Salt of the Earth by Jozef Wittlin

Author:Jozef Wittlin [Jozef Wittlin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781782274711
Publisher: Steerforth Press
Published: 2018-03-25T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

The Austro-Hungarian Monarchy was, as the name indicates, made up of the countries represented in the Viennese parliament, namely Austria and Hungary—that is to say, the lands of the Crown of St Stephen.

The Crown of St Stephen (in Hungarian “A Magyar Szent Korona”) is very old and very heavy. Nevertheless, every Hungarian king must place it on his head once in his life. Clad in a magnificent cloak and wearing the crown, he rides on a white steed to the top of the highest hill in Buda, where he symbolically brandishes a giant sword. This is the culminating moment of the coronation ceremony. After that, the crown sleeps for years in a vault in the castle of Buda, awaiting a new king. It rests peacefully, unless someone steals it. This has occurred more than once in Hungary’s history. For this reason, in 1846 it was buried by patriots near the village of Orșova on the Danube. It lay in the ground for ten years. But the gold and precious stones did not put out any shoots. Only the cross on the top of the crown worked loose and today it leans to one side—as when Christ fell beneath it. Everyone in the kingdom, even a beggar into whose outstretched hand they drop 20 hellers, knows what the Crown of St Stephen looks like. Because actually the mint was common to both countries, as indeed was the entire treasury; it issued the coinage in both countries—both the Austrian and the Hungarian. So even Piotr Niewiadomski carried around many Crowns of St Stephen in his pocket, and he often wondered why its cross was crooked.

During peacetime in Śniatyn district, people showed little interest in Hungary, close neighbour though it was. And yet every Hutsul child knew that the Hungarians’ emperor was no emperor, only a king. Truth to tell, no one in Śniatyn district gave any thought to why that was the case. It only became an issue when certain of the Emperor’s subjects, and the best of them at that, had to go to Hungary.

The wagons in which Emperor-and-King Franz Joseph was transporting his soldiers (40 men), or his livestock (8 horses), were secured in two ways, depending on who the passengers were. If they were horses, cattle or pigs, a single wooden door without windows was drawn. People enjoyed greater freedom; anyone who wanted to could even jump off the train, because instead of a door the way to death, disability or freedom was blocked merely by a simple iron bar.

Leaning against this bar were Piotr Niewiadomski and his compatriots. It was a privileged place, the only one in the dark, stuffy wagon where there was access to oxygen and nitrogen and where the world could be seen slipping away. The small opening in the roof was good only for animals’ lungs. As for humans, it wasn’t even any good for their morale. It was covered by a grating, as in a jail. Piotr owed this benefit to his fellow passengers’ ethical principles.

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