we may thrust the Magyar costume upon
alien races, and float our national colours
from one end of Hungary to the other;
but pray what shall we have gained if we
have not gained the hearts and affections
of those whom we aspire to rule? And,
trust me, the art of gaining hearts is the
art of governing men. He who lacks
sympathy lacks wisdom; and we are unfit
for the noble task of government if we are
unable to respect in others the sentiments
and aspirations which we respect in
ourselves; most unfit for such a task if, in
dealing with sensitive and generous
adversaries, enthusiastic, like ourselves, for the
traditions of their race, we treat with
supercilious contempt emotions which we
have not endeavoured to understand."

Unhappily for Hungary, these wise
warnings were neglected. One of the first uses
to which Kossuth put the power entrusted
to him by the Revolution, was the forcible
extinction of the Sclavonic nationality in
Hungary. In the name of the Hungarians,
who had so recently extorted from Austria
the free use of their own language, he
prohibited to the Slavs the use of their language
—a language to which they were passionately
attached. The treatment of the Slavs
in Hungary by Kossuth was, in almost
every respect, worse than the treatment
of the Hungarians by Metternich and
Schwartzenberg.

If Count Szechenyi's loyalty to his own
principles had been for a moment shaken by
the enthusiasm which greeted the enunciation
of a policy essentially antagonistic to
them, it was only for a moment. In 1847
he addressed to the nation and its new
tribune these remarkable words:

"The nation will be shaken to pieces.
And in that day the faithful and serious
servants of her cause, remembering how
great was the height to which she might
have risen, and beholding how deep is the
abyss into which she has been thrust, will
have no refuge from despair, save in prayer
to God. And you, Kossuth, you in whose
heart and honour I will yet believe, what
anguish must be yours when, amidst the
ruins of a monomaniac's hopes, your
conscience compels yon to make this
confession: 'I believed myself filled with the
wisdom which establishes states; but I
was filled only with the dreams of a
disordered imagination. I deemed myself a

prophet, yet have I foreseen nothing, and
failed even to comprehend the simplest
events which were passing under my eyes.
In my infatuation I mistook myself for a
creative genius. I was but a feverish
schemer. I aspired to command others.
I could not govern myself. It was my
boast to be the benefactor of my country.
It is my shame to have been only the
puppet of all her popular passions. I
proclaimed myself the Messiah of a new
political gospel, and I was but a
well-meaning and unwise philanthropist,
encouraging idleness and misery by gratuitous
distributions of bread-crumbs. With the
power which should have regenerated and
consolidated a nation, I have but organised
a huge national hospital.' When that
miserable hour is come (and come be sure
it will; for the imaginary world you are
now building upon chaos has no more
reality than the mirage), what consolation
will remain to you in the memory of your
work? O hasten— in the sacred name of
our common country, I beseech you—
hasten to leave this perilous path of
revolutionary agitation! You will not hear
me? The voice of popular favour is loud
and sweet! Well, then, when that voice
has become the voice of those that mourn,
you shall not be able to assert, 'the entire
nation shared the error of my dreams.'
Here and now, I summon you to remember
in that hour, that one voice of expostulation
was raised, and raised in time, but that you
would not listen to its warning cry."

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