Molnár had listened sullenly, but with attention. It had been agreed, although all four of the Hungarians were men of ability, that the brunt of the talk should be borne by their leader; for they were sure to interrupt even each other if they sent the blood to their heads with too many words. But they were neglecting their plates to follow the argument; and they frowned when Fessenden spoke, and smiled approval upon the logic of Molnár. When the American asserted the analogy between his race and theirs, they looked pleased and surprised; for it is a remarkable fact that, in spite of the execration which Europeans, as a result of our protective policy and successful invasion of her aristocracies and industries, bestow upon the United States, they are invariably surprised into pleasure if informed that they possess an American trait—which is doubtless owing to the fact that every human creature craves success; and rightly or wrongly, the United States and that most vulgarized of words are synonymous.
Even Molnár looked slightly mollified, but he had come to make good his cause before a princess who he believed must influence the King her father, since he was convinced she could twist Hungary round her finger if she chose. “It is to be hoped that another century will see us even in advance of where the United States stands to-day,” he replied; “for, as you justly observed, it is our part as an intelligent nation to profit by the mistakes of other nations. But it is impossible to admit that we are unwise to insist upon the adoption of our language as the sole language of our army, even in the old age of the King; for we are convinced that our disruption from Austria is but a question of a few years, and it is wise to accustom the inferior races to the dominance of our language and rule as long before our independence as possible. It is our misfortune that we have not been in a position to push this claim sooner. It was a tremendous innovation when Kossuth and Szechenyi carried their point that Magyar should be the political language of Hungary. It was not the part of wisdom to ask for more then, but that is half a century ago—half a century. And you call us impatient and unreasonable! You—who are so recently come from the battle-field, do you recall the passionate enthusiasm with which you sang and listened to your national hymns by your camp-fires at night—as you marched to the battle-field? What would have been your emotions if you had been compelled to sing the national songs of another country? Good God! Cannot you understand what it would mean to us to sing our own beautiful battle hymns in our own beautiful language, instead of the words of a hated power in the most hideous sounds that ever were invented to torture the ear? It is true that you have set your national anthem to the tune of England’s, but you have long since forgotten that; and I am told that when Americans go to England they are flattered when the band plays ‘God Save the King.’ But that is your happiness—that you have been permitted to forget—while we—we—”
“I have no doubt that if you asked for the privilege of ringing your national hymns, and nothing more, the King would readily indulge you; and the Hungarian military colleges you are sure to have will no doubt entail much that you wish—if you have the patience to wait. I admit, of course, that vanity has no part in your desire to sing your own anthems in your own language—what more inspiring?—but the imposing of your difficult tongue on the Austrians who are obliged to command in your army during the years when you must still have an insufficiency of Hungarian officers, as well as upon the races that hate you now, and only await the opportunity to serve you the same trick they served you in 1847—I repeat, it seems to me the height of vanity and folly. And I regret it deeply, for in a struggle in which you were incontestably right, you would have the sympathy of the United States. Kossuth is by no means forgotten; and the American loves romance, having so little of it. For romance you stand in history preeminently. But if you make yourselves ridiculous—”
“Ridiculous?” All four were muttering. Ranata leaned forward, and drew Molnár’s eyes to hers.
“How would it have been if Rudolf had lived?” she asked softly.
“Ah, Rudolf!” The four men might have received an electric shock. “If our crown prince had lived,” cried Molnár, “he would be our sympathetic, our indulgent ruler to-day. The King would surely have abdicated in his favor before this—if he had been reluctant we should have found a way to persuade him! The King is preferable to his present heir; and not only do we hesitate to incur the antagonism of the world by embittering the last days of our old monarch, but it is a trait of human nature to postpone the evil day. But Rudolf! He would have granted our demands; and with his tact and resource have found a way to reconcile all the other states in the monarchy to our reforms. Perhaps he would have given us our liberty, and accepted the presidency of the republic! That indeed would have been Utopia!”
“No one can admire and regret Rudolf more than I do,” said Fessenden, in the even dispassionate tones which irritated the Hungarians more than his words; “but it is impossible not to notice that the inevitable legend is growing up round his name. In a few years it will obscure an individuality and a mental endowment that were better left unexaggerated. I came on the scene too late to know him, but I have heard him much discussed by more than one of his close personal friends; and while he was far more genial and sympathetic than is common among princes, and far more liberal and broad-minded, I do not in the least believe that he had a republican instinct, or would have parted voluntarily with an inch of his inheritance. Rather he would have conceived it his mission to maintain its integrity with the last corps of his army. No doubt his tact and his alert modern brain would have found a way through these difficulties which would have satisfied himself and Hungary. Problems that seem insoluble to an aged king might have been disentangled readily enough by him. But the hard fact remains that you have not Rudolf to deal with, but your king—and, for a period after him, no doubt, the present Crown Prince; so would you not be wiser to conciliate your enemies until you are strong enough to crush them? Suppose Germany and Austria in a war against Russia—over the Balkans, let us say—do you realize what your position would be as an independent state with all the antagonistic races within your borders in revolt—these races number 7,500,000, nearly half your population, do they not? In some respects the Hungarian mind is the brightest and most alert in Europe, and you are probably the only monarchical people wholly without servility. If you wreck yourselves, and this rich and enterprising country, because you love your weaknesses more than your virtues, then you deserve to be crushed like an egg between the enemies who will take a particular delight in the process. But your party does not represent Hungary. The enlightened majority are not extremists. You can obstruct and keep the country in a turmoil, but when it comes to the general vote you must be beaten. But meanwhile you are demoralizing Hungary at home, and making it ridiculous abroad—that is the point to be considered now.”
Molnár pushed back his chair and stood up, tossing back his head. For the moment he looked like the statue of the poet of the Revolution, Alexander Petöfi, which, in its square across the river, seems to have the nerves of the dead man in it.
“You pay us your cold tribute,” he cried, “but what do you know of the ardor, the passionate enthusiasm of a race as different from yours as the Latin from the Teutonic. Logic! We have as much as any men when our hearts are not on fire with our wrongs; but we would rather die, die, die—be crushed like an egg, if you will—than exist like slaves a generation longer.” He turned suddenly to Ranata, his face illuminated under its perpetual frown. “You—your Royal Highness”—he cried, “if you were our queen—you, who look born to sit on a throne as wisely as Maria Theresia, yet without her bigotry and obstinacy—you, who are so like Rudolf— Ah! Why not? Why not?”
“We will have our coffee in the next room,” said the Archduchess with cold severity, as she rose and led the way. “Úr Molnár, have you seen the river and Pest from the balcony?”