On the Trail of the Immigrant

by Edward Alfred Steiner

The Magyar has not the slightest relation to the Slavs, unless it be that of ruling a portion of them with a rather iron hand, and hating all of them proportionately. The Magyar’s closest relation is to the Finns on the north and to the Turks in the east of Europe, and he is classed anthropologically as a Ugro-Finn. In his development he has leaned closely to the west, having a Germanic culture while still retaining a somewhat untamed Asiatic nature, which manifests itself in nothing worse than a love of fast horses, fiery wine, and the wild music with which the gypsy bewitches him, and draws the loose change out of the pockets of his tight-fitting trousers.

In that strange conglomerate of races and nationalities called the Austro-Hungarian Empire, the Magyar has gained a dominant influence, and although numerically among the smallest, he has gained for himself the greatest privileges, and practically dictates the policy of the Empire. Upon those rich plains by the Danube and the Theis, he has been a plowman who enjoyed the fruits of his toil as long as the marauding Turk would let him, furnishing wheat and corn for the rest of Europe, and gaining not a little wealth since his arch-enemy has been driven back into peace. What he has made of his country in the last forty years of internal and external peace, how he has created for himself a capital which surpasses Vienna, and built factories and railroads unrivalled anywhere, forms a glorious page in the history of Europe.

From this comparatively wealthy country; from its freedom, its broad prairies and its picturesque village life, there have come to America one hundred thousand men and women who are hard to wean from this Magyar land, but who, like all others, finally lose themselves in the national life, bringing into it fewer vices and more virtues than we ever connect with the Hungarian as he is superficially known among us. In Little Hungary rosy-cheeked maidens with bare arms akimbo, stand in many a doorway while their swains court them on the street as they were in the habit of doing at home. Nearly every second house advertises “Sor-Bor” or “Palenka” for sale—the wine, beer, and whiskey to which the Magyar is devoted; everywhere one hears the sound of the cymbal, that unpromising instrument which looks more like a kitchen utensil than anything else, but out of which the gypsy hammers sweet music. Little Hungary has but a small domain in New York; it ends abruptly with more restaurants in which gulyas, the favourite stew of the Magyar, lures the appetite; close by is Little Bohemia, and finally the big Germany which overshadows every other nationality.

The Hungary of New York, however, is only a stopping place,—is more Jewish than Magyar, and consequently does not promise a good field for observation. In Cleveland some twenty thousand Magyars live together round about those giant steel mills which send their black smoke like a pall over that much alive but very dirty city. Although street after street is occupied solely by them, I have not seen a house that shows neglect, and the battle with Cleveland dirt is waged fiercely here, judging by the clean doorsteps, window-panes, and white curtains which I saw at nearly every house. A large Catholic church, with its parochial school dedicated to St. Elizabeth, the Hungarian queen, shows that the Magyar does not neglect his religion. There are also a Greek Catholic church and a flourishing Protestant congregation. A weekly newspaper keeps the Hungarians in touch with one another and with the homeland, although it does not represent the Magyar spirit either by its contents or through the personality of its editor, who has no influence among his countrymen. I looked in vain for a Hungarian political “boss,” for no party can claim these people exclusively. Social Democracy has made great gains among them, which is due in no small measure to the fact that they come from a comparatively wealthy country, from conditions which are not unbearable, and from something of ease and comfort; and so, finding the work in the iron-mills hard and grinding, they soon grow dissatisfied, which means—Social Democracy. A sort of pessimistic philosophy is developed, and the happy Hungarians grow melancholy, dejected, and homesick. They cling with rare tenacity to the fatherland, in which they have a just pride, and whenever the opportunity offers itself they show how much they love it. The erection of a monument to Louis Kossuth by men and women of the labouring classes, the enthusiasm with which it was dedicated, the festivities which recalled by speech, song, and dress the greatness of the man whose memory they honoured, speak much for their idealistic and loyal love of country.

Of all foreigners the Hungarians are among the most tolerant towards the Jews, who live in large numbers in Hungary, while Hungarian Jews in Cleveland love to be known as Magyars and are treated as such by their fellow countrymen. The Magyar’s good nature is also shown by his treatment of the gypsies, who have followed him in large numbers to America, and are really a sort of parasite, being supported by the easy-going and pleasure-loving Magyars, who dance the czardas to the fiery notes of fiddles and cymbals whose owners finally possess the largest portion of their patron’s wages.

The Hungarian gypsy boy, who is supposed to choose between the violin and the penny, must in most cases take the two, for in Hungary as in America he is both musician and thief with equal adeptness. One gypsy in Cleveland keeps a saloon which is a combination of the Hungarian “czarda” (inn) and its American namesake, the saloon, and it combines the evils of both institutions. The regular bar is supplemented by rickety chairs and tables and a clear space for the dancing floor, without which the Hungarian czarda does not exist. On Saturday night, the soot of the week washed away, the Hungarian is found here in all his native glory. His moustache, twisted to the fineness of a needle-point, is his most prominent national characteristic, unless it be his small, shining eyes which barely escape looking out into the world from Mongolian openings. A small head and prominent cheek-bones are also characteristic, while the colour of the hair is dark brown and black, the blond being almost unknown. He differentiates himself from his neighbour the Slav by his agility of both temper and limbs, and to see him dance a czardas, to hear him sing it and the gypsy play it, is as good as seeing that other acrobatic performance, a circus. When the gypsy inn-keeper knows that his guests have pay-day money in their pockets, he has ready a band of gypsies, who look shabby enough, and very unpromising from an artistic standpoint; the leader, who plays the first violin, tunes it with remarkable care and tenderness, the second violin scrapes a few hoarse notes after him, the bass-viol comes in grudgingly, and the cymbal-player exercises his fingers by beating cotton-wrapped sticks over the strings of his strange instrument. One patriotic youth, who has had just enough liquid fire poured into him, now lifts his voice and sings a song of the puszta (the Hungarian prairie), of the horses and cattle which graze upon it, and of the buxom maiden who draws water from the village well. Slowly, pathetically, almost painfully melancholy, the notes ring out as if the singer were bewailing some great loss, the musicians follow upon their instruments as sorrowful mourners follow a hearse; but all at once the measure becomes brisk and the notes jubilant, the singer and the musicians are caught as by a fever, faster and faster the bows fly over the strings, the cymbal is beaten furiously, and the bass-viol seems in a roaring rage.

Sunday morning finds the dancers sobered and reverent on the way to church, most of them going to the Roman Catholic church, in which a zealous priest blesses, but is not blessed by them. Seldom have I found among foreigners such frank criticism of the priest and yet such loyalty to the Church. The Hungarian Catholic is not narrow; he is much more liberal than the Slav or the German Austrian, and a bigoted priest may hold him to the Church but will not win him to himself. It is always hard to judge of a priest or preacher from the reports of disgruntled members of his flock, but the Catholics seldom speak ill of their shepherd unless there is much hard truth to tell. The following, which I heard from trustworthy sources, is characteristic. At a meeting of one of the lodges the motion was made to have a mass said on a certain memorial day; the priest arose to second the motion, and said, “We have two kinds of mass, the five-dollar and the ten-dollar one, and I would not advise you to have the cheap one.” True or untrue, the fact remains that this priest has built a fine church and a magnificent parochial school. He is a good financier, and I doubt not that he is such for the glory of his Church and not for his own enrichment; I can testify to the fact that he has done much good, that he has quieted much turbulence, that he is not a friend of strong drink, and that he is a narrow but exceedingly careful shepherd of his flock.

The Greek Catholic priest in Cleveland was driven from the church by his independent parishioners, who found him not only a good financier, but a bad man, a “peddler in holy goods,” as they called him, who was ready to dispense his blessing to man and beast for money, large or small, or for a drink more often large than small. The Protestant church is shepherded by a young man from the Oberlin Theological Seminary, who is in touch with the American life and its interpretation of the Christian Church and ministry.

The Protestant Hungarian is, as a rule, better educated, morally on a higher level, and in America more quickly assimilated, than his Catholic brother. In Hungary this has well-defined causes. First, splendidly equipped Protestant ministers, not a few of them graduates of English and Scotch universities and imbued by the Puritan spirit of those countries. Second, a Protestant theology of the Calvinistic type, which, harsh and hard as it is, makes everywhere strong men and women, and which in Hungary distinguishes the Calvinistic communities from the Catholic by a severer philosophy of life and a much more moral conduct. The third cause may in the eyes of some persons be the most real one. Wherever a religious community is in the minority and is or has been severely persecuted, it becomes thrifty and highly moral. Whatever the reason, the fact exists and is a pleasant one to chronicle.