[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic
text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
Our Little Austrian Cousin
THE
Little Cousin Series
(TRADE MARK)
Each volume illustrated with six or more full page plates in
tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover
per volume, 60 cents
LIST OF TITLES
BY MARY HAZELTON WADE, MARY F.
NIXON-ROULET, BLANCHE MCMANUS,
CLARA V. WINLOW, FLORENCE E.
MENDEL AND OTHERS
=Our Little African Cousin=
=Our Little Alaskan Cousin=
=Our Little Arabian Cousin=
=Our Little Argentine Cousin=
=Our Little Armenian Cousin=
=Our Little Australian Cousin=
=Our Little Austrian Cousin=
=Our Little Belgian Cousin=
=Our Little Bohemian Cousin=
=Our Little Brazilian Cousin=
=Our Little Bulgarian Cousin=
=Our Little Canadian Cousin=
=Our Little Chinese Cousin=
=Our Little Cuban Cousin=
=Our Little Danish Cousin=
=Our Little Dutch Cousin=
=Our Little Egyptian Cousin=
=Our Little English Cousin=
=Our Little Eskimo Cousin=
=Our Little French Cousin=
=Our Little German Cousin=
=Our Little Grecian Cousin=
=Our Little Hawaiian Cousin=
=Our Little Hindu Cousin=
=Our Little Hungarian Cousin=
=Our Little Indian Cousin=
=Our Little Irish Cousin=
=Our Little Italian Cousin=
=Our Little Japanese Cousin=
=Our Little Jewish Cousin=
=Our Little Korean Cousin=
=Our Little Malayan (Brown) Cousin=
=Our Little Mexican Cousin=
=Our Little Norwegian Cousin=
=Our Little Panama Cousin=
=Our Little Persian Cousin=
=Our Little Philippine Cousin=
=Our Little Polish Cousin=
=Our Little Porto Rican Cousin=
=Our Little Portuguese Cousin=
=Our Little Russian Cousin=
=Our Little Scotch Cousin=
=Our Little Servian Cousin=
=Our Little Siamese Cousin=
=Our Little Spanish Cousin=
=Our Little Swedish Cousin=
=Our Little Swiss Cousin=
=Our Little Turkish Cousin=
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
53 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass.
[Illustration: "FERDINAND AND LEOPOLD ... WOULD HELP WITH THE CATTLE."
(_See page 100._)]
OUR LITTLE AUSTRIAN COUSIN
By
Florence E. Mendel
Author of "Our Little Polish Cousin," etc.
Illustrated by
Diantha Horne Marlowe
[Illustration: SPE LABOR LEVIS]
Boston
L. C. Page & Company
_MDCCCCXIII_
_Copyright, 1913_,
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
First Impression, June, 1913
THE COLONIAL PRESS
C. H. SIMONDS & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.
PREFACE
IN this volume I have endeavored to give my young readers a clearer
and a more intimate knowledge than is usually possessed of the vast
territory known as the Austro-Hungarian Empire, which is a collection
of provinces united under one ruler, and which is, strange to say, the
only country of importance in the world that has not a distinctive
language of its own, since the various races--German, Slav, Magyar and
others--each speak their own tongue.
The northeastern provinces, Galicia and Bukowina, have not been
considered in this book, owing to the fact that they are included
in OUR LITTLE POLISH COUSIN; and, for a similar reason, Hungary and
Bohemia have been omitted, as each is the subject of an earlier volume
in THE LITTLE COUSIN SERIES. The book consequently is chiefly devoted
to Austria proper and Tyrol, but the other provinces, including
Dalmatia and Bosnia, are not neglected.
The publication of =Our Little Austrian Cousin= is most
timely, since the Balkan War, now drawing to a close, has occupied the
attention of the world. The Balkan States lie just to the south of the
Austrian Empire, and Austria has taken a leading part in defining the
terms of peace which the Great Powers of Europe insist shall be granted
by the Balkan allies to the defeated Turks.
=Our Little Austrian Cousin= can well be read in connection
with OUR LITTLE BULGARIAN COUSIN and OUR LITTLE SERVIAN COUSIN,
describing two of the principal Balkan States, which volumes have just
been added to THE LITTLE COUSIN SERIES.
Among others, I am especially indebted to Fr. H. E. Palmer, for much
information concerning country customs in Upper Austria.
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A VISIT TO OLD VIENNA 1
II. DER STOCK IM EISEN 24
III. THE FARM IN UPPER AUSTRIA 41
IV. THE PEASANTS' DANCE 65
V. SOME TYROLESE LEGENDS 75
VI. MORE LEGENDS 86
VII. A NIGHT WITH THE SENNER 100
VIII. THROUGH THE TYROLESE MOUNTAINS 109
IX. THE HABICHT-BURG RAVENS 124
X. THROUGH DALMATIA AND THE BORDER-LANDS 135
XI. VIENNA 154
List of Illustrations
PAGE
"FERDINAND AND LEOPOLD ... WOULD HELP WITH THE
CATTLE" (_See page 100_) _Frontispiece_
ST. STEPHAN'S CHURCH 12
EMPEROR FRANZ-JOSEPH 22
"'CHEER UP, MY LAD,' SAID THE STRANGER" 29
"IT TOWERED HIGH ABOVE HER HEAD" 72
STATUE OF ANDREAS HOFER, NEAR INNSBRUCK 83
"TRAMP THUS, IN VAGABOND FASHION, OVER THE MOUNTAINS!" 111
THE ROSENGARTEN 121
Our Little Austrian Cousin
CHAPTER I
A VISIT TO OLD VIENNA
"HURRAH!" shouted Ferdinand, as he burst into the living-room, just as
his mother was having afternoon coffee.
"And what makes my son so joyful?" asked Frau Müller, as she looked up
at the rosy cheeks of her young son.
"Hurrah, mother! Don't you know? This is the end of school."
"So it is," replied the mother. "But I had other things in my head."
"And, do you know," the child continued, as he drew up to the table
where the hot coffee emitted refreshing odors, "you haven't told me
yet where we are to go."
"No, Ferdinand, we've wanted to surprise you. But help yourself to the
cakes," and the mother placed a heaping dish of fancy kuchen before the
lad.
Ferdinand did not require a second invitation; like all normal boys,
he was always hungry; but I doubt very much if he knew what real
American-boy-hunger was, because the Austrian eats more frequently
than we, having at least five meals a day, three of which are composed
of coffee and delicious cakes, so that one seldom has time to become
ravenous.
"But, mother," persisted the child, his mouth half filled with kuchen,
"I _wish_ I knew. Tell me when we start; will you tell me that?"
"Yes," answered his mother, smiling. "To-day is Wednesday; Saturday
morning we shall leave."
"Oh, I just can't wait! I _wish_ I knew."
"Perhaps father will tell you when he comes," suggested the mother. "Do
you think you could possibly wait that long?"
"I don't believe I can," answered the lad, frankly; "but I suppose I
shall have to."
That evening, when Herr Müller returned from his shop, Ferdinand plied
him with questions in an effort to win from him, if possible, the
long-withheld secret.
"Well, son, there's no use trying to keep you in the dark any longer.
Where do you guess we are going?"
"To see Cousin Leopold in Tyrol."
"Well, that's a very good guess, and not all wrong, either; but guess
again."
"Oh, I can't. It must be splendid, if it's better than visiting Cousin
Leopold."
"Well, it _is_ better," continued Herr Müller; "for not only are we
going to pass a few days with your Tyrolese relations, but we are going
to a farm."
The boy's face fell visibly.
"To a farm!" he exclaimed. "Why, Uncle Hofer has a splendid farm in
Tyrol; that won't be very new to me, then."
"It won't!" ejaculated his father, a trifle amused. "You wait and see,
my boy. This is not to be a tiny farm of a few acres, creeping up the
mountain on one side and jumping off into a ravine on the other. We
sha'n't have to tie _this_ farm to boulders to keep it from slipping
away from us." And Herr Müller chuckled.
"Then it isn't in the mountains?"
"No, it isn't in the mountains; that is, not in any mountains that
are like the Tyrolese mountains. But there will be acres and acres of
this farm, and you will be miles away from any one. You will see corn
growing, too; you've never seen that in Tyrol, my son."
"No," answered the child. After a few moments' silence, he added:
"Will there be any young folks, father?"
"Don't let that trouble you, Ferdinand; where there's an Austrian farm
there are many children."
"Hurrah for the farm, then!" shouted Ferdinand, much to the
astonishment and amusement of his parents, who were unused to such
impulsive outbursts. But Ferdinand Müller was a typical boy, even
though he had been reared in the heart of the city of Vienna, where the
apartment houses stand shoulder to shoulder, and back to back, with no
room for play-yards or gardens, even; the outside windows serving the
latter duty, while the school building on week-days, and the public
parks on holidays, serve the former. Austrian children are never
allowed to play on the street; but, as if to make up to their children
for the loss of play-space, the Austrian parents take them, upon every
available occasion, to the splendid parks where are provided all sorts
of amusements and refreshments at a modest sum.
"Father," asked the lad, after a few moments' silence, during which he
had sat thinking quietly, "when shall we start?"
"Saturday morning, my son. I believe your mother has everything in
readiness, _nicht war, meine liebe Frau_?" he asked, as he glanced over
his paper at his wife.
"Oh, mother, _do_ say you are ready," pleaded the child, who, for all
his twelve years, and his finely developed body, was yet a boy, and
impulsive.
"Yes, I'm all ready," she replied.
And, for the rest of the evening, silence descended upon the boy, his
small brain being filled with visions of the coming pleasure.
When Herr Müller returned to his home the following evening, he found a
letter, postmarked "Linz," awaiting him.
"Hello," he said, half aloud, "here's word from our friend Herr
Runkel. Wonder if there's anything happened to upset our plans?"
"Oh, father, please don't say it," pleaded the boy; "I shall be so
disappointed."
"Well, cheer up," replied his father, "there's better news than you
thought for. We shall leave on Saturday morning as planned; but
to-morrow Herr Runkel's sister from the convent will come to us. He
asks us to take charge of her, as the Sisters find it very inconvenient
this year to send an escort with her; and, as we are coming up in a day
or two, perhaps we would not mind the extra trouble."
"Oh, father, won't it be fine! How old is she?"
"I believe about your age."
Friday morning Frau Müller and Ferdinand jumped into a fiaker and drove
to the railroad station to meet Teresa Runkel. She was a fine-looking
child, with round, rosy cheeks; quite tall, with the fair complexion,
sunny hair, and soft, Austrian blue eyes that makes the women of that
land famed for their beauty. She was overjoyed at this unexpected
pleasure of spending a day or two in the city of Vienna, which she had
never seen, although she had passed through several times on her way to
and from the convent. She enjoyed the brisk drive to the tall apartment
house in the Schwanengasse, and she fairly bubbled with chatter.
"After luncheon, my dear," observed Frau Müller, "we shall have Herr
Müller take you about our city; for Vienna is vastly different from
Linz."
Herr Müller joined the party at luncheon at eleven o'clock, which was
really the breakfast hour, because Austrian families take only coffee
and cakes or rolls in the early morning, eating their hearty breakfast
toward the middle of the day, after which they rest for an hour or two,
before beginning their afternoon duties.
At two o'clock the three were ready for the walk, for Frau Müller was
not to accompany them. Joseph, the portier, an important personage in
Viennese life, nodded "A-b-e-n-d" to them, as they passed out the front
door of the building, over which he presided as a sort of turnkey. No
one may pass in or out without encountering the wary eye of Joseph,
who must answer to the police for the inmates of the building, as also
for the visitors. And this is a curious custom, not only in Vienna,
but other European cities, that immediately upon one's arrival at an
hotel, or even a private home, the police are notified, unawares to the
visitor, of his movements and his object in being in the city, which
reduces chances of crime to a minimum; burglary being almost unknown,
picking pockets on the open streets taking its place in most part.
"Of course you know, children," said Herr Müller, as they passed along
the broad Kärtnerstrasse, where are the finest shops of Vienna,
"you've been taught in school the history of our city, so I need not
tell you that."
"Oh, but please do, father," said Ferdinand. "Teresa may not know it
as well as I do,"--he hesitated, for he noticed the hurt look in the
girl's eyes, and added--"although she may know a lot more about other
things."
"Well," began the father, "away back in the times before Christ, a body
of rough men came from the northern part of France and the surrounding
countries. They were called Celts. They were constantly roving; and so
it chanced they came to this very spot where we now are, and founded
a village which they called Vindobona. But about fourteen years after
Christ, the Romans worked their way northward; they saw the village of
the Celts and captured it. They built a great wall about it, placed
a moat outside of these fortifications and settled down to retain
their conquest. They built a forum, which was a public square where
all the business of the city was transacted; and, on one side, they
placed their camp or praetorium. To-day, we call the Roman forum the
Hohermarkt, just here where we stand now," continued Herr Müller, "and
here, where the Greek banker Sina has built this fine palace, stood the
Roman praetorium; while here, you see the street is named for Marcus
Aurelius, the Roman emperor who was born in Spain and died in this city
so many hundreds of years ago."
"I've heard that ever so many times, father," said Ferdinand, "but I
never realized it before; somehow it seems as if I could almost see the
Celts driven out and the great wall and moat of the Romans."
Meanwhile they had walked on, down the Bauermarkt and reached the St.
Stephanienplatz, with St. Stephan's Church in the middle.
"There," said Herr Müller, pointing to the beautiful edifice, "is
the oldest monument we have in Vienna, begun in 1144. Duke Heinrich
Jasomirgott founded it."
[Illustration: ST. STEPHAN'S CHURCH.]
"Oh, he was our first duke," spoke up Teresa, who also wished to prove
that she knew _her_ Austrian history as well as her friend.
"Yes, Teresa," answered Herr Müller. "But it's a long jump from the
Romans to Duke Heinrich. Several hundred years after the expulsion of
the Celts from Vindobona, Charlemagne, the undaunted conqueror of the
age, absorbed it into the German Empire; he distinguished it from the
rest of the German Empire by giving it the name of the Eastmark or
border of the empire (Oesterreich), hence Austria. He placed a lord or
margrave over it; and when Conrad III of Germany became emperor, he
appointed Heinrich Jasomirgott ruler over the Eastmark, giving him,
at the same time, the adjoining territory of Bavaria. But he had no
right to dispose of these Bavarian lands as he chose, just because
he was angry with the Bavarians; and when his son, Frederick Redbeard
(Barbarossa) came to the throne, he gave it back to the Bavarians. But
Frederick Redbeard was a politic ruler; he did not wish to offend any
of his subjects; in order to make up to Henry Jasomirgott for the loss
of Bavaria, he raised him to the rank of duke, and thus Oesterreich
or the Eastmark became a duchy. This was about 1100; then, being such
an important personage, Duke Heinrich determined to make his home in
Vienna. He built himself a strong castle, surrounded it with a high
stone wall and a moat, as was the custom at that time, and included
within it the confines of the city, so that he and his people might not
be molested by neighboring princes.
"Here," continued Herr Müller, as they passed to the end of the Platz,
"is the Graben. To-day it is our most fashionable shopping district;
but in the time of Duke Heinrich it was a moat filled with water; and
here, where these rows of modern houses stand, were the ancient walls
which protected the city."
"Isn't it great!" cried Teresa, who, girl though she was, could
appreciate the ancient struggles of her ancestors for liberty and
defence.
"Oh, father, there is Der Stock im Eisen!" said Ferdinand. "Tell Teresa
about that, please; she doesn't know."
"Der Stock im Eisen?" repeated Teresa. "What is it?"
"That old tree with the iron hoop around it, at the corner of the
Graben," replied her companion.
"We will reserve that tale for the evening," answered Herr Müller; "it
is getting toward coffee hour, and we want to visit many places yet."
As he spoke, they walked slowly along the Graben, which means Moat in
German, and, at the end of several minutes, they reached a large open
square called Platz am Hof.
"Here is what remains of the palace of the House of Babenberg, which
Duke Heinrich built," said Herr Müller; "and here before it you see
the Tiefe-graben, or deep moat, which amply protected the stronghold
from attack. And there," he continued, moving as he spoke toward the
building, "stands the Schottenhof."
"The Schottenhof?" exclaimed Teresa, astonished. "Why is it called a
Scottish palace in Austria?"
"Because it was originally built and occupied by some monks from
Scotland in the year 1158, whom Duke Heinrich had asked to come and
instruct the citizens, not only in religion, but in the educational
arts, there being no schools in those days; all the teaching was done
by the Holy Fathers. But later on, the Scottish monks were dispossessed
by a German order of monks; yet the Hof still bears the name of its
founders. And even to-day the Church owns all this most valuable
property, right in the very heart of our city, which was given to them
so many years ago."
"That's the first time I thought about the Hof being Scottish,"
admitted Ferdinand, between whom and Teresa there was much rivalry and
jealousy as to the amount of knowledge possessed by each; but the lad
was generous enough to admit his ignorance, because he did not wish to
assume too superior airs before his guest.
"Here runs the tiny lane, the Schotten-gasse, which separates the
Schottenhof from the smaller Molkerhof just across the land; and here
are the ancient bastions which protected them; to-day, you notice,
these same names are retained; the bastions are no longer required,
but history preserves their memory in preserving their names, the
Schotten-bastei and the Molker-bastei, now streets of the city of
Vienna instead of bastions. But we have had quite enough of history,"
continued Herr Müller, "I am quite certain our little convent friend is
tired."
"Oh, no indeed," spoke up Teresa. "At the convent we take long walks
every day; and in the country at Linz, we do much walking, too; it does
not tire me at all."
"But walking about city streets is quite different from country lanes,
my girl," observed Herr Müller.
"Yes, but we do not have the interesting places to visit, nor the tales
to hear, in the lanes," wisely answered the child.
"Well, then, if you are quite certain you are not too tired, we
will walk home. We will go by the way of the Ring, here behind the
Schottenhof; and we will walk over the old walls, which were erected in
later years as the original city of Duke Heinrich grew. Of course, we
have no use for these fortifications in these days, so we have changed
them into a magnificent boulevard."
No one, not knowing the original use of the Ring, would ever have
suspected the mission it had fulfilled; so broad and handsome was the
avenue encircling what is called the Inner-Stadt (Inner City), planted
with magnificent trees, and bubbling over with life, color and gayety.
Teresa would like to have stopped at every fine building and park, but
Herr Müller promised to ask her brother to allow her a few days with
them in Vienna before returning to the convent in the fall, that she
might see all there was not time now to show her. For the present must
suffice a cursory glance at the Burghof or imperial residence, the
royal theatre, the Hofgarten and the Volksgarten, gay with the scarlet
skirts and gold cloth caps of hundreds of nurse-maids watching over
their youthful cares.
"Wouldn't it be splendid to be an emperor," remarked Teresa to her
companion, "and live in such a fine palace?"
"Oh, that isn't much of a palace," remarked Ferdinand, somewhat
contemptuously, "that's just like a prison to me; you ought to see
Schönbrunn, the summer home of the Emperor."
"Oh, I've been to Schönbrunn," returned the girl with disdain in her
voice. "The Sisters took us all there once; they showed us the room
where the Duke of Reichstadt died, and where his father, Napoleon,
lived when he took Vienna."
"Well, I'll bet you haven't seen the celebration on Maundy Thursday,
when the Emperor sends his twenty-four gorgeous gala coaches with their
magnificent horses and mounted escorts in uniform to bring the four and
twenty poor men and women to his palace, that he might humble himself
to wash their feet?"
"No, I haven't seen that," admitted Teresa. "Tell me about it. Have
_you_ seen it?"
"I've heard father tell about it a number of times," continued the lad.
"The Emperor sends his wonderful holiday coaches with the escorts in
gorgeous uniforms; they bring the poor men and women to the palace and
set a splendid banquet before them; then they go to the royal chapel
and hear Mass, at which the Emperor and the royal family, and the
entire Court are present; after that, the poor folks are led to the
banquet hall and here they are served from silver platters which the
Emperor and his royal family present to them. After that, the Emperor
kneels before them and wipes their feet with a wet cloth."
"He does that himself?" asked Teresa, who had listened spellbound, that
her beloved emperor should conduct such a ceremony.
"Indeed he does! And, furthermore," added the boy, with ineffable
pride, "he is the only monarch, so father tells me, who preserves the
ancient custom. But that isn't all; the Emperor sends these astonished
poor people home again in the gorgeous coaches; he gives them each
a purse in which is about fifteen dollars; he sends a great basket
filled with the remains of the banquet which they have left untouched,
together with a bottle of wine and a fine bouquet of flowers;--and,
what do you think, Teresa?"
"I'm sure I couldn't guess," admitted the child.
"He gives them the silver platters from which he served them."
"What a splendid emperor!" cried Teresa. Then she added, "I've seen the
Emperor."
"Oh, that's nothing," most ungallantly replied the boy. "Franz-Joseph
walks about our streets like Haroun-al-Raschid used to in the Arabian
Nights. _Any_ one can see the Emperor; he allows even the poorest to
come and see him in his palace every week; and he talks to them just
as if he was a plain, ordinary man and not an emperor at all."
[Illustration: EMPEROR FRANZ-JOSEPH.]
"Well, I've had him speak to me," answered Teresa. "At the convent he
praised my work."
There was a dead silence. Herr Müller walked along, not a muscle
in his face betraying the fact that he had overheard this juvenile
conversation, for fear of interrupting a most entertaining dialogue.
"Has he ever spoken _directly_ to you?" demanded the girl, seeing that
Ferdinand did not reply.
"No."
Again a dead silence.
"The Emperor needs our love and sympathy," said Herr Müller, after
waiting in vain for the children to renew their talk; "his beloved
empress Elizabeth has been taken from him by an assassin's hand; his
favorite brother Maximilian went to his doom in the City of Mexico,
the victim of the ambition of a Napoleon; even his heir, the
crown-prince is dead; and when our beloved king shall be no more, the
very name of Habsburg will have passed away."
"He is a very kind man," replied Teresa. "He comes often to the
convent; and he makes us feel that he is not an emperor but one of us."
Herr Müller touched his hat in respect. "Long live our beloved emperor,
our most sympathetic friend," he said.
By this time they had gained the entrance of their home; Joseph opened
the public door to admit them to the corridor, and they ascended to the
third floor to the apartment of Herr Müller.