Our Little Czecho-Slovak Cousin

[iv]

[v]

PREFACE

The gallant exploits of the Czecho-Slovak army in Siberia won the attention and sympathy of the world to and for their hopes and sacrifices in the cause of freedom. Fighting the Germanic Powers was not a new thing to them. Bohemia, the chief of the Czecho-Slovak states, has always been the battlefield between Slav and Teuton. All that of which Bohemia is proud to-day was won inch by inch through incessant struggle, through bringing to bear every force of civilization possible, on the German rulers. Bohemia's leaders emphasized the need of education; and so effectually, that Bohemia, to-day, ranks as one of the most literate states of Europe. They emphasized idealism, that not by brute force but by being better fit should they eventually win. They[vi] kept alive their faith in a renewal of Bohemia's wonderful, romantic history, that the people might not sink into despair from dwelling on what their proud spirits held to be the degradation of their position. They urged the development of economic strength, and Bohemia to-day is self-sustaining. Through ceaseless

battling for their rights, through pride in their great accomplishment in the face of great obstruction, the Czechs held their heads as high as the inhabitants of independent lands. It is an interesting fact that every poet, every musician, every artist felt it his duty to devote his art to his native land.

And here it might be well to state that the Czech of Bohemia, although often called Bohemian, has absolutely nothing in common with the Bohemian meaning gypsy. This term was once applied to some gypsies in France, through a misapprehension that they came from Bohemia. It clung even after the error was[vii] corrected. These particular gypsies really came from Hungary, which however does not mean that Hungarians or Magyars and gypsies are one and the same. The gypsies, like the Jews, do not belong to any one country.

Besides Bohemia, the Czecho-Slovak states comprise Moravia, a rich farming country, the birthplace of the great educator, John Amos Comenius; a part of Silesia, famous for its mines; and Slovakia, also rich in mineral wealth which is largely undeveloped. Of these, Slovakia suffered perhaps the most under the scorn, oppression, and exploitation of the Magyar oligarchy. Taxes in all the states were high. Bohemia, especially, because of its wealth, not only paid for itself, but helped support unproductive Austrian German lands. The language in all of these states is so closely allied that the citizen of one can easily understand the citizens of any of the others.

It is thought by some that Czecho-Slovakia[viii] will be a small country. This is not exactly true, for it will rank eighth in size among all the European states.

One thing that the Czecho-Slovaks have particularly shown during the War, and which argues well for their future, is their capacity for self-government. Not only did they show splendid organization in their efforts to secure recognition, but when the time came to proclaim the Republic, it was found that their machinery was in perfect working order; and, although great reforms have been inaugurated, so far things have progressed with a smoothness not to be found in any of the other newly-formed states.

[ix]

List of Illustrations

[1]

CHAPTER I LAND OF PERSECUTION

There was mourning in the little village high up in the Tatras, as the Carpathian Mountains are called by the Slovaks. Nine men and women lay dead and four lay wounded behind carefully closed doors of the little homes. Scarcely a person except Magyar gendarmes was to be seen on the one main street. Now and then the curious, frightened face of a child peeped out from behind the shaded windows, and again quickly disappeared.

The day before, Magyar officers and priests had come to consecrate the little square church[2] that had just been erected. It had cost the villagers many sacrifices, but they were proud of it. They had come dressed in their best and full of gayety to the services, never dreaming but that their beloved Slovak pastor would be allowed to assist. When they found, however, that he had been ignored, they pressed closely around those in charge and begged that he be allowed to take part, that they might feel that the church was actually their own.

Did they beg too hard? Was it because they were loyal to a leader who loved and sympathized with his own people? Was that why Magyar guns suddenly boomed, and why the ground lay covered with blood?

The news of the happening spread even to the little village in the more fertile plains, where Jozef lived. The twelve-year-old boy heard it discussed the very next day as he accompanied the haymakers to the fields. In order to hear, he found it necessary to keep[3] close to the men and women, for they spoke only in half whispers, fearing spies sent out by the Notary, chief officer of the Commune, who seemed to count it among his duties to keep tab on their very thoughts. They knew that they could do nothing, and it gave them a cowed, dejected air. Never had a haying been so dismal.

The killing, dangerous as the topic was, drew the men to the tavern at night. They sat at the plain deal tables in small groups and drank and smoked their long pipes. Now and then one had something to say. Perhaps it concerned the fate of some woman who had resisted the officers during the mad effort at Slovak denationalization in 1892, when forcible transportation of children to purely Magyar districts had been undertaken. Or it may have dealt with the imprisonment of some editor who had had the courage to denounce some new injustice or atrocity.

[4]

A tall athletic-looking man with a broad smooth-shaven face, and hair worn rather long, seemed to be listened to with greatest attention. He was plainly from some other district, for his attire was different from that of his companions. It consisted of felt trousers, the seams piped with red, a linen shirt and a sheepskin waistcoat with the wool inside, heavily embroidered on the leather side. His shoes were of soft leather, laced with rawhide thongs across the ankle, and he wore a low, black hat decorated with a red ribbon band.

"I was living in Turciansky Sv. Martin, our one national center, when the effort was made to establish a cellulose factory there," he was saying. "It was one of the many efforts on the part of Slovaks to be more prosperous and progressive. Like other citizens, I invested considerable money in it. The building was erected and the machinery installed and we were awaiting our license from the government,[5] when word came that it could not be given to the present management. We were dumbfounded, although we understood. We were not to be allowed to run our own factory because we did not help oppress our fellow citizens; because we were loyal to our Slovak traditions and to our Slovak land.

"We did not give in without making an effort to secure justice. But, after several months, we knew that we were defeated. During all this time we had not been allowed to do any work in the factory. One thing, finally, the authorities permitted, and that was to run the costly machinery once a week, so that it should not grow rusty. Of course we had to sell, and at a heavy loss to people eagerly awaiting to develop what we had started."

The peasants near nodded their appreciation of the conditions. One more excitable than his fellows jumped up.

"Will a time never come when we shall be[6] free? Will a time never come when the world recognizes the crime of using force to make people false to their own traditions?" he exclaimed. "To outsiders the Magyars boast of their liberal constitution, of the freedom granted to other nations in the kingdom. We who have no opportunities, who are not allowed a single higher school of our own, nor even a single Magyar Higher School where our language is taught, know what a lie this is. And what advantage is the Magyar language to our children outside of Hungary? Go even to Vienna or anywhere else in the monarchy, and try to make yourself understood with it! You'll see! And we were here before the Magyars; we helped them to know the glorious religion of Jesus Christ; we fought and bled as well as they for our native land." Here his voice changed curiously and a sort of exaltation lit up his face as he said softly: "We must have faith." Then he began to repeat some[7] lines taken from the great Slovak poet Kollar's "Slavy Dcera" (The Daughter of Slava).

Then again:

And once more:

Here in a rich bass voice he broke forth into the Slovak national song: "Nad Tatrou sa bliska":

At the conclusion, a peculiar silence brooded in the room. Suddenly, little anxious twitchings might have been noticed. The singer turned. In the doorway stood the Notary with a wicked, sneering smile on his supercilious face.

[9]

CHAPTER II MUSHROOM GATHERING

Jozef's home was one of the high-roofed houses whose gable ends faced the broad, whitish main street. It was made of unburnt bricks, plastered outside, with hand-made shingles on the roof. Each window was outlined in pale green and the entrance porch was quite ornamental, having a pretty conventional design, also in green, painted around the door. This, as well as the lines around the window, was the work of Jozef's mother, who enjoyed a certain reputation in the village because she had once been asked to paint some borders around the walls of the rooms of a girls' school in the city of Brno, the capital of Moravia.

Behind the house were the stalls for the[10] cattle and pigs, and, back of all, a small vegetable garden, edged with sweet smelling herbs and brightly colored flowers. This garden ended in an alley way by a brook, surrounded by green meadows in which geese usually pastured.

In the center of the main street was the Church, a small whitewashed building with a square tower. Next to it were a cross and a statue of the village saint.

Through the middle of the street were rows of underground cellars, one belonging to each family, in which it was possible to keep food and milk ice cold. Vehicles made their way on each side of these cellars.

Around the village were meadows dotted with red poppies and blue corn flowers. Some distance further were fields of potatoes, a few vineyards, and a large, privately owned wood.

It was Helena, Jozef's cousin, who planned the day in the wood for a mushroom hunt, and[11] secured the necessary permission from the forester in charge. She invited Jozef, his ten-year-old sister Ruzena, and two of Ruzena's girl friends to go with her.

"Goody!" the little girls shouted, and ran for the permission which was readily granted on the one condition that they do not spend all the time in play but really bring home mushrooms, which are highly valued as food.

First each little girl took her herd of geese to the meadow by the brook, and left her flock in charge of an old woman who had nothing else to do but tend geese. Then they met Jozef, who had finished his chores of feeding the cattle and pigs, and Helena, who was older and helped her mother at home. All were dressed in old but bright colored clothes, and all were barefoot and bareheaded, the girls' corn-colored hair hanging in long braids down their backs. All carried baskets in which now lay a little lunch. When they started, Jozef[12] did not walk beside the others, but ran on ahead or lagged behind. He was afraid, since this was a girls' party, that some of his boy friends might call him a "sissy." He wouldn't have been left out, however, for the world.

It was still early in the morning, but there was already a heavy warmth in the air, so that the coolness they found underneath the tall trees when they reached them, was very welcome. The road had been dusty, but here the moss and grass were still wet with dew and gave forth a fragrant, pungent odor.

The owner did not live in the wood, the only buildings in it being the picturesque log cabin of the forester or caretaker, and a beautiful hunting lodge.

Soon the fun began.

"Hurrah!" shouted Jozef, discovering two mushrooms, or champignons, showing a brown and a red head above the moss.

Such a scampering as there was among the[13] trees until every basket was filled to overflowing.

Here Etelka, the youngest of the party, found one that she thought the prize of all. It was red with white raised spots.

"Come here!" she cried. "I have found a new kind. Shall I taste it?"

Helena took two rapid leaps toward her.

"Drop it! Drop it!" she exclaimed. "That's a poison muchomurka. Never, never taste anything of which you are not certain if you don't wish to die."

"I thought it prettier than the red ones you found," said Etelka, somewhat abashed.

"It is entirely different," and then Helena showed her how it differed and again impressed on all to confine themselves to those they knew.

Then the baskets were put down in a circle and the children played hide-and-seek among brown trunked firs with long gray mosses festooned from branch to branch, knotted larch[14] trees, and pines dripping with balsam. At last, tired, they sank down on some netted roots and ate their lunch of thick slices of rye bread spread with goose fat.

"I found some sweet-root here once," Jozef volunteered when they had eaten every morsel.

"Where?" the girls asked eagerly.

Jozef had very vague notions as to where.

"Let's agree," suggested Helena, "each to give a nice mushroom to the one who finds some sweet-root first."

All were willing, and with shouting, laughter and song the search began. Several times Jozef was quite certain that the prize was his, but it was little Etelka who actually found some underneath some blackberry leaves.

"I'm going exploring," Jozef now announced, somewhat nettled that a girl should have been the discoverer. Leaving the pathways, he made his way down a long incline. Not wishing to have the party separated,[15] Helena led the others as best she could after him.

It was a merry chase Jozef gave them, now to the right, now to the left, then back in a crazy circle. So intent were they in making their way through some underbrush that they were unprepared when, at a sudden turn, they found themselves on the brink of the river that they knew flowed through an edge of the wood.

Out of breath, they seated themselves in a row on the bank and watched the waters glide past. Then they threw in twigs, which they called boats, and grew quite excited when some of these became entangled in water washed grasses.

"Oh, Helena," at last Etelka begged, as she nibbled at her portion of the sweet-root, "please tell us a story."

"A really truly Slovak fairy story," seconded Ruzena.

"Have it exciting," demanded Jozef.

[16]

"And true," put in quiet, blue-eyed Marouska.

Helena laughed. "Very well," she said, "it'll be truly Slovak, and exciting, and as true as any fairy tale can be."

[17]

CHAPTER III A SLOVAK FOLK TALE

There was once an old king who, knowing that his end was nearing, called his son to him and begged him to take a wife.

"I would fain see you settled before I die," he said.

The son knew not what to do, for of all the maidens in his father's court there was none that had especial charm for him. He was thinking this over in the castle garden when an old woman suddenly stood before him. Wherever she came from, she was certainly there.

"Pluck the three lemons on the glass mountain and you will gain a wife such as next to none possesses," she said. As she appeared,[18] so she disappeared. Her words, however, sank into the youth's heart, and leaving good-by for his father, he set out at once to find the glass mountain and the magic lemons.

Far over wooded hill and dale he journeyed but saw nothing even resembling a glass mountain. At last, tired out, he threw himself under a tree. As he did so, some ravens, croaking loudly, flew out of its top branches.

"Ah," thought the Prince, "these may direct me to where at least refreshment and rest may be obtained." And starting again, he followed in the direction that they had flown.

After three days and three nights he saw a castle before him, and full of rejoicing, approached it. It was entirely of lead and in the door stood Jezibaba leaning on a leaden staff.

"Haste from here, good youth," she said, "for nothing grows here, and when my son comes home he will devour you."

"Nay, old woman," said the Prince, "that[19] must not be, for I come with respect for his power and knowledge, to seek his advice as to how I am to reach the glass mountain on which grows a wonderful lemon tree."

"Then I will help you," said Jezibaba, and hid the Prince behind a big broom. As she did so the castle shook, and peeping, the young man saw an awful being come up brandishing a leaden club.

"Yo, ho!" growled the ogre. "I smell human flesh on which to feast."

"Nay, my son," cajoled Jezibaba, "a youth is here, in truth, but only because he values your advice."

"In that case," responded the giant, "let him appear and I shall not hurt him."

The Prince came out, trembling, for he reached only to the giant's knees; but being brave of heart he courteously asked his question.

"Ah, ah!" returned the giant, looking[20] around as if searching for him. "I don't know where it is, but if you go to my brother in the silver castle, he may direct you. Here, mother, give him some dumplings to last him on his journey."

The Prince bit into a dumpling placed before him and two of his teeth cracked, for the giant's food was of pure lead.

"I shall eat them later," he said, and placing three of them in his pockets, he thanked his hosts and bade them good-by.

Again over hill and dale he traveled, until wearied he sank as before under a thickly branched tree. From the top of this tree twelve ravens flew, and, remembering his former good fortune, he followed in the direction of their flight.

For three days and three nights he had journeyed when he saw before him a castle whose walls glistened in the sun. It was of the finest silver and at the gateway stood Jezibaba,[21] leaning on a silver staff. He greeted her, saying, "I come from the leaden castle and bear a message for the owner here."

"In that case you are welcome, but that harm may not come to you before my son knows, let me hide you."

Soon after an ogre, more terrible than the first, appeared brandishing a silver club. And as he appeared the castle and ground were shaken.

"Yo-ho!" said the giant, "I smell human flesh for my meal to-day."

"Not so," spoke Jezibaba. "A youth is here, in truth, but not to be harmed. He bears a message to you from your brother of the leaden castle."

So the Prince was invited to come out of his hiding-place, which he did trembling, he seemed so insignificant beside the ogre. He showed the leaden dumplings in token that he spoke the truth and the ogre's face grew quite mild.

[22]

"I can't tell you where the glass mountain is," he answered to the query, "but my brother of the Golden Castle will surely know. Take him my greeting. Before you go, sit down with us to our dinner."

But the dinner consisted of silver dumplings, and excusing himself, the Prince placed three in his pocket and went on his way.

Over wooded hill, through valleys he journeyed, until weariness overcame him and he sank down under a tree. Twelve ravens flew from its top as he did so. The sight of them revived his strength and he followed in the direction they had taken.

After three days and three nights, before him shone a castle of gold so bright as to rival the sun's rays. Here Jezibaba, leaning on a golden staff, received him, and here he saw her son the ogre.