeted by the loyal and splendid cry, “Moriamur pro reges, Maria Teresa,” which has rung down the ages. Her accession welded the nations together as nothing else could have done. She proved a popular monarch and conciliated the Hungarians with womanly tact; she had sixteen children, of whom her eldest son Joseph succeeded her as Joseph II. and became also Emperor. One of her daughters was the beautiful and unfortunate Marie Antoinette.

CHAPTER II
THE MAKING OF MODERN AUSTRIA

Others of Maria Teresa’s descendants, besides Joseph, held the title of Emperor, but as the Germanic states grew more united among themselves this tended to become an empty dignity. It was dropped at last by Francis II., who ascended the throne in 1792. But before that, Francis had gone through the terrible wars of the Napoleonic era, and had been shorn of all his dominions beyond Austria and its immediate dependencies. The first of his outlying dominions to be taken by the French was the Netherlands, in the same year that he became sovereign.

At that time Francis ruled also in Lombardy, and it was not to be supposed that Buonaparte would allow any country so near France to remain untouched; he spread his tentacles over it in 1796, and it became the Cisalpine Republic. The Austrians did not give up without a struggle; they made a strong resistance but were outplayed at every turn. This laid the way to Vienna open to the French, and they immediately took advantage of it, marching through the Tyrol. Austria thereupon concluded peace, giving up all idea of recovering her possessions in the Low Countries, and agreeing to recognise the Cisalpine Republic, in return for which she received the Venetian territory. But the greatest advantage Austria received for thus declaring herself on the side of the conqueror was the province of Dalmatia, which gave her access to the sea and had long been coveted by her.

HOHENSALZBURG

The people of Austria, however, had to be reckoned with, and this peace was altogether opposed to their wishes; after violent uprisings they broke through the neutrality, and joining Russia and Prussia declared war on France. This led to the disastrous defeats of Marengo and Hohenlinden in 1800, and on the latter occasion between four and five thousand Austrians were left dead on the field and seven thousand were taken prisoners. Austria once again cried out for peace and abandoned the Tyrol to the French without the consent of the Tyrolese themselves, who had very different views on the subject. It was in 1804 that Francis II. dropped the title of Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, which had become an empty form, and adopted instead that of Emperor of Austria, which he made hereditary; no one seems to have objected, and as Buonaparte had a few months before declared himself Emperor of the French, the two newly created emperors agreed to recognise each other’s titles. Very shortly after Austria was again drawn into opposition to her temporary ally by England and Russia, and took up arms once more against the French. This was followed by the disastrous field of Ulm, with a humiliating capitulation on the part of the Austrians. The Archduke Charles then succeeded General Mack, who had been deprived of his command and condemned to ten years’ imprisonment. Napoleon entered Vienna and established his headquarters in the Imperial palace. The Russians and Austrians together met him once more in full fight at Austerlitz, where they were again badly beaten, losing fifteen thousand killed, and ten thousand prisoners. This was called the battle of the Three Emperors, for they were all present in person.

Austria now lay under the heel of the French, and a peace was signed at Pressburg in December 1805. By this Austria agreed, among other things, to give up her recent possession of Dalmatia; she ceded the Tyrol to Bavaria, and received instead Salzburg, which lay on her frontier and had been ever coveted. We shall see in the chapters on the Tyrol how the Tyrolese regarded this generosity at their expense! It was not till 1809 that the struggle, as a national struggle, was again renewed and war once more declared against France. The result of this was that for a second time the French entered Vienna as conquerors and Napoleon established himself there. The terrible battle of Aspern, in which neither side could claim a victory, left the Colossus with more respect for the fighting powers of his enemies, for it is said that he remarked once, “He who has not seen the Austrians at Aspern has seen nothing.” The fate of the empire hung on the next move, which was accomplished at Wagram on July 5, 1809. The Archduke Charles had placed himself in a fine strategic position on the hills above Vienna, and waited for the French to cross the river, yet in spite of this the Austrians were smashed to pieces. Their bravery is evinced by the fact that forty thousand dead and wounded were left on the field, but nothing could withstand the genius of the Man of War who had let loose his hounds upon them. The peace of Schönbrunn, signed in October, gave up to the conqueror over forty-three thousand square miles of territory, including the Tyrol, which the Austrians had once again attempted to save. Austria lay prone, and it is greatly to her credit that after an interval she once again agreed with the allies, Prussia and Russia, to make another desperate struggle for liberty, even though Napoleon had married the daughter of Francis II.

This princess, Maria Louisa, was of a despicable character, and did not deserve a better fate. She was the mother of the boy afterwards known as the King of Rome and the Duke of Reichstadt. She died at Vienna in 1847.

Metternich, the celebrated Austrian minister, played a large part in affairs during this unhappy time; he was born in 1773 and was not in reality an Austrian, having first seen the light in the Rhenish provinces, at a small village from which he took his name. The European nations, by now banded together in resistance to their common foe, met in consultation; three great armies were formed, one in the Netherlands of English, Dutch, and Prussians, with Wellington and Blücher in command; another on the Rhine, of Austrians, Russians, and Germans; and a third in Italy, chiefly of Austrians. This was in 1815, and the result was made known in the world-famous battle of Waterloo, at which no Austrian happened to be present.

At the end of the war Austria had indeed been deprived of her Netherlands possessions, but she had instead Dalmatia, and also Venetia,—which was not finally reft from her until 1866,—and her hereditary dominions in the Tyrol and in Carinthia and Carniola were secured to her. She was compact and welded together, and instead of suffering from the long protracted trials which she had endured, she came out the stronger from them.

In 1835 Francis II. died and was succeeded by his son, Ferdinand IV., who in 1848 abdicated in favour of his nephew, Francis Joseph, the present ruler of the Dual Monarchy. However, Francis Joseph did not come to an easy inheritance, for Hungary was racked with the strain of trying to burst the limits imposed on her, in order to give her nationality free play. It was in this struggle that the great leader Kossuth came to the front, and in 1848 laws were passed allowing to Hungary a responsible ministry, parliaments to be held annually in Budapest, popular representation and freedom of the press; but nevertheless Hungary was soon again in the throes of revolution. The Croats, Serbs, and the Wallachs of Transylvania rose against her. The turmoil ended in a war between Austria and Hungary, in which Kossuth was the moving spirit on the Hungarian side. But when Russia joined her might to that of Austria, Hungary was ground between two mills and had no chance. Kossuth fled to Turkey, and thence later journeyed to England and the United States, preaching his cause. He died in exile in Italy in 1894, at the age of ninety-two.

In 1867 Hungary was granted a separate constitution and recognised fully as a separate kingdom. It was then ratified by Act of Parliament “That Hungary in the spirit of the constitution is an independent country and does not belong to the countries included in the Austrian Empire.”

The titles of the present Austrian ruler are extraordinarily numerous; besides being Emperor of Austria and King of Hungary he is King of Bohemia, Galicia, Croatia, Slavonia, Illyria, and Dalmatia; Prince of Transylvania; Margrave of Moravia; Duke of Upper and Lower Silesia, of Lorraine, of Salzburg, of Styria, Carinthia, Bukowina, and Carniola; Count of the Tyrol, Graditz, and Gradiska, and even this does not exhaust the list of titles. Among them is the purely fanciful one of King of Jerusalem and that of Count of Hohenhembs, under which, as Countess, the unfortunate Empress was travelling incognito when murdered.

The two chief powers in the Germanic states were the Emperor of Austria and the King of Prussia, and it was recognised by all the smaller states that the Presidency of the Diet, as it was called, must fall to one of these two. In 1865 Prussia and Austria came to grips over the question of Schleswig-Holstein, and in “The Seven Weeks’ War” the Austrians were decisively beaten. So important was this war in the history of modern Europe that it must be described somewhat more at length, as it settled for our own time the question of the power of the German and Austrian monarchs.

In 1864 Austria and Prussia together wrenched from Denmark the provinces of Schleswig-Holstein and the Duchy of Lauenburg, and almost immediately thereafter difficulties ensued regarding the administration of them. After a while it was agreed that Austria should take over the administration of Holstein and Prussia that of Schleswig, but when mischief is brewing between two nations who have for years been rubbing up against each other’s sore points, any settlement can only be temporary, and this arrangement ended in a further quarrel. Almost before the other states had realised what was happening, Prussian troops had invaded Austrian territory by way of Saxony and Bohemia. This was in June 1866, and no amount of reasoning on the part of Austria could have averted it, the Prussians were ripe for a fight, and under the leadership of their great general, Von Moltke, were confident of victory. On paper indeed Austria seemed to have quite as good a show as her aggressive neighbour, for many of the smaller states, such as Bavaria, Wurtemberg, Saxony, Hanover, Baden, and the two Hesses were on her side, but Prussia had secured the alliance of Italy, always in a state of irritation against Austria on account of her coterminous border. She now intervened, with the effect of causing a dispersal of Austrian troops through the necessity of being on guard in the south. The Prussians advanced almost without opposition through Saxony, and were careful to treat the inhabitants of the country fairly so as to secure their co-operation.

In Bohemia the Austrians made some resistance but the luck was against them. The action at Podoll, where the river Iser is 100 yards wide, was an instance of this. The Austrians held the village and were determined to make a stand. The Prussians were better armed, however, and particularly had an advantage in the rapid fire of their needle-guns or breech-loading rifles, then just coming into use, while the Austrians still carried muzzle-loaders.

The Prussians had arrived just as night was closing in, and though the Austrians had the shelter of the houses in which they were entrenched, they were pressed back, and mercilessly outplayed by the German Jägers.

The contest ended in a clear victory for the Prussians. Close on five hundred unwounded Austrian prisoners were next morning marched up to headquarters, and the Austrian loss in killed and wounded was very considerable. The medical officers officially reported the proportion of wounded Austrians to wounded Prussians as five to one.

Besides the great strategist, Von Moltke, the Prussians possessed an able leader in Prince Frederick Charles, the brother of the King, to say nothing of the Crown Prince.

The Austrian cavalry, consisting of the Hussars and Dragoons, especially the Windischgrätz Dragoons, were among the most famous in the world, but again and again in desperate hand-to-hand encounters, sometimes in narrow streets, hemmed in, they met their match in the Prussian Uhlans and the Dragoons of their enemies.

On June 29 the King left Berlin and on July 1, arriving at the army headquarters in Bohemia, he assumed supreme command of the three Prussian armies then engaged in the war.

Two days later was fought the supreme action of the war in the battle of Königgratz or, as it is better known, Sadowa, which settled for ever the leadership of the Germanic states. At first the Austrians were stationed in the village of Sadowa, but being driven out by a rush, they retired into the wood above, and held it strongly, and here a fierce struggle with the bayonet followed.

The Prussians advanced against the nearest trees, but did not at first make much impression, for the Austrians being here again concealed, the fire of the needle-gun did not tell, and a whole battery placed at the far end of the wood fired through the trees, and told on the Prussian ranks with awful effect. But the assailants fought on and at last broke down the obstacles at the entrance, and then dashed in.

Affairs did not apparently go more favourably for the Prussians in the centre. The whole of the First Army was severely engaged, with the exception of eight batteries of artillery and cavalry, which were still held in reserve.

When Chlum was taken the Crown Prince advanced to the help of his generals against Lissa wood, and encouraged by this reinforcement, which had so unexpectedly turned the tables on the foe, the Prussians of the First Army leapt to the charge and made for the Austrian batteries, which had previously done them so much damage. The Austrians, thus cornered, attempted to escape and made their way down to the hollow ground on the other side. But even then, though mowed down by the needle-guns, the Austrians were not beaten. Even when the Prussian artillery was brought up and sent its shells bursting over the heads of the retreating soldiers the retreat never became a rout. Terrible fighting followed, as the Austrians took up their position in the valley and played their batteries on the pursuers. The manner in which the Austrians worked their artillery on this occasion provoked the admiration of their enemies and passed into a proverb. The cavalry on both sides met in a tremendous collision, but for the Austrians the day was lost, and thenceforth they retreated, and the pursuit was continued to the Elbe.

One hundred and seventy-four guns, twenty thousand prisoners, and eleven standards, fell into the hands of the conquerors. The total loss of the Austrian army amounted to almost forty thousand men, while that of the Prussians was not ten thousand.

Worse equipped, worse generalled, but equally brave, to the point of foolhardiness, the Austrians lost none of their morale in such a battle.

This was not the end of the war, but it practically decided it. There were many other actions of less importance, but none to equal Sadowa. Thenceforth the Prussian army steadily advanced on Vienna.

An armistice was proclaimed when the Prussians were already in sight of Vienna, at Wagram, where Napoleon had won his victory. Here, on July 25, they were drawn close together, “like a crouching lion ready to spring upon the Danube should the negotiations for peace fail.”

This was what they saw: On the right lay the rounded hill of the Bisamberg studded with vineyards, cornfields, and woods, among which vain search with glasses was made to discover any signs of hostile batteries. Beyond the Bisamberg could be seen the narrow gorge from which the Danube issues, and further still the rough, rugged recess of the hills above Klosterneuberg, rising steeply up from the water’s edge, with their summits capped with heavy masses of dark green foliage, and their sides sprinkled over with fir trees. A little to the left and at the foot of the hills the city of Vienna lay sparkling in the sun; the tops of the steeples and the roofs of the houses glittered in the bright flood of light. Far away on the left front spread the Marchfeld, beyond which could be seen the dim blue line of hills which gird the valley south of the Danube, while directly to the left the dark Carpathians towered up to the sky.

Those who know Vienna will recognise the unchanged contours of the country, even fifty years after that summer day when the tired way-worn German soldiers lay panting in the heat, watching the great city as a cat watches a mouse, and waiting the word of command. Would it come in time? The armistice had but two days more to run! And they who had at one time thirsted to get at their enemy’s capital and so to seize the nation by its throat were now wearied of war, they were many leagues from home, and had had their fill of bloodshed. On the evening of the 26th the welcome news arrived, peace had been made, and there was but one feeling throughout the whole army,—the feeling contained in the word “home.”

The victory left Prussia supreme among the German states for, included in the terms of peace, among other things, was the condition that Austria should retire from the Germanic confederation, leaving her great rival undisputed master.

It was during this war that Hanover made so brave an attempt to play up to Austria, and not being backed properly by the other smaller states, found herself in a pitiable position at the mercy of Prussia. It was then that the kingdom of Hanover was absorbed by Prussia and never restored to the King, though he was allowed to live elsewhere in Germany. The feud thus begun is in the way of being healed at the present time by the marriage of the German Emperor’s only daughter with the ex-heir of the House of Hanover.

The relations between Austria and Italy were also changed by this war, though that must be further considered when we come to the Tyrol.

The Prussian King was undisputed lord of the German confederation, but he aimed at more than that, and by the brain and audacity of his counsellor Bismarck he attained his aim, for in 1871 he was hailed as German Emperor, reigning as an hereditary ruler over the Germanic states, and thus began the second German Empire.

In 1888 the Triple Alliance was formed, between Italy, Germany, and Austro-Hungary, each nation pledging itself to assist either of the others if attacked.

CHAPTER III
THE EMPEROR

Few monarchs have waded through such deep waters of sorrow as the venerable Emperor of Austria, who was born on August 18, 1830, and succeeded to the throne on the abdication of his uncle, the Emperor Ferdinand, and the renunciation of all rights by his own father. To the good-looking high-spirited lad of eighteen the world probably did not seem difficult to conquer, even though his dual inheritance was torn by inward throes of dissension. It was when he was twenty-three that he met his beautiful cousin Elizabeth, the second of the five daughters of the Duke Maximilian Joseph of Bavaria, at Ischl, and immediately fell in love with her, though she was only sixteen. Though negotiations had already been entered into for his marriage with her elder sister, he declared he would marry her and no one else, and in spite of her surprised exclamation as to why he should choose one so insignificant, when told of this prospect by her mother, he carried through his project and they were betrothed in three days, though not married till eight months after. The young couple were first cousins, their mothers being sisters. On that large family of sons and daughters of the house of Bavaria many sorrows have fallen. The tragic end of the Empress is described below; one of her sisters, the Duchess of Alençon, was burnt to death in the terrible fire at the charity bazaar in Paris a few years earlier. Another, having married the Crown Prince of Naples, was driven from the throne with him.

The Imperial marriage did not turn out a success. Elizabeth shared to the full in the eccentric tendencies of her family, an eccentricity which developed in the elder and reigning branch of her house into madness. She was of a melancholy temperament, and entirely without the power of adapting herself. Young as she was, her tastes were formed, and the somewhat wild out-of-door life she had led as a girl had imbued her with a hatred of functions and ceremonies. She was suddenly elevated to a supreme position in one of the most conventional courts in Europe. Small wonder was it that, in spite of her unquestioned beauty, she alienated the hearts of her courtiers by her want of tact and obvious dislike of court life.

Two daughters were born to her before the longed-for son, and one of them died. This increased her unhappiness, but when at length a prince appeared it was hoped things would go better. Unfortunately the Empress’s eccentricity increased rather than diminished. She took umbrage at the Emperor’s love affairs, which might have been condoned in one in such a position of temptation, and at last she left her home and children and wandered over Europe for many years.

Reconciliation was at length effected over the new Hungarian constitution, when the Emperor and Empress travelled in state to Budapest, there to be crowned King and Queen of Hungary. The ceremonies were magnificent. All the various races of the dominions were represented, as the writer of The Martyrdom of an Empress, says:

The escort of one hundred and eighty-two aristocrats was an especially magnificent sight. Twelve pairs of cavaliers, whose horses were led by armour-bearers in Magyar dresses, were followed by eight mounted Magnates, each of whom carried a banner. The others all came in pairs, each horse being led by one or two armour-bearers. All the nobles wore the splendid dress of the Hungarian Magnate, adorned with gold embroidery and precious stones from the kalpak—or head-covering, which is surmounted with heron’s feathers—down to the high boots. The reins, gilt stirrups, and the shabracks and golden scabbards of the scimitars were covered with diamonds and jewels, many of them being worth a fortune.

The Emperor has always been personally greatly beloved by his subjects, and Prince Bismarck once said, “Whatever dissensions the different nationalities of Austria may have among themselves, as soon as the Emperor Francis Joseph gets on horseback they all follow him with enthusiasm.”

The Empress always got on better with the Magyars than with her Austrian subjects, and was more loved by them. Her wonderful skill as a horsewoman endeared her to the Magyars, every one of whom is born with the love of horses in his veins. After the coronation the Empress set herself to master the Hungarian language, and though it is notably difficult, she became so proficient in it that the patriot Deak told her she was the noblest Hungarian of them all. Her openly expressed sorrow at the death of Deak was another link between her and the Hungarians, who grew to love her as they had loved no queen since Maria Teresa. The Empress Elizabeth’s knowledge of foreign languages was something exceptional; she spoke and wrote German, Hungarian, Czech, Polish, Roumanian, Italian, Modern Greek, English, and French. She was very fond of Byron, who, after Heine, was her favourite poet.

The youngest child of the Imperial couple, the Archduchess Valerie, was born the following year.

In 1879 the Empress visited Great Britain, where her firm and graceful seat as a horsewoman attracted as much admiration as in Hungary; she returned many times in later years, and rode to hounds with the Pytchley, Royal Meath, and in Cheshire, and no mount was too spirited for her to manage. She stayed also at the Isle of Wight, which she greatly appreciated, and her clever feats of swimming were only second to her horsemanship.

The Emperor, meantime, having borne first the burden of internal dissensions, and then the trial and humiliation of the war with Germany, grew old before his time and became grave and quiet.

Prince Rudolph married the Princess Stephanie of Belgium in 1881, and in 1883 their only child, a daughter, was born to them. She was about six years old when the terrible death of Rudolph fell as a heavy blow on his parents. The hot-headed young man was mixed up in intrigues unsuitable to his responsible position, with the result that he took his own life by shooting himself, and was found dead in a shooting-box at the end of January 1889. It is said that the Empress was never known to laugh again.

In the following year her youngest daughter, the Archduchess Valerie, married, and from that time the unhappy Empress travelled about a great deal incognito on the Continent, and staying at her palace Achilleion on Corfu. On this she spent thousands of pounds. Since her death it has been purchased by the German Emperor.

The end came on Sunday September 11, 1898, at Geneva, whither she had gone over for a few days from Territet where she had been staying. Accompanied only by a lady-in-waiting the Empress was walking along the quay between one and two in the afternoon to rejoin the boat which was to take her back to Territet, when a man rushed forward and struck her violently over the heart. It was thought at first he had only stumbled against her and caused her to fall, and though he was secured no great apprehension was raised by his strange conduct. The Empress recovered herself and went on board, where she fainted. It was then discovered that he had pierced her heart with a triangular file resembling a stiletto, which had inflicted only a small wound but bled internally. Brought back to Geneva she died in half an hour. The assassin, who had been arrested, turned out to be an Italian anarchist named Luccheni, who seemed to have no special motive for his dastardly crime beyond a general vendetta against crowned heads. Thus died the Empress Elizabeth in her sixty-first year, adding one more heart-rending sorrow to her husband’s darkened life. There is hardly any grief in the range of human relationships that the Emperor has not known. It was in the very year of his wife’s death, in the month of December, that he was preparing to celebrate his jubilee. Up to the present time he has reigned longer than any other European sovereign of whom we have record, having even out-distanced Queen Victoria.

There is loyalty of a very deep and true kind amongst all classes of his subjects; it is not the Austrians alone, but the Slavs and Tyrolese and Hungarians, who look with tender reverence on the aged man, now in his eightieth decade, who has lived far beyond the allotted span of man’s life. Loyalty it is none the less because it does not seek avidly the tittle-tattle as to royal doings so eagerly sought in Great Britain, nor does it lead to mobbing the Emperor in his capital when he goes among his subjects.

In character the Emperor is free from vanity and simple in his tastes. He has suffered so much that even had he not had dignity and courage as inborn qualities he must have gained them, otherwise he could never have survived the repeated blows of fate. He is sparing of words, but his thought penetrates below the surface. “His calm placidity enables him to see through the transparent motive of the self-seeker, the charity-mongering toady—a rare gift of kingship. An indulgent smile perhaps, but few stars and crosses are to be had for incense-burning to this Habsburg.” In spite of being a constitutional ruler, it is the personality of the Emperor that counts in a way that is felt in no other country. Perhaps it is because he forms the only link among so many nationalities, so many jarring, turbulent, and opposed aspirations, that his person is so strongly revered. Whatever else divides the Magyar from the Austrian and the Slav from the Magyar, here they are all at one. Quiet, reserved, shrewd, and kindly, he has learnt by many bitter experiences to play his hard part to perfection.

The Austrian National Anthem evokes as much feeling as in more homogeneous countries.

AUSTRIAN NATIONAL ANTHEM

{Gott erhalte Franz den Kaiser,

Unsern guten Kaiser Franz!}

{Hoch als Herrscher, hoch als Weiser,

Steht er in des Ruhmes Glanz!}

Liebe windet Lorbeerreiser

Ihm zum ewig grünen Kranz!

Gott erhalte Franz den Kaiser,

Unsern guten Kaiser Franz!

{God preserve our gracious Emp’ror,

Franz our sov’reign, great is he:}

{Wise as Ruler, deep in knowledge,

Nations his renown may see!}

Love entwines a crown of laurel

That shall all unfading be!

God preserve our gracious Emp’ror,

Franz our sov’reign, great is he!

Über blühende Gefilde

Reicht sein Scepter weit und breit;

Säulen seines Throns sind Milde,

Biedersinn und Redlichkeit,

Und von seinem Wappenschilde

Strahlet die Gerechtigkeit.

Gott erhalte, etc.

Sich mit Tugenden zu schmücken,

Achtet er der Sorgen wert:

Nicht um Völker zu erdrücken

Flammt in seiner Hand das Schwert.

Sie zu segnen, zu beglücken,

Ist der Preis, den er begehrt.

Gott erhalte, etc.

Er zerbrach der Knechtschaft Bande,

Hob zur Freiheit uns empor!

Früh erleb er deutscher Lande,

Deutscher Völker höchsten Flor,

Und vernehme noch am Rande

Später Gruft der Enkel Chor:

Gott erhalte, etc.

O’er a vast and mighty Empire

Rules our Sov’reign day by day;

Though he wields a potent sceptre,

All beneficent his sway;

From his shield the Sun of Justice

Ever casts its purest sway!

God preserve, etc.

To adorn himself with virtues

He, and all successful, tries;

Ne’er against his loving people

Does his hand in anger rise!

No! to see them free and happy,

This he holds the highest prize.

God preserve, etc.

Pioneer of perfect freedom,

Blessings round his footsteps cling,

To its pinnacle of greatness

Soon may he his country bring!

And when death at last approaches

Shall his grateful people sing:

God preserve, etc.

Since the Salic law runs in Austria the Emperor’s grand-daughter cannot succeed him, any more than his own two married daughters.

The latest, and in some ways the most terrible, tragedy of all that have fallen on the royal house is yet fresh in the minds of every one, for the assassination of the heir to the throne, the Archduke Francis Ferdinand, and his wife, in the streets of Serajevo took place on June 28, 1914. The Archduke was born in 1863, and was the son of the Emperor’s next brother. He was thus past middle life, and was a man of strong personality. His wife was of noble, but not of royal, blood, and had been lady-in-waiting to the Archduchess Isabella. At the time of the marriage the Archduke had to agree to give up all rights of succession for any children of this union, and therefore his two sons are now set aside in favour of their cousin, the Archduke Charles Francis Joseph, son of their father’s brother, the late Archduke Otto, who becomes Heir-Apparent. He was born in 1887, married in 1911 the Princess Zita of Bourbon-Parma, and has already a little son. All the Emperor’s brothers have passed away before him. The Archduke Maximilian, his favourite, suffered an unhappy fate. He was offered the crown of Mexico by Napoleon III. He accepted, and in 1864 sailed for the “Kingdom” thus bestowed on him, but his army abandoned him and the republicans captured and shot him, thus adding another sorrow to the heart of the aged Emperor.

CHAPTER IV
THE COUNTRY OF HUNGARY

Running round fully two-thirds of Hungary are the Carpathian ranges of mountains. Hungary has been called the land of “three mountains and four rivers,” and the emblem of these form the chief feature in the coat-of-arms of the country. The mountains are supposed to be the Tátra, Fátra, and Mátra, and the rivers the Danube, Theiss or Tisza, Drave, and Save. But this, in regard to the mountains at all events, is misleading, for the country is surrounded by mountains on three sides, a great chain of 900 miles long reaching round north, east, and south to the Iron Gates of the Danube, and to mention only three peaks out of so many but little inferior does not give a true notion of the country.

The north-western Carpathians are divided into several ranges; one separates Hungary from Moravia, Silesia, and Galicia. There are passes of great grandeur leading through the Carpathians at many points, and the way in which the heights rise sheer on the Hungarian side greatly adds to the impressiveness. A good deal of the mountains is thinly populated, and the villagers are often very primitive in their habits.

A PINE FOREST IN THE TÁTRA

The Carpathians are of great bulk and breadth, and are covered with trees. The highest peaks are above the perpetual snow-line, and rise grandly from the evergreen forests. In the higher parts pine and fir predominate, but in the lower ranges oak, beech, and ash are common. Vast armies of pigs, led by little swineherds, seek their chief food under the trees, where they find abundance of beech-mast and acorns. The sight of a swineherd leading forth his flock in the morning from a village is a quaint one. He stands and calls or whistles, and from almost every cottage one or more pigs joyfully run grunting to join him; many of them are horrible creatures to our notions, with matted long hair and covered with fleas; nevertheless he lets them rub up against him, he fondles them, and allows them to rest their heads on his lap!

The chief features of the health resorts in the Carpathians are the wonderful mineral waters which gush out abundantly almost everywhere, and the glorious air and grand scenery. The springs and baths alone are enough to make the fortune of any place, but when added to these are endless diversity of walks through forest scenery, wonderful panoramas of wind and rock-scarred precipices, stretching on one behind the other and backed up perhaps by a mantle of glittering snow, it is remarkable the world at large has not yet “discovered” this playground fully.

There are also little lakes lying in hollows. These are the work of glaciers, and are of a deep blue or green colour. On a still day the scenery is reflected as in a mirror. They are called by the poetic name of “sea-eyes.” The terrific falls of water streak the precipitous heights with white ribbons.

For those who can afford it there is chamois-hunting, though it gets yearly more difficult as the animals are driven further and further by the intrusion of men; and even bison-hunting, though this has to be arranged with a private owner who only grants the privilege to his guests. The resorts are greatly sought by invalids in the winter, and also by a totally different class of pleasure-seekers, those who delight in ice-sports and pastimes. The two seasons are from the middle of June to the end of September, and from the middle of December to the end of February.

All through the Tátra runs a fine road, made by the Hungarian Carpathian club to link up the principal places; this is 21 miles in length and reaches from Csorba to Barlangliget.

The railway line to the Tátra passes by the river Vág for the most part, and as every height is crowned more or less by a ruined castle, it is inevitable that the route has been compared with the Rhine valley. But there is no steamer on the Vág on account of its rapids, and those who wish to come down it will have to do so on a native-made raft, which is piloted with great skill by the peasants through seemingly impassable turmoils of water. The rail goes past Poprad, and it is near here that the first real view of the Carpathians is had, the central range, stretching grim and grey about thirty miles due east and west, and rising apparently straight from the plain.

From Poprad can be visited the extraordinary Ice Cave at Dobsina, one of the wonders of the world, where skating is possible in the summer even when the air outside is at a high temperature. The perpetual chill in the cavern is accounted for by the fact that it lies at a lower level than the outer ground, and that the cold air, having once entered, hangs heavily, so when the warmer air of summer seeks to displace it, it cannot find entrance. The cave is to-day planed and smoothed and rendered easy of access in the way universally considered necessary with any work of Nature’s, until it resembles a piece of man’s architecture; nevertheless the beauty is still great, even though the gleam from the crystals is that reflected by electricity, which gives an artificial aspect to everything. The ice-columns and pendants are constantly changing in bulk and form, and the floor of the lower cave, a mass of ice, the cubic content of which can hardly be estimated, is so smooth that skating is possible at any time of the year.

From Poprad again one can go to Csorba, where a small cog-wheel railway runs to a lake thus described by one who is an artist in words: “Magnificently situated among mountains and forest. Lines and patches of snow flecked the heights, and were mirrored in the still waters. Against the sunset the mountains became a warm plum colour, and, with the dark forests, plane behind plane of purply green, were all perfectly reflected in the glowing water, save where the evening breeze cut level silver lines.” Strange tales are told of some of these lakes, the depths of which are unmeasured, and the notion that they are connected with the sea by some subterranean caverns is still believed by the peasants. The hotel here belongs to the Sleeping-Car Company.

The massive granite range of the High Tátra is about 18 miles long by 9 or 10 broad, its highest summits are Francis Joseph, Lomnitz, and Ice-Valley Peaks, rising to about 9000 feet.

The best known of all the Tátra watering-places is Tátra Füred, called the mother of them all. This holds its season in July and August, and consists of three settlements, New Smecks, Old Smecks, and Lower Smecks, with numerous hotels, concert halls, restaurants, and every sort of convenience for the visitor. Only 4½ miles away is Tátra Lomnitz, where there is a large hotel and golf-links, but no village. This is the terminus of a loop-line from Poprad. At another of the watering-places in the neighbourhood, Barlangliget, there are wonderful caves with stalactite formations. This stands higher than Tátra Lomnitz on the road leading to Poland.

One of the most wonderful and best developed of all these places is Pöstyén situated at the foot of the Lower Carpathians near the Vág. The hot springs of Pöstyén have been known for generations, and are even referred to in the twelfth century. As is often the case they have occasionally shown some vagaries, the mud-source shifting about erratically from time to time on either shore of the river, and after a tremendous inundation in 1730 they disappeared, but not for long, for a few years after the bathing was going on in full swing, and since then the springs have been stationary. They are sulphurous and exceptionally hot, the natural temperature being 140° F. Their upspringing causes an overflow which runs down into the river and shows itself in mighty rolling clouds of steam rising from the surface. The constant flow causes a deposit of silky sulphurous mud, and it is this that makes the fame of Pöstyén. It is a wonderful cure for rheumatism in all its many manifestations, which is borne witness to by a museum filled with the crutches discarded by patients who have recovered the full use of their limbs. The springs are also rich in radium, and radiograph photos have been taken in a dark room by the agency of the mud alone! Besides rheumatism, gout, neuralgia, fractures, sprains, and bone diseases are treated here, and the thermal water is taken internally as well as in the form of baths. The air is dry and the situation sheltered from the north. Many of the hotels are open all the year round, and though the summer season is the principal one the treatment can be carried on at any time. One of the largest and newest of the many hotels is the “Thermia,” which is near the huge Irma bath, itself a revelation of what can be done in this direction. The bath is built right over the springs, and its vast floor, 126 feet in diameter, is of mud. There are corridors and lifts and dressing-rooms enough for an army, and private baths can be had here too. It is one of the latest and most complete buildings of its kind in the world. There is another bath-house too bearing the name of the monarch. The Kur Salon, adjoining the Kur Hotel, contains reading-rooms, music and dining-rooms, besides a beautiful ballroom. There are recreation grounds, a theatre, a fine park with magnificent trees and promenades by the river. Here special home-industry articles of needle-work peculiar to the district are on sale. Boating can be indulged in safely, and there are endless beautiful walks into the hills around. The proprietor of Pöstyén is Count Emmerich Erdody, and he lets the Spa on lease.

At a little known place on the Mátra mountains called Párad, the waters are a combination of iron and alkaline, and also there is a spring of arsenic water which achieves astonishing results in certain cases. So numerous are the springs in these parts that in spite of the up-to-date development of such places as Pöstyén and Tátra Füred, there are many places where the peasants still indulge in primitive baths as the pigs used the pools before Bath was built. Owing to their open-air life and the constant dampness of their clothes the poor people suffer greatly from rheumatism, and while bathing they preserve their bodies from the extreme heat of the pits where the water lies, by lining the sides with branches of trees as was done in the old days at Pöstyén itself.

Far the most intimate picture of homely life among the various peoples of the Carpathians which has yet been written in English, is Mrs. Phillimore’s In the Carpathians, giving an account of a leisurely tour made by herself and her husband with a cart all around the great encircling heights. Poles, Slovaks, Ruthenians, Czechs, Saxons, all passed before them in review, and they even came across the dreaded Wallachs, held up by the Slavs as bogey men. The Wallach is akin to the Roumanian, and proved himself on acquaintance much less formidable than painted.

They started from Zakopane in High Tátra Mountain, and here they picked up the Polish boy, Milak, who went the greater part of the way with them to drive the cart. They slept out for the most part, had a total absence of adventures of any kind, and the chief difficulty was the lack of food. They were on the border line between Hungary and Galicia, crossing into one or the other as the road wended. Bread, bacon, and sausages, honey and fruit, and sometimes cheese and milk, were the staple diet, and oft-times they were thankful to get anything. Many of the villages were extremely poor. They passed through a watering-place at Bardfield, where baths, cafés, restaurants, and large hotels make it exceedingly popular with the German element who take up all the rooms weeks ahead for the season. But for the most part they shunned the frequented resorts and passed only through little-known districts where the people were very poor.

The writer sums up the races she met in this sentence:

Poles and Slovaks we decided were amongst the lovable races of the world; Ruthenians and Jews were to be esteemed but not beloved; while gipsies were too flighty and flippant to be recipient of any responsible emotion. We knew little of Magyars; Wallachs, Szeklers and Roumanians proper, we had yet to meet, and beyond innumerable suggestions that they were “dangerous people” had no knowledge of them.

A ROAD IN THE CARPATHIANS

It is a record of beech woods, and many streams, of quiet bad roads, and wide maize fields, of poor and dusty villages with kindly villagers, who, though curious, were usually innately well-mannered.

After completing the semicircle they returned again to the plain, and here is a striking little description:

Up the broad high road came a cart full of peasants and a string of thin light-footed horses. Far off in the distance rose a cloud of dust, and from out of it came a herd of white cattle, followed by a crowd of black buffaloes. The great golden plain striped with brown ploughed land, the groups of corn-stacks, the threshing-machine and the teams of buffaloes and oxen with their drivers in white and red, and on the road the herds returning slowly homewards—this was our last clear picture of Hungary.

A book to read, though it does not encourage one to “go and do likewise.”

The north-eastern Carpathians include the Wooded Carpathians and a range of low hills where the much admired wine of Tokay is produced. The town of Tokay nestles at the base of these hills, called Hegyalia, and is itself disillusioning, its population consisting almost entirely of wine-growers and wine-buyers or middlemen, so that a constant chaffering spirit spoils the romance. The essence of Tokay is made of the juice which runs out of the ripe grapes pressed down by their own weight. This is produced by putting the grapes in a cask with holes bored in the bottom through which the juice runs. This essence is so scarce that it is hardly ever offered for sale to outsiders, who, indeed, get very little chance of pure Tokay at any time. The other two kinds are made by mixing juice, pressed artificially out of fresh grapes, with some of the pulp, and these two are known as “ausbruch” and “maslas.” Tokay varies from pale yellow to rich gold in colour, but red wines are produced in Transylvania and elsewhere.

Many are the drinking songs of Hungary, but very difficult to translate in the spirit of the original. Here is a characteristic one:

WINE SONG

Away with grief, away with pain,

Let us bathe our throats in wine,

And quaff it to a tuneful strain.

Wine for me—the joyous wine,

Whose sap can make one strong.

Who drinks not wine, the Magyar name

To him may not belong!

The fish loves water for its part,

No fish’s shape is mine!

For me the wine that warms the heart

Born beside Tokay’s vine.

What’s water unto me?

Whoever drinks not wine

No Magyar can be.

Cold beer the Germans swill,

We quaff the grape with song,

For beer from water they distil,

Two pints a penny strong—

Wine to me bring here,

Who drinks it not, the Magyar name

He holds not ever dear.

Hungary ranks high among wine-producing countries, at least a million acres being under cultivation of the vine, while the Tokay wine is limited to that grown within an area of about twenty square miles.

A YOUNG MAGYAR CSIKÓS

In contrast to the stern heights of the mountains the Great Plain of Hungary, the Alföld, which has been called the “heart and brain and soul” of Hungary, is a startling contrast. It is 35,000 square miles in area, and the soil is rich, so that it lies like an oasis amid the encircling heights. It is the greatest plain in Europe and is at an average height of 350 feet above the sea. Quantities of corn are grown here, but in some places the ground is still too swampy for such cultivation, and the people live by gathering the reeds and rushes with which to make mats, and osiers for baskets.

On the far-reaching Alföld it is the majestic Nothing that awes and impresses you. There are neither trees nor pastures, neither hills nor dales, neither flocks nor people. Simply miles and miles of nothing, arched over by the blue of heaven, but if you look closely you will find on the sand the tiny traces of fairy footsteps. It has its own peculiar fairies as well as its own peculiar grasses, flowers, birds and insects. Fata Morgana is the sovereign who queens it over them there; but she shows herself more rarely every year. Silence broods over all, and subtle fitful shadows chase each other across the “large neglect” of this broad expanse, where patches of long knotted grass and charming water weeds wave and toss feebly in the balmy breeze. Wild ducks and moor-hens share the shelter of “withied” swamps with the heron, the crane and the stork, and gaze without a sign of fear or trepidation on the rare passer-by.

But this was written many years ago, and much of the area has been drained since then.

Any one familiar with the prairie can well picture the Alföld with its undying fascination, and will be able to see it in the mind’s eye as it lies with miles and miles of yet unripened corn like a vast ocean brushed into small waves by the wind. There is hardly a tree, and the sky-line, unbroken in its tremendous semicircle, sweeps on ever infinitely. It is difficult to give any idea of the Alföld, unless the characteristics of the people who dwell in it are taken into account as throwing light upon it. This great plain, once an inland sea, contained at one time a gigantic marsh of 100,000 acres, and the rivers Theiss (or Tisza) and Danube overflowed their banks occasionally, making it impossible for any one to live near them in safety. Now a great part of the marsh has been drained, the rivers are confined to their channels, and their backwaters and islets form a breeding-place for thousands of geese, which at times may be seen in such numbers that it seems as though the land was covered with large snowflakes.

Here is a translation of an old national song:

THE ALFÖLDER

I dwell on the heath through sunshine or snow,

And on holidays I with my dear one can go;

But far on the Hortobagy plain,

In vain to God’s house would I hie—in vain.

Flat is the heath where no trees do grow,

The high steeple-top in the sunshine doth show,

The tall church spire to the heath is plain;

But far from God’s house I must still remain!

I’d pray, but no prayer at all do I know,

And never to school in my life did I go.

My mother would thither have sent me fain,

But ah! long, long in the grave has she lain.

Pray thou to good God, my dovelet, go—

Come after church thy kiss to bestow—

Thy prayerful sweet lips I’ll devour again,

And more than a fortnight from oaths I’ll refrain!

The Hungarians were ever a wild and warlike people, and as the country became more settled they found their chief delight in tending horses, being born horsemen. The name csikos, which really means horseman, now includes shepherd or herdsman. Horse-breeding goes on largely to this day. The csikos live a primitive wild life still, and round up their horses with the skill of an American cowboy. The horses in the herd are half-wild, and are rounded up by the use of the karikas, a short-handled long-lashed whip, with which the herdsman, going at full speed, can single out any animal and touch it up in any part of its anatomy he desires with the unerring aim of a brilliant marksman with a bullet. His own special mount is generally as dear to him as the Arab’s horse is to its master. It shares his shelter and will come at his call, and eat out of his hand. The name Hussars applied to troops of soldiers comes from Hungary, and the Hungarian Huszar is still the best rider on the continent, a veritable part of his beast.

The Hungarian horses are as a rule hardy spirited little creatures, descendants of the race which came with their masters from the east. The government has improved horse-breeding, introducing English and Arab blood, and there are two large government studs for the purpose.

MAGYAR SHEPHERDS

The Hungarian loves the boundless spaces of the plain; it has been said that he shares in its qualities, “the same absolute straightness, the same taciturnity characterise both.” Here in the sweltering summer heat he works all day uncomplainingly, to gather in the fruits of cultivation; here, when the white mantle of winter lies over the silent icy spaces he wanders in his sheepskin. The horseherd or csikos, once the aristocrat of the plain, now is hardly distinguishable from the shepherd or cow-herd whose avocations he shares. The far-famed white horned cattle of Hungary are tended and reared on the Alföld. It is a sight to see them yoked as a four-in-hand with their spreading horns and splendid hides gleaming in the sun. Beneath an acacia, the Hungarian tree, or a willow, both of which are plentifully found, the shepherd pitches his rude wattled tent. Possibly he has with him one of the native dogs, great snow-white shaggy fellows, who are, alas, growing fewer every year. Storms and clouds, heat and rain, affect not the man who meets them all calmly. The great black cloud of hail which bursts in masses of ice is met with stoical patience. At evening, maybe, he sees far off across the plain what appears like a sheet of blue water, and yet there is none; it is a mirage raised by the refractive power of the air. The wild duck and water-hens and even the herons have now migrated elsewhere, but there is still fishing to be had, and the herdsman is often a keen angler.

There are many flourishing towns to be found in the Alföld, of which Debreczen, Szeged, Kecskemét, and Temesvar are perhaps the best known. In these towns there are electric lighting, asphalt paths, a good water supply, and other comforts of civilisation.

A recent writer has said:

In general the towns we saw throughout Hungary looked new; and indeed we were more than once—until we became wary—sent to places said to be most interesting, only to find that new municipal buildings, new banks, new schools, streets in course of construction, electric trams and electric lighting, were their chief attraction. But there were towns that well repaid a visit, and of these one was Löcse (German Leutschau), chief town of the Zips country, near to the Tátra. Sometimes called the Nuremberg of Hungary.

The largest lake in Hungary is Lake Balaton, which may well be described as an inland sea, for it is 47 miles in length. It is difficult to describe what Lake Balaton means to a country like Hungary deprived of a seashore. Though the lake has no tides the levels are so constantly changing that monotony is impossible; this is no dead sheet of water. Its very size makes room for the breakers the storm-wind sweeps before it, and storms are by no means lacking. For many years there has been a railway line along the southern shore, but only recently another, completed in 1909, carries people also along the northern shore, which is the more popular, and the health resorts and bathing places which have sprung up are innumerable. All Hungarians who can afford it carry their families to this charming resort, there to bathe and dabble and fish, or to voyage by steamer or yacht. The lake is divided into two by a long peninsula which stretches out from the north side almost to the opposite shore. On the north side, there are hills rising in vine-clad slopes, with white houses nestling in them, and at the foot many a town, of which Balaton-Füred is the principal one. The lake is rather shallow, though varying enormously with the feeding it receives from springs and streams, but it is deepest on the north side, where bathing is easier than on the sandy shore of the too shallow south. Long wooden piers with huts at the end of them are constantly available, and every one bathes. Many a pretty picture can be seen of a peasant woman, her face alight with fun, her wet hair thrown back, dipping a pink innocent babe in the fresh water.

Balaton-Füred is not only a seaside place but has wonderful alkali springs and baths which are excellent as cures. There are many excursions to be made. Steamers run the whole length of the lake. The walks and drives are innumerable. For other interests there are yacht races and fishing. In winter the lake freezes easily because of its general shallowness, and then the whole of the 600 square kilometres are available for skating and winter sport. When the ice breaks up, which it does with cracks like pistol-shots, and piles itself in masses, glittering with every colour of the rainbow like gigantic prisms, happy are they who are there to see it!

THE ÖRTLER SPITZE

At the western end there are curious basaltic effects, great cones rising from the vine-covered slopes like sugar-loaves, or hills which appear to be built up of columns of basalt, as in the far-famed Fingall’s Cave of Scotland. There are ruined castles artistically arranged on hills, piled up by the gradual forces of nature, not by art; and there is the magnificent seat of Count Tassilo Festetics at Keszthely near the western end. Balaton well deserves the place it holds in popular estimation in Hungary.

If time is limited, and it is desired to see something of the two great attractions of Hungary, the rich lowland and the mighty hills, in a short time, no one could do better than take a ticket from Budapest to Orsova. Railway travelling in Hungary is cheap compared with other countries; it is run according to zone system, and the farther you go the less you pay proportionately. The management is extremely enterprising, and deserves much credit for it in a country where the national spirit is inclined to dwell on the past rather than to work for the future.

The very large towns passed through will astonish those who think that the peasants still live in little rough villages. At a place like Kecskemét, for instance, there is a magnificent town hall, and as the town is truly Hungarian the quaint costumes of the people seen in the imposing streets have all the piquancy of contrast with their modern surroundings. Kecskemét lives to a large extent by agriculture. The suburbs are one mass of fruit orchards, and at the time of the “peach market” the smell of the exquisite fruit is radiated far and wide. Cucumbers—which are eaten by the children like bananas—grapes, and apricots, are grown in quantities, and there are a number of vineyards. Willows and acacias are frequently seen, both being planted along the roads in avenues.

A very large town on the banks of the Tisza is Szeged, with over 100,000 inhabitants. Szeged has suffered much in times past from the Tisza’s unruly manners, and in 1879 was subject to a very terrible inundation, when hundreds of people were drowned. The river is now properly embanked. The wide squares, the well laid out gardens, the artistic architecture, will be a revelation to many people. The town has a busy industrial life with steam-mills, timber-works, flax industries, also paprika-mills. This is a special industry. The hot red pepper called paprika is used in quantities by every Hungarian, and dished up on all occasions. Formerly it used to be ground by hand, but now steam-driven mills have taken up the task. There are distilleries too, and Szeged soap is renowned, while its silk slippers are famous. The river is responsible for shipbuilding and fishing industries. Another large town is Temesvar, also industrial, with clean straight streets, electric tramways, and an extraordinary amount of open space. Its chief interest is that here stood the original castle of the great patriot, John Hunyadi, now marked by a later castle in a square of that name. Tobacco and mosaic, bricks and textile goods are turned out from Temesvar, and not far off is a fine watering-place called Buzias. Northward lies another large town called Arpad, the centre of a rich vine-growing district.

It is only after leaving Lugos we begin to see the hills, which we are soon to enter.

To the east lies a country of mining and factories, smelting furnaces, and other disagreeable evidences of industrial prosperity. The smelting is carried on by charcoal made from the splendid fir and beech forests. Iron and coal are found in quantities, and it will be news to most people that Hungarian steel goes to England as well as to other European countries.

Road, rail, and river run together through a narrow mountain defile, and finally the railway goes through a tunnel which is at the summit level of the line. Then the line is wonderfully engineered in and out along the hillsides, across valleys, and over bridges. In one of these valleys is the oldest health resort in the country, the famous Baths of Hercules, not far from the Iron Gates of the Danube. Herculesfürdo, to give it its native name, was established by the Romans two thousand years ago. The springs are sulphur and salt, and the cures of rheumatism, skin disease, and other ailments still wrought by them are almost miraculous. The river Cserna runs through the valley. The place is under State management, and there are now many good hotels, and the walks through the steeply-rising wooded cliffs are well planned and laid out. It is visited in the season by hundreds of people, a large number being foreigners. From the top of the hills, which rise to over 3000 feet, there are charming views. In these hills there are caves, one of which is full of hot vapours and used by many people as a vapour bath.

Beyond this we reach Orsova, which is on the Danube and is mentioned elsewhere.

This little glimpse of the Alföld with its wheatfields and vineyards, its flourishing towns and large rivers, will give an excellent impression in miniature of the whole of its extent, while the grim scenery of the Southern Carpathians forms a striking contrast.

So much for the northern and eastern parts of the Dual Monarchy, but the south-western part has a character quite its own, and in the Empire of Austria the Alps play a larger part than the Carpathians. The Rhaetian or Tyrolese Alps form the highest range, many topping 12,000 feet, the highest point, the Orteler Spitze, attaining 12,814. These Alps are subdivided into three chains, of which the above-mentioned peak is to be found in the most southerly; the middle chain extends to the borders of Salzburg and Carinthia, and the northern one lies above it again. The Noric Alps are those in Salzburg, Styria, and Carinthia, and they are also broken into chains. The Carnic or Carinthian Alps are another range in the north of Carniola, and the Julian Alps lie in a south-easterly direction, running through Carniola to Dalmatia.

All the beautiful mountainous scenery in this part of the Empire, including the Tyrol, is known to those who love natural scenery, and the Tyrol itself, with the Dolomites, rivals Switzerland in the number of holiday-makers attracted by it. The country about Salzburg is less known outside the inhabitants of Austria themselves, but the enterprise of the Austrian State railways is opening it up. All this is dealt with in another part of the book.

CHAPTER V
THE PEOPLE

A very interesting race is that of the Magyars who people Hungary. The word Hungary is of course derived from the Huns, who are described in their earliest descent into Europe from Central Asia as a “fierce Tartar people of dwarfish figure, great strength and ugly beardless faces.” They penetrated far, under their great leader Attila, but his defeat and death in 453 broke their dominion, and they retreated again, leaving only traces of their influence on the nations of modern Europe. The Magyars came over from the direction of the Ural Mountains in the ninth century; their chief, Arpad, founded a dynasty, of which St. Stephen was the first king. Arpad bears a name comparable with Attila and other great chiefs of bygone days. Mr. Whitman, in his book The Realm of the Habsburgs, says:

The first authentic mention of the dominant race in the Hungary of to-day, the Magyars, dates from the year 836, when the Greek writer, Leo Grammaticus, styles them successively by the three distinct names of “Hungarians,” “Turks” and “Huns.” They are then referred to as encamped on the banks of the Lower Danube. Their origin and early history are alike shrouded in mystery.

Nothing is more difficult than to describe the exact type of the Magyar race. In fact there is no exact type, the Magyars of the present type being a conglomeration of all the numerous tribes that came into the land at the time of the wars of the “home-making.” Several types exist, but which is the true Magyar it would be difficult to say. If there were a clue to this it would be known with absolute certainty whether the Hungarians were descended from the Fin-Ugor or Turko-Tartaric races. Among the different types there is the somewhat round head, very broad cheek bones and square jaw of the Mongol type—mostly to be found in the southern and midland districts—called purely Hungarian. Then again, there are other types which have a resemblance to the Kirgiz living in Asia to this day. The majority are not tall—rather under middle size—especially in the working classes. They are very broad in the chest, square-shouldered, long of body, short of limb, very active, with sinews of steel—the true horsy race, the greater part of their life having been spent on horseback in olden times. The language is a mixture of the Turko-Tartaric and the Fin-Ugor, but much changed by time. They are seldom very dark, brown from the lightest shade to the darkest being the prevailing colour, with dark or brown eyes; but blue eyes are often to be seen. Red, yellow, or flaxen hair is not a Hungarian type. A fighting nation par excellence, who, through circumstances, had to give up war, sought and seek to fight in other ways; the great predisposition for duels even at the present day has its origin in the ever-existing and only half-dormant desire to fight.

The Magyars are one of the few peoples in Europe who do not belong to the Aryan race. Among the others are the Finns and Lapps, the Basques and the Turks. To the Finns the Magyars are closely related by speech as well as blood.

The old song says:—

Eyes of neither grey nor blue

But of tawny velvet hue,

Head with nut-brown tresses laden

Is the real Magyar maiden.

A PAPRIKA-SELLER, KALOCSA

Warlike the Magyar still is, and proud as Lucifer, yet with a strange mingling of Oriental calm. None others are so philosophic as the dwellers in the great plain of Hungary, the Alföld, where they follow their occupations as shepherds or wheat-growers. They take the good with the bad and are resigned to evils they cannot cure. We have already noted the special characteristics of the Alfölder in connection with his boundless home. But others of the nation share some of his qualities. Those who have been most among the Hungarians speak of their simplicity; they are in all things natural. If when at table with them you want more food, you must ask for it; they will not force it on you. It is there; they take for granted that you know they are only too glad for you to have it. If therefore you want it you have only to say so; anything else is affectation. Their hospitality is proverbial and resembles that of the East. Never is any one allowed to pass without being fed or lodged if need be, and however lowly the accommodation there are no pretended apologies; this is the best they have and they give it you, and they don’t consider that it needs any apology. In the words of another traveller, “You are made to feel that your presence among them is a genuine piece of good luck.”

Though much alive and of an artistic and musical temperament, and ready to go half-mad when worked up in the national dance, the csardas, the Magyar is generally quiet and philosophic. Dancing is the favourite pastime all over the land, and every man, woman, and child can dance to admiration.

Men and women both marry young, and the unmarried of either sex are almost unknown; marriage is as natural and universal an act as birth or death.

Like all proud high-spirited races, who allow for other people’s dignity as well as their own, the Magyars have excellent natural manners; it has been said of them that they are a nation of gentlemen.

A very strange being indeed is the Magyar peasant, mysterious as his country’s history; he has sympathy with gloom and melancholy reveries, and is fond of brooding in a seeming lethargy when his heart is ready to kindle with all the fire of a crusader. When free from his daily labour, in his happiest moments, he is marked by sudden transitions. Apparently happy, he quickly becomes sad, soon to burst forth into exultation, only to plunge again into grief, which always marks the end of his frolicsome episodes. He is not easy to cheer by incitements which put heart into other people, for he does not readily respond to this sort of thing. There is a saying that the “Hungarian enjoys life with weeping eyes,” just as the Britishers are supposed to take their pleasures sadly, and it is true that a vein of melancholy runs through the folk-songs and ballads of Hungary. The gipsy who wants to rouse the Hungarian peasant has to begin plaintively and rise into gaiety if he wishes to catch his attention.

As is perhaps natural considering that his life was passed fighting for his country’s nationality, Petöfi’s poems strike mostly a wailing note such as:

A cloud o’er my country there hangs,

That tells of a storm approaching;

My soul in foreboding its pangs

Gains strength to resist its encroaching.

The harp of my fingers is weary,

Too long have I struck it with pain;

Well knows it my heart has been dreary,

In wearing its strings out in vain.

Or:

TO THE STORK

The winter time is over and the fields are growing green,

And thou once more art here, bird so good,

To build thy nest again where it before hath been,

To hatch therein again thy feathery fledgling brood.

Away! Away! Be cheated not

By the sunbeam’s glittering quiver,

By the babbling of the river;

Away! Spring comes not to the spot,