Everyday Nationalism in Hungary: 1789 – 1867 9783110638448, 9783110634112

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Alexander Maxwell Everyday Nationalism in Hungary

Alexander Maxwell

Everyday Nationalism in Hungary

1789 – 1867

ISBN 978-3-11-063411-2 e-ISBN (PDF) 978-3-11-063844-8 e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-3-11-063423-5

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019947858 Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2019 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Cover image: from Der Floh (9 March 1873), 5. Printing and binding: CPI books GmbH, Leck www.degruyter.com

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Table of Contents Acknowledgements Note on Conventions

1 3

Introduction: Hungary’s National Awakening Chapter 1: Hungary’s National Name

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14 32

Chapter 2: Hungary’s National Terminology Chapter 3: Hungary’s National Tobacco Chapter 4: Hungary’s National Wine

60 94

Chapter 5: Hungary’s National Moustaches Chapter 6: Hungary’s National Sexuality Chapter 7: Hungary’s National Costume

128 153 187

Conclusion: Hungary’s Lessons for Nationalism Theorists Index

244

229

Acknowledgements This book has taken me a long time to finish, and many people have helped me along the way. I would like first of all to thank anybody that I may forget to thank by name! I appreciated all the help I received from everybody. Victoria University funded my research not only through grants, but also by giving me the opportunity to pursue an interesting and rewarding career as a historian. I started this book as an independent scholar, but Victoria paid for several invaluable research trips. My advanced students at Victoria University have also given me inspiration. I particularly want to thank Sarah Bracey, Geoffrey Brown, Alexander Campbell, Rebecca McKeown, Tim Smith, and Matthew Vink. The book drew on the work of numerous librarians and archivists. I should particularly mention ELTE University Library, the National Széchényi Library in Budapest, the Croatian Academy of Science and Art, the Memorial Library at the University of Wisconsin Madison, the Croatian State Archive, and the State Library of New South Wales. For a historian of Central Europe based in New Zealand, digitalization initiatives have also proved invaluable. This book would not exist without the Google Books digitization initiative, the Austrian National Library’s “Austrian Newspapers Online” digital archive, the National Digital Library of Romania, the digital periodical archive of Lucian Blaga University, the Hathi Trust digital archive, San Francisco’s Internet Archive, and the Paul Robert Magocsi Carpatho-Ruthenica Library. Many individual scholars have also helped me on a personal level. Gábor Almási, Eszter Apor (of the Hungarian National Museum), Rebecca McKeown, Robert Nemes, Stephen Spinder, Lucian-Vasile Szabo, lav Šubarić, and Judit Takács helped me track down sources or references. Dóra Bobory, Geoffrey Brown, Tatjana Buklijas, Ana-Maria Gruja, Petra Hajdú, Cormac Harrington, Dragoș Jula, Bálint Koller, Mark Masterson, Richard Millington, Charlotte Simmonds and László Vörös helped me with translations. I am grateful for their time and expertise. Others have also encouraged me by taking an interest in my research. I particularly thank the tireless Louise Vasvári for her enthusiasm, but also Juraj Buzalka, Ivanka Jukić, Tomasz Kamusella, Emese Lafferton, Mary Heimann, Juraj Hvorecký, Janka Hričovská, Eva Kowalská, Richard McMahon, Anca Oroveanu, Martyn Rady, Gordan Ravančić, Rok Stergar, Jan Surman, Judit Takács, Zsuzsanna Varga, Bálint Varga, Alexander Vari, Jill Vickers, László Vörös, Miklós Zeidler, who have all taken an interest in my work in progress. Heike Bauer, Eva Bodnar, Andrew Bonnell, Roland Clark, Anita Kurimay, Nina Paulovičová, and Balázs Venkovits also deserve mention. László Vörös, Robert Nemes, Sacha Davis, https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638448-001

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Acknowledgements

Mark Honeychurch, and Jill Brady kindly agreed to proofread, though of course all errors obviously remain my own responsibility. I would like to finish by thanking my antipodean colleagues. Sacha Davis and Richard Millington have collaborated for several conferences and publication efforts, but their friendship has made an even greater difference. My warmest thanks, finally, to Carol Harrington, for everything.

Note on Conventions Explaining one’s attitude toward place-names has become a tedious convention of Habsburg history. A few important cities (Vienna, Prague) have widely-accepted English names whose use is unproblematic. Most places, however, do not. Anglophone historians must therefore choose between competing names borrowed from central European languages. Conventions for describing nineteenth-century Hungarian cities often depend on subsequent political events. The city of Szeged, for example, today one of Hungary’s larger cities, once had different names in German, Romanian, Serbo-Croat, and Slovak: “Szegedin,” “Seghedin,” “Segedin,” and “Segedín,” respectively. After Hungary’s 1920 partition after the Treaty of Trianon, the city remained in Hungary. Anglophone historiography, treating the city as unproblematically Hungarian, typically uses the Hungarian name. By contrast, the cities known in Hungarian as “Kolozsvár” and “Pozsony,” important places in pre-Trianon Hungary, now belong respectively to Romania and Slovakia. Calling these cities by their Hungarian names sometimes seems disrespectful to the states that now administer them. Scholars discussing contemporary events typically use the Romanian “Cluj” (or even the formal “ClujNapoca”) and the Slovak “Bratislava,” respectively. Scholars working on the nineteenth century, however, face a difficulty complicated by competing nationalist claims. Partisan scholars generally prefer the names used by their nationality of origin or sympathy. Using any one name thus raises suspicions of partisanship from those scholars who, for whatever reason, prefer another name. Scholars may, however, prefer one convention over another for non-partisan reasons. In a historical study about the Habsburg era, for example, one might object to contemporary names as anachronisms. The contemporary Slovak name “Bratislava” seems particularly inappropriate, since nineteenth-century Slovaks called the city “Prešporok.” Alternatively, scholars may not wish to burden readers with unfamiliar place-names, and thus prefer the contemporary names found in an atlas. In recent years, several leading Habsburg experts have started using multiple names simultaneously: Cluj/Kolozsvár, Bratislava/Pozsony, and so forth. This stylistically inelegant option permits liberal-minded scholars to demonstrate their lack of nationalist partisanship, though of course the demonstrative rejection of nationalist partisanship itself articulates a political stance. Since this convention highlights the cosmopolitan quality of urban life in the Habsburg era, it has proved particularly popular among scholars writing urban case-studies.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638448-002

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Note on Conventions

Nevertheless, the multiple-name solution raises new technical difficulties. Its advocates rarely explain how to decide which name comes first. Should one say “Cluj/Kolozsvár,” or “Kolozsvár/Cluj”? And how many names must one include? Famously, Habsburg cities hosted multiple nationalities. The city that served as capital for both Royal Hungary and the Slovak Republic, for example, long had a predominantly German population. The German name is “Pressburg.” Should one speak of “Pressburg/Pozsony/Bratislava”? (or Poszony/Prešporok/Pressburg, or some other variant?) Acknowledging the city’s Romanian and Serbian minorities by adding Romanian and Serbian would yield even more unwieldy options, such as “Bratislava/Pozsony/Pressburg/Pojon/Požun.” And what about Latin and Yiddish? Where does one stop? Though all nomenclatures are politicized and imperfect, several scholars lamentably pretend that their preferred conventions constitute a non-existent scholarly consensus. A few have even denigrated alternate nomenclatures as a form of scholarly misconduct. In general, I suggest, Habsburg scholars ought to presume more good will among those who prefer alternate conventions: dear colleagues, we have better things to argue about. My first book, Choosing Slovakia, a study of Slovak national awakening mostly focused on the nineteenth century, anachronistically used contemporary city names throughout. I chose this convention mostly on the grounds that readers could most easily locate contemporary names in an atlas, but also partly as a sop to Slovak nationalism. I assumed, incorrectly as it turns out, that the book would appeal disproportionately to Slovak readers. I hoped not to antagonize a core audience unnecessarily. This book is also a study of national awakening, and also restricts its attention to the nineteenth century. It discusses Hungarians from many ethno-national communities, but ethnic Hungarians (Magyars) predominate. This book therefore adopts a convention that favors Hungarian names. If the convention used in my first book flattered Slovak pride, the convention of this book flatters Magyar pride instead. However, I have also chosen to adopt a new convention so that my career as a whole demonstrates an openness to multiple approaches to an issue that has become more contentious than it ought to be. This book nevertheless marks those towns which are no longer part of Hungary. Towns that were Hungarian in the nineteenth century and remain Hungarian today will be described by their Hungarian names: Debrecen, Pécs, Sopron. Towns that were Hungarian in the nineteenth century but now belong to some other state are also given in Hungarian, but I add in brackets first the contemporary name, and then the German name: “Pozsony [Bratislava, Pressburg],” “Kolozsvár [Cluj, Klausenburg],” and so on. I somewhat controversially treat Provincial Croatia as part of Hungary, and thus refer to Croatia’s capital city as “Zágráb

Note on Conventions

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[Zagreb, Agram].” In the footnotes, however, I have maintained the convention of my first book and always give modern names as the place of publication, even at the price of anachronism.

Introduction Hungary’s National Awakening Europe has not always been governed as a continent of nations. Monarchs ruling heterogeneous empires once claimed a legitimacy bestowed by supernatural powers. As late as 1806, for example, the Habsburg monarch, deprived by Napoleon of his title as Holy Roman Emperor, chose to declare himself ruler “by grace of God Emperor of Austria, King of Jerusalem, Hungary, Bohemia, Dalmatia, Croatia, Slavonia, Galicia and Lodomeria,” among other honors. He significantly addressed the text not to his “people” but to his plural “peoples.”¹ The nineteenth century, however, ultimately transformed European ideas about political legitimacy: political leaders and social reformers increasingly sought justification not from God, but by invoking something called the “nation,” imagined in various ways. Politicians and intellectuals routinely invoked a particular nation by name. Within the context of the Habsburg lands, for example, Hungarian authors invoked the will or interest of Hungary, or of the Hungarians; Croatian authors that of Croatia, or of the Croatians; and so forth. Alternatively, authors invoked “the nation” in the abstract. An English-language book about Hungary must, of course, confront the fact that Hungarians invoked not the “nation,” but the nacija, narod, národ, Nation, naţiune, nemzet, nép, Volk, народ, нација, or нація to give a selection of terms drawn from the kingdom’s most widely spoken languages.² However formulated, the nationalization of political life, here understood fundamentally as a shift in the rhetoric and politics of political legitimacy, had far-reaching consequences. This book examines the beginnings of nationalism as lived experience in the Kingdom of Hungary. Modern readers, accustomed to nationalist politics, may struggle to imagine the effervescence and diversity of nationalist fantasies when they first proliferated in the early nineteenth century. Back when patriots had less guidance from precedent, they associated the “nation” with a wide variety of objects and practices, attempting to nationalize spheres of life that subsequent generations usually treat as nationally neutral.

 Titulatur und Wappen Seiner Oesterreichisch-Kaiserlichen und Königlich-Apostlischen Majestät … vom sechsten August 1806 (Vienna: K-K Hof- und Staatsdruckerey, 1806), n.p., but present in both the “grosser Titel” and “mittlerer Titel.”  Respectively, Croatian (twice), Slovak, German, Romanian, Hungarian (twice), German, Serbian (twice), and Ukrainian. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638448-003

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As an example of the spread of “national” thinking in the Kingdom of Hungary, consider the many criteria Béla Sárváry used to define “the Hungarian” in his patriotic poem “Alföldi dalok [Songs of the Hungarian Plain],” which appeared in the patriotic magazine Honderű [Shining Homeland] on 6 May 1848. A ki Magyar, csak Magyar bort igyék az, A ki Magyar, csak Magyar étket egyek az, A ki Magyar, Magyar nyelven beszélejen Kül árút, lakást, honival cseréljen. Magyar legyen dalja, táncza ruhaja, Magyar legyen nője, s egész fajtája.

Who is a Hungarian only drinks Hungarian wine. Who is a Hungarian only eats Hungarian food. Who is a Hungarian only speaks the Hungarian language Trades foreign goods and dwellings for domestic ones. Hungarian should be his songs, dances and clothing; Hungarian should be his wife, and all his kin.³

Several of Sárváry’s criteria allude to enduring features of Hungarian nationalist politics. His denunciation of “foreign goods” implies a relatively straightforward economic nationalism, a phenomenon discussed at length in Hungarian historiography.⁴ His reference to the “Hungarian language” evokes the oft-analyzed conflicts over linguistic rights in the Kingdom of Hungary and its successor states.⁵ Since the word faj can mean “race” or “breed” as well as “kin,” Sárváry’s final line arguably anticipates the biologized nationalism that took root later in the century, leading to such well-studied themes such as eugenics,⁶ anti-Semitism,⁷ the Holocaust,⁸ or prejudice against the Roma (Gypsies).⁹

 Béla Sárváry, “Alföldi dalok,” Honderű, vol. 1, no. 18 (6 May 1848), 606.  Andrew Janos, The Politics of Backwardness in Hungary, 1825 – 1945 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1982); Ágnes Pogány, “Wirtschaftsnationalismus in Ungarn im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert,” in: Ágnes Pogány, Eduard Kubů, Jan Kofman, eds, Für eine nationale Wirtschaft: Ungarn, die Tschechoslowakei und Polen vom Ausgang des 19. Jahrhunderts bis zum Zweiten Weltkrieg (Berlin: Berliner Wissenschaftsverlag, 2006), 11– 72.  Tomasz Kamusella, The Politics of Language and Nationalism in Modern Central Europe (London: Palgrave, 2012), 121– 35, 431– 80, 522– 68, 645 – 713; Gábor Almási and Lav Šubarić, eds, Latin at the Crossroads of Identity: The Evolution of Linguistic Nationalism in the Kingdom of Hungary (Leiden: Brill, 2015); Daniel Rapant, K počiatkom maďarizácie: Vývoj rečovej otázky v Uhorsku v rokoch 1740 – 1790 (Bratislava: Komenský University, 1927); Judith Kesserű Nemethy, ed., 21st century Hungarian Language Survival in Transylvania (Budapest: Helena History Press, 2015).  Emese Lafferton, “The Magyar Moustache: The Faces of Hungarian State Formation, 1867– 1918,” Studies in History and Philosophy of Science, vol. 38, no. 4 (2007), 706 – 732; Tamás Farkas, Eugenics: The Building of Society and the Nation in fin de siècle and interwar Hungary, (Central

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Yet while economic nationalism, linguistic conflict, and racism are major themes in the historical literature on nationalism, other themes of Sárváry’s poem have attracted less theoretical attention. For example, Sárváry imagined a national spouse. Historians of Hungarian nationalism have not taken much interest in national marriage. Admittedly, feminist scholars have studied marriage law, asking whether women have the right to retain citizenship in a cross-national marriage.¹⁰ Such analyses, however, shed little light on Sárváry’s poem, which is not a legal text but a patriotic effusion. National food and national drink have attracted even less interest. Several scholars have examined the symbolism of paprika as a national spice,¹¹ but,

European University, Department of History, Ph.D. dissertation, 2012); Marius Turda, Eugenics and Nation in Early 20th Century Hungary (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014).  Viktor Karády, Zsidóság az 1945 utáni Magyarországon (Budapest: Magyar Füzetek, 1984); Rolf Fischer, Entwicklungsstufen des Antisemitismus in Ungarn 1867 – 1939: Die Zerstörung der magyarisch-jüdischen Symbiose (Munich: Oldenbourg, 1988); Vera Ranki, The Politics of Inclusion and Exclusion: Jews and Nationalism in Hungary (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1999); Ignaz Einhorn Horn, Ambrus Miskolczy, István Fenyő, eds, A forradalom és a zsidók Magyarországon (Budapest: ELTE, 2000); Paul Hanebrink, In Defense of Christian Hungary: Religion, Nationalism, and Antisemitism, 1890 – 1944 (Ithaca: Cornell University, 2006); Petra Rybářová, “Anti-Semitism and Violence in the Hungarian Kingdom in 1880s,” in: Gudmundur Hálfdanarson, ed., Discrimination and Tolerance in Historical Perspective, (Pisa: Plus-Pisa, 2008), 157– 68.  Randolph Braham, The Politics of Genocide: The Holocaust in Hungary (Detroit: Wayne State University, 1981), 2 vols; Randolph Braham, Bibliography of the Holocaust in Hungary (New York: Columbia University Press, 2011); available in Hungarian as A magyarországi holokauszt bibliográfiája (Budapest: Park, 2010), 2 vols.  György Szabó, Die Roma in Ungarn: Ein Beitrag zur Sozialgeschichte einer Minderheit (Frankfurt a. M.: Peter Lang, 1991); László Karsai, A cigánykérdés Magyarországon, 1919 – 1945: Út a cigány Holocausthoz (Budapest: Cserépfalvi, 1992); Ágnes Kende, “The Hungary of Otherness: The Roma (Gypsies) of Hungary,” Journal of European Area Studies, vol. 8, no. 2 (2000), 187– 201; István Kemény, ed., Roma of Hungary (New York: East European Monographs, 2005); Mátyás Binder, “‘A cigányok’ vagy a ‘cigánykérdés’ története?,” Regio, vol. 4 (2009), 35 – 59.  Marilyn Lake, “Personality, Individuality, Nationality: Feminist Conceptions of Citizenship 1902– 1940,” Australian Feminist Studies, vol. 9, no. 19 (1994), 25 – 38; Candice Lewis Bredbenner, A Nationality of Her Own: Women, Marriage, and the Law of Citizenship (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998); Gerard Neyrand, Marine M’Sili, “Mixed couples in contemporary France: Marriage, Acquisition of French Nationality and Divorce,” Population, vol. 10, no. 2 (1998), 385 – 416; Karen Knop, “Relational Nationality: On Gender and Nationality in International Law,” in: T. Alexander Aleinikoff, Douglas Klusmeyer, eds, Citizenship Today (Washington: Carnegie Endowment for Peace, 2001), 89 – 124.  Melanie Smith, Márta Jusztin, “Paprika: The Spice of Life in Hungary,” in: Lee Jolliffe, ed., Spices and Tourism: Destinations, Attractions and Cuisines (Briston: Channel View, 2014), 53 – 71; Ottó Gecser, “Amerikai bors, indiai curry és magyar paprika: Lokális és globális figurációk a kulináris ízlés társadalomtörténetében,” Erdélyi Társadalom, vol. 12, no. 2 (2014),

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apart from Zoltán Halász’s popular history,¹² such studies address only the present. Inattention to the past also characterizes most comparative work on nationalism and food.¹³ Several scholars, finally, have examined Hungarian clothing and its social meanings, but most work has emerged from the disciplines of fashion studies or cultural history,¹⁴ and thus neglects the key questions of nationalism theory. This book, therefore, explores these less-studied aspects of early nationalism, focusing particularly on the nationalization of objects and practices that affected ordinary people in their daily routines. Parliamentary debates have been studied elsewhere: this book instead examines the spread of national thinking in everyday life. It specifically examines the Kingdom of Hungary during the period from 1789 to 1867, in other words, from the French Revolution to the Austro-Hungarian Settlement [Kiegyezés/Ausgleich], also referred to as the Austro-Hungarian Compromise. Since, however, its ultimate objects of study are patriotic fantasies and patriotic imaginations, neither date is set sharply: chronological periodization in the history of fantasy and imagination has fuzzy boundaries. Historiographic periodization often interprets the nineteenth century, and particularly the nationalist agitation in the early decades of that century, as the era of “national revival” or “national awakening.” The term appears in various competing nationalist periodizations: historians of Hungary posit the nem-

55 – 82; Zsuzsa Gille, “The 2014 Paprika Ban,” from Zsuzsa Gille, Paprika, Foie Gras, and Red Mud: The Politics of Materiality in the European Union (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2016), 19 – 44.  Zoltán Halász, Hungarian Paprika through the Ages (Budapest: Corvina, 1963).  Warren Belasco, Philip Scranton, eds, Food Nations: Selling Taste in Consumer Societies (London: Routledge, 2014); Atsuko Ichijo, Ronald Ranta, Food, National Identity and Nationalism: From Everyday to Global Politics (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015).  Katalin Dózsa, “Osztrák-Magyar kapcsolatok és kölcsönhatások a divat területén 1850 és 1916 között,” Folia Historica, no. 5 (1977), 177– 95; Katalin Dózsa, “How the Hungarian National Costume Evolved,” in: Poly Cone, ed., The Imperial Style: Fashions of the Habsburg Era (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1980), 74– 87; Anikó Lukács, “Átöltözések: A 19. Századi magyar nemzeti divat emlékiratok és naplók tükrében,” Aetas, vol. 3 (2008), 46 – 64; Lilla Tompos, A díszmagyar: A magyar díszöltözet története (Budpaest: Mercurius, 2005), 113 – 15; Anikó Lukács, “Nemzeti divat a pesti Magyar nyelvű sajtóban az 1850-es 60-as években,” in: Henrik Hőnich, ed., Nemzeti látószögek a 19. századi Magyarországon (Budapest: Alelier, 2010), 277– 83; Katalin Dózsa, 1116 Years of Hungarian Fashion (Budapest: Absolut, 2012); Zsuzsa Sidó, “The ‘Díszmagyar’ as Representation in the Andrássy Family in Late Nineteenth-Century Budapest,” in: Deborah Simonton, Marjo Kaartinen, Anne Montenach, eds, Luxury and Gender in European Towns, 1700 – 1914 (London: Routledge, 2014), 206 – 223.

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zeti ébredés,¹⁵ historians of Croatia the narodni preporod,¹⁶ historians of Romania the renașterea națională,¹⁷ and historians of Slovakia the národné obrodenie. ¹⁸ The phrase ultimately derives from nineteenth-century nationalists themselves, who often used the metaphor of awakening from sleep in efforts at political mobilization. For example, Andrei Mureșanu’s 1848 poem “Un răsunet [an echo],” now Romania’s national anthem, opens with the words “Deșteaptăte, române! [Awaken, Romanian!].”¹⁹ Janko Matúška’s 1844 poem “Dobrovolňícka [A Volunteer’s Song], now Slovakia’s national anthem, uses an awakening metaphor in the second stanza: To Slovensko naše dosjal tvrdo spalo Ale bleski hromu vzbudzuju ho k tomu aby sa prebralo. Our Slovakia has been sleeping deeply But lightning and thunder will cause it to awaken.²⁰

A similar poem by Aleksander Dukhnovich urging “Subcarpathian Ruthenians, arise from your deep slumber!” currently lacks official status, but served as an official anthem during the first Czechoslovak Republic.²¹ The Hungarian national anthem makes no reference to “awakening,” but Magyar politicians used the

 Zoltán Sárközi, Az erdély szászok a nemzeti ébredés korában, 1790 – 1848 (Budapest: Akadémiai, 1963); Endre Angyal, András Gergely, A nemzeti ébredés kora (Pécs, Dunántúli Tudományos Intézet, 1974), Ignác Romsics, A nemzeti ébredés kora 1790 – 1848 (Budapest: Kossuth, 2009).  Jaroslav Šidak, Hrvatski narodni preporod 1790 – 1848 (Zagreb: Školska knjiga, 1988), particularly Nikša Stančić, “Hrvatski narodni preporod, 1790 – 1848,” 1– 30.  Damian Hurezeanu, “Renașterea națională – fenomen constituitiv al formării Române moderne,” Revista de Istoria, vol. 42, no. 1 (1989), 9 – 10.  Karol Rosenbaum, Poézia národného obrodenia (Bratislava: Slovenská akadémia vied, 1970); Peter Brock, Slovenské národné obrodenie 1787 – 1847: K vzniku modernej slovenskej identity (Bratislava: Kalligram, 2002).  Mureșanu’s original text, now generally referred to as “Deșteaptă-te, române!,” differs slightly in contemporary orthography. For the original manuscript, see “Transcriere din sec. XIX a poeziei ‘Un răsunet,’ de Andrei Mureşanu,” Museul Casa Mureşenilor, inventory no. 11351.  Matúška’s original text, now generally referred to as “Nad Tatrou sa blýska,” differs slightly in contemporary Slovak orthography. For the first printed version, published anonymously, see “Dobrovolňícka,” Daniel Lichard, Domová pokladnica (Skalica: 1851), 242. On the history of the anthem, see John Neubauer et al., “1848,” in: Marcel Cornis-Pope, John Neubauer, eds, History of the Literary Cultures of East-Central Europe (Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 2004), 1:275.  Dukhovnych’s original text, which I have not been able to examine, probably differs from contemporary Ukrainian and Rusyn orthography. Paul Robert Magocsi, With Their Backs to the Mountains: A History of Carpathian Rus’ and Carpatho-Rusyns (Budapest: CEU Press, 2015), 198; M. M. Kulynych, “Oleksandr Duxnovych – postijnyj dopysuvach chasopysu,” Social’ni Komunikaciyi, vol. 2, no. 18 (2010), 27.

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metaphor in other contexts. Hungary’s famed independence leader Lajos Kossuth, for example, praised “the era of awakening” in an 1841 open letter to count István Széchenyi, an influential and multi-faceted public figure.²² Many contemporary scholars have become uncomfortable describing early national agitation with the metaphor of “awakening.” People awakening from sleep do not thereby acquire their personality anew, they wake up each morning much the same as when they went to sleep the previous night. During the decades of “national awakening,” by contrast, societies changed dramatically. If I may cite the key verbs popularized by nationalism scholars Benedict Anderson and Eric Hobsbawm,²³ the act of “imagining” or “inventing” national habits, tropes, or traditions is creative and transformative. Patriots argue with each other, and the outcome of their squabbles shapes the collective national experience and the collective national imagination in unpredictable ways. Some scholars, rightly rejecting “the teleological story of national awakening in which conflicts and diverging ideas are left aside”²⁴ and hoping to “avoid a teleological reading of the programs of ‘national awakening’,”²⁵ have rejected metaphors of awakening. Though keen to avoid teleological essentialism, I argue that scholars can still use the term “national awakening.” Yes, the metaphor of “national awakening” has undesirable essentialist connotations, but the term “Renaissance,” meaning “rebirth,” enjoys widespread use despite its equivalent implicit essentialism. The term “national awakening” usefully connotes a particular type of nationalism, specifically the early phases when poets like Sárváry, and patriots generally, began appending the adjective “national” to everything imaginable. A non-teleological narrative of early nationalization that takes simultaneous and competing national agendas into account can still be described as a narrative of “awakening” to distinguish it from studies of other sorts of nationalism. Problematic terminology is unavoidable, but this book is not a universal study of Hungarian nationalism: it does not consider fascism, the Second World War, the Revolution of 1956, the overthrow of Communism, or contemporary xenophobia. It analyzes only one particular period. Which period? The period conventionally described

 Lajos Kossuth, Felelet gróf Széchenyi Istvánnak Kossuth Lajostól (Pest: Landerer és Heckenast, 1841), 87.  Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities (London: Verso, 1983); Eric Hobsbawm, Terence Ranger, eds, The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983).  Astrin Swenson, The Rise of Heritage (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 25.  Balázs Trencsényi et al., A History of Modern Political Thought in East Central Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 1:229.

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as the era of “national awakening.” I prefer to use the term with caveat and qualification rather than discard it entirely. Taken together, the book surveys several aspects of everyday nationalism in a particular historical context. This book, then, has two different audiences: it seeks to discuss both Hungarian history and the study of national awakening. The story provides colorful details about an interesting period of Hungarian history, and places some of its leading figures in a new light. I hope that readers interested in Hungary will enjoy my narrative. However, the Kingdom of Hungary also serves as a case study for the global phenomenon of national awakening. The book has a thematic rather than chronological structure, and individual chapters examine different dimensions of everyday nationalism. Chapter one, following a common convention in Habsburg studies, begins with terminology: it analyzes the ethnonyms for “Hungarian.” The narrative provides folk etymologies and linguistic analysis of the two main ethnonyms, showing their different trajectories in various languages relevant to the kingdom’s history and historiography. Conflict over competing usage emerged in the early nineteenth century, as the Kingdom’s Slavs began drawing a distinction between Magyars and Hungarians. The chapter thus illustrates the necessity of problematizing even the most basic vocabulary of national rhetoric: even ethnonyms were objects of contestation. Chapter two, following an equally common convention in nationalism studies, continues the terminological discussion: it considers various contested definitions of the “nation.” Patriots usually sought to bestow or withhold the prestigious status of “nation” with their varied definitions. The chapter specifically contrasts Magyar terminology differentiating the Hungarian “nation” from its constituent “nationalities” “races,” or “peoples,” with Slovak terminology juxtaposing the “nations” of Hungary with the common “homeland.” It also discusses the peculiarities of Transylvanian national terminologies, which differed from the terminologies of Hungary proper. Despairing of using such hopelessly politicized terms as analytical categories, the chapter ends by outlining a research strategy drawing heavily on the constructivist approach of Rogers Brubaker. After two initial terminological chapters, the narrative turns to the historical record. Each subsequent chapter considers the nationalization of an everyday practice in light of various nationalism theorists. Each chapter has two parts: it begins with a detail-oriented case-study analysis, and ends by testing that case study against theories of nationalism. The narrative asks whether existing nationalism theory explains everyday Hungarian nationalism, or requires modification. Chapter three discusses nationalized tobacco. It finds the origin of nationalized tobacco in tariff disputes with the central government, suggesting that everyday nationalism served certain landowning interests. However, it also

Introduction: Hungary’s National Awakening

13

shows that the culture of patriotic tobacco transcended social elites. Theoretically, it considers Marxist (or Marxian) explanations of nationalism, but finds Marxian insights limited, since they cannot fully explain the cultural dimensions of everyday nationalism. Chapter four examines nationalized alcohol. The first half of the chapter sketches an economic narrative resembling that given in chapter three, but in the second half turns to Hungary’s ethno-national diversity. Some citizens of Hungary glorified national wine, others denounced spirits as a national plague, but in both cases ethnicity informed patriotic attitudes toward alcohol. Theoretically, it considers Michael Billig’s notion of “banal nationalism,” expanding Billig’s ideas from state-sponsored nationalism to grass-roots nationalism “from below.” Chapter five looks at the nationalization of facial hair. Since nationalized moustaches have no obvious economic dimension, the narrative here breaks definitively with the Marxian economic explanations of early chapters. After tracing popular enthusiasm for moustaches through different historical events, the narrative examines the gendered significance of facial hair as a national symbol. Theoretically, the chapter extends the discussion of banal nationalism and introduces Carol Pateman’s gendered analysis of contract theory. Chapter six examines the nationalization of sexuality, as articulated by a variety of prominent individuals. The documented absence of relevant statistics forces an anecdotal analysis, yet the personal lives of leading patriots illustrates a significant gap between theory and practice. Where nationalized alcohol differed dramatically by ethnicity, gendered national concepts show great continuity across ethno-national lines. Theoretically, the narrative completes its analysis of Pateman, suggesting that her ideas apply not only to contract theorists, but to nationalist imaginations generally. Chapter seven, finally, considers selected items of nationalized clothing. It begins with the history of the díszmagyar ensemble, an aristocratic men’s costume, before contrasting that costume with various women’s fashions and an analogous Croatian men’s costume. Since clothing, like sexuality, illustrates the limits of nationalization, the chapter’s theoretical second half discusses national indifference, a concept that helps us assess the extent of everyday nationalism by drawing attention to its limits. The conclusion, finally, summarizes leading nationalism theories in light of the overall narrative. The techniques of everyday nationalization deployed in Hungary manifested in other places and times. The final chapter thus discusses which theoretical approaches are most useful. It briefly explains some objections to Anthony Smith’s thinking on nationalism. It recapitulates the useful insights offered by Billig and Pateman. It ends by encouraging scholars to follow Brubaker’s path.

Chapter 1 Hungary’s National Name Any book about Hungarian nationalism must consider the meaning of the words “Hungarian” and “nation.” Both terms pose difficulties. Intellectual history routinely engages with problematic analytical terminology, but terminological problems become especially acute when analytical terms are also objects of struggle or contestation. The words “Hungarian” and “nation” have featured prominently in national rhetoric throughout the age of nationalism. Scholars require some way to distinguish the terminology of primary sources, as it appears in quotations or summaries, with the terminology used in their own discussion. Contemplating key words and their connotations, furthermore, helps establish a linguistically sensitive strategy for historical analysis. Let us begin with the ethnonym “Hungarian.” The Hungarian endonym, or self-name, is Magyar (plural: Magyarok). The normal Hungarian word for the country “Hungary” is Magyarország, occasionally written Magyar Ország,¹ and literally means “Hungarian country” or “Hungarian land.” The word Magyarhon, “Hungarian homeland,” offers a more patriotic stylistic alternative. The earliest written reference to the Hungarian endonym appeared in a Byzantine text from 810.² Islamic sources repeatedly mentioned the endonym in the ninth-century, though Arabic spellings varied considerably.³ Hungarian writers have displayed great creativity devising fanciful explanations for their endonym. The proposed origins reflected various historical and political agendas. A survey of etymological fantasies proves revealing. Several proposed etymologies linked the Hungarians to Christianity. A few pious Hungarians claimed the word Magyar derived from “Maria,” in other words, the Virgin Mary,⁴ but genealogies from the book of Genesis enjoyed greater popularity. The earliest Hungarian chronicle, the thirteenth-century Gesta

 See for example parliamentary records from the 1820s: Acta comitiorum regni Hungariae (Bratislava: L Weber, 1825 – 27).  Tomasz Kamusella, The Politics of Language and Nationalism in Modern Central Europe (London: Palgrave, 2008), 646.  István Zimonyi, Muslim Sources on the Magyars in the Second Half of the 9th Century (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 56 – 61.  István Csete, Panegyrici sanctorum patronorum Regni Hungariae (Košice: János Gyalmos, 1754), 15; Anton Johann Groß-Hoffinger [as Hans Normann], Ungarn, das Reich (Leipzig: Literarisches Museum, 1833), 2:23. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638448-004

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Hungarorum [Deeds of the Hungarians],⁵ derived the endonym from Magog, son of Japeth, son of Noah. The Magog theory remained popular in the early modern period,⁶ and several patriots promoted it during the nineteenth century.⁷ Avantgarde writer Endre Ady invoked it in his 1906 poem “I am the son of Gog and Magog.”⁸ Another thirteenth-century chronicle, Simon of Keza’s Gesta Hunnorum et Hungarorum [Deeds of the Huns and the Hungarians], offered an alternative biblical genealogy: Noah’s son Ham had a son Cush; Cush’s son Nimrod supposedly had two grandsons, Magor and Hunor; from whom the Magyars supposedly descend.⁹ Ham, Cush and Nimrod appear in the book of Genesis, but Hunor and Magor do not,¹⁰ so most nineteenth-century Hungarian scholars treated the second etymology as mythological.¹¹ Nevertheless, in 1856 Hungarian nobleman and jurist József Szeredy conflated the two genealogies by declaring Hungarian descent from both Japheth and Nimrod: Szeredy concluded that “the origin of the names ‘Magyar’ and ‘Hungarian,’ may easily be recognized in the two names Magor and Hunor.”¹² By simultaneously claiming two different sons of Noah as Hungarian progenitors, Szeredy illustrates both the popularity of biblical genealogies and the lack of attention paid to their finer details. Other scholars evoked Hungarians’ past as steppe nomads with derivations from Asian languages. In 1693, theologian Ferencz Otrokocsi Fóris derived the ethnonym Magyar from the Hebrew ‫גוב‬, supposedly meaning “to wander,” via

 Anonymus, Gesta Hungarorum, cited from Martin Rady and László Vesprémy, eds and translators, Anonymous, Notary of King Béla, The Deeds of the Hungarians (Budapest: CEU Press, 2010), 6 – 7.  Pál Lisznyai Kovács, Magyarok Cronicaja (Debrecen: Pal Kassai, 1692), 7; Miklós Oláh, Hungaria et Atila (Vienna: Trattner, 1763), 4, 13; Georg Pray, Supplementum ad annales veteres Hunnorum, Avarum, et Hungarorum (Trnava: Collegia Academici Societat. Jesu, 1764), 30; Ladislav Bartolomeid, Brevis tractatus quo disquiritur: An nomina vngaricvm et magyaricum (n.p.: n.p. 1810), 9.  Ádám Paloczi Horváth, A Magyar Magog patriarkhátúl fogva I. István királyig (Pest: Trattner, 1817), 1; Gergely Dankovszky, Der Völker ungarischer Zunge (Bratislava: Belnay’s Erben, 1827), 17; Michael von Benkovich, Der Ungern Stamm und Sprache (Bratislava: Landerer, 1836), 17.  Endre Ady, “Góg és Magóg fia vagyok én,” Új versek (Budapest: Pallas, 1906), 9; widely available.  Simon of Kéza, Gesta Hunnorum et Hungarorum, cited from László Vesprémy and Frank Schaer, eds and translators, Deeds of the Hungarians, (Budapest: CEU Press, 1999), 11.  For Noah’s sons, see Genesis 10:1, for Japeth’s sons, see Genesis 10:2, for Ham’s sons, see Genesis 10:6, for Cush’s sons, see Genesis 10:7– 8, on Nimrod’s prowess as a hunter, see Genesis 10:8 – 9.  Arnold Ipolyi, Magyar mythologia (Pest: Heckenast, 1854), 133 – 34; Arnold Ipolyi, Magyar mythologia (Pest: Heckenast, 1854), 145.  József Szeredy, Asiatic Chiefs (London: Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans, 1856), 11.

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the verb Meg-jár. ¹³ In 1768, August Schlözer declared it a Mongol word meaning “foreigner.”¹⁴ In 1796, Pál Beregszászi traced it “from the Arabian … ‫ﻣﻬﺎﺟﺮ‬, meaning immigrant, one who leaves the fatherland.”¹⁵ In 1806, physician Ferdinandus Tomas invoked “the Ethiopian hiu and nager, Hiunager is therefore preserved with effort,” that is, during “the migration from Asia.”¹⁶ A few vainglorious derivations simply flattered Hungarian pride. Lutheran pastor and romantic poet Jan Kollár proposed in 1827 that the ethnonym is “an intensification of the simple word Mar … whose roots we find in all European-Asiatic languages as a designation for ‘light’ or ‘shine’.”¹⁷ In 1892, Kálmán Némäti combined Magy, supposedly from the biblical Magi, meaning “wise,” with Ar, supposedly an Armenian word meaning “victory,” to conclude the name “Magy + Ar” signified that “the Hungarian is the wisest and bravest of all humanity’s ancient nations.”¹⁸ Given the great diversity of proposed origins, several sober scholars merely discussed the various possibilities without expressing any preference between them.¹⁹ In 1854, for example, Karl von Czoernig treated the derivation as unclear, treating as serious possibilities various alternative etymologies meaning “ideal man,” “high-bred man,” and “lord of the steppe.” Czoernig rejected only a proposed derivation from “Greek μαχαρ = happy.”²⁰ Post-Communist scholarship, meanwhile, has settled upon an entirely different etymology. Experts now derive the endonym from a Finno-Ugric word meaning “man, person.” Scholars also believe the ethnonym Magyar is related to the endonym Mansi, which denotes a West-Siberian Finno-Ugric people related to the Hungarians. Through all the kaleidoscopic changes in etymological fashion, however, the word Magyar, with its variants, has retained its core meaning: it is an ethnonym signifying “Hungarian,” both as a noun and an adjective.

 Ferencz Otrokocsi Fóris, Origines Hungaricae (Frankfurt: Strik, 1693), 1:345.  August Ludwig von Schlözer, Probe Russischer Annalen (Bremen: Georg Ludwig Försters, 1768), 73.  Pál [Paulus] Beregszászi, Über die Aehnlichkeit der hungarischen Sprache mit den morgenländischen (Leipzig: Breitkopf and Härtel, 1796), 3.  Ferdinandus Tomas, Conjecturae de origine, prime sede, et lingva Hungarorum (Buda: University Press, 1806), 2:32. Heartfelt thanks to Mark Masterson for help with this translation.  Jan Kollár, Ableitung und Erklärung des National-Namens Magyar (Pest: Trattner, 1827), 5.  Kálmán Némäti, Nemzetiségünk keresztlevele (Tápióbicske: Nemet Malvin, 1892), 4.  Jóakim Alajos Széker, Magyarok’ eredete (Bratislava: Wéber Simon Péter, 1791), 1– 3; Sándor Molnár, Magyar nyelv eredete (Bratislava: Wigand Károly Fridrik, 1844), 51– 54.  Karl Freiherr von Czoernig, Ethnographie der Oesterreichischen Monarchie (Vienna: K-K Hofund Staatsdruckerei, 1857), 2:49.

Chapter 1: Hungary’s National Name

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Very few languages have borrowed the Hungarian endonym to denote the Hungarians. The English word Hungarian (both noun and adjective), the Latin words hungarus, hungaricus, the German words Ungar/Unger, ungarisch/ungrisch,²¹ the Italian words Ungher, ungherese/ungarese, the Romanian words unguru, ungurésca/ungaresca,²² the Russian words Венгерецъ and Венгерскій, the south Slavic words ugar/Угрин, ugarski/угарски, and the west Slavic words uher/uhor, uherský/uhorský, each with their associated place-names, share the same root. All these words, in all their spelling variants, can be collectively described as “the Hungarian exonym.” The exonym denoted the Hungarian people even before the Hungarians entered the Carpathian basin: ninth-century Byzantine sources record the deeds of the Οὔγγροι on the north shores of the Black sea.²³ The discussion below will leave all ethnonyms in the original language, but readers require no special linguistic knowledge to recognize variant exonyms in contrast to the endonym Magyar, even when the endonym appears in an unfamiliar or archaic orthography (Croatian Mađar/Madjar/Magjar, Romanian Maghiar, Slovak Maďar/Mağyar, etc.), or even in Cyrillic (Serbian Мађар/Маџар, Ukrainian Мадяр/Мадьяр). The endonym always begins with the letter M. The exonym usually begins with either the letter H or a vowel, though Slavic versions may begin with the letter V. The Hungarian exonym, like the Hungarian endonym, attracted fanciful etymologies. Several authors derived it from the town of Ungvár [Uzhhorod, Ungwar], whose name in turn means “castle on the Ung river,” the supposed site of the first Hungarian fortification in the Carpathian basin.²⁴ The influential linguist-ethnographer Julius von Klaproth, the first European savant to study Central Asian languages methodologically, derived the exonym from a word meaning

 On the spelling variants, see “Ungern oder Ungarn, oder gar Hungarn?,” Erneuerte vaterländische Blätter für den österreichischen Kaiserstaat, no. 11 (6 February 1814), 60.  For spelling variants, see Augustu Laurianu, Joan Massimu, Dictionariulu limbei Romane (Bucharest: Noua Typografhia, 1876), 2:1527.  Juan Signes Codoñer, The Emperor Theophilos and the East, 829 – 842 (London: Routledge, 2014), 351.  For a derivation from “Hunvár, Hungvár or, according to modern orthography Ungvár,” see Pál Beregszászi, Versuch einer magyarischen Sprachlehre (Erlangen: Kunstmannischen Schriften, 1797), xvi; for “Unghvár” see Michael von Benkovich, Der Ungern Stamm und Sprache (Bratislava: Landerer, 1836), 15; for “Hungwar,” see Carl Eckermann, Lehrbuch der Religionsgeschichte und Mythologie (Halle: Schwetschke und Sohn, 1846), 3:157; for a critique of such etymologies, see Josef Häufler, “Über die Einwanderung der Magyaren in ihr heutiges Vaterland,” Oesterreichishce Blätter für Literatur und Kunst, vol. 3, no. 48 (14 September 1844), 382.

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Chapter 1: Hungary’s National Name

“high,” suggesting that the ancestral people had once lived in the mountains.²⁵ Klaproth also proclaimed commonality between the Hungarians and the Huns,²⁶ and many subsequent Hungarian scholars derived the exonym from words meaning “Lord of the Huns,” sometimes by analogy with the Turkish Hunkjar, “lord, sovereign.”²⁷ Hungarian scholar Alexander Pusztay, showing an admirable skepticism, documented a parade of folk etymologies in 1843. Pusztay mentioned the Ungvár hypothesis and “Lord of the Huns,” but also derivations from a Mongol word for “foreigners,” the combined German words Haun and Ger (yielding “swarthy javelin throwers”), and words of unspecified origin meaning “hordes in tents” or “courageous person.” Pusztay himself thought the term “doubtlessly of Russian-Slavic origin,”²⁸ but did not endorse any particular etymology. Toward the end of the nineteenth century, a consensus etymology emerged from lively debates about the origins of the Hungarian language. During the socalled “Ugro-Turkic war,”²⁹ the polyglot traveler Ármin Vámbéry, like most educated Hungarians, argued that the Hungarian language shared its closest affinities with Turkic languages. In the 1870s, however, József Budenz used comparative dictionaries to demonstrate the Finno-Ugric origins of the Hungarian language.³⁰ The debate not only settled the linguistic classification of the Hungarian language, but generally raised scholarly standards and curbed etymological fancies.³¹ As the debate progressed at the end of the nineteenth century, scholars with increasing confidence derived the exonym from Turkic words meaning “ten arrows.” The arrows signified ten confederated tribes.³² Contemporary scholars agree.³³

 Julius von Klaproth, Asia polyglotta (Paris: Shubart, 1823), 188; Wilhelm Obermüller, Die Abstammung der Magyaren (Vienna: Alexander Eurich, 1877), 16.  Heinrich Klaproth, Tableaux historiques de l’asie, (Paris: Palais-Royal, 1826), 223 – 24.  Sándor Molnár, Magyar nyelv eredete (Bratislava: Wigand Károly Fridrik, 1844), 50; Karl Freiherr von Czoernig, Ethnographie der Oesterreichischen Monarchie (Vienna: K-K Hof- und Staatsdruckerei, 1857), 2:49; H. P., “Irodalmi Szemle,” Budapesti Szemele, vol. 5 (1859), 96.  Alexander Pusztay, Die Ungarn in ihrem Staats- und Nationalwesen von 889 bis 1842 (Leipzig: Meyer und Wigand, 1843), 1:14– 15.  Angela Marcantonio, Pirjo Nummenaho, Michela Slavagni, “The ‘Ugric – Turkic Battle’: A Critical Review,” Linguistica Uralica, vol. 2 (2001), 81– 102.  József Budenz, Magyar-ugor összehasonlító szótár (Budapest: Akadémia, 1873 – 1881), 1873.  Bernard Munkácsi, “Ursprung des Volksnamens Ugor,” Ethnologische Mitteilungen aus Ungarn, vol. 4, no. 1– 2/3 (1895), 7– 10, 89 – 92.  Pál Hunfalvy, Magyarország ethnographiája (Budapest: Academy of Sciences, 1876), 393 – 94; Pál Hunfalvy, Ethnographie von Ungarn (Budapest: Franklin, 1877), 258; Ármin Vámbéry, Pál Hunfalvy, Vámbérys Ursprung der Magyaren (Vienna: Karl Prochaska, 1883), 47. See also Maruis

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19

Since the earliest days of Hungarian lexicography, dictionaries have equated the exonym’s semantic meaning with that of the endonym. The first Hungarian dictionary, Albert Szenci Molnár’s 1604 Latin-Hungarian dictionary, gave Magyar as the Hungarian translation of the Latin Hungarus, and defined Hunni [the Huns] as “old Hungarians.”³⁴ Ferenc Páriz Pápai’s Latin-Hungarian dictionaries of 1762 and 1767 defined the endonym as “Ungarus, Hungarus, Hunnus, Pannon, Pannonius,” associating Magyars not only with the Hungarians and Huns, but also with the Roman province of Pannonia.³⁵ Dictionaries of modern European languages concurred. English-Hungarian dictionaries translated Magyar as Hungarian in 1853,³⁶ and 1886;³⁷ French-Hungarian dictionaries as Hongrois in 1844,³⁸ 1865,³⁹ and 1886.⁴⁰ A word list provided in an 1817 schoolbook defined Magyar with the German Ungar,⁴¹ as did Joan Traugott Schuster’s 1838 language primer.⁴² German-Hungarian dictionaries sometimes gave spelling variants. In 1799, József Márton defined Magyar (the noun) as “Ungar or Unger,” and (the adjective) as “ungarisch or ungrisch,”⁴³

Turda, The Idea of National Superiority in Central Europe (Lewiston: Edwin Mellon, 2004), 99 – 101 (on Hunfalvy), 102– 106 (on Vámbéry).  Gyulá Németh, “Türkische und ungarische Ethnonyme,” Ural-Altaische Jahrbücher vol. 47 (1975), 154– 160; Lyle Campbell, Historical Linguistics, (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2013), 438.  Albert Szenczi Molnár, Dictionarium Latino-ungaricum (Nürnberg: Elias Hutter, 1604), n.p.  Ferenc Páriz Pápai, Dictionarium latino-hungaricum (Trnava: Collegii Academici Societatis Jesu, 1762), 907; see also Ferenc Páriz Pápai, Peter Bod, Dictionarium latino-hungaricum (Sibiu, Samuel Sárdi, 1767), 2:216.  János Csink, A Complete and Practical Grammar of the Hungarian Language (London: Williams and Norgate, 1853), 1:311.  Ferencz Bizonfy, English-Hungarian Dictionary / Magyar-Angol Szótár (Budapest: Franklin, 1886), 1:165, 2:293.  Michel Kiss, Ignace Karády, Nouveau dictionnaire de poche français-hongrois et hongrois-français (Pest: Heckenast, 1844), 2:274.  A. Molé, Nouveau dictionnaire français-hongrois et hongrois-français (Pest: Heckenast, 1865), 1:406.  Johann Gottfried Haas, Nouveau dictionnaire français-hongrois et hongrois-français (Budapest: Franklin, 1886), 394.  Ferencz Verseghy, Ungarische Sprachlehre zum Gebrauche der ersten Lateinischen und Nationalschulen (Buda: Royal University, 1817), 422.  Joan Traugott Schuster, A’ Magyar úrfi; oder, Die Kunst in 46 Stunden gut ungarisch … zu lernen (Vienna: Schmidl, 1838), 89.  József Márton, Új Német-Magyar es Magyar-Német Lexicon, Vagy Is Szókönyv (Veinna: János Károly, 1799), 1:158.

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though by 1804 Márton had settled on ungarisch. ⁴⁴ In 1827, two different dictionaries published by rival Pest publishing houses preferred Ungrisch, but gave Ungarisch as a variant.⁴⁵ No serious Hungarian-Russian dictionary appeared until after the Second World War,⁴⁶ but a short word list in János Rakovszky’s 1867 Hungarian-Russian grammar also translated Magyar as Венгерецъ [Vengerets″].⁴⁷ German-Russian dictionaries gave the Russian translation of Ungar as Венгерецъ in 1835, 1859, 1866 and 1870,⁴⁸ but Jacob Rodde’s 1799 German-Russian dictionary had suggested унгаръ [ungar″] as an alternative.⁴⁹ János Fogarassy’s 1833 Russian grammar, meanwhile, equated a slew of ethnonyms: “Мадѧр = угор = югор = венгер = угрїн = magyar = Ungarus = Ungar.”⁵⁰ In short, numerous lexical authorities equated the Hungarian exonym with the endonym. Indeed, József Péczely’s 1837 history of Hungary even wondered whether “the foreign [words] Ungari v. Hungari” might actually derive from Magyar. ⁵¹ Pre-national scholars only exceptionally distinguished “Magyars” from “Hungarians.” In a Latin-language letter from 1778, for example, Hungarian historian and librarian Dániel Cornides wrote a brief note “about the Hungari and about the Magyari, that I distinguish so that I consider all Magyari as Hungari, but not all Hungari as Magyari. The Hungari are the phylum, the Magyari the species.” Yet Cornides distinguished Hungari from Magyari only in the context of medieval migrations: the Magyari were those Hungari who migrated from Asia to Europe. Cornides conflated the ethnonyms in the usual way when considering his own era, writing, for example, that “the Hungari call their own language Magyar up to the present day.”⁵² When the French Revolution began, therefore,  József Márton, Magyar-Német Német-Magyar Kislexicon vagy is Szókönyv (Vienna: Pichler Antal, 1804), 2:2692.  Anon., Deutsch-Ungarisches Wörterbuch (Pest: Trattner, 1827), 1:708, 1:713; Adolf Holzmann, Magyar-Német Német-Magyar Kislexicon vagy is Szókönyv (Pest: Hartleben, 1827), 2:325.  József Szabó, Hungarian Culture, Universal Culture: Cultural Diplomatic Endeavours of Hungary, 1945 – 1948 (Budapest: Akadémia, 1999), 80.  János Rakovszky, Orosz nyelvtan (Buda: Royal University, 1867), 145.  Anon., Deutsch – Russisches Wörterbuch (St. Petersburg: J. Brieff, 1835), 2:1311; Iwan Pawlowsky, Vollständiges russisch-deutsches Wörterbuch (Riga: N. Kymmel, 1859), 2:466; M. J. A. E. Schmidt, Vollständiges russisch-deutsches und deutsch-russisches Wörterbuch (Leipzig: Otto Holtze, 1866), 2:454; M. J. A. E. Schmidt, Neues russisch-deutsches und deutsch-russisches Wörterbuch (Leipzig: Otto Holtze, 1870), 752.  Jacob Rodde, Deutsch-russisches Wörterbuch (Riga: Friedrich Hartknoch, 1784), 646.  János Fogarassy, Rus’ko ugorska ili madyarska grammatika / Orosz Magyar grammatika (Vienna: Armenian Fathers, 1833), 80.  József Péczely, A magyarok’ történetei (Debrecen: Tóth Lajos, 1837), 12.  Letter of Dániel Cornides to Tamás Róth de Királyfalva of 30 Marcy 1778, 4, 6. I examined a scan graciously provided by Gábor Tóth, rare book librarian at the MTA Könyvtár és Információs

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the Hungarian exonym, in all its incarnations, enjoyed centuries of tradition with a semantic meaning essentially identical to the Hungarian ethnonym Magyar.

Ethnonyms and National Rhetoric: What’s in a name? The national era sparked a striking transformation in the politics of Hungarian ethnonyms. Several intellectuals began distinguishing “speakers of the Hungarian language” from “inhabitants of the Hungarian kingdom.” The population of Hungary was noted for its multilingualism; speakers of the so-called “minority languages” actually formed a majority of Hungary’s population, even if native speakers of the Hungarian language comprised the single largest language community. Intellectuals belonging to minority communities began using the endonym “Magyar” to denote ethnic Hungarians and the exonym “Hungarian” for the kingdom’s inhabitants as a whole. The first texts to distinguish “Hungarians” from “Magyars” appeared in German. An 1820 study of Hungarian ethnography proclaimed that “all the peoples living in Hungary; Slovaks as well as Wallachians, Germans as well as Vandals, etc., all are Ungarn, because they live in Hungary. Magyaren, on the other hand, are only those who form the main nation, those who call themselves the Magyarok.”⁵³ In 1829, the same author, proclaiming that “the kingdom of Hungary is a miniature Europe,” listed the kingdom’s inhabitants as “Magyaren, Germans, Slovaks, Ruthenians, Vlachs, Armenians, Jews; – Catholics of Roman and

Központ. The text is also available with a German translation as “Brief 12” in: Andrea Seidler, Die Korrespondenz zwischen Daniel Cornides und Tamás Róth, part of Vienna University’s digital sources initiative Hungarus Digitalis: Digitale Quellenedition – Königreich Ungarn, www document, URL , updated 21 March 2011, accessed 30 June 2016. Moritz Csáky cited the letter from Magyar Tudományos Akadémia Kézirattár, Magyar Ir. Lev. 4r, 57, 52, 1.K; see Moritz Csáky, “Die Hungarus-Konzeption: Eine ‘realpolitische’ Variante zur magyarischen Nationalstaatsidee,” in: Adam Wandruszka, ed., Ungarn und Österreich unter Maria Theresia und Joseph II: Neue Aspekte im Verhältnis der beiden Länder (Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1982), 80.  German ethnonyms for “Hungarian” left untranslated. See Johann von Csaplovics, “Vaterlandskunde: Ethnographische Miszellen von Ungarn,” Hesperus: Encyclopaedische Zeitschrift für gebildete Leser, vol. 27, no. 20 (October 1820), 154. Čsaplovics’s terminological formulation immediately struck roots in ethnographic circles: his formulation appears word-for-word in the introduction to a book on folk costumes published later that year; see Joseph Heinbucher Edler von Bikkéssy, Pannoniens Bewohner in ihren volksthümlichen Trachten (Vienna: n.p., 1820), 6 – 7.

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Greek rite, Lutherans, Calvinists, Jews – all in the same county!”⁵⁴ The nobleman who wrote these texts himself embodied the kingdom’s ethno-national diversity: claimed by Hungarian historiography as “János Csaplovics” and by Slovak historiography as “Ján Čaplovič,” he usually published under the name “Johann Csaplovics.” I hereafter spell his surname with the mixed orthography Joseph Kriehuber used in an 1835 portrait: “Čsaplovics.”⁵⁵ The German term Magyaren initially appealed to some Hungarian writers as a stylistic alternative to Ungarn/Ungern. In 1825, when Jakob Melzer published a book of “Curious Stories from the History of the Magyaren,” he dedicated the work to “the noble Ungern.”⁵⁶ In 1827, Andreas Horváth published a guide for learning the magyarische language, though the text itself repeatedly refers to “speaking ungarisch.”⁵⁷ Count János Majláth, a noted historian and man of letters, consistently spoke of the magyarische language in the short grammar prefacing his 1825 collection of magyarische poetry.⁵⁸ In 1825 Majláth also published a book of magyarische proverbs and folktales,⁵⁹ and between 1828 and 1831 a five-volume history of the Magyaren. ⁶⁰ In an 1838 textbook, however, Majláth interchangeably described the language as both magyarische and ungrische. ⁶¹ During the 1830s, liberal patriots increasingly demanded that Hungarian replace Latin as the country’s administrative language. Pressure to use the Hungarian language in public life came to be known as “Magyarization.” Proponents of Magyarization argued that the use of a living language would make the country’s administration more accessible to its inhabitants and boost patriotism. Hungarian citizens speaking languages other than Hungarian, however, saw it as an attempt to erase their collective existence as Slavs, Romanians, and so on. Nation-

 Johann Csaplovics, Gemälde von Ungern (Pest: C. A. Hartleben, 1829), 1:23 – 24.  The portrait was made into a lithograph available as “Csaplovics-Jeszenova, Johann von,” Portrait by Josef Kriehuber, (1 January 1835), available in the Bildarchiv der Österreichischen Nationalbibliothek, Pg 456: I (2). At the time of writing, the image is available on all of Čsaplovics’s Wikipedia pages (in Czech, German, Hungarian, and Slovak).  Jakab Melczer, Merkwürdige Erzählungen aus der Geschichte der Magyaren (Košice: Ellinger, 1825).  Andreas Horváth, Theoretisch-praktische Methode die magyarische Sprache binnen fünf Monaten sehr leicht und gründlich zu erlernen (Bratislava: Landerer Erben, 1827), e. g. 27, 62, 67.  Johann Mailáth, Magyarische Gedichte (Stuttgart and Tübingen: J. G. Cotta, 1825), lxi-lxvi.  Johann Mailáth, Magyarische Sagen und Märchen (Brno: Trafster, 1825).  Johann Mailáth, Geschichte der Magyaren, 5 vols (Vienna: Tendler, 1828 – 31); see also Johann Mailáth, Neuere Geschichte der Magyaren von Maria Theresia bis zum Ende der Revolution, 2 vols (Regensburg: Joseph Manz, 1853).  Johann Mailáth, Praktisch-ungrische Sprachlehre zum Selbstunterricht (Pest: Hartleben, 1838), for magyarische, see pp. 1, 20, 59, 62, 63; for ungrische see pp. x, 3, 24, 49, 51.

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al historiographies in Slovakia, Romania, and Ukraine recall Magyarization as national oppression.⁶² Opponents of Magyarization found it useful to distinguish Hungarian-speaking “Magyars” from “Hungarians,” since the distinction helped them reject the former’s pretentions to linguistic, cultural, and/or political supremacy within the multi-lingual kingdom. In 1833, for example Samuel Hoitsy’s anonymously published Sollen wir Magyaren werden? [Should we become Magyaren?] distinguished endonym from exonym with reference to Árpád, the medieval chieftain who led the Magyars into the Hungarian basin during the ninth century: The author of these letters saw himself obliged by the interests of precision to distinguish between ‘Magyaren’ and ‘Ungarn’, between ‘magyarisch’ and ‘ungrisch’: when he speaks of ‘die Ungarn,’ he understands with this term all the peoples living in the country and kingdom of Hungary; ‘Magyaren’, by contrast, are to him the Arpadier. ⁶³

Hoitsy denounced those who “intend to Magyarize the whole country, not only to substitute the Hungarian language for the exotic Latin in all public affairs, but also that Hungarian replaces all the heretofore customary popular languages among the people at large,”⁶⁴ and argued that “those who wish to Magyarize all the peoples of Hungary are unjust.”⁶⁵ Slavic patriots fighting Magyarization eagerly embraced Hoitsy’s arguments, including his terminological distinction between “Magyars” and “Hungarians.” Claiming in an 1842 German-language pamphlet that “Ungarn and Magyar are two different animals,” for example, Slovak poet Ján Chalupka rejected Magyarization “because Ungarn is not Magyaria, so we will speak as has always been spoken in Ungarn.”⁶⁶ An 1844 Croatian-language polemic from Bogoslav Šulek, a Slovak journalist who had settled in Zágráb [Zagreb, Agram], paraphrased Hoitsy’s distinction almost word-for word:

 Daniel Rapant, “K počiatkom maďarizácie (Bratislava: Filozofická fakulta Univerzity Komenského, 1927); Karel Kalal, Maďarizácia: Obraz slovenského utrpenia (Bratislava: Eko-konzult 2006); Ioan Lupaș, The Hungarian Policy of Magyarization (Cluj: Centrul de studii transilvane, 1992); Mykolai Makarenko, “Zakarpattya pid tyskom madyaryzaciyi: 1867– 1914 rr.,” Naukovi zapysky Instytutu politychnyx i etnonacionalnyx, vol. 37 (2008), 176 – 87.  Samuel Hoitsy, Sollen wir Magyaren werden? Sechs Briefe geschrieben aus Pesth (Karlstadt: Johann Prettner, 1833), 1.  Hoitsy, Sollen wir Magyaren werden?, 13.  Hoitsy, Sollen wir Magyaren werden?, 75.  Anon. [Ján Chalupka], Ungarische Wirren und Zerwürfnisse (Leizpig: Wigand, 1842), 28.

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Dear reader, please remember the difference between ugarskom and magjari. By ugarskom we understand the whole kingdom, including all nations, who live there; namely slavjane, magjare, Germans, Vlachs, etc. – Magjari are only one part of the ugarskih population, that is, they are the descendants of the Arpadovieh, Asiatic people…⁶⁷

In 1844, the Serbske Narodne Noviny [Serbian National Newspaper] summarized parliamentary discussions about whether “унгарски [ungarski] officials” should have to know “the мађарски [mađarski] language.”⁶⁸ That same year, Slovak pedagogue Benjamín Pravoslav Červenák attacked Magyar chauvinists for believing that “the uhorská homeland is property of the Maďari.”⁶⁹ In 1847, Ludevit Gaj’s influential Croatian newspaper Danica [Morning Star] discussed the status of “the magjarski language in Ugarska among other ugarski languages.”⁷⁰ During the 1848 Revolution, finally, the Slovak innkeeper Martin Tomaskovič proclaimed that “Slovak, Mağyar, German” were all equally “uherské children,”⁷¹ while the newspaper Slavenski Jug [Slavic South] complained that “the madjare ignorantly claim for themselves the name Ugarske, which encompasses Slavic, German, and Roman peoples.”⁷² While denying “Magyar” primacy in the kingdom of “Hungary,” Slovak intellectuals often proclaimed themselves the most genuine “Hungarians.” Since the eighteenth century, a Slavic folk etymology had derived the Hungarian exonym from the Slavic “u gory/u hory [in the mountains].”⁷³ Hoitsy promoted this etymology in his influential tract,⁷⁴ and it subsequently enjoyed great popularity both among Slovak journalists,⁷⁵ and in Slovak scholarship.⁷⁶ Slovaks had

 Bogoslav Šulek, Šta naměravaju Iliri? (Belgrade: Pravitelstvenoi knjigopečatnji, 1844), 37.  “Ungaria: Državnyi Sobor’ u Požunu,” Serbske narodne novine, vol. 4, no. 78 (30 September 1843), 309.  Benjamín Červenák, Zrcadlo Slowenska (Pest: Trattner-Károly, 1844), 119.  “Pogled u Štajersku, Beč, Peštu i Požun,” Danica Horvatska, Slavonska i Dalmatinska, vol. 7, no. 13 (13 February 1847), 25. Danica was first published as the Danicza, Horvatzka, Slavonzka, y Dalmatinzka, then as the Danica Horvatska, Slavonska i Dalmatinska, and then as the Danica Hrvatska; see Suzana Coha, Poetika i politika Gajeve Danice (Zagreb: University of Zagreb, 2009).  Martin Tomaskowič, “Wlastencom uherskim,” Bohumil, no. 12 (27 September, 1848), 45.  “Madjari i južni Slaveni,” Slavenski jug, vol. 1, no 2 (4 January 1849), 6.  Karl Gottlieb von Windisch, Kurzgefaßte Geschichte der Ungarn (Bratislava: Anton Löwen, 1778), 7; Johann Christian von Engel, Geschichte des Ungrischen Reichs (Tübingen: n.p., 1811), 2, reprinted as Geschichte des Ungrischen Reichs (Vienna: Camesina, 1813), 1:52.  Hoitsy, Sollen wir Magyaren werden?, 28.  Ľudovít Štúr, “Najstaršje príhodi na zemi Uhorskej a jej základi,” Orol Tatránski, vol. 1, no. 5 (5 May 1845), 33 – 34; Ferdinand Pelikán, notes to Martin Tomaskowič, “Wlastencom uherskim,” Bohumil, no. 12 (27 September 1848), 45; František Cyrill Kampelík, Stav Rakouska a jeho budouc-

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long proclaimed their autochthony in Hungary, but the u gory/u hory etymology enabled them to claim, as the aforementioned Chalupka put it, that “Ungarn [Hungarians] lived in Ungarn [Hungary] before Arpad.”⁷⁷ In 1868, Slovak priest František Sasinek even wrote of the Magyars that “their proper name, which they call themselves, is Maďar, so it follows that the name Uhor from which Ungar and Hungarus come, is not their own.”⁷⁸ By the 1860s, Slovak authors routinely distinguished “Magyars” from potentially non-Magyar “Hungarians.” In 1861, for instance, Slovak priest Julius Plošic denied that “only Maďari exist in the uhorský kingdom.”⁷⁹ In April that same year, Slovak newspaper Pešťbudínské vedomosti [Budapest Gazette] argued that: we cannot allow the Maďari to transfer their own particular name to the entire country, to call it ‘Magyar orszgág.’ In this matter, reasoning from the perspective of fairness and kindness, we call the common country “Uhorsko,” and all nations live inside it, the uhorský nations. In this sense the Romanians, Serbs, Rusyns and Slovaks are just as much Uhorský nations as the Maďari. ⁸⁰

Lutheran journalist Peter Kellner-Hostinský, writing in Pešťbudínske vedomosti in 1862, similarly insisted that “our history has never known a maďarský state, knows nothing about any equivalence between the maďarský nation and the uhorský state.”⁸¹ Slovenské Noviny [Slovak News] declared in 1870 that “the magyar nation does not correspond to the uhorský nation (gens hungara) either in etymological or in political-historical terms,” and predicted “we who live in Uhorsko cannot be transformed into Maďari.”⁸² Slovak lawyer Viliam Paulíny-Tóth wrote that “Under the concept ‘Uhor’ we understand every inhabitant of the uhorský country, whether peasant, burgher, nobleman or magnate, of whatever national-

nost (Hradec Králové: Ladislav Pospíšil, 1860), 214; “Maďari v kráľovstve uhorskom,” Slovenské noviny, vol. 3, no. 68 (1 June 1870), 78.  František Sasinek, Dejiny počiatkov terajšieho Uhorska (Skalica: Fr. X. Škarnicla Synov, 1868), 55; Fráňa Vítězslav Sasinek, Die Slovaken: eine ethnographische Skizze (Prague: Fr. Urbánek, 1875), 14.  Anon. [Ján Chalupka], Ungarische Wirren und Zerwürfnisse (Leizpig: Wigand, 1842), 27.  František Sasinek, Dejiny počiatkov terajšieho Uhorska (Skalica: Fr. X. Škarnicla Synov, 1868), 54.  Julius Plošic, Wyswetlenie memorandum (Banská Bystrica: Filip Machold, 1861), 22.  Pešťbudínské vedomosti, vol. 1, no. 9 (16 April 1861), n.p.  Peter Kellner-Hostinský [as P. Z. H.], “Rovnoprávnosť národnia, odpoveď na spis ‘Otázka národností v Uhrách’,” Pešťbudínske vedomosti, vol. 2, nos. 60 – 71 (29 July, 1, 5, 8, 12, 15, 19, 22, 26, 29 August, 2, 5 September 1862), n.p., here cited from no. 71.  “Maďari v kráľovstve uhorskom,” Slovenské noviny, vol. 3, no. 68 (1 June 1870), 78.

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ity, either Slovak, Maďar, German, Romanian, Serb, or Rusyn.⁸³ Slovak publicist Daniel Lichard, finally, insisted that all who “live in the Uhorskej land and vote as Uhri, but according to language, we are Slovaks, Maďari, Serbs, Rusyns, Romanians, etc.”⁸⁴ By the 1860s, South-Slavic political journalism also routinely distinguished endonym from exonym. Croatian politician Evgen Kvaternik insisted that “the ugarska crown is not magjarska, it belongs to all,”⁸⁵ while the Croatian newspaper Pozor [Attention] denounced “magjarska centralization” as the attempt “to transform ‘Ungarija’ into Magyarország; the holy ugarska crown, treasure of all ugari, will become magjarska.”⁸⁶ In 1865, an anonymous Serbian pamphlet discussing “the national question in Угарска [Ugarska]” insisted “all nationalities in Угарска have a historic foundation, just like the Маџари [Madžari],”⁸⁷ adding that “it was not only the Маџари who made the угарска crown the brightest in south-eastern Europe.”⁸⁸ Slavic patriots, in short, proclaimed their political rights within the Kingdom of Hungary as “Hungarians,” while simultaneously rejecting “Magyar” linguistic assimilation. Towards the end of the nineteenth century, furthermore, the Slavic refusal to view the kingdom as “Magyar country” slowly found reflection in Hungarian-Slavic dictionaries. Rejtényi’s 1875 multilingual dictionary translated the Hungarian word Magyar into Serbian as “Угар, Мађар [Ugar, Mađar],” but Magyarország only as “Угарска [Ugarska].”⁸⁹ An 1889 Serbian dictionary similarly translated Magyar as “Мађар, Маџар [Mađar, Madžar],” but Magyarhon only as “Угарска.”⁹⁰ A 1906 Slovak-Hungarian dictionary defined Magyar as both “n. Uhor, Maďar adj. uhorský, maďarský,” but Magyarország only as Uhorsko. ⁹¹ Only Rusyn-Hungarian lexicography breaks the pattern. László Csopei’s 1883 dictionary translated Magyarország with both ethnonym and exonym: Угорьска краина, Мадярска краина, Мадярорсагъ [Ugor’ska kraina, Madyarska kraina,

 Viliam Paulíny-Tóth [as M. Rozmarín], Slowenský Wlastimil (Skalice: X. Škarnycla Synow, 1865), 3.  Daniel Lichard, Rozhowor o Memorandum národa slowenského (Buda: Royal University, 1861), 9.  Eugen Kvaternik, Politička razmatranja na razkrižju hrvatskoga naroda (Zagreb: Ljudevit Gaj, 1861), 32.  “Ugarsko pitanje,” Pozor, vol. 2, no. 70 (26 March 1861), 153 – 54.  Miloš Popović [Anon.], Glas iz Srbije o pitanju narodnosti u Ugarskoj (Belgrade: Državna Štampirija, 1865), 133.  Anon., Glas iz Srbije o pitanju narodnosti u Ugarskoj (Belgrade: Državna Štampirija, 1865), 37.  József Rejtényi, Magyar, Szerb, Latin, Német Iskolai zsebszótár (Budapest: Lauffer, 1875), 2:82.  Blagoje Brancsits, György Derra, Magyar-Szerb Szótár (Novi Sad, Arzén Pajevits, 1889), 385.  Adolf Pechnány, Joseph Loos, Tót és magyar szótár, (Budapest: Révai Testvérek 1906), 2:255.

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Madyarorsag″].⁹² As late as 1922, finally, Sándor Mitrák’s dictionary conflated multiple ethnonyms by rendering Magyar as “Венгерецъ Мадьяръщина [sic], Венгрія, Угрія, Угоскій” and Magyarország as “Мадьярщина, Венгрія, Угрія, Угорскій край, мадьярскій край.”⁹³ Differentiated ethnonyms in nineteenth-century Slavic dictionaries broke not only with Hungarian usage, but with previous Slavic usage. Before the age of nationalism, South-Slavic dictionaries contained no entries for the endonym, even when referring to something as characteristically “Magyar” as the Hungarian language. Juraj Habdelić’s 1670 Croatian dictionary, for example, used the exonym in its entries for both “Vugerska zemlya [Hungarian land]” and “po vugerzko [in Hungarian].”⁹⁴ Ivan Belostenec’s Croatian-Latin dictionary, compiled before 1675 but posthumously published in 1740, translated Vúger as “Hunnus, Pannonius, Ungarus, Hungarus, Panon” and Vugèrski as “Hungaricus, Pannonicus.” It also included a presumably misprinted entry for “po vurski [in the Hungarian language].”⁹⁵ Ardelio Della Bella’s 1785 dictionary had entries for Ungario and Ungere;⁹⁶ Joakim Stulli’s 1806 dictionary had an entry for Ugàr. ⁹⁷ None of these dictionaries contained any Croatian version of the endonym. Early Slovak sources also described the Hungarian language with the exonym. In 1685, Jan Amos Komenský (Iohannes Amos Comenius) described the Hungarian language as uherský. ⁹⁸ Juraj Palkovič’s 1821 dictionary as “uherčina, uhorčina.”⁹⁹ Since Komenský and Palkovič were both Protestants, they were ar-

 László Csopei, Rutén-Magyar Szótár (Budapest: Magyar Király Állam Tulajdona, 1883), 176, 403.  Sándor Mitrák, Mad’yarsko-Russkij Slovar’ / Orosz-Magyar Szótár (Uzhhorod: Unio, 1922), 642, 643. Heartfelt thanks to Rebecca McKeown for this reference.  Juraj Habdelić, Dictionar, ili Re´chi szlovenszke (Graz: Widmanstadius, 1670), 393.  Joannis Bėllosztėnëcz, Gazophylacium, seu Latino-Illyricorum onomatum aerarium (Zagreb: Johannis Baptistae Weitz, 1740), 587; for missing entries madjar, magjar, see 207.  Ardelio Della Bella, Dizionario italiano-latino-illirico (Dubrovnik: 1785), 2:435 – 36; for missing entries madjar, magjar, see 2:85, 2:87.  Joakim Stulli, Rjecsoslòxje (Dubrovnik: Martekini, 1806), 2:468; for missing entries madjar, magjar, see 1:402.  The title page of Komenský’s Orbis Sensualium Pictus is reproduced in Vojtech Breza, Tlačiarne na Slovensku, 1477 – 1996 (Bratislava: Univerzitná knižnica Bratislava, 1997), 80. The title page of this quatralingual work gives a Latin, German and Hungarian name for the Slavic language contained therein (Bohemica, Böhmisch, and Tót, respectively), but does not describe that language with any Slavic word.  Georg Palkowitsch, Böhmisch-deutsch-lateinisches Wörterbuch (Bratislava: Belnay, 1821), 2:2484, 2481.

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guably estranged from the mostly Catholic majority of Slovaks.¹⁰⁰ However, a multilingual dictionary by Catholic priest and linguist Anton Bernolák, published posthumously in 1825, also described the Hungarian language as uherčina. Bernolák gave no definition for Maďar, but translated Uher into German as ein Ungar and into Hungarian as Magyar. ¹⁰¹ Textbooks for Slovaks wishing to learn Hungarian described the Hungarian language as uherská in 1794,¹⁰² 1834,¹⁰³ and 1835.¹⁰⁴ Only in 1844, according to a 1921 bibliography prepared by Pál Gulyás, did Slovak language textbooks begin describing the Hungarian language as maďarská. ¹⁰⁵ Though the terminological distinction between “Hungarian” and “Magyar” broke with Slavic lexicographical traditions, it facilitated Slavic national demands. Hungarian Slavs therefore insisted upon it. Samuel Hoitsy’s second book, an 1843 appeal to Lajos Kossuth presented as an “Apology of ungrischen Slavism,” even attempted to introduce a similar distinction into the Hungarian language. Hoitsy wanted to restrict the Hungarian endonym Magyar to ethnic Hungarians: one understands by the word “Magyar” those who speak this language, but also every inhabitant of Hungary; by the word “Magyarország” the part of the country inhabited by Magyars. Instead of the normal prosaic word, the poets famously use the name ‘Hunnia,’ and we would have no objection if one would in Magyar prose also refer to the entirety of Hungary’s inhabitants as ‘Hunnia népei’ or ‘Hunniái’. ¹⁰⁶

A reform of Magyar terminology, Hoitsy hoped, would change Magyar minds. Romanian intellectuals from Transylvania similarly distinguished between endonym and ethnonym to denounce assimilationist policies. In 1851, Romanian-Transylvanian lawyer and former revolutionary Alexandru Papiu-Ilarian rejected notions of the “integral Magyar nation [integ’a natiune magyara / összes

 Ján Doruľa, “Slovenčina a bibličtina v evanjelickej cirkvi na Slovensku,” Slavica Slovaca, vol. 46, no. 1 (2011), 3 – 9; Mira Nábělková, “The Czech-Slovak Communicative and Dialect Continuum,” in: Tomasz Kamusella, Motoki Nomachi, Catherine Gibson, eds, The Palgrave Handbook of Slavic Languages, Identities and Borders (London: Palgrave, 2015), 156.  Anton Bernolák, Slowár Slowenskí = Česko= Laťinsko= Německo= Uherski seu Lexicon Slavicum (Buda: Typog. Reg. univers. Hungaricae, 1825), 4:3407.  György Szaller, Uherská grammatica gazykem slowenskyzm (Bratislava: Simon Weber, 1794).  Márton Bernhart, Uherská Grammatika (Esztergom: Szalay Imre, 1834).  Karl Bobok, Martin Ďurgala, Praktycká uherská gramatyka (Trnava: Felix Wachter, 1835).  Pál Gulyás, A magyar szo´ta´rak e´s nyelvtanok kö nyve´szete (Budapest: Nemzeti Múzeum Országos Széchényi Könyvtár, 1921), 127. Gulyás cites a work whose existence proved difficult to verify: Károly Dianovszky, Mala madárska grammatika (Bratislava: n.p., 1844).  Samuel Hoitsy, Apologie des ungrischen Slawismus (Leipzig: Vlockmar, 1843), 72– 73.

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magyar nemzet]”¹⁰⁷ and denounced attempts to unite “Transylvania with Ungari’a”¹⁰⁸ as the dream of “great Magyarìa.”¹⁰⁹ Papiu-Ilarian, the son of a revolutionary priest executed by Kossuth’s followers in 1849, perhaps had reason to hate the Magyars.¹¹⁰ Yet Transylvanian-Romanian intellectual Ioan Slavici, who married a Magyar woman and translated Hungarian-language novels into Romanian,¹¹¹ also attacked the sort of chauvinist who was a “a nationalist and not a patriot, he is maghiar and not ungurean. ¹¹² Slavici subsequently urged Magyars “not to be Magyars, but human beings; to not identify Ungaria with the Magyar nation [naţiunea maghiară].”¹¹³ Magyar patriots, for their part, steadfastly refused to distinguish “Magyars” from “Hungarians.” They instead sought to deny the distinction had any legitimacy. Ethnographer Pál Hunfalvy, for example, explicitly conflated ethnonyms in his German-language book title, “the Ungarn or Magyaren.”¹¹⁴ Foreign visitors found the Magyars’ conscious conflation of ethnonyms noteworthy. Arthur Patterson warned that “many of the Hungarians consider it an insult to be called Magyars in other languages than their own,” and particularly that “the word Magyaren in a German mouth to convey the imputation not only of barbarism but also of their being but one out of the many nationalities who inhabit Hungary on an equal footing.”¹¹⁵ German traveler Franz von Löher also found that distinguishing the Hungarian ethnonyms could cause offence: “Several Magyars remarked to me: it is half insulting when a German calls them Magyaren.” Löher found the offense interesting: “‘Really? Aren’t you proud to declare yourself Magyaren?’ ‘Well, yes, among ourselves we are Magyaren, but for all others we are Ungarn.”¹¹⁶ Löher, criticial of the “burning desire to Magyarize,”¹¹⁷ pointedly titled his book “the Magyaren and the other Ungarn.”

 Alexandru Papiu Ilarian, Introduptiune in istori’a Romaniloru la anii 1848 e 1849 (Vienna: C. Gerold şi Fiiu, 1851), 2:15.  Ilarian, Introduptiune in istori’a Romaniloru, 2:lxxxv, 2:22, 2:78  Ilarian, Introduptiune in istori’a Romaniloru, 2:cxxv.  Sorin Mitu, National Identity of Romanians in Transylvania (Budapest: CEU Press, 2001), 54.  Marcel Cornis-Pope, “Introduction: Literature in Multicultural Corridors and Regions,” in: Jan Neuberger, Marcel Cornis-Pope, eds, History of the Literary Cultures of East-Central Europe (Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 2006), 2:263.  Ioan Slavici, “Studii asupra maghiarilor,” Convorbiri literare, vol. 5, no. 15 (1 October 1871), 241 (erroneously printed as 141).  Slavici, “Studii asupra maghiarilor,” 307.  Pál Hunfalvy, Die Ungern oder Magyaren (Vienna: Karl Prochaska, 1881).  Arthur Patterson, The Magyars: Their Country and Institutions (London: Smith, Elder, 1869), 1:11.  Franz Löhner, Die Magyaren und andere Ungarn (Leipzig: Fues’s Verlag, 1874), 14.

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Perhaps the most extended discussion about the politics of ethnonyms occurred in a celebrated exchange of letters between the prominent Magyar patriot Ferenc Pulszky and the Bohemian aristocrat Leo Thun, published in 1843. The two wrote each other in German. When Thun addressed Pulszky as a “defender of magyarische interests,”¹¹⁸ Pulszky objected to Thun’s “national prejudice,” and while he admitted “for a while now it has become fashionable among Slavic enthusiasts to draw a distinction between the two concepts Ungar and Magyar,” he belittled the distinction as “petty.”¹¹⁹ In his next letter, Thun defended the distinction at length. He upbraided Magyar patriots for calling themselves “only Ungarn and not Magyaren”¹²⁰ and, approvingly citing another author, insisted on differentiated ethnonyms: I use the name Magyaren, even though they themselves reject it and wish to be called Ungarn. It may be that they originally had an equal right to both names, but the way things have developed, one understands with the word Ungarn all citizens without considering language or nationality; if we were therefore to fulfill the demands of the Magyaren, we would decide the question (of the conflict between them and the Slavs) in advance to their advantage.¹²¹

In his next letter, Pulszky rejected Thun’s reasoning as follows: The philological dispute whether to say magyarisch or ungrisch always seems very peculiar, because I, accustomed to thinking in Hungarian, find no relevant expression for these divided concepts – seriously pursuing a dispute on this topic would be more appropriate, in my opinion, for the age of the Byzantine Greeks than for our own.¹²²

The dispute, obviously, was not merely philological, since the question of ethnonyms had come to symbolize Slavic political recognition and demands for an end to Magyarization. Pulszky’s scornful attitude also articulated a political stance: Magyar elites, by refusing to differentiate ethnonyms, rejected Slavic demands. Feigned incomprehension proved a popular tactic for Magyar patriots. As late as 1946, émigré author Rustem Vambery, writing for an American audience, affected confusion “whether we are Hungarians who speak Magyar or Magyars  Löhner, Die Magyaren und andere Ungarn, 324.  Leo Grafen v. Thun, Die Stellung der Slowaken in Ungarn (Prague: Calve’sche Buchhandlung, 1843), 1.  Leo Thun, Die Stellung der Slowaken in Ungarn (Prague: Calve’sche Buchhandlung, 1843), 7.  Thun, Die Stellung der Slowaken, 19.  Parenthetical comment in the original text. Thun, Stellung der Slowaken, 20.  Thun, Stellung der Slowaken, 28.

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who speak Hungarian.”¹²³ Of course, Magyar polemicists easily differentiated ethnonyms when it served their own interests. After the partition of Hungary, leaders of the Hungarian minorities in the various successor states differentiated ethnonyms to claim minority rights. In Slovakia, for example, political texts differentiated “citizens of Slovaks” from “ethnic Slovaks.” The Hungarian-language ethnonyms specifically declared Magyar citizens of Slovakia szlovákiai, but not szlovák. ¹²⁴ While the politics of Hungarian ethnonyms holds a certain inherent interest, it also raises methodological issues for the study of “Hungarian” nationalism. What analytical terms best facilitate analysis? Specifically, should one distinguish Hungarians from Magyars, or not? Conflating ethnonyms conceals the presence of “non-Magyars” in the ethnically-diverse kingdom, thus effacing communities that have too often been marginalized in the telling of Hungarian history. Yet rigorously differentiating would deny the existence of a “Hungarian language,” since scholars would instead have to speak of the “Magyar language.” Peoples have a right to choose their own names, and “Magyars” generally describe themselves as “Hungarians” when speaking or writing in English. Both differentiating and failing to differentiate may cause offense, since both approaches have political ramifications. If terminological choices inevitably offend some community or another, how can one write neutral scholarship? This book takes no sides on the national conflicts of the Kingdom of Hungary. It seeks not to right historical wrongs but to explain what historical actors thought, said, and did; it seeks not justice for the future but an understanding of the past. It therefore adopts a contextual approach of conscious and deliberate inconsistency. If the context requires a distinction between ethnic “Magyars” and pan-ethnic “Hungarians,” the text will draw that distinction. If the context does not call for any such distinction, however, the book will refer to the “Hungarian language,” “Hungarian literature,” and so forth.

 Rustem Vambery, Hungary – To Be or Not to Be (New York: Frederick Ungar, 1946), 61.  Laszló Arany, A Szlovákiai Magyarság Néprajza (Bratislava: Toldi kör, 1941); Károly Vígh, A szlovákiai magyarság sorsa (Budapest: Bereményi Kiadó, 1992); József Liszka, A szlovákiai magyarok néprajza (Budapest: Osiris, 2002).

Chapter 2 Hungary’s National Terminology Public figures in the Kingdom of Hungary not only debated what it meant to be “Hungarian,” but also debated what constituted the “nation.” Concrete discussions of Hungarianness were accompanied with more abstract discussions of the nation’s rights, characteristics, interests, legitimate representatives, and collective will. Many authors participated in both conversations. If the adjectives “Hungarian” and “Magyar” linked to collective memories and historical traditions, discussions of the “nation” facilitated comparative arguments by analogy with other European states and societies. In any event, national terminology proves as profitable an object of study as the terminology of ethnonyms, and raises even more ticklish terminological difficulties. Ruminations about the nation often revolve around definitions. Umut Özkırımlı noted that “it is customary to start any attempt at theorizing by providing definitions of key terms, in this case ‘nation’ and ‘nationalism’,”¹ and this book conforms to tradition insofar as its opening chapters consider terminology. The technique of introductory definitions may, however, have outlived its utility. Such definitions are usually arguments about the nature of nationalism presented as uncontestable initial assumptions. Experts on nationalism have become familiar with many competing definitions, each represented by canonical scholars, but familiarity often breeds contempt. Scholars who have rejected a particular definition after reading fifty studies are unlikely to find it persuasive when the author of the fifty-first study proclaims it. This chapter, therefore, presents no initial definitions. Instead, it adopts an empirical, inductive approach: it examines the various concepts promoted by historical actors. The definitions proposed by historical actors are interesting and sometimes elaborate, but typically contradict each other. This chapter analyzes and compares historical definitions before considering what usage to adopt. What terminology, then, did Hungarian actors develop to discuss the “nation”? The aforementioned difficulty of deciding who is “Hungarian” gives the question a complex answer: as John Breuilly observed, “the definitions provided by nationalists themselves vary enormously and conflict with one another. The

 Umut Özkırımlı, Theories of Nationalism: A Critical Introduction (London: Palgrave, 2010), 206. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638448-005

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Hungarian view is incompatible with the Slovak view.”² In the nineteenth century, of course, a Slovak view was also a “Hungarian” view. Yet neither Magyar nor Slovak definitions were homogenous: patriots from the same community could also disagree with each other. In general, individual thinkers invoked the “nation” in idiosyncratic ways. Not only “Hungarian” usages, but also Slovak and Magyar usages must therefore be analyzed in the plural. While balancing competing usages poses analytical challenges, relevant evidence is abundant. Many influential polemicists provided explicit definitions. Others discussed national questions in enough detail to reveal implicit definitions. The most influential terminology proposed in the nineteenth century posited a binary contrast between the Hungarian “nation [nemzet]” and the kingdom’s various “nationalities [nemzetiségek, singular nemzetiség]. Hungarian law enshrined the nation/nationality distinction in 1868, when Hungarian parliament passed article XLIV “On the equal rights of the nationalities,” widely known as the “Nationalities Law.” The final text of the 1868 law, somewhat harsher than the original text drafted by Baron József Eötvös,³ declared that All citizens of Hungary, according to the principles of the constitution, form from a political point of view one nation [nemzet] – the indivisible and unitary Hungarian nation – of which every citizen of the homeland [hon] is a member, no matter to what nationality [nemzetiség] he belongs.⁴

The Nationalities Law distinguished “nation” and “nationality” in part to regulate the languages used in government administration: Since by reason of the political unity of the nation the state language of Hungary is the Magyar, the language of deliberation and business in the Hungarian parliament in future is also the Magyar; the laws will be promulgated in the Magyar language, but are also to

 John Breuilly, Nationalism and the State (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1993), 405 – 406.  Paul Bödy, Joseph Eötvös and the Modernization of Hungary, 1840 – 1870: A Study of Ideas of Individuality and Social Pluralism in Modern Politics (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1972), 111– 115.  “1868. évi XLIV. Törvénycikk: A nemzetiségi egyenjogúság tárgyában,” cited from Gábor Kemény, ed., Iratok a nemzetiségi kérdés történetéhez Magyarországon a dualizmus korában (Budapest, Tankönyvkiadó, 1952), 1:162– 67; also widely available online. English translation from R. W. Seton-Watson [Scotus Viator], Racial Problems in Hungary (London: Archibald Constable, 1908), 429. For an alternate English translation from a Hungarian jurist, see Ladislas de Fritz, “SeventyFifth Anniversary of Promulgation of Hungarian Nationality Act of 1868,” Danubian Review, vol. 11, no. 10 (March 1944), 25.

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be published in an authentic translation in the languages of all other nationalities inhabiting the country.⁵

The law, therefore, linked the “nation” to the kingdom as a whole, while associating the various “nationalities” with the country’s various linguistic communities. The 1868 Nationalities Law has informed much subsequent discussion of national conflict in the Kingdom of Hungary. The law itself became one of the great controversies of Hungarian history.⁶ Scholars and propagandists have proclaimed it both a model of minority-rights legislation,⁷ and a travesty of chauvinistic intolerance.⁸ Pieter Judson thought the law “provided a very liberal, if very generalized framework that guaranteed a range of linguistic rights,” but noted its details “were vague.”⁹ The law’s 29 paragraphs actually become fairly specific, but problematically lacked any mechanism of enforcement. R. W. Seton-Watson’s 1908 Racial Problems in Hungary began a long tradition in Anglophone scholarship by documenting how flagrantly the Hungarian parliament flouted the law’s

 “A nemzetiségi egyenjogúság tárgyában,” English translation from Seton-Watson, Racial Problems in Hungary, 429.  Peter Berger, ed., Der österreichisch-ungarische Ausgleich von 1867: Vorgeschichte und Wirkungen (Vienna: Herold, 1967); Leslie Tihany, “The Austro-Hungarian Compromise, 1867– 1918: A Half Century of Diagnosis; Fifty Years of Post-Mortem,” Central European History, vol. 2, no. 2 (June 1969), 114– 138; Judit Pál, “Der österreichisch-ungarische Ausgleich von 1867 in der ungarischen und rumänischen Geschichtsschreibung nach dem zweiten Weltkrieg,” Journal for Transylvanian Studies, vol. 2 (2002), 171– 85; Paul Bödy, “Joseph Eötvös and the Modernization of Hungary, 1840 – 1870: A Study of Ideas of Individuality and Social Pluralism in Modern Politics,” Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, vol. 62, no. 2 (1972), 111– 115; Gábor Gángó, “Politische Nation, ethnische Minderheiten: Das ungarische Nationalitätengesetz 1868,” Anachronia, vol. 9 (2009), 51– 57; Péter László, “Law XLIV of 1868: ‘On the Equality of Nationality Rights’ and the Language of Local Administration,” in: Ferenc Glatz, ed., Modern Age – Modern Historian: In Memoriam György Ránki (Budapest: Hungarian Academy of Sciences, 1990), 211– 18; also available as Péter László, “Az 1868: XLIV. tc. ‘A nemzetiségi egyenjogúság tárgyában’ és a törvényhatóságok hivatalos nyelve,” in: Péter László, ed., Az Elbától keletre (Budapest: Osiris, 1998), 264– 74.  Ladislas de Fritz, “Seventy-Fifth Anniversary of Promulgation of Hungarian Nationality Act of 1868,” Danubian Review, vol. 11, no. 10 (March 1944), 25 – 31; Karóly Grúber, “The Contemporary Ethnonationalist Renaissance in Europe and its Implications for a Theory of Nationalism,” Nationalism and Ethnic Politics, vol. 3, no. 4, (1997), 128 – 51.  Július Bartl, Slovak History: Chronology and Lexicon (Bratislava: Slovenské Pedagogické Nakladateľstvo, 2002), 275; Robert Goldstein, Political Repression in 19th Century Europe (London: Routledge, 2013), 298.  Pieter Judson, The Habsburg Empire: A New History (Cambridge, Mass: Belknap, 2016), 266 – 67.

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provisions for minority protection.¹⁰ A full examination of such controversies lies beyond the scope of this book. The lively debate has normalized and popularized the terminological dichotomy between “nation” and “nationality.” Yet the rhetorical hegemony established by the Nationalities Law lamentably obscures the great diversity of terminology used in the decades before 1868. Eötvös, for example, did not always use the terminology made famous in the legislation associated with him. Eötvös cemented his Hungarian reputation as an expert on minority issues with his 1865 A nemzetiségi kerdés [the Nationality Question], also published in German as Die Nationalitätenfrage. This work anticipated the terminology of 1868 when advocating a balance between “the interests of the historic and political nation [történelmi s politikai nemzet/historische und politische Nation] and the “claims of the various linguistic nationalities [nyelvbeli nemzetiségek/sprachliche Nationalitäten].¹¹ A less-remembered passage in the same book, however, observed that Hungary’s population included “the most varied peoples [legkülönbözőbb népek / verschiedensten Völkerschaften],” who belonged primarily to the “Slavic race [szlávfaj/slavischen Race].” While Eötvös in 1865 consistently denied that the “peoples” of the Slavic “race” qualified as “nations,”¹² he described them with many different terminologies. Eötvös used still other terms in his 1850 study Über die Gleichberechtigung der Nationalitäten in Österreich [On the Equality of Nationalities within Austria]. In 1850, Eötvös argued that “language alone is not yet nationality [Nationalität], it is a means to maintain nationality,”¹³ insisting that “the concept ‘nation’ has always been identified with that of the state, and not with linguistic unity.”¹⁴ In 1850, Eötvös usually referred to Hungary’s constituent communities as “nationalities,” but he also spoke of “peoples” [Völker, Völkerschaften], and occasionally of an “element [Element]” or a “linguistic tribe [Sprachstamme].”¹⁵ One striking passage discussed “regions where only two nationalities [Nationalitäten] live mixed together, or where one particular nation [Nation] is more numerous than all the others.”¹⁶ In this final passage, “nationality” and “nation” were evi R. W. Seton-Watson [Scotus Viator], Racial Problems in Hungary (London: Archibald Constable, 1908), 165, 171, 174, 211, 219, 228, 247, 275, 333, 338, 411.  József Eötvös, A nemzetiségi kerdés (Pest: Ráth Mór, 1865), 42; József Eötvös, Die Nationalitätenfrage (Pest: Moritz Ráth, 1865), 53 – 54.  Eötvös, A nemzetiségi kérdés, 18; Die Nationalitäten-Frage, 22.  József Eötvös [as N. N.], Über die Gleichberechtigung der Nationalitäten in Österreich (Pest: Hartleben, 1850), 7.  Eötvös [as N. N.], Über die Gleichberechtigung der Nationalitäten, 39.  Eötvös [as N. N.], Über die Gleichberechtigung der Nationalitäten, 7– 9, 73, 107, 106, 131 (Völker); 50, 81, 120 – 21 (Völkerschaften); 50, 81, 93, 100 (Element); 16 (Sprachstamme).  Eötvös [as N. N.], Über die Gleichberechtigung der Nationalitäten, 84.

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dently stylistic alternatives! Whatever continuities may have characterized Eötvös’s thinking about such issues, his subsequent terminology had not yet fully coalesced in 1850. Nevertheless, Eötvös almost always defined the “nation” in terms of legal jurisdiction: the “nation” included all citizens of the state. He also consistently associated the “nation” only with the Magyar/Hungarian ethnonym. He juxtaposed the Magyar/Hungarian “nation” with something that he usually called a “nationality,” but sometimes described as a “people,” a “tribe,” or an “element,” and was prepared to associate this non-national something with non-Magyar Hungarians: Slovaks, Romanians, etc. We might collectively denote the variously-formulated non-national statuses as that of an “almost-but-not-quite” nation. Throughout the 1840s, several Hungarian intellectuals juxtaposed the “nation” with some formulation of the “almost-but-not-quite” nation. In 1843, Gusztáv Szontagh distinguished the “nation [nemzet]” from both a “people [nép]” and a “race [népfaj],”¹⁷ arguing that “a nation thus is the entirety of the homeland’s citizens, a people one of its constituent tribal or linguistic components. In one homeland there can therefore be only one nation, but many peoples.”¹⁸ Three years later, a picture book published by Imre Vahot spoke mostly of népek, but also mentioned the “alien kin [faj] in our homeland.”¹⁹ Vahot’s book also contained a statistical overview, probably written by Hungarian statistician Elek Fényes, proposing a four-fold division for “Hungary’s various peoples [népek]”: Magyars, Slavs, Germans, and Wallachians.²⁰ Fényes did not specify how he defined these népek, but evidently imagined some sort of non-linguistic criteria, since, elsewhere on the same page, statistics dividing Hungary’s population “by language” posited seventeen different categories. The Slavic nép in Hungary, for example, included Slovaks, Croats, Racians, Šokci, Russians, Bulgarians, and Montenegrins.²¹ In an 1843 appeal published in both Hungarian and German, Baron Miklós Wesselényi similarly lamented of Hungary that

 Gusztáv Szontagh, Propylaeumok a’ magyar philosophiához (Buda: Gustáv Emich, 1843), 164– 65.  Szontagh, Propylaeumok a társasági philosophiához, 164.  “Magyarország átalános statistikája,” in: Imre Vahot, ed., Magyarföld és népei eredeti képekben (Pest: József Beimel, 1846), 7.  A supplementary sentence mentioned small minorities of “French, Greeks, Cicnars, Armenians, Clemintines, Gypspies and Jews.” Elek Fényes (?), “Magyarország átalános statistikája,” in: Imre Vahot et al., Magyarföld és népei eredeti képekben (Pest: József Beimel, 1846), 6.  Fényes (?), “Magyarország átalános statistikája,” 6.

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“this fragmented little nation [kis nemzet/kleine Nation], divided by its various religions, is also separated into various nationalities [különböző nemzetiség/verschiedene Nationalitäten].”²² Elsewhere, however, Wesselényi’s Hungarian and German terminology diverged: he insisted that if “a country [ország/Land] has inhabitants of differing descent [faj/Abstammung] and language, then the constitution’s beneficence must be distributed equally to each nation/people [nemzet/ Völkerschaft].”²³ While visiting the United States, Lajos Kossuth, parliamentarian, national hero, and Hungary’s dictator during the ill-fated 1848 Revolution, discussed Hungary’s nationality question before American audiences. Kossuth’s English terminology briefly allows us to dispense with the difficulties of translation. Kossuth’s 1850 speech “On Nationalities,” given in New York sometime in December, explicitly denied that that “Hungarians struggled for the dominion of their race,” and claimed that his government had offered “equal protection of every tongue and race.”²⁴ His 1851 “Address to the People of the United States” posited “various races, speaking different languages” whose separatist tendencies threatened to destroy Hungary “as a nation.”²⁵ Kossuth elsewhere used the words “nation” and “nationality” to describe Hungary’s Slavs,²⁶ but usually spoke of “races,” and also used the word “races” when writing in French.²⁷ Kossuth did not, however, particularly anticipate the psusedoscientific racial theories of the late nineteenth century, his “race” is better understood as a stylistic alternative for what Eötvös called “nationality.” When writing or speaking in Hungarian, Kossuth employed a more varied terminology. In a December 1847 speech, given on the eve of the revolution, Kossuth contrasted the Magyar “nemzetet és nemzetiséget [nation and nationality]”

 Miklós Wesselényi, Szózat a’ magyar és szláv nemzetiség’ ügyében (Leipzig: Otto Wigand, 1843), 11; Eine Stimme über die ungarische und slavische Nationalität (Leipzig: Wihlem Vogel, 1844), 7.  Wesselényi, Szózat, 108; Eine Stimme, 78.  Lajos Kossuth, “VIII: On Nationalities, Speech at the Banquet of the Press, New York,” in: Francis Newmann, Select Speeches of Kossuth (New York: Francis, 1854), 87.  Lajos Kossuth, Address to the People of the United States (New York: Stringer and Townsend, 1851), 32.  See e. g. Lajos Kossuth, “On Nationalities,” in: Francis William Newman, ed., Select Speeches (London: Trübner, 1853), 66.  Lajos Kossuth, “La Hongrie vis-à-vis de l’Autriche,” La question des nationalités: l’Europe, l’Autriche et la Hongrie (Brussels: Van Meenen, 1859), 16.

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with Hungary’s constituent “népfajok [races].”²⁸ During the 1848 revolution itself, Kossuth found even more dismissive terms for Hungary’s minorities: in one parliamentary speech he contrasted the “Hungarian nation” with its “Slavic elements [szláv elemek]” or “Slavic element [szláv elem];” though he also referred to “Slavic nationality [szláv nemzetiség]” when describing the dynasty’s overtures to Hungarian Slavs.²⁹ After 1868, Kossuth increasingly adopted the terminology of the Nationalities Law, but in an 1881 essay on the language question, written in exile, contrasted the nation [nemzet] not only with a nationality [nemzetiség], but with “kinship and nationality [faj és nemzetiség].”³⁰ Perhaps Kossuth initially eschewed the terminology of the Nationalities Law because he preferred an alternate usage of the word “nationality.” Denying that “language alone makes a nation,” Kossuth, writing in English, defined “nationality” as follows: Community of interests, of rights, of duties, of history, but chiefly of institutions; by which a population, varying perhaps in tongue and race, is bound together through daily intercourse in the towns, which are the centres and home of commerce and industry: – besides these, the very mountain-ranges, the system of rivers and streams, – the soil, the dust of which is mingled with the mortal remains of ancestors who bled on the same field for the same interests, the common inheritance of glory and of woe, the community of laws and institutions, common freedom or common oppression: – all this enters into the complex idea of nationality.³¹

Kossuth thus explicitly uncoupled “nationality” from “tongue and race,” associating it instead with state institutions, economic life, landscapes, and historical memory. In this passage, he instead treated “nationality” as the nation’s collective possessions and qualities. If Eötvös proposed an “almost-but-not-quite” def-

 Speech of 11 December 1847, cited from Írások és beszédek 1848 – 1849-ből (Budapest: Európa, 1987), 55; see also György Spira, The Nationality Issue in the Hungary of 1848 – 49 (Budapest: Akadémiai, 1992), 38.  Lajos Kossuth, “Pest és Frankfurt,” Kossuth parlamenti élete, közlik (Pest: Heckenast, 1850), 2:67– 68 (magyar nemzet), 2:62, 66 (szláv elem), 2:66 (szláv elemek), 2:64 (szláv nemzetiség), 2:63 – 64 (austriai nemzet); reprinted with identical page numbers as Országgyűlési beszédei (Pest: Heckenast, 1867).  Lajos Kossuth, “Nyelvkerdes,” in: Kossuth Lajos iratai: A villafrancai béké után (Budapest: Atheneaum, 1881), 2:145; see also “Értekezés Magyarországról,” in: Ignáz Helfy, ed., Kossuth Lajos iratai: összevont népies kiadásban (Budapest: Athenaeum, 1885), 314.  Lajos Kossuth, “VIII: On Nationalities, Speech at the Banquet of the Press, New York,” in: Francis Newmann, ed., Select Speeches of Kossuth (New York: Francis, 1854), 80.

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inition of nationality, discussed above, perhaps Kossuth’s usage might be described as a “possessive” definition. Several Hungarian thinkers used nationality in this possessive sense. Eötvös himself occasionally treated “nationality” as a national possession. In his 1850 study, he proclaimed that in a province “where everybody has equal rights with the others, regardless of which nation [Nation] he belongs to, then no nationality [Nationalität] can be considered favored by the state.”³² Count István Széchenyi, a noted reformer whose words and deeds will feature prominently in this book, usually employed a possessive definition. In his influential Credit, published in both Hungarian and German, Széchenyi wrote that “the spirit and the individuality of every nation [nemzet/Nation] is sacred … and their annihilation quickly leads to the fall of its nationality [nemzetiség/Nationalität].”³³ In an earlier book on horses, also published in both Hungarian and German, Széchenyi posited a one-to-one relationship between nation and nationality with a striking metaphor: “nationality [nemzetiség/Nationalität] is for a nation [nemzet/Nation] what the enamel is to a tooth; if the one breaks or is ruined, then the inside will quickly rot.”³⁴ When contrasting Hungary’s entire population with the kingdom’s constituent communities, Széchenyi spoke of “our fatherland [hazánk/Unser Vaterland]” and the “different religions and nations” that inhabited it.³⁵ He thought, for example, that “the peasantry belongs to many nations [nemzetek/Nationen],” alluding specifically to “the ineradicable fertility of the Slavs, the Wallachians’ obstinate adherence to his own customs, the Serbs’ mercantile spirit, etc.”³⁶ In this passage, significantly, Széchenyi spoke of “nations” where the 1868 Nationalities Law posited “nationalities.” Count Aurél Dessewffy, a leading conservative and a prominent critic of Széchenyi, used the word “nationality” in both the “almost-but-not-quite” sense and the “possessive” sense. In an 1843 collection of essays, he anticipated the terminology of the Nationalities Law by describing Hungary as a country with “many

 József Eötvös [as N. N.] Über die Gleichberechtigung der Nationalitäten in Österreich (Pest: Hartleben, 1850), 130.  István Széchenyi, Hitel (Pest: Trattner, 1830), 31; Kreditwesen (Pest: Trattner, 1830), 11.  István Széchenyi, Lovakrul (Pest: Trattner és Károlyi, 1828), 50; István Széchenyi, Ueber Pferde, Pferdezucht und Pferderennen (Pest: Otto Wigand, 1830), 37.  István Széchenyi, Világ, vagy is, Felvilágosító töredékek némi hiba (Pest: Landerer, 1831), 63; Licht oder aufhellende Bruchstücke zur Berichtigung einiger Irrthümer (Pest: Otto Wigand, 1832), 54.  Széchenyi, Világ, 68; Licht, 57– 58.

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nationalities who hate each other.”³⁷ In another essay from the same volume, however, he employed a possessive definition when pondering how “to affect the nation [nemzet/Nation], to elevate nationality [nemzetiség/Nationalität].”³⁸ In still another essay, he defended policies of linguistic assimilation as follows: nowhere and never has Hungarian legislation ever demanded that any people [néposztály] sacrifice its own nationality [nemzetiség], it has never demanded anything from compatriots of foreign origin [idegenajkú honfiak] living in the country, except that they know Hungarian.³⁹

In this final passage, Dessewffy imagined “nationality” as the possession not of the “nation,” but of an “almost-but-not-quite” néposztály. Béla Szabó, a landowner and county judge who supported Kossuth,⁴⁰ devised an elaborate terminology to avoid the ambiguity of Dessewffy’s dual usage. In an 1848 polemic, Szabó imagined the nemzet [nation] as “a political association of individuals” who “share similar rights and obligations” having nemzetiség [nationality], defined in terms of “a specific character of a political association which manifests itself self-reliantly, independently, and unchangeably in all political action.” Szabó thus proposed a “possessive” definition of nationality, restricting both “nation” and “nationality” to Magyars: “it would be a mistake to claim that there is a German, Wallachian, Rascian, Croatian, Slovak, or any other nation in the Hungarian state.”⁴¹ Szabó described “almost-but-notquite” collectives as a “people [nép],” defined in part as “a sum of individuals of different legal standing.” Much as a nation possessed nationality, according to Szabó a people possessed “peopleness [népiség],” which he defined as “a tool for achieving a goal which changes as the goal changes.”⁴²

 Aurél Dessewffy, “Freiheit der Presse,” Vermischte Aussätze und Bruchstücke aus Briefen, 1835 – 1842 (Pest: Landerer und Heckenast, 1843), 47.  Aurél Dessewffy, “A magyar nyelv és előkelőink’ nevelési rendszere,” Budapesti árvizkönyv, vol. 3 (1839), 22; Aurél Dessewffy, “Die ungarische Sprache und die Erziehungsmethode der vornehmen Ungarn,” Vermischte Aussätze und Bruchstücke aus Briefen, 1835 – 1842 (Pest: Landerer und Heckenast, 1843), 70.  Aurél Dessewffy, “Protestantismus, Magyarismus, Slavismus,” X.Y.Z. könyv (Pest: TrattnerKároly, 1841), 107.  László Péter, Hungary’s Long Nineteenth Century: Constitutional and Democratic Traditions in a European Perspective (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 73 – 74.  Béla Szabó, A’ Magyar Korona országainak státusjogi és monarchiai állása (Bratislava, n.p., 1848), 60 – 61.  Béla Szabó, A’ Magyar Korona országainak státusjogi és monarchiai állása (Bratislava, n.p., 1848), 60.

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Five years previously, the aforementioned Hoitsy, the defender of Slavic rights who played such an important role in distinguishing “Magyars” from “Hungarians,” had proposed a terminology nearly identical to Szabó’s. Hoitsy wrote in German, but provided Hungarian translations for key terms, and sometimes Slavic and Latin translations as well. Hoitsy defined the “nation [nemzet/ Nation/Národ],” alternatively known as “citizens [Vaterlandssöhne, Staatsbürger, Nation/hazafiak, nemzet/kragané (sic), obcané (sic)/cives, populus],” as those who “live under the same laws, are subject to the same authority, have a common goal to their efforts.”⁴³ The nation thus depended on the “state [Staat, Reich/ország/civitas, regnum].” Hoitsy’s definition of nationality [Nationalität/ nemzetivég (sic)]” also depended on the state: “respect for the law, reference to the government and ardent striving to promote the country’s well-being.”⁴⁴ Hoitsy, like Szabó, thus preferred a “possessive” understanding of nationality. To describe Hungary’s “almost-but-not-quite” collectives, Hoitsy, like Szabó, used the term “people [Volk/nép, faj/národ/gens],” defined as “a quantity of people who are bound together by language, way of thinking, customs, habits, manners.” Just as a nation possessed nationality, so too did a people possess “peopleness [Volksthümlichkeit/nàrodnost (sic)],” though Hoitsy, unlike Szabó, struggled to find a Hungarian equivalent: “in Hungarian no term is in common use, maybe one could say nèpiesség (sic).”⁴⁵ Hoitsy’s Slavic terminology proved problematic and confusing. In Hungarian, Hoitsy distinguished the “nation” from the “almost-but-not-quite” nation by contrasting the nemzet with the nép or faj. In Slavic, however, Hoitsy juxtaposed the Národ with the národ: semantic differentiation depended on capitalization! While the “almost-but-not quite” národ possessed nàrodnost, Hoitsy neglected to propose any Slavic term for the “nationality” possessed by the Národ. Hoitsy was not the only Hungarian Slav to struggle with national terminology. In 1847, on the eve of the Revolution, Michal Hodža, a Slovak Lutheran clergyman and savant, used the terms národ and národnost to describe a full-fledged “nation” and the “nationality” it possessed, but his terminology proved even more confused than Hoitsy’s. Insisting that “every nation [národ] has the right to nationality [národnosťi],” Hodža described nationality as “the same thing as when we say of a person that he is a man of the people [ľudskí človek].” Pursuing the analogy, Hodža then bafflingly argued that while “every nation is a nation, not every nation is a national nation [je ňje každí národ národňí národ].” Hodža’s

 Samuel Hoitsy, Apologie des ungrischen Slawismus (Leipzig: Vlockmar, 1843), 12, 16.  Hoitsy, Apologie des ungrischen Slawismus, 17.  Hoitsy, Apologie des ungrischen Slawismus, 12– 13, 16.

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reasoning then led to a series of neologisms which resist English translation: “If a nation does not have nationality [národnosťi], we call that naroďenstvom (with a short a); if it has nationality, we call that nároďenstvom (with a long a). This is an important difference.”⁴⁶ Hodža’s German-language terminology proved equally perplexing. In a polemic written during the 1848 revolution, Hodža explicitly conflated nation, people, and state: “what is Nation? – is it not the Volk itself, in the state it pulled together in its entirety? And what is Volk, if not again the Nation that has pulled itself together?”⁴⁷ Hodža’s Slavic neologisms struck no roots in Slovak political rhetoric, but the political work he apparently intended them to perform reflected longstanding Slovak demands. Magyar patriots, as noted above, usually denied Hungary’s minority communities the status of a full-fledged “nation,” proposing instead some less prestigious classificatory status. Rejecting any “almost-but-notquite” collective status, Hodža insisted on endowing Slovaks with the status of a “nation.” He responded to Magyar arguments that “the entire homeland is the Hungarian nation [národ Uhorskí]” by insisting “anybody who is not blind must see that there are many nations there.”⁴⁸ Instead, Hodža chose to demote his Hungarian loyalties to something non-national: “yes, we live in this country called Hungary, but we are Slovaks by nation [národ], and Hungarians only by country [krajina].”⁴⁹ Politician and public intellectual Lajos Mocsáry, a Magyar thinker noted for his interest in the so-called “nationality question,” also posited multiple “nations” within a common “homeland.” Mocsáry outlined his terminology in his 1858 work Nemzetiség [Nationality],” basing his argument on the terms “nation,” “country,” and “homeland”: Country, homeland, nation – three separate concepts which are often confused. A country [ország] is a piece of land together with the people who dwell there, existing under its own power and its own government. A homeland [haza] is a piece of land together with the people who live there, which they have taken to their bosom, whose cause they make their own, and which defines their political status. A nation [nemzet] is a collection of persons who have one origin, speak one language, and consider themselves a family.⁵⁰

 M. M. Hodža, Dobruo slovo Slovákom (Levoča: Tatrín, 1847), 27– 28.  M. M. Hodža, Der Slowak: Beiträge zur Beleuchtung der slawischen Frage in Ungarn (Prague: Slawischen Centralblätter, 1848), 19.  M. M. Hodža, Dobruo slovo Slovákom (Levoča: Tatrín, 1847), 35 – 36.  Hodža, Dobruo slovo Slovákom, 35.  Lajos Mocsáry, Nemzetiség (Pest: Ráth Mór, 1858), 41.

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Mocsáry concluded “the Slovak, Serb, Croatian, and Wallachian nation [nemzet] also lives on the territory of the Hungarian homeland [Magyarhon].⁵¹ Mocsáry’s terminology thus concurred with Hodža’s, yet his political stance resembled that of other Magyar thinkers. Where Hodža defended a minority “nationality,” Mocsáry advocated assimilation by rejecting the claims of nationality and promoting “patriotism” instead: “patriotism unites all the different elements [elemek], the principle of nationality [nemzetiség] merges them. Among us, patriotism is a centripetal force, and nationality centrifugal.”⁵² Where Hodža tried to defend Slovak collective rights by insisting that Slovaks qualified as a “nation,” Mocsáry attacked loyalty to the nation as unpatriotic. Mocsáry’s rhetorical opposition to the “nation” put him at odds not only with Hodža, but with almost all of the Hungarian intelligentsia, Magyar and non-Magyar alike. During the nineteenth century, most Hungarian thinkers treated the “nation,” however defined or imagined, as something positive. Mocsáry himself admitted that his attitude was highly eccentric, writing “nowadays the phrase homeland [haza] is rarely heard. In place of homeland and patriotism [hazafiuság] everybody speaks of nationality [nemzetiség].”⁵³ Mocsáry’s exceptional terminology thus proves the rule: Magyar polemicists usually denied the existence of any other “nation” in Hungary, they recognized only “almost-butnot-quite” collectives: a nemzetiség, nép, néposztály, népfaj, faj, elem, Nationalität, Völk, Völkerschaft, Race, Element, or Sprachstamm. Only within Transylvania did Magyar elites recognize the existence of other “nations.” Since 1437, an alliance between Hungarian nobles, Saxon Burghers, and Székely freemen, had vested sovereignty in multiple “nations.” The alliance was known as the “Union of three Nations [Unio Trium Nationum].” During the Napoleonic era, preambles to Transylvanian laws routinely invoked the “three nations [nationes] of the Grand Principality of Transylvania.”⁵⁴ Nineteenth century legal books also ubiquitously referred to the “three nations” [három nemzet/ három natio].”⁵⁵ Medieval legalese had thus established an unignorable precedent.

 Mocsáry, Nemzetiség, 42.  Mocsáry, Nemzetiség, 64.  Mocsáry, Nemzetiség, 64.  See e. g. laws from 29 August 1810 and 13 September 1811, Az erdelyi nagy fejedelemseg (Cluj: Török István 1811), 129, 855,  Sándor Székely, Unitária vallás történetei Erdélyben (Cluj: Király Lzceum, 1840), 74; Mihály Horváth, A magyarok története (Pápa: Ref. Főiskola, 1842), 2:127; Laszló Kővári, Erdély történelme (Pest: Ráth Mór, 1859), 2:56; Laszló Kővári, Erdély történelme 1848 – 49 ben (Pest: Emich Gusztáv 1861), 69.

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Modern scholars disagree about the importance of ethnicity to Transylvania’s early-modern nations. Radu Lupescu argues that “around 1600 there were no sympathies based on national feelings,”⁵⁶ but Ioan-Aurel Pop suggests that “from the very beginning, the nations of the Saxons and of the Szeklers were defined by a certain ethnic component, but for a considerable time it remained secondary to the political one.”⁵⁷ Interpreting Lupescu and Pop’s disagreement as a a debate about the semantic content ascribed to the natio in the early modern era, Krista Zach argued that “the linguistic as well as factual difficulties” form an important object of study.⁵⁸ Indeed, the semantic gulf between the early modern “nationes” (Latin word) and modern “nations” (English word) yawns so large that many scholars prefer to characterize the three Transylvanian nationes as “estates.”⁵⁹ Even in Transylvania, however, Hungarian politics in the age of nationalism involved individuals from a disenfranchised group hoping to win a collective recognition as a “nation” from elites refusing to grant it. Orthodox Romanians, then usually described as “Wallachians,” formed the most numerous element of Transylvania’s population. Starting in 1735, Romanian Greek-Catholic bishop Ion Inochentie Klein began prefacing his requests for religious rights with references to the “Walalchian nation [natio valachia],” outraging the recognized estates who recognized the Romanians only as the “Wallachian people [plebs walachia].”⁶⁰ In 1791– 1792, Romanian political agitation culminated in a series of petitions, collectively known as the Supplex Libellus Valachorum Transsilvaniae [Petition of the Wallachians of Transylvania], demanding that the “Wallachian nation

 Radu Lupescu, “Ethnicity in Transylvania: From Medieval Peoples to Modern Nations,” Historia Actual Online, no. 34 (2014), 107.  Ioan-Aurel Pop, “Religiones and Nationes in Transylvania during the 16th Century,” Journal for the Study of Religions and Ideologies, vol. 12, no. 34 (2013), 219.  Krista Zach, “Begriff und Sprachgebrauch von natio und Nationalität in vorhumanistischen Texten des 13. bis 16. Jahrhunderts aus Siebenbürgen,” in: Joachim Bahlcke, Konrad Gündisch, eds, Konfessionelle Pluralität, Stände, und Nation (Münster: LIT, 2004), 5 – 15.  Mircea Dogaru, Mihail Zahariade, History of the Romanians: From the Origins to the Modern Age (Bucharest: Amco Press, 1996), 148; István Keul, Early Modern Religious Communities in EastCentral Europe (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 34; László Makkai, “The Crown and the Diets of Hungary and Transylvania in the Sixteenth Century,” in: R. J. W. Evans, T. V. Thomas, eds, Crown, Church and Estates: Central European Politics in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (Berlin: Springer, 1991), 88.  Zoltán Tóth, Az erdélyi román nacionalizmus elsõ százada, 1697 – 1792 (Budapest: Athenaeum, 1946), 89 – 90; Kieth Hitchins, “The Idea of Nation among the Romanians of Transylvania, 1700 – 1849,” Nation and National Ideology: Past, Present, and Prospects (Bucharest: New Europe College, 2002), 86.

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[natio] and religion” be acknowledged as “the fourth recognized nation.”⁶¹ The reform-minded Emperor Leopold II forwarded the petition to the Translyvanian Diet, which rejected it. Leopold might have insisted, but his 1792 death and the accession of the unimaginative Francis II/I, the final Holy Roman Emperor and the first Austrian Emperor, dashed the hopes of Romanian petitioners. Transylvanian jurists from the privileged estates usually ascribed Romanians some sort of “almost-but-not-quite” status. In 1800, the Saxon lawyer JosephCarl Eder, known in Hungarian historiography as József Károly Éder, proclaimed toleration for the Orthodox religion, but “not in such a way as to make the Wallachian plebs a fourth natio.”⁶² An 1832 legal textbook, written in Hungarian, contrasted Transylvania’s “three nations [nemzetek]” with the “Wallachian people [nép].”⁶³ Transylvanian legal terminology also informed the thinking of savants without legal training. Hungarian historian László Kővári contrasted Transylvania’s “legal nations [jogos nemzetek]”⁶⁴ with the Romanian “people [nép]” and “populace [népesség].”⁶⁵ Saxon historian and bishop Georg Daniel Teutsch, in his 1852 history of Transylvanian Saxons, written in German for a Saxon audience, contrasted “three nations [Nationen]” with the Wallachian people [Volk],” insisting nevertheless “that in the Saxon land there can be no talk of Wallachian historical rights as a distinct people [Sondervolk].”⁶⁶ Lutheran pastor and public intellectual Christian Heyser, however, proved less rigorous in his terminology: he spoke of the “three main nations [drei Hauptnationen]” and the “privileged or established nations [privilegirten oder ständischen Nationen]” of Transylvania, but also of “three united peoples [drei verbundenen Völkerschaften].”⁶⁷ Heyser furthermore described Greeks, Armenians and Romanians as Transylvania’s “other nations [Nationen].” ⁶⁸ As the century progressed, Romanian intellectuals in Transylvania continued demanding recognition as a “nation.” The first point of the Balázsfalva

 Anon., Repraesentatio et Humillimae Preces Universae In Transylvania Valachicae Nationis (Iaşi: n.p., 1791), 16, 21 (nation and religion); 34 (fourth nation).  Joseph-Carl Eder, Breviarium juris transsilvanici (Sibiu: Barth, 1800), 153.  Anon., Az erdélyi három nemzetekböl állo rendeknek 1790-dik esztendőben (Cluj: Király Lyceum, 1832), 92– 93, 231, 318, 458, 512, 547, 629 (három nemzet, három nemzetek); 646 (Oláh nép).  Laszló Kővári, Erdélyország statisztikája (Cluj: Tilsch, 1847), 1:176; Kővári, Erdély történelme, 2:56; Kővári, Erdély történelme 1848 – 49 ben, 19.  Kővári, Erdélyország statisztikája, 58, 88 (oláh nép), 197 (oláh népesség).  G. D. Teutsch, Geschichte der Siebenbürger Sachsen für das sächsische Volk (Brașov: Johann Gött, 1852), 253, 258, 290, 342, 525, 657 (drei Nationen); 7 (Volk der Walachen), 48 (Sondervolk).  Christian Heyser, Die Kirchen-Verfassung der A. C. Verwandten im Grossfürstenthume Siebenbürgen (Vienna: Leopold Grund, 1836), 5, 6, 29.  Heyser, Die Kirchen-Verfassung der A. C. Verwandten im Grossfürstenthume Siebenbürgen, 6.

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(Blaj, Blasendorf) petition of May 1848, for example, demanded recognition for the “the Romanian nation [națiunea]” in order to achieve “national independence in the political sense.”⁶⁹ In an 1852 pamphlet on the “principles of national liberty,” Romanian scholar and politician Simion Bărnuțiu rejected the goal of assimilating minorities into “a great and strong Hungarian nation [natiune],” and called instead for “the freedom and independence of the Romanian nation [natiune].”⁷⁰ During the 1860s, Romanian efforts enjoyed some limited successes. In 1863, the still-independent Transylvanian Diet recognized Romanians as the fourth nation of Transylvania. The Diet was suspended in 1865, however, and dissolved in 1867.⁷¹ By the end of the century, Romanian patriots could nevertheless point to a long tradition of demanding legal recognition as a “nation.”⁷² Indeed, Romanian demands revolved so closely around the quest for national status that Keith Hitchins called his study of the Romanian national movement in Transylvania A Nation Affirmed. ⁷³ Instead of contrasting the “nation” with some “almost-but-not-quite” collective, Romanian political rhetoric typically employed modifying adjectives for different types of nations. After the 1867 Settlement, for example, Romanian jurists demanded collective recognition as a “political nation [națiune politice]”⁷⁴ or a “constitutional nation [națiune constituita],”⁷⁵ to cite the respective formulations of Simion Bărnuțiu and Iosif Hodoș. Before 1867, Romanian rhetoric often distinguished “nations” by distinguishing the different forms of “nationality” they possessed. Romanian jurist and historian Vasile Maniu, for example, contrasted “political nationality [naţionalitate politică] with “physical or genetic nationality

 “Protocolul Adunării Naționale de la Blaj a Românilor transilvăneni (3/15 – 5/17 mai 1848),” in: Iulian Oncescu, Ion Stanciu, Emanuel Plopeanu, eds, Texte şi documente privind istoria modernă a Românilor (1774 – 1866), (Bucharest: Editura Cetatea de Scaun, 2009), 1:187– 88.  Simion Bărnuțiu, Romaniloru cu Ungurii, si principiele libertatei natiunali (Vienna: C. Gerold si Fiiu, 1852), 5, 53.  Keith Hitchins, The Romanians, 1774 – 1866 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996), 269 – 70; Fredrik Lindström, “Region, Cultural Identity and Politics in the Late Habsburg Monarchy,” in: Sven Tägil, ed., Regions in Central Europe: The Legacy of History (London: Hust, 1999), 143.  “Das Wesen der rumänischen Frage in Siebenbürgen und Ungarn,” in: Aurel Popovici, ed., Die rumänische Frage in Siebenbürgen und Ungarn (Vienna, Budapest, Graz, Cluj: n.p., 1892), 1– 3.  Keith Hitchins, A Nation Affirmed: The Romanian National Movement in Transylvania (Bucharest: Encyclopaedic Publishing, 1999), esp. 27– 28.  Simion Bărnuțiu [as Simeone Barnuțiu], Dereptulu publicu alu Româniloru (Iași: Tripariulu Tribunei Române, 1867), 453.  Iosif Hodoș [as Ios Hodosiu], Romanii şi constitutiunile Transilvaniei (Budapest: 1871), 70.

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[naţionalitate fizică sau genetică].”⁷⁶ The aforementioned Papiu-Ilarian similarly proclaimed a Romanian “genetic nationality [natiunalitatea genetica],” even while denouncing the insufficiency of this status: “genetic nationality – that is political death for a nation, genetic nationality, it is not life, it is vegetation.”⁷⁷ In the 1860s, Slovak thinkers also employed modifying adjectives when demanding the status of a “nation.” Lutheran journalist and author Peter KellnerHostinský insisted in 1862 that Hungary’s many “nations [národy]” were all “political nations [politické národy],” because they could all claim political rights in the “basic political organization of Uhorsko.”⁷⁸ In 1872, Lutheran intellectual Pavel Hečko, drawing on the terminology of the 1868 Nationalities Law, juxtaposed Hungary’s “political nation [politický národ]” with the “nations [národy]” living inside it.⁷⁹ When Slovak lawyer Viliam Pauliny-Tóth denounced the 1868 Nationalities Law in the leading newspaper Národnie noviny, the draft replacement legislation he proposed to replace it juxtaposed the “political nation [politický národ]” with its constituent “genetic nations [genetické národy].”⁸⁰ In 1872, a German-language tract by Karl Zmertych, another Slovak lawyer, similarly distinguished the “political nation [politische Nation]” from the “linguistic nation [sprachliche Nation].”⁸¹ Such formulae of “dual nationality”⁸² enabled non-Magyars to simultaneously claim the protection of Hungarian law while demanding collective linguistic rights. Magyar political thinkers, meanwhile, rejected the “political nation [politikai nemzet]” partly because Hungary’s nobility had used the phrase to justify its estate dominance. László Péter, who analyzed class tensions between Magyars of

 Vlad Georgescu, Istoria ideilor politice româneşti: 1369 – 1878 (Bucharest: Dumitru, 1987), 326.  Alexandru Papiu Ilarian, Introduptiune in istori’a Romaniloru la anii 1848 e 1849 (Vienna: C. Gerold şi Fiiu, 1851), 2:cxxvi, 2: cxxviii.  Peter Kellner-Hostinský [as P. Z. H.], “Rovnoprávnosť národnia, odpoveď na spis ‘Otázka národností v Uhrách’,” Pešťbudínske vedomosti, vol. 2, no. 60 – 71 (29 July, 1, 5, 8, 12, 15, 19, 22, 26, 29 August, 2, 5 September 1862), n.p., here cited from no. 71.  Pavel Hečko, “Povolanie štátu ohľadom národnej výchovy,” Orol, vol. 3, no. 2 (29 February 1872), 52.  Viliam Pauliny-Tóth, “Návrh zákona o urovnoprávnení národností,” Národnie Noviny (23 October, 1870), cited from Ján Beňko, Dokumenty slovenskej národnej identity a štátnosti (Bratislava: Dom slovenskej literatúry, 1998), 1:366.  Karl Zmertych, Rhapsodien über die Nationalität (Skalice: Fr. X. Skarnitl’s Söhne, 1872), 7.  Alexander Maxwell, “Multiple Nationalism: National Concepts in 19th Century Hungary and Benedict Anderson’s ‘Imagined Communities’,” Nationalism and Ethnic Politics, vol. 11, no. 3 (Fall 2005), 385 – 414.

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different estates, concluded that “the magyar nemzet concept attracted loyalty from all classes, rather than from the nobility only,” concluding that the political nation “did not become a community which attracted loyalty.”⁸³ Such claims, of course, neglect non-Magyar Hungarians. Péter justified his exclusively Magyar analysis on the grounds that, during the Reform Era, “the national movements of the non-Hungarians [sic] were small and ineffective.” While the legal and parliamentary debates Péter analyzed indeed excluced non-Magyars from participation, I suggest both that non-Magyar national movements manifested themselves in other venues, and that during the 1848 Revolution they were sufficiently effective to deserve analysis. I also suspect that Péter’s analytical term “non-Hungarians” suggests a certain desire to exclude non-Magyar perspectives from “Hungarian” history. Just as Magyar thinkers refused to recognize any other community as a “nation,” so too did non-Magyar Hungarians insist on the status. The tremendous significance attached to the word “nation” testifies to its irresistible rhetorical potency. However the nation was defined or imagined, demands made in its name evidently became legitimate. A “people,” “race,” “ethnic group,” or “nationality” apparently did not have the same ability to articulate legitimacy. By refusing to recognize minority groups as a “nation,” therefore, Magyar patriots denied their right to make any collective demands. Conversely, non-Magyar patriots insisted on the status to insist on their right to make such demands. Magyar and non-Magyar terminologies most dramatically confronted each other in a famous incident from the 1848 Revolution. On 8 April 1848, Kossuth, then minister of Finance, met with a Serbian delegation from Újvidék [Novi Sad, Neusatz]. In the course of lengthy negotiations, Kossuth, according to an 1853 history written in German by count János Majláth, promised the Serbs “equality with the magnanimous Magyar nation [magyarischen Nation].” One member of the Serbian delegation immediately objected that “the Serbs form a completely different nation [Nation]” and demanded “to be recognized as such” by the Magyars before agreeing “to live as before with them under one crown and one law.” Kossuth, evidently surprised, asked for clarification: “What do you understand as a nation?” The delegation defined the term as “an ethnic tribe [Volksstamm] that has its own language, own customs, own habits and own education, and sufficient consciousness to defend them.” Kossuth asked: “Don’t you know that a nation must also have its own government?” A Serbian officer, Djordje

 László Peter, “Language, the Constitution, and the Past in Hungarian Nationalism,” Hungary’s Long Nineteenth Century: Constitutional and Democratic Traditions in a European Perspective (Leiden: Brill 2012), 190 – 91.

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Stratimirović, disagreed: “We do not go so far. A nation can be divided under several governments, and several nations can be united by a single government,” pointing to Germany and Transylvania as examples. Momentary curiosity evidently satisfied, Kossuth then attempted to impose his own definition by fiat, insisting, in Majláth’s paraphrase, that “the interests of the Magyar nation demand that no others in the kingdom count as a nation.” The Serbian delegation, growing angry, warned Kossuth that “if South Slav hopes for an end to forced linguistic assimilation are disappointed, things may come to an open break, and the Serbs may seek recognition elsewhere if rejected in Pressburg.” Kossuth’s famous reply, when repeated in the Serbian Banat, sparked rebellion: “in that case, the sword will decide between us.”⁸⁴ Kossuth and the Serbian delegation disagreed not only about terminology, but about substantive political issues, most particularly the language of state administration in the predominantly Serbian counties in lower Hungary. Nevertheless, discussion broke down not over any substantive issue, but over the meaning of the word “nation.” Kossuth evidently preferred Serbian rebellion to terminological compromise; the Serbs proved equally willing to rebel rather than make terminological concession. The incident dramatically illustrates the high stakes at play when defining a “nation”: both sides were willing to spill and shed blood over their preferred definition.

Political Slogans and Analytical Categories The politics of defining the “nation” thus proves even more contested and politicized than the politics of ethnonyms. For Hungarian polemicists, both Magyar and non-Magyar, possessing the status of a nation implied sovereignty and collective rights. Terminological disagreement had itself become a form of political contestation. While twenty-first century scholars of nationalism appreciate the magnitude of the terminological problem, they have made no progress toward a solution, in the sense that no scholarly definition enjoys general acceptance within the dauntingly large theoretical literature. Indeed, literature reviews discussing “def-

 János Majláth, Neuere Geschichte der Magyaren (Regensburg: G. Joseph Manz, 1853), 4:20 – 21; see also Dordje Stratimirović, Was ich erlebte: Erinnerungen von General von Stratimirović (Vienna: Braumüller, 1911), 32.

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initions of nationalism” often employ phrases such as “notoriously disputed,”⁸⁵ “the subject of disagreement among the experts,”⁸⁶ “vast and complex,”⁸⁷ “far from straightforward,”⁸⁸ “many and varied and often quite contentious,”⁸⁹ and “as numerous as the individuals who have attempted definitions!”⁹⁰ André Gerrits may have exaggerated when declaring “there are practically as many definitions of nationalism as there are studies on nationalism,”⁹¹ but Eugene O’Brien more accurately described the field’s “relativistic series of definitions, each of which is contextually unique.”⁹² Terminological confusion partly reflects the diversity of referent. If the term “nationalism” is, as Peter Alter suggested, one of “the most ambiguous concepts in the present-day vocabulary of political and analytical thought,” the difficulty derives in part from “the plethora of phenomena which may be subsumed under the term.”⁹³ Scholars routinely describe as “nationalism” such disparate things as state-formation, separatist political movements, revanchist political movements, chauvinism, democratization, right-wing extremism, popular support for war, and the world-view of intellectuals. Indeed, so many different scholarly discussions are subsumed under the word “nationalism” that a considerable literature has emerged merely to summarize the various theoretical approaches.⁹⁴ If “nationalism” is not a complicated phenomenon, but rather a series of differ-

 Johann Arnason, “Nations and Nationalisms: Between General Theory and Comparative History,” in: Gerard Delanty, Krishan Kumar, eds, The Sage Handbook of Nations and Nationalism (London: Sage, 2006), 44.  David Pierce, “Cultural Nationalism and the Irish Literary Revival,” International Journal of English Studies, vol. 2, no. 2 (2002), 9.  Wendy Isaacs-Martin, “National Identity and Distinctiveness,” Africa Insight, vol. 42, no. 2 (2012), 59 – 70.  Sam Pryke, Nationalism in a Global World (London: Palgrave, 2009), 4.  Dina Spechler, Russian Nationalism and Political Stability in the USSR (Cambridge: Center for International Studies, 1983), 3.  Boyd Shafer, Nationalism: Interpretation and Interpreters (Washington, DC: American Historical Society, 1966), 2; Reinhold Steinbeck, Nationalism and Identity in a European Context (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1993), 8, 16.  André Gerrits, Nationalism in Europe since 1945 (London: Palgrave, 2015), 13.  Eugene O’Brien, Examining Irish Nationalism in the Context of Literature, Culture and Religion (Lewiston: Edwin Mellen 2002), 12.  Peter Alter, Nationalism (London: Edward Arnold, 1989), 4.  See Anthony Smith, Theories of Nationalism (London: Duckworth, 1971); Umut Özkırımlı, Theories of Nationalism (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000); Atsuko Ichijo, Gordana Uzelac, When is the Nation? Towards an Understanding of Theories of Nationalism (London: Routledge, 2005); Paul Lawrence, Nationalism: History and Theory (New York: Pearson Education, 2005); Erika Harris, Nationalism: Theories and Cases (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2009).

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ent complicated phenomena described with the same word, confusion is inevitable. Many contemporary scholars seeking to contain the diversity of nationalism adopt a strategy that strikingly resembles the debates of nineteenth-century Hungarian polemicists: they present their preferred usage as the sole legitimate definition, and dismiss alternate usages as “incorrect” or “confused.” The strategy seems particularly popular among scholars who define the nation in terms of a desire for statehood. John Breuilly defined nationalism as “political movements seeking or exercising state power,”⁹⁵ and while conceding that scholars “have achieved a great deal in the way of identifying and describing certain sorts of national consciousness,” insisted that national consciousness “should not be confused with nationalism.”⁹⁶ Lowell Barrington similarly conceded that “there may be as many definitions of nationalism as there are nationalism scholars,” but contradicted himself by simultaneously asserting that “most nationalism scholars” treat “the pursuit … of territorial autonomy or independence” as its defining feature.⁹⁷ When Parmanand Parashar declared that “properly used, the term nationalism refers to a political doctrine about the organization of political authority,”⁹⁸ he implicitly denigrated alternate usages as “improper.” More generally, by lamenting that “the concept of nation is poorly understood by those who use it,”⁹⁹ George White implicitly claimed possession of correct understanding, and the ability to dismiss alternate understandings as false. A few nationalism scholars even denigrate alternate definitions as the conscious “misuse” of terminology. Walker Connor complained about both “the interutilization of the words state and nation”¹⁰⁰ and “the general tendency to misuse the word nationalism to convey loyalty to the state rather than to one’s national group [emphasis in original].”¹⁰¹ The aforementioned Barrington listed

 John Breuilly, Nationalism and the State (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1993), 2.  Breuilly, Nationalism and the State, 5.  Lowell Barrington, After Independence: Making and Protecting the Nation in Postcolonial and Postcommunist States (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2006), 10.  Parmanand Parashar, Nationalism: Its Theory and Principles in India (New Delhi: Sarup and Sons, 1996), 2.  George White, Nationalism and Territory: Constructing Group Identity in Southeastern Europe (Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield, 2000), 16 – 17.  Walker Connor, Ethnonationalism: The Quest for Understanding (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994), 92.  Walker Connor, “Democracy and National Self-Determination: Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow,” in: Begoña Aretxaga et al., , eds, Empire and Terror: Nationalism/Postnationalism in the New Millennium (Reno: Center for Basque Studies, 2004), 16.

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not only two possible ways to “misuse” the term “nation,” (“equating it with ‘state’ or ‘country’” and “intermixing the term with ‘ethnic group’ or ‘ethnicity’”) but also three false uses of the term “nationalism” (“patriotism, ethnic politics, and ethnic conflict”). Though Barrington’s definitions differed from Connor’s, Barrington followed Connor’s approach to unfavored definitions: he proclaimed them erroneous. He asserted, for example, that “Connor’s definition of nation would be better suited as a definition of an ethnic group,” adding that “the political mobilization of people based on ethnicity … can be the starting point for something that becomes nationalism, but it alone is not nationalism.”¹⁰² I suggest that neither Connor nor Barrington possess the terminological authority to which they pretend. No scholar has the authority to issue such definitive judgements about the correct meaning of such a highly contested term. Modern theorists also recall nineteenth-century Magyar polemicists by proposing their own versions of “almost-but-not-quite” nationalism. Scholars of nationalism have variously contrasted “nationalism” with “patriotism,”¹⁰³ with “national consciousness,”¹⁰⁴ with “sub-nationalism,”¹⁰⁵ or with “protonationalism.” ¹⁰⁶ Like nineteenth-century non-Magyars, scholars have also subdivided nationalism into types. British scholar Anthony D. Smith, warning against “the chimera of universally valid, once-for-all definitions of nationalism,”¹⁰⁷ treated nationalism “as a single category containing sub-varieties, genus and species, a diversity within a unity,” specifically proposing 39 different types.¹⁰⁸ Other scholars have proposed less elaborate taxonomies.¹⁰⁹

 Lowell Barrington, After Independence: Making and Protecting the Nation in Postcolonial and Postcommunist States (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2006), 4, 8 – 9.  Heribert Adam, “Exclusive Nationalism versus Inclusive Patriotism: State Ideologies for Divided Societies,” Innovation vol. 3, no. 4 (1990), 56 – 87; Daniel Druckman, “Nationalism, Patriotism, and Group Loyalty: A Social Psychological Perspective,” Mershon International Studies Review, vol. 38, no. 1 (1994), 43 – 68; Maurizio Viroli, For Love of Country: On Patriotism and Nationalism (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995); Amelie Mummendey, Andreas Klink, Rupert Brown, “Nationalism and Patriotism: National Identification and Out‐Group Rejection,” British Journal of Social Psychology, vol. 40, no. 2 (2001), 159 – 72  John Breuilly, Nationalism and the State (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1993), 5.  Roy Burman, “National Movements among Tribes,” Secular Democracy, vol. 4, no. 3 – 4 (1971), 25 – 33; Victor Olorunsola, ed., The Politics of Cultural Sub-Nationalism in Africa (Garden City: Anchor, 1972).  Eric Hobsbawn Nations and Nationalism Since 1780: Programme, Myth, Reality (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012 [1990]), 46 – 47.  Anthony Smith, Theories of Nationalism (London: Duckworth, 1971), 165.  Smith, Theories of Nationalism, 193, see also “Table 5” on 229.  Ernest Gellner, Nations and Nationalism (Oxford: Blackwell, 1983), 88 – 101; Lars-Eric Cederman, Emergent Actors in World Politics: How States and Nations Develop and Dissolve (Princeton,

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Indeed, several popular taxonomies have only two categories, typically imagined as binary dichotomies, and often distinguished only through modifying adjectives. The most widespread dichotomy of this sort juxtaposes “civic nationalism” with “ethnic nationalism,”¹¹⁰ though some scholars have also devised more colorful names for similar dichotomies: one 2003 study amusingly contrasted “pseudo-imperial nationalism and hegemonic nationalism.”¹¹¹ Such binary dichotomies typically have a normative dimension, vividly illustrated by Carlos Hiraldo’s contrast between “racist nationalism” and “inclusive nationalism,”¹¹² and Margot Badran’s juxtaposition of “patriarchal nationalism” with “feminist nationalism.”¹¹³ Normative dichotomies obviously facilitate normative polemics, and Philip Spencer and Howard Wollman have usefully analyzed them as theories of “good and bad nationalism.”¹¹⁴ No binary contrast, however, can possibly capture the full diversity of nationalist thought: the number of national concepts proposed by historical actors is greater than two. Faced with contested terminology, many scholars seek refuge in initial definitions. Even if a universal definition appears unobtainable, such scholars hope their initial definitions may at least clarify their own analysis. In a 1968 volume on nationalism theory, for example, Polish-American sociologist Konstantin

NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997), 141; Andrew Orridge, “Varieties of Nationalism,” in: Leonard Tivey, ed., The Nation State: The Formation of Modern Politics (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1981), 42; Michael Hechter, Containing Nationalism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 70 – 93; Liah Greenfield, “Democracy, Ethnic Diversity, and Nationalism,” in: Kjell Goldmann, Ulf Hannerz, Charles Westin, eds, Nationalism and Internationalism in the Post-Cold War Era (London: Routledge, 2000), 31– 36.  Bernard Yack, “The Myth of Civic Nationalism,” Critical Review, vol. 10, no. 2 (Spring 1996), 193 – 211; Margareta Mary Nikolas, False Opposites in Nationalism: An Examination of the Dichotomy of Civic Nationalism and Ethnic Nationalism in Modern Europe,” (Melbourne: Monash University Center for European Studies, 1999); Rogers Brubaker, “The Manichean Myth: Rethinking the Distinction Between ‘Civic’ and ‘Ethnic’ Nationalism,” Hanspeter Kriesi et al., eds, Nation and National Identity: The European Experience in Perspective (Zurich: Ruegger, 1999) 55 – 71; Milan Subotić, “Crno-beli svet: Prilog istoriji dualnih tipologija nacionalizma,” Filozofija i drustvo, vol. 26 (2005), 9 – 64.  Didier Chaudet, Florent Parmentier, Benoît Pélopidas, When Empire Meets Nationalism: Power Politics in the US and Russia (London: Ashgate, 2003), 67.  Carlos Hiraldo, Segregated Miscegenation: On the Treatment of Racial Hybridity in the North American and Latin American Literay Traditions (London: Routledge, 2014), 15.  Margot Badran, “Dual Liberation: Feminism and Nationalism in Egypt, 1870s–1925,” Feminist Issues, vol. 8, no. 1 (1988), 15 – 24.  Philip Spencer, Howard Wollman, “Good and Bad Nationalisms: A Critique of Dualism,” Journal of Political Ideologies, vol. 3, no. 3, (1998), 255 – 74; see also Philip Spencer, Howard Wollman, Nationalism: A Critical Introduction (London: Sage, 2002), 96.

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Symmons-Symonolewicz insisted that “the fruitful study of nationalism demands a clear definition of the phenomenon,”¹¹⁵ and sought consensus between several similar definitions. Daniele Conversi’s essay on “conceptualizing nationalism” called for “a clear and unequivocal definition of key concepts in the field,” hoping to avoid the problem of “endless and imprecise definitions of nationalism.”¹¹⁶ Marsha Rozenblit took a similar approach in a case study on Habsburg Jewry: “the task here,” she wrote in her introduction, “is to provide a conceptually clear definition of ethnic group, nation, and nationality that is also grounded in the actual situation in Austria-Hungary.”¹¹⁷ I suggest, however, that initial definitions, however clear or precise, shed more light on the scholars who suggest them than on the historical phenomena scholarship ostensibly seeks to explain. There is thus no possibility of devising a neutral scholarly definition of the “nation,” because terminological disagreements reflect different agendas. Political actors do not merely disagree, they are engaging in rhetorical struggles with political rivals. Declaring a particular definition “correct” was and remains a popular tactic among political actors. Since terminological disputes reflect differing political stances, scholars have no hope of solving the terminological problems of nationalism by proclaiming or explaining any particular definition. Terminological disagreements among scholars, furthermore, reflect different scholarly agendas. Even the clearest and most unambiguous definitions inappropriately encourage us to consider certain political positions, certain types of cultural work, and certain historical phenomena, while neglecting others. All definitions, by definition, include some things and exclude others, and scholars who become too attached to one definition risk overlooking unexpected evidence that fails to conform to initial assumptions. Terminology that facilitates comprehension of one particular vision of nationalism may distort or obscure features of another. Scholars who become attached to any particular definitional criteria thus put their objectivity at risk. As concerns the word “nation,” in short, there is neither terminological consensus nor hope of consensus. Indeed, the effort expended in refining definitions has itself become an obstacle to understanding, since attempts to “clarify” terminology in practice reduce the conversation to a sterile series of competitive asser-

 Konstantin Symmons-Symonolewicz, Modern Nationalism: Towards a Consensus in Theory (New York: Polish Institute of Arts and Sciences in America, 1968), 24.  Daniele Conversi, “Conceptualizing Nationalism,” in: Daniele Conversi, ed., Ethnonationalism in the Contemporary World (London: Routledge, 2004), 2– 3.  Marsha Rozenblit, Reconstructing a National Identity: The Jews of Habsburg Austria during World War One (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 5.

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tions: “the proper definition of the nation is A”; “no, the proper definition is B.” Accusing other scholars of “misusing” contested terminology seems equally unprofitable, as there is no prospect of consensus demarcation between legitimate “use” and illegitimate “misuse.” Scholars must respect each other’s right to disagree, and also each other’s right to pursue different research agendas. While acknowledging that some scholarship on nationalism suffers from conceptual ambiguity, I doubt that terminological disagreement arises primarily from a lack of clarity. Scholars usually understand the usages they reject, even if many feign incomprehension as a strategy of delegitimization. Scholars considering nationalism must instead confront the reality of contested terminology. The term “nation” has several incompatible definitions, each with its own vested interests: partisans for one particular political cause instead of another, but also scholars pursuing one particular research agenda instead of another. Nevertheless, recognizing insolvable terminological ambiguity does not itself form a strategy of analysis. Even scholars uncomfortable with the word “nation” need some terminology. How then can one conduct a dispassionate analysis of nationalism? What, in short, is to be done? This book proposes an empirical research strategy: it treats the “nation” as a rhetorical construct, and understands “nationalism” as a sort of rhetoric in which said rhetorical device appears prominently. This book examines historical texts which prominently feature words meaning “nation” [nemzet, národ, narod, Nation, națiune, etc.]. The task is to explain what the authors of those texts meant when they used the word, to understand what they hoped to achieve by invoking it. Typically, authors invoked it to bestow legitimacy upon some group or cause, or to deny legitimacy to rival groups or causes. The book therefore analyzes definitions of the nation without taking sides. It compares and contrasts the different implicit definitions which supported different groups and different causes. It treats the nation primarily as a rhetorical device. Treating the nation as a rhetorical device resembles the approach of American sociologist Rogers Brubaker, whose influential 1996 study proposed the following research methodology: how is nationhood as a political and cultural form institutionalized within and among states? How does nation work as a practical category, as classificatory scheme, as cognitive frame? What makes the use of that category by or against states more or less resonant or effective? What makes the nation-evoking, nation-invoking efforts of political entrepreneurs more or less likely to succeed?¹¹⁸

 Rogers Brubaker, Nationalism Reframed (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 16.

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Rather than seeking to impose their own concepts, however elegant or precise, on historical actors, Brubaker advised scholars to compare and analyze the various concepts that historical actors propounded and deployed. A final terminological question remains. How can one describe Hungary’s ethnographic diversity? To bestow the coveted status of “nation” on the entirety of Hungary’s population would implicitly favor both state-based definitions of the nation and certain Magyar patriots; to use the word “nation” to describe Hungary’s various constituent communities would implicitly favor both cultural definitions of the nation and patriots from the successor states. So what terms should one use to contrast the Kingdom as a whole from its constituent communities? How can one describe Hungary’s ethnic diversity without endorsing any particular political agenda? Some modern Hungarian scholars, like their nineteenth-century predecessors, describe nineteenth-century Hungary as a “nation” with various “ethnicities” or “nationalities.” In 1990, for example, Ferenc Glatz characterized Hungary as an “ethnically mixed nation,”¹¹⁹ and in 2001 Sándor Balogh, argued that before 1914 “Hungarians were building a multi-ethnic nation … where all nationalities benefitted.”¹²⁰ Balogh, admittedly, wrote from a frankly nationalist perspective, but perhaps a 1994 volume edited by Peter Sugar and Péter Hanák can represent the current approach toward nineteenth-century Hungary in Hungarian historiography: the contributors variously refer to “multi-national Hungary” and “multi-ethnic Hungary.”¹²¹ Scholars from Hungary’s non-Magyar successor states, by contrast, posit plural “nations.” Slovak scholars, for example, show great consistency of terminology. Milan Strhan posited the “multi-national Hungarian kingdom,”¹²² Barbora Moormann-Kimáková “the multinational and multilingual Kingdom of Hun-

 Ferenc Glatz, “Political Systems and Nationalism,” in: Ferenc Glatz, ed., Études historiques hongroises, 2: Ethnicity and Society in Hungary (Budapest: Hungarian Academy of Sciences, 1990), xii.  Sándor Balogh, “Epilogue,” in: István Lázár, Transylvania: A Short History (Safety Harbor: Simon, 2001), 204; trans. by Thomas de Kornfeld, originally published as István Lázár, Erdély rövid története (Budapest: Corvina, 1997).  George Barany, “The Age of Royal Absolutism, 1790 – 1848,” and Géza Jeszenszky, “Hungary through World War I and the End of the Dual Monarchy,” both in Peter Sugar, Péter Hanák, eds, A History of Hungary (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994), 204 (multi-ethnic), 270 (multi-national).  Milan Strhan, David Daniel, eds, Slovakia and the Slovaks: A Concise Encyclopedia (Bratislava: SAV, 1994), 268.

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gary,”¹²³ and Milan Ferko, Elena Mannová, Július Bartl and Eva Frimmová the “multi-national kingdom of Hungary.”¹²⁴ In post-Communist scholarship, as with Kossuth and Stratimirović in 1848, terminological decisions have political ramifications. Working on the theory that a fair compromise leaves all parties equally dissatisfied, this book simply denies everybody the coveted status of “nation.” I refrain from using the word “nation” as an analytical category; the word occurs only when I cite or summarize the thought of historical actors. Following Valery Tishkov, I seek “to dismantle, from the academic and official language, the term nation as an ethnic category.”¹²⁵ Indeed, I go even further than Tishkov, since Tishkov invoked several “almost-but-not-quite” collectives. When Tishkov urged scholars to “forget the nation to save states, peoples and cultures,”¹²⁶ he treated “peoples” as a legitimate analytical term. Tishkov elsewhere promoted the “ethnic group” as “internationally accepted terminology within the discipline of social and cultural anthropology,”¹²⁷ and defended the word “nationalities (in the plural)” by appealing to “wide use in everyday language as well as in scholarly texts.” These authorities do not sway me. I seek to forget not only the nation, but most popular “almost-but-not-quite” terms encountered in the various national rhetoric used in the Kingdom of Hungary. In the Hungarian context, the term “nationality” in particular needs to be dismantled from academic and official language. Once again, I draw inspiration from Brubaker’s dazzling appeal to study “ethnicity without groups.” Generalizing from his previous work on the “nation,” Brubaker proposed the following approach to the study of ethnic “categories”: We can analyze the organizational and discursive careers of categories – the processes through which they become institutionalized and entrenched in administrative routines and embedded in culturally powerful and symbolically resonant myths, memories, and

 Barbora Moormann-Kimáková, Language-Related Conflicts in Multinational and Multiethnic Settings: Success and Failure of Language Regimes (Berlin: Springer, 2015), 191.  Milan Ferko, Slovak Republic: Old Nation, Young State (Bratislava: Print-Servis, 1998), 88; Elena Mannová, A Concise History of Slovakia (Bratislava: Historický ústav SAV, 2000), 307; Július Bartl, Slovak History: Chronlogy and Lexicon (Bratislava: Slovenské Pedagogické Nakladateľstvo, 2002), 275; Eva Frimmová, “Renaissance and Humanist Tendencies,” in: Mikuláš Teich, Dušan Kováč, Martin Brown, eds, Slovakia in History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 54.  Valery Tishkov, Ethnicity, Nationalism and Conflict in and after the Soviet Union (London: Sage, 1997), x.  Valery Tishkov, “Forget the ‘Nation’: Post-Nationalist Understanding of Nationalism,” Ethnic and Racial Studies, vol. 23, no. 4 (2000), 647.  Tishkov, Ethnicity, Nationalism and Conflict, x.

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narratives. We can study the politics of categories, both from above and from below … A focus on categories, in short, can illuminate the multifarious ways in which ethnicity, race, and nationhood can exist and ‘work’ without the existence of ethnic groups as substantial entities.¹²⁸

I have therefore struggled to avoid describing Croats, Germans, Romanians, Serbs, or Slovaks as “nationalities” or “ethnicities,” and praise the recent trend in Hungarian historiography to discuss neither the “national question” nor the “nationalities question,” but rather the “national-nationality question [nemzeti–nemzetiségi kérdés].”¹²⁹ Avoiding the terms “nations,” “ethnic groups” and “nationalities,” the text, when necessary, refers instead to “communities” or “minority communities” inside the Kingdom of Hungary. Much as linguists use the term “variety” to evade the choice between “language” and “dialect,” the term “community” is intended to evade the choice between “nation” and the most popular “almost-but-notquite” collectives. Unlike a “group,” furthermore, a “community” does not connote a coherent actor. Instead, it suggests a social milieu whose norms perhaps shaped or influenced individual historical actors, or in whose name individual actors may claim to speak, but which nevertheless contains competing factions and interests. Occasionally, context has compelled me to specify “ethno-national” communities. The adjective “ethno-national” is also meant to transcend the divide between “nation” and “ethnicity,” with “ethnicity” here representing all formulations of the “not-quite-nation.” Dispensing altogether with the adjectives “national” and “nationalist” has proved impossible, because I have needed to signal that some concept of the nation is being invoked. I do not, however, endorse any particular definition of the nation, nor feel that I have thereby lost precision. Historians should not propose or select definitions of the nation, they should subject them to comparative analysis. I also reject any proposed contrast, normative or otherwise, between “nationalists” and “patriots.” The text treats these two words as stylistic alternatives. Nationalists and patriots here exist in binary opposition not with each other, but with a

 Rogers Brubaker, Ethnicity Without Groups (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 2004).  Gyula Juhász, “Előszó,” A Magyarságkutató Csoport évkönyve (Budapest: Hungarian Academy of Sciences, 1987), 1; Tibor Erényi, “Nemzeti-nemzetiségi kérdés Magyarországon a dualizmus korában,” Társadalmi Szemle, vol. 7 (1987), 66 – 78; László Tevesz, “Eötvös József nemzetiségpolitikai koncepciója és a Deák párt által képviselt alkotmányos-nemzeti hagyomány, 1860 – 1868,” Aetas-Történettudományi folyóirat, vol. 28, no. 1 (2012), 123; András Gergely, “Kossuth nemzetiségi politikája 1847– 1853,” Tiszatáj, vol. 56, no. 9 (2002), 82; Mihály Lackó, Széchenyi és Kossuth vitája (Budapest: Neumann, 2003), 200, 202.

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nationally indifferent majority. Widespread national indifference characterizes the era of national awakening, and the study of nationalism concerns a small and atypical minority whose exceptional character deserves emphasis. Rather than speak of “Magyars” or “Croats,” therefore, I have tried to speak of “Magyar patriots” or “Croatian patriots.” Having explained its terminological approach and analytical strategy, the narrative can now turn its attention to the daily practices of nationalism. The following chapter provides the first case study of “national” rhetoric in action. It examines the politics of tobacco, showing how an economic dispute between tobacco producers and the Habsburg government became invested with national significance, and how nationalized tobacco itself interacted with other elements of Hungarian cultural life.

Chapter 3 Hungary’s National Tobacco Tobacco cultivation was introduced to Hungary during the Ottoman era (1541– 1699). Hungarians perhaps first observed the habit as practiced by Ottoman envoys.¹ Smoking became widespread during the seventeenth century, initially inspiring prohibition. Transylvanian prince Mihály Apafi I banned tobacco in 1662 after falling ill from excessive consumption.² The city of Debrecen fined tobacco smokers in 1665, and then again in 1676, 1681, and 1697.³ Hungarian efforts to ban tobacco, however, proved no more effective than equivalent Austrian prohibitions in 1652, 1653 and 1682,⁴ or similar efforts from Bavaria in 1652, from Saxony in 1653, the Swiss canton of Zürich in 1667, or canton Bern in 1675.⁵ The Habsburg dynasty, which governed north-western or “Royal” Hungary during the Ottoman era, and the entire Kingdom after the 1699 treaty of Karlowitz ended the Great Turkish War, legalized tobacco sales for tax revenue. Citing “financial considerations,” the dynasty sold Jewish merchant Gideon May permission to import tobacco into Tyrol in 1682, even though the law still banned tobacco cultivation in the province. The government subsequently auctioned off the right to administer the tobacco monopoly, and the price rose consistently: by 1701, the sale of the tobacco monopoly earned the dynasty 14,700 florins a year.⁶

 Anna Gruia, The Gift of Vice: Pipes and the Habit of Smoking in Early Modern Transylvania (Cluj-Napoca: Editura Mega 2013), 27; Edith Haider, “The Spread of Tobacco Smoking in Hungary,” in: Anna Ridocivs, Edith Haider, eds, The History of the Hungarian Pipemaker’s Craft (Budapest: Magyar Nemzeti Múzeum, 2000), 20 – 24.  Sándor Takáts, “A dohány elterjedése hazánkban,” in: Sándor Takáts, ed., Művelődéstörténeti tanulmányok a XVI-XVII. századból (Budapest: Nemzeti Könyvtár, 1961), 258; Gruia, The Gift of Vice, 31.  Joseph Benkó, Közep-Ajtai Dohány (Szeben, Kolosvár: Márton, 1793), 13 – 14, 21; Gruia, The Gift of Vice, 25 – 26; Gábor Tomka, “Pipe Types: Excavated pipes from the 16th to the 18th century in Hungary,” in: Anna Ridocivs, Edith Haider, eds, The History of the Hungarian Pipemaker’s Craft (Budapest: Magyar Nemzeti Múzeum, 2000), 25 – 32.  On Austrian anti-tobacco legislation, see Roman Sandgruber, Die Anfänge der Konsumgesellschaft (Munich: Oldenbourg, 1982), 211– 12.  Anna Gruia, “Regional Traits of Smoking in the Autonomous Principality of Transylvania,” Annales Universitatis Apulensis: Series Historica, vol. 16, no. 2 (2012), 292.  Ladislaus Wágner, “Tabak,” in: Wilhelm Exner, ed., Beiträge zur Geschichte der Gewerbe und Erfindungen Österreichs (Vienna: Braumüller, 1873), 212. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638448-006

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The Habsburg approach to tobacco vacillated during the eighteenth century. In 1701, the government legalized tobacco under a government monopoly which included not only tobacco itself, but also the sale of pipes. It abolished the monopoly in 1704 and replaced it with a licensing system: tobacco traders had to purchase a “tobacco surcharge,” sales of which raised around 85,240 florins a year.⁷ The dynasty re-imposed the monopoly in 1723, abolished it again in 1727, but definitively settled on a state monopoly in 1783. After 1783, the Habsburg tobacco monopoly, variously known as the Apaldo, the Appalto, the Abaldo, or the Tabakregie, became an enduring feature of the Habsburg tobacco industry.⁸ Indeed, the Apaldo outlasted the Habsburg monarchy: in 1939, during the Nazi occupation, it was reorganized as the Austria Tabakwerke; in 1949 it was renamed the Austria Tabakeinlöse- und Fermentierungsgesellschaft. The Austrian tobacco monopoly ended only with the Austrian Republic’s accession to the European Union.⁹ The monopoly originally affected only the core Austrian crown lands, including Bohemia and Moravia, but it was extended to Bukovina in 1800, to Salzburg in 1809, and to Tyrol and Dalmatia in 1830.¹⁰ The government attempted to extend the tobacco monopoly to Hungary in 1701, and then again in 1732, both times without success. Attempts to impose the Austrian monopoly in Hungary would repeatedly disturb Austro-Hungarian relations. Revenues nevertheless rose steadily: merchants paid 350,000 florins in 1727, 615,000 florins in 1736, and 2,838,000 florins in 1783.¹¹ As the market for tobacco grew, related industries flourished. In 1722, the first tobacco factory in the Habsburg Empire opened in Hainburg an der Donau, some six kilometers up the Danube from Pozsony [Bratislava, Pressburg], i. e. just across the Hungarian frontier.¹² By 1730, the factory had begun attracting attention from foreign visitors. Hungarian tobacco also began acquiring a repu-

 Wágner, “Tabak,” 212.  On the history of the tobacco monopoly, see Harald Hitz, Hugo Huber, Geschichte der österreichischen Tabakregie, 1784 – 1834 (Vienna: Austrian Academy of Sciences, 1975); Herbert Matis, Karl Bachinger, “Österreichs industrielle Entwicklung,” in: Alois Brusatti, ed., Die Habsburgermonarchie, 1848 – 1918 (Vienna: Austrian Academy of Sciences, 1973), 1:210 – 11.  Friedrich Benesch, 150 Jahre Österreichische Tabakregie 1784 – 1934 (Vienna: Wagner, 1934); Ernst Trost, Rauchen für Österreich (Vienna: Gerold, 2003).  Harald Hitz, Hugo Huber, Geschichte der österreichischen Tabakregie, 1784 – 1834 (Vienna: Austrian Academy of Sciences, 1975), 191.  Ladislaus Wágner, “Tabak,” in: Wilhelm Exner, ed., Beiträge zur Geschichte der Gewerbe und Erfindungen Österreichs (Vienna: Braumüller, 1873), 213.  Wágner, “Tabak,” 213.

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tation for quality: in 1741 Johann Georg Keyssler reported that some Hungarian varieties “were almost as good as the Turkish.”¹³ The golden age of Hungary’s tobacco industry began with the American Revolution. The conflict disrupted the supply of American tobacco to Europe, and Hungarian producers rushed to fill the gap.¹⁴ As a sign of the times, Adam Bienenfeld, director of the Apaldo monopoly, resigned from his post in order to enter the export trade; he opened offices in Fiume [Rijeka, St. Veit am Pflaum] in 1777.¹⁵ Even after the war ended and American imports resumed, the memory of great profits lingered. In his 1805 study of Hungary’s small maritime region, Count Vince Batthyány characterized tobacco as “the most significant article” traded in Fiume, and urged quality control regulation of “this product, which is so important to Hungary, and whose exports in the last North American war were significant.”¹⁶ Rising production inspired interest in brand promotion. Hungarian authors catalogued the shortcomings of Austrian tobacco and praised the quality of prestigious Hungarian products. In an 1802 survey of Hungary’s industry and commerce, Gregor Berzeviczy extolled the tobacco grown in Tolna, Pécs, Szeged, Debröd, Rakamasz, Ugocsa and Szatmár.¹⁷ In 1808, a similar work by Károly Rumy listed not only the first five sorts on Berzeviczy’s list, but also the produce from Jánosháza, Füzes-Gyarmat, Palánk, Kóspallag, Kapuvár, Hidas, Arad, Muraköz, Szirma, Debrecen, and Ratkó.¹⁸ Hungarian authors also encouraged less prestigious producers to improve the quality of their tobacco. In 1784, Johan von Szapary, an imperial customs officer in Fiume, thought planters in Bács-Bodrog should “be taught to improve the tobacco plants … these tobacco plants could be just as good as the American.”¹⁹ During the eighteenth century, Hungary was the only territory in the Habsburg Empire to grow and export tobacco in significant quantities. Austria’s numerous cigar and cigarette factories used imported tobacco. Hungarian tobacco, admittedly, formed but a small share of the global market, as a passing reference  See Johann George Keyssler, Fortsetzung Neuster Reisen durch Teutschland, Böhmen, Ungarn, die Schweiz, Italien und Lothringen (Hannover: Nicolai Forsters and Sons, 1741), 2:1008.  Benkó, Közep-Ajtai Dohány, 29; see also Szapary, Der unthätige Reichtum Ungarns, 23.  Szapary praised his efforts; Bienenfeld had “generally tried to improve the tobacco in the country.” See Johann von Szapary, Der unthätige Reichtum Ungarns, wie zu gebrauchen (Nuremberg: Johann Eberhard Zeh, 1784), 88.  Vincenz Batthyány, Über das ungrische Küstenland (Pest: Hartleben, 1805), 35 – 36.  Gregor Berzeviczy, Ungarns Industrie und Commerz (Weimar: Gedäcke, 1802), 33.  Karl Georg Rumy, Populäres Lehrbuch der Oekonomie (Vienna: Schaumberg, 1808), 2:227.  Johannvon Szapary, Der unthätige Reichtum Ungarns, wie zu gebrauchen (Nuremberg: Johann Eberhard Zeh, 1784), 23.

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to Hungary in Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations suggests: the Scottish economist incorrectly assumed that Hungary imported tobacco from America.²⁰ Yet if Hungary’s tobacco industry attracted little notice in Edinburgh, it remained significant within the Habsburg monarchy. In 1802, Hungary produced 254,973 pounds of tobacco (115,897 kg), of which over a million florins worth was exported to Austria. Tobacco accounted for around 5 % of the total Austrian-Hungarian trade.²¹ Hungarian tobacco exports, mostly to Italy, Austria, and Germany, also affected the monarchy’s balance of trade. The economic interests of Hungarian tobacco producers and exporters, however, were ill-served by the Apaldo monopoly, which taxed finished goods without considering the interests of producers. Tobacco exporters faced a wide variety of daunting regulations. Merchants wishing to export tobacco through Germany, for example, had to pay either a 100 gulden deposit or the salaries of two guards who cost 3 gulden per day and were not permitted to leave their carriage.²² Austrian products intended for local markets did not face such expenses. Producers may also have faced official corruption. A law of 1817 required that a state official accompany police searching for contraband; the official had to certify that nothing was stolen during the search.²³ Nevertheless, high export taxes aroused the greatest discontent among Hungarian producers, because they made Hungarian exports uncompetitive. The Napoleonic era brought Hungarian frustrations with the Apaldo to the fore. In 1806, Napoleon declared a boycott of all British merchant shipping, variously known as the “Continental System” or the “Continental Blockade.” The Continental System interrupted the flow of American tobacco to Europe,²⁴ and Hungarian producers, recalling the fortunes made during the American Revolution, perceived an equivalent opportunity for great profits. During the American Revolution,

 “Some part of the produce of America is consumed in Hungary and Poland, and there is some demand there for … sugar, chocolate, and tobacco,” Smith wrote, “but those commodities must be purchased with … the produce of the industry of Hungary and Poland.” Adam Smith, An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations (London: Strahan, 1799), 2:402.  The tobacco trade was 1,143,189 florins out of 24,515,078 florins. By comparison, the wine trade was 2,381,815 florins. Bright, Travels from Vienna through Lower Hungary, 250.  Nikolai Kleemann, Briefe über die Schifffahrt und Handlung in Ungarn, Slavonien und Kroatien (Prague: n.p., 1783), cited from Friedrich Nicolai, Beschreibung einer Reise durch Deutschland und die Schweiz im Jahre 1781 (Berlin: n.p., 1774), 4:420.  Gesetze und Verordnungen für die österreichischen, böhmischen und galizischen Erbländer (Vienna: Hof- und Staatdruckerei 1818), 1:87– 88.  Francis d’Ivernois, Effects of the Continental Blockade Upon the Commerce, Finances, Credit and Prosperity of the British Islands (London: Hatchard, 1810), 30; Georg Brongers, Nicotiana Tabacum: The History of Tobacco and Tobacco Smoking (Amsterdam: H. J. W. Becht, 1964), 74.

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Hungarian tobacco exports had benefitted from the low export tax of 1½ Kreuzer per centner (around 50 kg), but during the Napoleonic era the Apaldo imposed an export tax that fluctuated between 1– 2 florins per center. The florin, decimalized only in 1857, was then worth 20 kreuzer, so the effective tax during the Napoleonic era thus ranged between 13 and 27 times the tax during the American Revolution. The export tax later rose another ten times! These taxes effectively priced Hungarian tobacco out of export markets. Hungarian public opinion resented and denounced the high export tax. Gregor von Berzeviczy’s 1802 study of the Hungarian economy concluded that if Hungary were able to export its tobacco freely, it would be able to compete with American tobacco, which has become practically universal in northern Europe … even today American tobacco is expensive in the Baltic … Hungarian tobacco could be introduced there with great advantage.²⁵

In 1817, an anonymous contributor to Ungarische Miscellen similarly dreamed of exporting to northern Europe. Reasoning hopefully that Hungary’s neighbors would prefer to buy from a neighboring country than from “distant American peoples,” he asked “his imperial and royal Majesty … to graciously allow the free export of tobacco,” hoping to replace “the separation system” with “a liberal system.”²⁶ The government, however, remained unpersuaded, and took most of the Hungarian harvest for the Apaldo monopoly. In 1829, according to Johann Čsaplovics, Hungary produced “about 290 to 300,000 centner” of tobacco, of which the Apaldo used “120 – 150 centner.” Only 20 – 40,000 centner went abroad. The remainder was consumed domestically.²⁷ The imperial tobacco policy was therefore a long-standing economic grievance when the Hungarian Diet met in 1830. The year proved a watershed in Hungarian economic thought, since it witnessed the publication of Count István Széchenyi’s influential Hitel [Credit]. The book would profoundly shape Hungarian attitudes toward the kingdom’s economy.²⁸

 Gregor von Berzeviczy, Ungarns Industrie und Commerz (Weimar: Brothers Gädicke, 1802), 35.  “Über die Beförderung des ungarischen Commerzes,” Ungarische Miscellen, vol. 1 (1817), 78, 84, 81.  Johann Csaplovics, Gemälde von Ungern (Pest: Hartleben, 1829), 1:38.  Iván Zoltán Dénes, Liberty and the Search for Identity (Budapest: CEU Press, 2006), 79, 173; Gábor Vermes, “Szechenyi and Posterity: Changing Perceptions about Szechenyi in the 19th and 20th Centuries,” East European Quarterly, vol. 29, no. 2 (June 1995), 157– 67; Barany, Széchenyi, 39 – 40, 212– 13.

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Széchenyi, remembered to Hungarian history as “the greatest Hungarian [a legnagyobb magyar],”²⁹ mixed his ardent patriotism with pessimism. His tireless activity arose from his unquenchable fear that “Hungary is behind in everything.”³⁰ To help Hungary catch up, he took a strong interest in economic infrastructure. He supported Hungary’s first railroads, introduced steamboats to the Danube, dredged the riverbed to open trade to Ottoman Turkey, and, in perhaps his most celebrated initiative, organized the construction of the famous lánchíd [Chain bridge], the first permanent bridge linking Buda and Pest.³¹ His reformist vision extended through many walks of life; the great diversity of his interests and the breadth of his influence made him a central figure of Hungarian life during the 1820s and the 1830s. Indeed, historians typically date the beginning of Hungary’s “Reform Era” (1825 – 1848) to Széchenyi pledge of 60,000 gulden, a year’s income from his estates, to establish the Hungarian Academy of Sciences. Asked how he would support himself during the year, he famously replied “my friends will support me.”³² The main thrust of Széchenyi’s Hitel appears in an early chapter title: “the Hungarian landowner is poorer than he need be relative to his estate.”³³ Széchenyi wanted to harness private capital for large infrastructure projects, so Hitel, among other things, explained to the Hungarian public the concept of jointstock finance. It also called for a national bank, a demand Anders Blomkvist has characterized as “one of the first signs of economic nationalism.”³⁴ Economic development would enrich Hungarian landowners. Yet economic growth required not only financial credit, Széchenyi believed, but also “credit in a broader  Széchenyi received his sobriquet during his own lifetime from Kossuth; see George Barany, Stephen Széchenyi and the Awakening of Hungarian Nationalism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1968), 372.  István Széchenyi, Világ, Vagyis Felvilágosító Töredékek Némi Hiba ‘s Elöitélet Eligazítására (Pest: Füstkuti Landerer Nyomtató Intézetében, 1831), here and hereafter cited from the German translation, Licht, oder Aufhellende Bruchstücke zur Berichtung einiger Irrthümer und Vorurtheile (Pest: O. Wigand, 1832), i; see also Andrew Janos, The Politics of Backwardness in Hungary, 1825 – 1945 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1982), 51– 55.  Kornél Zelovich, “István Széchenyi: The Greatest Consultant Engineer of Hungary,” in: Gulya Ernyey, ed., Britain and Hungary: Contacts in Architecture and Design (Budapest: Hungarian University of Craft and Design, 1999), 13 – 30.  Antal Csengery, Ungarns Redner und Staatsmänner (Leipzig: Fr. Manz, 1852), 2:38; Victor Hornyánszky, Geschichte von Ungarn: Für die Jugend zur Selbstbelehrung (Pest: Heckenast, 1863), 223.  István Széchenyi, Hitel (Pest: Trattner-Károly, 1830), 41; Kreditwesen (Pest: Trattner-Károly, 1830), 22.  Anders Blomkvist, Economic Nationalizing in the Ethnic Borderlands of Hungary and Romania (Stockholm: Stockholm University, 2014), 61.

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sense.” Trust in one’s fellow citizens required “civic virtue,” which in turn depended on a strong sense of “nationality [nemzetiség/Nationalität].”³⁵ Széchenyi’s often unsentimental picture of Hungary dwelt on the Kindgom’s faults, and his candor offended some contemporaries. A biting rebuttal by Count Aurél Dessewffy, Analysis of the work called Credit,³⁶ is sometimes taken as the origin of Hungarian conservatism; Aurél’s younger brother Emil later founded Hungary’s conservative party. Copies of Hitel were ceremoniously burnt in the countryside.³⁷ After absorbing the shock of Széchenyi’s frankness, however, much of Hungarian public opinion swung behind his reformist vision. In 1835, for example, Transylvanian notables voted to present Széchenyi with a gold pen to honor his service as the most useful Hungarian author.³⁸ While the ambitious Széchenyi wanted to reform many aspects of Hungarian life, he devoted little attention to the tobacco industry as such. Széchenyi’s Hitel alluded to the tobacco export trade only in a brief passage explaining how archaic building regulations stifled Hungary’s commerce: The merchant does not even have a secure place for his correspondence, because according to the fortification regulations no stone buildings can be constructed around fortresses, so that in case of a siege the enemy cannot occupy them. In my judgement, this petty detail is enough to hinter any mercantile efforts, and that fact that we had a trade in tobacco and grain several years ago demonstrates that we could have a good export trade again … but a fortress, which in our times will not impede any invading army, is enough to cripple Hungary’s entire trade.³⁹

The publication of Hitel nevertheless informed Hungary’s subsequent tobacco politics. Széchenyi brought economic development to the top of the Hungarian political agenda, and specifically encouraged the kingdom’s landowners to view trade and export as a path to prosperity. As the Hungarian Diet deliberated in 1830, a report by Count Adam Reviezky and Georg Bartal petitioned the throne with a reproachful history of the Hungarian tobacco industry. “During the American war of independence,” the report began, “Hungarian tobacco was exported in great quantities to Germany and

 Széchenyi, Hitel, 156, 159, 161; Kreditwesen, 148, 152, 154.  Aurél Dessewffy, A Hitel című munka taglalatja (Košice: Károlyi, 1831).  László Kürti, “Liberty, Equality and Nationality: National Liberalism, Modernization, and Empire in Hungary in the Nineteenth Century,” in: Matthew Fitzpatrick, ed., Liberal Imperialism in Europe (London: Palgrave, 2012), 96.  John Paget, Hungary and Transylvania (London: John Murray, 1839), 1:216.  Széchenyi, Hitel, 137; Kreditwesen, 129.

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the Netherlands, and all factories in these countries use our leaves.”⁴⁰ Hungarian industry benefitted from the low export tax, and these happy times would presumably have continued, despite the peace between England, France, and America if the tax had not been raised step by step … to twelve golden coins a centner. From that time, the Germans, Dutch and even the Italians, who had heretofore been reliable customers, began purchasing American tobacco.⁴¹

Though the Continental System prevented the import of American tobacco, and though a Habsburg proclamation of 1807 had declared tobacco exports “of great use to the state,”⁴² the high export tax remained. Eventually the Italians, “encouraged by their government, began to plant tobacco in large quantities, which caused our trade an unhealable wound.”⁴³ Since then, “Jewish manipulations” and “ruinous speculations” dominated the Apaldo.⁴⁴ After unsuccessfully petitioning the government to exclude Jews from the tobacco trade altogether, Reviezky and Bartal condemned the dynasty’s “colonial system”⁴⁵ for causing “incalculable damage to national industry.”⁴⁶ Tobacco policy had long been a source of friction between Hungarian landowners and the dynasty, but such rhetoric transformed the economic frustrations of Hungarian landowners into a narrative of national oppression. Even after the Apaldo monopoly had become a national issue, however, Hungary’s various political factions proposed different solutions. To combat speculation, J.N. Török of the Hungarian Tobacco Society proposed that a Hungarian commission establish official points of sale in Pest, Debrecen, Tolna, and Szeged. These offices, open in May and June, would buy tobacco of any quality so long as it was “properly bundled.”⁴⁷ The conservative Emil Dessewffy, by contrast, wanted Hungary to join the imperial tobacco monopoly, in the hope that Hungary would acquire enough influence to negotiate a lower export

 Report submitted 24 September 1830. See Jozeph Orosz, Ungarns gesetzgebender Körper auf dem Reichstage zu Pressburg im Jahre 1830 (Leipzig: Paul Gotthelf Kummer, 1832), 2:26.  Cited by a Parliamentary deputy in 1830 meeting of the Hungarian parliament. See Jozeph Orosz, Ungarns gesetzgebender Körper auf dem Reichstage zu Pressburg im Jahre 1830 (Leipzig: Paul Gotthelf Kummer, 1832), 2:26.  Orosz, Reichstage zu Pressburg im Jahre 1830, 2:32.  Cited by a parliamentary deputy in an 1830 meeting of the Hungarian parliament. See Orosz, Reichstage zu Pressburg im Jahre 1830, 2:26.  Orosz, Reichstage zu Pressburg im Jahre 1830, 2:31.  Orosz, Reichstage zu Pressburg im Jahre 1830, 2:29  Orosz, Reichstage zu Pressburg im Jahre 1830, 2:31.  J. N. v. Török, announcement in Ofner-Pester Zeitung, no. 86 (27 October 1842), 1064– 65.

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tax.⁴⁸ Few Hungarian tobacco growers, however, wanted to join the Apaldo: most wanted instead to remove Hungarian exports from the monopoly’s jurisdiction. During the 1840s, rumors that the monopoly would be extended to Hungary’s domestic market both reflected and aggravated the political tensions between Hungary and the Habsburg government in Vienna.⁴⁹ Changing consumption habits also affected Hungarian relations with the Apaldo. At the turn of the century, Hungarians used pipes and rarely used snuff; in 1802, the ratio of tobacco smoked to snorted was around 20 to 1.⁵⁰ During the 1830s and 1840s, however, Hungarian consumers increasingly took to cigars.⁵¹ (Cigarettes, first introduced in 1865, only became important at the end of the nineteenth century.⁵²) As cigars conquered the Hungarian market, cigar manufactures rushed to meet demand. By 1843, factories operated in the port of Fiume [Rijeka, Sankt Veit am Flaum], Pest, Kassa [Košice, Kaschau], Miskolc, Arad [Arad, Arad], Újvidék [Novi Sad, Neusatz], Varasd [Varaždin, Warasdin], and Pozsony [Bratislava, Pressburg].⁵³ By the 1850s, major factories had also opened in Pécs and Sopron.⁵⁴ Apaldo factories had produced cigars since the eighteenth century, but the new Hungarian manufacturers now competed directly with its finished products. During the 1840s, the quality of Hungarian cigars became a matter of public interest. By 1843, for example, the Pesther Handlungszeitung [Pest Trade News] proudly announced that “various cigar factories in Pest and other locations” not only earned a “considerable profit,” they furthered “the industrial interests of the fatherland.” Indeed, the article hopefully suggested that Hungarian cigars were sufficiently cheap and excellent to compete directly with Cuban cigars.⁵⁵  Iván Dénes, “The Political Role of Hungary’s Nineteenth-Century Conservatives and How They Saw Themselves,” Historical Journal, vol. 26, no. 4 (December 1983), 853.  On the rumors of 1846, see Michael Horváth, Fünfundzwanzig Jahre aus der Geschichte Ungarns (1823 – 1848), trans. from Hungarian to German by Joseph Novelli (Leipzig: Brockhaus, 1867), 2:331.  Bright, Travels from Vienna to Lower Hungary, 595.  Exact figures are suspect since statistics count different things, but the overall trend nevertheless shows a dramatic increase. “The Manufacture, Trade, and Consumption of Tobacco,” Hunt’s Merchants’ Magazine (August 1858), 161.  On the rise of the cigarette, see the chapter “The Little White Slaver: Cigarettes, Health and the Hard Sell,” in: Jordan Goodmann, ed., Tobacco in History: The Cultures of Dependence (London, New York: Routledge, 1993), 90 – 127; also Wolfgang Schivelbusch, Das Paradies, der Geschmack und die Vernunft: Eine Geschichte der Genußmittel (Munich: Carl Hander, 1980), 123.  Elek Fényes, Statistik des Königreichs Ungarn (Pest: Trattner-Károlyi, 1843), 1:244.  Friedrich Kröner, Vaterländische Bilder aus Ungarn und Siebenbürgen (Leipzig: Otto Spamer, 1858), 3:67.  “Zigarrenfabrikation in Temesvar,” Pesther Handlungszeitung, no. 36 (10 June 1843), 141– 42.

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The Handelszeitung may not have fully believed its own claims, however, since in 1846 it printed a series about the production of Havana cigars.⁵⁶ Several popular calendars also described tobacco production techniques.⁵⁷ Tensions over tobacco policy climaxed during the 1848 Revolution, actually a series of entangled revolutions in France, Germany, Italy, Hungary, the West Slavic lands, Romania, and Scandinavia. The revolutionary year threatened monarchical government across the continent. The final collapse of the Bourbon dynasty saw tricolor flags waving in Paris, and democrats across Europe followed the French example. News of the French monarchy’s collapse reached Vienna on 29 February, during the heady atmosphere of the Carnival season. Student protests led to public demonstrations, which in turn caused a run on Viennese banks. On 13 March, the unexpected resignation of aging reactionary Klemens Metternich paralyzed imperial authorities and emboldened protesters.⁵⁸ News of Metternich’s downfall reached Budapest the night of 14 March. By the following morning, the youthful poet Sándor Petőfi had composed his famous “Nemzeti dal [National Song]” and the novelist Mór Jókai had prepared a list of revolutionary demands known as the “Twelve Points.” After these famous texts were read aloud in the Café Pilvax, protesters walked to the city’s medical and law faculties to honor the students who had led Vienna’s revolution. Peasants visiting the city for the St. Joseph Day market joined the throng. The growing crowd decided to defy Habsburg censorship and publish the twelve points, seized a printing press, and compelled the city council to affix its seal. The day ended with patriots proclaiming their triumph from a window in Buda castle. Before the week was out, the epileptic emperor Ferdinand agreed to reconstitute the Hungarian parliament, and on 11 April he granted it extensive powers.⁵⁹ The 1848 Revolutions, a pan-European event, had multiple causes, both economic and intellectual. Yet while 1848 cannot be seen as a primarily tobacco-re-

 Philant, “Verfertigung der Havanna-Cigarren,” Pesther Handlungszeitung, no. 1, 2 (1, 4 January 1846), 3, 6.  “Dohánytermesztési utmutatás,” Mezei Naptar, gazdasagi kalendariom (Pest: József Beimel, 1848), 22– 26.  Josef Polišenský, Aristocrats and the Crowd in the Revolutionary Year 1848 (Albany: SUNY Press, 1980), 98 – 100; see also Heinrich Reschauer, Moriz Smets, Das Jahr 1848: Geschichte der Wiener Revolution (Vienna: Waldheim, 1872); Maximillian Bach, Geschichte der Wiener Revolution im Jahre 1848 (Vienna: Ignaz Brand, 1898).  Alice Freifeld, Nationalism and the Crowd in Liberal Hungary, 1848 – 1914 (Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson Center Press, 2000), 47– 52.

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lated event, tobacco politics nevertheless played a surprisingly important role during the revolutionary year. As noted above, the Italian provinces of the Habsburg Empire had begun producing tobacco during the Napoleonic era. The Apaldo monopoly had provoked as much discontent in Italy as in Hungary. In the months before the 1848 Revolution, Milanese patriots had organized a popular boycott against imperial tobacco; they took to confronting pedestrians who dared smoke in public. The commander of Austrian forces in northern Italy, Field-Marshall Joseph Radetzky, rightly saw the boycott as an attack “against the state revenue, against an article of commerce which the state alone produces and sells!” Though urged to show discretion, Radetzky confrontationally declared that he “would not recognize or tolerate any secret tribunal which attacked and insulted peaceful smokers on the street.”⁶⁰ In February 1848, he ordered plain-clothed soldiers to smoke on the street hoping to encourage wouldbe smokers to smoke with confidence, and also to arrest anyone who attempted to enforce the patriotic boycott. Radetszky’s provocative tactics inspired caricaturist Arturo Taddio to depict the embodiment of Habsburg authority commanding a line of cigar-wielding Croatian soldiers to “fire!” One of the soldiers responds: “Just emperor, just general! You order your soldiers to light cigars, but all of Austria will go up in smoke” [Prafe Imperator! Prafe gheneral! Ti far fumate tua Militar. Tutte austria va per fume].⁶¹ Taddio’s satire proved prophetic: soldiers and patriots indeed scuffled, and the resulting protests suddenly became revolutionary in March, when the Milanese received news of the events then taking place in Paris and Vienna. During the early months of the revolution, Hungarian frustrations about the Apaldo similarly burst forth in a popular press suddenly free of censorship. One “Dixi” described the tobacco farmer’s woes for the Volks-Tribune, an undated supplement to the Pester Zeitung [Pest Times]: Many must carry their tobacco 2, 3, 4, and even more hours to the sales locale – the poor horses are exhausted, with poor feed and accommodation in bad weather, and then he must often wait until the next day before his turn comes. When the exchange finally takes place, then he must wait even longer, sometimes for weeks, until he gets his money.⁶²

 Alan Sked, The Survival of the Habsburg Empire (London, New York: Longman, 1979), 107, 115. See also Paul Ginsborg, “Peasants and Revolutionaries in Venice and the Veneto, 1848,” The Historical Journal, vol. 7, no. 3 (September 1974), 503 – 50, particularly 515.  See Arturo Taddio, “I Croati per salvare l’Impero sono condannati a guastarsi i polmoni coi paterni sigari della I.R. Fabbrica di Milano,” lithograph in the Verona Museum, inv. 15803, sch. 3C5325.  Dixi, “Ungarn und das österreichische Tabakmonopol,” Volks-Tribune, Beilage zu Nr. 664 der Pester Zeitung (1848), 3548.

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In September 1848, similar complaints drove Debrecin’s Alföldi Hirlap [Hungarian Plains Gazette] to declare Habsburg rule in Hungary as “colonial oppression without equal.”⁶³ During the heady days of the revolution’s optimistic early phase, parliamentary leaders addressed the concerns of Hungarian tobacco growers. Radical journalist and parliamentarian Lajos Kossuth quickly emerged as the central figure in Hungary’s revolution. Kossuth’s great importance to Hungarian history does not rest on his tobacco policy, but he nevertheless closed the Apaldo’s Pest office in June 1848.⁶⁴ He later withdrew Hungary from the Habsburg tobacco monopoly, much as he attempted to detach Hungary from the Habsburg Empire. By the summer of 1849, however, the armies of Kossuth’s revolutionary government had suffered decisive defeat. Kossuth fled into exile. If the 1848 Revolution inundated Central Europe suddenly, the flood receded quickly. Central European dynastic houses, including the Habsburgs, survived. The resulting period of neo-absolutism, roughly 1850 – 1860, is often called “the Bach regime,” after interior minister Alexander Bach. The Bach regime ultimately left the dynasty’s friends and enemies equally dissatisfied. A famous if possibly apocryphal story has a revolutionary Hungarian remark to a loyalist Croatian nobleman that Croats had received as reward exactly what Hungarians had received as punishment, though some versions of the story have the Croat complaining to the Hungarian.⁶⁵ In 1850, a series of new laws absorbed Hungary into a rationalized and centralized Habsburg empire. The centralization of the Bach regime extended to the tobacco industry. An imperial patent imposed the Apaldo on Hungary as of 29 November 1850, effective as of 1 March 1851.⁶⁶ For the first time, the entire Habsburg Empire had a unified tobacco law. All tobacco growers were compelled to sell their crop to the Apaldo. Hungarian tobacco factories were expropriated, though manufacturers active for more than five years could apply for compensation, and sixty actually received it.⁶⁷ Initially, the law even required farmers to

 “Fővárosi ujdonságok,” Alföldi Hirlap, no. 20 (6 September 1848), 78.  See Der Humorist, vol. 12, no. 150 (23 June 1848).  The earliest printed version I have found dates from 1865 and has the Hungarian speaking. The story is introduced as “a joke from the time when the Bach system bloomed in its full arrogance.” See Die Debatte und Wiener Lloyd, vol. 2, no. 238 (29 August 1865), 2.  Wágner, “Tabak,” 216; Ladislaus von Wágner, Handbuch der Tabak- u. Cigarrenfabrikation (Weimar: Voigt, 1871), 59.  “The Manufacture, Trade, and Consumption of Tobacco,” Hunt’s Merchants’ Magazine (August 1858), 151.

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apply for a license for the right to grow tobacco, but popular outrage forced the government to abandon its licensing scheme in 1853.⁶⁸ Habsburg authorities attempted to persuade Hungarian public opinion that the Apaldo would serve Hungarian interests. A circular of 10 February 1851 argued that if the monopoly applied only to part of the monarchy, then the government would be obliged to police the border between that part and the rest, preventing the “brotherly unification which is necessary for the imperial state to reach its proper might and prosperity.” Abolishing the monopoly throughout the monarchy would bring Tyrolese and Venetian tobacco into the market, costing Hungary “at least 1 ½ to 2 million gulden.” The circular therefore argued that “introducing the tobacco monopoly to Hungary must be to the advantage of the country.”⁶⁹ Hungarian farmers nevertheless hated the new system. Popular anecdotes from the Bach regime have depict imperial officials, sometimes speaking in foreign accents, scouring Hungary for tobacco to confiscate.⁷⁰ In one such story, a landowner gives an imperial official a ride in his coach. The official smells the tobacco on his clothes and threatens to confiscate his crop. The landowner first asks the official to look the other way, but when the official persists, the landowner tells him that the following coach contains a richer haul of forbidden tobacco. The greedy official disembarks. When the following coach contains no contraband, the official has to walk into town.⁷¹ The monopoly indeed worked against the interest of Hungarian landowners. Where tobacco producers had previously negotiated with several possible buyers, the Apaldo monopoly fixed prices, destroying the farmer’s ability to bargain. Provincial officials also abused the system for ranking tobacco by quality, at least according to a British diplomat stationed in the Empire: After harvest the Government takes the whole crop at a fixed price for each of the three qualities into which tobacco is divided. It is said that this classification into “best, middling, and common” is very arbitrarily and unjustly applied. The Government also reserve for themselves the right of rejecting such of the produce as they consider unfit for use, and I

 “Oglas / Kundmachung no. 1291,” Croatian National Archive, HR-HDA-434, Civilna Uprava Vojne Krajine, GS-11– 1853, document GS-1204.  “Tabákowý monopol / Das Tabak-Monopol,” Zákonník zemský a Wěstnik wládní pro země korunní Uherskou / Landesgesetz und Regierungsblatt für das Kronland Ungarn, vol. 2, no. 1 (Buda: University Press, 1851), 233 – 35.  See “A pórul járt fináncz” and “A másik kocsin,” in: Anon. [“Egy Bach-Huszár”], ed., A Bachkorszak adomákban (Pest: Heckenast, 1869), 22– 23, 164– 65.  “A pórul járt fináncz,” 22– 23.

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was informed that on this plea large quantities are destroyed without payment by the government when they find the yield of the year to be inconveniently abundant.⁷²

During his 1851 visit to Hungary, American social reformer Charles Loring Brace, speaking with a tobacco producer in Heves county, heard that while a centner of tobacco could command around 40 florins on the open market, the Apaldo would only pay 7 to 12 florins.⁷³ Brace’s informant exaggerated: the Apaldo in practice paid only slightly less than pre-revolutionary market prices. In 1843, for example, a centner of tobacco had sold for 8 – 15 florins.⁷⁴ Brace’s disgruntled informant nevertheless illustrates the widespread belief that Habsburg authorities used the new tobacco regime to punish rebellious Hungary. As a provincial newspaper in Nagyszeben [Sibiu, Hermannstadt] put it in 1855: “Vienna has subjugated the entire world of tobacco smokers.”⁷⁵ The Hungarian tobacco industry suffered in the first few years of the Bach regime. Production declined 22 % from 1851 to 1852 (from 271,649 centner to 213,937 centner), even as the total land under cultivation rose.⁷⁶ Nevertheless, Hungarian tobacco production recovered in the mid-1850s. From 1852 to 1853, Hungarian production more than doubled (from 213,937 centner to 481,477 centner), and increased the following two years as well. The banner harvest of 1858 witnessed a harvest of 1,479,941 centner, partly because the land devoted to tobacco production had increased 40 %.⁷⁷ That year, the Apaldo’s director, Baron Georg von Plenker, wrote that the organization had “met with great opposition at first,” but claimed that “the system is now thoroughly established, and is in a flourishing condition,” not least because “prices paid for the best quality of tobacco at the monopoly receiving warehouses have been considerably raised … to induce the planter to pay more attention to cultivation.”⁷⁸ In Brassó [Brașov, Kronstadt], the Kronstädter Zeitung [Brașov Times] reported that the public had “got over the tobacco monopoly and become used to smoking slightly more ex-

 Mr. Fane to Lord J. Russel, 3 December 1859, in: David Stevenson, ed., British Documents on Foreign Affairs: The Habsburg Monarchy, 1859 – 1905 (Arlington: University Publications of America, 1991), 35:41.  Charles Loring Brace, Hungary in 1851, with an Experience of the Austrian Police (New York: Scribner, 1853), 368.  “Handelsberichte,” Vereinigte Ofner-Pester Zeitung, no. 97 (3 December 1843), 1154.  “Alle Welt, die Tabak raucht, ist Wien unterthan worden.” See “Die österreichische Pfeifenindustrie auf der Pariser Ausstellung,” Der Siebenbürger Bote, no. 135 (10 July 1855), 540.  Ladislaus von Wágner, Handbuch der Tabak- u. Cigarrenfabrikation (Weimar: Voigt, 1871), 68.  Wágner, Handbuch der Tabak- u. Cigarrenfabrikation, 68.  Baron von Plenker, “The Manufacture, Trade, and Consumption of Tobacco,” Merchant’s Magazine and Commercial Review, vol. 39 (1858), 150, 155.

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pensive tobacco.”⁷⁹ In 1859, however, production more than halved (to 670,461 centner) as Hungarian farmers shifted land to other crops. Hungarian opinion nevertheless remained implacable: Hungarian elites so resolutely rejected the Apaldo that Habsburg officials eventually admitted that their efforts to win popular support had failed. In an 1859 report to the Emperor, Austrian diplomat Alexander Hübner listed the tobacco monopoly as one of Hungary’s four central grievances: “The average Hungarian would only be satisfied with a constitution for Hungary, lowering of taxes, the lifting of the tobacco monopoly, and the introduction of Hungarian as the language of administration.”⁸⁰ Hübner, who had been made a baron in 1854 and would become a count in 1888, apparently imagined the “average Hungarian” as a Magyar landowner. Emperor Franz Joseph abandoned neo-absolutism in 1859. Military defeat in northern Italy made the emperor nervous about his lack of popular support, so he initiated a period of constitutional experimentation. The 1860 October Diploma and the 1861 February Patent created a bicameral parliament for the empire, the Reichsrat. Censorship was relaxed, and public political discussion resumed. The restored Reichsrat met on 10 September, and turned its attention to tobacco before the month ended. Deputies expressed concern for the declining quality of Hungarian tobacco,⁸¹ and wondered anew if importing American strains might boost quality.⁸² In the aftermath of the Bach regime, Habsburg authorities ceased defending the Apaldo. Speaking to the Reichsrat on 19 September 1860, finance minister Ignaz von Planer tried to conciliate Hungarian deputies by declaring that the Apaldo had tried “to oppress the tobacco planter with low prices, bad classification, and similar means.”⁸³ Planer nevertheless professed skepticism about the ultimate potential of the Hungarian tobacco industry. He doubted, for example, that Hungarian exports before 1848 had been as important as Hungarian deputies claimed, suspecting that Hungarian tobacco “has neither the fineness nor the necessary noble qualities to compete on the European market.”⁸⁴ He never-

 Kronstädter Zeitung, no. 36 (6 March 1857), 158.  Alexander Hübner, “Letter to the Emperor,” 6 September 1859, in Eduard von Wertheimer, Graf Julius Andrássy, sein Leben und seine Zeit (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 1910), 1:115.  Verhandlung des verstärkten Reichsrathes (Vienna: Vaterland, 1860), 265 – 66, 69, 71– 72.  On the many failed attempts to introduce American tobacco seeds to Hungary, see Hitz and Huber, Geschichte der österreichischen Tabakregie, 59 – 60; also “Wiener Stadtpost,” Der Humorist, vol. 17, no. 36 (13 February 1853), 143.  Verhandlung des verstärkten Reichsrathes, fn 230.  Verhandlung des verstärkten Reichsrathes, 232.

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theless declared the government’s willingness both to “pay higher prices for domestic tobacco”⁸⁵ and to grant “the overseas trade in tobacco the most free movement possible.”⁸⁶ Hungarian producers thus acquired permission to export tobacco just in time to exploit the rise in tobacco prices caused by the American Civil War. Hungarian producers sent so much of their crop abroad that David Ansted’s 1862 guidebook for English tourists wrote that “Hungarian tobacco, once the best in Europe, is now hardly to be got.”⁸⁷ Hungarian sales to the Apaldo collapsed: only 366,386 centner in 1861, and a mere 165,890 centner in 1864. Yet when peace in America ended Hungary’s export boom, the Apaldo absorbed excess supply: 700,899 centner in 1864 and 1,123,315 centner in 1865. During the 1860s, the Apaldo also raised its prices, paying up to 22 florins pro centner for the highest quality leaves.⁸⁸ During the late 1860s, therefore, Hungarian producers became reconciled to a chastened and reformed tobacco monopoly. The profitable boom during the American civil war apparently effaced the unhappy memories of the Napoleonic era. The Apaldo, meanwhile, satisfied itself with more modest profits: an Austrian pamphlet from 1867 noted that the Austrian tobacco monopoly extracted only 35 % of the revenue extracted by the French tobacco monopoly.⁸⁹ By the time the Hungarian parliament gained wide-reaching powers over domestic affairs in the 1867 Settlement, tobacco had ceased to be a major issue in Austro-Hungarian relations, and attracted no particular attention from imperial statisticians.⁹⁰ The politics of Hungarian tobacco production may appear, at first glance, to have little to do with popular Hungarian patriotism. Tobacco farmers obviously took an interest in the tobacco market; influential aristocrats and wealthy landowners who grew tobacco made their voices heard. Hungarian landowners quarreled with imperial bureaucrats and administrators about tax regulations and the Apaldo monopoly. One does not need to be an orthodox Marxist, or indeed any kind of Marxist, to feel skeptical when landowning aristocrats, such as  Verhandlung des verstärkten Reichsrathes, 236.  Verhandlung des verstärkten Reichsrathes, 233.  Ansted incorrectly attributed the shortage to the recently abolished regulations of the Bach regime: “the tax on tobacco is so heavy and the interference in its manufacture so troublesome.” David Ansted, A Short Trip in Hungary and Transylvania in the Spring of 1862 (London: William Allen, 1862), 13 – 14.  Ladislaus von Wágner, Handbuch der Tabak- u. Cigarrenfabrikation (Weimar: Voigt, 1871), 63 – 64.  The Austrian profit per centner was 36 florins; the French profit 106 florins. See Dr. A. P. Ein Wort über das Tabakmonopol mit besonderer Rücksicht auf Ungarn (Vienna: Beck, 1867), 14– 15.  See e. g. Statistische Monatschrift, vol. 20 (Vienna: Alfred Hölder, 1894), 51– 53, 312– 16.

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counts Széchenyi and Reviczky, invoke national rhetoric to maximize their personal profits. Nevertheless, Hungarian tobacco patriotism became a bigger and more interesting phenomenon than a straightforward economic analysis might suggest. Wealthy aristocrats indeed invoked the nation to defend their narrow economic interests, and Hungarian landowners indeed had financial reasons to promote the cult of national tobacco. Yet even if efforts to promote Hungarian tobacco emerged from the fundamentally economic motives described above, national tobacco evidently took on a life of its own as a national symbol. Tobacco patriotism became a genuinely popular phenomenon.

The Culture of Hungarian Tobacco Patriotism During the years of the tobacco tax dispute, large numbers of Hungarians smoked tobacco to express their patriotism. The cultural dimensions of Hungarian tobacco patriotism prove more interesting than its economic foundation. The nationalization of smoking links popular notions of Hungarian-ness to respectability, masculinity, and other social values. Smoking played a role in Hungarian patriotic institutions that had little to do with agriculture. Consider the Pest Casino [Pesti kaszinó], also known as the National Casino [Nemzeti kaszinó], opened in 1827 by the indefatigable Széchenyi. The term “casino” may mislead modern readers: the Hungarian kaszinó had little to do with gambling. Instead, it was a social institution where Hungarian elites could exchange ideas and make plans.⁹¹ Széchenyi modeled the Casino on an English gentleman’s club, but since for Metternich the word “club” connoted Jacobin sedition, Széchenyi used an Italian word instead. The mature Széchenyi was an ardent Anglophile. As a young man, Széchenyi traveled widely. Forbidden by Habsburg authorities to visit the United States, Széchenyi, like his father Ferenc Széchényi before him, went instead to England.⁹² He was initially unimpressed, famously writing in his diary that “there

 See Árpád Tóth, “Voluntary Society in Mid-19th Century Pest: Urbanization and the Changing Distribution of Power,” in: Ralf Roth, Robert Beachy, eds, Who Ran the Cities? Elite and Urban Power Structures, 1700 – 2000 (London: Ashgate, 2007), 169 – 70.  Henry Marczali, “A Hungarian Magnate at Cambridge in 1787,” Cambridge Historical Journal, vol. 3, no. 2 (January 1930), 212– 27; John Kosa, “The Early Period of Anglo-Hungarian Contact,” American Slavic and East European Review, vol. 13, no. 3 (October, 1954), 414– 31; József Sisa, “Count Ferenc Széchényi’s visit to English Parks and Gardens in 1787,” Garden History, vol. 22, no. 1 (Summer 1994), 64– 71.

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are three things to be learned in England, all the rest is nothing: the constitution, the machines and horse-breeding.”⁹³ His first book, Lovakrul [On Horses], encouraged Hungarians to copy the English example of horse-racing.⁹⁴ Yet Széchenyi came to see English horse culture not merely as a matter of fine breeding stock, but as a social institution. He eventually aspired, in the words of Iván Dénes, “to popularize the lifestyle of the English aristocracy.”⁹⁵ To that end, he helped organize Hungary’s first public horse races on 6 June 1827, while the Hungarian Diet was in session, and just four days before the Pest Casino opened its doors. The Casino thus reflected Széchenyi’s wide-ranging ambitions to transform Hungarian social life. The Pest Casino enjoyed immediate success among its primary target market of Hungarian aristocrats. It had attracted 278 subscribers by the time it issued its first rulebook in 1829; over half could claim the title of “count” or “baron.”⁹⁶ Árpád Tóth described the Pest Casino as “an aristocrats’ club” generally “dominated by great landowners,” though he also noted “the dominance of the higher nobility decreased after the first years.”⁹⁷ Nevertheless, the Casino also facilitated contacts between magnates and entrepreneurs: as an 1844 tourist guidebook observed, “an apartment on the ground-floor serves as a sort of Exchange, or Börsenhalle;” the aristocratic National Casino shared its building with “a Casino for the tradesmen (Kaufmännischer Casino).”⁹⁸ The Pest Casino thus became a place where entrepreneurs could seek finance capital.⁹⁹ One enthusiast, writing

 Széchenyi, “Diary Entry, Dec. 13, 1815,” cited from Barany, Stephen Széchenyi and the Awakening of Hungarian Nationalism, 74.  István Széchenyi, Lovakrul (Pest: Trattner and Károlyi, 1828), 225.  Iván Zoltán Dénes, Liberty and the Search for Identity: Liberal Nationalisms and the Legacy of Empires (Budapest: CEU Press, 2006), 208  István Széchenyi, Gábor Döbrentei, Pesti Casino Könyv (Pest: Trattner and Károly, 1829), list of subscribers; see also Alexander Maxwell, Alexander Campbell, “István Széchenyi, the Casino Movement, and Hungarian Nationalism, 1827– 1848,” Nationalities Papers, vol. 42, no. 1 (2014), 5.  Árpád Tóth, “Voluntary Society in Mid-Nineteenth Century Pest: Urbanization and the Changing Distribution of Power,” in: Robert Beachy, Ralf Roth, eds, Who Ran the Cities? City Elites and Urban Power Structures in Europe and North America, 1750 – 1940 (London: Ashgate, 2007), 170, 172.  John Murray, A Handbook for Travellers in Southern Germany; Being a Guide to Würtemberg, Bavaria, Austria, Tyrol, Salzburg, Styria, etc., The Austrian and Bavarian Alps, and the Danube from Ulm to the Black Sea (London: John Murray, 1844), 433.  Vereinigte Ofner und Pesther Zeitung, no. 52 (29 June 1843), 617; “Kliegel’s Schnell Setz- und Sortier-Maschine,” Ost und West, no. 65 (Beilage, 12 August 1840), 310 – 11.

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under the pseudonym “a Magyar,” effused in 1844 that “since the establishment of this casino … almost every large collective project has started there.”¹⁰⁰ Perhaps the best proof of the Pest Casino’s impact lies in its many imitators. By 1833, there were 23 casinos in Hungary, and another five in Transylvania.¹⁰¹ Robert Nemes speaks of “an ‘associational fever’ in Hungary,” during which patriots founded “self-help, charitable, and educational societies” as well as “numerous agricultural, scientific, and economic associations.”¹⁰² While the casino movement took a great interest in economic questions, its influence extended to many other spheres. Charitable organizations used them to solicit donors,¹⁰³ and travelers visited in search of conversation.¹⁰⁴ Casinos served as venues for concerts,¹⁰⁵ and the arts generally.¹⁰⁶ Casinos thus catered to the interests of Hungary’s elites in both senses of the term: their economic interests, but their social interests as well. The culture of patriotic tobacco permeated the casinos from the very beginning. In 1826, when Széchenyi described the future institution in his diary, he imagined it as a place where “one could smoke a pipe, exchange ideas, read different papers, and if one would stay longer, one could even have supper.”¹⁰⁷ Széchenyi’s diary did not mention pipe-smoking to advertise Hungarian products; Széchenyi was instead imagining a Hungarian nobleman’s leisure habits. The pleasures of smoking became integral to the public image of the Casino. An 1893 speech commemorating Széchenyi’s achievements also praised the insti-

 Gottfried Müller, Magyaren-Spiegel oder wahre Schilderung der Völker-Verfassung und Richtung des ungarischen Reiches neuester Zeit (Leipzig: Friedrich Volckmar, 1844), 191.  Barany, Stephen Széchenyi and the Awakening of Hungarian Nationalism, 169; see also Éva Goda, “1848 – 49-es dokumentumok az egyesült Debreceni Polgári Casino-ban,” Magyar Könyvszemle, vol. 117, no. 2 (2001), 250.  Robert Nemes, “The Politics of the Dance Floor: Culture and Civil Society in NineteenthCentury Hungary,” Slavic Review, vol. 60, no. 2 (Winter, 2001), 806 – 807.  “Kleine Stadt- und Land Depeschen,” Pester Tageblatt, vol. 3, no. 58 (9 March 1841), 234; “Pesth-Ofner Notizen,” Der Ungar, vol. 2, no. 44 (23 February 1843), 192.  Edmund Spencer, Travels in Circassia, Krim Tartary, &c; Including a Steam Voyage down the Danube, from Vienna to Constantinople and round the Black Sea in 1836 (London: Henry Colburn, 1837), 1:28; R. T. Claridge, A Guide down the Danube: From Paris to Marseilles (London: F. C. Westley, 1839), 145.  Josef Krickel, Fußreise durch den größten Theil der österreichischen Staaten in den Jahren 1827, 1828, bis Ende Mai 1829 (Vienna: M. Chr. Adolph, 1830), 249.  Vereinigte Ofner und Pesther Zeitung, no. 14 (17 February 1842), 129.  Gyula Viszota, ed., Gróf Széchenyi István naplói (Budapest: Magyar Tudomanos Akadémia, 1926), 3:xlii; cited from Barany, Stephen Széchenyi and the Awakening of Hungarian Nationalism, 168.

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tution as a place where young men could find “a rich library and fine tobacco.”¹⁰⁸ Casinos across Hungary welcomed smokers. Christian Zipser wrote in 1834 that the Casino “let everybody amuse themselves in their own way; one smokes his pipe … the other sits dreaming of great gains at the gaming table, the third talks to a pretty face, or gossips with his friends.”¹⁰⁹ John Paget, an English traveler who married a Hungarian noblewoman and settled permanently in Hungary,¹¹⁰ and whose 1839 survey of Hungary and Transylvania is an essential source for this era of Hungarian history, described the casino in Nagyenyed [Aiud, Straßburg am Mieresch] as a place where students and professors “meet, and smoke, and read the journals together, without stiffness or restraint.”¹¹¹ Paget, himself a non-smoker, found the tobacco culture of Kolozsvár [Cluj, Klausenburg] oppressive: If I complained that the Casino of Pest was invaded by the pipe, what shall I say of that of Klausenburg? Its air is one dense cloud of smoke, and it is easy to detect any one who has been there by the smell of his clothes for some time after.¹¹²

Indeed, smoking dominated the activities of less famous provincial casinos. French traveler Auguste de Gerando, observing that the “fondness for Casinos is pushed to excesses in Transylvania,” described a small hamlet where “four worthy noblemen … furnished a room with a table and pipe and invented the name ‘Casino’ for it. Under the pretense of reading newspapers, they then smoke with great endurance.”¹¹³ In the decades before the 1848 Revolution, several travelers remarked on the extraordinary smoking habits of Hungarians, often to criticize. In 1822, F.H. Hamilton delicately remarked that “rooms filled with smoke may be found uncomfortable.”¹¹⁴ Visiting Irishman Michael Joseph Quin, who traveled by Danube steamboat in the 1830s, described Hungarian smoking as “the most potent, and to a

 “Die Enthüllung der Széchenyi-Gedenktafel,” Ungarische Revue, vol. 13, no. 1– 2 (1893), 104.  Christian Zipser, Über die Statution in Ungarn (Košice: Wigand, 1834), 38.  Judit Kádár, “Perspectives on Commercial and Political Relations between Britain and Hungary as seen by English Travelers in the 1850s,” Hungarian Studies vol. 5, no. 1 (1989), 9 – 20.  John Paget Hungary and Transylvania (London: John Murray, 1834), 2:388.  Paget, Hungary and Transylvania, 2:509 – 10.  Gerando, La Transylvanie et ses habitants, 1:79.  F. H. Hamilton, “Hungary: Magyars and Tziganes of To-Day,” in: J.A. Hammerton, ed., Peoples of all Nations: Their Life Today and the Story of their Past (London: Fleetway House, c. 1922), 4:2663.

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non-smoker the most offensive, I believe, that has yet been manufactured.”¹¹⁵ Though Germans had a reputation in Britain as heavy smokers,¹¹⁶ Paget found Hungarian smoking even more extreme: “such a smoking nation as this I never saw; the Germans are novices to them in the art. Reading, writing, walking, or riding, idle or at work, they are never without the pipe. Even in swimming, I have seen a man puffing away quite composedly.”¹¹⁷ Smoking permeated cafes: in 1840, Julia Pardoe characterized the social life of Selmecbánya [Banská Štiavnica, Schemnitz] as “a Café in the great square, where they read the journals at three weeks’ date, smoke their meerschaums, and play billiards.”¹¹⁸ The public also smoked during theatre performances, though this latter habit proved controversial even for Hungarian patriots.¹¹⁹ Pardoe denounced ubiquitous Hungarian smoking as “a blot upon the national character”: It is impossible to look without a feeling of regret upon a groupe [sic] of fine young men, all of them probably under twenty years of age, armed with pipes, tobacco-bags, and their appliances of flint and steel, puffing into the faces of the ladies beside them the fetid clouds of the ‘foul weed,’ with a nonchalant selfishness which should be foreign to their years; and stultifying, by their indulgence in this nauseous habit, the expression of some of the finest faces in the world.¹²⁰

Such comments suggest that Hungarian claims to tobacco exceptionalism had some basis in fact: Hungarian smoking habits actually differed so markedly from the smoking habits in other European countries as to attract the notice of travelers.

 Michael Quin, A Steam Voyage Down the Danube (Paris: Galigani, 1836), 35.  See e. g. George Henry Lewis, The Physiology of Common Life (Edinburgh: William Blackwood and Sons, 1859), 373.  Paget, Hungary and Transylvania, 2:509 – 10. The reference to German smoking reflects a commonly-held English belief that Germans were particularly heavy smokers. One physiologist wrote that “Germans sit for hours in low crowded rooms, so dense with tobacco-smoke that you cannot recognize your friends; and so vitiated is the atmosphere by the compound of breath, bad tobacco, exhalations of organic putrefiable matters, and an iron stove, that at first it seems impossible for you to breathe in it.” See George Henry Lewis, The Physiology of Common Life (Edinburgh: William Blackwood and Sons, 1859), 373.  Julia Pardoe, The City of the Magyar, or Hungary and her Institutions (London: George Virtue, 1840), 1:206 – 207.  “Berichte aus Ungarn und den Nebenländern,” Der Ungar, vol. 7, no. 28 (4 February 1848), 220.  Julia Pardoe, The City of the Magyar, or Hungary and her Institutions in 1839 – 40 (London: George Virtue, 1840), 1:25.

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Descriptions of smoking permeated Hungarian literature. An idealized wife in Johan Genersich’s play “Idyllen [Idylls]” greets her husband Pächter at the door with the words “so sit yourself down in the armchair, smoke yourself a little pipe, and tell me a story.”¹²¹ In the 1845 novel A falu jegyzője [The Village Notary], the most celebrated work of fiction by baron József Eötvös, one character is introduced as carrying a “short pipe which sticks to him like any other member of his body,”¹²² and another “smoked with such violence, that one might have liked him to a steam-engine, but for the indecency of comparing a vulgar working machine with an Hungarian gentleman.”¹²³ Still another, a robber, threatens at one point that “if any of the fellows dares to look at me, by G-d I’ll kick his pipe out of his mouth.”¹²⁴ Tobacco even made an appearance when Eötvös described buildings. Of a house containing “every Hungarian comfort,” Eötvös wrote that “the walls were most comfortably browned with smoke.”¹²⁵ Elsewhere, a wounded character convalesces in a room with “no lack of pipes, tobacco, and cigars; in short, the room was a perfect bachelor’s snuggery.”¹²⁶ Tobacco references permeated Hungarian letters during the decades before the 1848 Revolution. In his 1841 polemic A kelet Népe [The People of the East], for example, Széchenyi insulted inefficient officials as “not worth a pipe’s tobacco.”¹²⁷ Tobacco imagery also appeared in works of patriotic belles lettres. In 1827, Hungarian playwright Károly Kisfaludy, founder and editor of the noted literary journal Aurora, used smoking as a metaphor of solidarity between himself and his fellow “souled Hungarian [lelkes Magyar],” though Stephen Pálffy’s English translation obscured the adjective lelkes: De ha jő egy lelkes Magyar, Szivcserére kész velem, Szembe nem méz, hátul nem mar, Nyiltan leli kebelem; Sokat ugyan nem adhatok, Legfelebb egy dalt mondhatok:

But when a Hungarian calls, Spirited, to have a chat, No honeyed words no knife in back, Open he will find my heart; Much, in truth, I cannot give him, Just a simple verse at most:

 Johan Gemerisch, “Idyllen,” Cornelia für reifende Mädchen (über die Bestimmung des weiblichen Gechlechts) (Pest: Hartleben, 1819), 249.  József Eötvös, A falu jegyzője (Pest: Hartleben 1845), 1:19, cited from Otto Wenkstern’s English translation The Village Notary (London: Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans, 1850), 1:16.  Eötvös, A falu jegyzője, 1:25; The Village Notary, 1:21.  Eötvös, A falu jegyzője, 1:280; The Village Notary, 1:190.  Eötvös, A falu jegyzője, 2:100; The Village Notary, 2:15.  Eötvös, A falu jegyzője, 2:50; The Village Notary, 1:253 – 54.  István Széchenyi, A kelet Népe (Pest: Trattner-Károlyi, 1841), 253.

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De felcsapván jobbjával, Megkinálom pipával.

But I shake his hand with pleasure, And offer him a pipe to smoke.

Kisfaludy’s poem condemned non-smokers as effeminates unworthy of confidence or companionship: Ha egy úrfi, pézsmán hízott Felfürtözött üres kép, Szűk elméjű, de elbízott, Nagy gőgösen hozzám lép, Magát, javát fitogtatja, Drága időm’ elragadja: Fegyver leszen pipámból, Kifüstölöm szobámból.

When a dandy, reeking musky, Hair in ringlets, vacant face, Mind a blank yet brazen sanguine, Comes to see me filled with pride, Brags about himself, his fortune, Wasting thus my treasured time: Then my pipe becomes a weapon, And I smoke him from my room.¹²⁸

Kisfaludy’s poem suggests that tobacco patriotism had transcended economics. Smoking tobacco had come to signify friendship, honesty, and social solidarity; in other words, the qualities Széchenyi had used to define civic virtue and “nationality.” Tobacco’s patriotic symbolism reached its zenith in the aftermath of the 1848 revolution. Even when military conflict pushed agricultural policy down the political agenda, revolutionary soldiers smoked in great quantities.¹²⁹ Hungarian cigars acquired such patriotic symbolism that Habsburg loyalists, when they gained the upper hand, pondered establishing “a new brand of cigars” to replace the cigars of Hungarian radicalism.¹³⁰ After the imperial triumph, Hungarian patriots showed their continued opposition to the Habsburg dynasty through their smoking habits. In the early 1850s, Hungarian smokers organized a boycott of the Apaldo. Habsburg newspapers suppressed news of the boycott, but it received some attention abroad. In 1852, a Magdeburg newspaper reported that “since the introduction of the tobacco monopoly in Hungary … the smoking of tobacco surrogates has increased sharply.” Instead of tobacco leaves, Hungarians smoked “various genera of plants or trees.”¹³¹ Berlin’s satirical journal Kladderdatsch

 Károly Kisfaludy, “Pipadal,” in: Franz Toldy, ed., Handbuch der ungrischen Poesie (Pest, Vienna: G. Kilian, K. Gerold, 1828), 2:207; see also Minden Munkái (Pest: Gusztáv Heckenast, 1859), 1:67– 69. English translation from Stephen Pálffy, “In Praise of Pipe Smoking,” www document, URL , accessed 15 March 2005.  “Budapester Neuigkeitsbote,” Pester Courier, no. 9 (15 February 1849), 70.  Pester Courier, no. 56 (12 April 1849), 447.  “Oesterreich,” Magdeburgische Zeitung, no. 279 (27 November 1852), 3.

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similarly reported that Hungarians had begun smoking clover.¹³² London’s Eclectic Review even described a dramatic public protest: A great demonstration took place at Debreczin; the planters publicly burnt their tobaccoseed, and the smokers threw their pipes into the bonfire. The Government was forced to yield to the pressure, and to relax the most obnoxious features of the monopoly.¹³³

Supposedly, one such protester was prosecuted for vandalism but successfully argued in court that as his crop was his private property, he had the right to dispose of it as he wished. The court acquitted him “in disgust at such stupidity.”¹³⁴ Foreign travelers also left colorful accounts of the boycott. In the early years of neo-absolutism, Charles Loring Brace met “many gentlemen who had not only given up raising tobacco, but had also resolved to leave off the habit of smoking, when the new law came into operation.” Others, Brace found, had pledged themselves never to smoke the ‘Imperial tobacco,’ as it is called, after it has passed into the Commissioners’ hands; and it was said that even then the royal officers were obliged to label their cigars ‘Hungarian tobacco,’ i. e. tobacco not delivered into the hands of the excise officers, in order to make it saleable.¹³⁵

Brace, who elsewhere noted of Hungary that “the whole population, from the nobleman and clergyman down to the lowest Bauer on the Puszta, smoke incessantly from morning till night,”¹³⁶ frankly doubted “the ability of the Hungarians to give up their old habit, even for such patriotic motives.”¹³⁷ Brace later had the chance to see Hungarian resolve put to the test: he ran afoul of Habsburg authorities in Újvidék [Novi Sad, Neusatz] and spent a month imprisoned in the fortress of Pétervárad [Petrovaradin, Peterwardein]. One of his fellow prisoners, “a Magyar noble-man from the neighborhood,” had brought with him into imprisonment “a good stock of Hungarian segars [sic], which is a great blessing to the others, as they will not smoke the ‘Imperial Austrian,’ though they are a little cheaper.”¹³⁸

      

Kladderadatsch, vol. 4, no. 34 (24 August 1851), 135. “The Present Condition of Hungary,” Eclectic Review (October 1855), 490. Brace, Hungary in 1851, 226. Brace, Hungary in 1851, 370. Brace, Hungary in 1851, 131. Brace, Hungary in 1851, 103, 370. Brace, Hungary in 1851, 320 – 21.

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During the 1850s, Hungarian exiles also incorporated tobacco themes into propaganda intended for West European audiences. Exile propaganda was voluminous: Max Schlesinger’s 1850 history Aus Ungarn [From Hungary], which stretched 520 pages, was published later that same year in English as The War in Hungary, 1848 – 1849, and following yea in Italian as Storia della guerra d’Ungari. Furthermore, a slightly abridged one-volume American edition appeared under a different title.¹³⁹ Schlesinger’s book includes a dramatic story about the martyrdom of one colonel Auer. As imperial armies approached Budapest, Auer was ordered to destroy Széchenyi’s recently-completed Chain Bridge rather than allow its capture. The bridge was supposedly mined with gunpowder. As imperial forces overcame the Hungarian defenses, Auer, in order to die with éclat when all was lost, … flung his cigar into a powder-barrel which communicated with the mine beneath the bridge. The traces of the explosion were to be seen six months afterwards on the lower rafters of the bridge. The body of the Colonel was found burnt to a cinder.¹⁴⁰

Auer’s tobacco-based martyrdom seems all the more striking because Schlesinger apparently invented the anecdote: neither the Pester Zeitung nor the Pester Courier, for example, reported any attempt to destroy the Chain Bridge as imperial soldiers occupied the city.¹⁴¹ Nevertheless, Auer’s martyrdom epitomized the Hungarian revolution not only because it was a dramatic story involving patriotic cigars, but because of its tragic ending: the Chain Bridge survived and fell into Austrian hands, along with the country as a whole. The tobacco boycott features in another fanciful account of the Habsburg counter-revolution published in 1856. Baron Sándor Mednyánszky wrote his Rural and Historical Gleanings from Eastern Europe in London exile. He pub-

 Max Schlesinger, Aus Ungarn (Berlin: Franz Duncker, 1850); The War in Hungary, 1848 – 1849, 2 vols (London: Richard Bentley, 1850); Storia della guerra d’Ungari (Luvano: Svizzera Italiana 1851); Kossuth and the Hungarian War (Philadelphia: Peck and Theo Bliss, 1851).  Schlesinger, Aus Ungarn, 237; The War in Hungary, 1848 – 1849, 1:259. The same story in the same words also appears in Otto Wenkstern, A History of the War in Hungary in 1848 and 1849 (London: John Parker, 1859), 167.  See Pester Zeitung (13 March 1849), 5417; Pester Courier (14 March 1849), 249. In 1840, Hungarian exiles also published the purported diary of a Habsburg officer whose description of occupied Pest mentioned physical damage to the German theater, the casino, and a leading hotel, but says of the Chain Bridge merely that “it may be considered the finest and most splendid on the continent.” See “Baron Prochazka,” Revelations of Hungary; or, Leaves from the Diary of an Austrian Officer (London: Shoberl, 1850), 163.

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lished it under his wife’s name, not long before his suicide in France.¹⁴² The volume describes the fanciful adventures of the narrator, supposedly an Englishman who had “for many years … lived in Pest,” ¹⁴³ and includes various anecdotes from Hungarian history, particularly emphasizing the exploits of famous outlaws. At one point, the narrator meets Lázár, a “stalwart elderly Hungarian, dressed in a bunda,” and offers him a cigar. Lázár refuses it. As I had seen him smoking a pipe just before, I was anxious to know the cause of his refusal. “It was not from any wish to offend you that I declined, sir,” a cloud suddenly overcasting his honest features, “but since the Austrians have forbidden us the free use of our own tobacco, unless we sell it at a very low price to them and buy it back for six times that amount, we have given up both the growth and the use of it in our community.”

Lázár explained that his pipe had been filled with “vine-leaves steeped in a decoration of plums, a poor substitute indeed for tobacco, but still they give out smoke.”¹⁴⁴ While the economic grievances that fueled Hungarian tobacco politics dissipated in the 1860s, the popular association between smoking and patriotism lingered for decades. Consider the splendid parliament building erected on the Pest riverbank to celebrate Hungary’s sovereignty. The Hungarian parliament approved Imre Steindl’s neo-gothic design in 1883; construction began in 1885. The building began hosting parliamentary sessions in 1902. The debating chamber of the Hungarian Parliament, where official business was conducted, did not permit smoking, but the building paid homage to national tobacco in the hallways immediately outside: brass cigar holders were affixed to the walls, with a numbered slot for each member of parliament.¹⁴⁵ Journalists supposedly judged the excitement of parliamentary debates by counting how many cigars had been left in the hall. When American traveler Berkeley Smith visited the Hungarian parliament, he met “all the respectable heads of political Hungary … smoking and chatting before the final bell rang to announce the session.” When a session of parliament ended, Smith observed, “fresh cigars are lighted.”¹⁴⁶ Smith also re-

 On Mednyánszky’s post-revolutionary exile, see Egon Kunz, Blood and Gold: Hungarians in Australia (Melbourne: F. W. Cheshire, 1969), 66 – 70.  Sándor Mednyánszky [under the name of his wife Miss A. M. Birkbeck], Rural and Historical Gleanings from Eastern Europe (London: Darton, 1856), 68.  Mednyánszky, Rural and Historical Gleanings from Eastern Europe, 63.  László Csorba, József Sisa, Zoltán Szalay, The Hungarian Parliament (Budapest: Fine Arts Publishing House, 1993), 45.  Berkeley Smith, Budapest: The City of the Magyars (New York: James Pott, 1903), 88, 95.

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ported that “the invariable custom in Hungary was to offer cigarettes to every one you received in your office or your house, unless it be a servant.”¹⁴⁷ Smiths’ reference to cigarettes hints at a bitter controversy that roiled Hungarian tobacco circles in the final years of the monarchy. In 1897, Vilmos Daróczy, editor of the Magyar Dohányujság [Hungarian Tobacco News], wrote a 93-page history of tobacco smoking to celebrate the Hungarian millennium. In his closing remarks, Daróczy lamented the rise of cigarettes, and called on Hungarians to “take up pipe smoking, if for no other reason than patriotism.” Since pipe smoking required more tobacco, “the ancient Hungarian pipe,” when it again became fashionable, would boost sales and “increase the national wealth.”¹⁴⁸ Daróczy’s plea evidently fell on deaf ears: between 1898 and 1900 cigarette sales grew 9.1 %.¹⁴⁹ At the turn of the century, the Austrian tobacco monopoly responded to the rise of cigarettes by introducing a new brand for the Hungarian market. While most Hungarian cigarettes contained a blend of Hungarian and foreign tobacco, “Hunnia” cigarettes contained only Hungarian leaves, and were marketed as a national product. The brand caused a brief fad at the turn of the century. The owner of one small kiosk complained in a letter to the Pester Lloyd that since “we cannot give our customers the ‘Hunnia,’ they buy nothing, and go to the large shops.”¹⁵⁰ Daróczy also championed the brand in various articles for Magyar Dohányujság. The Agramer Zeitung [Zagreb Times], reporting on initial sales, hopefully wrote that the new product “appears to be rapidly making itself at home.”¹⁵¹ Nevertheless, Hunnia cigarettes ultimately failed, since they were dry and fell apart. Daróczy urged the public to view patriotic cigarettes not as “some ordinary consumer good, but a higher principle: the sacred idea of Hungarianness,”¹⁵² but, as Nemes wrote, “sales soon fell as swiftly as they had climbed.”¹⁵³ In 1900, Hungarian consumers bought only three million Hunnia cigarettes,

 Smith, Budapest: The City of the Magyars, 73.  Nemes, Another Hungary, 197; Nemes cites Vilmos Daróczy, “Dohány,” in: Sándor Matlekovits, ed., Magyarország közgazdasági és közművelődési állapota ezeréves fennállásakor és az 1896. évi ezredéves kiállitás eredménye, 6: Mezőgazdaság, Állattenyésztés, Vizépités, Erdészet: Gazdasági gépipar (Budapest: Pesti Könyvnyomda, 1897), 103 – 200, especially 196.  “Verrauchte Millionen,” Agramer Zeitung, vol. 75, no. 91 (20 April 1900), 4– 5.  Letter from Sidonie Pollak of 14 July 1818, see “Wünsche und Beschwerden,” Pester Lloyd, no. 171 (17 July 1898), page 4 of the first supplement.  “Verrauchte Millionen,” Agramer Zeitung, vol. 74, no. 227 (4 October 1899), 4.  Nemes, Another Hungary, 198; Nemes cites Vilmos Daróczy, “Mégegyszer a ‘Hunnia’ Szivarkáról,” Magyar Dohányujság (1 June 1900), 4– 5.  Nemes, Another Hungary, 198.

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barely 1 % of the market leader, and significantly less than brands with non-patriotic names like “Virginia,” “Herzegovina,” and “Stambul.”¹⁵⁴ In the final years of the monarchy, it seems, the Hungarian public showed no sustained interest in tobacco-related patriotism. Yet even if Hungarian tobacco patriotism had its limits, it had clearly transcended its initial origins as a tariff dispute to become a broader cultural phenomenon. So what does tobacco patriotism reveal about the Hungarian experience during the age of so-called “national awakening”? Alternatively, what theoretical approach might best explain the story of Hungarian tobacco patriotism? Previous generations of scholars drew great inspiration from Marx, or from Marx’s disciples and successors. Marx suggested in the preface to his 1859 Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy that “the mode of production of material life” determines “the economic structure of society,” which in turn constitutes “the real foundation, on which arises a legal and political superstructure and … definite forms of social consciousness.” Hungarian tobacco patriotism arose from questions of material production and economic structure, and would also seem to qualify as a “form of social consciousness.” Since Marx also predicted that social revolution would occur when “productive forces of society come into conflict with the existing relations of production,”¹⁵⁵ his thinking also sheds some light on tobacco’s contribution to Hungary’s 1848 Revolution. Marx admittedly based his thinking on his analysis of “the bourgeois mode of production,”¹⁵⁶ in other words, factory owners in rapidly industrializing Britain and France, rather than aristocratic landowners in predominantly agrarian Hungary. Marx’s approach to analyzing politics in terms of class interest thus needs to be adjusted for the peculiarities of Hungarian social and economic conditions, though Hungary’s peculiarities have not prevented the country from producing its share of Marxist thinkers.¹⁵⁷ Nevertheless, some iteration of Marx’s

 Pester Lloyd provided the following consumption figures for the Hungarian cigarette market: “Hölgy,” 27 million; “Drama,” 3,736,145; “Magyar,” 135,438,908; “Virginia,” 80,195,300; “Sport,” 26,971,150; “Herzegovina,” 26,462,450; “Sultan,” 36,367,450; “Jenidge,” 26,031,700; “Stambul,” 4,371,950; “Memphis,” 3,412,300; “Hunnia,” 2,736,145. See “Wieviel Millionen in Rauch aufgeben?,” Pester Lloyd, no. 287 (30 November 1900), page 2 of the first supplement.  Karl Marx, Zur Kritik der politischen Ökonomie (Berlin: Franz Duncker, 1859), 1:v; English translation by Salo Ryazanskaya, A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy (Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1970).  Marx, Zur Kritik der politischen Ökonomie, 1:vi.  László Ervin, “A Concise Introduction to Hungarian Marxism-Leninism,” Studies in East European Thought, vol. 4, no. 1 (1964), 20 – 32; Joseph Gabel, “Hungarian Marxism,” Telos, no. 25

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base-superstructure argument applies at least in part to the tobacco patriotism of Hungarian aristocrats. A Marxist (or Marxian) interpretation might assume that Hungarian tobacco patriotism, as an expression of noble class interest, would find resonance primarily among landowners. Antonio Gramsci suggested, however, that some people belonging to less privileged social classes might theoretically be duped by the hegemonic ideology of the ruling class.¹⁵⁸ Such reasoning raises questions about the class connotations of Hungary’s patriotic tobacco. As it happens, smoking in Hungary often had noble or aristocratic connotations. In 1866, a British visitor described a Hungarian style of tobacco consumption that required a personal manservant: “some enthusiasts have a lighted pipe put into their mouths before they wake in the morning, so as to rise with the delicious flavour already produced.”¹⁵⁹ Arthur Patterson reported in 1869 that In the villages proclamations are stuck up forbidding smoking in the streets for fear of the straw-thatched cottages catching fire. Yet the ‘gentlemen’ may be seen lighting their pipes there explaining to the stranger as they do so that ‘the laws are made for the peasants.’¹⁶⁰

The Hungarian cult of tobacco reflected elite lifestyles since it articulated their class interest: in this reading, smoking was “national” only insofar as the Hungarian nobility presumed to speak for, or even constitute, the nation. Nevertheless, the class interest of noble landowners does not fully explain Hungary’s culture of tobacco smoking. For Hungary’s passionate smokers, tobacco was no longer a means to wealth, but rather became a passion to which wealth was sacrificed. According to Prussian author Wilhelm Richter, who spent ten years in Hungary, “there are people in Hungary who have placed their property in pipes, some officials who have ruined themselves through their hobby, and I know collections that are worth thousands.”¹⁶¹ German traveler August Ellrich specifically attributed the extensive pipe collection to “the Count F–cs,” (presumably Festetics), estimating that it had cost “perhaps thirty

(1975), 185 – 91; Tibor Hanák, Die marxistische Philosophie und Soziologie in Ungarn (Stuttgart: Enke, 1976).  See the discussion in Walter Adamson, Hegemony and Revolution: A Study of Antonio Gramsci’s Political and Cultural Theory (Berkeley: University of California 1980), 170 – 79.  “Transylvania,” The Cornhill Magazine, vol. 14 (November 1866), 569.  Arthur Patterson, The Magyars: Their Country and Institutions (London: Smith, Elder, 1869), 1:335.  Wilhelm Richter, Wanderungen in Ungarn und unter seinen Bewohnern (Berlin: Reimer, 1844), 164.

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or forty thousand gulden.” Ellrich disapproved, but reluctantly conceded that the collection “really does contain costly treasures.”¹⁶² As Gramsci might have predicted, furthermore, Hungary’s culture of patriotic tobacco spread from aristocrats to the population at large. The popular press, for example, repeatedly offered smoking suggestions for Hungary’s poor. In 1839 the Pesther Handlungszeitung [Pest Trade Times] advised mixing tobacco leaves with beet leaves.¹⁶³ Later that year, it suggested that one could smoke “more economically” by mixing tobacco leaves with coals.¹⁶⁴ Tobacco smoking also spread to the poorest subalterns from non-Magyar communities: a German commentator wrote in 1867 that “one cannot imagine a Hungarian shepherd, a Wallach, or a Slovak without pipe and tobacco pouch.”¹⁶⁵ The relationship between elite tobacco and popular tobacco actually proves too complicated to be merely the imposition of landowner class hegemony. Hungarian elites discussing popular smoking habits described peasant smoking with pride, but also with social distance, as if describing an alien culture. Consider how count János Majláth characterized Hungarian smoking habits in the Austrian Reichsrat on 19 September 1860: nowhere else in the world is so much tobacco smoked as in Hungary, and that smoking has become an integral requirement in the life of the people. Anybody who has ever crossed over the [river] Tisza will have noticed that the impoverished inhabitant of the heath, who is often required to wander back and forth across the steppe for weeks on end, loves nothing more than his horse and his pipe.¹⁶⁶

In the same parliamentary session, Adeodat von Jakabb, a Reichsrat deputy elevated to the Hungarian nobility only in 1847,¹⁶⁷ spoke out for “the poor man who grows tobacco,” arguing that in Hungary and Transylvania home-grown tobacco had “become second nature, like one’s daily bread.”¹⁶⁸ One might dismiss such statements as self-interest masquerading as paternalism, save that foreign travelers concurred. British visitor David Ansted wrote that “incessant smoking … is  August Ellrich, Die Ungarn wie sie sind (Berlin: Vereins-Buchhandlung, 1833), 201.  Specifically mangel-wurzel leaves. See Pesther Handlungszeitung, vol. 12, no. 15 (16 March 1839), 85 – 86.  “Oekonomische Art, Tabak zu rauchen,” Pesther Handlungszeitung, vol. 12 no. 70 (11 September 1839), 307.  W. F. A. Zimmerman, Das Weltall (Leipzig: Schaefer, 1867), 268.  Speech of János Majláth, Verhandlung des verstärkten Reichsrathes (Vienna: Friedrich Manz, 1860), 1:639.  Constantin von Wurzbach, Biographisches Lexikon des Kaiserthums Oesterreich (Vienna: Imperial-Royal Court and State Press, 1863), 10:55.  Speech of Adeodat Jakabb, Verhandlung des verstärkten Reichsrathes, 1:644.

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resorted to with wonderful pertinacity by the Hungarians of all classes.”¹⁶⁹ Brace concurred: The great luxury, I might say, almost necessity, of the whole nation, is their tobacco. Every man uses it. The clergyman walks the streets with his pipe in his mouth; the Bauer [farmer] smokes at every meal and all through the long evenings; the gentleman plies the cigar, wherever he is, from morning to night, in fair weather and foul, in work or in play. It has become a national habit. There is hardly a farm in the land which does not contain its little tobacco field.¹⁷⁰

Hungarian cultures of patriotic smoking may have differed by social class, yet the habit itself evidently transcended class divisions. Indeed, the habit of smoking spread to pre-adolescent boys. Richter reported in 1844 that “the Hungarian is a passionate smoker, and it is not unusual to see small seven-year old boys running around with a pipe in their mouths.”¹⁷¹ Even Hungarian patriots expressed some unease with such young children smoking: an 1844 poem about smoking, written by Pál Székács, published in the patriotic newspaper Pesti Divatlap [Pest Fashion Journal], urged restraint: “Wait, young lad, don’t take up the pipe, you can do so when you are a man.”¹⁷² Hungary’s tobacco culture, however, remained almost exclusively masculine. Respectable Hungarian women, even from the landowning class, did not smoke. Hungary was hardly the only society in Europe with a gendered smoking culture; Vienna’s Allgemeine Moden-Zeitung [General Fashion Newspaper] complained that when a man smoked a cigar at home, his wife punished him with “a strong fit of coughing, leaping up and opening all doors and windows.”¹⁷³ The unusual ferocity of Hungarian smoking nevertheless imposed an unusual burden on Hungarian women. The non-smoking Paget sympathized with their plight: I am sorry to say smoking does not confine itself to the Casino or the bachelor’s bedroom, but makes its appearance even in the society of ladies. In some houses, pipes are regularly brought into the drawing room with coffee after dinner, and I even heard of a ball supper

 David Ansted, A Short Trip in Hungary and Transylvania in the Spring of 1862 (London: William Allen, 1862), 119.  Charles Loring Brace, Hungary in 1851, with an Experience of the Austrian Police (New York: Scribner, 1853), 367.  Wilhelm Richter, Wanderungen in Ungarn und unter seinen Bewohnern (Berlin: Reimer, 1844), 164.  “Varj, fiu, még ne pipázz, majd ráérsz férfi korodban.” Pál Székács, “A kis dohányzóhoz,” Pesti Divatlap, vol. 1, no. 11 (September 1844), 331.  “Vergeben des Mannes / Strafe durch die Frau,” Allgemeine Moden-Zeitung, no. 1 (1846), 6.

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being finished with smoking. I never knew a lady who did not dislike this custom; but they commonly excuse it by the plea that they could not keep the gentlemen with them if they did not yield to it.¹⁷⁴

Visiting the spa town of Balatonfüred, Paget witnessed female alienation firsthand: Before the ladies had finished supper the gentlemen had already begun their pipes, and the whole room was soon in a cloud of smoke. As soon as the music struck up, a scene of such riot commenced – some were dancing, some singing, others smoking and applauding – that I was heartily glad when the countess B– declared it was no longer to be borne, and left the room, followed by the whole party of ladies.¹⁷⁵

Lower-class men, furthermore, claimed tobacco privileges over elite women, since “a coachman thinks it a great hardship if he may not smoke as he is driving a carriage, although it may happen that the smoke blows directly into the face of his mistress.”¹⁷⁶ A female traveler corroborates Paget’s account: Nina Mazuchelli wrote that her coachman “Jözsef” smoked continuously, and that even when a rainstorm finally put out his pipe (“and high time too”), he continued to hold the pipe in his mouth “pretending to smoke.”¹⁷⁷ The importance of smoking in both cafés and Hungarian casinos thus hints at the masculinization of public space. Austrian historian Wolfgang Schivelbusch has rightly characterized tobacco smoking as “a symbol of patriarchal society,”¹⁷⁸ and the taboo against women smoking in practice excluded them from public life. Indeed, the popular press explicitly linked smoking to a masculinized public sphere. In 1841, a contributor to the Pesther Tageblatt [Pest Daily], calling himself “a friend of truth,” praised the coffee house “an earthly paradise,” since it was “the only public place where we can blow thick clouds of smoke before us without inconveniencing the ladies.”¹⁷⁹ The gendered nature of tobacco smoking made it a potential source of conflict between women and men. Some Hungarian gentlemen were gallant toward Hungarian ladies, and their chivalry left its trace on the tobacco culture of Hun-

 Paget, Hungary and Transylvania, 432.  Paget, Hungary and Transylvania, 1:271– 72.  Paget, Hungary and Transylvania, 432.  Nina Elizabeth Mazuchelli, Magyarland, Being the Narrative of our Travels through the Highlands and Lowlands of Hungary (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1882), 104.  Schivelbuch, Das Paradies, der Geschmack und die Vernunft, 132.  “Ein Freund der Wahrheit,” “Caffee-Haus-Angelegenheit,” Pesther Tageblatt, vol. 3, no. 48 (25 February 1841), 196.

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garian elites. Széchenyi, for example, feared that masculine smoking would alienate young women from the national cause. let us make what is Hungarian acceptable, pleasing. Let us do this with our own preferences. […] We cannot expect that our beauties would love to be in the company of a countryman, who, I daresay, would visit in greasy boots and fill up the house with pipe fumes.¹⁸⁰

Married women, however, were elsewhere urged to accede to the wishes of their smoking husbands. An 1885 story from Magyar Dohányujság, which Robert Nemes characterized as “typical” of Daróczi’s journal, tells how the young bride Laura attained marital happiness by allowing her husband Géza to smoke.¹⁸¹ Hungarian belles lettres further suggest that the gender politics of smoking had a class dimension. When a noble character in Mór Jókai’s Nincsen ördög blows cigarette smoke out the window in consideration of his aunt, the novel’s noble hero thinks to himself that “it would have been more considerate still if he had not smoked at all.”¹⁸² Yet the hero of Jókai’s Az arany ember at one point lights a pipe “just as the countryman does when he is courting a peasant girl.”¹⁸³ Were noblewomen more strictly excluded from national smoking? The romantic poet Sándor Petőfi, who owes his fame not only to his verses but to his heroic battlefield death during the 1848 Revolution, provides a final illustration of tobacco’s masculinity in Hungarian cultural imagination. Petőfi’s 1843 poem “Befordúltam a konyhára [I turned into the kitchen],” enjoyed widespread popularity, particularly after Béni Egressy set it to music.¹⁸⁴ The male narrator enters the kitchen to light his pipe, but a beautiful woman distracts him:

 István Széchenyi, Hitel (Pest: Trattner, 1830), 67– 68; Kreditwesen (Pest: Trattner, 1830), 51. English translation based partly on Martha Lampland, “Family Portraits: Gendered Images of the Nation in Nineteenth-Century Hungary,” East European Politics and Societies, vol. 8, no. 2 (1994), 293.  Nemes, Another Hungary, 184; Nemes cites “Dohányzás és női szeszély,” Magyar Dohányujság (18 September 1885), 2– 3.  Mór Jókai, Nincsen ördög (Budapest: Légrády Testvérek, 1891), 2:109, see also 1:56; cited from F. Steinitz’s translation as Dr. Dumany’s Wife (New York: Doubleday, 1891), 84, see also 41.  Mór Jókai, Az arany ember (Pest: Athenaeum, 1872); cited from H. Kennard’s English translation, The Man with the Golden Touch (Budapest: Corvina, 1963), 214.  John Neubauer, “Petőfi: Self-Fashioning, Consecration, Dismantling,” in: Marcel CornisPope, John Neubauer, eds, History of the Literary Cultures of East-Central Europe (Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 2004), 44.

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Én beléptem, ő rám nézett, Aligha meg nem igézett! Egő pipám kialudott, Alvó szívem meggyúladott.

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I stepped inside, I was nearly bewitched! My pipe went out, And my sleeping heart caught fire.¹⁸⁵

Readers may decide for themselves whether the tobacco flames allegorically sparked the flames of love, or if the latter extinguished the former. However well a “base-superstructure” argument captures the economic dimensions of Hungary’s tobacco patriotism, understanding the pan-estate, panethnic, inter-generational, and gendered quality of Hungarian tobacco culture forces us to examine non-economic causes. Tobacco became a cultural symbol of Hungarian patriotism, and while elites can and do manipulate cultural symbols for their own ends, culture is not simply imposed from the top down by the ruling class. Instead, it emerges from a complex interplay between actors occupying many different positions along social, ethno-national, and gendered hierarchies. Hungarian tobacco culture does not support Marxist assumptions about the universal primacy of class. Economic interest may play a role, but other variables, particularly ethnicity and gender, will feature prominently in the following chapters. In the next chapter, the analysis turns from nicotine to alcohol, since wine, beer, and spirits also became a site of patriotic agitation during the early nineteenth century. The story of patriotic alcohol shares several features with patriotic tobacco, since Count Széchenyi, the Casino, and the economic interests of aristocratic landowners continue to play an important role. The differences, however, prove equally enlightening. Perhaps a second case study of everyday nationalism will suggest new and better ways to understand national awakening.

 Sándor Petőfi, “Befordúltam a konyhára,” Petőfi Sándor összes költeményei (Pest: Emich Gusztáv, 1848), 1:207; See also Károly Maria Kurtbény’s German translation, “Hinein trat still ich in die Küche…,” Gedichte von Alexander Petőfy (Frankfurt a. M.: Rütten, 1849), 17.

Chapter 4 Hungary’s National Wine Wine, like tobacco, initially acquired national significance in Hungary because wine, like tobacco, featured prominently in the kingdom’s economic life. Reliable figures about the size of Hungary’s wine sector, however, remain elusive. In an 1843 volume, Elek Fényes emphasized the inaccuracy of nineteenth century statistics by citing a series of estimates ranging from 1,298,045 to 1,500,000 Hungarian hold (56,023,622 to 64,740,000 hectares), but concluded that Hungary produced “an incredible quantity of wine,” drunk “mostly in the country itself.”¹ Indeed, wine enjoyed such popularity that oft-reprinted folk proverb held that “it is no drink unless it is wine.”² Perhaps wine became a national symbol in Hungary simply because Hungarians drank so much of it. Under this interpretation, Hungarian wine patriotism forms a straightforward example of the banal collective self-glorification known in German as “hurrah patriotism.” Our country is best, our way of doing things is best, therefore our preferred beverage is the best beverage. Hungarian men of letters repeatedly expressed a smug self-satisfaction about the country’s wine. Even critics and reformers ritualistically genuflected before the icon of national wine. Even in a fairly critical tract suggesting ways Hungarian vintners might improve their vintages, Franz Schams flattered the wine patriotism of his readers: “no people in the world produce such spirited and famous wines as the Hungarians.”³ In Hungary, the quality of Hungarian wine was literally proverbial. András Dugonics’ 1820 collection of folk sayings includes the proverb: “Even if Hungarian wines were not as wonderful as they are, they would still be better than all other wines.”⁴ The same proverb appears in Mór Ballagi’s 1855 anthology,⁵ and, with slightly different words, in János Erdély’s 1851 anthology.⁶

 Elek Fényes, Magyarország statistikája (Pest: Trattner-Károly, 1842), 1:144; available in German as Statistik des Königreichs Ungarn (Pest: Trattner-Károly, 1843), 1:165.  “Nem is ital, ha nem bor.” András Dugonics, Magyar példa beszédek és jeles mondások (Szeged: Grün Orbán, 1820), 1:191; Mór Ballagi, Magyar példabeszédek közmondások és szójárások gyüjteménye (Pest: Gusztav Heckenast, 1855), 55.  Franz Schams, Betrachtungen über Ungarns Weinbau (Pest: Hartleben, 1830), 8.  “Ha a magyar bor olyan nem volna, a micsodás, minden bornál még is jobb volna.” András Dugonics, Magyar példa beszédek és jeles mondások (Szeged: Grün Orbán, 1820), 1:28.  Mór Ballagi, Magyar példabeszédek közmondások és szójárások gyüjteménye (Pest: Gusztav Heckenast, 1855), 55. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638448-007

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Hungarian poets also used their gifts to extoll the national wine. Petőfi, composed several poems about the pleasures of wine. One praised a wineglass,⁷ another compared wine to a wedding kiss.⁸ In his ode to a wise old man, each stanza ends with the sage asking that his wine glass be filled.⁹ Petőfi also advised that drinking wine can cure heartache, poverty, and suffering.¹⁰ While most of Petőfi’s wine poetry lacks any explicit national content, the narrator in one of Petőfi’s Népdalok [Folk Songs] imagines God turning the waters of the Tisza into wine while yearning to “drink all the wine in the country.”¹¹ The final stanza of Mihály Vörösmarty’s 1845 ode to “Good Wine” even more explicitly linked wine to the Hungarian homeland: De mit beszélek? jó bor ez, Magyar kezekből csörgedez. Kerüljön egyszer már a sor: Magyar hon! és a tiszta bor!

But what am I saying? That wine is good Which Hungarian hands make flow. The line has already been written: Hungarian homeland! And clear wine!¹²

Poet and dramatist Vörösmarty, incidentally, rivaled Petőfi in both patriotism and literary reputation. Vörösmarty represented Jánoshalma in the Hungarian parliament during the 1848 Revolution, and his 1836 poem “Szózat [Appeal]” serves as a second national anthem.

 “Proverb 1063,” János Erdélyi, Magyar közmondások könyve (Pest: Kozma Vazul, 1851), 49.  Sándor Petőfi, “Poharamhoz,” Versek (Pest: József Betül, 1845), 147; see also Károly Maria Kertbény’s German translation, “An meinen Glas,” Gedichte von Alexander Petőfy (Frankfurt a. M.: Rütten, 1849), 100.  Sándor Petőfi, “Augusztus 5-kén,” Petőfi Sándor újabb költeményei (Pest: Emich Gusztáv, 1861), 2:277; see also Károly Maria Kertbény’s German translation, “Am fünften August,” Gedichte von Alexander Petőfy, (Frankfurt a. M.: Rütten, 1849), 279; John Bowring’s English translation “Marriage-Day,” Translations from Alexander Petöfi, the Magyar Poet (London: Trübner, 1866), 176.  Sándor Petőfi, “Mit szól a bölcs?,” Petőfi Sándor összes költeményei (Pest: Emich Gusztáv, 1848), 1:378; see also Károly Maria Kertbény’s German translation, “Was spricht der Weise?,” Gedichte von Alexander Petőfy, (Frankfurt a. M.: Rütten, 1849), 91.  Sándor Petőfi, “Igyunk!,” Versek (Pest: József Betül, 1845), 46; see also Károly Maria Kertbény’s German translation, “Trinken Wir!,” Gedichte von Alexander Petőfy (Frankfurt a. M.: Rütten, 1849), 77; John Bowring’s English translation “Drink,” Translations from Alexander Petöfi, the Magyar Poet (London: Trübner, 1866), 122.  Sándor Petőfi, “De már nem tudom, mit csináljak,” Versek (Pest: József Betül, 1845), 166; see also Károly Maria Kertbény’s German translation, “Wunsch,” Gedichte von Alexander Petőfy (Frankfurt a. M.: Rütten, 1849), 90.  Mihály Vörösmarty, “Jó Bor,” Honderű, vol. 13, no. 14 (7 October 1845), 261– 62; also available in Vörösmarty Minden Munkái (Pest: Kilián György, 1847), 9:229 – 32.

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Hungarians themselves adopted a sardonic adage to discuss the sometimes exaggerated nature of popular patriotism. As with much public life in eighteenth-century Hungary generally,¹³ the adage is in Latin: “Extra Hungariam non est vita, si est vita, non est ita [Beyond Hungary there is no life, and if there is life, it is not the same].” After an 1818 visit, one French visitor to Hungary described it as an “old national adage;”¹⁴ an 1828 collection of Hungarian short stories declared it the “national dogma.”¹⁵ The adage certainly characterized the attitude Hungarian patriots took toward national wine: Extra Hungariam non est vinum. Hungarian alcohol patriotism particularly glorified Tokaji, sometimes spelled Tokay; that is, wine bottled in the Tokaj region of Zemplén county on the upper Tisza. A sample comment from Pál Farkas, printed in the patriotic journal Honderű in 1846, must stand for many others: “Tokaj is well-known throughout the world for good wine.”¹⁶ Indeed, Hungarians have felt such pride in Tokaji that they have devised another Latin adage to praise it: Tokaji labels proclaim the product “Vinum Regum, Rex Vinorum [The Wine of Kings and the King of Wines].¹⁷ Two twentieth-century tourist guides introducing Tokaji to foreigners, published decades apart, used the aphorism as a book title.¹⁸ The history of Tokaji’s Latin adage proves revealing, since it apparently emerged after the decline of Latin within the Kingdom of Hungary. The boast “king of wines,” evidently older than the boast “wine of kings,” appeared in several nineteenth-century sources published not only in Pest, but also in London, Paris, Regensburg, Stuttgart, Milan, and Madrid.¹⁹ The aphorism’s second half,  Gábor Almási and Lav Šubarić, eds, Latin at the Crossroads of Identity: The Evolution of Linguistic Nationalism in the Kingdom of Hungary (Leiden: Brill, 2015); István Tóth, “Latin as a Spoken Language in Hungary During the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries,” CEU History Department Yearbook, 1997 – 1998 (Budapest: CEU Press, 1999), 93 – 111.  François Beudant, Travels in Hungary, in 1818 (London: Richard Phillips, 1823), 29; the French original speaks merely of an “ancien adage,” see Voyage minéralogique et géologique en Hongrie, pendant l’année 1818 (Paris: Verdière, 1822), 2:138.  Catherine Frances, Hungarian Tales (London: Saunders and Otley, 1829), 3:159.  Pál Farkas, “Tokaj és vidéke,” Honderű, vol. 4, part 2, no. 3 (21 July 1846), 55.  See e. g. “Liquid Gold,” New York Magazine (15 May 1972), 56.  Alexander Hegedüs, Wein der Könige, König der Weine: Tokajer Nektar, flüssiges Gold (Budapest: Dezső 1908); István Lázár, King of Wines, Wine of Kings: The Little Book of Tokaji Wines (Budapest: Corvina, 1987).  See e. g. Gábor Kátai, ed., A Királyi Magyar Természettudományi Társulat Közlönye, vol. 8 (Pest: Trattner-Károly, 1866), 193; Cyrus Redding, A History and Description of Modern Wines (London: Henry Bohn, 1851), 284; “Vignoble de Tokay,” Bulletin des sciences agricoles et économiques, vol. 11 (1829), 126; “Tutti Frutti,” Regensburger Zeitung: Unterhaltungsblatt (Beilage), no. 33 (16 June 1842), 3; Heinrich Berghaus, Allgemeine Länder und Völkerkunde (Stuttgart: Hoff-

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however, apparently emerged only in the twentieth century. Twentieth-century guides to Hungarian wine attribute the full aphorism to French king Louis XIV, who supposedly exclaimed it upon sampling a case of Tokaji sent from Transylvanian prince Ferenc Rákóczi.²⁰ The story, however, appears apocryphal. Talleyrand’s memoirs record Louis XIV receiving Tokaji as a present, but from the king of Poland rather than Rákóczi.²¹ Antal Szirmay’s 1798 pamphlet about the Tokaj region, furthermore, told a similar story with a completely different dramatis personae. At the council of Trent, supposedly, the archbishop of Kalocsa praised Hungarian wines so extravagantly that the skeptical pope and cardinals demanded a sample. Upon tasting, they promptly conceded Tokaji’s superiority to Italian wines, though without uttering the aphorism.²² Szirmay’s pamphlet attracted attention in France and England,²³ but the anecdote must be presumed apocryphal in the absence of firmer documentation. The significance of such stories lies in the prominent role accorded to non-Hungarians: astonished foreigners most persuasively certify Tokaji’s magnificence. Elite Hungarian wines did, in fact, enjoy a good reputation outside Hungary. Poland, a prominent market for Tokaji, developed yet another Latin adage to express admiration: Nullum vinum nisi Hungaricum [No wine, if not Hungarian].²⁴ German commercial guides, furthermore, suggest that Hungarian wine enjoyed a significant reputation far beyond the Habsburg frontier. A 1791 handbook printed near the trading center of Frankfurt am Main devoted five pages to Hungarian

man, 1839), 5:947; Annali universali di statistica, economia pubblica, storia, viaggi e commercio (Milan: Annali Univerali delle Scienze e dell’Industria, 1831), 47; Quintin Chiarlone, Tratado sobre el cultivo de la vid y la elaboración de los vinos (Madrid: Ducalcal, 1862), 142.  See e. g. “Vins: Tokay de Hongrie,” Le Figaro (2001), 358; Stephen Brook, Liquid Gold: Dessert Wines of the World (New York: Beech Tree Books, 1987), 286; Hugh Johnson, World Atlas of Wine (New York: Simon and Shuster, 1994), 221. The story also appears in numerous tourist guidebooks.  Édouard Colmache, Reminiscences of Prince Tallyrand (London: Henry Colburn, 1848), 2:34.  Anton Szirmay de Szirma, Notitia historica, poetica, œconomica monitum viniferorum comitatus Zemplin (Košice: Joannis Ellinger, 1798), 15 – 16.  See “Sur les Vignobles de Tokay,” L’Esprit des journaux, françois et étrangers, vol. 12, no. 4 (year 13 [August 1805]), 217; “Sur les vignobles de Tokay,” M. J. Nachet, Mélanges scientifiques et littéraires, vol. 1 (Paris: Aimé-André, 1828), 21; “An Account of the Vineyards of Tokay,” Monthly Magazine, vol. 27, part 2 (1808), 658.  Agaton Giller, Polska na Wystawie Powszechnej (Lwów: Agaton Giller, 1873), 1:124; see also C. W. Hufeland, Journal der practischen Arzeneykunde und Wundarzeneykunst (Berlin: L. W. Wittich, 1806), 24:139; Wilhelm von Waldeyer-Hartz, Lebenserinnerungen (Bonn: Friedrich Cohen, 1920), 255.

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wines, more than Spanish and Italian wines combined.²⁵ The handbook informed potential buyers that the name Tokaji could denote either the place of origin, or a mark of quality: there are over 200 types of Hungarian wine for thorough connoisseurs to distinguish. As concerns the locations, in lower Germany one knows only the name: Tokay wine. Most thus sell as Tokaji any wine of comparable quality. Every Hungarian wine that is sweet and has fire must at some place count as Tokay. … There are in Hungary itself no less than eight regions and places, whose products are called Tokay … their expensive wines are known as Tokay essence.²⁶

While the guide described “the true Tokay” as “the king of all wines,” it judged the wine produced in Vas county, quite far from Zemplén, as “a sweet and very strong wine, which yields little to Tokay.”²⁷ Tokaji’s international reputation inspired Hungarian economic reformers to view wine as a possible export product. Johann von Szapary, describing the trade in Fiume, urged tariff reform, noting that in the past “wines from the Tokaj Mountains were exported abroad to Poland; those of Sopron to Silesia, in exchange for cloth and other necessities.”²⁸ Why could the trade not resume? The Habsburg government gave preferential credit to Austrian wine producers, and, according to a Russian study from 1782, imposed such a high tariff on wine imported from Hungary to the Austrian crown lands that “the export of wine to Austria is in effect completely forbidden.”²⁹ Prussian observer Friedrich Nikolai speculated that the Habsburg government feared that Hungarian wine, “whose quality is generally recognized,” would push inferior Austrian wines from the market, since Austrian wines were “of only mediocre quality.”³⁰ Hungarian patriots in turn resented what they saw as the dynasty’s preferential treatment of Austrian wine. Dissatisfaction with the court’s support for Austrian wine, combined with pride in Hungarian Tokaji, made Hungarian wine an attractive symbol of nation Johann Christian Schedel, Neues und vollständiges Waaren-Lexikon (Offenbach: Ulrich Weiß, Carl Ludwig Brede, 1791), on Hungarian, Italian and Spanish wines, see respectively 2:774– 79; 1:503 – 504, 2:602– 604.  Schedel, Neues und vollständiges Waaren-Lexikon, 2:774.  Schedel, Neues und vollständiges Waaren-Lexikon, 2:774, 776.  Johann von Szapary, Der unthätige Reichtum Ungarns, wie zu Gebrauchen (Nuremberg: Johann Eberhard Zeh, 1784), 12.  Benedikt Franz Hermann, Abriß der physikalischen Beschaffenheit der Oesterreichischen Staaten (St. Petersburg: Zacharias Logan, 1782), 274.  Friedrich Niklai, Beschreibung einer Reise durch Deutschland und die Schweiz im Jahre 1781 (Berlin: 1774), 4:420 – 21.

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al defiance. In 1838, radical Austrian journalist Karl Postl, writing under his American pseudonym Charles Sealsfield, claimed to have witnessed a dramatic incident in a Viennese hotel. During celebrations commemorating the Habsburg dynasty, Postl wrote, “Three Hungarian noblemen stalked in, attired in their national costume,” and took a table. They took off their sabres and halpachs, and demanded three bottles of Rhenish, and six of Austrian wine. The humble vintner was rather startled at their demand; but obeyed with Austrian obsequiousness. ‘A basin!’ said an elderly, stern-looking cavalier. It was brought. ‘Pour the six bottles of Austrian wine into the basin!’ proceeded the same gentleman. It was done. ‘Put the three bottles of Hungarian wine into the water!’ ‘But, your grace!’ replied the trembling vintner, ‘it is not water; it is the best Bisamberger wine, from the growth of 1811!’ ‘Put it in,’ said he, ‘and get you gone!’³¹

The symbolic humiliation of the Austrian wine provoked fascination among nervous by-standers. The noblemen, demonstratively ignoring their audience, then ritualistically performed their support for the Hungarian constitution, and thus their opposition to Habsburg absolutism: A few minutes afterwards three more joined them; and now they brought out the healths. ‘Maria Theresa!’ was roared out; ‘Vivat, vivat!’ replied the five others. ‘To our King! – Constitutional!’ added the next. ‘Constitutional!’ echoed the other five. The whole was transacted in so serious a manner, and with such a dignity, or rather severity, as it is impossible to describe.³²

The noblemen then paid, and left. The Austrian wine, Postl concluded, “remained in the basin.”³³ Széchenyi did his part to promote Hungarian wine through such symbolic politics. The 1829 rules of the Pest Casino specified that the wine cellar should stock “44 kinds of Hungarian wine, and 12 kinds of foreign wine.”³⁴ The regulations sought to bring “ancient glory and commercial success to Hungarian wines, may they enliven commerce both within the homeland, and also its foreign trade.”³⁵ Széchenyi also mentioned wine in various drafts of his last will and testament. The draft of 1833 pledged the enormous sum of 20,000 florins to the Pest

 Karl Anton Postl [writing as Charles Sealsfield], Austria as It Is; or, Sketches of Continental Courts (London: Hurst, Chance, 1828), 185 – 86.  Postl [as Sealsfield], Austria as It Is, 186.  Postl [as Sealsfield], Austria as It Is, 187.  Széchenyi, Döbrentei, Pesti Casino-Könyv (1829), 62. The 1832 regulations lacked any specific wine requirements, see Casino-Könyv (1832), 74.  István Széchenyi, Gábor Döbrentei, Pesti Casino-Könyv (Pest: Trattner and Károly, 1829), 63.

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Casino, with an additional 5,000 florins for a solid gold cup engraved with the words: “He who lives on in the memory of his countrymen shall not perish.” Széchenyi instructed future directors to drink in his memory an annual toast of the Casino’s finest wine. A subsequent will from 1841, furthermore, specified that the directors drink not the finest wine, but the finest Hungarian wine. Most remarkably, Széchenyi’s 1838 will specified that his heart be cut from his body after his death, “bathed in distilled spirits of wine,” and displayed at the national museum.³⁶ Hungarian wine politics never reached the same pitch of anti-dynastic feeling as did Hungarian tobacco politics, however, perhaps because the main obstacle to increasing wine exports was not tariff policy but transport costs. In 1782, Franz Benedikt Hermann explained the problem as follows: Since Hungary has no navigable rivers that flow into the Adriatic, and since maritime traffic on the Black sea cannot be conducted freely, the costs of transporting Hungarian wine to Trieste and Fiume are very high … Thus even if Hungarian wine is just as cheap as French wine at the point of production, the transport makes it much more expensive in Trieste than French wine in Bordeaux. And since England, Holland and Hamburg already receive more freight from Bordeaux than Trieste, Hungarian wine becomes even more expensive.³⁷

Various experts thought that better transport would enable Hungarian wine to reach new markets. Austrian author Friedrich Schönholz, for example, predicted that coastal Hungary’s unusually strong wines would find new export markets “once the Hungarian railroad brings the Scandinavian countries closer.”³⁸ The eventual construction of railroads and the end of internal tariffs indeed opened new markets for Hungarian wine. In 1851, for example, “expanding railroad connections” made Bohemian wine producers fear that “Hungarian wine would soon be as cheap as Bohemian wine.”³⁹ The correspondence of U.S. President Thomas Jefferson suggests that improved transport might indeed have brought Hungarian wine to new markets. In January 1803, Jefferson received a case of Hungarian wines from the Danish ambassador and liked it so much he tried to buy more. He eventually bought

 András Gergely, “Life and Afterlife,” The Hungarian Quarterly, vol. 200 (2010), 15 – 19. Heartfelt thanks to Alexander Campbell for this reference.  Benedikt Franz Hermann, Abriß der physikalischen Beschaffenheit der Oesterreichischen Staaten (St. Petersburg: Zacharias Logan, 1782), 273 – 74.  Friedrich von Schönholz, Zehn Jahre in Ungarn (Leizpig: Hartknoch, 1843), 2:171.  “An die Freunde des Böhmischen Weinbaues,” Wochenblatt der Land- Forst- und Hauswirthschaft, vol. 5, no. 10 (1851), 74.

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288 bottles, paying what Csaba Lévai calculated was “the highest price, per bottle, he ever paid for wine.” Jefferson was pleased with the wines, declaring them “very much esteemed by all who drink it and preferred to all others.” Nevertheless, his shipment did not arrive in Washington D.C. until 28 November 1804. The wines departed for North America from Hamburg, after accruing a wide variety of export duties along the way.⁴⁰ The problem of high transport costs offered Hungarian patriots a chance to show their initiative. Reform-minded nobles placed little confidence in the Habsburg monarchy’s desire or ability to improve Hungarian ports, to build a Hungarian railway infrastructure, or to develop the Hungarian economy at all: as Széchenyi noted in Hitel, “some ascribe our entire backwardness to the government.”⁴¹ Optimistic reformers nevertheless believed the Hungarian aristocracy could collectively tackle infrastructure problems on its own. During the early nineteenth century, the Hungarian press circulated several schemes for improving transport infrastructure. For example, the possibility of a rail link connecting the Adriatic port of Fiume to Zimony [Zemun, Semlin], a port on the Danube near Belgrade, attracted repeated attention.⁴² Such plans reached a crescendo in the 1840s. The many proposals for developing Hungary’s infrastructure often promised to facilitate wine exports. In 1790, for example, Tódor Batthyány urged improved facilities at the port in Fiume for the sake of “our wine trade, and that of Austria.”⁴³ An 1843 pamphlet, by contrast, looked north. “It will be some time before we can compete with French wines in North America and the East Indies,” it suggested, but since Hungarian wines already had a market in Moravia, Bohemia and Germany “connecting the Danube or Pozsony with the northern railroad is of limitless importance.”⁴⁴ Another anonymous pamphlet from 1847, advocating a 133 kilometer road from Károlyváros [Karlovac, Karlstadt] to Fiume, argued among other things that with a better road over the mountains “new products,

 Csaba Lévai, “‘The Tokay is much more superior to what you sent me last year under that name’: Thomas Jefferson and his Hungarian Wines,” Hungarian Journal of English and American Studies, vol. 8, no. 2 (2002), 86, 88 – 89.  István Széchenyi, Hitel (Pest: Trattner, 1830), xii; Kreditwesen (Pest: Trattner, 1830), xi.  To compare different suggestions for facilitating Hungarian exports by sea, see “Neueste Vorschläge zur Erleichterung der Ausfuhr der ungarische Produkte zur See,” Pester Tageblatt, vol. 3, no. 51 (28 February 1841), 205 – 206. The Journal des österreichischen Lloyd printed the same suggestions on 31 March 1841, attributing them to Zagreb’s Narodne Novine.  Tódor Batthyány [as “G. T. B.”], Widerlegung des falsch genannten unpartheiischen Worts an die Bürger von Ungarn … von einem ungarischen Edelmann (n.p., 1790), 39; see also 29 – 30 on the port.  Beda, Vertheidigung der Deutschen und Slaven in Ungarn (Leipzig: Robert Binder, 1843), 74.

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e. g. Hungarian wine, can be exported if the cargo becomes cheaper.”⁴⁵ An 1848 supporter of the Fiume railroad mentioned the possibility of exporting “significant quantities” of “tobacco, rags, wine, brandy, and livestock.”⁴⁶ Hungary’s wine producers also tried to boost domestic demand by appealing to patriotic feeling in the domestic market. An 1816 article on “noble Tokaji” lamented that foreigners, and particularly Poles, valued “this king of wines” more highly than the Hungarians themselves. Too many Hungarians, the anonymous author complained, purchased wines other than Tokaji because they preferred foreign German, French or Spanish wines instead, and pay more dearly for them than they would for an exquisite domestic nectar of equal value. If they knew how to appreciate its true value and inner value, they would be connoisseurs, they would know how to find and distinguish the genuine article, and patriotically prefer their own treasures to those of strangers.⁴⁷

To train national wine connoisseurs, Hungarian journalists began promoting prestigious brands. In 1843, Károly Rumy, writing in the weekly journal Pesther Handlungszeitung [Pest Trade Times], devoted five articles to the praise of various vintages.⁴⁸ He made his mercantile patriotism explicit: “trade in Hungarian wine, which was previously very important, has unfortunately declined in our time.”⁴⁹ Rumy listed brands several by name: one particular wine, for example, from Bécs-Megyer “is known under the name Puszta-leány falu [Village of the Puszta girl].”⁵⁰ The articles evidently found an audience, since Pesther Handlungszeitung published an additional four installments later in the year.⁵¹ Articles praising Hungarian wines promoted the fruits of national industry, but also taught an increasingly nationalized Hungarian public which products to value. Other Hungarian wine merchants catered to the patriotic public by combining national wine with other famous national products. Rumy, for instance, men-

 The road’s length was described as “18 German miles.” Darstellung der von Karlstadt nach Fiume führenden Luisenstraße, und ihrer Verhältnisse zu dem ungarischen Exportationshandel (n.l., n.p., c. 1847), 2, 5.  Franz Kreuter, Die Verbindung der untern Donau mit dem Adriatischen Meere durch eine Eisenbahn von Semlin bis Fiume (Vienna: Gerold, 1848), 37.  “Der edele Tokayer,” Hesperus: Nationalblatt für gebildete Leser, no. 2 (January 1816), 9.  [Károly] Rumy, “Ungarns Weinreichthum oder Ertrag des ungarischen Weinbaues und ungarischer Weinhandel,” Pesther Handlungszeitung: Kommerzial- und Industrie-Anzeiger, nos 6, 8 – 11 (28 January, 4, 11, 15, 18 February 1843), 21– 22, 29 – 30, 34– 35, 38 – 39, 42.  Rumy, “Ungarns Weinreichthum,” 17.  Rumy, “Ungarns Weinreichthum,” 21.  Rumy, “Ungarns Weinreichthum,” Pesther Handlungszeitung, no. 30, 32– 34 (13, 24, 27, 31 May 1843), 117– 18, 125 – 26, 129 – 30, 133 – 34.

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tioned a merchant in Kassa [Košice, Kaschau] who “gave smoking tobacco a very pleasant taste by soaking it in sweet, strong Tokaji wine.”⁵² Tokaji also featured prominently in early attempts to establish a Hungarian tourist industry. Józef Mohl and Ágost Laszgallner’s 1828 guidebook to the Tokaj region, essentially a book-length advertisement, promoted the region as a wine country of interest to travelers with a sentimental history of viticulture in the Tokaj region. Mohl and Laszgallner provided a list of important producers and their products. They also appended testimonials from various glamorous consumers, including Catherine the Great and “the inhabitants of Albion.”⁵³ Travelers to Hungary received lectures about the special techniques used to produce Tokaji, and often described them in their books.⁵⁴ Indeed, Paget heard about Tokaji so often that he came to find the spiel wearisome: “I have heard it so often described … that I can probably give more accurate information about it than if I had myself witnessed it.”⁵⁵ Foreign visitors to Hungary, however, often criticized sharply the quality of the wine served to them. Saxon poet and traveler Gottlieb Hiller generally liked Hungary, but his 1808 account reported that the wine in taverns was almost undrinkable. This is supposedly the case in all taverns in those regions where good wine is made. The good wine is exported abroad, and the bad, which cannot be removed, is given to innkeepers who are compelled to take it from landowners.⁵⁶

In 1843, Schönholz denounced Hungary’s provincial wine as “a lamentable beverage with a dirty color, a bland or even rotten taste, completely without spirit, which must be drunk immediately since it does not keep.”⁵⁷ Nor, Schönholz lamented, could one depend on prestige brands, because merchants sold lesser

 The merchant’s name was Dörner. Karl Georg Rumy, Populäres Lehrbuch der Oekonomie (Vienna: Karl Schaumberg, 1808), 2:226.  Józef Mohl, Ágost Gottlieb Laszgallner, Das Tokayer Weingebirge und dessen Umgebung (Košice: Werfer, 1828), 75, 190.  Richard Bright, Travels from Vienna Through Lower Hungary (Edinburgh: Archibald Constable, 1818), 420; François Beudant, Voyage minéralogique et géologique en Hongrie, pendant l’année 1818 (Paris: Verdière, 1822), 2:246; reprinted in English as Travels in Hungary, in 1818 (London: Richard Phillips, 1823), 104– 105; Quin, A Steam Voyage Down the Danube, 27; Schönholz, Zehn Jahre in Ungarn, 2:152– 54; Brace, Hungary in 1851, 107.  Paget, Hungary and Transylvania, 1:480.  Gottlieb Hiller, Reise durch einen Theil von Sachsen, Böhmen, Oesterreich und Ungarn (Köthen: Aneschen Buchhandlung, 1808), 2:298.  Friedrich von Schönholz, Zehn Jahre in Ungarn (Leizpig: Hartknoch, 1843), 2:162.

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wine under false pretenses: “can we not assume that two-thirds of the Tokaji, Ruster, etc., drunk is false? Unfortunately, one can.”⁵⁸ Travelers even receive poor wine in Hungarian poetry. Petőfi, whose odes to Hungarian wine were mentioned above, painted a different picture in a poem about a Hortobágyi innkeeper. The poem’s narrator enters an inn on Hungary’s central plains declaring that he has “known thirst since Debrecen.” He asks her for wine, but upon tasting proclaims it “sour as crabapples.” He then asks her for a kiss, and, receiving it, declares the wine sour but the kisses sweet.⁵⁹ A certain tension thus existed between Hungary’s wine cult, characterized by the glorification of prestige vintages, and the unpleasant reality that Hungarian taverns served terrible wine. Quin, travelling down the Danube in 1836, listed several prestigious Hungarian vintages by name: Tokaji, Meneser and Sirmien, and wines from the regions around “Ædenburg [sic, presumably Ödenburg, i. e. Sopron],” Rusth, Szentgyörgy [Svätý Jur, Sankt Georgen] and Buda. He also remarked, however, that travelers would not be able procure these quality brands: “Hungary produces some of the most exquisite wines in Europe, but I must say that I never had the felicity to meet with them. Those which are found in ordinary use are truly detestable.” He found Hungarian tavern wines “altogether undrinkable.” ⁶⁰ Foreign visitors made several suggestions for improving Hungary’s ordinary wines. David Anstead thought Hungarian wines needed maturation: “without age, none of the Hungarian wines are agreeable, and it is to be feared they may receive a bad name, if forced on the market in a young state.”⁶¹ Schönholz, meanwhile, spoke of the “astonishing negligence” of Hungarian wine producers: they mixed different grape species into the same wine merely “because sorting is not worth the effort.” The resulting products could not always find their market: “wines of very different content all bear the same famous name, thus buyers must refer to the reputation and circumstances of the producer.” Nor did winegrowers take into account the differences between grape varieties: “the different types of grape, as every experienced gardener knows, all need to grow to their own individual height … one pays as little attention to such things as to the

 Schönholz, Zehn Jahre in Ungarn, 2:170.  See Sándor Petőfi, “Hortobágyi kocsmárosné,” Petőfi Sándor összes költeményei (Pest: Emich Gusztáv, 1848), 1:119; see also Károly Maria Kertbény’s German translation, “Hortobágyer Wirthin,” Gedichte von Alexander Petőfy (Frankfurt a. M.: Rütten, 1849), 6 – 7.  Michael Quin, A Steam Voyage Down the Danube (Paris: Galigani, 1836), 27.  David Ansted, A Short Trip in Hungary and Transylvania in the Spring of 1862 (London: William Allen, 1862), 184.

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soil texture.”⁶² Quin made fewer concrete suggestions, but thought “the inferiority of the Hungarian wines in general is to be attributed to the mode in which it is manufactured.”⁶³ Such foreign criticism affected Hungarian attitudes. Széchenyi’s tireless reformist zeal extended to viticulture, which he promoted not only through the symbolic politics mentioned above, but with practical suggestions. Indeed, Széchenyi offered some fairly confrontational criticism of popular Hungarian attitudes. In Hitel, he wrote that “Madeira or Sherry can last ten years in the cargo hold, but Hegyalla often goes bad in the wine cellar, however much some may resent this claim,” adding that “saying ‘extra Hungariam non est vita’ is foolish, provoking scorn or pity.”⁶⁴ He elaborated the point in his 1831 Világ [Light]. French wines enjoyed a good reputation in the Ottoman Empire, Széchenyi observed, resulting in a French export trade of 50 million Francs. Why did Hungarian wines not enjoy a similar success? Széchenyi blamed the cult of national wine, denouncing its smug and satisfied tone as a form of self-delusion: Our representatives bring plenty of Hungarian wine to foreign courts, and the hosts normally give it extraordinary praise; what else would they do? Abuse it? … I have often sent good Hungarian wine as a present abroad, and what was the answer? ‘I have never drunk anything so exquisite, a veritable nectar, etc.’.” … I wrote back: ‘It’s very cheap, how much would you like to buy?’ What was the answer? ‘Nothing.’ … I am a Doubting Thomas in such things, and will only believe that they really love Hungarian wine when it is actually bought.⁶⁵

“Preaching without rest ‘Hungarian wines are the best in the world’,” Széchenyi concluded, did not constitute an effective export strategy. The French in Turkey had not “burned incense to themselves,” but “carefully explained how their wines were made to suit general taste.”⁶⁶ Hungarian wine growers should therefore abandon their complacency, learn to market their products, and work to improve their quality.

 Schönholz, Zehn Jahre in Ungarn, 2:155, 2:156, 2:159 – 60.  “If the process were improved, and more attention bestowed upon the quality than upon the quantity produced, I have no doubt that the wines of Hungary would rival even those of Spain, which I take to be the best in Europe.” Quin, A Steam Voyage Down the Danube, 38.  István Széchenyi, Hitel (Pest: Trattner, 1830), 69 – 70; Kreditwesen (Pest: Trattner, 1830), 53.  István Széchenyi, Világ, vagy is, Felvilágosító töredékek némi hiba ’s előitélet eligazitására (Pest: Landerer, 1831), 463; see also Licht oder aufhellende Bruchstücke zur Berichtigung einiger Irrthümer und Vorurtheile (Pest: Otto Wigand, 1832), 350.  Széchenyi, Világ, 150; see also Licht, 119.

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Széchenyi even found ways to confront Hungarian complacency when discussing transport infrastructure. Overland transport not only raised the price of Hungarian wine, but damaged its quality: as Murray’s travel guide warned, “the red wines bear carriage, but none of the white, except Ausbruch. The sweet wines of Tokay and Menesch [Ménes] (nearly as good as Tokay) are apt to turn sour when transported new.”⁶⁷ Széchenyi pointedly remarked that “our wine – like many Magyars – cannot endure motion.”⁶⁸ Several reformers took Széchenyi’s criticism to heart. Indeed, Hungarian economists had anticipated some elements of Széchenyi’s critique. As early as 1804, Johann Lübeck, summarizing the Hungarian economy for a Pest newspaper, thought Hungarian producers might “need some instruction in the expansion of viticulture, for refining the wine, and for treating of the wines themselves, and it would be desirable if some patriotic comments and suggestions could be made.”⁶⁹ Ludwig Mittelpacher, an agronomist at the University of Buda, also wrote a short guide to improving wine cultivation in 1815. That said, Mittelpacher, a Jesuit of Istrian birth, treated wine not as a national symbol, but as one of several chemically-similar liquids: he declared his book “A Short Guide to Grapes and their Cultivation, and the Production of Wine, Spirits, and Vinegar.” He took little interest in glorifying the national wine, and praised Reina and Bordeaux alongside Hungarian Tokaji.⁷⁰ Interest in national self-improvement began to permeate viticultural discussions during the Reform Era. In July 1828, Paul Dercsény offered a 100-ducat prize for the best book on the topic: “Suggestions for Agriculture in Hungary.”⁷¹ The aforementioned Franz Schams submitted a work on Hungarian viticulture and received an honorable mention; his ideas were published as a book in 1830.⁷² After declaring wine “one of the most important branches of active export trade,” Schams praised Hungary’s elite wines, mentioning not only Tokaji but wines from Ménes, Rust, Sopron [Ödenburg], and Szentgyörgy.⁷³ He nevertheless

 Murray’s Handbook for Travellers in Southern Germany, third edition (London: John Murray, 1843), 434; see also the seventh edition (London: John Murray, 1857), 508.  István Széchenyi, Néhány szó a ̕lóverseny körül (Pest: Heckenast, 1838), 25; Einiges über Ungarn (Pest: Heckenast, 1839), 26.  Johann Lübeck, “Kurze Übersicht des Zustandes der Landwirtschaft in Ungern, im Anfange des 19. Jahrhunderts,” Patriotisches Wochenblatt für Ungern, vol. 1, no. 2 (11 January 1804), 49.  Ludwig Mitterpacher, Rövid oktatas a szőlő miveléséről és bor, pálinka es étzet készittétéseről (Buda: Royal University Press, 1815), 5.  Franz Schams, Betrachtungen über Ungarns Weinbau (Pest: Hartleben, 1830), iii.  Schams, Betrachtungen über Ungarns Weinbau, 8.  Schams, Betrachtungen über Ungarns Weinbau, 8, 53.

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lamented that Hungary’s “viticulture for the most part lies in the hands of the mostly ignorant yeoman.”⁷⁴ Schams proposed a multi-faceted program to improve Hungarian wines. He suggested a formal inventory of grape varieties to assist those planting new wineries,⁷⁵ and also wanted to introduce a formal system of quality control, since as he put it, “wine merchants, traders, and Jews mix mountain wines with surrogates.”⁷⁶ He thought most Hungarian wines were gathered too early, and suggested a later harvest.⁷⁷ Schams also proposed administrative standardization within the wine industry. Hungarian wine manufacturers had difficulty doing business because “every village has its own nomenclature, which contradicts that of their neighbors.”⁷⁸ The lack of standardization indeed hampered Hungary’s wine trade. Fényes observed in 1843 that “the diversity of liquid measures in Hungary is very large, often fluctuating, and uncertain.” He illustrated the problem by comparing regional units of liquid measure. The basic quantity, the icce (which Fenyes spelled “itcze”), was not standardized. The icce of Sopron, following Viennese units of measure, was a third larger than the icce of Pozsony or Pest. The icce for palinka in the region around Szepes [Spiš] was a fifth larger than the icce for wine. In practice, merchants traded wine in larger quantities, which also varied dramatically. Tokaji was sold by the antal; one antal contained 90 icce. Debrecen merchants sold wine by the nagy cseber [large barrel], kis cseber [small barrel] and the kanta, containing 100, 50, and 10 icce, respectively. In Vas county, merchants sold wine by the veder, containing 52 icce; in Transylvania they used the köböl and the akó, containing 32 and 16 icce respectively.⁷⁹ Fényes, furthermore, did not specify whether he defined the antal, kis cseber, nagy cseber, kanta, kübel and akó in terms of the Sopron icce or the Pest icce! Hungarian liquid measures, clearly, were ripe for reform. To address such problems, Hungarian liberals established reform-minded institutions. In 1827, Széchenyi founded a Gazdasági Egyesület [the Economic Society, alternatively the Agricultural Estate Society], which articulated the agricul-

 Schams, Betrachtungen über Ungarns Weinbau, 10, see also 13.  Schams, Betrachtungen über Ungarns Weinbau, 11.  Schams, Betrachtungen über Ungarns Weinbau, 15.  Schams, Betrachtungen über Ungarns Weinbau, 53.  Schams, Betrachtungen über Ungarns Weinbau, 11.  Elek Fényes, Magyarország statistikája (Pest: Trattner-Károly, 1842), 1:285; available in German as Statistik des Königreichs Ungarn (Pest: Trattner-Károly, 1843), 1:310. See also the discussion in Christian Noback, Friedrich Noback, Vollständiges Taschenbuch der Münz- Maass- und Gewichts-Verhältnisse (Leipzig: Brockhaus, 1851), 889.

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tural interests of Hungarian landowners. He quickly relinquished its leadership to other noblemen: in 1831 the chair passed to baron Lőrinc Orczy, and in 1832 to count László Keglevics. The Gazdasági Egyesület aimed to “put field farming on steady legs” through education. It published several books on Hungarian agriculture, geology, and so forth, urging landowners to educate themselves “not only with books, but also with journals.”⁸⁰ Starting in 1837, the Gazdasági Egyesület began publishing Gazdasa´gi Tudo´si´ta´sok [Agricultural Knowledge] an encyclopedia of agricultural knowledge that eventually included five volumes;⁸¹ the editor, Lajos Kacskovics, would later represent the city of Pest in Hungary’s revolutionary parliament.⁸² On 1 August 1841, Hungarian reformers founded the Szőlőiskola [Grape school], with donations from several prominent people, including Széchenyi himself. Journalists honored charitable patriots by printing their names in newspapers.⁸³ The Szőlőiskola’s declared ambition was to “gather together every grape variety found in Europe, to name the different species, and to describe their properties for an audience of winegrowers – not only in Hungary, but for vineyards both at home and abroad.”⁸⁴ The work of compiling this reference work fell to one László Legrády.⁸⁵ Legrády’s finished work listed Hungarian grape varieties in descending order of quality, enumerating 23 “non-musky table grapes of the first rank” alongside 77 additional praiseworthy varieties.⁸⁶ He ultimately described 230 different sorts of grapes.⁸⁷ Legrády later organized public exhibitions of the different grape varieties. The Pesther Handlungszeitung reported of an 1844 exhibition that visitors could observe “500 – 600 bunches of grapes from nearly 250 different varieties,” proudly declaring the Szőlőiskola

 István Dancs, Ceres szozata a magyar földmivelökhöz (Pest: Trattner, 1842), 107.  Lajos Kacskovics, Gazdasa´gi Tudo´si´ta´sok (Pest: Royal Library, 1837– 1842).  On Kacskovics’s role in the society, see Nemzeti Ujság, vol. 2, no. 77 (25 September 1841), 306; for Kasckovics’ biography, see Jakab Ferenczy, József Danielik, Magyar irók: Életrajz-gyüjtemény (Pest: Emich Gustztáv 1856), 1:233.  Vereinigte Ofner und Pesther Zeitung, no. 15 (20 February 1842), 145; “A nyári nagy gyülés folytatásának eredményi,” Gazdasági Tudósítások, vol. 2, no. 4 (1842), 151– 52.  “Országos szőlőiskola Budán,” in: Lajos Kacskovics, Gazdasa´gi Tudo´si´ta´sok (Pest: Royal Library, 1842), 4:II:152.  Nemzeti Ujság, vol. 2, no. 77 (25 September 1841), 306.  László Legrády, Lajstroma és rövid leirása azon honi ’s külföldi szőlőfajoknak (Pest: Landerer and Hecknast, 1844), 19 – 25, 25 – 40.  Simon Anholt, Competitive Identity: The New Brand Management for Nations, Cities, and Regions (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), 74– 75.

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“the richest and best equipped Grape school in the world – thanks to the economic society!”⁸⁸ Other less specialized patriotic organizations also addressed the question of wine consumption. In 1845, Count Kázmér Batthyányi, a minister for foreign affairs in Hungary’s revolutionary government who later fled to Turkey with Kossuth and died in Parisian exile, founded the “Honi Védegylet [Homeland Protection Society],” hereafter “the Védegylet.” Members pledged to promote Hungarian industrial growth by boycotting foreign products.⁸⁹ The Védegylet’s founding manifesto specifically complained that Habsburg tariff policy, by hindering Hungarian wine imports, treated Hungary “like a colony” and forced Poles “to drink the sour Austrian wine.”⁹⁰ Speaking to the Védegylet’s general assembly on 20 August 1846, Hungary’s future independence leader Lajos Kossuth admitted that the duty of 2 florins a bottle hardly affected the sale of “our better wines,” including Tokaji, but priced lesser wines out of the market. If the tariff were abolished, Kossuth hoped, “in some articles, e. g. wine and perhaps meat, we will win a trade of several millions.”⁹¹ Védegylet’s boosterism transformed everyday consumption into a series of opportunities to display one’s patriotism. A patriotic play from 1845 called “Long live the Homeland!,” written by liberal journalist Imre Vahot, both instructed and glorified the national consumer. In one scene, the character of “the Count” discovers with horror that his servant has served him foreign champagne and cigars. “I eat Hungarian food, drink Hungarian wine, and smoke Hungarian cigars,” he proclaims, “otherwise I should hang myself!”⁹² Vahot’s allegorical aristocrat thus demonstrated his patriotism through nationalized consumption practices. Hungarian patriots, in short, associated national wine with national excellence, cultural sophistication, economic growth, and progress generally. Hungarian wine patriotism, like Hungarian tobacco patriotism, had some economic foundation, but cultural work transformed a beverage made from fermented  Max Falk, “Ungarische Versuch-Schule,” Pesther Handlungszeitung vol. 4, no. 71 (20 November 1844), 282; reprinted in: Mittheilungen der k. k. Mährisch-Schlesischen Gesselschaft zur Beförderungen des Ackerbaus, der Natur- und Landeskunde in Brünn, vol. 46, no. 49 (December 1844), 391. The report originally dates from the Életképek.  Anon., Der ungarische Schutzverein (Leipzig: Otto Wigand, 1845), 73.  Der ungarische Schutzverein, 8 – 9.  Lajos Kossuth, “Über die Zollfrage zwischen Österreich und Ungarn, nach einer Rede, welche Ludwig von Kossuth in der Generalversammlung des Schutzvereins am 20 August 1846 gehalten,” in: Actenstücke zur Geschichte des ungarischen Schutzvereins (Leipzig: Brockhaus, 1847), 205 – 206.  Imre Vahot, Éljen a honi! (Pest: Landerer and Heckenast, 1845), 14.

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grapes into a potent national symbol. Wine was not, however, the only alcoholic beverage consumed in Hungary: the kingdom’s inhabitants also consumed alcohol distilled from grains or plums. While beer and spirits also acquired national connotations, their symbolic careers followed significantly different trajectories. Different alcoholic beverages had different ethno-national connotations.

National Alcohol and Ethno-Linguistic Diversity During the nineteenth century, non-Magyar inhabitants of the Kingdom proclaimed their rights as “Hungarians” and rejected Magyar claims that only Magyar things qualified as universally Hungarian. Conflict between Magyars and non-Magyars arose primarily from linguistic disputes; specifically, disputes over the language(s) used in schools, churches, courts, parliament, and so forth. This book does not directly address the linguistic conflicts at the heart of national tension in Habsburg Hungary. However, that tension manifested itself in many different ways. For example, different minority communities developed different relationships toward alcohol. While wine was the tipple par excellence for Magyars, Magyar elites associated other alcoholic beverages with the kingdom’s non-Magyar communities. For example, an 1818 geographical sketch of Nyitra [Nitra] country by baron Alajos Mednyánszky assigned a unique drinking culture to each of Hungary’s various nationalities. The Magyar, supposedly, “wholly despises beer, does drink schnapps, but his favorite drink is actually wine, which he ardently praises.” The Slovak, meanwhile, drank “water or, more rarely beer, or even more rarely wine, because he is not in the habit of drinking at home or by a meal. But therefore he has acquired a taste for going to the tavern and sitting with his spirits until late in the evening.”⁹³ In 1839, József Bartosságh, an agronomist with the Gazdasági Egyesület particularly interested in sheep farming,⁹⁴ similarly wrote that “the German farmer likes … beer or cider (csiger, vinus), the Hungarian

 Alajos Mednyánszky, “Vaterlandskunde: Topographisch-statistische Skizze der Neutraer Gespanschaft,” Hesperus: Nationalblatt für gebildete Leser, no. 68 (November 1818), 538; for attribution see “Külföldi Literatúra,” Tudományos Gyüjtemény, vol. 9 (1820), 110.  See József Bartosságh, Bemerkungen über den Fortgang der landwirthschaftlichen Cultur der feineren Schafzuch und über die verschiedenen Arten der Merinos in Ungarn (Bratislava: Landes, 1823); Beobachtungen bei der Veredelung der Schafe, und über die Mestitzen in Ungarn (Pest, 1832).

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wine, the Slav and Wallachian spirits.”⁹⁵ After discussing Hungary’s wine culture, László Kőváry claimed in 1860 that “the favorite drink of the Romanians is wine; of the Germans, beer; and of the Slavic nations, palinka.”⁹⁶ Breaking the pattern, however, Gypsies [Roma], perhaps Hungary’s most subaltern ethno-national community, won acknowledgement in a popular proverb not only as wine drinkers, but as wine connoisseurs: “whatever wine the Gypsies like, that is good wine.”⁹⁷ Intellectuals from minority communities also nationalized drinking practices. In his 1829 survey of Hungary, for example, Čsaplovics assigned Hungary’s various communities different alcoholic beverages. The passage also assigned each community some distinctive culinary preferences: The Magyar lives from a nice wheat bread, mostly fatty meat, and wine; the Slovak (in the mountains) enjoys mostly bread from grains, barley and oats, meals from milk and flour, potatoes, and spirits; the German grain bread, potatoes and beer, the Croat porridge and wine, the Ruthenian, Vlach and Serb live from beans, polenta, and spirits; the Gypsy likes nothing better than the meat from a rotting animal; the Jew lives, if worse is possible, almost entirely from water, spirits, and onions.⁹⁸

Čsaplovics also assigned a distinctive style of drunkenness to each of Hungary’s nationalities: “When very drunk, the Magyar is melancholy and even ready to sacrifice his life; the Slovak plays wise; the German gossips a lot and becomes inflexible; the Vlach becomes a troublemaker, and ready for bloodshed; the Ruthenian mumbles to himself, closed and vindictive.”⁹⁹ Each of Hungary’s various communities symbolically occupied a distinctive place in the kingdom’s social hierarchy. Not all Magyars were noblemen, but noblemen tended to be Magyar; therefore, in the words of anthropologist László Kürti, “the question of who is a proper Hungarian or Magyar was embedded in the status quo of the nobility, its historic and legal rights, and in its values and lifestyles.”¹⁰⁰ Similarly, many of Hungary’s Germans were burghers or pro József Bartosságh, Ungarische Mesta-Regeln (Pest: Heckenast, 1839), 1:65 – 66; republished in 1842 as Der Schä ferei-Verwalter.  László Kőváry, A magyar családi s közéleti viseletek és szokások a nemzeti fejdelmek korából (Budapest: Ráth Mór, 1860), 67.  Compare variants in Mór Ballagi, “Proverb 922,” Magyar példabeszédek, közmondások és szójárások Gyüjteménye (Szarvas, Réthy Lipót, 1850), 1:57; “Proverb 1049,” János Erdélyi, Magyar közmondások könyve (Pest: Kozma Vazul, 1851), 49.  Johann Csaplovics, Gemälde von Ungern (Pest: Hartleben, 1829), 1:275.  Csaplovics, Gemälde von Ungern, 1:249.  László Kürti The Remote Borderland: Transylvania in the Hungarian Imagination (Albany: SUNY Press, 2001), 81.

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fessionals. The vast majority of Romanians, Rusyns, and Slovaks were peasants. The differing consumption habits of different social nationalities reflected differences in wealth and background. The predominantly Magyar nobility glorified fine wine to display their wealth and privilege. Peasants, both Magyar and non-Magyar, drank homemade spirits because they could not afford anything else. The cult of Hungarian wine thus reflected not only economic nationalism, but social snobbery and estate privilege. Social privilege permeates accounts that specifically describe the drinking habits of non-Magyar Hungarians. Daniel Scheint’s 1833 ethnography of the Transylvanian Székely referred explicitly to wealth: the Székely beverage, supposedly, is “brandy sweetened with honey, but among the well to do is wine.”¹⁰¹ Rumy, in an 1843 survey of Hungary’s wine industry, claimed that “the Slovaks, Ruthenians, and Vlachs, in whose counties there is no viticulture, drink little wine (because it is too expensive), and prefer spirits instead.”¹⁰² German traveler Wilhelm Richter noted the following year that “the true Magyar even today remains true to his wine, even though all Slavic tribes prefer the starker and more quickly intoxicating brandy, which is distilled in tremendous quantities from the most miserable potato effusions and drunk – oh irony! – in the middle of the wine district around Tokaj.”¹⁰³ Slavs in northern Hungary might have developed a taste for Tokaji had they been able to afford it. Romanians, meanwhile, drank plenty of wine, if non-Hungarian opinion can be trusted. The Italian savant Francesco Griselini wrote that Romanians in the Banat “drink wine, beer, and spirits to dissipation,”¹⁰⁴ and German geographer Karl Hoffmann described Transylvanian Romanians as “given to drink, and great friends of wine and brandy.”¹⁰⁵ Perhaps Rumy’s belief that Hungarian Romanians drank brandy arose because he over-generalized from the drinking culture of Slovak and Ruthenian peasants? Alternatively, however, Rumy may have refused to acknowledge that the cheap wine of Transylvanian peasants qualified as such. A telling incident from 1844, explicitly described in the Zágráb [Zagreb, Agram] newspaper Luna as an expression of “wine patriotism,” nicely illustrates

 Daniel Scheint, Das Land und Volk der Szeckler in Siebenbürgen (Pest: Hartleben, 1833), 211.  Rumy, “Ungarns Weinreichthum,” Pesther Handlungszeitung, no. 33 (27 May 1843), 129.  Wilhelm Richter, Wanderungen in Ungarn und unter seinen Bewohnern (Berlin: Reimer, 1844), 89.  Francesco Griselini, Politische Geschichte des temeswarer Bannats (Vienna: Johann Paul Krauß, 1779), 225.  Karl Friedrich Vollrath Hoffmann, Die Völker der Erde, ihr Leben, ihre Sitten und Gebräuche (Stuttgart: Hoffoman, 1840), 2:420.

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both the Magyar tendency to conflate nationality with the noble estate and an analogous conflation of Hungarian wine with prestige vintages. When a Jewish steward, following the advice of a government official, attempted to sell cheap wine to the public at a theater in Nógrád county, an enraged nobleman threated to shoot him for daring to think a Hungarian nobleman would drink “8-Kreuzer wine.”¹⁰⁶ In the patriotic imagination of Luna’s editor, it seems, only the expensive, high-quality wine drunk by Hungarian nobles qualified as truly national wine. Since different alcoholic drinks became associated with different ethno-national communities, the cult of Hungarian wine conflated aristocratic self-glorification with Magyar chauvinism. Proverbs insulting beer, such as “Wine is the mother of beer”¹⁰⁷ and “if there is fresh water, abandon the best beer and drink only wine,”¹⁰⁸ denigrated by extension Hungary’s beer-drinking Germans. Estate snobbery and national chauvinism more explicitly combined in a folk song, printed in János Erdély’s 1846 collection. The song praised Hungarian wine, ending with a rather uncompromising couplet: Bortól az ember meghizik, Nem magyar, a ki nem iszik.

Wine fills a person, He is no Magyar who does not drink it.

The song also reified the national difference between Magyars and Slovaks through their distinctive drinking customs: Él, hal a tót a pálinkáért, Bor tüzesíti a magyar vért.

The Slovak lives and dies for palinka, Wine inflames Magyar blood.¹⁰⁹

Finally, the song dismissed beer as both shabby and German: Sert iszik a német, ha fázik, Minket a bor táplál halálig, Mert a ser is csak vizbül vagyon, Ket itczék adnak egy garason.

The German drinks beer, if it’s cold, Wine sustains us until death Because beer is just made from water, You can get two icces for a groschen.

 “Weinpatriotismus,” Luna: Beiblatt zur Agramer politischen Zeitung, no. 61 (31 July 1844), 244.  Variants of “A sörnek is bor az anyja” appear in András Dugonics, Magyar példa beszédek és jeles mondások (Szeged: Grün Orbán, 1820), 1:277, 2:188; “Proverb 1042,” János Erdélyi, Magyar közmondások könyve (Pest: Kozma Vazul, 1851), 48; Ede Margalits, Magyar közmondások és közmondásszerü szólások (Budapest: Kokai, 1897), 16.  “Ha fris vize volna, abba hagyná a’ leg job sört, és csupán bort innék.” Dugonics, Magyar példa beszédek, 1:190.  Poem 185, in: János Erdélyi, Népdalok és mondák (Pest: Emich Gustztav, 1846) 1:157– 58.

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Proverbs about wine’s superiority to other alcoholic drinks thus symbolically asserted the supremacy of Magyar aristocrats over Hungary’s non-Magyar commoners. Nevertheless, ethnicity trumped estate privilege insofar as Hungarian cultural imaginations made space for poor Magyars drinking wine. A variety of poems, for example, depict szegénylegények [poor lads] as wine-drinkers.¹¹⁰ An 1841 story in the Nemzeti ujság [National News] also declared spirts “one of the curses distressing the common people [nép].”¹¹¹ The national and social elitism of Hungary’s Magyar elites is most visible in Magyar attitudes toward spirits, a term here intended as a catch-all for any highalcohol drinks made from grain or fruit, including Hungarian pálinka, Slavic pálenka, slivovica or šljivovica, German Branntwein, Romanian ţuică, and so on. Slovak peasants consumed very strong drink, Fényes admitted, but spirits “which will not harm the phlegmatic Slovak in a cold climate will be true poison for the fiery Hungarian.”¹¹² After giving Hungarians and Slovaks distinctive physiognomies, Fényes displayed elite paternalism: “cheap palinka easily tempts the common people to excess.”¹¹³ Liberal hostility to spirits reflected the economic interests of Hungarian landowners. During the 1830s, Hungarian landowners introduced new distillation methods pioneered in Galicia,¹¹⁴ a formerly Polish province annexed to Austria during the eighteenth-century partitions of Poland. In 1837, Galicia produced over one-third of all strong spirits made in the Habsburg monarchy,¹¹⁵ exporting much of their product to Hungary. In 1838, for example, Hungary and Transylvania imported 116,130 florins of Galician spirits. Since the export of spirits was an imperial monopoly, tax revenues flowed to imperial coffers.¹¹⁶ Sensing an opportunity, Hungarian producers emerged to meet demand. New production techni-

 Johan Nepomuk Vogl, “Das Sobri-Lied,” Jahrbuch des deutschen Elementes in Ungarn, vol. 1 (1846), 133; János Erdélyi, Poem 267, Népdalok és mondák (Pest: Beimel József, 1848), 3:160; József Wajdits, “Korcsmárosné bort ide…” Rajta fiuk, vigadjunk! (Nagy-Kanitzsa: Wajdits József, 1865), 525.  “Magyarország és Erdély,” Nemzeti ujság, vol. 1, no. 7 (28 January 1841), 26.  Elek Fényes, Magyarország statistikája (Pest: Trattner-Károly, 1842), 1:210; see also Statistik des Königreichs Ungarn (Pest: Trattner-Károly, 1843), 1:235 – 36.  Fényes wrote about the köznép/das Volk. Fényes, Magyarország statistikája, 1:210; Statistik des Königreichs Ungarn, 1:235 – 36.  “Ueber den Branntweinverkehr mit dem Auslande und die Branntweinerzeugung in Oesterreich,” Journal des oesterreichischen Lloyd’s, vol. 9, no. 38 (7 March 1846), 151.  Fényes, Statistik des Königreichs Ungarn, 1:235.  Phillip von Holger, Die staatswirthschafts-chemie (Wien: Kaulfuß Witwe, Prandel., 1844), 413 – 14.

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ques were explained in newspaper articles,¹¹⁷ and in an 1839 guidebook.¹¹⁸ In 1840, the Presßburger Zeitung [Bratislava Times] declared the growth of Hungarian spirits “astounding … distilleries have so multiplied in Hungary that even among small estates very few lack a distillery.”¹¹⁹ High transport costs and a weak grain market contributed to the new drink’s popularity: grain-growers could easily dispose of any surplus by turning it into spirits. Spirit manufacturers, like wine-growers, also invoked commodity patriotism. One Poszony distillery-owner, submitting 17 sample liqueurs to the 1846 industrial fair, boasted that her punch could compete with Jamaican rum and declared: “our country can do without foreign products.”¹²⁰ Hungarian liberal reformers ardently sought to increase exports, decrease imports, and generally encourage industrial growth. Nevertheless, most attacked Hungary’s distilleries and refused to view Hungarian-produced spirits as a national product. Fényes, for example, discussed the new industry primarily as a threat to the wine industry: “should the excessive spread of brandy distillation pose no danger to viticulture, which nourishes more than 1,000,000 people in Hungary?”¹²¹ Fényes did not consider how many people made their living from the new industry. Fényes particularly attacked spirit manufacturers using the “Galician method” of distillation, a technique spreading “not only in the northern counties, but also in the southern.”¹²² Fényes thus associated spirits with Hungary’s predominantly Slavic counties. Would he perhaps have felt more sympathetic to spirits distilled by Magyars in the kingdom’s predominantly Magyar central plains? In a survey of Hungary’s national industries, János Erdély made his chauvinism even more explicit by associating spirits with “non-Magyar Austrian provinces.” Erdély opined that spirits “were not harmful for the cold blooded Slovak,” but declared them “poison for the “hot blooded Magyar.” ¹²³

 “Oeconomie: Anweisung, schlechten Branntwein ohne Destillation stärker zu machen,” Der Bote von und für Ungern, vol. 2, no. 74 (4 December 1834), 400; “A pálinkafőzés chémiai műfolyama,” Hetilap, no. 64 (22 October 1853), 129.  Károly Petz, A pálinkafőzés titka (Pest: Heimel, 1839).  “Vermischte Nachrichten,” Presßburger Zeitung, no. 63 (7 August 1840), 265.  “Letter from A. Szlubeck to the Industrial Union (23 July 1846),” Magyar Nemzeti Levéltár Országos Levéltára, Országos Iparegyesület fond P 1073, document bundle 17, series 39. Heartfelt thanks to Robert Nemes and Gyula Horváth for this reference.  Elek Fényes, Statistik des Königreichs Ungarn (Pest: Trattner-Károly, 1843), 1:236.  Fényes, Statistik des Königreichs Ungarn, 1:235.  János Erdély, Nemzeti iparunk (Budapest: Hecknast Gusztáv, 1843), 176.

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Since much of the trade of spirits between different parts of the monarchy lay in Jewish hands, anti-Semitism complemented Slavophobia.¹²⁴ In Zemplén county, the homeland of Tokaji, the spread of spirits coincided with a significant increase in the local Jewish population, consisting primarily of migrants from Galicia.¹²⁵ Some Christians believed that spirits themselves had a Jewish origin: one 1816 history of Hungary incorrectly declared that “the art of distilling brandy from corn was first taught and practiced by Jews.”¹²⁶ The economic nationalism of Hungarian reformers thus specifically promoted Magyar economic interests, if necessary at the expense of Slavs and Jews. Magyar patriots did not want to improve Hungary’s balance of trade for the benefit of non-Magyar distilleries, they wanted to help Magyar wine-growers. In the early nineteenth century, Hungarian officials also took steps to prevent Jews from trading Hungary’s elite wines. While Jews dominated the trade in cheap wine, Zemplén country authorities repeatedly prohibited Jews from making or trading Tokaji, or the valuable grapes used to make it. As Zahava Szász Stessel’s history of the Tokay region’s Jewish community put it, “the nobles wished to preserve for themselves the right of priority purchase.”¹²⁷ In 1825, Zemplén county officials even petitioned the Diet to expell Jews from the Tokaj region,¹²⁸ though in practice legal restrictions gradually lessened as the century progressed. Popular journalism often expressed hostility to spirits. Newspapers linked spirits to drunkenness, and thus with the attendant problems of poverty, crime and disorder.¹²⁹ Spirits also featured prominently in journalistic discussions of criminality. In 1840, the Preßburger Zeitung [Bratislava News] reported on a particularly gruesome crime: a woman in Ujszékel had gouged out the eyes of her stepmother with the help of her 12-year-old daughter; brandy and pepper were poured into the victim’s eye sockets.¹³⁰ When the Lutheran church published a book on addiction, the title warned not against alcohol as such, but against “pal-

 Stephan von Keess, Darstellung des Fabriks- und Gewerbswesens in seinem gegenwärtigen Zustande (Vienna: Mörschner und Jasper, 1824), 2:340.  Tamás Csíki, Városi zsidóság Északkelet- és Kelet-Magyarországon (Budapest: Osiris, 1999), 136; Zahava Szász Stessel, Wine and Thorns in Tokay Valley: Jewish Life in Hungary (London and Toronto: Associated University Presses, 1995), 51.  Ignaz Aurelius Fessler, Die Geschichten der Ungern und ihrer Landsassen (Leipzig: Gleditsch, 1816), 3:775.  Iván Belassa, “Adatok a zsidók szerepéhez Tokaji-Hegyalja vidékánek szőlőművelésében és borkereskedésében (1791– 1841),” Magyar Izraeliták Országos Képviselete Évkönyv (Budapest: A Magyar Izraeliták. Országos Képviselete, 1981– 82), 5 – 47; Nemes, Another Hungary, 52.  Stessel, Wine and Thorns in Tokay Valley, 55.  “Pester Neuigkeitsbote,” Pester Courier, no. 11 (17 February 1849), 86.  “Vermischte Nachrichten,” Preßburger Zeitung, no. 18 (3 March 1840), 72.

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inka.”¹³¹ The Ungrisches Magazin [Hungarian Magazine], painting a dire picture of rural Hungary, also condemned spirits: There are villages in Hungary where the men and also many women are so shrunken that they resemble a natural skeleton; the expression on their faces is hidden by wrinkles; and these are the people who satisfy their thirst with brandy instead of water.¹³²

In 1834, a Kassa [Košice, Kaschau] newspaper not only attributed seven deaths from alcohol poisoning in Pozsony [Bratislava, Pressburg] to “the evil old sickness, drinking brandy,”¹³³ but implicated spirits in a gruesome story about a man buried alive.¹³⁴ Hungarian alcohol patriotism even coexisted with a temperance movement that specifically targeted spirits. A Transylvanian temperance tract from 1843 urged members to swear abstention not from alcohol, but specifically from palinka.¹³⁵ In 1844, students in Udvarhely founded two moral societies: one against cursing, the other against spirits.¹³⁶ During the 1848 revolution, finally, the same government that abolished export taxes on wine imposed an extraordinary tax on distilleries.¹³⁷ Significantly, Hungary’s Slavs also criticized spirits. Slovak clergy advocated sobriety with particular vigor. In an 1845 sermon about strong spirits, Slovak theologian and journalist Karol Kuzmány urged, “do not drink palinka.” He even challenged Slovaks in different counties to enter into a sort of sobriety competition: “Who will be the first in the country to strike the bell against spirits: the Slovak of Nyitra, Trencsen, Liptó, Árva, or Sáros [Nitra, Trenčín, Liptov, Orava, Šariš].” Kuzmány’s sermon appeared as a booklet, complete with statutes for a proposed “Spolok strjezliwosti [sobriety society].” Members would “abstain from all spirits until death,” though the statutes excepted spirits administered

 See e. g. Mihály Teleki, Pálinkakórság (Cluj: Evang. Reformatum kolégyom., 1838; reprinted 1842).  “Versuch über den Menschen in Ungern, nach seiner physischen Beschaffenheit,” Ungrisches Magazin, vol. 1, no. 1 (Bratislava: Anton Löwe, 1781), 308.  “Vermischte Nachrichten,” Der Bote von und für Ungern, vol. 2, no. 36 (8 May 1834), 216.  “Vermischte Nachrichten,” Der Bote von und für Ungern, vol. 2, no. 62 (11 September 1834), 352.  Ferencz Nagy, Palinkaveszely es a’ mersekleti egyesületek (Kolozsvar: K. Lyceum, 1843), 76.  “Feuilleton,” Luna: Beiblatt zur Agramer politischen Zeitung, no. 71 (4 September 1844), 285.  Johann Adlerstein, Chronologisches Tagebuch der magyarischen Revolution (Vienna: J. P. Sollinger’s Witwe, 1851), 1:162.

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for medical purposes.¹³⁸ In a messianic tract about Slavic destiny, Lutheran pastor and schoolmaster Štěpan Launer similarly denounced “the spirit of brandy [duch pálenčený], or better, the stench of brandy” as something “our Slovak people will never use in public.”¹³⁹ A contributor to the Lutheran newspaper Cyrill a Method [Cyril and Methodius, the medieval saints who first converted Slavs to Christianity] denounced “this unhappy spirit [nešťastný špiritus], which plagues body and spirit, which multiplies discord and misery.” With a certain note of resignation, however, Cyrill a Method added that the “infernal if seductive drink is so widespread that it is part of the daily needs of our people.”¹⁴⁰ Slovak Lutherans crusading for sobriety specifically targeted spirits. The attitude of Slovak clergymen toward alcoholic beverages other than spirits is somewhat unclear. A drinking song in Jan Kollár’s 1835 anthology of secular music simultaneously denounced spirits and wine as equivalent temptations posing equivalent dangers: Nepi šuhagečku wjnko, pálenečku, Len se napi wody, to ti nezaškodj

Dear lad, do not drink wine, palinka Drink only water, it will not harm you.¹⁴¹

The Spolok stjrezliwosti’s statutes, by contrast, contrasted forbidden spirits (“palinka, gin, slivovitz, rum, arak, liqueur, aqua vitae”) with “other intoxicating drinks, such as wine, beer, etc.,” which a member was permitted to “peacefully enjoy … in his own home.”¹⁴² A schoolbook by Slovak Franciscin Hugolín Gavlovič urged moderation while drinking wine: Kdo buďe piť Wíno skrowňe, buďe w Ťele zdrawí, Nepotraťí Statečnosťi, Rozumu a Mrawi. Who drinks wine in moderation will be healthy in body, Will preserve his courage, reason, and morals.¹⁴³

 Karol Kuzmány, Z konečnjého zahinutja, do ktorjého nás pálenka už skutočne uwádza, nič nás nemuože oratowat ako swatno a wsseobecnuo odrjieknutja sa Pálenki (Banská Bystrica: Filipp Machold, 1845), 20, 22– 23.  Stěpán Launer, Povaha Slovanstva (Leipzig: Kommissí Slovanského Kněhkupectví, 1847), 175 – 76.  “Ktoré sú pričiny a prameně duchownej i hmotnej biedy nasseho ľudu Slowenského?,” Cyrill a Method, vol. 9, no. 2 (2 January 1858), 6.  Jan Kollár, “Pjsné při piti,” in: Národnié zpiewanky čili pjsně swětské Slowákůw w Uhrách (Buda: Royal University, 1835), 2:93.  Kuzmány, Z konečnjého zahinutja, 24.  Hugolín Gavlovič, Walašká Škola Mrawow Stodola, to gest: Pastíri ze swatého Písma (Trnava: Jan Jelinek 1831), 2:211.

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Gavlovič also advised abstinence, since “water is enough to drink,” but conceded legitimite moderate wine-drinking: “wine is for happiness, not for drunkenness.”¹⁴⁴ Other Slovak literati praised wine, though usually without ascribing it any national virtue. In his Muza se slowenských hor [Muse of the Slovak mountains], Juraj Palkovič published a “Pjseń při wjně [ode to wine]”: Ha! Co gest žitj, Bez wjna pitj

Ha! What is life without drinking wine¹⁴⁵

Kollár, a pastor as well as a poet and folksong collector, also briefly mentioned a famous vintage in his epic poem Sláwy dcera [The Daughter of Sláva].¹⁴⁶ If Magyar reformers glorified wine and attacked spirits from Magyar chauvinism, Slovak Lutherans mixed their criticism of spirits with a chauvinism of their own: anti-Semitism. Ján Andraščík’s didactic play Šenk Palenčeny [Palinka Bar], one of the most successful Slovak literary works from the nineteenth century, begins in a tavern with the main characters buying brandy from a Jew. The play ends with them in church pledging their abstinence.¹⁴⁷ In an 1845 sermon, Lutheran pastor, script reformer, and peasant advocate Michal Hodža, an important Slovak leader during the 1848 Revolution, compared spirits to hemlock and arsenic, acknowledging only that spirits acted less quickly. Since Hodža blamed Jews for the production and sale of spirits, his sermon, Nepi pálenku to ge nezabi [Don’t drink palinka, that is, thou shalt not kill], implicitly accused Jews of murdering Slovaks.¹⁴⁸ Indeed, Hodža’s anti-Semitism proved sufficiently virulent to provoke a public rebuttal. An anonymous Jewish resident of Szentmiklós [Chynadiyovo, St. Nikolaus] also denounced “harmful brandy” in a letter to the editors of a Jewish newspaper, but accused Hodža of offering in its place not “pure healthy water” but hatred of Jews, “a terrible poison from the dark workshops of prejudiced minds.” As concerns Hungary, the author continued, Mr. Hodža calls brandy ‘an impure Jewish concoction and mixture.’ Is brandy in Ireland, Norway, where as is well known no Jews live … a Jewish concoction and mixture? Is the

 Gavlovič, Walašká Škola Mrawow Stodola, 2:33, 2:347.  Juraj Palkovič, Muza se slowenských hor (Vác: Antonin Gottlieb, 1801), 29 – 30.  Ján Kollár, Slawy dcera: we trech zpewjch (Pest: Royal University Press, 1824), canto 126.  Ján Andraščík, Šenk Palenčeny (Bystčici: Filip Machold, 1845).  Michal Hodža, Nepi pálenku to ge nezabi (Banská Bystrica: Filipp Machold, 1845), 18; see also the summary in Vasil Gluchman, “Alcoholism as a Moral Problem in 19th Century Slovak Ethics and Literature,” in: Vasil Gluckman, ed., Morality of the Past from the Present Perspective (Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2007), 108 – 109.

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brandy of counties Bars, Zólyom, Gömör [Tekov, Zvolen, and Gemer; all now part of the Slovak Republic], where no Jews live, in the distilleries of non-Jews, who are so numerous in Hungary, is it also there a Jewish concoction and a Jewish mixture?

Since Hodža had accused Jews of murder by invoking the Biblical injunction “thou shalt not kill,” the indignant Jew of Szentmiklós offered a Biblical rebuttal: “thou shalt not bear false witness.”¹⁴⁹ It may be worth noting here that English traveler Richard Bright, during an 1814 visit, observed that “the peasants generally themselves manufacture the well known (Zwetschen-Brandtwein) damson brandy, and then sell it to the Jews.”¹⁵⁰ Similar anti-Semitic rhetoric pervaded the anti-alcohol activism of Aleksander Pavlovych, a Greek Catholic parish priest and Rusyn literary figure in the Carpathian town of Bélavézse [Biloveža]: Давно панщину робили Отъ земли панови, Днесь газдове за палѣну Србять все жидови.

Long ago under serfdom we worked The land for the master, Today, for whiskey, farmers Will do all the work for the Jew.¹⁵¹

Though Pavlovych elsewhere articulated vigorous national loyalties,¹⁵² his hostility to spirits reflected religious as well as national chauvinism: the narrator of another poem, appealing to “brother Christians,” denounced Jews as “enemies of holy Christ” and resolved to abstain because drinking “makes me a servant of the Jews.”¹⁵³ Pavlovych’s hostility to spirits reflected deep traditions in Rusyn thinking: Aleksander Dukhnovych, Pavlovych’s mentor and the most important Rusyn intellectual during the 1848 Revolution, had written about the dangers of alcohol both in poems,¹⁵⁴ and in prose.¹⁵⁵

 Letter to the editor, Allgemeine Zeitung des Judenthums, vol. 9, no. 28 (7 July 1845), 422– 23.  Richard Bright, Travels from Vienna Through Lower Hungary (Edinburgh: Archibald Constable, 1918), appendix, xliv.  Alexsander Pavlovych, “Davno a Dnes’,” in: Vienets’ stikhotvorenii o. Aleksandra Iv. Pavlovich’ (Uzhhorod: Unio, 1920), 74; translation by Elaine Rusinko. See Elaine Rusinko, Straddling Borders: Literature and Identity in Subcarpathian Rus’ (Toronto: University of Toronto, 2003), 198.  See e. g. Alexsander Pavlovych, “Glas’ Rusinov,” in: Vienets’ stikhotvorenii o. Aleksandra Iv. Pavlovich’, 51– 54.  Alexsander Pavlovych, “Zhid nikogda ne na Pokoyu,” in: Vienets’ stikhotvorenii o. Aleksandra Iv. Pavlovich’, 145.  Rusinko, Straddling Borders, 122 – 23, 127.  “O vredlivosti palenki,” Miasyatsoslov na god visokosn’ii ili perestupnii (Uzhhorod: Karl Ierer, 1864), 67– 68; “Zhid i rusin,” Miasyatsoslov na 1902. god (Ungvar: Obshchestva sv. Vasiliya Velikago, 1901), 87.

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In the south of Hungary, Croatian noblemen, concurring with their Magyar counterparts, praised wine and condemned spirits. In a patriotic novel from 1847, Ladislaus Havránek attacked spirits as a plague against Slavs, as “a poison” that “impoverishes the nation” and “makes it stupid.”¹⁵⁶ Wine, meanwhile, helped Hungarians “recover their strength.” The novel contains several passages extolling the excellence of Tokaji. In one scene, the aristocratic hero drinks a glass “not the sparking wine of the French, but the liquid gold of the Hungarian land, about which the proverb says: In Ungaria est vita, Si extra Ungariam non est ita.

In Hungary is life Outside of Hungary it is not the same.”¹⁵⁷

Elsewhere, Havránek’s hero drinks a glass of wine and “forgets for a moment the pains which plagued his heart.”¹⁵⁸ The convergence of Magyar and Croatian attitudes confirms that wine’s national associations reflected noble privilege as much as ethno-national chauvinism. Attacks on spirits, particularly when Slovak and Rusyn clergymen attacked the drunkenness within their own community, expressed anti-alcoholism rather than any flavor of nationalism. In Hungary, therefore, the cultural meanings of alcoholic beverages reflected several prominent themes in patriotic thinking. The liberal Magyar nobility nationalized wine as a form of collective self-glorification, though also to promote the interests of their own social estate. Tokaji and other elite wines symbolized Hungary’s future wealth and progress, and efforts to improve lesser vintages testify to the proactive zeal of liberal reformers. Nevertheless, wine patriotism also illustrates the ethno-national chauvinism that ultimately stunted liberal Hungary’s promise. The campaign against spirits, ostensibly combatting drunkenness, immorality, and crime, presented itself as a form of patriotism: as the Catholic weekly Tanodai lapok [Classroom Journal] put it in 1858, Honfiak és honleányok, A pálinkát ne ígyatok!

Patriotic men and women, Do not drink palinka! ¹⁵⁹

 Ladislaus Havránek, Ungar und Kroat: Lebensbilder der neuesten Zeit aus Ungarn, Kroatien und Galizien (Leipzig: Friedrich Wilhelm Goed, 1847), 21– 22.  Havránek, Ungar und Kroat, 140.  Havránek, Ungar und Kroat, 13; Tokaji is also mentioned on 39, 182.  “A Káromkodás nagyobb testvére,” Tanodai Lapok, vol. 3 (1858), 383.

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The campaign against spirits implicitly targeted several of Hungary’s non-Magyar communities: Slovaks, Romanians, Rusyns, and especially Jews. The cult of Hungarian wine thus proved a predominantly Magyar faith: while it extended to Croats, it excluded most of Hungary’s minority communities. Seen in this light, we perceive not only generosity, but also a subtext of chauvinism and ethno-national intolerance in János Arany’s allegorical patriot “Magyar Misi,” who “forces his wine upon everybody, whether they want it or not.”¹⁶⁰ Hungarian alcohol patriotism, then, richly repays study. Historians have previously analyzed and pondered the tensions between Hungary’s various ethnonational communities: Slovak, Croatian, Romanian and Ukrainian historiography has produced countless papers on Magyar chauvinism and how Hungary’s national minorities resisted. The scholarly literature on Hungarian Anti-Semitism is also voluminous. The existing literature has not, however, considered how historical actors expressed such tensions and struggles through alcoholic beverages, or through tobacco, or more generally through everyday activities which do not, at first glance, appear to have any necessary national significance. How might the nationalization of everyday activities be theorized? Michael Billig famously coined the term “banal nationalism” to describe the nationalization of everyday life. Distinguishing “banal” nationalism from “hot” nationalism, Billig imagined it as something “embedded in the ordinary lives of … millions of people.”¹⁶¹ He illustrated his point with a memorable discussion of unwaved flags hanging in post offices. Flags, Billig observed, are sometimes consciously waved and saluted symbols, often accompanied by a pageant of outward emotion. Others – probably the most numerous in the contemporary environment – remain unsaluted and unwaved. They are merely there as symbols, whether on a forecourt or flashed on to a television screen; as such they are hardly given a second glance from day to day.¹⁶²

Billig, punning gratuitously, concluded that unwaved flags provide “banal reminders of nationhood, they are ‘flagging’ it unflaggingly.”¹⁶³ Jon Fox and Cynthia Miller-Idriss, in a less-celebrated article on “everyday nationhood,” similarly argued that “flags don’t have to be saluted or waved to work their national magic. The near complete assimilation of nationhood into the realm of the ordi-

 János Arany, “Magyar Misi,” Magyar Thália: Játékszini Almanac, vol. 1 (1853), 213; see also Patterson, The Magyars, 1:170.  Michael Billig, Banal Nationalism (London: Sage, 1995), 94.  Billig, Banal Nationalism, 40.  Billig, Banal Nationalism, 41.

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nary,” a process which “testifies to its prosaic power.”¹⁶⁴ A certain emphasis on flags did not prevent Billig from extending his analysis beyond colored cloth rectangles. Correctly noting that “flags are not the only symbols of modern statehood,” he observed that “coins and banknotes typically bear national emblems.”¹⁶⁵ Billig’s choice of examples, however, suggests an important limit to his analysis. Flags, coins and banknotes are all official symbols sponsored by and associated with governments. Flags admittedly may sometimes symbolize irredentism, but Billig restricted his attention to state flags in post offices in United Kingdom and the United States. Would not unwaved Welsh, Scottish or Confederate flags also make profitable objects of study? Scholars inspired by Billig, furthermore, have focused mostly on the state, examining either official objects such as traffic signs,¹⁶⁶ or semi-official objects such as school textbooks.¹⁶⁷ Fox and Miller-Idris’s list of “neatly packaged distillations of the nation” included officially sanctioned things such as “flags, anthems, statues and landmarks.”¹⁶⁸ Some of Billig’s other disciples study semi-public institutions such as television, radio, and other mass media.¹⁶⁹

 Jon Fox, Cynthia Miller-Idriss, “Everyday Nationhood,” Ethnicities, vol. 8, no. 4 (2008), 545.  Billig, Banal Nationalism, 41.  Rhys Jones, Peter Merriman, “Hot, Banal and Everyday Nationalism: Bilingual Road Signs in Wales,” Political Geography, vol. 28, no. 3 (2009), 164– 73; Maoz Azaryahu, “Hebrew, Arabic, English: The Politics of Multilingual Street Signs in Israeli Cities,” Social and Cultural Geography, vol. 13, no. 5 (2012), 461– 79.  Kristina Bennert, Dariusz Galasinski, “‘Telling our Way of Life’: Modes of Mediating Social Life in German and Polish Primary-School Textbooks,” Social Semiotics, vol. 10, no. 3 (2000), 293 – 312; Ken Montgomery, “Banal Race‐Thinking: Ties of Blood, Canadian History Textbooks and Ethnic Nationalism,” Paedagogica Historica, vol. 41, no. 3 (2005), 313 – 36; Trevor Gulliver, “Banal nationalism in ESL textbooks,” Canadian Journal of Education/Revue canadienne de l’éducation vol. 34, no. 3 (2011), 119 – 35; Matthew Benwell, “From the Banal to the Blatant: Expressions of Nationalism in Secondary Schools in Argentina and the Falkland Islands,” Geoforum, vol. 52 (2014), 51– 60.  Jon Fox, Cynthia Miller-Idriss, “Everyday Nationhood,” Ethnicities, vol. 8, no. 4 (2008), 545.  Arus Yumul, Umut Özkirimli, “Reproducing the Nation: ‘Banal Nationalism’ in the Turkish Press,” Media, Culture and Society, vol. 22, no. 6 (2000), 787– 804; Mike Cormack, “Minority Languages, Nationalism and Broadcasting: The British and Irish Examples,” Nations and Nationalism, vol. 6, no. 3 (2000), 383 – 98; Alex Law, “Near and Far: Banal National Identity and the Press in Scotland,” Media, Culture and Society, vol. 23, no. 3 (2001), 299 – 317; Minna, Aslama and Mervi Pantti, “Flagging Finnishness: Reproducing National Identity in Reality Television,” Television and New Media, vol. 8, no. 1 (2007), 49 – 67; Enric Castelló, “The Production of Television Fiction and Nation Building The Catalan Case,” European Journal of Communication, vol. 22, no. 1 (2007), 49 – 68; Chris Perkins, “The Banality of Boundaries: Performance of the Nation in a Japanese Television Comedy,” Television and New Media, vol. 11 no. 5 (2010), 386 – 403; Bea Vidacs,

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More generally, Billig considered only what Brubaker has called “stateframed” nationalism, and entirely ignored “counter-state” nationalism,¹⁷⁰ or any form of nationalism “from below.” He imagined banal nationalism as “a form of life which is daily lived in a world of nation-states.”¹⁷¹ How might banal nationalism manifest itself within a context of Habsburg federalism and multilingualism? While some scholars might view it as a “nationalizing state,”¹⁷² the Habsburg Monarchy spectacularly fails to meet any conceivable definition of “nation-state.” As it happens, Brubaker’s dichotomy between “state-framed” and “counterstate” nationalisms does not apply particularly well to the kingdom of Hungary. Hungarian patriots often imagined Hungarian interests in opposition to the Habsburg dynasty, but often did so in the name of the Hungarian kingdom or its constitution. More importantly, liberal reformers also manipulated state power to promote particularly Magyar interests, provoking Hungary’s anti-Magyar national movements in response. During the nineteenth century, Slovak or Transylvanian-Romanian nationalisms would unambiguously qualify as “counter-state” movements, but Magyar nationalism seems ambiguous: it simultaneously appears “counter-state” when directed against the dynasty and “state framed” in opposition to minority communities. Such ambiguity profoundly affects our interpretation of historical events. Was Hungary’s 1848 Revolution, to give the most obvious example, a civil war inside one state (the Habsburg Monarchy), or a war between two states (Hungary and Austria)? Alternatively, was the fighting between Hungary’s ethno-national communities a Hungarian civil war, or a series of anti-Magyar independence struggles? Such questions may have clear answers within the specific context of a particular pamphlet, or a speech given by a specific individual at a particular moment, but no generalization would capture the diversity of Hungarian political attitudes throughout the Revolution. Nevertheless, commodity nationalism in the kingdom of Hungary usually manifested itself as the sort of “counter-state” movement that Billig neglected. Both tobacco and wine owe much of their patriotic significance to noble dis-

“Banal Nationalism, Football, and Discourse Community in Africa,” Studies in Ethnicity and Nationalism, vol. 11, no. 1 (2011), 25 – 41.  Rogers Brubaker, “The Manichean Myth: Rethinking the Distinction Between ‘Civic’ and ‘Ethnic’ Nationalism,” Hanspeter Kriesi et al., eds, Nation and National Identity: The European Experience in Perspective (Zurich: Ruegger, 1999), 67.  Michael Billig, Banal Nationalism (London: Sage, 1995), 68.  Rogers Brubaker, “National Minorities, Nationalizing States, and External National Homelands in the New Europe,” Daedalus (1995), 107– 32.

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pleasure with dynastic tarrif and trade policy. The politics of ethno-national stereotypes, furthermore, emerged from below. Reveries of Magyar wine and German beer articulated not state policy, but popular imagination. Billig’s notion of banal nationalism, therefore, must be expanded or modified for the Hungarian context. Billig admittedly mentions counter-state nationalism in the context of “hot” nationalism which can “hit at the soft underbelly of the state with powerfully intolerant commitment and emotional ferocity.”¹⁷³ Even if patriotic tobacco smoking sometimes confronted the monarchy, and even if patriotic wine reflected some intolerance of national minorities, Hungary’s nationalized tobacco and nationalized alcohol both exemplify a nationalism more banal than hot. Responding to the criticism that he “deliberately focused on banal nationalism within Western democracies,” however, Billig only conceded that “similar mundane practices” might occur in “non-Western and non-democratic nation-states.”¹⁷⁴ He altogether failed to consider the possibility of banal nationalism within a multi-national empire like the Habsburg Monarchy. How, then, can one adopt the notion of banal nationalism to an imperial context? Alternatively, how might Billig’s ideas apply to “counter-state” popular nationalism at the grass roots level? Various critics have proposed modifications to Billig’s basic ideas. Theodora Dragostinova imagined everyday nationalism not as an imposition from above, but as something articulated from grass roots in response to state policies. Ordinary people, she wrote, “maneuver their national alliegances to achieve benefits in everyday life.” Dragostina consciously placed non-state actors in the center of analysis: “The reality of ‘everyday nationalism’,” she wrote, “unequivocally reveals individuals’ marked indifference, open subversion, or silent adaptation to state-formulated national policies.”¹⁷⁵ Fox and Miller-Ildris similarly suggested that “shifting the analytical focus from the producers of national symbols to their everyday consumers entails a concomitant search for the sites where those symbols are wielded and manipulated by ordinary people.”¹⁷⁶

 Billig, Banal Nationalism, 135.  Michael Billig, “Reflecting on Critical Engagement with Banal Nationalism – Reply to Skey,” Sociological Review, vol. 57, no. 2 (2009), 348.  Theodora Dragostinova, Between Two Motherlands: Nationality and Emigration among the Greeks of Bulgaria, 1900 – 1949 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2011), 13.  Fox, Miller-Idriss, “Everyday Nationhood,” 547.

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In an article on “the national in everyday life,”¹⁷⁷ Michael Skey praised Billig’s contributions while criticizing him for his general “lack of complexity and dynamism,”¹⁷⁸ for his inattention to the economic context, and for “privileging … a top-town approach.”¹⁷⁹ Skey proposed defining banal nationalism as a “set of processes that legitimizes and naturalizes discourses of the nation,”¹⁸⁰ drawing particular attention to the problem of reception: Skey insisted that “we cannot assume that particular representations of the nation are resonant or relevant for all … who happen to live within a particular political territory, just because they are associated with powerful institutional actors or agencies.”¹⁸¹ Though Billig mostly neglected questions of differentiated reception, Skey and Dragostinova posit an “everyday” nationalism that anticipates the complexities of Hungary’s alcohol nationalism. Slavic clergymen in the Tatras and the Beskids took a strikingly different attitude toward intoxicating beverages than did liberal Magyar nobles in Buda, because different inhabitants of Hungary occupied different locations in the country’s social structure. Hungarians experienced everyday nationalism differently depending on whether or not they held a patent of nobility, spoke a minority language, espoused a minority religion, and so forth. For elites, the cult of national wine, like the cult of national tobacco, helped generate patriotic devotion to Hungary and the Hungarian cause, however imagined. Commodity patriotism helped raise both interest and capital for specific goals, including institutions directly related to that commodity, such as the Szőlőiskola, or more generally, as with Széchenyi’s infrastructure projects. The notion of “banal” or “everyday” nationalism also explains why commodity patriotism transcended its economic functions to become part of national culture: everyday nationalism can acquire its own momentum. Indeed, when commodity patriotism transcends its original purpose and becomes genuinely popular banal nationalism, it helps historians overcome a notorious difficulty in the study of early nationalism: the so-called problem of reception is easier to name than to solve. The problem of reception has remained nearly unsolvable because the historical record rests on unrepresentative sources. In an era of widespread illiter-

 Michael Skey, “The National in Everyday Life: A Critical Engagement with Michael Billig’s Thesis of Banal Nationalism,” Sociological Review, vol. 57, no. 2 (2009), 331– 46.  Skey, “The National in Everyday Life,” 334.  Skey, “The National in Everyday Life,” 337.  Skey, “The National in Everyday Life,” 334.  Skey, “The National in Everyday Life,” 342.

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acy, the national feeling, if any, of non-intellectuals is nearly impossible to document. How, in theory, can historians of the nineteenth century study the national sentiments, or lack thereof, among Hungary’s predominantly illiterate population? Contemporary sociologists might conduct surveys of public opinion, but historians, lacking time machines, can only examine what the written record bequeaths to them. Patriotic intellectuals produced a rich array of fascinating documentary sources, but historians must resist the temptation of over-generalizing from such unrepresentative informants. Yet if written sources must be presumed atypical, what remains for historians to analyze? Several Habsburg scholars have wrestled with the difficult question of reception, and while not all have failed, success has been limited. Few historians of nationalism can resist the temptations of analyzing patriot intellectuals and the texts they produced. But perhaps the study of national commodities, or more generally nationalized practices in everyday life, can help bridge the intellectual history of national ideas and the data available to social historians. No reliable statistics exist about the national feeling of nineteenth century Hungarians, for example, but statistics do exist about the consumption of tobacco, wine, and spirits. The base-superstructure model suggests that elite patriots devised national ideologies from their class interest, a theory that sheds some light on both tobacco and alcohol patriotism in the kingdom of Hungary, but which fails to provide a complete picture. Banal nationalism, by contrast, emphasizes the impact of inanimate flags and analogous symbols, rather than the motives of those who hang them. The notion of “banal nationalism” obscures the question of agency. Hungarian patriots transformed tobacco and alcoholic beverages into symbols that “flagged” nationality in Billig’s sense, but historians must not forget to study which Hungarian patriots invoked such symbols, when and why. Perhaps we can reach further insights into everyday Hungarian nationalism by examining a further instance of nationalized daily practices. The next chapter breaks definitively with Marx and the base-superstructure model by examining patriotic facial hair, a form of banal nationalism that lacks any economic foundation. Much as patriotic alcohol introduced ethno-linguistic diversity to the narrative, national facial hair introduces the theme of gender.

Chapter 5 Hungary’s National Moustaches During the Hungarian Reform Era, moustaches, like tobacco and wine, came to symbolize Hungarian patriotism. The nationalization of shaving, trimming, and waxing facial hair provides an outstanding example of banal or everyday nationalism. What can be more banal and everyday than personal grooming? The culture of patriotic facial hair also links everyday nationalism to competing notions of manliness. While both patriotic tobacco and patriotic alcohol apparently arose from economic interests, the origins of Hungary’s patriotic moustache are obscure, yet not timeless. Paulus Cassel’s survey of ancient and medieval sources, summarized in a nineteenth-century study of Hungarian antiquities, found that “national beardlessness” prevailed among medieval steppe peoples.¹ Cassel concluded that Hungarian attachment to facial hair emerged from some early modern national peculiarity, rather than steppe nomad tradition. Source material on medieval and early modern shaving practices remains fragmentary, but the Rerum Hungaricarum scriptores varii historici [Hungariana according to various writers and historians], printed in 1600, declared shaving the beard “against Hungarian customs.”² Documentary evidence suggests, however, that Hungarian soldiers placed an unusual value on their moustaches by the eighteenth century, before the Reform Era began. A 1780 history of the War of Bavarian Succession (1778 – 1779) claimed that count Dagobert Sigmund von Wurmser, an Alsatian-born officer commanding a Hungarian unit in Habsburg service, wore “a moustache to please his Hungarians, and also smokes now and then a pipe of tobacco.”³ While European moustaches generally had martial associations, Paget observed an extraordinary enthusiasm for moustaches among Hungarian soldiers: “officers of a regiment of hussars have been known to allow extra pay to a soldier who was very remarkable in the way, to enable him to maintain his moustaches in wax.”⁴

 Paulus Cassel, Magyarische Alterthümer (Berlin: Veit, 1848), 164.  Rerum Hungaricarum scriptores varii historici (Frankfurt: Andreae Wecheli, 1600), Capvt lxxx; see also Matej Bell, Scriptores rerum Hungaricarum veteres ac genuini (Vienna: Kraus, 1746), 1:152.  Johann Seyfart, Unpartheyische Geschichte des bayerischen Erbfolgekriegs (Leipzig: Paul Gotthelf Kummer, 1780), 180.  John Paget Hungary and Transylvania (London: John Murray, 1834), 1:463. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638448-008

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The military moustache might suggest martial values and martial culture as an explanation for Hungarian moustache culture, yet by the early nineteenth century Hungarian moustaches had acquired patriotic significance in the inescapably civilian context of the theater. In 1818, Dresden’s Abend Zeitung [Evening Times] printed a story about a “theatre director in a small Hungarian city” who painted a set background showing “a landscape illuminated by moonshine.” He did such a poor job that the audience laughed at it. The shamed director then “painted onto his moon a moustache, and behold, as it next appeared before the public, the bearded Hungarians in the stalls applauded loudly, calling: Bravo! Countryman! – Bravo!”⁵ Anecdotes in which moustaches Magyarized a theatrical moon would enjoy great popularity throughout the nineteenth century. In 1831, a book of jokes reprinted the Abend Zeitung story word for word,⁶ and in 1836, a Passau newspaper reprinted it, slightly rephrased, as “unpolitical news.”⁷ As the story was retold, however, patriotic themes gradually gained prominence. In Paget’s version, the audience objected to a properly-painted yet foreign-appearing moon, and the theater director deliberately rather than accidentally pandered to the audience’s patriotism: Once upon a time, the manager of a Hungarian theatre produced what he considered a very fine piece of scenery, in which was represented a full moon, in the form of a round fat, clean-shaved face … instead of the anticipated applause, the luckless manager found his scene received with damning hisses; and it appeared that the popular indignation was more particularly directed against the “pale-faced moon,” “the German moon,” as they called it. Now as the Hungarians like their moon, as well as everything else, to be quite national, the manager determined to please them, and next night up rose the poor moon with as glorious a pair of moustaches as the fiercest Magyar amongst them could exhibit. Hurrahs burst forth from every mouth at the sight of this reform, and all cried “Long live our own true Magyar moon, and confusion to all German moons forever!”⁸

American author William Roscoe Thayer reproduced Paget’s version in a hostile biography of Kossuth; he used the story to illustrate “race hatred between [Kossuth’s] countrymen and the Austrians.” Thayer described the national moon as “a swarthy-cheeked, black-moustachioed orb.”⁹ Thayer’s story, in turn, inspired  “Fresco-Anecdoten,” Abendzeitung, no. 274 (17 November 1818), 3.  Bolon Mischko, Ungarische Paprika: Eine Sammlung volksthümlicher Characterzüge und belustigender Anekdoten (Meissen: Friedrich Wilhelm Goedsche, 1831), 17.  “Nichtpolitische Nachrichten,” Kourier an der Donau: Zeitung für Niederbayern, no. 70 (22 March 1836), 4.  Paget, Hungary and Transylvania, 2:554.  William Thayer, Throne Makers (Boston: Houghton, Mifflin, 1899), 90.

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newspaper articles about Hungary’s excessive patriotism in several American newspapers.¹⁰ By the early twentieth century, the anecdote had appeared in Anglophone sources from both sides of the Atlantic.¹¹ As the nineteenth century wore on, German versions of the anecdote increasingly emphasized the excesses of Hungarian nationalism. An 1855 version in Fliegende Blätter, a satirical journal published in Munich, described a “wandering troupe of German actors” unable to please Hungarian audiences merely by wearing Hungarian costumes. The director then lured “the true sons of Arpad” to buy tickets by advertising that a “genuine Hungarian moon” would appear in the fifth act. When the mustachioed moon appeared, the audience responded with “joy unbounded, and they cried with naïve enthusiasm: ‘Damn! Bravo, countryman! Long live Hungarian moonlight!’” Fliegende Blätter even printed an illustration.¹² Mocking Hungarian excitability, the Würzburger Journal reported in 1866 that “idolatry of the moustache goes so far, that they often draw the moon with a moustache, to make it a Hungarian moon.”¹³ An 1880 version had the theater director painting “a colossal Hungarian moustache with pointed ends” in the intermission between the first and second act.¹⁴ Intriguingly, the story of the Hungarian moon appears conspicuous by its absence in Hungarian-language journalism. Foreign authors apparently showed more interest in the Magyar moon than the Magyars themselves. Hungarian folklore nevertheless emphasizes the moustache’s national significance: numerous proverbs and folk sayings associated moustaches with Hungarian-ness. An 1820 list of idioms compiled by András Dugonics treated a Hungarian without a moustache as strange as a bird without a nest, or a coach without clatter.¹⁵ Dugonics’ proverbs also equated the expressions “hairy as a bear,” “hairy as a sheepdog’s tail,” and “hairy as a Hungarian moustache.”¹⁶ János Erdélyi’s 1851 compilation compared “a Hungarian without a moustache”

 “The Magyar Moon,” Little Falls Weekly Transcript, vol. 24, no. 14 (8 December 1899), 3; “The Magyar Moon,” Daily Chieftain, vol. 2, no. 62 (12 December 1899), 3.  The Chautauquan, [New York], vol. 70 (1913), 39; Sabina Baring-Gould, Further Reminiscences 1864 – 94 (London: John Lane, 1925), 166.  In the original text, “Ebatta, bravo, Herr Landsmann! Eljén magyarischer Mondschein!” See “Der magyarische Mond,” Fliegende Blätter, vol. 21, no. 498 (1855), 143 – 44.  “Deutschland,” Würzburger Journal, vol. 7, no. 166 (17 July 1861), 1.  Sigmund Schlesinger, Wiener Tageblätter (Vienna: Anno Taaffe und Hohenwart, 1880), 223.  “Ritka, Magyar bajusz nélkül,” “Ritka, madár fészek nélkül,” “Ritka, kocsi zörges nélkül.” András Dugonics, Magyar példa beszédek és jeles mondások (Szeged: Grün Orbán, 1820), 1:199.  “Szőrös mint a’ juhász kutyának farka,” “Szőrös mint a’ medve,” and “Szőrös mint a’ magyar bajusz,” Dugonics, Magyar példa beszédek és jeles mondások, 1:231.

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to “a king without a country” or “the pope without the Bible.”¹⁷ Mór Ballagi’s 1855 collection of proverbs treated a Hungarian without a moustache as odd as a rose without thorns.¹⁸ Non-Magyars also had similar sayings: Adolf Peter Záturecký’s 1896 compilation of Slovak proverbs included: “do not touch a dog by the tail or a Magyar by the moustache: both will bite.”¹⁹ Hungarian poets extolled the moustache alongside other national symbols. Petőfi’s 1847 ode to “a good teacher” briefly mentioned the teacher’s habit of drinking wine, and then linked his moustache to tobacco-smoking. Ez alatt az orr alatt egy Nagy bajúsz ácsorga, Egyik rúdja égbe készült, Másik le a porba.

Underneath his nose stood A large moustache, One tip pointed toward the sky, And another to the dust.

A bajúsz alatt szája volt, Szájában pipája, Lapátnak is beillet vón Köpczös szopókája.

Beneath the moustache was his mouth, in his mouth a pipe, In the stem of which resided A stocky mouthpiece.²⁰

Petőfi’s ideal teacher also wore a national Hungarian jacket made “in Árpád’s day,” fastened not with buttons but with musket balls from the Turkish wars. In nineteenth-century political caricatures and popular illustrations, Hungarians always wear moustaches, often in contrast to clean-shaven Austrian Germans. Moustaches appeared on stock characters in Hungarian journals, such as Magyar Miska from Borsszem Jankó [Peppercorn Johnny],²¹ Bolond Miska [Foolish Mike] from the eponymous journal,²² “Uncle Kufaláncoš Pišta,” “Uncle Kačkaringóš Béla,” and “Mr. Tenkóczy and Mr. Hrúbóczy,” all from the Slovak jour “Eb a király ország nélkül,” “Eb a pap könyv nélkül,” and “Eb a magyar bajusz nélkül,” proverbs 1895, c.f. note to 1893. János Erdélyi, Magyar közmondások könyve (Budapest: Kozma Vazul, 1851), 93 – 94.  “Ritka, Magyar bajusz nélkül,” “Ritka, rózsa tövis nélkül,” proverbs 6303, 6312. Mór Ballagi, Magyar példabeszédek, közmondások és szójárások gyüjteménye (Pest: Gustáv Heckenast, 1855), 357.  “Psa za chvost a Maďara za bajúz nechytaj; oba ťa uhryzú,” Adolf Peter Záturecký, Slovenská přísloví, pořekadla a úsloví (Prague: Česká akademia císaře Františka Josefa, 1896), 270.  Sándor Petőfi, “A jó tanító,” Petőfi Sándor újabb költeményei (Pest: Emich Gusztáv, 1861), 2:185; see also Károly Maria Kurtbény’s German translation “Der gute Lehrer,” Gedichte von Alexander Petőfy (Frankfurt a. M.: Rütten, 1849), 133; John Bowring’s English translation “The Good Teacher,” Translations from Alexander Petöfi, the Magyar Poet (London: Trübner, 1866), 133.  See e. g. “A Szrb [sic] Král,” Borsszem Jankó, vol. 15, no. 739/11 (12 March 1882), cover.  Compare Miska with the allegorical Magyar in “A közelebbi versenyekhez,” Bolond Miska, vol. 2, no. 24 (16 June 1861), cover.

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nal Černokňažník [The Magician].²³ Viennese satirical journals devised similar characters, such Mesterházi and Udvarnoky from Der Humorist,²⁴ or Domokos Domokossy and Andreas Nyájassy de Nyáyas Nyáy from Der Floh. ²⁵ Unnamed allegorical Hungarians always wore moustaches: a sample caricature from Honderű, for example, depicted a mustachioed Hungarian kicking two clean-shaven Germans off a cliff.²⁶ Similar images appeared in satirical magazines elsewhere in Central Europe.²⁷ Indeed, in 1874, Der Floh once Magyarized a polar bear by giving him a long moustache and a Hungarian pipe.²⁸ Moustaches were also common in non-satirical depictions of Hungarian life. In 1834, Antal Schmid’s educational journal Fillértár printed a picture of a “Magyar camp”: all fourteen men visible in the picture were depicted with moustaches.²⁹ Théodore Valério’s watercolors of “peasant types,” done during the French painter’s 1851– 1852 visit to Hungary, showed moustaches on seven out of eight male portraits; the eighth showed a boy too young to grow facial hair.³⁰ Photographs taken at Szeged criminal court during the 1870s suggests that Hungary’s criminal classes grew moustaches: moustaches appear in all 40 mug shots reproduced in Irén Fári’s 2000 article.³¹ János Jankó’s 1900 volume of “Hungarian types,” published by the Hungarian ethnographic museum, showed 50 photo Compare the two illustrations in “Báči Kufaláncoš Pišta o vyrovnani,” Černokňažník, vol. 1, no. 5 (20 May 1876), 34; “Báčí Kačkaringóš Béla,” Černokňažník, vol. 2, no. 1 (2 January 1877), 4; “Báčí Kačkaringóš Béla,” Černokňažník, vol. 1, no. 6 (20 June 1876), 41, “Pán Tenkóczy a pán Hrúbóczy,” Černokňažník, vol. 2, no. 4 (30 April 1877), 28.  “Originelle Beweisführung von Patriotismus,” Der Humorist (6 August 1860), 4.  “Demokratische Betrachtungen des Domokos Domokossy,” Der Floh (5 January 1873, 2), also “Allerlej wehmuthige Betrachtungen des Domokossy Domokos,” Der Floh (7 April 1878, 5); the faux correspondent for “Ungarische Briefe” first appeared in Der Floh (5 September 1869), 4; but see also Der Floh (23 January 1870), 14; “Ungarische Briefe,” Der Floh (27 November 1870), 192.  See the illustration to “Három a táncz,” Honderű, vol. 1, part 2, no. 1 (8 July 1843), 17– 20.  “Węgrzyni,” Przyjaciel ludu, czyli, Tygodnik potrzebnych i pożytecznych wiadomości, vol. 2, no. 39 (4 June 1836), 389; “Ilustrace k liberálnímu programu,” Šotek (supplement to Národné Novíny), no. 2 (1849), 7; “Kdyby chyby,” Humoristické listy, vol. 4, no. 50 (1862), 429; A. G. “Der Wahlagitator,” Illustrierte Welt: Deutsches Familienbuch, vol. 14, no. 29 (1866), 341; Kladderadatsch, vol. 19, no. 14– 15 (31 March 1866), 58; “Domos Domokossy über den ungarischen Globus,” Der Floh (9 March 1873), 5; “Damit ist ein Minister nicht gedient,” Kikeriki, vol. 14, no. 42 (21 May 1876), 2; “Rainlichkait [sic],” Humoristické listy, vol. 37, no. 1 (4 January 1895), 1.  “Vom Nordpol,” Der Floh (19 September 1874), 3.  Illustration to “Magyar táborozás,” Fillértár, vol. 2, no. 14 (30 May 1834), 105 – 106.  Wilhelmb Gizella Gennerné, “Théodor Valério Magyarországon,” Folia Historica, no. 6 (1978), 69 – 73; the description “peasant types” is from Gennerné, see 66.  Fári’s article did not concern itself with facial hair. See Irén Fári, “Szegedi betyárfénképek,” Ethnographia, no. 111 (2000) 147– 56.

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graphs taken in different parts of Hungary. The edition I examined was unfortunately missing a page, but 48 of the 48 remaining photographs showed mustachioed faces.³² The ever-observant Paget described several impressively hirsute faces. He saw one man sporting “the most exaggerated pair of mustaches I had ever seen … more than a foot long from tip to tip,”³³ adding that “length of moustache is a matter of considerable pride to its owner.”³⁴ At a school for the deaf and dumb, Paget found that the concept “‘Hungarian’ is expressed by touching the upper lip, indicating a mustache.”³⁵ (The sign for “German” involved touching the knee, a reference to knee-length breeches.) “In no country of Europe is the mustache held in such respect as in Hungary,”³⁶ Paget declared, explicitly noting that the moustache transcended estate divisions: “all, except the clergy – masters and servants, professors and students, from the highest magnate to the lowest peasant – cherish with fast affection this hirsute covering of the upper lip.”³⁷ Paget even downplayed the clerical exception to the moustache rule, adding “I should not be surprised if they did so too before long.”³⁸ Hungarians placed such importance on moustaches that, in the words of Austrian geographer Anton Johann Groß-Hoffinger, “a Hungarian who removes his moustache is a turncoat, cast out from the people, a national renegade.”³⁹ Groß-Hoffinger observed that “in Hungary a man without a moustache is ridiculed and mocked,” but also remarked that Hungarians traveling abroad insisted on wearing their moustaches “as their own special privilege, almost as if their king had bestowed on them the order of the moustache, which only the knights of the order have the right to wear.” Hungarians were, in fact, so attached to their “sacred moustaches” that supposedly a Hungarian, and only a Hungarian, could appear at the Viennese court with a moustache. In Vienna, according to GroßHoffinger, “even the educated Hungarians” seemed unwilling to accept that non-Hungarians might also wear moustaches.⁴⁰

 János Jankó, Magyar Typusok (Budapest: Magyar Nemzeti Múzeum Néprajzi Osztálya, 1900), vol. 1.  John Paget Hungary and Transylvania (London: John Murray, 1834), 2:554.  Paget, Hungary and Transylvania, 1:463.  Paget, Hungary and Transylvania, 1:321.  Paget, Hungary and Transylvania, 1:463.  Paget, Hungary and Transylvania, 1:463.  Paget, Hungary and Transylvania, 2:385.  Anton Johann Groß-Hoffinger [under the pseudonym Anton Norman], Ungarn, das Reich, Land, und Volk wie es ist (Leipzig: Literarisches Museum, 1833), 1:88 – 89.  Groß-Hoffinger [Norman], Ungarn, das Reich, Land, und Volk, 89.

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The patriotic mania for moustaches in nineteenth century Hungary formed a genuine national peculiarity at variance with other contemporary moustache cultures. In other parts of Europe, the moustache had primarily martial associations. In revolutionary France, it seems, the moustache specifically implied membership in the cavalry: an 1821 French military history described horsemen demoted to the infantry as “shedding their moustaches along with their tears.”⁴¹ When Joseph Sedley, a character in William Thackeray’s 1828 novel Vanity Fair, grows a moustache to imitate dashing English soldiers, acquaintances disapprove: “what the devil does a civilian mean with a moustache?”⁴² Later hearing the cannonades at Waterloo, the cowardly Sedley shaves for fear the French will imprison him: “They will mistake me for a military man.”⁴³ In 1843, Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine declared that no British gentleman would ever wear a moustache, unless he belongs to one of the regiments of the hussars, or to the household cavalry, who alone are ordered to display that ornamental exuberance. Foreigners, military or non-military, are recognized as wearing hair on their upper lip with propriety, as is the custom of their country. But no gentleman here thinks of such a thing, any more than he would think of sporting the uniform of the Tenth Hussars.⁴⁴

Spanish moustaches had such strong martial connotations that in 1832 the government threatened to punish mustachioed civilians with six months imprisonment and a fine of 600 ducats, though admittedly the law’s broad interpretation of military service included veterans and reservists.⁴⁵ The King of Bavaria also forbade civilian moustaches in 1838.⁴⁶ The universally mustachioed Hungarians thus made a decidedly martial impression on many foreign visitors. A 1777 French dictionary, for example, assumed that Hungarian horsemen wore moustaches to create “a military demeanor.”⁴⁷ Charles Goodrich’s 1836 Universal Traveler concluded that the Hungarian embroidered coat, combined “with the mustache on the upper lip, give the Hun-

 Prosper Fromage-Chapelle, Histoire générale des institutions militaires de France pendant la révolution (Paris: Baudouin Frères, 1821), 152.  William Thackeray, Vanity Fair (London: Punch, 1847), 350.  Thackeray, Vanity Fair, 391.  “Philosophy of Dress,” Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, vol. 53, no. 328 (February 1843), 234.  “Articulo de Oficio,” Gaceta de Madrid (31 July 1832), 373.  Charles MacKay, “The Influence of Politics and Religion on the Hair and Beard,” Memoirs of Extraordinary Popular Disillusions (London: Richard Bentley, 1841), 1:234.  Antoine Sabatier de Castres, Dictionnaire des origines, découvertes, inventions et établissemens (Paris: Mouton, 1777), 2:291.

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garian a military appearance.”⁴⁸ Other travelers, however, merely remarked on the ubiquity of moustaches. Visiting English vicar Charles Elliott memorably observed that “nearly all the men, even of the lowest classes, cherish their mustaches, which are common in this country to the magnate and the clown.”⁴⁹ Within the context of the Hungarian kingdom, some anecdotal evidence suggests that Hungarian moustaches formed a distinctively Magyar custom. A foreign correspondent for the Parisian journal La Revue indépendante observed in Pozsony that while “every Hungarian had moustaches, black, brown, red, grey, or white, as God and age had appointed, no Slav wore them.”⁵⁰ An 1846 novel by Lajos Arányi, commenting on the many languages spoken in Hungarian taverns,⁵¹ described a Slovak character as “a clean-shaven man in a shepherd’s coat, fur cap on his head, a long-stemmed pipe in his mouth.”⁵² In Magyar imaginations, however, patriotic moustaches distinguished Magyars primarily from clean shaven German-Austrians, and particularly from imperial officials. The Habsburg monarchs had been clean-shaven since the days of Emperor Leopold I (1640 – 1705). The emperors Joseph I (ruled 1705 – 1711) and Charles VI (ruled 1611– 1740) had no facial hair, and thus encouraged shaved faces by personal example. Maria Theresa (ruled 1740 – 80) obviously had no facial hair, but encouraged Hungarians to shave through more direct means: according to Alexander Pusztay, the empress shaved the moustache of Ferenc Nádasy with her own hand.⁵³ The emperors Joseph II (ruled 1780 – 1790), Leopold II (ruled 1790 – 1792), Francis II (ruled 1792– 1835), and Ferdinand V (ruled 1835 – 1848) were all clean-shaven. Austrian officials and military officers followed their sovereign’s example. Hungarian moustaches thus not only demonstrated unity between Hungarian estates, but differentiated Magyar patriots from non-Magyars, particularly from Austrian Germans, and specifically from the Habsburg monarchy and its

 Charles Goodrich’s Universal Traveler (Hartford: Canfield and Robbins, 1836), 321.  Charles Boileau Elliott, Travels in the Three Great Empires of Austria, Russia, and Turkey (London: Richard Bentley, 1838), 1:32.  “Un affut au cerf, Dans les monts Krapacks,” La Revue indépendante, vol. 10 (Paris: La Revue indépendante, 1843), 107. A slightly changed and much abbreviated English version of the text is available in John d’Ewes, Sporting in Both Hemispheres (London: Routledge, 1858), 271.  The innkeeper speaks Latin and Slovak to the Slovak character; the customers wish each other “good night” in Hungarian, French, Slovak and German. Lajos Arányi, Rudnó és lelkésze 1844 és 1845ben [Rudno and its Priest in 1844 and 1845] (Pest: Emich Gusztav, 1846), 60.  Arányi, Rudnó és lelkésze, 58.  “Maria Theresa interfered the deepest in the national life of the Hungarians … The maternal care of the Empress even extended to the Hungarian’s moustache.” Alexander Pusztay, Ungarn für sich und im Staatsverbande mit Oesterreich (Prague: F. A. Credner, 1865), 42.

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servants. Imperial officials, for their part, felt a similar attachment to their shaved faces. Preparing to visit the Hungarian parliament in 1825, Prince Metternich made several concessions to Hungarian customs “that affected his habits and his daily life,” most notably dressing “like a Hussar.” Nevertheless, Metternich drew the line at facial hair: “that I grow no moustache is the only license that I allow myself in this affair.”⁵⁴ Hungarian patriots noticed and disapproved. Describing the 1832 parliament in his personal diary, Ferenc Kölcsey contrasted the imperial “ministry (with wig and glasses)” with the “opposition (with a thick moustache, embroidered jacket, and in pantaloons).”⁵⁵ Under such circumstances, simple incidents involving facial hair could spark nationalized outrage. In the summer of 1842, a Hungarian man applied for a job as a waiter at the café in the Pest Merchant’s Casino, located in the same building as Széchenyi’s National Casino.⁵⁶ According to a letter sent to the German magazine Ost und West [East and West], the prospective waiter wore “a beard, which he not only continually stroked in a very unappetizing manner, but in which he also appeared to hide a wide manner of unappetizing ingredients.”⁵⁷ When the proprietor, Martin Dalmer, required the man to shave as a condition of employment, the Magyar patriotic press waxed indignant. Világ [The World] denounced Dalmer for “Germanism [Germanomie], or better antiMagyarism,” at least according to the Agramer Zeitung [Zagreb Times], whose account of the affair ended with the ironic declaration “Szegény Haza! [Wretched Homeland!],” the Hungarian words ringing with sarcasm in a German-language Croatian newspaper.⁵⁸ Világ’s editorial sparked a lively public discussion that one Viennese journal dubbed “the moustache debates.”⁵⁹ Ost und West [East and West], for its part, struck a conciliatory note: conceding that “the moustache has become part of the national costume in Hungary,” it suggested that the café

 “Letter of 17 August 1825,” from Clemens Wenzel Lothar Metternich, Aus Metternich’s nachgelassenen Papieren (Vienna: Braumüller, 1881), 4:190 – 91.  Ferencz Kölcsey, Kölcsey Ferencz Naplója, 1832 – 33 (Budapest: Dobrossi, 1848), 46.  The proprietor is identified in Der Spiegel der Kunst, Eleganz, und Mode, vol. 15, no. 56 (13 July 1842), 448. On the Merchant’s Casino, see Michael Silber, “The Entrance of Jews into Hungarian Society in Vormärz: The case of the ‘Casinos’,” in: Jonathan Frankel, Steven Zipperstein, eds, Assimilation and Community (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 284– 383, but esp. 293; Alexander Maxwell and Alexander Campbell, “István Széchenyi, the Casino Movement, and Hungarian Nationalism, 1827– 1848,” Nationalities Papers, vol. 42, no. 1 (2014), 1– 18.  “Pesther Briefe,” Ost und West, vol. 6, no. 65 (16 August 1842), 261.  “Aus der Zeit,” Agramer politische Zeitung, vol. 17, no. 54 (6 July 1842), 238.  “Pesther-Ofner Kurier,” Der Humorist, vol. 6, no. 145 (22 July 1842), 587.

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owner had “set the condition purely from the interests of cleanliness, and the young man gladly agreed.”⁶⁰ The Magyar obsession with facial hair attracted critics. Széchenyi gently mocked patriots who feared “the world will come to an end, if scissors approach a handsome manly black beard, or the patriarchal silver-white beard! As if civic virtue resided in the beard, the way Samson’s strength … lay in his hair.”⁶¹ In 1842, Pest’s Spiegel der Kunst, Eleganz, und Mode [Mirror of Art, Elegance and Fashion], a fashionable German-language magazine, feared the Hungarian moustache mania would invite foreign ridicule: “if even our most serious newspapers make nationality dependent on certain hair … what will they think of us abroad?”⁶² Such criticism of Hungary’s facial hair nationalism, however, testifies to its pervasiveness. While facial hair had become politicized during the Reform Era, the Revolution of 1848 drove the patriotic symbolism of Hungarian moustaches to a new crescendo. Members of the Honvéd or National Guard sported moustaches both national and martial; Therese Pulszky, the Viennese-born wife of a Hungarian nobleman, noted that officers in the revolutionary army “wore moustaches, which one knew was not previously the custom of Imperial infantry officers.”⁶³ Paget’s prediction regarding clerical moustaches also proved correct: in April 1848, Pesti Divatlap reported that “among us priests have begun to wear Hungarian clothes, with honorable military moustache.”⁶⁴ A painter in Kolozsvár [Cluj, Klausenburg], commissioned to paint a portrait of prince Esterházy, added a moustache “from sheer patriotism,” since, in the words of a Pozsony newspaper, “a Hungarian minister without a moustache was unthinkable.”⁶⁵ One hapless cavalryman accidentally burned his moustache off while smoking in bed and felt compelled to use hair extensions.⁶⁶ Hungarian hyper-patriot Rudolf Bárdy, who shaved his moustache during the Revolution of 1848, provides the exception

 “Pesther Briefe,” Ost und West, vol. 6, no. 65 (16 August 1842), 261.  István Széchenyi, Hitel (Pest: Trattner, 1830), 54; Kreditwesen (Pest: Trattner, 1830), 37.  Der Spiegel der Kunst, Eleganz, und Mode, vol. 15, no. 56 (13 July 1842), 448.  Therese Pulszky, Aus dem Tagebuche einer ungarischen Dame (Leipzig, F. W. Grunow, 1850) 2:143.  Pesti Divatlap, no. 20 (20 April 1848), 547.  Preßburger Zeitung, no. 19 (22 July 1848), 120.  “Why Shave?,” The Anglo-American Magazine, vol. 3 (July-December, 1853), 887; reprinted in “Why Shave?,” American Journal of Homeopathy, vol. 8 (1854), 169.

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that proves the rule: he shaved to disguise himself while spying on the Austrians.⁶⁷ During the revolutionary year of 1848, facial hair became politicized elsewhere in Central Europe. Germans in Vienna associated facial hair with political radicalism: in September 1848, the Studenten-Zeitung [the Student Times, in its new incarnation as Der Stürmer] printed a caricature of “the reactionary, the stability man, the conservative, the liberal, the radical, and the anarchist”; facial hair became fuller with each step to the political left.⁶⁸ The politics of Viennese facial hair reflected attitudes in Germany as a whole: Isabella Belting’s study of fashion during the 1848 Revolution found that officers in the Baden National Guard were promoted roughly in proportion to the length of their beards.⁶⁹ As the counter-revolution triumphed in Central Europe, the link between facial hair and radicalism made beards and moustaches subversive. One bewhiskered Prussian, Herrmann von Holzendorff, may even have paid for his facial hair with his life: he was pulled from his home and shot down in the street because, his uncle suspected, soldiers found his long beard “suspicious.”⁷⁰ Throughout the 1850s, facial hair proclaimed political liberalism. In 1856, a clean-shaven American traveler in Habsburg-dominated Italy faced reproaches from liberal friends: “What did you shave your beard off for?” “So as to be more civilized.” “The best thing you can do is to let it grow again.” “Why so?” “All the liberals wear beards and all the smooth-faces are presumed to belong to the party of the priests.”

The American traveler found himself “forced, for a time at least, to bear about sad stubble on my chin, that my appearance might not belie my principles.”⁷¹

 Rudoph Bardy (sic) de Kovatsi, A Hungarian Exile in Italy, Hungary and Turkey (Rochester: Lee, Mann, 1855), 82. Bárdy immediately set about growing new moustaches, but was forced to shave them off again while fleeing from a Turkish prison a year and a half later; see p. 195.  See “Politisches Exercitium,” Der Stürmer (formerly Studenten-Zeitung), no. 41. (10 – 11 September 1848), title page.  Isabella Belting, Mode und Revolution: Deutschland 1848/49 (Hildesheim, Zurich, New York: Georg Olms, 1997), 95 – 97.  Belting, Mode und Revolution, 95 – 97.  Anon., “Souveniers of Saunterings – Political Hair,” Knickerbocker, vol. 48, no. 5 (Nov 1856), 442.

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After the Hungarian revolution’s defeat, as the imperial government asserted its restored authority by prohibiting revolutionary symbols, Hungarian moustaches attracted government censure. Brace reported in 1851 that Hungarian clergymen had shaved at the government’s orders.⁷² The government refrained from forbidding moustaches among the general population, but residents of Pest or Buda, facing particularly close police scrutiny, often shaved to avoid unpleasant interactions with the police. Since a shaved face proclaimed outward obedience to Habsburg rule, it harmed one’s reputation in patriotic circles. In János Arany’s 1854 poem “The Moustache,” the aristocrat György Szűcs laments his shaved face: Nem bolond ember volt ám ő: Ládájába’ pénz, egy bögre, Azonkívül juha, ökre És – szamara volt neki. Sőt az is szent, hogy már régen Ott ülne a bírószéken, Hasa, hája, kéknadrága … Minden kész e méltóságra: De mit ér, ha nincs bajusz!

He was a prudent man: Inside his box was money, a chalice, Apart from that, he had sheep, an ox, And he had a donkey. Moreover, it is certain that since ancient times He would have sat in a judge’s chair, and had his belly, his lard, and his blue trousers … Everything was prepared for his excellency: But what is it worth without a moustache!⁷³

Arany himself amassed strong patriotic credentials. The 1857 poem A walesi bárdok [The Welsh Bards], his best-remembered poem from the Bach Era, describes a tyrannical English king massacring Welsh bards as a metaphor for Hungary’s humiliation under Habsburg tyranny. During the Bach regime, however, Arany himself chose clean-shaved discretion over a patriotic moustache, arousing popular disapproval. Indeed, as late as 1974, Hungarian author Gyula Illyes still felt the need to justify Arany’s shaved face: “What was more important, Arany’s mustache, or his pen? How did he resist better, by giving up his mustache, or by not giving up his pen?”⁷⁴

 A clergyman he spoke with was, he observed, “alas! Without the curling moustache and flowing beard of the other Hungarians.” Charles Loring Brace, Hungary in 1851, 142.  János Arany, “A bajusz,” Arany János költeményei (Budapest: Helikon, 1983), 242– 47. Heartfelt thanks to Cormac Harrington for help with this translation.  Gyula Illyes, Népszabadság (17 November 1974), cited from the Hungarian Section of Radio Free Europe, “The Hungarian Poet Gyula Illyes Turns Eighty,” RAD Background Report/226 (26 October 1982), Open Society Archive, 36 – 7– 164, p. 8.

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The triumphant enemies of the Hungarian revolution, meanwhile, mocked radical Magyars and their moustaches. Consider how the pro-Imperial Pester Courier [Pest Courier] ridiculed Hungarian patriots in 1849: Beschatten von verwog’nem Hut Die Wange schaut aus wildem Busch Nur halb hervor, und mächtig strebt Ein ries’ger Schnurrbart – steif gewischt Trotzbietend in die Welt hinaus.

Shadowed by a bold hat The cheeks peer out of wild bushes Only halfway, and a huge moustache, Wiped stiff, thrusts powerfully Shooting defiantly out into the world. ⁷⁵

In 1850, an anonymous Slovak polemicist mockingly wondered if Hungarian patriots thought imperial officials were “carrying the scalps and skulls of beheaded Magyars on their belts, sleeping on mattresses filled only with the moustaches of personally strangled Kossuthites, and writing only on the hides of personally executed Hungarian generals.”⁷⁶ The Slovak polemicist ended his article by denouncing Magyarization and calling for a Slovak administrative district. By treating shaved faces as a sign of loyalty, the dynasty and its supporters inadvertently lent patriotic facial hair additional symbolic power. In 1851, one Hungarian peasant, expecting Kossuth to return to power quickly, explained to Charles Loring Brace that he had grown a beard to demonstrate his continued loyalty to Hungary’s deposed hero: “I have sworn not to cut my beard till he returns!” Brace explained that while peasants rarely grew “more than a moustache,” the patriotic peasant “wore his beard as a vow.”⁷⁷ The widespread nationalization of everyday practices thus offered patriotic Hungarians diverse opportunities to show their opposition to the Bach regime. The Habsburg monarchy eventually decided to reconcile itself to Hungarian moustaches. Significantly, the young emperor Franz Joseph, who ascended the throne in 1848 when his uncle Ferdinand was forced to abdicate, personally sported elaborate facial hair. Indeed, he ultimately cultivated sideburns long enough to cover his collar,⁷⁸ though Pieter Judson rightly distinguished the Emperor’s “acceptable facial hair that included sideburns but a clean shaven chin” from “the unacceptable full beard.”⁷⁹ While Franz Joseph forbade civil servants

 “Ueberraschende Metamorphose,” Pester Courier, no. 24 (4 March, 1849), 189 – 90.  “Hlas ze Slovenska o centralisaci a foederaci,” Slovan (1850), 1750.  Charles Loring Brace, Hungary in 1851, with an Experience of the Austrian Police (New York: Charles Scribner, 1853), 112.  Alan Palmer, Twilight of the Habsburgs: The Life and Times of Franz Joseph (New York: Atlantic, 1994), 165; Krúdy, “Frigyes Podmaniczky’s Beard,” 14– 15.  Pieter Judson, The Habsburg Empire: A New History (Cambridge, Mass: Belknap, 2016), 501; Ernst Hanisch, “Der Verlust der Bärte: Zur politischen Kultur der Wendehälse,” in: Sigurd

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to wear full beards in the aftermath of the 1848 Revolution,⁸⁰ such prohibitions gradually relaxed over time. In 1868, when Carl Grishka became minister of the interior, his full beard symbolized the triumph of liberalism.⁸¹ Moustaches officially returned to Hungary’s public life when Franz Joseph announced the end of the Bach regime and the restoration of constitutional government. An 1860 article on “moustache, beard and hair” insisted that “for the Hungarian, the moustache is most important. Thus the proverb: wear a moustache!”⁸² During the elections to the restored Reichsrat, a correspondent for Stuttgart’s Illustrierte Welt described how activists of all political persuasions appealed to the public: they gave stump speeches, danced tirelessly to Gypsy music, and, if necessary, grew a moustache: If he has no moustache – it is a universal requirement that he does not lack a respectable moustache – then he makes sure to grow one! There can be no atom of “non-nationality [Nichtnationalität]” in his costume, and if anything is lacking from top to bottom, it will be provided.⁸³

Even more dramatically, a correspondent for the Würzburger Journal reported in 1861 that patriotic Hungarian moustaches adorned not only statues of saints, but statues of the Virgin Mary.⁸⁴ Perhaps the richest text addressing Hungary’s moustache culture in the immediate aftermath of the Bach regime is Mór Jókai’s 1891 novel Nincsen ördög [There is no Devil]. The novel’s hero, Dr. Dumany, has a clean-shaven face when the story opens in the 1850s. When his uncle disapprovingly questions his lack of moustache, he replies: “I do not care for the manly beauty of a moustache or beard.”⁸⁵ Jókai, however, hinted that Dumany has fallen under German influence: he has a successful medical practice in Vienna and intends to remain

Scheichl, Emil Brix, eds, “Dürfen’s denn das?”: Die fortdauernde Frage zum Jahr 1848 (Vienna: Passagen, 1999), 249 – 53.  Alison Gernsheim, Victorian and Edwardian Fashion: A Photographic Survey (Mineola, NY: Dover, 1963), 34.  Pieter Judson, The Habsburg Empire: A New History (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 2016), 275 – 77.  László Kőváry, “A bajusz, szakáll, és haj,” A magyar családi s közéleti viseletek és szokások (Cluj: János Stein, 1860), 22.  A. G. “Der Wahlagitator,” Illustrierte Welt: Deutsches Familienbuch, vol. 14, no. 29 (1866), 340.  “Deutschland,” Würzburger Journal, vol. 7, no. 166 (17 July 1861), 2.  Mór Jókai, Nincsen ördög (Budapest: Légrády Testvérek, 1891), 1:100; cited from F. Steinitz’s translation as Maurus Jókai, Dr. Dumany’s Wife (New York: Doubleday, 1891), 84. See also Ludwig Wechsler, Es gibt keinen Teufel (Berlin: Otto Janke, 1891).

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in the imperial capital. In 1860, however, Dumany’s uncle dies. Legal formalities related to the inheritance compel him to travel to Hungary, where he experiences the heady atmosphere of newly-restored constitutional government. While attending a political meeting out of curiosity, he feels moved to speak, whereupon a priest immediately calls his national credentials into question: “If you are a Hungarian, sir, as you claim, where is your moustache?” “Out hunting for yours, your reverence,” said I with a grin. “I am a priest!” was the haughty reply.⁸⁶

Dumany then surprises himself and all around him by justifying his shaved face with unexpected eloquence: Looking around at the portraits on the walls of the room, portraits representing the most celebrated heroes of our national history, I gave them then and there such a barbological sermon ex tripode that they listened to me in mute astonishment. I told them that the great national high-priests and patriots, Peter Pázmány, Prince Cardinal Eszterházy and Thomas Bakács, there portrayed, had worn moustaches, although they were priests, whereas Mathias Corvinus, our glorious never-to-be-forgotten hero king, wore a clean-shaven face like mine. The famous Palatinus Illésházy had pronounced Hungary free and independent with smooth hairless lips, and Thomas Nádasy had carried the Hungarian tricolour to immortal triumphs although his face was as beardless as mine, as everybody might see by his portrait there present.⁸⁷

This speech launches Dumany on a brief political career, for which he naturally begins to grow a moustache. A new acquaintance, introducing him to local notables, praises his stubble as evidence of patriotism: “his sprouting moustache and beard are a token of patriotic zeal, and a sacrifice upon the altar of national idiosyncrasy. Henceforth he will be known as a Hungarian in his appearance also, and nobody will be justified in calling him an Austrian.”⁸⁸ Shortly afterwards, when he abandons politics, he shaves his face with the thought: “Good-bye to chauvinism and national peculiarity!”⁸⁹ Hungarian politicians indeed felt obliged to wear moustaches, and those whose were insufficiently impressive faced gossip and sneers. In 1866, journalist Aurél Kecskeméthy wrote of baron Zsigmund Kemény that “his moustache was not sufficiently large as would be fitting for a man of the Hungarian opposi-

   

Jókai, Jókai, Jókai, Jókai,

Nincsen Nincsen Nincsen Nincsen

ördög, 1:131; cited from Jókai, Dr. Dumany’s Wife, 111. ördög, 1:131– 32; cited from Jókai, Dr. Dumany’s Wife, 111. ördög, 2:15; cited from Jókai, Dr. Dumany’s Wife, 156. ördög, 2:97; cited from Jókai, Dr. Dumany’s Wife, 218.

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tion.”⁹⁰ Two panoramic illustrations of the parliament in session, done in 1868 by János Jankó for the popular daily Vasárnapi Újság [Sunday News], depict all representatives in parliament wearing moustaches. The majority of deputies also wear beards. Only one clean-shaven face is visible, in the galley, perhaps representing a foreign journalist.⁹¹ Almost twenty years would pass before a Hungarian minister dared shave; yet even in 1887 when Sándor Werkele, an eventual prime minister, became State Secretary, his lack of moustache aroused public disapproval.⁹² Different styles of facial hair ultimately came to signify different political orientations. At the end of the century, novelist and journalist Gyula Krúdy contrasted “the so-called Petőfi beard, which in the nineteenth century usually signaled a definite penchant toward patriotic poetry,”⁹³ with “beards worn by collaborators” or “dyed-in-the-wool imperial bureaucrats … the type of beard you saw on old men who muttered curses at the world as they sat on benches along the Buda esplanades.”⁹⁴ Krúdy also identified “the Francis Joseph beard” worn by “old army officers angling for a commission.” The wrong kind of beard could still have subversive connotations, and “many a face was deemed untrustworthy because it retained traces of vanished Kossuth, Batthyányi, and Garibaldi beards.”⁹⁵ Nevertheless, by Krúdy’s day, facial hair as such demonstrated not patriotism but respectability: “Any gentleman of consequences felt obliged to grow a beard reflecting his rank and character.”⁹⁶ As the rise of racialist thinking introduced biological ideas into patriotic imaginations, the Hungarian moustache attracted attention in ethnographic circles. In 1902, autodidact zoologist and polymath Ottó Herman published a study

 Aurél Kecskeméthy [as Aranyos Kákay], Ujabb árny- és fényképek idősb Kákay Aranyostól (Pest: Ráth Mór, 1866), 56; see also the German translation Licht- und Schattenbilder zur Charakteristik des ungarischen Landtags (Budapest: Wilhelm Lausser, 1867), 41.  See “Rajzok az országgyűlésből – a balközép,” and “Rajzok az országgyűlésből – a szélsőbal, a balközép,” Vasárnapi Újság, vol. 15, nos 31, 48 (2 August, 29 November 1868), 369, 577.  See Géza Andreas von Géyr, Sándor Werkele, 1848 – 1921: Die politische Biographie eines ungarischen Staatsmannes der Donaumonarchie (Munich: Oldenbourg, 1983), 87; Ferenc Pölöskei, A magyar parlamentarizmus a századfordulón: Politikusok és intézmények (Budapest: História, 2001), 126.  Gyula Krúdy, “Frigyes Podmaniczky’s Beard,” in: John Bátki, ed., Krudy’s Chronicles: Turn-ofthe-Century Hungary in Gyula Krúdy’s Journalism (Budapest: CEU Press, 2000), 14.  Krúdy, “Frigyes Podmaniczky’s Beard,” 13.  Krúdy, “Frigyes Podmaniczky’s Beard,” 16.  Gyula Krúdy, “Somosy, the Man Who Taught Budapest a Lesson in Nightlife,” in: John Bátki, ed., Krudy’s Chronicles: Turn-of-the-Century Hungary in Gyula Krúdy’s Journalism (Budapest: CEU Press, 2000), 46.

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of the “the Hungarian nation’s face and character,” lavishly illustrated. The book shows forty Hungarian men’s faces; all sport moustaches.⁹⁷ Four years later, Herman published a pseudoscientific article specifically devoted to “the Hungarian moustache,” complete with an illustration of 23 different moustache types. The taxonomy included some non-Magyar moustaches: the “Slav catfish moustache,” for example, was supposedly worn “by south Slavs and Poles,” though “also by Magyar people.”⁹⁸ Herman’s moustache taxonomy pushed racialist psuedoscience too far: Emese Lafferton’s survey found that Hungarian ethnographiers greeted it with “ridicule and condescending criticism.”⁹⁹ By the turn of the century, evidently, a few Hungarians had acquired a sense of irony about patriotic moustaches. In short, Hungarian moustaches slowly lost their subversive power after the 1867 Settlement. Just as the Habsburg monarch reconciled himself to moustaches, so too did Magyar patriots reconcile themselves to the Habsburg dynasty. Both developments cost moustaches their political potency. Novelist Zsigmond Móricz provided a good epithet for the patriotic moustache of the Hungarian revolution. In a 1909 short story, Móricz included a moustache in his description of a typical everyman: “János Kis was a kind of invisible man; nobody ever noticed him … What was there to make anyone notice him? He was just like a human being; he had two eyes and a nose, and he also had a moustache.”¹⁰⁰ Had Kis shaved, he would presumably have been more visible, but perhaps seemed less like a human being. Hungarian moustaches lost even more their national significance when the Habsburg Empire collapsed. Soldiers in the First World War often went cleanshaven, since a gas mask cannot seal around a full moustache. During the war, soldiers symbolized heroism and national sacrifice, and the patriotism of clean shaven faces lay beyond question. When the monarchy dissolved in 1919, parliamentarian and future Prime Minister István Bethlen, fleeing the revolutionary mob, shaved his face to avoid being recognized.¹⁰¹ Mihály Károlyi, who brief Ottó Herman, A magyar nép arca és jelleme (Budapest: Tudományi Társulat, 1902), 89 – 91 (eight faces), 100 – 101 (sixteen faces), 133 – 35 (sixteen faces).  Otto Herman, “A Magyar bajusz,” Magyar Nyelv, vol. 2, no. 1 (January 1906), 30 – 33; the “Szláv-harcsa” moustache was number sixteen.  Emese Lafferton, “The Magyar Moustache: The Faces of Hungarian State Formation, 1867– 1918,” Studies in History and Philosophy of Biological and Biomedical Sciences, vol. 38 (2007), 708.  This character then goes on to eat himself to death at a wedding banquet. Zsigmond Móricz, “Tragédia,” Nyugat, no. 18 (16 September 1909); cited from the English translation “Tragedy,” Seven Pennies and other Short Stories (Budapest: Corvina, 1988), 41.  Catherine Eva Schandl, The London-Budapest Game (Morrisville: Lulu, 2007), 74.

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ly led the government of independent Hungary from November 1918 to March 1919, sported a modest moustache, but his next four successors – Communist dictator Béla Kun, authoritarian regent Miklós Horthy, fascist dictator Ferenc Szálasi, and Soviet puppet Mátyás Rákosi – were all clean-shaven, despite their wildly divergent political leanings.¹⁰² Nevertheless, the memory of mustachioed Hungarians outlived the national practice. The Kapitány survey of Hungarian attitudes, conducted in the late 1990s, found that 13.7 % of respondents still felt that the typical Magyar ought to have a moustache.¹⁰³ Photographer Stephen Spinder, producer of the 2005 “Mostly Magyar Moustache Postcard/Calendar,” found several fine moustaches to photograph among Hungarian folk dance enthusiasts.¹⁰⁴ Yet even if moustaches retain an unusual place in the Hungarian cultural imagination, Hungarian moustaches clearly lack the obligatory quality they once possessed: clean-shaven Hungarians no longer have their patriotism called into question.

National manliness? Like tobacco and alcohol, therefore, moustaches acquired patriotic symbolism in nineteenth century Hungary. Their non-national social meanings further illuminate everyday nationalism. In some ways, patriotic moustaches repeat or replicate the cultural meanings of national tobacco or national alcohol. In other ways, however, nationalized facial hair contributes new insights into Hungarian patriotic imaginations. Where national tobacco showed how Hungary’s patriotic culture transcended its economic origins, national facial hair suggest that the nationalization of everyday practices need not have any economic basis at all. Razors, scissors, soap, and wax played no special role in the Hungarian economy. Whatever the

 Kun, however, grew a moustache in the interwar period. “Bela Kun Seized,” Time (7 May 1928), www document, URL , accessed 9 December 2007.  Ágnes Kapitány, Gábor Kapitány, Magyarság-szimbólumok (Budapest: Európai Fólklor Központ, 1999); cf. Johanna Laakso, Our Otherness: Finno-Ugrian Approaches to Women’s Studies, Or Vice Versa (Vienna: LIT Verlag, 2005), 95 – 96.  Spinder’s informants also suggested that he produce a similar calendar depicting the moustaches of Hungarian politicians. Stephen Spinder, personal communication. Thanks also to Spinder for giving me a copy of his Magyar bajusz naptár/képeslapok – Mostly Magyar Moustaches, third edition (Budapest: Folprint, 2005).

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origins of patriotic moustaches, extant clues do not point toward financial interests. If anything, they point instead to military influence: military moustaches, perhaps, spread to Hungarian civilian life. Just as Hungary’s culture of patriotic alcohol varied by ethno-national community, so did Hungary’s cult of the nationalized moustache. The distinct communities inside the Hungarian kingdom could claim membership in Hungarian society by growing facial hair, and yet differentiate themselves by cultivating distinct moustache styles. According to one Austrian officer, for example, the Székelys of Transylvania differed from the Magyars proper because Székelys have “a long moustache, not closely twisted up to a point, like that of the Magyars, but hanging loosely down.”¹⁰⁵ Székelys spoke Hungarian and were often considered a sub-variety of Magyars, but Transylvanian Romanian author and journalist Ioan Slavici, listing “certain features characteristic of all Romanians that strikingly divide them from other peoples,” proclaimed a “glaring difference between the color of the hair and that of eyebrows and moustache,” specifically, the moustache hair was “very strong, and much brighter than head hair.”¹⁰⁶ The dual nationalism discussed above might suggest that a distinctive style of moustache enabled members of minority communities to express symbolic membership in a multi-ethnic “Hungarian nation,” while still retaining their non-Magyar “national” peculiarity. Hungarian theorists of multiple nationality indirectly addressed the issue of moustaches by treating “habits” as a criteria for one or another sort of nationalism. In 1872, for example, the aforementioned Slovak lawyer Karl Zmertych treated “individual customs and habits” as criteria for shared all-Hungarian “political nationality.”¹⁰⁷ Samuel Hoitsy, by contrast, had in 1842 attributed characteristic “habits [and] customs” not to the Kingdom as a whole, but to Romanians and “Slavs in Hungary with their subdivisions Slovaks, Serbs, Ruthenians.”¹⁰⁸ In 1791, Viennese geographer Ignatz Luca had also insisted that “determining the customs in Hungary as a whole is impossible, the proper Hungarian [eigentliche Unger] has different customs than the Slavs.¹⁰⁹ Nevertheless, direct evidence linking non-Magyar moustaches to non-

 “Baron W.” Scenes of the Civil War in Hungary, in 1848 and 1849: With the Personal Adventures of an Austrian Officer, trans. from German by Frederic Shoberl (Philadelphia: E. H. Butler, 1850), 25.  Ioan Slavici, Die Rumänen in Siebenbürgen und der Bukowina (Vienna: Karl Prochaska, 1881), 133 – 35.  Karl Zmertych, Rhapsodien über die Nationalität (Skalice: Fr. X. Skarnitl’s Söhne, 1872), 8.  Samuel Hoitsy, Apologie des ungrischen Slawismus (Leipzig: Vlockmar, 1843), 12– 13.  Ignaz de Luca, Geographisches Handbuch, Vierter Band, Enthaltend Ungern, Illyrien, und Siebenbürgen (Vienna: Degen, 1791), 192– 93.

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Magyar theories of dual nationality is lacking. Perhaps Hungary’s patriotic moustaches, however ubiquitous, however powerful their symbolism, lacked the nuance to parse the fine distinctions between different understandings of the “nation.” The politics of Hungarian facial hair does, however, illustrate Magyar assimilationist policies. While Hungary’s infamous Magyarization policies focused primarily on linguistic issues, they had a counterpart in moustache culture. The slogan “No Magyar without a moustache,”¹¹⁰ reported from Hungary’s multilingual south, demanded that non-Magyars conform to Hungarian facial hair customs. Some non-Magyars, echoing Dumany, proved willing to sacrifice on the altar of Hungarian national idiosyncrasy; for others shaving the face symbolized resistance to Magyar chauvinism. Hungary’s German community illustrates both assimilation and resistance to the dominant culture of the patriotic moustache. Assimilating Germans in Pozsony [Bratislava, Pressburg] provoked one disapproving observer to remark that the “ultra-Magyar” German renegade “must pay a few thalers every year to bring his moustache into Magyar form.” Johann Heinrich Schwicker, from whose 1881 book this observer has been cited, thought the description exaggerated, but commented “remove the caricature from this sentence, and it still rings true.”¹¹¹ In 1870, a Viennese journalist similarly lamented that Hungarian citizens “with German names let themselves be Magyarized en masse, even recent German migrants deny their nationality with spurs, embroidery, and long moustaches.”¹¹² Adam Müller-Guttenbrunn, a German novelist born in the Banat, also linked German moustaches to linguistic assimilation, writing in 1896 that that Germans who spoke Hungarian usually wore moustaches.¹¹³ On the other hand, ethnographer Karl Manherz reported that Germans in Tolna county shaved the moustache because “they considered it a foreign fashion, something that belonged to the habits of other people.”¹¹⁴ Manherz noted an important exception: “a judge was allowed, after his election, to let a moustache grow. But when he lost his election, he had to bid his beard farewell.”¹¹⁵ In 1881, Johann Heinrich

 Karl Manherz, Volkstracht der Ungarndeutschen (Budapest: Germanistisches Institut Pytheas, 2000), 19.  Johann Heinrich Schwicker, Die Deutschen in Ungarn und Siebenbürgen (Vienna: Karl Prochaska, 1881), 186 – 87.  “Wiener Briefe,” Augsburger Postzeitung, vol. 184, no. 6 (8 January 1870), 43.  Adam Müller-Guttenbrunn, Deutsche Kulturbilder aus Ungarn (Leipzig: Georg Heinrich Mayer, 1896), 14.  Manherz, Volkstracht der Ungarndeutschen, 19.  Manherz, Volkstracht der Ungarndeutschen, 20.

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Schwicker also wrote that judges could only wear moustaches “for the duration of their service.”¹¹⁶ Private citizens, like Dumany, might decide to shave, but representatives of the Hungarian state could not. Yet if Hungary’s patriotic moustaches, like Hungary’s patriotic alcohol, illustrate the exclusion of national minorities, they even more dramatically demonstrate gender exclusion. The Hungarian national moustache was an exclusively masculine symbol: as a oft-recorded Magyar proverb proclaimed, “Bajusz s szakáll férfiembert illet [Moustache and beard only concern men].”¹¹⁷ Hungary’s nonMagyar nationalities also linked the moustache to ideals of masculinity. Adolf Záturecký’s 1896 collection of Slovak proverbs declared that “A fellow without moustaches is like an ox without horns.”¹¹⁸ An 1866 collection of Croatian idioms urged “Tell me about the moustache, if you are a man.”¹¹⁹ Vuk Karadjić’s 1849 collection of Serbian folk sayings included a rhyming proverb that translates as: “Judge an old man by his moustache, and a young man by how well he runs [Gledaj choekj brk a deliji trk].”¹²⁰ A final proverb, attributed to Transylvanian Armenians, proclaims that “if my grandmother had had a beard, she would have been my grandfather.”¹²¹ Women, no matter how patriotic, cannot normally grow moustaches. Much feminist research draws attention to phenomena that blur the male/female binary,¹²² and, as Tamar Mayer noted in her Gender Ironies of Nationalism, “gender is divorced from sex (biology) and, therefore, ‘masculinity’ does not necessarily

 Johann Heinrich Schwicker, Die Deutschen un Ungarn und Siebenbürgen (Vienna: Karl Prochaska, 1881), 354, 364.  Proverb 479, Ballagi, Magyar példabeszédek, 31; Georg von Gaal, Sprüchwörterbuch in sechs Sprachen, Deutsch, Englisch, Latein, Italienisch, Französisch und Ungrisch (Vienna: Friedrich Volke, 1830), 26.  “Čo vôl bez rohov, to chlap bez fúzov.” Adolf Peter Záturecký, Slovenská přísloví, pořekadla a úsloví (Prague: Česká akademia císaře Františka Josefa, 1896), 65.  “Kaži mi o brk, ako si mužko.” Mijat Stojanović, Sbirka narodnih poslovicah, riečih i izrazah (Zagreb: Jakić, 1866), 92.  “Гледај чоекј брк а делији трк.” Vuk Karadjić, Srpske narodne poslovice (Vienna: Printing Press of the Armenian Monastery, 1849), 42.  Heinrich von Wislocki, Märchen und Sagen der Bukowinaer und Siebenbürger Armenier (Hamburg: Verlagsanstalt und Druckerei Actien-Gesellschaft, 1891), 184.  Studies calling the male-female dichotomy into question include Antonia Young, Women Who Become Men: Albania’s Sworn Virgins (Oxford, New York: Berg, 2000); Serena Nanda, Neither Man Nor Woman: The Hijras of India (Belmont: Wadsworth, 1999); Richard Totman, The Third Sex, Kathoey: Thailand’s Ladyboys (Chiang Mai: Silkworm, 2003); Judith Halberstam, Female Masculinity (Durham: Duke University Press, 1998).

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have to be the domain of a biological ‘male.”¹²³ In theory, Hungarian women who grow facial hair might undermine the sharpness of the gender dichotomy. In practice, however, the vast majority of Hungarians, Magyars and non-Magyars alike, conformed to the gender dichotomy. Anecdotal evidence, furthermore, suggests that those women who could grow facial hair were not lauded for patriotism, but shunned as hideous or freakish. A 1847 novel by Miklós Jósika interchangeably described the hideous wife of a Jewish moneylender as a “moustachioed woman,” a “bearded woman,” a “female usurer” and a “female leech.”¹²⁴ Hungarian émigré author Lajos Zilahy characterized a “bearded lady” as someone to be put “on display” in his novel The Dukays,¹²⁵ and bearded women in fact featured regularly in circus displays.¹²⁶ Parents also disciplined young girls by threatening them with facial hair. According to an 1845 entry in János Erdélyi’s diary, “if a young girl, too small to tell her left from her right, kissed a man, her mother or grandmother used to frighten her with the prospect of becoming a mustachioed woman.”¹²⁷ Men without facial hair also faced severe social sanction, since a widespread prejudice held that men without facial hair lacked proper manliness. Antal Szirmay’s 1804 volume of Hungarian parables declared that Hungarian horsemen without moustaches “look like old women.”¹²⁸ Paget, who himself felt compelled to grow a moustache in Hungary, found that “so strongly is the idea of manhood and moustaches associated, that I remember a child exclaiming when she heard that they were not worn in England ‘why, you must all look like great girls

 Tamar Mayer, “Setting the Stage,” in: Tamar Mayer, ed., Gender Ironies of Nationalism: Sexing the Nation (New York: Routledge, 2000), 4.  Respectively, “bajuszos nő,” “szakállas nő,” “uzsorásnő,” and “nő-nadály.” Miklós Jósika, Jósika István, regény (Pest: Heckenast, 1847), 83 – 84. Heartfelt thanks to Bálint Koller for help with this translation.  Lajos Zilahy, The Dukays, trans. by John Pauker (New York: Prentice-Hall, 1949), 526. Also available as Die Dukays (Bern: Hallwag, c. 1960). The Hungarian original has a complex history. A 1947 version called Ararát was published without the author’s consent, the authorized version did not appear until 1967 as Rézmetszet alkonyat.  For Hungarian descriptions of bearded women, see Gyula Szini, “A Csodák [Miracles],” Nyugat, vol. 10, no. 23 (1917), 947– 52; Sándor Márai, Pesti Hírlap (14 July 1938). For a German commentary on bearded women, see Johann Georg Keyssler, Travels through Germany, Bohemia, Hungary, Switzerland, Italy, and Lorraine (London: Kieth, 1756), 1:94; see also Robert Bogdan, Freak Show: Presenting Human Oddities for Amusement and Profit (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990 [1988]), 224– 29.  Erdélyi wrote these words in Paris, wondering “Have I previously met mustachioed girls without knowing it? In Paris such things are not unusual.” Ilona Erdélyi, ed., Erdélyi János útinaplója és úti levelei (Budapest: Közoktatásügyi, 1951), 146.  Antal Szirmay, Hungaria in parabolis (Buda: Typis regiae Universitatis Pestanae, 1804), 51.

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then!’”¹²⁹ Jozsef Elter’s 1842 volume of forensic medicine claimed that “effeminate men [elpuhult férfiak] (viri effeminati)” not only had “imperfect” sexual organs, but a “weak procreative instinct, [and] a feminine face, without beard or moustache.”¹³⁰ Hungarian moustache patriotism, therefore, was exclusively masculine. As such, it recalled Hungary’s patriotic tobacco smoking which, as previously noted in passing, also excluded women. Gender thus joins ethnicity and social status as a relevant variable in everyday nationalism, confirming various feminist studies of women’s exclusion from Hungarian public life. While nineteenth century Hungary indeed possessed a women’s movement,¹³¹ its impact should not be exaggerated.¹³² Several political scientists have pondered the exclusion of women from public life, but the most insightful analysis comes from feminist theorist Carol Pateman. Considering the French Revolution’s famous slogan Liberté, égalité, fraternité, Pateman argued that even “liberal” nationalist movements systematically exclude women: “Almost no one – except some feminists – is willing to admit that fraternity means what it says: the brotherhood of men.”¹³³ Analyzing contract theorists, she showed that several key figures, including Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau, excluded women as parties to the social contract, treating them instead as dependents of men. She concluded that “the social contract is a fraternal pact that constitutes civil society as a patriarchal or masculine order.”¹³⁴ National brotherhood – fraternité – is in Pateman’s reading a “sexual contact” between men, intended to ensure “that there is an orderly access by each man to a woman.”¹³⁵ Several studies have drawn inspiration from Pate-

 Paget, Hungary and Transylvania, 1:463 – 64.  József Eltér, Törvényszéki orvostan (Pest: Landerer és Heckenast 1842), 58 – 59.  Susan Zimmerman, Die bessere Hälfte? Frauenbewegungen und Frauenbestrebungen im Ungarn der Habsburgermonarchie 1848 bis 1918 (Vienna: Promedia, 1999); Suzan Zimmerman, “The Challenge of Multinational Empire for the International Women’s Movement: The Case of the Habsburg Monarchy,” Journal of Women’s History,” vol. 17, no. 2 (2005) 87– 117; Mária Kovács, “Ambiguities of Emancipation: Women and the Ethnic Question in Hungary,” Women’s History Review, vol. 5, no. 4 (1996), 487– 95; Nora Weber, “Feminism, Patriarchy, Nationalism, and Women in fin de-Siècle Slovakia,” Nationalities Papers, vol. 25, no. 1 (March 1997), 35 – 65.  Susan Arpad, Sarolta Marinovich, “Why Hasn’t There Been a Strong Women’s Movement in Hungary?,” The Journal of Popular Culture, vol. 29, no. 2 (1995), 77– 96.  Carole Pateman, The Sexual Contract (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1988), 78.  Carole Pateman, The Disorder of Women: Democracy, Feminism, and Political Theory (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1989), 33.  Pateman, The Sexual Contract, 109; see also Anne Phillips, Engendering Democracy (Cambridge: Blackwell, 1991), 31– 38.

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man’s ideas, including Norma Basch’s study of the American revolution,¹³⁶ and an increasingly voluminous literature on the French Revolution.¹³⁷ Hungarians clearly linked their moustaches to both nationality and manliness, and in 1835 one anonymous journalist even declared explicitly that “the Magyar does not separate the moustache from fraternity.”¹³⁸ Pateman’s hypothesis might therefore predict that Hungarian patriots would link such a strongly gendered national symbol with the masculine possession, or at least seduction, of women. As it happens, abundant evidence suggests just such associations. The aforementioned Groß-Hoffinger fancied that “a Hungarian lady would never be able to love a man without a moustache.”¹³⁹ After robustly declaring that “in no other country in the world can one find moustaches so thick and so long, so stiff and so frizzy, so elegant and so wild, as in the Magyar land [im Magyarenlande],” a supporter of the 1848 Hungarian revolution concluded that “no people of the world understands how to flirt so elegantly with moustaches as the Hungarian nobleman.”¹⁴⁰ Moustaches also featured prominently in János Arany’s 1852 poem “Magyar Misi,” describing a stereotypical Lothario: Magyar Misi ám a legény egyszer a talpán, Kivált mikor a bajuszát felpödri nyalkán, Félreüti darutollas túri süvegét, Majd megbolondul utána a fehércseléd. Magyar Misi, to be sure, is the lad at once upon his feet especially when he twists up his moustache with his saliva and cocks on one side his cap from fur, with a crane’s feather in it presently all the women servants will go mad after him.¹⁴¹

 Norma Basch, “From the Bonds of Empire to the Bonds of Matrimony,” in: Thomas Konig, ed., Devising Liberty: Preserving and Creating Freedom in the New American Republic (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1995), 224.  Lynn Hunt, The Family Romance of the French Revolution (Berkeley, 1992); Madelyn Gutwirth, “Sacred Father, Profane Sons: Lynn Hunt’s French Revolution,” French Historical Studies, vol. 19, no. 2 (1995), 261– 76; Françoise Vergès, Monsters and Revolutionaries: Colonial Family Romance and Métissage (Durham: Duke University Press, 1999), esp. 25 – 28.  “Magyar nemzeti viseletek,” Fillértár, vol. 2, no. 5 (4 April 1835), 37.  Groß-Hoffinger [as Norman], Ungarn, das Reich, Land, und Volk, 90.  Übersicht des Revolutionskrieges in Ungarn und Siebenburgen (Darmstadt: R. von Anw., 1851), 50.  János Arany, “Magyar Misi,” Magyar Thália: Játékszini Almanac, vol. 1 (1853), 213; English translation from Arthur Patterson, The Magyars: Their Country and Institutions (London: Smith, Elder, 1869), 1:169.

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Jókai similarly praised the “handsome, Magyar, mustachioed, bearded man.”¹⁴² The Hungarian moustache evidently signified not only nationality, but sexual desirability, at least in the imagination of male Magyar patriots. Furthermore, an 1843 novella serialized in Pest’s German-language press even associated moustaches with the Hungarian man’s right to control the sexuality of “his” women. At one point in the story, an elderly general chastises his nephew Charles for shaving: “you have done very ill! Women love moustaches, that is certain.” The general then offers Charles his daughter’s hand in marriage. When Charles wonders whether the daughter favours him, the general dismisses Charles’ concerns: “Stupid boy! As if she could have any contrary will!”¹⁴³ The general treated the moustache as a symbol of male sexual desirability, but also conflated the sexual preferences of his daughter, as he understood and described them, with his own will. On the other hand, perhaps one should not overstate the national-romantic associations of the Hungarian moustache. Franz von Löher linked the moustache not only to erotic love, but to anger and contemplation: When the Magyar ponders deeply, he twists his moustache, – when he explodes with hot temper, he twists his moustache, – when he whispers noble words of love, he twists his moustache. A traveler from Asia might ask: ‘this Magyar individual possesses a soul and a moustache, but which secret connection exists between the two?’¹⁴⁴

Questions of the soul encompass and transcend nationality and sexuality. A sufficiently ubiquitous national moustache, perhaps, might make Hungarians think of romance simply because they associated it with every facet of life. To examine the gendered quality of Hungarian nationalism, therefore, we should perhaps turn our attention to nationalized sexuality as such. The following chapter examines the nationalization of sexual desire, often but not always in the context of marriage. We will see that Hungarian notions about patriotic sexuality spectacularly confirm Pateman’s ideas about the national brotherhood.

 “A szép magyar bajuszos, szakállas férfi.” See Mór Jókai, A lőcsei fehér asszony, 4 vols. (Budapest: Révai Testvérek, 1884), cited from Jókai Mór Összes művei (Budapest: Nemzeti, 1897), 71:129; available in German as Die weiße Frau von Löcse (Leipzig: Kiepenheuer, 1985).  “Die Brautweber,” Der Ungar: Zeitschriftliches Organ für magyarische Interessen (20 May 1843), 493. The serial started on 13 May 1843 and finished on 1 July.  Franz von Löher, Die Magyaren und andere Ungarn (Leipzig: Fues’s Verlag, 1874), 235 – 36.

Chapter 6 Hungary’s National Sexuality The nationalization of sexuality could potentially have many dimensions, but will here be examined as the promotion of national endogamy: patriots wanted the national man to choose a national woman, and for the national woman to reject non-national men. This chapter specifically focuses on the nationalization of sexual desires. Nineteenth-century sexual desires often found expression in marriage or marriage proposals, both of which will feature prominently in the discussion below. Nevertheless, historical actors also took an interest in marital legislation from non-national motives. Marriage is a complicated topic, linked as it is to inheritance rights, child-rearing, the authority of religious leaders, and other topics transcending sexuality. This analysis, however, mostly neglects marriage as a legal status and social institution. It concentrates instead on nationalized sexual imaginations and nationalized sexual fantasies. In the discussion below, the term “sexual” never refers to the putatively biological half of the oft-problematized “sex-gender” dichotomy.¹ Instead, it refers to sexuality: sexual desire or desirability, ideas about proper sexual behavior, and so forth. This chapter does not consider the possible social consequences of biological difference, it remains entirely within the realm of socially-constructed “gender.”² Sexual desires, both lust and love, are some of the most intimate and powerful human emotions. Insofar sexuality is “embedded in the ordinary lives … of millions of people,” it constitutes a “banal” rather than “hot” form of nationalism when considered in terms of Billig’s dichotomy.³ While this book generally focuses on phenomena Billig would call “banal,” the study of nationalized sexuality poses new methodological challenges. Everyday Hungarian nationalism, as previously discussed, latched onto commodities or practices extensively documented in non-patriotic sources. Tobacco and wine, as important sectors of Hungary’s economy, appear in the voluminous documentation that economic activity  Moira Gatens, “A Critique of the Sex/Gender Distinction,” Imaginary Bodies Ethics, Power and Corporeality (London: Routledge, 1996), 3 – 20; Anne Fausto-Sterling, Sexing the Body: Gender Politics and the Construction of Sexuality (London: Basic, 2000), Judith Butler, “Introduction,” Bodies that Matter (New York: Routledge, 1993), 1– 23.  Joan Wallach Scott, “Gender as a Useful Category of Historical Analysis,” American Historical Review, vol. 91, no. 5. (1986), 1053 – 75; Joan Wallach Scott, “Gender: Still a Useful Category of Analysis?,” Diogenes, vol. 57, no. 7 (2010), 7– 14.  Billig, Banal Nationalism, 94. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638448-009

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generates. Moustaches do not feature as prominently in economic documentation, but featured in travel accounts and visual sources, such as paintings, photographs, or caricatures. Sexual desires and sexual fantasies, while ubiquitous, do not generate an equivalent documentary record. National endogamy attracted surprisingly little attention from Hungarian politicians. In nineteenth century Hungary, the term vegyes házasság [mixed marriage] did not refer to marriage between people of different nationality, but instead marriages between people of different denominations. At the beginning of the century, it usually denoted a marriage between a Catholic and a Protestant; by end of the century, it also described marriage between a Christian and a Jew. Confessionally mixed marriages faced considerable social censure. Kata Bethlen, a Calvinist magnate from Transylvania, spent much of her 1744 autobiography lamenting her mixed marriage to the Catholic László Haller: “God has made me taste constantly its bitter fruits.”⁴ Not only did her in-laws constantly pressure her to convert, but both her son and daughter were taken from her, even though daughters of mixed marriages were usually raised in the mother’s religion. Bethlen’s daughter later publicly accused her of hating her own children.⁵ Bethlen’s autobiography, admittedly, only appeared in book form because of her admiring protégé Péter Bod. A Calvinist notary whose legal career brought him in regular contact with divorcing magnates, Bod strongly opposed inter-confessional marriage. His 1763 book on marital law proclaimed that “God brings together in holy marriage” couples of the same faith, but all other marriages “are the work of the devil. A woman married to an unbeliever is the rib of the devil, not of God.”⁶ If, as Gabriella Erdélyi has suggested, Bethlen’s autobiography could be titled “the sad story of a mixed marriage,” the theme of misery might partly reflect Bod’s choices as an interventionist editor.⁷ Yet even if neither Bod nor Bethlen appear representative, their work nevertheless illustrates considerable feeling against confessionally mixed marriage in the eighteenth century.

 István Bitskey, ed., Bethlen Kata Önéletírása (Budapest: Sze´pirodalmi Könyvkiado´, 1984), 10; cited from Gabriella Erdélyi, “Confessional Identity and Models of Aristocratic Conversion in Seventeenth- and Eighteenth century Hungary,” Social History, vol. 40 (2015), 490.  Bethlen Kata Önéletírása, 136, 151; Erdélyi, “Confessional Identity and Models of Aristocratic Conversion,” 490.  Chapter XI, “De impedimentis matrimonii ex disparitate religionis,” Péter Bod, Synopsis juris connubialis (Szeben: Samuel Sárdi, 1763), 54.  Erdélyi, “Confessional Identity and Models of Aristocratic Conversion,” 491– 92.

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In 1791, Joseph II issued a Toleration Patent making marriages between Catholics and Protestants easier. During the Napoleonic wars, Protestant pastors briefly gained the right to officiate mixed marriages.⁸ The requirement that a Catholic priest bless all mixed marriages became an important issue during the Reform Era, not least because the first groom to be denied such a blessing was Lajos Kossuth himself.⁹ In 1844, after a divisive public debate,¹⁰ the Hungarian parliament passed a marriage law allowing Catholics and Protestants to marry. Thereafter, Catholic-Protestant marriages won increasing public acceptance.¹¹ In the second half of the nineteenth century, attention shifted to Jewish-Christian marriages, which were hotly debated in the 1880s, and eventually legalized in 1895, when the Hungarian parliament passed a civil marriage law.¹² Both the debate over Catholic-Protestant marriage and the debate over Christian-Jewish marriage pitted liberal patriot-reformers against the Catholic church, a non-national institution closely associated with the Habsburg dynasty. In a certain sense, therefore, marriage reform had became a “national” issue. Nevertheless, polemics about interfaith marriage ignored the question of national endogamy. Since cross-confessional marriage dominated public discussion, furthermore, politicians mostly ignored cross-national marriage. Hungarian statistics on marriage also concentrated on confession. During the Bach Era, according to German-Hungarian statistician Johann Schwicker, interfaith marriages accounted for roughly 2 % of all marriages, a figure that Schwicker characterized as “surprisingly large, larger than in any other Europe-

 Peter Šoltés, “Confessionally Mixed Marriages: Legal Norms and Social Practice in the Kingdom of Hungary up to 1848,” Historický časopis, vol. 63, no. 5 (2015), 813 – 45, esp. 820 – 21, 824.  Šoltés, “Confessionally Mixed Marriages,” 828.  György Gózony, Szozat: Milly kilátás, minő lépés katholikus és protestansra nézve a vegyes házasság? (Székes-Fejérvár: Számmer Pál, 1835); Incze Vida, Értekezések a vegyes házasságokrul (Pest: Beimel, 1841); Antal Szalay, Octavia vegyes házassága (Pécs: Nagy Benjámin, 1841); Lelkipásztori Oktatások a’ vegyes házasságokról (Eger: Érseki Lyceum, 1841); Bruno Primetshofer, Rechtsgeschichte der gemischten Ehen in Österreich und Ungarn: 1781 – 1841 (Vienna: Herder, 1967); Daniel Prokopovszky, Törvényes és politikai vizsgálat a vegyes házasságok ügyeben honunkban fenlévő lugujabb kérdésekre nézve (Buda: Royal University, 1841); Johann Friedrich von Schulte, Über gemischte Ehen vom Standpunkte der Parität (Prague: Rziwnatz, 1862).  Anna Loutfi, “The Family as a Site of Cultural Autonomy and Freedom: Anxieties in Legal Debates over State Regulation of Marriage in Hungary, 1867– 1895,” Women’s History Review, vol. 20, no. 4 (2011), 599 – 613; László Péter, “Hungarian Liberals and Church-State Relations, 1867– 1900,” in: György Ránki, ed., Hungary and European Civilization (Budapest: Akademiai, 1989), 91– 92; Kornél Sztehlo, A házassági elválás joga (Budapest: Franklin, 1890), 87– 92.  Paul Hanebrink, In Defence of Christian Hungary: Religion, Nationalism and Antisemitism, 1890 – 1944 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2006), 15 – 23, 26.

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an state.”¹³ The figure rose steadily as the century progressed. Between 1867 and 1877, around 5.5 % of Hungarian marriages were confessionally mixed; by 1882, the number rose above 8 %;¹⁴ by 1900, it was around 11 %.¹⁵ In the Kingdom of Hungary, cross-confessional marriages may have also been cross-national, since confession and nationality often overlapped. Romanians and Serbs, for example, were typically Orthodox. Even the comparatively cosmopolitan Lutheran, Calvinist, and Catholic creeds acquired some national connotations in popular imaginations. Johann Mailáth reported in an 1845 history that “the Lutheran religion is called Német-hit, the German faith; the Calvinism, Magyar-hit, the Hungarian faith: by contrast, the confession of Catholics is known as the Igaz-hit, the true faith.”¹⁶ Nevertheless, statistics about cross-confessional marriage shed little light on cross-national marriage. Schwicker’s statistics suggest, for example, that 1,078 Protestant women married Catholic men during the period 1854– 1859.¹⁷ While the Protestant women were almost certainly not Serbs, they might easily have been Magyars, Germans, or Slovaks. The Catholic church, to which in 1842 around 53 % of Hungary’s population at least nominally belonged,¹⁸ had numerous adherents from the Magyar, German, Slovak, and Croatian communities. Protestant-Catholic weddings, furthermore, might easily have taken place between two Magyars or two Germans. In short, religion and nationality, while non-randomly correlated, remained independent variables. Statistics on crossconfessional analysis do not allow an accurate discussion of cross-national marriage. Hungarian censuses gathered no figures on cross-national marriage. The 1857 census provided nationality statistics only for counties and towns.¹⁹ The 1870 census gathered data about both marital status and “mother language,” explicitly treating the latter as a proxy for nationality, but census officials did not compare the two variables.²⁰ The 1880 census counted the “population of mixed

 Johann Schwicker, Statistik des Königreichs Ungarn (Stuttgart: J. G. Cotta, 1877), 97.  Béla Földes, Magyarország statisztikája (Budapest: Eggenberger, 1885), 132.  István Homola, “Az 1900. évi házassági statisztika,” Protestáns Egyházi és Iskolai Lap, vol. 45, no. 23 (8 June 1902), 368.  Johann Mailáth, Die Religionswirren in Ungarn (Regensburg: Joseph Manz, 1845), 1:11.  Schwicker, Statistik des Königreichs Ungarn, 99.  Elek Fényes, Magyarország statistikája (Pest: Trattner, 1843), 1:107; Statistik des Königreichs Ungarn (Pest: Trattner, 1844), 1:121– 22.  Árpád Mészáros, ed., Az 1850. és 1857. évi népszámlálás (Budapest: Központi statisztikai hivatal, 1993), counties 64– 65, towns 68 – 69.  A magyar korona országaiban az 1870. év elején végrehajtott népszámlálás erdményei a hasznos házi állatok kimutatásával együtt (Budapest: Athenaeum, 1871), 5.

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nationality,” but the term here connoted migration from one Hungarian commune to another: the statistics did not measure “nationality” in the sense of “Hungary’s various ethno-national communities.”²¹ To the best of my knowledge, statistics relevant for cross-national marriage, as opposed to cross-confessional marriage, were gathered only for the city of Budapest, and only during the final years of the nineteenth century. József Kőrösi, a statistician who changed his name to Kőrösy when ennobled in 1896,²² counted the “mother language” of grooms and brides in the Hungarian capital. While modern scholars have repeatedly highlighted discrepancies between linguistic and national loyalties,²³ both Habsburg politicians and subsequent scholars, evidently preferring problematic statistics to no statistics, have succumbed to the temptation of conflating “mother language” with membership in an ethno-national community. If, for the sake of argument, we also conflate them, we also have problematic statistics to examine. Kőrösy listed results only for the categories “Magyar,” “German,” “Slovak,” and “other.” Since both exogamous “Romanian-Croatian” marriages and endogamous “Romanian-Romanian” or “Croatian-Croatian” marriages would count as “other-other,” we must disregard any figures involving the category “other.” Restricting our attention only to Magyar, German, and Slovak marital partners, we find in Kőrösy the following rates of endogamous marriage for the sample year of 1898:²⁴

Magyars Germans Slovak

Grooms  %  %  %

Brides  %  %  %

Altogether, 17 % of Budapest marriages involving a Magyar, German, or Slovak involved national exogamy. By comparison, Kőrösy reported that 25 % of Buda-

 A magyar korona országaiban az 1880. év elején végrehajtott népszámlálás erdményei a hasznos házi állatok kimutatásával együtt (Budapest: Athenaeum, 1882), ix; for “nationality according to mother tongue [Népesség anyanyelve szerint] by county, see 216 – 23.  Robert Perlman, Bridging Three Worlds: Hungarian-Jewish Americans, 1848 – 1914 (Amherst: University of Massachuetts, 1991), 72.  R. J. W. Evans, “Language and State Building: The Case of the Habsburg Monarchy,” Austrian History Yearbook, vol. 35 (2004), 1– 24; Emil Brix, Die Umgangssprachen in Altösterreich zwischen Agitation und Assimilation: Die Sprachenstatistik in den zisleithanischen Volkszählungen, 1880 bis 1910 (Vienna: Böhlau, 1982).  “Az esküvő-párok anyanyelve,” in: “Az esketések mozgalma a főváros egyesltése óta,” Budapest főváros statisztikai havi füzetei, vol. 26, no. 300 (1898), 191.

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pest marriages took place between partners of a different religion.²⁵ In Budapest, evidentially, cross-confessional marriages were more common than cross-national marriages. Both cross-national and cross-confessional marriages presumably occurred less frequently in the Hungarian countryside than in the relatively cosmopolitan capital.²⁶ In 1900, 11 % of all Hungarian marriages were cross-confessional. If rural cross-national marriages, like urban cross-national marriages, were less frequent than cross-confessional marriages, then we might guess that some 7– 8 % of all Hungarian marriages involved people from different ethno-national communities.²⁷ Yet even if actual statistics are lacking, one conclusion nevertheless seems certain: cross-national marriage, though a small minority of marriages, regularly occurred. However frequent or rare, cross-national marriage attracted the disapproval of Hungarian patriots, Magyar and non-Magyar alike. A variety of sources, including political tracts, patriotic poetry, and folk songs, condemned cross-national marriage and extolled national romance. How far do such idealized sources reflect actual social behavior? In an age of widespread national indifference, fantasies of nationalized sexuality presumably appealed only to a small and unrepresentative minority. Unfortunately, we have no way of estimating how small and unrepresentative that minority might be. Folk songs, arguably, represent a wider segment of popular opinion than the works of an individual patriot, but since nineteenth-century folk songs survive only in compilations, they reflect the values, aspirations, and sometimes even the poetic creativity of the collectors. The national fantasies of an individual patriot cannot be generalized to the population at large. Individual biography nevertheless provides some social context for understanding the rhetoric of national sexuality. The various patriots who extolled national endogamy had personal and romantic lives, and, as it happens, a surprising number contracted cross-national marriages. This chapter, therefore, contrasts literary analysis with sexual biographies of the various patriots under discussion. While serial biography makes a poor substitute for demographic data, it does anchor discursive evidence in some sociological reality.

 “Az esketések mozgalma a főváros egyesltése óta,” Budapest főváros statisztikai havi füzetei, 187.  Bálint Varga, The Monumental Nation: Magyar Nationalism and Symbolic Politics in Fin-desiècle Hungary (London: Berghahn, 2016), 111.  In Budapest, the rate of cross-confessional to cross-national marriage was 17/25. If 17/25 = x/ 11, then x = 7.48.

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As with other forms of everyday nationalism, “hurrah-patriotism” permeated rhetoric of national sexuality. In an 1845 poem, Sándor Petőfi, Hungary’s most famous poet, conflated his love of national women with both his love of national wine and his patriotism generally. Hol terem több jó bor és több szép leány, Mint itt, belül Magyarország határán? Leányt ide, leányt az én ölembe! Hadd szorítsam két kezemmel szivemre … Does any place have better wine or more beautiful girls Than here, inside the borders of Hungary? Let there be a girl here, a girl on my lap! Let me press her against my heart with both hands…²⁸

Petőfi’s songs generally dwell on wine and women. One of his works compared the day to white wine and blondes; night to red wine and brunettes.²⁹ Petőfi’s sexual patriotism extended to his romantic life: he not only married a Magyar woman, but a woman noted for her Magyar patriotism. Júlia Szendrey, a steward’s daughter from the Károly estates in Transylvania, married Petőfi for love against her father’s wishes, thus proving herself a more dedicated wife than daughter. She was a poet and literary figure in her own right, did charity work during the Reform Era,³⁰ and showed her support for the 1848 Revolution by publicly dressing in the colors of the Hungarian flag.³¹ The Hungarian public, following Petőfi,³² called her the feleségek felesége [the wife of wives].”³³ Petőfi, in other words, contracted an exemplary national marriage, just as he wrote exem-

 Sándor Petőfi, “Rég veri már a magyart a teremtő,” Petőfi Sándor összes költeményei (Pest: Emich Gusztáv, 1848), 2:88, heartfelt thanks to László Vörös for help with the translation; see also Károly Maria Kurtbény’s German translation, “Patriotenlied,” Gedichte von Alexander Petőfy (Frankfurt a. M.: Rütten, 1849), 102.  Sándor Petőfi, “Változás,” Petőfi Sándor összes költeményei (Pest: Emich Gusztáv, 1848), 1:203; see also Károly Maria Kurtbény’s German translation “Wandlung,” Gedichte von Alexander Petőfy (Frankfurt a. M.: Rütten, 1849), 256.  Rita Ratzky, “ Magyarország legregényesebb asszonya: Szendrez Júlia (élete és) pályája,” Erdély Múzeum, vol. 75, no. 1 (2013), 121– 35.  Robert Nemes, “Women in the 1848 – 1849 Hungarian Revolution,” Journal of Women’s History, vol. 13, no. 3 (2001), 195; see also Alice Freifeld, Nationalism and the Crowd in Liberal Hungary (Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson Center Press, 2000), 52.  Sandor Petőfi, “Feleségek felesége,” Petőfi Sándor újabb költeményei, 1847 – 1849 (Pest: Emich Gusztáv, 1861), 2:164.  Lajos Hatvany, Feleségek felesége: Petőfi, mint vőlegény (Budapest: Pallas, 1919).

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plary national poetry and died an exemplary hero’s death fighting the Russians at the battle of Segesvár [Sighișoara, Schäßburg]. Szendrey herself, however, subsequently lost some of her popular esteem by remarrying shortly after Petőfi’s death. While her second husband, Hungarian historian Árpád Horvát, had acceptable patriotic credentials, Szendry wed him in secret on 21 July 1850, less than a year after her husband’s patriotic martyrdom. Szendry supposedly broke gender convention by proposing to the surprised Horvát, telling him “our acquaintance is so recent and short that one cannot speak of a deep passion, but I believe that neither of us will regret the step.”³⁴ Some sympathetic Hungarians attributed such unusual behavior to grief, but others felt a vicarious betrayal. Petőfi’s friend János Arany, also a noted poet, imagined the dead Petőfi’s reproaches in his 1850 poem “A honvéd özvegye [The Militiaman’s Widow, or alternatively, The Widow of the Homeland’s Defender],” in which the ghost of a fallen soldier reproaches his widow for infidelity. Arany discounted Szendry’s literary and patriotic activities, preferring instead that she fulfill her role as a patriotic spouse by remaining sexually faithful to a dead patriot. Arany, admittedly, later had second thoughts about the poem and withheld it from publication; according to Márta Minier, he “did not want to offend.”³⁵ Patriotic men effusively praised the beauty of the national woman, much as they praised national landscapes, national cuisine, or other collective national possessions. Consider how poet and translator László Losonczy, in an 1845 volume of “Népdalok [national songs]” written shortly after attending the 1843 – 44 parliament, linked his idealized Hungarian sweetheart to the Hungarian homeland: Magyarország az én hazám, Magyar asszony az én anyám. Magyar hazám, anyám, apám, Magyar leány lesz a rózsám.

Hungary is my homeland, A Hungarian lady is my mother. My home, mother, and father are Hungarian, And my sweetheart will be a Magyar girl.³⁶

 Alexander Bernhardt, “Petőfis Gattin,” Ungarische Revue, vol. 11 (1892), 846.  János Arany, “A honvéd özvegye,” Arany János hátrahagyott Iratai és Levelezése (Budapest: Ráth Mór, 1888), 1:87– 94; Márta Minier, “Hamlet, Petőfi and the Poet’s Mandate: Poems by János Arany, Éva Finta and Gábor Tompa,” New Readings, vol. 12 (2012), 95.  László Losonczy, “Népdalok,” Pesti divatlap, vol. 2, no. 38 (18 December 1845), 1333.

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By linking a Magyar bride with his Magyar ancestry, Losonczy used his family as a metaphor for the nation. Unfortunately, standard biographies provide no information about Losonczy’s personal life.³⁷ Within multi-ethnic Hungary, Magyar patriots specifically celebrated Magyar women. Losonczy linked his national bride to the nationality of his parents. Sárváry, as noted in the introduction, linked the national bride to language and descent, even though he, as a Benedictine monk, was himself officially celibate.³⁸ Only Petőfi’s ode to women “inside Hungary’s borders” might theoretically have extolled non-Magyar Hungarian women as well as Magyar women. Furthermore, several texts praising national endogamy explicitly contrasted Magyar women with women from other Hungarian nationalities. Consider the following song, compiled in Dániel Csapó’s 1844 Dalfüzérke [Garland of Song] and reprinted in János Erdélyi’s 1848 Népdalok és mondák [Folk Songs and Sayings]: Magyar, szeress Magyar lyánt [sic] Ha szerelem’ tüze bánt, Mert a’ magyar meg nem csal, Becsületért meg is hal; De a tót mind csapodár, A’ németnek hinni kár.

Magyar, love a Magyar girl, if love’s fire hurts, Because a Magyar will not disappoint. She will die for honour, But Slovaks are fickle, And Germans cannot be trusted.³⁹

The song probably had roots in popular culture: a character in István Jakab’s 1834 play “Éva asszony’ unokája [Mrs. Eva’s Grandson]” quoted the opening couplet even before the full song appeared in folklore collections.⁴⁰ Popular culture repeatedly linked national sexuality to other forms of everyday nationalism. Much as Petőfi had linked national women to national wine, another folk song gathered by Ferenc Toldy in 1828, reprinted in 1838, contains an orphan narrator who links his desire for a Magyar woman to his food preferences:  Károly Mária Kertbeny, Album hundert ungrischer Dichter (Pest: Hermann Geibel, 1854), 509; Jakab Ferenczy, József Danielik, Magyar irók: életrajz-gyüjtemény (Pest: Emich Gustáv, 1856), 1:302; Constantine von Wurzbach, Biographisches Lexikon des Kaiserthums Oesterreich (Vienna: Hof- und Staatsdruckerei, 1867), 16:57.  Constantine von Wurzbach, Biographisches Lexikon des Kaiserthums Oesterreich (Vienna: Hof- und Staatsdruckerei, 1874), 28:236.  “25. Dana,” in: Dániel Csapó, Dalfüzérke válogatott népszerü dalokból főzve (Pest: Emich Gusztáv, 1844), 1:25; song 252, János Erdélyi, Népdalok és mondák (Pest: Beimel József, 1848), 3:145.  Pál Kovács, “Éva asszony’ unokája,” Thalia, vol. 3 (Györ: Streibig Lipold, 1837), 79; on the play’s reception, see “Magyar Tudós társaság,” Tudománytár, vol. 3 (1834), 248.

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Csak azért szeretem A magyar menyecskét Hogy meg tudja főzni A’ borsos levecskét.

I only want A Magyar bride Because she knows how to cook A pea soup.⁴¹

John Bowring’s 1830 translation of this song, amusingly, further nationalized the text by replacing the relatively anational pea soup with “our soup of red cayenne.” A footnote explained that “the pepper soup, or paprika soup … is a favorite dish among Magyars, Turks, and Servians.”⁴² The soup-loving orphan enjoyed a long history in Hungarian letters. An 1844 version recorded by Dániel Csapó included an opening stanza in which the narrator bewails his inability to speak Hungarian (!) and urges a “dear angel [kedves angyalom]” to teach him the language.⁴³ Yet as if to illustrate the generic interchangeability of hurrah-patriotism, the Hungarian literary magazine Magyar nyelvör published a similar stanza in 1878 as “Csangó folk song”: Csak azért szeretem A Csangó lyányokat, Tuggyák fők mégsütni Szép font kalácsokat

I only want Csangó girls, They know how to bake A nice sweetbread.⁴⁴

The Csangó narrator, not described as an orphan, then rejects Russian women because they drink strong spirits. Another stanza from Hungarian folk culture, here referred to as “Nyisd ki, babám [Open up, my darling],” describes a Magyar man asking a nationally unidentified women to accept him as her lover because he is not a Slovak. Sámuel Kiss’s 1828 essay on folk culture printed the following stanza as a self-contained folk song: Nyissd ki, Babám, az ajtót, Magyar van ittkün, nem Tót.

Open up, my darling, the door A Magyar is out here, not a Slovak.

 Franz Toldy, Handbuch der ungrischen Poesie (Pest and Vienna: Kilian and Gerold, 1828), 2:358 – 59; see also anon., Érzékeny és vig dalok gyűjteménye (Saros-Patak: n.p., 1834), 2:46; for a more poetic period translation, see “The Magyar Maid (Csak azért szeretem),” John Bowring, Poetry of the Magyars (London: George Smallfield, 1830), 296.  John Bowring, Poetry of the Magyars (London: George Smallfield, 1830), 296. For Toldy’s reaction to Bowring, see Ferenc Toldy, “Külföldi Literatura,” Tudományos gyüjtemény, vol. 8 (1830), 98 – 99.  Dániel Csapó, “6. Dana,” Dalfűzérke válogatott népszerű dalokból (Pest: Emich Gusztáv, 1844), 1:11.  “Csangó népdal,” from “Népnyelvhagyományok,” Magyar nyelvőr, vol. 7 (1878), 192.

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Jaj! beh soká nyitod ki, Mintha nem tudnád, hogy ki.

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Oh! why haven’t you opened the door, Don’t you know yet who is here.⁴⁵

Ferenc Toldy’s 1828 version includes a second stanza in which the woman rejects her suitor from a non-national distrust of male intentions. Nyisd ki, Rózsám, az ajtót, Magyar kopogtat, nem tót. Jaj, de soká nyitod-ki, Mintha nem tudnád, hogy ki.

Open, my rose, the door, A Magyar knocks, not a Slovak. Oh, why haven’t you opened the door, Don’t you know yet who is here.

Tudom biz’ én, de félek, Mert a’ férfi rosz lélek: Azt esküsi, hogy szeret, Egyet fordul, kinevet.

I know who it is, but I’m afraid. Because a man has a bad soul: He swears that he loves you, But then he turns and scorns you.⁴⁶

“Nyisd ki, babám” enjoyed such great popularity that its many variants are too numerous for an exhaustive discussion. Csapó’s 1844 songbook gives the stanza as the first half of one song, but suggests it may also be appended to another.⁴⁷ János Erdély’s 1854 collection gave the stanza as the third of four stanzas;⁴⁸ József Kolmár’s 1862 songbook as the fourth of five stanzas.⁴⁹ An unusually patriotic version from 1865 gave the stanza as third of five; the fourth stanza declared that “a Magyar needs a moustache” and the fifth that “the Hungarian drinks wine.”⁵⁰ Károly Színi provided musical notation with his 1872 version. Színi broke the stanza into couplets with a repeated second line and added an additional third couplet.⁵¹ Edward Butler’s 1881 version, mysteriously attributed to Arany, gives it as the third stanza of four.⁵² The large number of variants suggests that “Nyisd ki, babám” enjoyed genuine popularity in Hungarian popular culture. Indeed, the song still enjoys currency: at the time of writing (November 2015), the phrase gets over a thousand

 Sámuel Kiss, “A’ Népdalokról,” Tudományos gyüjtemény, vol. 7 (1828), 102.  Folk song 3, in: Ferenc [Franz] Toldy, Handbuch der ungrischen Poesie (Pest and Vienna: Kilian and Gerold, 1828), 2:357.  “20. Dana,” in: Dániel Csapó, Dalfüzérke; Válogatott népszerű dalokból (Pest: Emich Gusztáv, 1844), 1:22; see also “50. Dana.”  Song 113, in: János Erdély, Válogatott Magyar népdalok (Pest: Heckenast Gusztáv, 1857), 55.  “Vörös Bársony,” in: Dalok könyve (Baja: Schön Jakab 1862), 381.  “Vörös Bársony süvegem…,” in: Vigadjunk! Dalos könyv (Nagy-Kanizsa: József Wajdits, 1865), 216.  Károly Színi, “Nyisd ki, babám, az ajtót,” A magyar nep dalai és dallamai (Pest: Heckenast Gusztáv, 1872), 381.  John Arany, The Legend of the Wondrous Hunt (London: Trübner, 1881), 44.

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hits on YouTube. Transylvanian folk singer Ágnes Enyedi recorded a fairly traditional version in 2009,⁵³ but the band Tárkány Művek performs it to the 1930 melody Jimmy McHugh composed for the Dorothy Fields song “On the Sunny side of the Street”!⁵⁴ Contemporary versions, however, generally replace the lyric “Magyar kopogtat, nem tót [A Magyar knocks, not a Slovak]” with “itt van a te galambod [it is your lovebird],” thus depriving the stanza of its nationalist significance. Even restricting our attention to versions that denigrate Slovak sexuality, however, the different variants suggest diverse attitudes toward nationalized sexuality. Kiss’s isolated stanza appears a love song, or a celebration of Magyar wooing prowess. Toldy’s additional context mocked patriotic sexuality as failed wheedling. Louise Vasvári has argued that the prospect of a non-Magyar suitor gave the song “an added level of titillation,”⁵⁵ but nineteenth-century listeners, and particularly patriotic listeners, probably imagined sexual danger rather than sexual excitement. Overall, however, the stanza supported multiple interpretations in different textual contexts. If “Nyisd ki, babám” denigrated Slovak sexuality, Slovak poets responded in kind by attacking Magyar sexuality and glorifying their own. A Slovak folk proverb, on a list published by Viliam Pauliny-Tóth in 1864, advised Slovak men to choose Slovak brides: Kde Slovenka, tam spev, kde Maďarka, tam hnev kde Nemkyňe, tam faleš, kde Cigánka, tam krádež. Where there is a Slovak women, there is song; where a Hungarian women, anger where there a German women, there is falsity; where a Gypsy woman, theft.⁵⁶

In the song “Žena Maďarka [A Hungarian Wife],” printed in Jan Kollár’s 1835 Národnié zpiewanky čili pjsně swětské Slowákůw w Uhrách [National Songbook, or Secular Songs of the Slovaks in Hungary], the male narrator laments his nationally exogamous marriage:

 Ágnes Enyedi, “Nyisd ki, rózsám az ajtót,” Gerlemadár szerelmével (Fonó, 2009), track 10.  Tárkány Művek, “Nyisd ki babám az ajtót,”Arcomba az arcod vésted (Fonó, 2010), track 10. On the origins of the melody, see Charlotte Greenspan, Pick Yourself Up: Dorothy Fields and the American Musical (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 235.  Louise Vasvári, The Heterotextual Body of the Mora Morilla (London: Hispanic Studies, Queen Mary and Westfield College, 1999), 90.  “Nová sbierka slovenských porekadiel,” in: Viliam Pauliny-Tóth, ed., Sokol, vol. 3 (1864), 157; see also František Klácel, “O libosti a smjchu w postupu,” Časopis Národního musea, vol. 15, no. 4 (1841), 368; Adolf Peter Záturecký, Slovenská přísloví, pořekadla a úsloví (Prague: Česká akademia císaře Františka Josefa, 1896), 269.

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Ženu mám, ženu mám, newrawj slowensky, Nechce w horách býwať, má kroj dolňozemský. Ženu mám, ženu mám, z poza Debrecjna, Pýtá si každý den slaniny a wjna. Ženu mám, ženu mám, ale ge Maďarka, Teremtetuge mi sťa niaká husárka. I have a wife, I have a wife, who doesn’t speak Slovak, She doesn’t want to live in the mountains, and wears folk costumes from the plains. I have a wife, I have a wife, a bride of Debrecen, Every day she asks for wine and bacon. I have a wife, I have a wife, but she’s a Magyar, And she says teremtette to me like some female Hussar.⁵⁷

While Kollár, the most famous Slovak poet of the Reform Era, probably wrote some of the songs in Národnié zpiewanky himself, others had genuine roots in Slovak folklore. Modern variants of Žena Maďarka suggest that this particular song was actually sung.⁵⁸ Nationalized sexual desire certainly appeared in Kollár’s own poetry. His Sláwy dcera [The Daughter of Sláva], the patriotic epic that made his reputation, even described a nationalized kiss. Unlike “Roman, Greek or German” kisses, Kollár wrote, the Slavic kiss is “orderly and pure.”⁵⁹ Robert Pynsent memorably summarized as follows: “One kisses down one’s sweetheart’s face from brow to chin, then across it from ear to ear, and both times the lips meet, soul meets soul. Eroticism fuses with the sign of the cross.” ⁶⁰ Despite his evident preoccupation with national sexuality, Kollár himself personally married a German woman. Their courtship was complicated. Since Lutherans could not attend university in the Habsburg Empire, in 1817 Kollár enrolled at the university of Jena in Protestant Saxony. He there met and fell in love with Wilhelmina Schmidt, remembered in Slavic historiography as “Mina.”

 A common stereotype held that Magyars frequently used the word “teremtette.” Jan Kollár, “Žena Maďarka,” Národnié zpiewanky čili pjsně swětské Slowákůw w Uhrách (Buda: Royal University, 1835), 2:138.  Marta Vallušová, “Ženu mám, ženu mám,” in: Ján Michálek, ed., Ľud hornádskej doliny (Podtatranské múzeum, 1989), 375; “Spoza Debrecína,” in: Štefan Moravčík, Veselé potulky po svete (Martin: Matica Slovenská, 2001), 56.  Jan Kollár, Sláwy dcera: Lyricko-epická báseň w pěti zpěwjch (Pest: Trattner and Károly, 1832), 59.  Robert Pynsent, Questions of Identity: Czech and Slovak Ideas of Nationality and Personality (Budapest: CEU Press, 1994), 88 – 89.

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Schmidt, the daughter of a local pastor, was a monolingual speaker of German.⁶¹ Her mother rejected Kollár because she did not want her daughter to move to distant Hungary. To dissuade his courtship, she informed Kollár by letter that her daughter had died. The couple married in 1835, only after Schmidt’s mother had passed away. Kollár’s frustrated love, mixed with his patriotism, had originally inspired him to write Sláwy dcera: the epic’s narrator fuses his patriotic love with romantic love for an allegorical Slavic goddess. Some scholars have found a pleasing irony in the fact that a German woman inspired Kollár’s classic work of Pan-Slav poetry.⁶² Kollár himself, however, apparently managed to convince himself that Schmidt had Slavic descent. Her father owned a Lusatian grammar and apparently told Kollár that his ancestors had once “had some sort of Slavic name.”⁶³ Kollár normally espoused a strongly linguistic understanding of nationality,⁶⁴ but evidently found some comfort in his wife’s supposed Slavic forefathers. Nevertheless, Mina Kollár née Schmidt, even after her marriage, “always said of herself that she was a German.”⁶⁵ She never learned to speak Slavic, so Kollár habitually spoke German with her, and with their children. Kollár’s German-speaking household scandalized the many Slavic patriots who pilgrimaged to the famous poet. Kollár’s daughter, furthermore, married a German, causing further grief among patriotic Slavs.⁶⁶ In general, then, patriots from the Kingdom of Hungary extolled the beauty, virtue, or other sexual virtues of women from their own ethno-national community, rather than the women of the Hungarian kingdom as a whole. Sexual nationalism was particularist even for non-Magyars comfortable with Hungarian political institutions. Jakov Ignjatović, a Serbian lawyer and novelist, came from Szentendre, a Serbian village on the Danube just north of Budapest. He boasted strong credentials as a Hungarian patriot, even in Magyar eyes. During the 1848 – 1849 civil war, he fought not with the Serbian militia but with Kossuth’s revolutionaries. He later sat briefly in the Hungarian parliament. In his  See Othmar Feyl, Beiträge zur Geschichte der slawischen Verbindung und Internationalen Kontakte der Universität Jena (Jena: Gustav Fischer Verlag, 1960); Günther Steiger and Otto Köhler, Unbekannte Dokumente der Völkerfreundschaft der Universität Jena 1815 – 1819 (Jena: Verlag der Friedrich-Schiller Universität, 1970).  Peter Black, Kollár and Štúr, Romantic and Post-Romantic Visions of a Slavic Future (New York: Institute on East Central Europe, 1975), 6.  Quoted from Ján Jakubec, “Jan Kollár v Jeně,” Osvíta, vol. 23, no. 11 (1893), 93 – 94.  Alexander Maxwell, “Ján Kollár’s Linguistic Nationalism,” in: Reciprocity Between the Tribes and Dialects of the Slavic Language (Bloomington: Slavica Press, 2009), 4– 27.  Jakubec, “Jan Kollár v Jeně,” 994.  See the lamentations in Lada, no. 20 (24 August 1863), 160.

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sexual patriotism, however, Ignjatović spoke as a Serb. In his 1865 essay “the Serb and his Poetry,” he sharply contrasted Serbian and Magyar sexualities. “Every nation has its own characteristic beauty,”⁶⁷ he argued, and the unique quality of national poetry derives from the distinctive characteristics of national women, because national poets, evidently all heterosexual men, derive their inspiration from national sexual desire. Ignjatović even devised fanciful thought experiments to differentiate the Serbian woman from other nationalities: Stand a Greek woman next to a similarly brunette Serbian woman, and then when you carefully observe them, you will eventually notice a great difference between them. The Greek will have a sweet, inviting look; her eye will roguishly quiver, and the movement of her body will enchant you, – the Serbian will bore through you with her sharp gaze, and if she also smiles at you, then beware of yourself, because this smile is like thunder from a blue sky. Her whole expression is serious to the point of anger. – Place a blonde Serbian next to a German of similar appearance, and here too you will find a great difference. The German, next to the Serbian, will appear like a lamb next to a tiger.⁶⁸

The Serbian woman, in Ignjatović’s fantasy, formed a distinct type within the Hungarian kingdom. For example, the Serbian woman lacked “the flippant familiarity of the Magyar woman [Magyarin].” At most, Ignjatović showed his sympathy for Magyar nationalism by depicting Magyar women as beautiful in their own way. Kollár’s songs depicted Magyar women as shrews, but Ignjatović praised the Magyar woman for “the purity of her complexion” and her “Caucasian, almond-shaped eyes.”⁶⁹ Ignjatović not only extolled the beauty of Serbian women, he ascribed a unique sexual potency to Serbian men. Serbian men, according to Ignjatović, may only draw poetic inspiration from Serbian women alone, but they fill non-Serbian women with passion: “when a blonde-haired foreign woman examines a Serb, it happens that from his eyes she receives a fire which blows her cool heart to a flame.” Such passion, however, rarely resulted in marriage, because “the Serb does not like to marry a foreigner for fear that he and his descendants

 Jakov Ignjatović, “Srbin i njegova poezija,” Danica, vols 5 – 17 (1860), 114– 22, 154– 58, 169 – 72, 194– 99, 212– 17, 229 – 31, 252– 54, 268 – 69, 281– 84, 298 – 301, 319 – 25, 336 – 42, 355 – 60; cited from the German translation Jakov Ignjatović, “Der Serbe und seine Poesie,” Slavisches Centralblatt, vol. 1, no. 2 (14 October 1865), 10; later reprinted as a booklet, Der Serbe und seine Poesie (Bautzen: Schmaler und Pech, 1866), 5.  Jakub Ignjatović, “Der Serbe und seine Poesie,” Slavisches Centralblatt, vol. 1, no. 9 (2 December 1865), 65; later reprinted as a booklet, Der Serbe und seine Poesie (Bautzen: Schmaler und Pech, 1866), 18.  Ignjatović, “Der Serbe und seine Poesie,” 65; Der Serbe und seine Poesie, 18.

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might be lost to the foreign people and thus break with his own nation, and the same thing is also true of the Serbian woman.”⁷⁰ The fear that children of nationally-mixed marriages would face social ostracism also features prominently in the thought of Ioan Slavici, a TransylvanianRomanian journalist and author whom Marcel Cornis-Pope characterized as “Romania’s first important novelist.”⁷¹ In the 1881 ethnographic overview Die Rumänen in Siebenbürgen und der Bukowina [The Romanians in Transylvania and Bukovina], volume six of Karl Prochaska’s twelve-volume survey of the monarchy’s ethno-national communities, Slavici wrote: Everywhere the Romanians treat marriage with foreigners as something abominable. A Romanian who marries a foreign woman ceases to be Romanian in the eyes of most Romanians, and burdens himself with all the consequences of impurity. ⁷²

In this passage, Slavici ostensibly described peasant attitudes, but he claimed similar attitudes dominated the Romanian intelligentsia: An educated Romanian who marries a foreign woman loses the trust of the people, and can only maintain relations with other educated Romanians with difficulty. In short, marriage with a foreigner is an offence that can be excused only with difficulty, and only if the woman is remarkably beautiful, if she has a large dowry, or if she respects Romanian customs in some striking fashion and thus flatters the people.

Even stricter sanctions, Slavici argued, applied to Romanian priests; “a Romanian priest without a Romanian wife is almost unthinkable, because no community would have him.”⁷³ Much like Ignjatović, Slavici intimated that Romanian hatred of national exogamy derived from popular insistence on pure national descent: “The Romanian contests the Romanianness of a person whose grandfather was not Romanian, and only considers as Romanian those who can be shown to have no foreign descent.”⁷⁴ Slavici claimed exogamous women faced the strictest ostracism: “women are even more strongly chastised for marrying

 Ignjatović, “Der Serbe und seine Poesie,” 66; Der Serbe und seine Poesie, 19.  Marcel Cornis-Pope, “Introduction: Literature in Multicultural Corridors and Regions,” in: Jan Neuberger, Marcel Cornis-Pope, eds, History of the Literary Cultures of East-Central Europe (Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 2006), 2:215.  Ioan Slavici, Die Rumänen in Siebenbürgen und der Bukowina (Vienna: Karl Prochaska, 1881), 128. Slavici specifically excluded Bukovinan Romanians from such strict endogamy.  Slavici, Die Rumänen in Siebenbürgen und der Bukowina, 128.  Slavici, Die Rumänen in Siebenbürgen und der Bukowina, 69.

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a foreigner; it is as if the marital relations were against the law … all relations with such a woman are broken.”⁷⁵ In practice, Transylvanian Romanians rarely adopted such an unforgiving attitude toward cross-national marriage. Slavici himself admitted that “in regions where Romanians live mixed with other peoples of the oriental confession, they must be more tolerant of mixed marriage.” In the Banat, for example, he characterized marriages Romanians and Serbs as “fairly common.”⁷⁶ Slavici’s account of Romanian origins also alluded to the “blending of Romanian and Slavic elements.”⁷⁷ Perhaps Slavici hoped that vigorously proclaiming popular national endogamy might somehow bring this imagined virtue into existence? Whatever his motives, Slavici in 1881 made an awkward proponent of national endogamy, since he was at the time married to a Magyar woman. Katalin Szőke-Magyarosy, remembered in Romanian historiography either as Ecaterina or Catinca, had had ties to Slavici’s home village of Világos [Șiria, Wilagosch] through her family.⁷⁸ Slavici’s colleagues disapproved of the match not so much because of its exogamy but because Szőke-Magyarosy claimed to be carrying Slavici’s child but then never gave birth.⁷⁹ Yet if, as one biography suggests, Slavici’s 1875 wedding to Szőke-Magyarosy caused “some alienation”⁸⁰ between Slavici and Titu Maiorescu, founder and editor of the Romanian journal Junimea, that alienation did not prevent Maiorescu from helping Slavici land a teaching position in Bucharest shortly afterwards. Slavici’s marriage to Szőke-Magyarosy ended unhappily; the couple divorced in late 1885.⁸¹ Four months later, on 14 March 1886, Slavici married Eleonora Tănăsescu, the director of a Romanian girl’s school in Nagyszeben [Sibiu, Hermannstadt].⁸² Tănăsescu gave birth eight months after their marriage, suggesting that Slavici had been intimate with her before marriage. Slavici’s nationally endogamous second marriage proved enduring; the two ultimately had six children.

 Slavici, Die Rumänen in Siebenbürgen und der Bukowina, 128.  Slavici, Die Rumänen in Siebenbürgen und der Bukowina, 129.  Slavici, Die Rumänen in Siebenbürgen und der Bukowina, 55.  Tudor Arghezi, Constantin Mohanu, Ioan Slavici (Bucharest: Eminescu, 1977), 265.  Lucian-Vasile Szabo, “Slavici în Jurnalul Eleonorei Slavici,” Caiete critice, vol. 327, no. 1 (2015), 76; Lucian-Vasile Szabo, Recurs în cazul Ioan Slavici (Bucharest: Editura Muzeului Literaturii Române, 2015), 21.  Tudor Arghezi, Constantin Mohanu, Ioan Slavici (Bucharest: Eminescu, 1977), 128.  Lavinia Toma, “160 de la nasterea lui Ioan Slavici,” Studii de Stiinţă si Cultur, vol. 4, no. 15 (2008), 35; Ioan Dimitrie Vatamaniuc, Slavici și lumea prin care a trecut (Bucharest: Academiei, 1968), 302.  Pompiliu Marcea, Ioan Slavici (Timişoara: Facla, 1978), 93.

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Several Hungarian patriot-intellectuals thus infused sexual desire with nationalist rhetoric. Petőfi, Kollár, Ignjatović, Slavici, and other less celebrated pundits urged Hungarians, both Magyars and non-Magyars, to eschew foreign sexual partners and take “national” spouses instead. The personal lives of those same patriots, furthermore, suggest both a certain gap between patriotic enthusiasm and patriotic practice and conscious efforts to bridge that gap. Kollár, for example, devised a national ancestry for his foreign spouse. Slavici’s glorification of national endogamy, perhaps, reflected his unhappy exogamous marriage. As Pateman might have predicted, the rhetoric of national endogamy sought to retain women as the collective possession of the national brotherhood. The logic of Hungarian sexual patriotism also anticipated the danger of denationalized children. In her influential book Gender and Nation, Nira Yuval-Davis emphasized “the central importance of women’s reproductive roles in ethnic and national discourses.”⁸³ National motherhood has indeed attracted much attention, both from leading scholars of gendered nationalism,⁸⁴ and from a variety of Habsburg specialists.⁸⁵ While the significance of national motherhood may partly explain the internal logic of national endogamy, wistful odes to nationalized eyes, or nationalized hair, or other nationalized female body parts, suggest nationalized sexual desires independent of potential future children. Nevertheless, nationalized sexuality in the Kingdom of Hungary did not explore the full range of sexual desire, since they ignored the possibility of men desiring men, or women desiring women. Compelling evidence of patriotic heteronormativity proves simple to document, since one prominent Hungarian pa-

 Nira Yuval-Davis, “Women and the Biological Reproduction of the Nation,” chapter from Gender and Nation (London: Sage, 1997), 26 – 38.  “Republican Motherhood,” in: Joan Landes, Women and the Public Sphere in the Age of the French Revolution (Cornell: Cornell University Press, 1988), 129 – 38; Patrizia Albanese, Mothers of the Nation: Women, Families and Nationalism in Twentieth-Century Europe (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2006).  Malgorzata Fidelis, “‘Participation in the Creative Work of the Nation’: Polish Women Intellectuals in the Cultural Construction of Female Gender Roles, 1864– 1890,” Journal of Women’s History, vol. 13, no. 1 (2001), 108 – 25; Pieter Judson, “The Gendered Politics of German Nationalism in Austria, 1880 – 1990,” in: David Good, Mararete Grandner, Mary Jo Maynes, eds, Austrian Women in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries: Cross-Disciplinary Perspectives (Providence, Rhode Island: Berghahn Books, 1996), 5; Jitka Malečková, “Nationalizing Women and Engendering the Nation: The Czech National Movement,” in: Ida Blom, Karen Hagemann, Catherine Hall, eds, Gendered Nations: Nationalisms and Gender Order in the Long Nineteenth Century (Oxford: Berg, 2000), 293 – 334.

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triot spectacularly violated the nineteenth-century’s heteronormative assumptions about human sexuality. Karl-Maria Benkert, hereafter known by his preferred Magyarized name Károly Mária Kertbeny, felt and acted on same-sex attraction. While Kertbeny repeatedly and publicly denied his non-heteronormative desires,⁸⁶ Judit Takács has persuasively documented several of his same-sex relationships. A pioneering theorist of sexual tolerance, Kertbeny famously coined the word “homosexuality” in a landmark treatise of 1869. Said treatise, however, addressed Prussian jurists and alluded to Hungary only in a brief allusion to the kingdom’s distinct legal status in the Dual Monarchy.⁸⁷ Kertbeny’s 1869 treatise made no reference to his vivid Hungarian patriotism, however, and Kertbeny also neglected the issue of same-sex desire when promoting the Hungarian cause in German exile. When expressing his Hungarian patriotism, Kertbeny articulated a heteronormative sexuality indistinguishable from the other texts discussed above. The songs found in his 1851 collection, for example, closely resembled Petőfi’s works in their patriotic sexual themes: Rother Wein Du, Rother Wien Du, Besser Du als Branntwein bist; Besser Auch ein Magyarmädchen, Als ein deutsches Mädchen ist.

Oh red wine, oh red wine, Better you than brandy. A Magyar girl is also better Than a German girl.⁸⁸

Kertbeny, in short, kept his Hungarian patriotism and his homosexual activism separate. If even Kertbeny’s nationalized sexuality remained heteronormative, we may safely declare heteronormativity ubiquitous in nineteenth-century Hungary. This chapter has, however, so far neglected the nationalization of female desire: the nationalized desires examined so far have mostly been the desires of men. Nineteenth century male patriots also wanted to nationalize female sexuality. Yet if a relatively straightforward “hurrah patriotism” characterized the nationalization of male desire, the nationalization of female desire provoked more complicated emotions in patriotic Hungarian men.  Judit Takács, “The Double Life of Kertbeny,” in: Gert Hekma, ed., Past and Present of Radical Sexual Politics (Amsterdam: Mosse Foundation, 2004), 26 – 40.  Károly Mária Kertbeny, Das Gemeinschädliche des § 143 des preussischen Strafgesetzbuches (Leipzig: Serbe’s, 1869), on Hungary, 4– 5, on homosexuality, 23 – 24.  Song 258, Károly Mária Kertbeny, Ausgewählte ungarische Volkslieder (Darmstadt: Carl Wilhelm Leske, 1851), 257. No Hungarian original exists of the folk song collections Kertbeny mentioned in the introduction; Kertbeny claimed he had translated from “manuscript songbooks and verbal transmissions.”

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Nationalizing Female Desire Hungarian patriots promoted masculine national endogamy with both stick and carrot. Women of the wrong nationality would lose their tempers, wear the wrong folk costumes, demand expensive wine and bacon, and generally disappoint. Men who chose them would be ostracized from their friends and communities. Properly national women, by contrast, would remain faithful, cook the right foods, and sing songs instead of scolding. In general, poets emphasized the putative attractions of national woman rather than the supposed faults of foreign women. Male patriots tried to persuade other male patriots that national endogamy offered the greatest pleasures, and that exogamy brought unhappiness. When addressing women’s sexuality, however, patriots treated endogamy not as a means to happiness, but as a desirable virtue in its own right. Where advocates of national endogamy sought to persuade men, they furthermore adopted a more judgemental tone with women. The sexual double standard, in short, meant that male patriots promoted women’s national endogamy more assertively than their own. Firstly, patriots placed greater emphasis on women’s monogamy. A wide variety of Hungarian poets praised the Hungarian woman’s faithfulness to her implicitly national husband. For example, József Gvadány, characterized by Robert Nemes as a “spokesman for the provincial nobility,”⁸⁹ emphasized Hungarian women’s modesty and fidelity in a 1790 ode to an imagined golden past. Hajdan ha a’ Dáma a’ hitnek lántzával, Öszve köttettetett élt maga párjával […] Ez hajadon fővel, akár merre jára, Soha ki nem mene Templomba, útszára, Ez által adta ő mindenek tudtára, Hogy vendég vólt gyűjtve már lakadalmára. In those ancient days when once she pledged her troth A lady lived contented with her better half […] Her head was always covered, no matter where she went, To church, or on the street, for this was her intent, That everyone should know her marriage-vows were meant.⁹⁰

 Robert Nemes, Another Hungary: The Nineteenth-Century Provinces in Eight Lives (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2016), 22; Nemes also provides a full biography of Gvadány, see 16 – 40.  József Gvadány, Egy Falusi nótárius budai utazása [The Village Notary’s Journey to Buda] (Bratislava: J. Horvát, 1790), 43. The Magyar Elektronikus Könyvtár reprinted the text with different page numbers. English translation is from “Document 20,” in: Margaret Ives, Enlightenment

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During the 1848 revolution, the pseudonymous patriot “János Literáti” praised similar virtues in an ode to the national woman: The patriotic Magyar woman does not find pleasure in seductive flirting with veiled charms, she does not seek delight in courting brief pleasure-seekers, she does not find pleasure in the praise of delirious admirers, she does not feel pride or triumph in her conquests, she does not court on the basis of feeble daydreams, nor crave fickle vanity. ⁹¹

The supposed fidelity of the Magyar woman obviously reflects the ideals, hopes, and fantasies of Magyar men: Literáti did not gather any sociological data. The rhetoric of non-Magyar Hungarians emphasized similar virtues. Ignjatović claimed that adult Serbian women display total obedience to their mothers and lifelong loyalty to their romantic partners: “A Serbian girl places complete trust in her mother, and does not marry without her permission. When she does not marry her husband, he remains the poetry of her heart for her entire life long, even if he has long since died.” Once wed, the Serbian woman can endure more in married life than other women: she does not run home complaining to her mother. As a widow, the Serbian woman does not like to remarry; if her departed husband was good, she mourns him respectably, – if he was bad, then she fears to get another like him.

Because of their stern upbringing, Ignjatović added, “the feeling of shame is characteristic among Serbian girls.”⁹² Slovak poets also imagined that Slovak women would show their patriotism by choosing a national man as a sexual partner. Bohuslav Nosák’s ode “Slowenka [Slovak woman],” printed in an 1842 anthology of patriotic verse, depicted the goddess “mother Slava” gathering all her daughters around her in the Tatras and urging them to national love: Nuže my Slowenky, Slowenky spanilé,

Well then, we Slovak girls Graceful Slovak girls,

and National Revival: Patterns of Interplay and Paradox in Late 18th Century Hungary (Ann Arbor, Mich.: University Microfilms, 1979), 171.  János Literáti, “Emeléklapok Magyarhon leányihoz,” Budapesti Divatlap, no. 3 (20 July 1848), 33 – 34.  Jakov Ignjatović, “Der Serbe und seine Poesie,” Slavisches Centralblatt, vol. 1, no. 9 (2 December 1865), 66 – 67; Der Serbe und seine Poesie (Bautzen: Schmaler und Pech, 1866), 19, 21– 22.

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Milugme gen naše Bratry roztomilé.

Let us love only Our lovely brothers.⁹³

Reflecting the Pan-Slavism then characteristic of Slovak intellectuals, Nosek permitted Slovak brides to marry not only Slovak grooms from northern Hungary, but Slavic grooms from other parts of the Slavic world. He specifically mentioned Prague, the Adriatic, and the Caucasus. Čsaplovics memorably professed his multi-ethnic Hungarian patriotism on several occasions, but, like Ignjatović, evidently sided with the Slovak community in the context of sexual patriotism. He somewhat surprisingly depicted Slovak women cavorting freely with romantic partners: “every peasant lad spends Saturday evenings with his sweetheart. Parents find nothing untoward when their daughter spends the entire night with a boyfriend.” Čsaplovics nevertheless insisted on Slovak sexual virtue: “I would not advise any young man to allow himself any bold squeezes with such girls, because she will leap up as if possessed, run away, and is for that impatient lad lost forever; one like that cannot be seen in the house again.” In some Slovak counties, Čsaplovics conceded, “the young man visits his lover at night and sleeps with her,” yet even then “it is unheard of to hear about the natural consequences of such behavior, because the Slovaks honor the virtue of modesty as sacred.” Citing various statistics about births out of wedlock, he found that “one finds among other nationalities many more illegitimate children.”⁹⁴ Therefore, Čsaplovics concluded, Slovaks had the best sexual morals in Hungary. Female patriots also emphasized women’s monogamy and sexual respectability. During the 1848 Revolution, a group of Magyar women issued “A radikál magyar hölgyek kivánatai [The Demands of the Radical Hungarian Ladies].” Taken as a whole, the document demanded for women the right participate more fully in public affairs, but point 22 of 24 demanded that “weaknesses that are so opposed to the genuine character of Hungarian women be forever banished from our circles.” Said weaknesses included “indecent flirting [szeméremgyilkos kaczérkodás].”⁹⁵ After the 1848 Revolution, furthermore, some Magyar women may have worn special iron rings to demonstrate their commitment to national endogamy. Frie-

 Bohuslav Nosák, “Slowenka,” in: Josef Hurban, ed., Nitra: Dar dcerám a synům Slowenska, Morawy, Čech a Slezska obětowaný (Bratislava: Antonín Šmid, 1842), 162– 64.  Johann von Csaplovics, Gemälde von Ungern (Pest: C.A. Hartleben, 1829), 2:285.  “A radikál magyar hölgyek kivánatai,” Pesti Divatlap, vol. 5, no. 20 (29 April 1848), 521– 23; English translation from Robert Nemes, “Women in the 1848 – 1849 Hungarian Revolution,” Journal of Women’s History, vol. 13, no. 3 (2001), 202.

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drich Uhl, an Austrian literary figure and travel writer, observed an “fine iron ring” on a woman’s hand and asked about it. The woman told him it was a “homeland ring [Honi-Ring],” explaining as follows: “Last year, we girls swore and oath to marry no other man than a Hungarian [einen Ungar] … I wear the ring which we adopted as a visible sign of our invisible vow.”⁹⁶ Homeland rings, however, may have been a figment of Uhl’s imagination. I have found no reference to them in Hungarian language sources. Nor do they appear in an English-language travel account specifically describing the jewelry of patriotic Hungarian women during the 1850s: Brace observed “iron bracelets – almost as heavy as handcuffs” worn to commemorate Hungarian prisoners, patriotic broaches, and jewelry inscribed with the initials of Hungarian martyrs,⁹⁷ but no homeland rings. Slovak women, meanwhile, wrote poems about national women and their love for national men. The 1843 poem “Hlas Nitranky [The Voice of a Nitra Woman],” which Norma Rudinsky claims was written by a Slovak woman,⁹⁸ described “our pure love” as nationally endogamous: Šwarní jsau mladenci Co Sláwu milují A tito wlastenci Lásku zasluhují.

Handsome are the young men Who love Sláva And these patriots Deserve love.⁹⁹

A similar poem by “Ľudmila K.” encouraged Slovak women “to love only men who stand by their nation.”¹⁰⁰ In 1869, Mária Praisinger also urged Slovak women to “become the noble-minded young brides of the nation!”¹⁰¹ In the pop-

 Friedrich Uhl, “Stillleben an der Theiß,” Bilderwelt, vol. 3, no. 2 (1850), 18; also anthologized in An der Theiß: Stillleben (Leipzig: Brockhaus, 1851), 120.  Charles Loring Brace, Hungary in 1851, With an Experience of the Austrian Police (New York: Charles Scribner, 1853), 200.  The author identified herself only as “Wlastimila” [Lover of the homeland]. I altered Rudinsky’s translation, which rendered “wlastenci” as “nationalists” instead of “patriots.” See “Hlas Nitranky,” cited from Norma Rudinsky, Incipient Feminists: Women Writers in the Slovak National Revival (Colombus: Slavica, 1991), 48.  Cited from Rudo Brtáň, “Das Torso des Jahrgangs 1843 der von Hurban herausgegebenen Zeitschrift Nitra,” Slovenská literatúra, vol. 12, no. 5 (1965), 516.  This quotation is Norma Rudinsky’s summary of “Žalost a potěcha Nitranky.” See Rudinsky, Incipient Feminists, 49.  Mária Praisinger, “Slovenkám [To Slovak women],” trans. by Norma Rudinsky, cited from Rudinsky, Incipient Feminists, 59.

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ular press, it seems, patriotic Slovak women accepted the role of national bride that male patriots had assigned to them. While Hungarian patriots promoted traditional sexual respectability, including modesty and marital fidelity, they emphatically rejected celibacy. National love required consummation; patriotic women were expected to find sexual partners. Since patriot men needed wives, patriot women had the task of falling in love with them. Indeed, during the 1848 Revolution some Hungarians denounced even clerical celibacy,¹⁰² and radicals in Temes county, according to one Saxon newspaper report, actually abolished it.¹⁰³ Emphasis on monogamy and national endogamy pressingly raises the issue of female sexual desire: what if a national woman were tempted by a foreign man? Odes to national endogamy in Kollár’s Národnié zpiewanky implicitly concede the existence of such temptations, since they suggest several reasons for resisting them. In the song “Augustin,” the female narrator reluctantly rejects the titular German suitor because her mother objects: Mein lieber Augustin Čo chytjm nepustjm Musjš ma wziať

My dear Augustin What I embrace I don’t let go You must take me.

Ale mamka wrawj Němec nemá ğatj Nechem ťa mať.

But my mother says Not to take a German husband I don’t want you.¹⁰⁴

The female narrator of “Maďari a Slowenka [Magyars and the Slovak Girl],” by contrast, rejects Magyar suitors from her own national pride: Maďari, Maďari, gá chcem byt Slowenka nebola, nebudem gá waša fragerka. Magyars, Magyars, I want to be a Slovak girl I was not and will never be your girlfriend.¹⁰⁵

Female sexual patriotism might therefore operate across generations: Slovak women might desire sexual endogamy for themselves, or impose it on their  See e. g. the open letter in Blätter für Geist, Gemüth und Vaterlandskunde, no. 27 (3 July 1848), 173; János Besze, Papi nőtlenség (Esztergom: Josef Beimel, 1848); Der Ungar, vol. 7, no. 215 (15 September 1848), 3137.  “Kirchliche Umschau,” Dresdner Journal, vol. 3, no. 95 (4 July 1848), 754.  “Augustin,” Jan Kollár, ed., Národnié zpiewanky čili pjsně swětské Slowákůw w Uhrách (Buda: Royal University, 1835), 2:138 – 39.  “Maďari a Slowenka,” in: Kollár, ed. Národnié zpiewanky, 2:137.

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daughters. In both these cases, though, a woman experiences sexual patriotism on her own, without the influence of any male patriot. In another poem from Kollár’s Národnié zpiewanky, probably written by Kollár himself, the characteristic sexual qualities of the national man ensure women’s national endogamy. The female narrator of the poignantly-titled song “Národnost w lásce [Nationality in Love]” indirectly admits to a somewhat surprising diversity of sexual experiences. Žáden newj gak ge mně keď ma Slowák obegme: Akoby som cukor gedla Mušt pila a w perj sedla Tak ge mně, tak ge mně Keď ma Slowák obegme.

Nobody knows how I feel when a Slovak embraces me: as if I have eaten sugar drunk cider and sat in feathers, that’s how I feel, that’s how I feel when a Slovak embraces me.

Žáden newj gak ge mně keď ma {Němec/Maďar} obegme: Akoby som kysel gedla Ocet pila, w trnj sedla Tak ge mně, tak ge mně Keď ma {Němec/Maďar} obegme.

Nobody knows how I feel when a {German/Hungarian}embraces me: as if I have eaten something sour drunk vinegar and sat on thorns, that’s how I feel, that’s how I feel when a {German/Magyar} embraces me.¹⁰⁶

When the journal Serbskiji Ljetopis printed this poem in Serbian translation eight years later, it made Kollár’s binary dichotomy between national and foreign sexuality even more explicit. “Národnost w lásce” specifically considered Slovaks, Germans and Magyars, even if Germans and Magyars proved indistinguishable. The Serbian version, “Narodnost u ljubovi,” contrasted the Slovak with the “German*.” The footnote then explained that “another national name” may be substituted at will.¹⁰⁷ Kollár’s poem implies a very simple sexual ethnography: Slovaks men are sweet, foreign men are interchangeably sour. Imagined sexual typographies of women tended to show more complexity. Ignjatović, as noted above, lovingly imagined the unique characteristics of women from many different nationalities. Pauliny-Tóth’s more judgemental proverb, also cited above, assigned each foreign women her own characteristic drawback. Perhaps Kollár’s binary contrast between sweet and sour evokes the dichotomy between good and bad? Kollár, after all, was a pastor.

 “Národnost w lásce,” in: Kollár, ed., Národnié zpiewanky, 2:138.  “Narodnost u Ljubovi,” Serbskiji Ljetopis, vol. 59 (Buda: Royal Library, 1842), 82.

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“Nationality in Love” further suggests that women should be nationally endogamous because the national man alone offers sensual delights to the national woman. Such logic turns a man’s ability to seduce women into a measure of his national virtue. Few Hungarian patriots placed so much national importance on male seductive prowess as the far-seeing Széchenyi. In Hitel, a work dedicated to the “high-minded women of our fatherland,” Széchenyi argued that a boorish patriot could not compete successfully with sophisticated and polished foreign men when seeking the affections of a Hungarian lady: It is completely natural that conversation is much more pleasant with that sort of foreigner who has traveled and seen much, visited the source of great achievements and witnessed notable events, and turns hours into minutes with his interesting conversation, worldly manners and cosmopolitan lifestyle. Let us not be unreasonable to her, but ask ourselves if we in her position would not also prefer conversation with a well travelled and well-educated stranger to a rough countryman filled entirely with prejudices.¹⁰⁸

Ever suspicious of “hurrah” patriotism, Széchenyi specifically criticized exhortations to national endogamy. Let us not exert ourselves to prove to Hungarian girls that it is better to associate with Hungarians, etc., because it would be pointless so long as conversation with foreigners is more reliable, cleverer, appealing, and pleasant, and he knows how to court her endearingly and confidently. Nothing can compel common interests, friendship and love, likeability or entertainment, or anything else, except merit and charm!¹⁰⁹

Hungarian men, Széchenyi warned, would enjoy sexual success only when they became sufficiently refined. Széchenyi then offered his countrymen advice on improving their sexual appeal. As noted in a previous chapter, for example, he thought Hungarian men should refrain from smoking in female company. Széchenyi nevertheless shared with other Hungarian patriots a patriotic dream of national romance. Once Hungarian men mastered the arts of conversation and seduction, Széchenyi envisioned, they would attain true masculinity and achieve a nationally endogamous utopia: Let our nationality, our Hungarian-ness, shine with such a bright light that the chaste virgin, though blushing, will courageously declare before the entire world that she loves us, and would be happy to share her life with ours; and have no fear: the honest ones, and all whose husbands are men, will become Hungarians.¹¹⁰

 István Széchenyi, Hitel (Pest: Trattner, 1830), 68; Kreditwesen (Pest: Trattner, 1830), 51.  Széchenyi, Hitel, 68; Kreditwesen, 52.  Széchenyi, Hitel, 69; Kreditwesen, 51.

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In short, where other Hungarian patriots sought to police women’s sexuality, Széchenyi wanted patriots to compete for women’s hearts and prove themselves worthy of their affection. He urged Hungarians to face their international competitors, and placed his hopes on self-improvement: “Let us not accuse our women, because the fault lies with us.”¹¹¹ Once again, Széchenyi stood out from his contemporaries in his capacity for self-criticism. Széchenyi’s ideas about converting women to Hungarian patriotism found some reflection in his personal life. His wife, Crescence Seilern, was born in Moravia to what R. J. W. Evans called “a typical Austrian aristocratic family of mediocre accomplishments.”¹¹² In 1819, Seilern married Count Károly Zichy, and thus became a Hungarian countess. When Seilern first met Széchenyi, in August 1824, she was twenty-five years old and the mother of three children. Széchenyi’s love for a married woman made his courtship as long and complicated as Kollár’s. He long remained single. Quin, who met Széchenyi on a Danube steamboat, opined that the greatest Hungarian felt “a romantic affection for his country. He loves Hungary as a youth loves the first mistress of his heart; indeed, he familiarly calls his country his ‘wife,’ and he looks upon all its inhabitants as his children.”¹¹³ When Seilern became a widow, however, Széchenyi lost no time courting her. The two married in 1836, two years after Zichy’s death. Széchenyi, like Kollár, thus married a foreign-born native speaker of German. Seilern made more effort to learn Hungarian than Schmidt to learn Slavic, but her Hungarian, according to Evans, “never seems to have exceeded the level of a party piece.”¹¹⁴ Széchenyi nevertheless found as much inspiration in his muse as Kollár had found in his: Széchenyi once wrote in his diary that without Cresence “there would be no Hungary.”¹¹⁵ Seilern herself embraced the role of patriotic spouse to a patriotic man. In a letter to Széchenyi, she described her patriotic ambitions as follows: “Our country must rise through you. I will help you in this endeavor, I want to gain distinction myself in serving our beloved Hungary.”¹¹⁶ Széchenyi believed so strongly that patriot men could nationalize foreign brides that he consciously sought a foreign marriage for his own son. In 1857,

 Széchenyi, Hitel, 69; Kreditwesen, 51.  R. J. W. Evans, “Széchenyi and Austria,” in: T. C. W. Blanning, David Cannadine, eds, History and Biography (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 128.  Michael Quinn, A Steam Voyage Down the Danube (Paris: Galigani, 1836), 120.  Evans, “Széchenyi and Austria,” 129.  István Széchenyi, Gróf Széchenyi István naplói (Budapest: Magyar Történelmi Társulat, 1939), 4:597.  Stephen Sisa, The Spirit of Hungary (Morristown, NJ: Vista, 1990), 131.

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he sent Béla to the United Kingdom, instructing him to “find an English girl of 12 or 14 of a wealthy aristocratic family, whom he could marry eventually.” As noted above, Széchenyi was a passionate Anglophile who had visited England several times, and who drew inspiration from England for many of his celebrated reforms.¹¹⁷ Unfortunately, Béla fell in love with Anne Stafford, an unhappily married mother with four children and husband indifferent to her infidelity. Yet while Stafford made an unsuitable bride in Széchenyi’s eyes, it was not her foreignness that disqualified her. Széchenyi had “by calculation” sought an English daughter in law, hoping his son could promote the Hungarian cause with “an English alliance.”¹¹⁸ Széchenyi profoundly influenced the liberal nobility’s sexual mores. Indeed, his ideas about national masculinity, as articulated in Hitel, proved as influential as his explanation of joint-stock finance.¹¹⁹ As the Reform Era unfolded liberal Magyars increasingly sought social sophistication in order to to woo and nationalize Hungarian ladies. Albert Hugo, a Moravian German who spent several years working as a journalist in Hungary, described the patriotic masculinity of seduction in his 1843 Croquis aus Ungarn [Sketches from Hungary]. Hugo characterized the “Baron B. W.”, as “an excellent young man who showed his heart and patriotism on many occasions,” and particularly emphasized his appeal to women: he has much gentlemanly [ritterlich] in his character … Through his influence on the fair sex he knew how to introduce them in the development of nationality, and calculated shrewdly, that one would most quickly bring a patriotic perspective to the ladies if one would nationalize their pleasures, e. g. the dance.¹²⁰

Hugo nevertheless denied that B.W. had attained a complete mastery of the social graces: “his manners form an intermediate stage between the simple honest

 Kornél Zelovich, “István Széchenyi: The Greatest Consultant Engineer of Hungary,” in: Gulya Ernyey, ed., Britain and Hungary: Contacts in Architecture and Design (Budapest: Hungarian University of Craft and Design, 1999), 13 – 30; Irina Popova-Nowak, “The Odyssey of National Discovery: Hungarians in Hungary and Abroad, 1750 – 1850,” in: Wendy Bracewell, Alex DraceFrancis, eds, Under Eastern Eyes: A Comparative Introduction to East European Travel Writing on Europe (Budapest: CEU, 2008), 195 – 222.  István Széchenyi, Letter of 17 November 1858; cited in Ervin Fenyő, “Another English Connection: Letters between István Széchenyi, Lady Stafford and Lord Palmerston,” Hungarian Quarterly, vol. 42, no. 163 (Autumn 2001), 207– 15.  Alexander Maxwell, “The Nation as a Gentleman’s Agreement: Masculinity and Nationality in Nineteenth-Century Hungary,” Men and Masculinities, vol. 18 (2015), 12– 14.  Albert Hugo, Croquis aus Ungarn (Leipzig: Wigand, 1843), 194.

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Magyar of old times and a dandy of our century.”¹²¹ Perhaps Hugo felt some need to defend his own sexual status as a polished foreign man by posing as fount and arbiter of civilization? The conceit was common among Habsburg Germans.¹²² In Hungarian fiction, male patriots also have cross-national romances for political reasons. Ferenc Pulszky’s 1851 historical novel A magyar jacobinusok [The Jacobins in Hungary] begins with an exogamous romance between the Magyar hero-martyr Sándor Szolártsik [described in the novel as Sándor Szolarcsek] and “Madame Raimond,” a French woman. Raimond, the widow of a French revolutionary who died storming the bastille, has came to Budapest to care for her aged father, a captured officer in the army of the French Republic. The liberal Szolártsik happily courts “the widow of a martyr for liberty – the daughter of a republican officer.”¹²³ Raimond also made a convenient character in Pulszky’s fairly didactic novel: her conversations with Szolártsik enabled Pulszky to discuss the French Revolution’s relevance to Hungary. Pulszky himself contracted an exogamous marriage with a German-Austrian woman. Therese Walter, the daughter of a Viennese banker, impressed him partly as “a very pretty girl with black eyes and black hair,” but mostly because she read serious books such as François Guizot’s Histoire de la civilization. ¹²⁴ When Pulszky asks his mother “if she had any objection if I were to bring a German daughter-in-law into the family,” Pulszky’s mother asked only about the prospective bride’s religion.¹²⁵ Walter’s father made nationality somewhat more of an issue; Pulszky found that his prospective father-in-law “does not love the Hungarians.”¹²⁶ Pulszky ultimately overcame all objections, however, and faced no censure from other Hungarian patriots. On the contrary: he reported that his wedding guests included “Vienna’s Hungarian colony, who considered it a patriotic duty to attend celebrations of the sort.”¹²⁷

 Hugo, Croquis aus Ungarn, 194.  Valentina Glaja, The German Legacy in East Central Europe (Rochester: Camden, 2004); Pieter Judson, Guardians of the Nation: Activists on the Language Frontiers of Imperial Austria (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2006), 15 – 16; Adam Kożuchowski, The Afterlife of Austria-Hungary (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh, 2013), 71– 72.  Ferencz Pulszky, “The Jacobins in Hungary,” in: Francis and Theresa Pulszky, eds, Tales and Traditions of Hungary (London: Colburn, 1851), 2:13; see also A magyar jacobinusok (Pest: Engel és Mandello, 1862), 1:9.  Ferenc Pulszky, Mein Zeit, Mein Leben (Bratislava, Leipzig: Carl Stamfel, 1880), 1:347– 48; Életem és korom (Budapest: Franklin-Társulat, 1884), 1:197.  Pulszky, Mein Zeit, Mein Leben, 1:349; Életem és korom, 1:198.  Pulszky, Mein Zeit, Mein Leben, 1:354; Életem és korom, 1:200.  Pulszky, Mein Zeit, Mein Leben, 1:366; Életem és korom, 1:208.

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Pulszky’s courtship enacted Széchenyi’s ambitions, insofar as he had won his bride’s affections from several sophisticated and polished foreign rivals. According to Pulszky, Walter, “a celebrated girl,” had attracted a crowd of impressive suitors, including “a rich American, an English doctor, a Greek doctor, a French factory owner, a Swiss captain, and a Russian prince.” Pulszky thought the cultured suitors more threatening rivals than the merely rich; he saw his greatest competition in an “Albanian prince” who “was well-versed in music, while I was very ignorant in this way. He wrote very nice French verses which he then set to piano, played himself, and sang.”¹²⁸ Pulszky’s literary talent evidently compensated for his lack of musicality. Pulszky’s marriage also conformed to Széchenyi’s ideal because his bride became devoted both to her husband and to Hungary. Walter’s memoirs reveal little about Pulszky’s courtship, but admitted that she had previously taken little interest in Hungarian affairs. She nevertheless followed her husband into exile after Kossuth’s downfall, and titled her memoirs those of “a Hungarian lady.”¹²⁹ Pulszky wrote in his memoirs that she “became a Hungarian and quickly forgot that she had only been one for a short time.”¹³⁰ What, then, shall we conclude about Hungary’s patriotic sexuality? Men urging national endogamy on women invite some fairly obvious feminist criticism, as would any group of men attempting to regulate and restrict women’s sexuality. Cynthia Enloe observed that male patriots may seek to “intimidate women who dare marry and have children with men from ‘outside’ the nation,” and that “women’s marriage choices, women’s sexuality” often become “a target of control, of political policing.”¹³¹ Enloe did not have Habsburg Hungary in mind, but Hungarian patriots, both Magyar and non-Magyar, certainly attempted to police the marriage choices and sexuality of Hungarian women. Enloe’s broader commentary on gender and nationalism, however, suffers from a tendency to binary normative classification. For example, she explicitly categorized nationalist movements as either oppressors or oppressed: “some nationalists have been the victims of racism and colonialism; others have been the perpetrators of racism and colonialism.”¹³² So were liberal Magyar reformers vic-

 Pulszky, Mein Zeit, Mein Leben, 1:353; Életem és korom, 1:200.  Therese Pulszky, Aus dem Tagebuche einer ungarischen Dame (Leipzig: F. W. Grunow, 1850).  In the German and Hungarian editions, Ungarin and magyar, respectively. Pulszky, Mein Zeit, Mein Leben , 1:371; Életem és korom, 1:210.  Cynthia Enloe, “Feminism and Nationalism,” in: Athena Leoussi, ed., Encyclopedia of Nationalism (New Brunswick: Transaction, 2001), 95.  Cynthia Enloe, Bananas, Beaches and Bases: Making Feminist Sense of International Politics (Berkeley: University of California, 2000), 45.

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tims of Habsburg colonialism or oppressors of Hungary’s colonized non-Magyars? Were they not both at the same time? Enloe posed a similar dichotomy between national movements that liberate women, and those that oppress them: “too many male leaders of nationalist movements have not only been male, they have been masculinist.”¹³³ Readers can decide for themselves whether Sárváry, Petőfi, Kollár, Ignjatović, Slavici, Kertbeny, Széchenyi, or Pulszky qualify as “masculinist,” but the prospect of achieving a consensus opinion appears doubtful. Debating the issue, furthermore, would surely prove unproductive: Sita Ranchod-Nilsson and Mary Ann Tétreault have rightly questioned the value of what they called “arguments about whether nationalist movements are ‘feminist’ enough.”¹³⁴ Pateman’s ideas about the nation as a brotherhood, by contrast, offer not only normative critique but also an explanation of national sexuality’s internal logic. Since male patriots wish to ensure “an orderly access by each man to a woman,”¹³⁵ they believe in “men’s mastery, their demand to have right of sexual access to women’s bodies.”¹³⁶ Hungarian patriots, both Magyar and non-Magyar, talked about national women as objects of national pride, much as they praised national wine or other collective possessions of the nation. They routinely insisted on national endogamy, even though Kollár, Slavici, Széchenyi, and Pulszky themselves married exogamously. Patriots also assumed that the wives in cross-national marriages would adopt the nationality of their husbands.¹³⁷ Pulszky offers the clearest example, but Kollár also illustrates the pattern, insofar as he imagined a Slavic descent for his wife, rather than Germanizing himself. In short, masculine sex right suffused Hungarian national movements. Hungarian patriots treated national women as the collective property of the national brotherhood. Indeed, everyday Hungarian nationalism extends Pateman’s analysis to the patriotic imagination. The inchoate and partly subconscious fantasies of Hungarian patriots nevertheless conformed strikingly to the ideas Pateman diagnosed in her contract theorists. Magyar, Romanian, Serb and Slovak ideas, fur Enloe, “Feminism and Nationalism,” 94.  Sita Ranchod-Nilsson, Mary Ann Tétreault, “Gender and Nationalism: Moving Beyond Fragmented Conversations,” in: Ranchod-Nilsson and Tétreault, eds Women, States and Nationalism: At Home in the Nation? (London, New York: Routledge, 2000), 3.  Carole Pateman, The Sexual Contract (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1988), 109; see also Anne Phillips, Engendering Democracy (Cambridge: Blackwell, 1991), 31– 38.  Carol Pateman, “Does Sex Matter to Democracy? A Comment,” Scandinavian Political Studies, vol. 13, no. 1 (1990), 62.  Alexander Maxwell, “National Endogamy and Double Standards: Sexuality and Nationalism in East-Central Europe during the 19th Century,” Journal of Social History, vol. 41, no. 2 (December 2007), 413 – 33.

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thermore, resembled each other. Similar notions of conjugal right was shared between tradition-minded patriot-clerics like Sárváry and Kollár, liberal and enlightened patriot-reformers like Széchenyi and Pulszky, popular culture as articulated in folk songs, and even Kertbeny, a predecessor of contemporary queer theory. The mentality Pateman described was deeply rooted in the kingdom of Hungary. Pateman, evidently, is on to something. Scholars of nationalism have some reason to quibble with Pateman’s use of the term “patriarchy.” Several historians of the age of revolutions distinguish the “patriarchy” of crowned monarchs from revolutionary “fraternity” or “brotherhood,”¹³⁸ which recast male supremacy in a different social imaginary. Lynn Hunt, for example, has memorably analyzed the French Revolution using kinship metaphors: the reign of Louis XVI was “the rise and fall of the good father,” while revolutionaries formed a “band of brothers.”¹³⁹ Jennifer MacCannell has also written at length on “regime of the brother,”¹⁴⁰ seeing in its relative egalitarianism the prospect of eventual feminine inclusion: “under the modernized Regime of the Brother, the father/son relation ceases to have centrality. Woman potentially comes into her own.”¹⁴¹ Alexander Mitscherlich has analogously theorized a gender-inclusive “fatherless” society as a “sibling society.”¹⁴² Pateman anticipated such objections when justifying her terminology. She acknowledged that for some feminist scholars, modern capitalist societies “appear to be post-patriarchal,”¹⁴³ but denied that only etymological interpretations of the term “patriarchy” are valid. While conceding “that ‘patriarchy’ is properly understood in its literal meaning of rule by the father or as father-right,” she then differentiated different types of patriarchy, proposing that “modern patriar Mary Lowenthal Felstiner, “Family Metaphors: The Language of an Independence Revolution,” Comparative Studies in Society and History, vol. 25, no. 1 (January 1983), 154– 80; Madelyn Gutwirth, “Sacred Father, Profane Sons: Lynn Hunt’s French Revolution,” French Historical Studies, vol. 19, no. 2 (1995), 261– 76; Françoise Vergès, Monsters and Revolutionaries: Colonial Family Romance and Métissage (Durham: Duke University Press, 1999), esp. 25 – 28; Steven Bullock, “Revolutionary Brotherhood: Freemasonry and the Transformation of the American Social Order, 1730 – 1840,” (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina, 1996). For a historian who follows Pateman’s usage, see Mark Kann, A Republic of Men: The American Founders, Gendered Language, and Patriarchal Politics (New York: New York University, 1998).  Lynn Hunt, The Family Romance of the French Revolution (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992). Pateman discusses Freud in Disorder of Women, 42– 43.  Flower MacCannell, The Regime of the Brother: After the Patriarchy (London: Routledge, 1991).  Italics added. MacCannell, Regime of the Brother, 25.  Alexander Mitscherlich, Society without the Father: A Contribution to Social Psychology (London: Tavistok, 1969 [1963]), 277.  Pateman, The Sexual Contract, 30.

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chy is fraternal, contractual and structures capitalist civil society.”¹⁴⁴ Much feminist social theory uses the term “patriarchy” to discuss what Friedrich Engels called “the subjugation of the one sex by the other,”¹⁴⁵ and Pateman used it to highlight the extraordinary resilience of gender inequality, a phenomenon which certainly calls for analysis and explanation. Even in the twenty-first century, Krisztina Morvai’s feminist analysis of Hungarian jurisprudence concluded, “according to the law, male is ‘neutral’ and woman is non-neutral.”¹⁴⁶ While Pateman’s emphasis on continuity of gender oppression is understandable from a feminist perspective, scholars of nationalism can be forgiven if they highlight important changes in the internal logic of political authority. During the nineteenth century, Hungarian ideas about political legitimacy steadily shifted from the monarch/patriarch to an unprecedentedly egalitarian group of men. MacCannell’s “Regime of the Brother” better captures the fraternité of revolutionary patriots during the Revolutionary age. Nor does the analysis proposed here forget that men and women, in Pateman’s words, “are husbands and wives before they are fathers and mothers.”¹⁴⁷ In too many speculative discussions about “patriarchy,” Pateman objected, Conjugal right often becomes subsumed under father-right and … argument about patriarchy revolves around the (familial) powers of mothers and fathers, so obscuring the wider social question of the character of relations between men and women and the scope of masculine sex-right.

Hungarian nationalized sexuality supports Pateman’s emphasis not on fathers but on “the sexual right of men and husbands.”¹⁴⁸ Indeed, judging by the admittedly small sample of marriages discussed in this chapter, mothers appear to have greater authority than fathers. Kollár found Schmidt’s mother’s objections a formidable obstacle; Petőfi and Pulszky more easily overcame the objections of Szendrey’s father and Walter’s father. Since the rhetoric of nationalized sexuality proves as relentlessly masculine as the nationalized moustache, perhaps we should turn to a manifestation of everyday nationalism in which women participated actively. Despite hegemonic  Pateman, The Sexual Contract, 22– 23, 25.  Friedrich Engels, Der Ursprung der Familie, des Privateigentums und des Staats (Stuttgart 1919 [Zurich: Hottingen, 1884]), 52; cited from the English translation The Origins of the Family (New York: International Publishers, 1972), 58.  Krisztina Morvai, “Women and the Rule of Law in Hungary,” Feminist Review, no. 76 (2004), 100 – 109.  Pateman, The Sexual Contract, 28.  Pateman, The Disorder of Women 39.

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ideas about the “national brotherhood,” some forms of everyday nationalism called upon women to assume leading roles. The next chapter examines national clothing. The nationalization of clothing suggests a striking contrast between masculine uniforms and feminine fashions.

Chapter 7 Hungary’s National Costume Just as smoking, drinking, moustaches, and sexual desire acquired patriotic symbolism in the kingdom of Hungary, so too did clothing become fraught with nationalized meaning. Perhaps more than any other form of “banal” nationalism, the nationalization of clothing invested everyday life with patriotic significance. Eating and drinking are regular yet sporadic activities. Smoking is optional. Sexuality happens in the privacy of thought, or of the bedroom. Moustaches, if worn, were worn all the time, but can only claim ubiquity for adult men. Clothing, by contrast, is public, omnipresent and obligatory. People of all genders, estates, and ethno-national communities wore clothing every day. Insofar as clothing became nationalized, therefore, nationalism permeated everyday life. The history of dress is so complicated and well-document that this chapter cannot hope to provide an exhaustive history of Hungarian clothing. Indeed, the complexity of Hungary’s sartorial regimes even precludes a thorough history of patriotic clothing. Women’s clothing will be mentioned only in passing. The interesting history of cockades will be wholly neglected. Some readers may also be surprised that this chapter will mostly disregard peasant clothing, since the phrase “national costume” so often connotes folkloric peasant costumes. Even in the nineteenth-century, clothing experts routinely described peasant costumes in national terms. Joseph Heinbucher’s 1820 costume book, for example, depicted 78 different “traditional costumes” worn in the Kingdom of Hungary, showing 16 costumes of “the main nation, the Magyars,” 20 Slovak costumes, 8 Croatian costumes, 4 Serbian costumes, 2 German costumes, 2 Gypsy costumes, and one costume each for Romanians and Ukrainians [Wlachen and Ruthenen].¹ Twentieth-century folklorists have continued to describe peasant clothing with terms such as “folk costume” or “national costume,” and associated them with ethnonyms such as “Hungarian,”² “Croatian,”³ “German,”⁴ “Romanian,”⁵ or “Slovak.”⁶  Joseph Heinbucher Edler von Bikkéssy, Pannoniens Bewohner in ihren volksthümlichen Trachten (Vienna: n.p., 1820), title page, 25.  Gertrud Palotay, Ungarische Volkstrachten (Budapest: Officina, 1938); Mária Flórián, Erika Urai, Magyar népviseletek (Budapest: Madách, 1980); Alice Gáborján, Magyar népviseletek (Budapest: Corvina, 1969); also available as Ungarische Volkstrachten (Budapest: Corvina, 1985).  Jelka Ribarić, Narodne nošnje Hrvatske (Zagreb: Spektar, 1975); Maja Alujević, “EMS’ Collection of Traditional Costumes from Central Croatia and Slavonia,” Ethnologica Dalmatica vol. 10, no. 1 (2001), 89 – 97. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638448-010

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Historians of nationalism must nevertheless avoid projecting national concepts onto clothing worn by nationally indifferent peasants. Neither the population of Hungary as a whole, nor the Kingdom’s particular ethno-national communities, possessed a recognizable costume. Magyar peasant costumes, Slovak peasant costumes, Croatian peasant costumes, and indeed all of the so-called “folk costumes” in the Kingdom of Hungary, can only be discussed in the plural. A Slovak folk proverb made the point explicitly: “go over the hill and find another costume.”⁷ The diversity of peasant costumes also features in Hungarian fiction. A character in one of Ion Slavici’s short stories tries to find a woman in a market crowd by searching for the distinctive costume of Zombrád [Zimbru], a tiny village in Arad county that even in 2011 only had 330 inhabitants.⁸ When the illustrated weekly Fillértár depicted rural Magyars in 1834, it depicted men wearing a wide variety of costumes.⁹ Peasant costumes thus varied not from nation to nation (or “nationality” to “nationality”), but from village to village, or even within a village. Attempts to retroactively nationalize them must be treated with skepticism. The national content of peasant dress exists mostly in the eye of beholding intellectuals. Indeed, eighteenth-century Hungarian legislation arguably prohibited most Hungarians from wearing a “national” costume. Members of the Hungarian nobility, famously, posed as the nation, and sumptuary laws forbade peasants from dressing like nobles. A study by Hungarian ethnographer Attila Paládi-Kovács noted that “county statutes forbade serfs to wear clothes made of broad cloth, and their wives were not allowed to use lace, velvet and fur: Serfs were only allowed to wear linen of frieze which was rougher than broadcloth, and their foot-

 Elisabeth Mikolik, et al., Karpatendeutsche Trachten und Tä nze (Stuttgart: Karpatendeutsche Landsmannschaft, 1990); Károly Manherz, Marietta Boross, Volkstrachten der Ungarndeutschen (Budapest: Pytheas, 2000).  Paul Petrescu, Elena Secoşan, Romanian Folk Costume (Bucharest: Meridiane, 1985); Cătălina Mihalache, “Costumul ‘naţional’ românesc: Geneza unui simbol identitar,” Anuarul Institutului de Istorie, vol. 54 (2017), 207– 28.  Čeněk Zíbrt, “Slovenské kroje a typy,” Český Lid, vol. 13 (1904), 30 – 35; Anon., Kroje Slovenska (Bratislava: Slovenska´ kartografia, 1993); Jozef Markov, The Slovak National Dress through the Centuries (Prague: Artia, 1956).  Cited from Sigrid Piroch, “Slovak Folk Art: Indigo Printing,” Ars Textrina, vol. 9 (1988), 75.  Ion Slavici, “Pădureanca,” Tribuna, vol. 1 (July to August 1884); available in Ioan Slavici, Opere (Bucharest, Editura Național, 2001) 1:171; English translation from: “The Girl of the Forest,” in: Jacob Steinberg, ed., Introduction to Rumanian Literature (New York: Twayne, 1966), 104.  “Magyar táborozás,” Fillértár, vol. 2, no. 14 (30 May 1834), 105 – 106.

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wear was to be sandals.”¹⁰ For most of Hungarian history, peasant clothing regulations enforced inferiority and subordination, rather than membership in an imagined national community. The clothing worn by nobles, meanwhile, only intermittently articulated nationality. The impoverished lower gentry dressed much like the peasantry. During the insurrection of 1809, their inability to purchase boots inspired the derisive nickname bocskoros nemes [sandaled noble].¹¹ The highest aristocracy, meanwhile, wore expensive clothing that served primarily to display their wealth and privilege. The bejeweled garments of the Eszterházy family most spectacularly illustrate how aristocrats used sartorial pomp to display their status. Prince Eszterházy’s “renowned coat” was so richly covered in pearls, diamonds, and precious stones that, as Sir Walter Scott wrote in 1821, it “costs the prince £100 or two every time he puts it on, as he is sure to lose pearls to that amount.”¹² Decades later, in 1852, American diplomat William Stiles marveled over the Eszterházy costume’s splendor: “the dress, or rather the most valuable part of it, the jewels, have descended to him from an ancestor, who made, it is said, in his will, the singular provision that his other heirs, to whom he also left property, should contribute to sustain the splendor of this dress – a tax by no means significant, since every time it is worn, the depreciation in value arising from the loss of jewels amounts, as it is said, to many thousands of dollars.”¹³ Since a thousand dollars was worth roughly £200 in the 1850s, the expense from lost jewels evidently grew in the telling! Yet while the Hungarian fashion press sometimes praised the Eszterházy costume as a “famed national costume,”¹⁴ it was “national” only when juxtaposed with the costumes of foreign aristocrats. Hungarian patriots nevertheless chose to invest national significance in an aristocratic men’s costume retroactively known as the díszmagyar [decorative Magyar] costume. The díszmagyar costume, and the various garments that comprised it, appears in the historical record under several names. At the beginning of the century, it was commonly and perhaps most properly known as the “gala costume,” as in an 1842 announcement advertising one for sale: “A complete

 Attila Paládi-Kovács, Ethnic Traditions, Classes, and Communities (Budapest: Institute of Ethnology, Hungarian Academy of Sciences, 1996), 30.  Paládi-Kovács, Ethnic Traditions, Classes, and Communities, 31.  “Sir Walter Scott’s Account of the Coronation,” The Kaleidoscope, vol. 2, no. 59 (14 August 1821), 43; also available from Complete Works of Sir Walter Scott (New York: Conner and Cooke, 1833), 7:353.  William Stiles, Austria in 1848 – 49 (New York: Arno Press, 1971 [New York: Harper and Brothers 1852]), 2:26.  “Pesti salon heti szemléje,” Honderű, vol. 1, no. 7 (18 February 1843), 243.

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gala costume with rich gold embroidery is for sale, consisting of an attila [an embroidered jacket], dolman [an embroidered coat], fur, pants, sabre, gold accoutrements and bordered cap.”¹⁵ Some observers described the entire ensemble as “the attila” or “the dolman,” since the distinctive embroidery of the jacket or coat formed its most characteristic element. Similarly embroidered jackets featured in the uniforms of Hungarian hussars, and since cavalry units across Europe patterned their uniforms from the Hungarian model,¹⁶ foreign observers often described the díszmagyar costume as a “hussar’s uniform.” As the century progressed, the ensemble came to be called the “Hungarian magnate’s costume,” and then simply the “Hungarian costume.” Yet as late as 1937, when Otto von Habsburg had himself photographed in the costume, journalists described it as “the uniform of a Hungarian Hereditary Magnate, the equivalent of court dress.”¹⁷ The design of the díszmagyar costume, like other nationalized ensembles, emerged from pre-national clothing styles. It drew on seventeenth century costumes and is sometimes ascribed a “Turkish origin.”¹⁸ Precisely dating the birth of the national costume, however, is not possible. The binary opposition between continuity and change forms a sort of Rorschach test for clothing scholars: all too often, fashion experts unprofitably debate whether this or that nationalized garment possesses “authentic” folk roots from the pre-national age, or represents an innovation of nationalizing modernity.¹⁹ Arguments about the authenticity of national clothing reflect broader arguments about the antiquity or modernity of nations, sometimes collectively referred to as the “Warwick debate.”²⁰ Patriots generally believe their nation has ancient roots, a belief known as “primordialism,” and a few modern scholars concur: Robin Cohen, for example, offered what he called a “modest defence”

 “Ein ungarisches Galakleid zu verkaufen,” Intelligenzblatt zur Agramer Zeitung, no. 73 (10 September 1842), 415.  Mária Flórián, “The Image of ‘Hungarian dress’ in Europe,” Acta Ethnographica Hungarica, vol. 38, nos 1– 3 (1993), 79, 81– 82.  “Between a Habsburg King and Nazi Rule Pretty Little Austria Must Choose,” Life, vol. 2, no. 11 (22 March 1937), 15.  Dóra Dezső, “A női magyaros dolmány,” 73; Lukács Anikó, “Nemzeti divat a reformkori Pesten,” Korall, vol. 10 (2002), 44.  Eva-Marie Tweit, “Folklore on Display: The Authenticity Debate Revisited,” Studia Ethnologica Croatica, vol. 19 (2007), 293 – 302; Regina Bendrix, In Search of Authenticity: The Formation of Folklore Studies (Madison: University of Wisconsin, 1997), 104.  Anthony Smith, The Nation: Real or Imagined? The Warwick Debates on Nationalism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996).

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of primordialism in 1999.²¹ Most contemporary scholars, however, believe either that nations are modern “inventions,” or that nations are modern reinventions of some ancient pre-national collective, often but not universally known as an ethnie. The former school posits a decisive break with the past, the latter acknowledges change but prefers to highlight continuity between the nation and the prenational collective.²² Extensive debate between the two schools has yielded meager fruit. At this point, scholars who takes a strong stance one way or the other shed more light on their own values and judgements than on the past.²³ As a study of nationalization, this book has an implicit “before and after” narrative structure that tends to highlight discontinuity. Nevertheless, it declines to describe the díszmagyar as either an “authentic” national costume or an “invented” tradition. Readers must be satisfied with banalities. In Hungary, as elsewhere, sartorial patriots drew on existing traditions of dress, but also adapted those traditions in light of changing contexts. Instead of debating the true origin of a continually-evolving clothing style, let us consider when, how and why people in Hungary started proclaiming certain clothes “Hungarian,”²⁴ and associating other clothes with foreign countries. Retired officer and Hungarian nobleman József Gvadány, for example, attacked foreign dress in his celebrated 1790 poem Egy Falusi nótárius budai utazása [The Village Notary’s Journey to Buda]. The poem’s narrator, István Zajtai, criticizes the foppish dress of city-dwellers as “German.” Mivel kevés Mágnás vólt Magyar ruhában, Az is már öreg vólt, ki vólt illy gúnyában, Leg többen valának mind németh nadrágban, Nem magok hajokkal, hanem parokában. By so few magnates Magyar clothes were worn, Those who did were old-fashioned, and met with scorn, Most of them wear German apparel, And wear not just their own hair, but wigs as well.²⁵

 Robin Cohen, “The Making of Ethnicity: A Modest Defence of Primordialism,” in: Edward Mortimer, Robert Fine, eds, People, Nation and State: The Meaning of Ethnicity and Nationalism (London: I. B. Tauris, 1999), 3 – 11.  Philip Spencer, Howard Wollman, “Contemporary Approaches to Nationalism,” in: Philip Spencer, Howard Wollman, eds, Nationalism: A Critical Introduction (London: Sage, 2002), 26 – 56; Atsuko Ichijo, Gordana Uzelac, eds, When is the Nation? Towards an Understanding of Theories of Nationalism (London: Routledge, 2005).  Alexander Maxwell, Patriots Against Fashion (London: Routledge, 2014), 159 – 60.  Mária Flórián, “The Image of ‘Hungarian dress’ in Europe,” Acta Ethnographica Hungarica, vol. 38, nos 1– 3 (1993), 71, 73 – 76.  József Gvadány, Egy Falusi nótárius budai utazása (Bratislava: J. Horvát, 1790), 47.

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Encountering a dandy, Zajtai affects an inability to ascertain his gender: Gvadány implied that non-national clothes endangered the wearer’s masculinity. Férfi é? Aszszony é? nem tudtam ki venni, Ez Hermafrodita, gondoltam, fog lenni, Is it a gentleman? A lady? I knew not what was right. It must be, I thought, a hermaphrodite. ²⁶

After a brief conversation, Zajtai chastises the dandy, arguing that Hungarians ought to wear their characteristically national costume: Az egész világon aztat minden Nemzet Meg vallya, hogy leg szebb a’ magyar öltözet; Ki magyar’s nem hordja, más módon nem lehet: Hanem, hogy illy Magyar nadragulyát vehet. Gróff Uram? hogy ökör ökröt a’ szarváról Lehet meg esmérni, madarat tolláról, Ez török ez lengyel látom gúnyáról, hogy ez magyar légyen, tudom ruhájáról. Across the whole world, every nation concedes the Magyar costume as the finest decoration. A Magyar who scorns it can wear no other frock, But instead should go take hemlock. Your grace? You know a day by the weather, Or the bird from just his feather, Here is a Turk, there a Pole, I can tell from the clothes, So with dress too the Magyar his nation shows.²⁷

Zajtai concluded by recommending Hungarian clothing to both the dandy and the reader: A magyar őltözet leg szebb, leg nemesebb, Nints Nemzet, a’ mellynek ruhája ékesebb, Nints így fel őltözött Dámánál díszesebb, Ki terjesztett farkú Páva sem kényesebb. The most beautiful and noble is the Magyar costume, No other nation has wears such an ornate plume. There is no more honorable dress for a lady of station, No peacock’s tail makes a finer decoration.²⁸

 Gvadány, Egy Falusi nótárius budai utazása, 111.  Gvadány, Egy Falusi nótárius budai utazása, 53.  Gvadány, Egy Falusi nótárius budai utazása, 110.

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In another less celebrated poem satirizing the Hungarian parliament, Gvadány even more explicitly called for nationalized clothing. Madárt nem esmérjük máskép, tsak tollárúl, Ki micsoda nemzet, láttyik gúnyájárúl, Ne járon magyar úgy, ki mint czitront árúl, Nemzetem Törvényt tégy, kérlek, a’ ruhárúl. It is by their feathers that we recognize birds, In clothes we know a person’s nation without words. Like a seller of lemons no Magyar should appear Our nation should pass a law on clothing this year.²⁹

In a recent book, Robert Nemes rightly concluded that Gvadány “never missed an opportunity to praise Hungarian attire and urged both men and women to wear it.”³⁰ In 1798, Pál Ányos published similar verses in the patriotic journal Magyar Minerva [Hungarian Minerva]. The narrator, a “noble youth of Nagyszombat [Trnava],” alluded to the ongoing Napoleonic wars by urging Hungarians not to wear “Corsican hats, or Parisian shoes.”³¹ More generally, however, Ányos criticized non-Hungarian clothing: Nem hordtad te szomszéd nemzetek’ ruháját, Azért követted ügy őseid’ példáját. Nem kedvell az erkölts szagos keszkenöket, pipes ruházot, nyakokon kendöket; fatyol, nagy ezust-gomb, párducok börevel, jobban összeillik magyarok szemevel, Shun the clothes of nations who are your neighbors, Follow instead the example of your ancestors. Do not seek handkerchiefs with scent, Fancy clothes or a scarf around the neck, A veil, big silver buttons, and leapord skins, Look better in the eyes of Hungarians.³²

 Józef Gvadány, A mostan folyo Ország Gyűlésének satyrico criticé való leírása (Leipzig: Wéber Simon Péter, 1790), 287. Translation from Nemes, Another Hungary, 29. Nemes cited different page numbers because he accessed the poem from the Magyar Elektronikus Könyvtár.  Nemes, Another Hungary, 29.  Pál Ányos, “A régi magyar viseletről,” Magyar Minerva (Vienna: Özvegy Alberti Ignátzné, 1798), 1:51.  Ányos, “A régi magyar viseletről,” 1:49 – 50.

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Some scholars have interpreted the clothing debates of the 1790s as “arguments for the status quo,”³³ while others have detected nascent republican sentiments.³⁴ The preference for noble narrators, however, suggests that both Gvadány and Ányos upheld traditional social hierarchies. The gala costume of Hungarian magnates featured prominently in the pomp and ceremony of 1825. Habsburg Emperor Franz II/I had been king of Hungary since 1792, but in 1825 his fourth wife, Karoline Auguste of Bavaria, was crowned Queen of Hungary as Karolina Auguszta. The monarch called the Hungarian diet into session for the first time since the Napoleonic wars. Pozsony [Bratislava, Pressburg], the seat of the diet, donned a festive air. Public buildings were restored, the old town replastered, and new lanterns hung to light the street.³⁵ Aristocrats, military officers, and other notables paraded, cheered, attended church services, and gave speeches in Hungarian and Latin.³⁶ The local correspondent for the Preßburger Zeitung [Bratislava News] found the ceremony overwhelming: “our quill is too weak to describe it in its full splendor.” The dazzled correspondent repeatedly emphasized sartorial magnificence. Young boys wore “red clothes decorated with gold,” and the costume of the magnates, bursting with jewels, pearls, gold, and silver, their carriages, bodyguards, and numerous other servants, was most the splendid thing to see that anybody could imagine, and in the middle of this splendor, the royal Hungarian guards in their shining gala uniforms made the most imposing impression.³⁷

A similar report from the Österreichischer Beobachter [Austrian Observer] celebrated that the imperial-royal couple had received the fealty of the “entire Hungarian nation,”³⁸ though here the “nation,” obviously, consisted primarily of nobles and aristocrats.

 Nemes, Another Hungary, 30; Ferenc Bíró, “Egy régi jó konzervatív,” Új Írás, vol. 29, no. 9 (1989), 97– 105.  Ágoston Nagy, “Republikanizmus és csinosodás között: A nemzeti viselet és a politikai nyelvek 1790 körül,” Korall, no. 55 (2014), 22– 45.  “Ungarn,” Österreichischer Beobachter, no. 254 (11 September 1825), 1194.  “Ungarn,” Preßburger Zeitung, nos 73 – 74 (16, 20 September 1825), 969 – 72; 985 – 90; “Ungarn,” Wiener Zeitung, no. 213 (19 September 1825), 899 – 900; see also Jósef Dóczy, “A királyok koronázása,” Európa Tekintete (Vienna: Antal Haykul 1830), 9:99 – 102; Franz Buchholz, “Österreich,” Historisches Taschenbuch – Begebenheiten des Jahres 1825 (Berlin: Theodore Enslin, 1828), 14:516.  “Ungarn,” Preßburger Zeitung, no. 74 (20 September 1825), 986.  “Ungarn,” Österreichischer Beobachter, no. 261 (18 September 1825), 1227.

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The noble nation pledging its allegiance to the emperor-king also displayed its social differentiation, insofar as some deputies wore more luxurious costumes than others. According to Joseph Moyle Sherer, a British military officer who attended the coronation, most deputies wore clothes with black embroidery. A few magnates, however, were “sheeted in gold lace” or wore a tassel of gold bullion on the boot, and a gold cord fastening the pelisse. The reason of this difference I learned to be, that some were actually in the military service; and the tassel and the cord of others were little vain additions, which men dandified by residence in Vienna had ventured to assume.³⁹

While Sherer thought gold accoutrements a Viennese intrusion on Hungary’s egalitarian nobility, the sartorial splendor of the Eszterházy family demonstrates that the Hungarian aristocracy had long displayed an internal hierarchy. Sherer also documented the costume’s limited social base. Though he characterized the magnate costume as “the national dress of Hungary” and claimed to have observed it on everybody except “bishops and dignitaries of the church,”⁴⁰ he simultaneously contrasted it with the clothing of commoners on the streets. He specifically mentioned both the “barbarian” costumes of Slovaks and the dress of “the Hungarian peasant,” which consisted of “a thick, stout, blue jacket, a strong, heavy, shapeless boot, uncombed hair, and a broad-brimmed hat with a low rounded crown.”⁴¹ Throughout the Reform Era, foreign visitors to the Hungarian parliament remarked on the splendid costumes worn by parliamentarians, and usually described them in “national” terms. Julia Pardoe, visiting on 15 July 1839, emphasized the costume’s diversity:⁴² It has been asserted by some writers that … members all attend in full Hussar costume; but this is an error. The Regulations of the Chamber indeed require that not only every Deputy, but also every visitor to the Hall, shall wear a sword, a braided coat, and the kalpag or national cap, save the military officers and ecclesiastics, who appear in the dress of their several professions … but this arrangement leaves so great a scope to individual taste and cap-

 Joseph Moyle Sherer, Notes and Reflections during a Ramble in Germany (London: Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown and Green, 1826), 290.  Sherer, Notes and Reflections during a Ramble in Germany, 290 – 91.  Sherer, Notes and Reflections during a Ramble in Germany, 287– 88.  Pardoe witnessed parliament discussing the petition of Count Ráday, see Pardoe The City of the Magyar, 1:244; parliament discussed the question on 15 July 1839, see Magyarország Közgyülésének jegyző könyve (Bratislava: Belnay, Wéber, Wigand, 1839), 1:143 – 57.

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rice, that the aspect of the assembly is infinitely more picturesque and characteristic than it could possibly be if merely presenting the appearance of a cavalry mess-room.⁴³

Paget also reported that costumes worn in parliament varied: “The colours, and in many respects the form, of the Hungarian uniform depend entirely on the taste of the individual, and vary from the simple blue dress of the hussar, with white cotton lace, to the rich stuffs covered with pearls and diamonds, of prince Eszterházy.”⁴⁴ Paget, unlike Sherer, found gold lace the rule, not the exception,⁴⁵ adding that in the evening most noblemen changed into “an ordinary civil costume,” presumably a frock coat. After traveling more widely in Hungary, Paget concluded that most Hungarian nobles wore London fashions, yet often observed díszmagyar costumes in daily life: “many of the old school wear this dress constantly.”⁴⁶ Viennese traveler, geographer and speleologist Adolf Schmidl, in an 1829 travel guide to the Habsburg monarchy, described the costume without giving it any parliamentary associations. He wrote that an “attractive and completely identical national costume (which no Greek or Jew may wear), characterizes the true Hungarian.” Elsewhere on the same page, however, Smidl referred to Magyar shepherds wearing “a long shirt and long, crude linen pants rubbed with fat to keep out insects.”⁴⁷ Schmidl broke with other foreign observers in emphasizing the uniformity of magnate costumes, but the revised 1835 edition of Schmidl’s book acknowledged diversity: The proper Hungarian national costume – since it gives innumerable variations – is one of the most beautiful in the world. Even the poor have introduced hussar jackets. The nobleman mostly wears black cloth with silk braid and buttons, furs (Mente-Kötö) with a silver chain, black leather boots with silver embroidery, a cap (Kalpag) trimmed with black astrakhan wool. … no nobleman goes without a sabre.⁴⁸

Schmidl also contradicted himself about the ubiquity of swords: in 1829, he had Hungarians wearing “Hussar sabres on festive occasions,”⁴⁹ but in 1835 insisted

 Pardoe, The City of the Magyar, 1:250.  John Paget, Hungary and Transylvania (London: Murray, 1839), 1:420.  Paget, Hungary and Transylvania, 1:419.  Paget, Hungary and Transylvania, 1:35; 1:420.  Adolf Schmidl [as Rudoph von Jenny], Handbuch für Reisende in dem oesterreichischen Kaiserstaate (Vienna: Anton Doll, 1829), 1:xx.  Adolf Schmidl, Handbuch für Reisende in dem oesterreichischen Kaiserstaate; durchaus umgearbeitete und vermehrte Zweite Auflage (Vienna: Carl Gerold, 1835), 2:26.  Schmidl, Handbuch für Reisende in dem oesterreichischen Kaiserstaate (1829), 1:xx.

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that “no nobleman goes without a sword.” Given such inconsistencies, one must treat with skepticism his claim that “the so-called attila-costume” first appeared in 1825 as a “coronation costume.”⁵⁰ As the Reform Era progressed, Hungarian aristocrats increasingly wore their gala costume to formal events outside Hungary. On 9 February 1829, count Rudolf Apponyi, then ambassador to France, caused a sensation at a Parisian ball by performing Hungarian dances in the costume. According to the Viennese press, six male dancers, including a Scottish captain and a Saxon count, wore dolmans of five different colors, cut in a style “from old Hungarian times.”⁵¹ Subsequent Hungarians in Paris followed Apponyi’s example. In 1839, a German epistolarian observed Hungarians dancing at a Parisian ball wearing a “hussar’s uniform covered with silver or an even more impressive black silk attila decorated with furs and gold accoutrements.”⁵² At the other end of Europe, Széchenyi donned the costume to meet Ottoman officials in the Danube port of Vidin, now in Bulgaria. In 1834, fellow traveler Michael Quin observed the count wearing “the court costume of a Hungarian magnate, which is peculiarly splendid and becoming.” Quin thought the costume resembled “an officer of the hussars” and particularly noted the “sword and sword-belt, with its large gold clasp.” Széchenyi evidently did not wear the costume in daily life, however: Quinn contrasted the magnate’s costume with Széchenyi’s “ordinary dress.”⁵³ A gala costume worn by wealthy elites on special occasions presumably struck foreign visitors as “national” because they acknowledged the estate privilege of the Hungarian aristocracy. Even in the Reform Era, the costume had strongly aristocratic connotations, and the middle classes were sometimes discouraged from wearing it.⁵⁴ In their 2008 article on “everyday nationhood,” however, Jon Fox and Cynthia Miller-Idriss emphasized that nationhood acquires “symbolic meaning in the ritual performances of everyday (and not-so-everyday)

 Schmidl, Handbuch für Reisende in dem oesterreichischen Kaiserstaate (1835), 2:26.  The colors include violet blue, blue, lily (twice), brown, and light blue. K. v. N., “Ungarischen National-Tanz in Paris 1829,” Allgemeine Theaterzeitung und Originalblatt für Kunst, Literatur und geselliges Leben (Bäuerle’s Theaterzeigung, vol. 22 (25 April 1829), pp. 1– 2 of the unnumbered supplement Neues Probeblatt für 1829.  Anon., Winterbriefe vom Verfasser der Herbstblätter aus Holland, Belgien u. Paris (Stuttgart: Hallberger, 1839), 41– 42.  Michael Quin, A Steam Voyage Down the Danube (Paris: Galigani, 1836), 142.  Katalin Dózsa, “A rendi nemzettudat szimbóluma, a díszmagyar,” in: Tamás Hofer, ed., Magyarok Kelet és Nyugat között (Budapest: Néprajzi Múzeum 1996), 161.

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life.” Fox and Miller-Idriss could have been describing Hungarian coronation ceremonies when they spoke of everyday life characterized not by its banality, but rather by the ordinary individuals who people it … these events do not belong to the realm of the ordinary; rather, by definition, they are extraordinary events … contrived occasions for the crystallization of national awareness.⁵⁵

The aristocratic performance of nationality, much like the “celebrity monarchism” Alice Freifeld saw in the public persona of the empress-queen Elisabeth,⁵⁶ illustrates the role of spectacle in legitimating political power in the Habsburg monarchy. Fashion scholars disagree about how widely the díszmagyar costume was worn. Hungarian fashion historian Krisztina Ferencziné Sedlmayr insisted that “the Hungarian clothing movement of the Reform Era” differed from attempts to nationalize clothing in Germany or Sweden because the nationalized clothes were still being worn, and thus formed an “organic unity,” rather than “a fancy dress costume propagated as extraordinary spectacle.”⁵⁷ Paul Mathias, by contrast, restricted the diszmagyar costume to extraordinary spectacles when he wrote of Hungary’s landed gentry that “each of them had his diszmagyar, a jewel-studded gala costume, tucked away and worn rarely, but always ready for another appearance – a coronation or a marriage.”⁵⁸ Royal coronations, certainly, do not qualify as “banal” in Billig’s sense: neither the aristocrats who wore the costume in the early nineteenth century, nor the formal ceremonies at which they wore it, are particularly relevant to the nationalization of everyday life. During the Reform Era, however, various people who lacked a patent of nobility began wearing the díszmagyar costume in increasingly unceremonial contexts. While Paget associated the costume with a gentleman’s rank, he reported from the predominantly Magyar city of Debrecen that “the costume is worn by

 Jon Fox, Cynthia Miller-Idriss, “Everyday Nationhood,” Ethnicities, vol. 8, no. 4 (2008), 545.  Alice Freifeld, “Empress Elisabeth as Hungarian Queen: The Uses of Celebrity Monarchism,” in: Laurence Cole, Daniel Unowsky, eds, The Limits of Loyalty: Imperial Symbolism, Popular Allegiances, and State Patriotism in the Late Habsburg Monarchy (New York: Berghahn Books, 2007), 138 – 61.  Krisztina Ferencziné Sedlmayr, “Magyaros ruhamozgalom az 1930-as években,” Folia Historica, vol. 24 (2006), 135.  Paul Mathias, “A View of Hungary,” in: Polly Cone, ed., The Imperial Style: Fashions of the Habsburg Era (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1980), 92.

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rich as well as poor.”⁵⁹ He specifically observed valets and servants wearing the costume: Almost every gentleman has a hussar fully armed and equipped as his valet de chamber, and some have all their footmen in the same dress. These uniforms are not unfrequently covered with gold or silver lace. It is startling to a foreigner to find himself served at table by a smart looking hussar, be-whiskered and be-spurred as fiercely as if he were handling a sabre instead of presenting a knife and fork.⁶⁰

Valets and servants received their liveries from their employers, and presumably wore second-hand costumes, even if the wealthiest aristocrats might conceivably have dressed their servants in new díszmagyar costumes to display their wealth. Paget’s claims of subaltern díszmagyar should not be exaggerated, however, since he elsewhere observed “peasants, in endless variety of costume” and reported that in the Slovak regions of northern Hungary “almost every village in this mountainous country has its peculiar costume.”⁶¹ Nevertheless, Paget’s valets and servants suggest the costume had begun to spread beyond the aristocracy. Entertainers also began wearing the díszmagyar costume, or elements of it. The nine-year-old virtuoso Ferenc Liszt wore an embroidered dolman for his first public performance in 1820,⁶² and then again for his 1826 portrait.⁶³ Liszt also donned the costume for his 1840 benefit concert for the victims of the 1838 Pest flood, and then again when Miklós Barabás painted his portrait in 1847,⁶⁴ even if the dolman in Barabás’ portrait has no visible embroidery. Erika Quinn rightly wrote that “Liszt’s costume was a nationalist statement,” and somewhat uncharitably suggested that “changing clothes was much easier than learning Magyar” for the cosmopolitan musician.⁶⁵ Less famous entertainers also wore the costume. The dancer and choreographer József Farkas wore a “long attila-dolman, with sabre” while performing abroad; one Bavarian reviewer praised his “splendid national costume.”⁶⁶ Sán-

 Paget, Hungary and Transylvania, 2:20.  Paget, Hungary and Transylvania, 1:10 – 11.  Paget, Hungary and Transylvania, 1:80.  Alan Walker, Franz Liszt: The Virtuoso Years (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1987), 1:68.  Josef Trentsensky, Ferdinand Lütgendorff, “Liszt Ferentz,” lithograph, 28 x 19.5 cm (1826), now in the Galéria mesta Bratislavy.  Miklós Barabás, “Liszt Ferenc portréja,” oil on canvas, 132 x 102 cm (1847), now in the Magyar Nemzeti Múzeum.  Erika Quinn, Franz Liszt: A Story of Central European Subjectivity (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 85.  “Allerlei,” Der bayerische Volksfreund, no. 65 (24 April 1832), 309.

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dor Mednyánszky also recalled that Hungarian gypsy bands “kept in the pay of magnates and other rich landed proprietors” were typically “clad in the Hungarian costume.”⁶⁷ Concerts and performances were formal public events, but had nothing to do with government administration: they better qualify as “banal” events in Billig’s sense. Patriots who wore the díszmagyar costume sometimes tried to sanction those who did not. In late 1839, Hungarian newspapers began reporting on a sensational court case from Transylvania. A baron insulted a neighboring landowner as “a bastard child of Transylvania” partly because “instead of remaining true to the Transylvanian costume, instead of proudly wearing the dolman with golden embroidery on the right shoulder and decorating himself with the feathered cap, he wore the normal German costume with a three-cornered hat.”⁶⁸ A even more striking incident, recounted by English scholar Arthur Patterson, involved a nobleman who checked into a hotel, learned a famous Gypsy musician was present, and requested a performance. The nobleman had just returned to Hungary from travel abroad and was wearing “the ordinary costume of civilized Europe.” The gypsy musician refused to play for a Hungarian nobleman wearing “Sváb [Swabian, i. e. German] clothes.” According to Patterson, the nobleman “respected the musician’s patriotic prejudices, took off his coat, and sat in his shirt sleeves, and the satisfied Gypsy played his violin with his wonted skill and good humor.”⁶⁹ Any situation in which a Gypsy could command a Hungarian nobleman deserves attention. By insisting on the national costume, the Gypsy musician claimed to represent and articulate the national will. The nobleman, remarkably, accepted the Gypsy as a legitimate national spokesman. Sartorial policing thus enabled a subaltern to exert power up the social hierarchy. As the díszmagyar costume increasingly acquired patriotic significance, reformers began tracking its progress. In an 1841 survey of Hungarian counties, the statistician Elek Fényes discussed clothing habits as a matter of patriotic concern. In Komárom [Komárno, Komorn], for example, people supposedly wore clothes in “the true Magyar style,” including “a long dolman, cut in the Magyar style.”⁷⁰ Magyar men on Csallóköz [Žitný ostrov, Große Schüttinsel] wore “dark or light blue Magyar clothes,” though the local Slovaks wore non-national “dark

 Mednyánszky [as Birkbeck], Rural and Historical Gleanings from Eastern Europe, 344; reprinted as “The Hungarian Gypsies,” The National Magazine, vol. 4 (April 1854), 308.  “Die Entführung,” Das Ausland, vol. 12, no. 116 (26 April 1839), 463; see also “Die Entführung,” Transylvania: Beiblatt zum Siebenbürger Bote, vol. 1, no. 22 (17 March 1840), 87.  Patterson, The Magyars, 1:200.  Elek Fényes, Magyar országnak, ’s a’ hozzá kapcsolt tartományoknak (Pest: Trattner, 1841), 1:136.

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blue clothes.”⁷¹ By contrast, the inhabitants of Moson county, which included 39,491 Germans, 9,413 Croats but only 7,600 Magyars, supposedly wore dolmans of a “half Magyar, half German style.”⁷² Fényes insinuated that the progress of Magyar clothes reflected the progress of Magyar patriotic sentiment. Patriotic interest in nationalized clothing, much like the interest in nationalized tobacco and nationalized wine, eventually inspired efforts to rationalize and standardize. Much as farmers and vintners took the lead in reforming tobacco and wine, tailors led sartorial nationalism. Ádám Kostyál, probably the most prominent tailor-patriot, came from impoverished noble family in Trencsén county. In the 1820s, he moved to Pest and began making díszmagyar costumes. In 1827, he started advertising in newspapers, and in 1828 became a citizen of the city. At the peak of his success, Kostyál employed 50 assistants.⁷³ He nevertheless spent final years in poverty, partly because he dissipated his fortune with generous charitable donations. After his death in 1863, Vasárnapi Újsag [The Sunday Newspaper] praised him as a “citizen and businessmen rich in patriotic and fraternal virtues.”⁷⁴ Kostyál invoked patriotism to market his products. He and his colleagues named their wares after historical heroes: “Árpád,” “Kölcsey,” or “Zrínyi” dolmans, “Hunyadi” overcoats, “Kazinczy” attilas, and so forth.⁷⁵ Contemporaries evidently accepted such pandering as proof of genuine patriotism. In 1837 the Hungarian-language Erdély Híradó [Transylvanian Courier] described one of Kostyál’s theatrical costumes as “national gala dress prepared by the outstanding Hungarian master tailor Ádám Kostyál.”⁷⁶ The Viennese press also treated Kostyál as a national savant: when “the famed tailor of Magyar men’s clothing” traveled through northern Hungary in 1839, Der Adler [The Eagle] wrote that he intended “to study the oldest and newest forms of Magyar dress in both public and private galleries, to adapt them to current times and fashions.”⁷⁷ When printing his fashion plates, furthermore, Viennese journals variously characterized his

 Fényes, Magyar országnak, 2:400.  Fényes, Magyar országnak, 1:167.  Mária Kerényi, “‘Pesti polgár és férjfi szabó,’ Kostyál Ádám,” Folia Historica, vol. 11 (1983), 104.  “-y,” “Kostyál Ádám,” Vasárnapi Újság, vol. 10, no. 44 (1 November 1863), 386.  Mária Flórián, “The Image of ‘Hungarian Dress’ in Europe,” Acta Ethnographica Hungarica, vol. 38, no. 1– 3 (1993), 83.  “Erdély és Magyarország,” Edrélyi Híradó (5 August 1837), 74.  “Welt-Chronik,” Der Adler, no. 267 (8 November 1839), 1021.

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designs as the “newest Hungarian fashions”⁷⁸ or the “Hungarian national costume.”⁷⁹ Kostyál’s designs influenced Hungarian clothing practices. Indeed, his work featured in several of the episodes mentioned above: he designed both the costume that ambassador Apponyi wore in Paris with such success, and the costume József Farkas wore in Bavaria.⁸⁰ Fashion historian Zsuzsa Sidó saw the costumes Kostyál designed for the 1830 coronation of Emperor-King Franz II/I as first proper appearance of the díszmagyar ensemble: she wrote that Kostyál “designed the Hungarian gala dress inspired by historical dress,”⁸¹ though failed to specify exactly which design features made Kostyál’s costumes such a decisive turning point. Whatever attitude one takes to the continuity-change debate, however, Kostyál’s fame suggests that, during the Reform Era, a tailor’s patriotic effusions could shape public opinion. Kostyál’s success as a patriot-tailor inspired imitators. The tailor Vencel Klaszy, who came to Pest a year after Kostyál, won public acclaim on 22 July 1836 by donating ten costumes to the national theater.⁸² Provincial tailors also sought patriotic reputations. Anton Zók, based in the southern town of Szigetvár [Siget, Inselburg], published a book explaining how to make “Hungarian and German men’s clothing.”⁸³ Zók’s bilingual volume, published in Hungarian and German, explained and codified the various elements of the díszmagyar costume. An additional introductory essay, given only in Hungarian, complained that Hungarian tailors lacked a thorough knowledge of their craft.⁸⁴ Zók’s complaints echoed Franz Schams’ diagnosis of Hungarian viticulture: reformers sought both to promote domestic products and to improve the skills of domestic producers.

 “Modenbild XXVII,” Wiener Zeitschrift für Kunst, Literatur, Theater und Mode, vol. 81 (8 July 1830), 660; the fashion plate is on p. 661.  “Modenbild Nr. 146 zur Theaterzeitung,” Allgemeine Theaterzeitung und Originalblatt für Kunst, Literatur, Musik, Mode und geselligest Leben [Bäuerle’s Theaterzeitung], vol. 26, no. 97 (14 May 1833), 392.  “Allerlei,” Der bayerische Volksfreund, no. 65 (24 April 1832), 309.  Zsuzsa Sidó, “The Díszmagyar as Representation in the Andrássy Family in Late NineteenthCentury Budapest,” in: Deborah Simonton, Marjo Kaartinen, Anne Montenach, eds, Luxury and Gender in European Towns, 1700 – 1914 (London: Routledge, 2014), 212.  “Klaszy Vencel,” Aladár Schöpflin, ed., Magyar színművészeti lexikon (Budapest: Országos Szinészegyesűlet és Nyugdíjintézete, 1930), 2:443; Kerényi, “Pesti polgár és férjfi szabó,” 105.  Anton Zók, Szabómesterség, vagy alapos útmutatás: Mint kell rendesen mértéket venni és szabni, ‘s jegujabb izlés és divat szerint magyar és német férfi-ruhákat készíteni (Pest: Beimel, 1835).  Rumy, “Ein Schneider als Schriftsteller!,” Wiener Theater-Zeitung, vol. 28, no. 207 (17 October 1835), 828.

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Kostyál, Klaszy and Zók have left traces in the historical record because they attracted the attention of journalists, but even tailors less skilled at public relations apparently invoked patriotic themes in their advertising. French musician Hector Berlioz, visiting Hungary in 1845, remarked on “the frequent use in large letters on the windows of most of the Pesth shops, even those of the modistes, of the word hony [sic] … which means national.” Berlioz concluded that “it is considered a duty in all classes of the population to make use of Hungarian manufactures only.”⁸⁵ Some citizens, presumably, felt no such duty. Nevertheless, the ubiquitous patriotic advertising recalls Billig’s analysis of unwaved flags, save that patriotic tailors were not agents of the state: the banal nationalism generated by Hungarian tailors spread upwards from the grassroots. The 1848 revolution made nationalized clothing more widespread, and enhanced its patriotic symbolism. The Zrínyi dolman, for example, became part of the Pest national guard uniform.⁸⁶ Most divisions of the revolutionary army wore the embroidered jackets that characterized the díszmagyar costume: an attila featured in the uniforms of the Honvéd infantry, the Bocskay hussars, the Károly hussars, the artillery, the pioneers, the corps of engineers, and in the bespoke uniform general György had made for himself. Only the Polish lancers, the Polish legion, and the German legion abjured the attila.⁸⁷ Once again, the ubiquity of the costume in practice should not be exaggerated. A revolutionary army that could not supply all its soldiers with shoes could hardly provide them with all the accoutrements of a splendid uniform.⁸⁸ Popular representations of revolutionary leaders, however, treated the costume as genuinely omnipresent. A contemporary engraving of Lajos Batthyányi’s government shows all nine ministers in embroidered jackets, though each has slightly different embroidery.⁸⁹ The frontspiece for an 1848 booklet extolling Kossuth’s deeds depicted a crowd waving hats in celebration; all the men visible in the picture

 Ernst Newmann, ed., Memoirs of Hector Berlioz: From 1803 to 1865 (New York: Dover, 1966 [New York: Knopf, 1932]), 386.  Viktória Czaga, Éva Jancsó, Pest-Budai nemzetőrök 1848 – 1849: Dokumentumok a Fővárosi Nemzetőrség történetéhez (Budapest: Budapest Főváros Levéltára, 2001), 12.  Anon., Aufzeichnungen eines Honvéd (Leipzig: Grunow, 1850), 1:206 – 12. As the revolution failed, the German legion, then consisting mostly of Hungarians, abandoned its German costume for the attila. See “Oesterreichische Monarchie,” Preßburger Zeitung, vol. 142 (23 June 1849), 660.  Peter Hamish Wilson, 1848: The Year of Revolutions (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006), 135.  Ferdinand Pfeifer, “Az első független Magyar felelős ministerium,” (1867), held at the Tiszántúli Református Egyházkerületi és Kollégiumi Nagykönyvtár in Debrecen, inventory number C.1969.21; see also József Tyroler, “A Batthyány-kormány,” engraving after a drawing by Henrik Weber.

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wear an embroidered dolman or attila.⁹⁰ The díszmagyar costume is equally pervasive in József Tyroler’s 1849 allegorical lithograph depicting Transylvania’s union with Hungary.⁹¹ An anonymous Honvéd memoir also recalled that “the entire nation, according to its uniform, formed an army.”⁹² Perhaps the most interesting evidence that the díszmagyar costume permeated everyday life during the 1848 Revolution comes not from Hungary itself, but from defeated patriots demonstratively wearing the costume in exile. On 6 January 1851, when the first Hungarian exiles landed in New York, they wore their uniforms to a formal reception;⁹³ when Kossuth arrived on 5 December, an honour guard of “Hungarians in costume” greeted him at the quay.⁹⁴ Indeed, the Preßburger Zeitung [Bratislava News] reported that a German society in New York presented the great revolutionary with a kalpak and attila, embroidered with gold, worth 7,000 dollars!⁹⁵ Kossuth wore díszmagyar costume, complete with sword, not only in New York but also in Cincinnati (on 26 February 1852),⁹⁶ and then again in Boston (on 29 April).⁹⁷ Indeed, Kossuth’s attire and popularity sparked a brief craze for what came to be known in the United States as the “Kossuth hat.”⁹⁸ Other Hungarians took the díszmagyar costume all the way to Australia. Márton Farkas, born to the lower gentry in Küküllő [Târnava, Kokel], arrived in Melbourne on 18 August 1853, and by 1861 had opened a shop selling the quintessentially Hungarian product of tobacco. According to his 1893 obituary in the

 József Putnoki, A Nagy Kossuth Lajos (Budapest: Alajos Bucsánszky, 1848), frontispiece. The image is available in László Lukács, 1848 – 49 jeles napjai a néphagyományban (Székesfehérvár: A Szent István Király Múzeum, 1998), 12.  József Tyroler, “Magyarország és Erdély egyesülésének allegóriája,” (1849), Magyar Történelmi Képcsarnok, 451.  Anon., Aufzeichnungen eines Honvéd (Leipzig: Grunow, 1850), 1:205.  “City Intelligence,” New York Herald, no. 5691 (6 January 1850), 2.  “Matters and Things in New York,” The Southern Press, vol. 2, no. 144 (29 November 1851), 2; “Kossuth’s Reception in New York,” Southern Standard, vol. 1, no. 48 (27 December 1851), 1.  “Oesterreichische Monarchie,” Preßburger Zeitung, no. 121 (25 May 1849), 576.  Fredrick Trautmann, “Kossuth in Indiana,” Indiana Magazine of History, vol. 63, no. 4 (1967), 303; citing Ben Perley Poore, Perley’s Reminiscences of Sixty Years in the National Metropolis (Philadelphia: Hubbard Brothers, 1886), 1:404.  Ralph Waldo Emmerson, Kossuth in New England (Boston: John Jewett, 1852), 86.  “Hats,” Scientific American, vol. 7, no. 15 (27 December 1851), 114; Edward Stone, “Kossuth’s Hat: Foreign Militants and the American Muse,” ESQ: A Journal of the American Renaissance, vol. 23 (1977), 36 – 40; Steven Béla Várdy, Agnes Huszár Várdy, eds, Hungarian Americans in the Current of History (Boulder: East European Monographs, 2010), 32, 67; on the Kossuth hat in the context of American history, see Timothy Mason Roberts, Distant Revolutions: 1848 and the Challenge to American Exceptionalism (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2009), 45.

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Budapesti Hirlap [Budapest Gazette], he wore díszmagyar costumes to the end of his life, relying on relatives in Transylvania to send him a new outfit every year.⁹⁹ Egon Kunz’s study of Hungarians in Australia also reproduces the 1861 wedding photograph of another exile, László Nagy, who evidently also wore the costume in Melbourne.¹⁰⁰ Exiled patriots who wore díszmagyar costumes as a sign of patriotism took diverse attitudes toward fellow exiles who abandoned it. Sándor Mednyánszky, homesick and unhappy at the Ballarat gold mine near Melbourne, rejoiced to meet a countryman “in spite of the miner’s dress,” because “the type was the same. That military bearing, that eastern pose, that head with its gray beard and long pointed moustache, could only belong to a Hungarian hussar.”¹⁰¹ By contrast, exiled nobleman László Újházi, who founded the agricultural settlement of New Buda in southern Iowa, shocked fellow exiles by wearing work clothes that Ferenc Varga saw as “peasant” clothing.¹⁰² Back in the Habsburg domains, díszmagyar costume retained its nationalist associations in the aftermath of the revolution. The painter Miklós Barabás claimed in his autobiography that he “never had anything to do with politics,” but Batthyány’s execution left him persuaded that “posterity would accept as genuine” the martyrdom of Hungary’s revolutionary heroes.¹⁰³ Barabás’s widely-reproduced 1849 lithograph of the Martyrs of Arad, a pastiche of portraits drawn from life, depicted the thirteen in identical embroidered costumes.¹⁰⁴ A similar lithography by Viennese artist Henrik Gerhart also showed the martyrs in identical clothing.¹⁰⁵ By homogenizing the costume, Barabás and Gerhardt transformed díszmagyar from a recognizable style into a uniform. Imperial authorities understood the díszmagyar costume’s significance and prohibited it. When Habsburg soldiers expelled Kossuth’s revolutionary government from Budapest on 22 July 1849, the victorious imperial General Julius Hay-

 Budapesti Hirlap, vol. 13, no. 255 (15 September 1893), cited from Egon Kunz, Blood and Gold: Hungarians in Australia (Melbourne: F. W. Cheshire, 1969), 71. An Australian obituary alluded to Hungarian exiles wearing “red shirts and sombreros” [!], see “Bohemian Melbourne,” Table Talk, no. 425 (18 August 1893), 5.  Kunz, Blood and Gold: Hungarians in Australia, 110 – 111.  Sándor Mednyánszky, Confessions of a Catholic Priest (London: Chapman, 1858), 191.  Béla Vassady, “New Buda: A Colony of Hungarian Forty-Eighters in Iowa,” The Annals of Iowa, vol. 51, no. 1 (Summer 1991), 39.  Miklós Barabás, Önéletrajza (Cluj: Erdélyi Szépmíves Céh, 1944), 188, 194.  The Magyar Nemzeti Múzeum has two copies. Miklós Barabás, “Aradi vértanúk,” lithograph on paper, inventory numbers HNM HG 8137 A and HNM HG 8137 B.  Henrik Gerhart, “Arad (October 6, 1849),” Lithograph, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, inventory number 7788311.

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nau, in Freifeld’s words “eager to play the role of chastiser,”¹⁰⁶ issued a proclamation to the city, printed in all newspapers, threatening “death at the shortest notice, without distinction of rank or sex, shall be the lot of him who by word or deed, or the wearing of revolutionary badges, shall dare to support the cause of the rebels.”¹⁰⁷ Haynau’s soldiers carried out these threats often enough to earn him an international reputation for brutality.¹⁰⁸ Soldiers ordered to prohibit revolutionary clothing, however, sometimes struggled to decide which garments to suppress. Destitute soldiers from the revolutionary Hungarian army wandered the streets wearing what a journalist reporting from Pozsony called “fragments of their service … one wears wellworn attila, the other red trousers and a hussar’s jacket.”¹⁰⁹ Imperial authorities accepted that impoverished former soldiers could not afford entirely new clothing, and a nuanced politics of sartorial prohibition emerged. Men could wear the Kossuth hat, for example, if they removed the band and buckle.¹¹⁰ A pastor in Debrecen provided an extremely detailed account of hat symbolism in the early Bach regime to Charles Loring Brace, a liberal-minded American travelling in Hungary. The pastor characterized a low-crowned, broad brimmed hat as “a thoroughly Socialistic and Democratic hat” which would get its wearer sent to the guard-house. A hat with a more pointed crown was merely “schlechtgesinnt,” a German phrase Brace translated as “evil disposed,” and which had come to signify “anything which is opposed to the government, and of course, in consequence, anything which the Hungarians like.” Another hat was simply “a purely neutral hat; Hungarian, but not revolutionary.” Brace’s hat, the pastor concluded, was “a thoroughly Austrian, well-disposed, reactionary hat.” Brace declared himself “much amused at this analysis of hats,” but thought it spoke “strongly, much more than more important facts, of the present condition of Hungary.”¹¹¹ In the immediate aftermath of the Revolution, nationalized clothing helped Hungarian patriots express their continued opposition to the dynasty. In 1850,

 Freifeld, Nationalism and the Crowd, 94.  “An die Bewohner von Ofen und Pest!,” Pester Zeitung, no. 1023 (22 July 1849), 5554; contemporary translation from British diplomatic documents, no. 271, letter from Viscount Ponsonby to Viscount Palmerston, 7 August 1849, Correspondence Relative to the Affairs of Hungary, 303.  “Haynau’s Taste of Barkley and Perkin’s Entire,” Punch or London Charivari, vol. 19 (1850), 114.  “Ungarn,” Kronstädter Zeitung, no. 51 (20 September 1849), 225.  Freifeld, Nationalism and the Crowd, 126 – 27.  Charles Loring Brace, Hungary in 1851, With an Experience of the Austrian Police (New York: Charles Scribner, 1853), 239.

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the audience at the Magyar theatre in Pest so tumultuously applauded a minor character wearing a Hungarian hussar uniform that the performance was disrupted. Hungarian theaters were ultimately forced to substitute Mecklenburg uniforms for Hungarian costumes.¹¹² After Franz Joseph announced his 1852 visit to Hungary, Gáspár Noszlopy, an officer in the former Hungarian army, aiming to resist the imperial army with guerilla warfare, hatched a scheme to kidnap the monarch in Kesckemét. Hoping to spark a general uprising, Noszlopy wanted to carry out his daring raid in newly-made Hungarian uniforms. In fact, díszmagyar played such a central role in his plans that he called off the raid because the costumes could not obtained in time!¹¹³ When Emperor Franz Joseph actually arrived in Hungary, Pesti Napló proudly reported that Hungarians greeted him wearing Hungarian costumes.¹¹⁴ As Katalin Medvedev put it, “diszmagyar was a safe but extremely visible means of political opposition.”¹¹⁵ As Habsburg authority stabilized, imperial officials adopted a policy that Gunther Rothenberg characterized as “greater flexibility in the externals.”¹¹⁶ Rather than suppress Hungary’s national costume, the monarchy sought to appropriate it. The dynasty did not trust Magyar officials in government posts, and imported cadres of new administrators from other Crown Lands, and particularly from the Czech lands. The new bureaucrats were assigned what one imperial official described as “uniforms designed after the Hungarian national costume.”¹¹⁷ The costume included a dark green attila, a sabre, and buttons showing the Habsburg double-headed eagle.¹¹⁸ Magyar patriots resented Austri-

 Alice Freifeld, “The De-Germanization of the Budapest Stage,” in: Keith Bullivant, Geoffrey Giles, Walter Pape, eds, Germany and Eastern Europe: Cultural Identities and Cultural Differences (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1999), 161.  László Péter, “Ius Resistendi in Hungary,” in: Miklós Lojkó, ed., Hungary’s Long Nineteenth Century: Constitutional and Democratic Traditions in a European Perspective (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 131.  Pesti Napló, vol. 3, no. 595 (3 March 1852), cited from Peter Hidas, The Metamorphosis of a Social Class in Hungary during the Reign of Young Franz Joseph (New York: Colombia University Press, 1977), 61.  Katalin Medvedev, “Ripping up the Uniform Approach: Hungarian Women Piece Together a New Communist Fashion,” in: Regina Blaszczyk, ed., Producing Fashion: Commerce, Culture, and Consumers (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 2008), 253.  Gunther Erich Rothenberg, The Army of Francis Joseph (Purdue: University Press, 1998), 120.  Anton Mollinary, Sechsundvierzig Jahre im österrreich-ungarischen Heere (Zurich: Füssli, 1905), 1:252.  Der Neue Zeit: Olmützer politische Zeitung, vol. 5, no. 127 (5 June 1852), 2. The journal cites a report in the Pester Zeitung.

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an officials wearing “a kind of Hungarian uniform à la Viennoise,”¹¹⁹ and gave them the derisive nickname “Bach Hussars.” Bach Hussars acquired such a dark reputation in Hungarian memory that their uniforms still remain objects of derision. As late as 1981, for example, Anthony Endrey’s history mocked “their comic opera-style uniform.”¹²⁰ The clothes themselves, however, were nearly indistinguishable from a díszmagyar costume. Széchenyi himself implicitly acknowledged the Bach hussar costume as Hungarian in style when he ridiculed “the imperial-royal gentlemen officials packed into Hungarian clothing.”¹²¹ Hungarian patriots objected to the uniform because they objected to the foreigners wearing it. As a proverb from the Bach era proclaimed, “the embroidered dolman does not fit Kompaček.”¹²² The problem lay not with the embroidered dolman, but with Kompaček’s Slavic name and presumably Czech origins, though Magyar patriots made Hungarian-born Slavic officials equally unwelcome. The Bach Hussars themselves generally did not like their costumes. One German-Austrian official posted to Hungary during the Bach era recalled his costume as “a particular uniform resembling the national costume.” He not only begrudged the expense, but criticized the design: “fur on your shoulder and a fur hat on the head in the hot summer, and in the winter and snow tight pants and paper-thin corduroy boots!¹²³ While András Gerő suggested that the uniform “satisfied the sovereign’s aesthetic sensibilities,”¹²⁴ Steven Baller more persuasively characterized it as “a sop to Hungarian national identity.”¹²⁵ Though Bach Hussars never became popular, the dynasty’s efforts to conciliate Hungarian patriotism by appropriating the national costume eventually enjoyed some success. On his second visit to Hungary in 1857, Franz Joseph attended a Hungarian play wearing a Hussar uniform, earning himself a lengthy

 Ervin Pamlényi, ed., A History of Hungary (London: Collet’s 1975), 290.  Anthony Endrey, Hungarian History (Melbourne: Hungarian Institute, 1981), 3:64; see also Nicholas Parsons, Hungary: A Cultural and Historical Guide (Budapest: Novotrade, 1990), 30; Robert Bideleux, Ian Jeffries, A History of Eastern Europe: Crisis and Change (London: Routledge, 1998), 333  István Széchenyi, Ein Blick auf den anonymen ‘Rückblick’ welcher für einen vertrauten Kreis, in verhältnissmässsigen wenigen Exemplaren im Monate October 1857, in Wien, erschein, von einem Ungarn (London: n.p., 1859), 89.  “Nem illik Kompacsekre a zsinóros dolmány,” in: Anon. [“Egy Bach-Huszár”], ed., A Bachkorszak adomákban (Pest: Heckenast, 1869), 194.  “Acht Jahre Amtsleben in Ungarn,” Gerichtshalle, vol. 5, no. 19 (13 May 1861), 146 – 47.  András Gerő, Emperor Francis Joseph, King of the Hungarians (Boulder: Social Science Monographs, 2001), 71.  Steven Baller, Francis Joseph (New York: Longman, 1996), 61.

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ovation.¹²⁶ By the second half of the Bach regime, patriotic clothing had begun to lose its potency as a symbol of opposition. When constitutional life returned to Hungary in late 1859, however, all restrictions on Hungarian costume were abolished and the díszmagyar costume enjoyed a strong if brief revival. Among the guests at a “Magyar Gentleman’s Ball” in January 1860, the Pester Lloyd reported, “there was not a single frock coat present,” since “everybody appeared in Hungarian national costume.”¹²⁷ In February, Vienna’s Fremden-Blatt reported that “among Hungarian students the Hungarian national costume is becoming ever more widespread,” adding that hats were “again decorated with feathers.”¹²⁸ In June, an English journalist in Budapest even observed the costume on religious statuary: What limits the costume mania has reached in Hungary, the following will show you. In the last great Pesth fair, an Italian dealer in statues and images had amongst his ware the Virgin Mary in a Hungarian mente and cap, and next to her was St. Joseph in a Hungarian dolman Kalpag [sic], and a great plume, not omitting boots and spurs. A Hungarian paper tells us that the cunning Italian has a roaring trade.¹²⁹

For the 20 August celebration of St. Stephen’s day, a procession of jurists, civil servants, and city notables “wore the Hungarian costume – attila mente, kalpak and riding boots were generally worn, even the sabre was only missing now and again.”¹³⁰ In September, a journalist in Arad reported that state officials had donned the costume.¹³¹ In October, finally, the Kronstädter Zeitung [Brașov Times], describing a ball in Kolozsvár [Cluj, Klausenburg], wrote: “we do not need to mention that the young men appeared in attila, young women in párta [a folkloric headdress], and the ladies Hungarian costume.”¹³² Balls, parades, balls, and public ceremonies, though well-documented in historical sources, remain poor evidence of everyday habits. Nevertheless, díszmagyar costumes evidently enjoyed currency in daily life. In 1861, a German resident of Pest, lamenting the city’s Magyarization, complained that “every for-

 Alice Freifeld, Nationalism and the Crowd in Liberal Hungary, 1848 – 1914 (Washington DC: Woodrow Wilson Center, 2000), 151; Freifeld cites Temesvarer Zeitung.  Article from the Pesther Lloyd as cited in “Kleine Chronik: Der Carinval in Pest,” Die Presse, vol. 13, no. 26 (26 January 1860), n.p., page 1 of the evening edition.  “Wien,” Fremden-Blatt, vol. 14, no. 36 (5 February 1860), 3.  Anon., “Austria – from our correspondent,” Vienna, 18 June 1860. John Bull, vol. 40, no. 2063 (23 June, 1830), 394.  “Die Stephansfeier in Pest,” Die Presse, vol. 13, no. 212 (22 August 1860), 2.  “Arad,” Das Vaterland, vol. 1, no. 7 (8 September 1860), 2.  “Inland,” Kronstädter Zeitung, no. 161 (13 October 1860), 1072.

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eigner who takes a walk through our streets would conclude that Pest is a purely Magyar city, judging by the costumes,” partly because of female fashions, but also because “the male costume is about three-fifths the Hungarian, at least as concerns the hat and attila, even if pantaloons are now frequently worn.” He warned readers that “one who supposes that all these kalpaks and attilas are genuinely Magyar in their content would be mistaken,”¹³³ since the city’s Germans, alas, had succumbed to sartorial assimilation. If both detractors and advocates of the costume remarked on its ubiquity, it must have actually been worn. As Franz Joseph’s popularity in Hungary increased, díszmagyar costume continued to feature prominently in his attempts to court public opinion. During a three-day visit Budapest in June 1865, he donned a grey attila with gold trim, which journalists described as “the campaign uniform of a cavalry general.”¹³⁴ The capital was bedecked with bunting and flags, and the Pest crowd cheered the emperor-king as “father of the nation.”¹³⁵ Citizens also dressed up for the occasion: “everybody appeared dressed in national costume, in red, brown, and black attilas, with sabres of iron, gold or silver.”¹³⁶ Franz Joseph’s coronation as king of Hungary, a key provision of the 1867 Settlement, symbolized the monarch’s full reconciliation with Hungary. The díszmagyar costume featured as prominently in the 1867 coronation ceremony as it had in 1825 and 1830.¹³⁷ After 1867, the dynasty’s concessions on important political questions made Hungarian patriots increasingly nonchalant about sartorial issues. One Austrian German hoping to attend the 1867 coronation and aware that “a national costume has taken root in Hungary,” wrote the editors of Vienna’s Neue freie Presse [New Free Press] to ask “if the black frock coat and black top hat will be tolerated in Pest as an official ceremonial dress?” The anxious German signed his letter as “one who neither speaks Hungarian nor owns an attila.”¹³⁸ Four days later, a Hungarian wrote to offer assurances that a German visitors “can wear top hat and frock coat without danger.” By signing his letter as “one who speaks Hun Kronstädter Zeitung, no. 92 (14 June 1865), 662; “Pesther Brief,” Wiener Zeitung – Abendblatt, no. 142, supplement to Wiener Zeitung, no. 144 (22 June 1861), 566.  “Die Uniform des Kaisers,” Das Vaterland, vol. 6, no. 130 (8 June 1865), 3.  “Ő cs. kir. Felsége Budapesten,” Vasárnapi Ujság, vol. 12, no. 24 (11 June 1865), 294; “Pesther Briefe,” Das Vaterland, vol. 6, no. 130 (8 June 1865), 2; see also “Die Ankunft Sr. Majestät des Kaisers in Pester Bahnhof,” Kronstädter Zeitung, no. 88 (7 June 1865), 631.  “Zur Kaiserreise,” Neues Fremden-Blatt, Abendblatt, vol. 1, no. 19 (7 June 1865), 2; “Pesther Briefe,” Das Vaterland, vol. 6, no. 130 (8 June 1865), 2.  “Koronázási sorrend,” Budapesti Közlöny, no. 71 (5 June 1867); cited from Bálint Ökröss, ed., Törvények és hivatalos rendeletek gyüjteménye (Budapest: Gustáv Heckenast, 1868), 153.  “Mittheilungen aus dem Publicum,” Neue Freie Presse, no. 991 (4 June 1867), 7.

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garian and owns an attila, but who goes around Vienna in a top hat and frock coat,”¹³⁹ the Hungarian professed relative insouciance about sartorial patriotism. By the end of the 1860s, therefore, the díszmagyar ensemble had again become a ceremonial costume. In December 1865, a journalist in Budapest reporting on the fashions of the ball season, “found frock coats and top hats next to attilas and kalpaks, without anybody making a face.”¹⁴⁰ Another sardonic Viennese journalist, amused by Hungarian’s sudden disinterest in a costume long glorified as a national symbol, poked fun at “Settlement-Magyars [AusgleichsMagyaren], dressed half in frock coat and half in attila.”¹⁴¹ In 1866, one Czech satirist even wondered if Jews, as outsiders and undesirables, would start using the attila to pass themselves off as genuine Magyars. A cartoon entitled “politics in the street” depicts one Jew justifying his díszmagyar costume to other Jews on the grounds that “this is now the fashion in Hungary.” The sartorially Magyarized Jew argued following fashion “promotes our interests,”¹⁴² presumably nefarious. Perhaps an analogous anxiety about interlopers partly explains why, a few months later, Hungarian parliamentarians began arguing against obligatory díszmagyar in government departments: “it does not matter if state officials wear a frock coat or an attila.”¹⁴³ Some Magyar patriots lamented the decline of everyday díszmagyar and the ardent patriotism it represented. In February 1868, polymath Imre Henszlmann bewailed in baron Frigyes Podmaniczky’s short-lived newspaper Hazánk [Our Homeland] that his countrymen increasingly imagined “that patriotism and liberalism may also thrive in tails and a top hat,” insisting that “our national costume is much more splendid than any foreign costume.”¹⁴⁴ Hazánk also published a fanciful story about “the tribulations of a dolman,” satirizing the increasingly cosmopolitan trend of Hungarian fashion.¹⁴⁵ Yet Podmaniczky him-

 “Mittheilungen aus dem Publicum,” Neue Freie Presse, no. 995 (8 July 1867), 4.  “Die Festwoche in Pest,” Die Debatte, vol. 2, no. 351 (20 December 1865), 1.  “Feuilleton: Der Narren-Abend,” Neue Freie Presse, no. 513 (3 February 1866), 1.  “Politika na ulici,” Vosa, vol. 3, no. 5 (15 March 1866), 5.  “Rede des Grafen Alexander Haller, gehalten in der Sitzung des ungarischen Oberhauses am 17. April,” Die Debatte, vol. 3, no. 108 (22 April 1866), 6; see also “Parliamentarisches,” Die Debatte, vol. 3, no. 104 (18 April 1866), 1; “Aus den Landtagen,” Wiener Zeitung, no. 90 (17 April 1866), 362.  Imre Henszlmann, “Tárcza,” Hazánk: politikai, közgazdasági és társadalmi napilap, vol. 1, no. 25 (6 February 1868), n.p.  Anon. [Ʌ], “Egy dolmány Keservei,” Hazánk: politikai, közgazdasági és társadalmi napilap, vol. 1, no. 30 (15 February 1868), n.p.

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self, according to Krúdy, eventually started wearing a Bohemian-made coat with a “lively checked pattern” that astonished his contemporaries.¹⁴⁶ Perhaps the most eloquent testimony of the díszmagyar costume’s decline comes from foreign travelers. Arthur Patterson first visited Hungary in 1862. Leaving the train, he checked into his hotel and ordered a meal. Costumes dominated his initial impressions in the hotel restaurant: It was the first time in my life that I had seen the national costume of the Hungarian gentlemen – at that time de rigueur by way of demonstration against the Viennese government. I could hardly help smiling: the dress thus worn by all the guests made the place look to me like the supper room of a costume ball, from which the ladies were somehow unaccountably absent.

Patterson visited Hungary and Transylvania a second time in 1864, and then again in 1867. By the year of the Settlement, habits had changed dramatically. Since the coronation of Francis Joseph, in 1867, the Hungarian gentry, at any rate in the capital, have to a great extent adopted “German” i. e. European dress. As one of the extreme nationalists said to me, “Civilization is getting too strong for us.”¹⁴⁷

The 1874 recollections of Franz von Löher, another frequent visitor to Hungary, tell a similar story. Löher’s narrative of Hungarian sartorial nationalism started in 1849 with Kossuth’s defeat. For twelve years, during the still, stubborn resistance to the German government, it seemed a patriotic act to dress differently than the rest of cultivated Europe. One saw the most colorful and artistic conspiracy against Bach and his people. Everybody was stuck in Attila and tight pants, and some starved themselves to pay for the beloved national costume.

By 1870, however, Hungarians had lost interest in cultivating their sartorial peculiarity: “all educated people again dressed in the German way, i. e. in the European way. One smilingly opened his closet, the German clothes hung in the front, and the Hungarian pants after attila hung in the back.”¹⁴⁸ By the turn of the century, the dynasty’s reconciliation with the Hungarian aristocracy had entirely assimilated the díszmagyar ensemble as a ceremonial costume. Hungarian civil servants wore the costume in official business, for ex-

 Gyula Krúdy, “Frigyes Podmaniczky’s Beard,” John Bátki, ed., Krudy’s Chronicles: Turn-ofthe-Century Hungary in Gyula Krúdy’s Journalism (Budapest: CEU Press, 2000), 18.  Patterson, The Magyars, on his travels 1:1– 2, on costumes, 1:21.  Franz von Löher, Die Magyaren und andere Ungarn (Leipzig: Fuess Verlag, 1874), 161.

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ample, while petitioning the Habsburg monarch.¹⁴⁹ The costume also featured in the final Habsburg coronation of 30 December 1916.¹⁵⁰ A costume that in 1848 had signified revolutionary defiance had come to symbolize Hungary’s unity with the dynasty. As a ceremonial costume, díszmagyar endured until the Second World War. Its associations with the Horthy regime ultimately discredited it.¹⁵¹ As an embodiment of everyday nationalism, however, díszmagyar clothing flowered only during moments of national crisis or political excitement. Indeed, political events explain not only the costume’s rise, but also its fall. Several Austrian journals linked shifting Hungarian fashions to Polish politics: when Russian forces suppressed the 1861 January uprising, sympathy for Poland inspired Polnophile styles that drove “Hungarian hats and attilas” out of fashion.¹⁵² The brief fashion for Hungarian sartorial patriotism in early 1861 thus persisted only until something new came along. As an instance of everyday nationalism, therefore, díszmagyar proved unusually dependent on political events It emerged at the beginning of the century, became popular during the Hungarian Reform Era, enjoyed great significance and popularity during the 1848 Revolution. It declined during the subsequent counter-revolution, briefly flourished during the 1861 restoration of constitutional government, before entering into a terminal decline. It had lost most of its vitality by the mid-1860s, well before the 1867 Settlement. While it enjoyed considerable success as a manifestation of everyday nationalism, its success nevertheless remained within certain limits. What do those limits reveal about the spread of nationalism in Hungary?

Nationalized clothing as Metaphor Since clothing contains rich and dense social meanings, it arguably lends itself to nationalization more easily than other everyday objects. Indeed, the social meanings of clothing are so rich and dense that many scholars characterize clothing, dress, or fashion as a “language.”¹⁵³ The popularity of linguistic meta-

 “The Good Fellowship of Modern Crown-Wearers,” The Evening World (11 October 1905), 12.  “Ueberführung der Krönungsinsignien in die Matthiaskirche,” Pester Lloyd, vol. 63, no. 362 (30 December 1916), 4– 5.  Péter Gosztony, Endkampf an der Donau 1944/45 (Vienna: Fritz Molden, 1969), 58.  “Die Trauer der Polen,” Das Vaterland, vol. 2, no. 208 (7 September 1861), 3; “Verschiedenes,” Innsbrucker Nachrichten, no. 211 (14 September 1861), 1844.  Alison Lurie, The Language of Clothes (New York: Henry Holt, 2000); Linda Baumgarten, What Clothes Reveal: the Language of Clothing in Colonial and Federal America (New Haven:

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phors ultimately prompted a technical rebuttal from Grant McCracken. McCracken, a linguistic anthropologist who in previous work had described clothing as a “a code that informs the efforts of individuals to interpret the clothing they see around them,”¹⁵⁴ argued in 1990 that clothing “has no genuine syntagmatic aspect. The code does not provide rules of combination for the manipulation of paradigmatic selections to semiotic effect … the code has no generative capacity.”¹⁵⁵ McCracken is surely right: one cannot use clothing to explain the plot twists of a detective story, describe the nuances of contract law, or explain possible solutions to the Schrödinger equation. Yet even if the linguistic metaphor is an exaggeration, clothes contain and express much more detailed social information than cigars, wine, or moustaches. Clothing expresses not only nationality, but also gender, class, age, profession, sexuality, political preferences, social circles, personality, and so forth. Clothing can also articulate transient social information: people dress differently in different social situations, or even different emotional states. As vehicles of banal nationalism, therefore, clothing repays close examination. While a voluminous theoretical scholarship considers the social meanings of clothing, that literature mostly neglects the nation and the national. John Flügel’s ground-breaking study from 1930, for example, declared that clothing communicated “something of sex, occupation, nationality, and social standing,” but declared that social meanings “connected with the sexual life have an altogether predominant position.”¹⁵⁶ In 1968, Marilyn Horn’s “interdisciplinary study of clothing” listed twenty-eight “factors affecting clothing decisions,” but of those twenty-eight, only the “social-psychological” factor, elaborated as “self,

Yale University Press, 2002); Hildi Hendrickson, Embodied, Imagined, and Perceived Power: The Language of Clothing and Ceremony in Colonial Namibia (Evanston: Northwestern, 1992); Steeve [sic] Buckridge, The Language of Dress: Resistance and Accommodation in Jamaica, 1750 – 1890 (Kingston: University of the West Indies Press, 2004); Nancy Lindisfarne, Bruce Ingham, eds, Languages of Dress in the Middle East (London: Curzon, 1997); Roland Barthes, The Language of Fashion (Oxford: Berg, 2006).  Grant McCracken, Victor Roth, “Clothing as Language: An Object Lesson in the Study of the Expressive Properties of Material Culture,” in: Barrie Reynolds, Margaret Stott, eds, Material Anthropology: Contemporary Approaches to Material Culture (Lanham, Maryland: University of Maryland Press, 1987), 13, 27.  Grant McCracken, “Clothing as Language: An Object Lesson in the Study of the Expressive Properties of Material Culture,” in: Grant McCracken, ed., Culture and Consumption: New Approaches to the Symbolic Character of Consumer Goods and Activities (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990), 60, 66.  John Carl Flügel, The Psychology of Clothes (London: Hogarth Press, 1950 [1930]), 15, 25.

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role, and group identity,” suggests anything close to nationalism.¹⁵⁷ Malcolm Barnard’s 1996 study declared that clothes may display “occupation, the family, sex, gender, age or race,” or “class occupation, sex, and so on,” or “the power of the state,” or “membership of, or affiliation to, a particular religious group,”¹⁵⁸ but his numerous examples do not include any nationalized garments. In 2000, Diane Crane concentrated on “class, gender and identity,” adding that clothing showed “not only social class and gender but frequently occupation, religious affiliation and regional origin, as well.”¹⁵⁹ The possibility of national clothing seems conspicuous by its absence. Indeed, Roland Barthes’ memorable analysis of “the fashion system,” justly described as a “fashion classic,”¹⁶⁰ does not even contain the words “nation” or “nationality.”¹⁶¹ In general, fashion theorists have devoted most of their attention to class and gender. The díszmagyar costume, as an elite masculine costume, certainly articulated both. While it spread down the social ladder during the 1840s and briefly enjoyed a near-ubiquity during the 1848 revolution, it never lost its aristocratic associations. Even in 1852, with the revolutionary enthusiasm for national costumes fresh in all memories, journalist Franz Falk showed its continued elite connotations by praising Magyar eloquence “not only in the attila but also in the beggar’s jacket.”¹⁶² Indeed, the díszmagyar not only marked aristocrats from commoners, but enabled the nobility to arrange itself into ranks. Hungarian fashion historian Zsuzsa Sidó found that, “although there are arguments for the díszmagyar as a symbol of wealth regardless of national origin, the elaborately embellished versions made a clear distinction between aristocracy and lesser nobles of various nationalities.”¹⁶³ The diszmagyar costume, in short, reified estate privilege. Sidó

 Marilyn Horn, The Second Skin: An Interdisciplinary Study of Clothing (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1968), 418.  Malcolm Barnard, Fashion as Communication (London: Routledge, 2002 [1996]), 61, 63, 66 – 67.  Diana Crane, Fashion and its Social Agendas: Class, Gender, and Identity in Clothing (Chicago: University of Chicago, 2000), 3.  Michael Carter, Fashion Classics from Carlyle to Barthes (London: Berg, 2003).  The word “national” appears twice, once listing Barthes’ professional affiliation with the “Centre national de Recherche Scientifique.” See Roland Barthes, The Fashion System (Berkeley: University of California, 1983 [1967]).  Franz Falk, “Maria Theresia in Esterház,” Der Humorist, vol. 16, no. 108 (6 May 1852), 437.  Zsuzsa Sidó, “The Díszmagyar as Representation in the Andrássy Family in Late Nineteenth-Century Budapest,” in: Deborah Simonton, Marjo Kaartinen, Anne Montenach, eds, Luxury and Gender in European Towns, 1700 – 1914 (London: Routledge, 2014), 212.

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rightly characterized it as “the costume of the Hungarian aristocracy,”¹⁶⁴ even if Tamás Hajdu, discussing the fashion politics of Reform Era, rightly concluded that fashion reformers attempted to “nationalize the aristocratic.”¹⁶⁵ The gendered significance of the díszmagyar costume appears equally obvious at first glance, but surprising complexities emerge on closer examination. Insofar as the attila, dolman and so forth were male garments, the costume would appear to rival the moustache in its exclusive masculinity. Nevertheless, patriotic women developed feminine costumes with stylistic elements drawn from the díszmagyar attila. These female costumes evoked a masculine style, and adapted it for women’s use. These women’s costumes deserve some comment. The terminology of patriotic women’s costumes proves as slippery as that of the díszmagyar costume itself, but fashion historians have usefully developed the concept of magyaros clothing styles. The word “magyaros” literally means “magyarish,” though Dóra Dezső translated it as “Hungarian-like.”¹⁶⁶ The term has non-sartorial uses.¹⁶⁷ It did not appear in the nineteenth-century fashion press, but scholars retroactively apply it to consciously patriotic styles. Here, the term will collectively describe female clothing designed to evoke the díszmagyar costume.¹⁶⁸ Examples of magyaros women’s fashion date back at least to 1790,¹⁶⁹ but the style is most often associated with the Reform Era,¹⁷⁰ when, as Robert Nemes noted, “consciously ‘national’ costumes, music, dances, and language became de rigueur in all areas of social life.”¹⁷¹ As popular patriotism surged during the Reform Era, magyaros fashions appeared in the fashion press. For example, an 1843 fashion plate from Lázár Petrichevich-Horváth’s Honderű – Szépirodalmi és divatlap [Pleasure of the Homeland – Magazine of Literature and Fashion] not only depicted Széchenyi in díszmagyar, but also his wife wearing a shawl em-

 Sidó, “The ‘Díszmagyar’ as Representation in the Andrássy Family,” 210.  Tamás Hajdu, A kismagyar (Budapest: Magyar Ház, 2008), 60.  Dezső Dóra, “A női magyaros dolmány, mint üzenethordozó, női testeken / The Female ‘Hungarian-like’ Dolman – as Carrying Messages on Women’s Bodies,” Kaleidoscope, vol. 2, no. 3 (2011), 71– 72.  Lóránt Czigány, “Hungarianness: The Origin of a Pseudo-Linguistic Concept,” Slavonic and East European Review, vol. 52, no. 128 (1974), 325 – 36.  Ágnes Kapitány, Gábor Kapitány, Magyarság-szimbólumok (Budapest: Európai Folklór Központ, 1999), 35 – 37.  “Illyen öltözetben jelentek meg némely Magar Fö Asszonyságok,” Hadi és más nevezetes Történetek, vol. 2, no. 9 (5 February 1790), frontispiece.  Tamás Hajdu, A kismagyar (Budapest: Magyar Ház, 2008), 38.  Robert Nemes, “The Politics of the Dance Floor: Culture and Civil Society in NineteenthCentury Hungary,” Slavic Review, vol. 60, no. 2 (Winter, 2001), 803.

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broidered to resemble the attila.¹⁷² Magyaros women’s fashions, characterized as “national fashions,” also appeared in Pesti Divatlap [Pest Fashion Journal],¹⁷³ and in various engravings by Miklós Barabas.¹⁷⁴ Journalists praised noblewomen for adopting patriotic styles,¹⁷⁵ though the popularity of such fashions should not be exaggerated. Imre Vahot, the editor of Pesti Divatlap, lamented in 1845 that “at present Hungarian clothes are only worn by the highest class for special occasions.”¹⁷⁶ Patriotic women continued to wear magyaros clothing during the 1848 Revolution. The memoirs of one Austrian officer recalled a revolutionary woman from the puszta wearing “a tight-fitting spencer of dark blue cloth, made almost like the dolman of a hussar.”¹⁷⁷ Riding the Danube steamboat northward to Budapest, English traveler Charles Pridham even witnesed a female veteran of the siege of Komárom [Komárno, Komorn] dressed in male clothing. Pridham mused that “a nation, methinks, must be in earnest, when its women spontaneously don the panoply of war, and hasten forward, at the peril of their lives, to struggle in its defence.”¹⁷⁸ During the revolutionary era, however, it appears that men wore patriotic costumes more often than women. Silesian traveler Johann Ferdinand Neigebaur, writing in the immediate aftermath of the Revolution, witnessed “a Serb and a Hungarian [Ungar]” discussing national costume. The Serb thought that the habit of wearing a national costume “was more strongly stamped on the Hungarians than any other European nation,” since across the entire country between the Turkish and German borders, Hungarian men wore “the Hungarian national costume, which in all Europe is more or less known as the hussar uniform. The moustache also belongs to it, since even clergy wear them in Hungary.” The Serb

 See Anikó Lukács, Nemzeti divat Pesten a 19. században (Budapest: ELTE: Társadalom- és Gazdaságtörténeti Program, 2010), 94.  “Nemzeti Divatkép,” Pesti Divatlap, vol. 2, no. 18 (31 July 1845), between pages 576 – 77.  See “Nemzeti divatkép az 1840-es évek közepéről,” and “Nemzeti divatkép (1846),” Petőfi Irodalmi Múzeum, object numbers: 827552, 827556.  “Divatcsöregetyü,” Honderű – Szépirodalmi és divatlap, vol. 1, no. 1 (7 January 1843), 38 – 40.  Imre Vahot, “A Magyar társasélet jövője,” Pesti Divatlap, vol. 2, no. 36 (4 December 1845), 1195.  “Baron W.” Scenes of the Civil War in Hungary, in 1848 and 1849: With the Personal Adventures of an Austrian Officer, trans. from German by Frederic Shoberl (Philadelphia: E. H. Butler, 1850), 195.  Charles Pridham, Kossuth and Magyar Land: Personal Adventures During the War in Hungary (London: James Madden, 1851), 195 – 96.

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emphasized that the costume had, however briefly, transcended estate barriers: “the lord and the servant, the prominent and the lowly, all are known as Hungarian since they do not wear European clothing.” The Serb then asked the Hungarian why “Hungarian women do not have a national costume?” When the Hungarian objected that Hungarian ladies had a costume and attempted to describe it, the Serb retorted that “a borrowed ceremonial costume, paraded before the astonished masses by a couple hundred prominent Hungarian ladies at a few balls, does not qualify as a national costume for all estates.”¹⁷⁹ The Serb’s skepticism about the patriotism of Hungarian women extended only to clothing: for example, he explicitly praised their nationalized sexuality: “they please everybody not only because they are so beautiful and natural, but also because they understand how to win men for their nationality, even from another nation.”¹⁸⁰ Insofar as women’s patriotic clothing imitated the díszmagyar costume, women symbolically accepted masculine hegemony over nationalized clothing. By describing magyaros clothing as “an appropriation of the male suit,”¹⁸¹ Dezső hopefully suggested that women used the costume to claim their own share of the nation. However, one could also interpret the fashion as evidence of women’s second class citizenship. A style of women’s patriotic clothing that imitated a masculine costume implicitly exalted men as the quintessential patriots. Women nevertheless devised feminine patriotic fashions without reference to masculine clothing. Several patriotic fashions in women’s clothing drew inspiration from sources other than the masculine díszmagyar ensemble. Indeed, after Kossuth’s fall, the ever-changing quality of feminine fashions meant that women could confound Haynau’s sartorial prohibitions more effectively than could men. Women could, for example, display their patriotism by incorporating the colors of the Hungarian flag into their dresses. Revolutionary Bertalan Szemere wrote from exile that a tricolor bow on a woman’s dress briefly became a “treasonable crime, and the first gendarme who passes has a right to arrest the wearers.”¹⁸² Szemere exaggerated Habsburg tyranny: though tricolor fashions were

 Johann Ferdinand Neigebaur, Die Süd-Slaven und deren Länder (Leipzig: Costenoble und Remmelmann, 1851), 320.  Neigebaur, Die Süd-Slaven und deren Länder, 321.  Dóra Dezső, “The Female ‘Hungarian-like’ Dolman – as Carrying Messages on Women’s Bodies,” Kaleidoscope, vol. 2, no. 3 (2011), 78.  Bertalan Szemere, Hungary from 1848 to 1860 (London: Richard Bentley, 1860), 48.

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prohibited, American visitor Charles Loring Brace reported that “the ladies do manage to get them into their dresses.”¹⁸³ Another notable patriotic accoutrement commemorated the martyrs of Arad by listing the initials of the executed generals on an armband: “P. V. D. T. N. A. K. L. S.” The initials also formed an acronym representing both the Hungarian slogan “Pokol Vigye Dinasztia Tetteit, Nemzetünk Átka Kísérje Léptöket Sírjukig [May the dynasty’s deeds go to hell, may our nation’s curse follow their footsteps to the grave]” and the German slogan “Pannonia Vergisst Deine Toten Nicht, Als Kläger Leben Sie! [Pannonia, never forget your dead, they live as accusers!].”¹⁸⁴ Brace claimed, presumably with exaggeration, that “there is scarcely a family in the country without the little bracelets.”¹⁸⁵ When the Bach regime collapsed in late 1859, the sudden craze for díszmagyar again influenced women’s fashions. Throughout 1860, magyaros designs appeared in fashion magazines.¹⁸⁶ During 1860, journalists praised Hungarian women for wearing national costumes on the street,¹⁸⁷ at the National Theater in Pest,¹⁸⁸ or at balls in Brassó [Brașov, Kronstadt].¹⁸⁹ Politicians generally praised women who wore Hungarian-made clothes, whether in the magyaros style or in some other patriotic design. Nevertheless, Eduard Károlyi’s letter to the journal Divatcsarnok [Fashion market] rejoiced that Hungarian women “regard the Hungarian national costume as the nation’s common cause.”¹⁹⁰ Patriotic men also tried to sanction women whose dress lacked a patriotic spirit. In 1861, one Hungarian gentleman presented a Hungarian women’s hat to a lady whose silk hat he found insufficiently patriotic. The woman later heard from acquaintances “that she could thank her popularity that the finger was pointed no more forcefully.”¹⁹¹

 Charles Loring Brace, Hungary in 1851, With an Experience of the Austrian Police (New York: Charles Scribner, 1853), 40.  Imre Bodor, “Karkötő az aradi vértanúk emlékére,” A Hadtörténeti Múzeum Értesítője – Acta Musei Militaris in Hungaria, vol. 6 (2003), 221– 22.  Charles Loring Brace, Hungary in 1851, With an Experience of the Austrian Police (New York: Charles Scribner, 1853), 200.  See “Tavaszi öltözék,” “Házi öltözék,” and “Nyári öltözék,” in: Divatcsarnok Szépirodalmi, művészeti és divat közlöny (1860), unnumbered supplemental pages.  “Tagesnachrichten,” Kronstädter Zeitung, no. 21 (6 February 1860), 127.  “Correspondenz aus Pest,” Blätter für Musik, Theater und Kunst, vol. 6, no. 28 (6 April 1860), 110.  “Inland,” Kronstädter Zeitung, no. 21 (6 February 1860), 125.  Ede Károlyi, “A nemzeti divat érdekében,” Divatcsarnok, supplement, no. 4 (1860), n.p.  “Verschiedenes,” Innsbrucker Nachrichten, no. 214 (18 September 1861), 1874.

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The 1860 fad for patriotic women’s dresses proved as ephemeral as the 1860 revival of the masculine díszmagyar costume. By 1862, the satirical magazine Handabanda observed that the “Magyar” dresses had fallen from fashion,¹⁹² while a Hungarian almanac regretted that “the native born Hungarian woman apes French fashions in her dress, even though she does not speak a word of French, or any other foreign language.”¹⁹³ David Ansted, a relatively apolitical English geologist who visited Hungary in 1862, had trouble recognizing the patriotic elements of women’s dress. He observed women’s jackets in a magyaros style: “this jacket, trimmed with fur or braided, or decorated in some way, forms part of the costume of every patriotic dame.” Yet Ansted assigned the style little significance, concluding that “imagination and the fashion of the day is allowed full play.”¹⁹⁴ For the rest of the century, women’s clothing in magyaros styles persisted mostly in formal ceremonies, such as the 1916 coronation of Emperor-King Charles.¹⁹⁵ They mostly vanished from daily life. If clothing articulates multiple social variables, perhaps theorists of clothing have neglected nationality because nationalism’s impact on people’s lives remained limited. The limits of nationalism have featured prominently in recent scholarship on the Habsburg Empire; indeed, this book, with its focus on nationalization, pursues a somewhat unfashionable research topic. Scholars increasingly seek to highlight the variety of non-national loyalties, situating national feeling within the context of non-national affinities. Citizens of the Habsburg monarchy expressed all their diverse loyalties with their clothing. Recent works on the Habsburg lands during the nineteenth century have, for example, reaped a rich harvest examining loyalties a particular city,¹⁹⁶ or a particular region.¹⁹⁷ People often expressed local affiliations in

 Handabanda, vol. 1, no. 4 (31 January 1863), 16.  “Magyar viseletről,” in: Viktor Szokoly, Károly Vadnay, eds, Emich Gusztáv nagy képes naptára 1863 évre (Budapest: Emich Gusztáv, 1862), 136.  David Ansted, A Short Trip in Hungary and Transylvania in the Spring of 1862 (London: William Allen, 1862), 81.  “Krönungstoiletten,” Pester Lloyd, vol. 63, no. 362 (30 December 1916), 6; “Die Krönungsfeierlichkeiten in Budapest,” Wiener Abendpost, Beilage zur Wiener Zeitung, no. 297 (30 December 1916), 1.  Peter Fassler, ed., Lemberg-Lwow-Lviv: Eine Stadt im Schnittpunkt europäischer Kulturen (Cologne: Bohlau, 1993); John Czaplicka, ed., Lviv: A City in the Crossroads of Culture (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2000), 13 – 170; Jeremy King, Budweisers into Czechs and Germans: A Local History of Bohemian Politics, 1848 – 1948 (Princeton: University Press, 2002); Harald Binder, Anna Veronika Wendland, Yaroslav Hrytsak, “Forum: A City of Many Names: Lemberg/Lwów/ L’viv/L’vov – Nationalizing in an Urban Context,” Austrian History Yearbook, vol. 34 (2003), 57– 109; Eleonóra Babejová, Fin-de-siècle Pressburg: Conflict and Cultural Coexistence in Bratislava

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their clothing since, as noted above, peasant costumes generally proclaimed local affiliations. Furthermore, citizens of the monarchy also felt loyal to the Habsburg monarch,¹⁹⁸ or to imperial institutions such as the army,¹⁹⁹ or to the Empire itself.²⁰⁰ Military uniforms, police uniforms, postman’s uniforms, and other service uniforms may have displayed the imperial loyalties of the dynasty’s servants, but they certainly generated banal nationalism in Billig’s sense.²⁰¹ Yet even nationalized clothing could articulate dynastic loyalties: some Habsburg patriots, after all, were patriots for the imperial project. Indeed, the career of the díszmagyar costume, as noted above, demonstrates the dynasty’s ability to co-opt a popular national symbol. Even insofar as scholars of nationalism now seek to emphasize the contingent and contested nature of national loyalties, the study of clothing can accommodate scholarly trends. Nationalized clothing illustrates the diverse and competing national concepts that have featured so prominently in this book. The

1897 – 1914 (Boulder: East European Monographs, 2003); Peter Bugge, “The Making of a Slovak City: The Czechoslovak Renaming of Pressburg/Pozsony/Prešporok, 1918 – 1919,” Austrian History Yearbook, vol. 35 (2004), 205 – 27; Alexander Maxwell, “Budapest and Thessaloniki as Slavic Cities (1800 – 1914): Urban Infrastructures, National Organizations and Ethnic Territories,” Ethnologia Balkanica, vol. 9 (2006), 43 – 64; Pieter van Duin, Central European Crossroads: Social Democracy and National Revolution in Bratislava (Pressburg) (New York: Berghahn, 2009); Frank Henschel, “Das Fluidum der Stadt …” Lebenswelten in Kassa / Kaschau / Košice zwischen urbaner Vielfalt und Nationalismus 1867 – 1918 (University of Leipzig, History: Ph.D. dissertation, 2014),  Larry Wolff, The Idea of Galicia: History and Fantasy in Habsburg Political Culture (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2012); Dominique Kirchner Reill, Nationalists Who Feared the Nation: Adriatic Multi-Nationalism in Habsburg Dalmatia, Trieste, and Venice (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2012); Jeroen van Drunen, ‘A Sanguine Bunch’: Regional Identification in Habsburg Bukovina, 1774 – 1919 (Amsterdam: Pegasus, 2015); László Kürti, The Remote Borderland: Transylvania in the Hungarian Imagination (New York: SUNY, 2001); Tomasz Kamusella, Silesia and Central European Nationalisms (West Lafayette: Purdue, 2007).  Peter Urbanitsch, “Pluralist Myth and Nationalist Realities: The Dynastic Myth of the Habsburg Monarchy – A Futile Exercise in the Creation of Identity?,” Austrian History Yearbook, vol. 35 (2004), 101– 41; Laurence Cole, Daniel L. Unowsky, eds, The Limits of Loyalty: Imperial Symbolism, Popular Allegiances, and State Patriotism in the Late Habsburg Monarchy (London: Berghahn, 2007).  István Deák, Beyond Nationalism: A Social and Political History of the Habsburg Officer Corps, 1848 – 1918 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990); Laurence Cole, Military Culture and Popular Patriotism in Late Imperial Austria (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014).  Paula Sutter Fichtner, The Habsburgs: Dynasty, Culture and Politics (London: Reaktion, 2014); Pieter Judson, The Habsburg Empire: A New History (Cambridge, Mass: Belknap, 2016).  Monica Kurzel-Runtscheiner, “Vom ‘Mantelkleid’ zu Staatsfrack und Waffenrock: Anfänge und Entwickelung der Ziviluniform in Österreich,” in: Elisabeth Hackspiel-Mikosch, Stefan Haas, eds, Civilian Uniforms as Symbolic Communication (Munich: Franz Steiner, 2006), 81– 98.

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díszmagyar costume could, for example, articulate minority assimilation, since members of minority communities could don díszmagyar costumes. In 1860, as several German-speaking Hungarians chose to Magyarize,²⁰² one anonymous pundit praised “the becoming Hungarian costume, which suits everybody … the Magyars as well as the Swabians.”²⁰³ A Viennese visitor to “predominantly German” Pozsony saw in the ubiquitous attila evidence that “here … two nationalities overlap.”²⁰⁴ Patterson, visiting around the time of the Settlement, found sartorial assimilation widespread among Hungary’s Germans: ‘All are Hungarians,’ say they, ‘who were born in Hungary; we are born in Hungary, therefore we are Hungarians.’ Following this syllogism, they adopt the Hungarian costume, Hungarian political feelings, in short everything Hungarian which they can appropriate. If they do not succeed in mastering the language, at any rate their children learn it … the colony gradually loses the memory of its German origin, and at last believes that it came in with Árpád.

Patterson attributed such attitudes to “the great number of Germans,” and claimed that he “often came across twos or threes of journeymen singing in the German language songs in praise of Hungarian maidens or Hungarian wine.”²⁰⁵ Alternatively, however, non-Magyar Hungarians could show their insistence on maintaining their cultural distinctiveness by developing their own nationalized ensembles. Croatian patriots in Zágráb [Zagreb, Agram] spectacularly rose to this particular challenge by developing a national costume of their own. The Croatian costume, like the Magyar costume, included a sword, suggesting that aristocratic privilege suffused both “national” costumes. Yet where Magyars wore the attila, Croats had the surka, a garment that Elinor Murray Despalatović described as “a knee-length loose coat with toggle buttons worn over a waist-

 Mihály Thurner, Emlékirat Sopron magyarságának és németségének sorsáról (Sopron: Rábaközi nyomda, n.d. [1919]); Ferenc Glatz, “Bürgerliche Entwicklung, Assimilation und Nationalismus in Ungarn im 19. Jahrhundert,” Acta Historica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae, vol. 21, no. 1– 2 (1975), 116 – 53; Ruprecht Steinacker, “Betrachtungen zur nationalen Assimilation des deutschen Bürgertums in Ungarn,” Südostdeutsches Archiv, vol. 22– 23 (1979 – 80), 62– 89; Péter Maitz and Tamás Farkas, “Der Familienname als Nationalsymbol: Über den Untergang deutscher Familiennamen im Ungarn des 19. Jahrhunderts,” Zeitschrift für germanistische Linguistik, vol. 36, no. 2 (2008), 163 – 96.  “Pester Briefe I,” Der Humorist, no. 49 (3 December 1860), 3.  “Reiseskizzen,” Der Zwischen-Akt, vol. 3, no. 97 (16 April 1860), 2.  Arthur Patterson, The Magyars: Their Country and Institutions, vols 1 and 2 (London: Smith, Elder, 1869), 1:55, 58.

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coat.”²⁰⁶ The Croatian costume also included a distinctive red cap [kapa crvena, not to be confused with the bonnet rouge of French revolutionaries], borrowed from local peasant costume. Croatian patriots initially promoted their costume to reject Magyar cultural claims. The lawyer and politician Ljudevit Farkas-Vukotinović took his Croatian loyalties so seriously that he translated his surname from Hungarian (Farkas, “wolf”) into Croatian (from Vuk, “wolf”).²⁰⁷ In 1842, he advocated a Croatian costume in the patriotic magazine Kolo. Promoting the surka, Farkas-Vukotinović appealed to the Magyar example: “the surka is for us, what the attila is to the Magyar, and even more, because ordinary Magyars do not wear the attila while our peasants wear the surka.” His argument for the red cap invoked a national interest nearly devoid of content: “And the red cap, what can be said against it? Is not the red color national?”²⁰⁸ Dragutin Rakovac, proposing a national catechism in the Ilirske narodne novine [Illyrian national news], also promoted national clothing with reference to the Magyar example: “the Magyars have their own distinctive festive style,” Rakovac wrote, but “we wear the surka.”²⁰⁹ Imitation here seems a sincere form of flattery: Croatian patriots evidently thought the díszmagyar an effective means to spread patriotic feeling and wanted a Croatian equivalent. Croats later harnessed sartorial politics to articulate specifically Croatian national aims. Rakovac, for example, proposed a form of sartorial irredentism: Why do Croats wear the surka and red cap? It is all quite natural. Every nation has its own characteristic clothing. Our peasants wear the surka … red caps are worn by Dalmatians, Serbs, Herzegovinians, but also Croats and Slavonian provincials and border soldiers.²¹⁰

Boguslav Šulek, the Slovak-born son of a Lutheran pastor who settled in Zágráb, saw the costume as a vehicle for Slavic unity. In an 1842 article denouncing the cosmopolitanism of frock coats, Šulek advocated a uniform costume for “Croatia,

 Elinor Murray Despalatović, Ljudevit Gaj and the Illyrian Movement (Boulder: East European Quarterly, 1975), 143.  Ivo Banac, The National Question in Yugoslavia (Ithaca: Cornell University, 1984), 29.  Ljudevit Vukotinović, “Ilirisam i Kroatisam,” Kolo, vol. 2 (1842), 115.  Dragutin Rakovac, “Dodatak k malomu katekizmu za velike ljude,” Ilirske narodne novine, vol. 8, no. 76 (21 September 1842), 304.  Rakovac, “Dodatak k malomu katekizmu za velike ljude,” 304.

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Slavonia, Dalmatia, etc.” Šulek rejoiced that patriots already appreciated “national spirit, national language, let there also be national dress!”²¹¹ Toward the end of the Reform Era, the Croatian costume briefly become part of the Croatian liberal political agenda. In 1845, Count Janko Drasković wrote in the Agramer Zeitung [Zagreb Times] that Croatia would never have “a national party” unless Croats “at all times and everywhere respected and loved the national language, the national costume, national literature, national rights, and national customs.”²¹² When Croatia’s deputies to the Hungarian parliament agreed to wear díszmagyar costumes as a concession, patriots from the Croatian intelligentsia reacted with anger.²¹³ The Croatian costume, no longer a means to an end, had become a desirable end in its own right. Magyar patriots recognized the Croatian costume as a challenge to their cultural agenda and responded with hostility. Yet when Pesti Hirlap [Pest Gazette] made fun of “red caps and jackets with red facings,” the editors of Ilirske narodne novine [Illyrian National News] retorted that “red caps and surka with red embroidery, but not with red collars, have since the dawn of antiquity been the clothes of heroic noble Croats; their worthy descendants now consider it a true national costume, an external sign of their nationality.”²¹⁴ By 1845, Croatian patriots were denouncing pro-Magyar politicians who “screamed at us of the opposing party that our patriots were rebels … and all that because we wear red caps and surkas!”²¹⁵ Competing patriotic intelligentsias thus promoted competing national costumes, much as they promoted competing vernacular languages or competing political agendas. After Kossuth’s defeat in 1849, Croatian patriots used the surka to symbolize their separation from Hungary. Croatian military reformers sought to introduce the surka to Croatian military units,²¹⁶ and the dynasty again sought sartorial ac-

 Boguslav Šulek, “O važnosti narodne nošenje,” Danica Ilirska, vol. 8, no. 52– 53 (24, 31 December 1842), 203 (territorial unification), 206 (cosmopolitanism), 209 (public appeal).  Janko Drasković, Juraj Slavetić, “Erklärung hinsichtlich der in Nr. 37 der Agramer politischen Zeitung erhaltenen sogenannten ‘Berichtigung’,” Agramer Zeitung, vol. 20, no. 39 (14 May 1845), 165.  Elinor Murray Despalatović, Ljudevit Gaj and the Illyrian Movement (Boulder: East European Quarterly, 1975), 165.  “Horvatska i Slavonia,” Ilirske narodne novine, vol. 8, no. 49 (18 June 1842), 193 (notes 6 and 7); see also the summary in Agramer Zeitung, vol. 17, no. 52 (29 June 1842), 224.  “Kroatien and Slawonien,” Kaiserliche Königliche privilegierte politische Zeitung, vol. 20, no. 28 (5 April 1845), 113.  “Gedanken über die nöthigen Veränderungen in der Verfassung der k.k. kroatisch-slavonisch-banater Militärgrenze,” Oesterreichischer Soldatenfreund, vol. 2, no. 99 (18 August 1849), 462.

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commodation. In April 1850, the imperial government had agreed to introduce a red cap and “a sort of surka.”²¹⁷ By 1853, imperial authorities had officially specified the surka’s color and the cut of its collar.²¹⁸ The 1860 resumption of constitutional life revived costumes as an object of patriotic contestation, patriots from various ethno-national communities treated the costume as a test of loyalty. When Hungarian nationalists distributed 150 attilas to Slavic laborers in Fiume [Rijeka], hoping to lure them from their Croatian dress, Croatian journalists denounced the charity as attempted Magyarization: “No surka (Croatian jacket) is safe from the fanaticized mob,” wrote one outraged Slavic journalist from Zágráb.²¹⁹ German newspapers, meanwhile, complained that Germans in Zágráb felt compelled to “dress themselves in Croatian costume.”²²⁰ Some Germans in Croatia evidently proved willing to assimilate, much like Germans in Hungary proper, though both phenomena also aroused anxiety in German patriotic circles. Patriots in the Croatian capital wore the surka as enthusiastically in the 1860s as they had in the 1840s. On 7 September 1861, a visiting correspondent of a Transylvanian journal even wrote that “the Croatian national costume is wore more frequently here than the Hungarian costume in Hungary.”²²¹ Croatian patriots wore the costume at formal events throughout the 1860s, such the 1863 Corpus Christi procession,²²² or the 1865 “Slavic ball.”²²³ Nevertheless, the Croatian national costume, like the díszmagyar ensemble, gradually declined to a ceremonial costume by the end of the 1860s. In short, the Croatian national costume followed a trajectory similar to the díszmagyar costume and magyaros fashions. It emerged in the Reform Era, enjoyed great significance during the 1848 Revolution, and underwent a brief revival in 1860. Though the red cap drew inspiration from peasant costume, the surka, and the ensemble as a whole, started its national career as an aristocratic costume, but then spread down the social hierarchy. Magyar patriots condemned it, some Germans eventually consented to wear it, but its most conspicuous fea-

 “Central-Breau der Neuigkeiten,” Der Humorist, vol. 14, no. 89 (13 April 1850), 355.  “Erlaß Sr. Exzellenz des Herrn Ministers des Innern an Sr. Exzellenz den Ban,” Agramer Zeitung (22 October 1853), 891.  “Trojjediné království,” Národní lísty, vol. 1, no. 47 (16 February 1861), 3; see also “Kronländer,” Wiener Zeitung, no. 41 (19 February 1861), 602.  Innsbrucker Nachrichten, vol. 7, no. 280 (5 December 1860), 1; “Theater-Krawalle in Agram,” Kronstädter Zeitung, no. 191 (5 December 1860), 1260.  “Agram, 7. September,” Kronstädter Zeitung, no. 146 (14 September 1861), 996.  “Inland,” Die Presse, vol. 16, no. 159 (11 June 1863), 2.  “Original-Korrespondenz,” Klagenfurter Zeitung, no. 246 (26 October 1865), 982.

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ture was transience: the surka, like the attila, flowered for a season, then fell out of fashion. The history of Hungarian dress, therefore, contains moments where some clothing was nationalized, embedded in a broader context in which most clothes articulated non-nationalized meanings. Habsburg historians have recently made non-nationalized spheres of life an object of intensive study. Paying attention to what Tara Zahra has influentially called “national indifference”²²⁴ has proved insightful: one understands the impact of national ideas when one understands their limits, and the limits of nationalism manifest themselves vigorously in their absence. While this book has focused on instances of patriotic effervescence, the narrative has often hinted at the hegemony of national indifference in nineteenthcentury Hungary. Even in a time and place where tobacco smoking and wine drinking had patriotic significance, neither smoking nor drinking itself is evidence of patriotic feeling. Some inhabitants of the kingdom certainly smoked tobacco, drank alcohol, grew facial hair, had sex, and wore clothing without attempting to proclaim their patriotism, or indeed without experiencing any patriotic emotions. Estimating and documenting the links between everyday practices and patriotic emotions has been the central ambition of this book, and the historical record has not always provided a complete picture. Studying national indifference, however, poses even more daunting methodological difficulties. As Zahra observed, national indifference generates less documentation: “there was no Association for the Protection of the Nationally Indifferent, no Nonnational People’s Party, and no newspaper for the promotion of national apathy.”²²⁵ Documenting indifference is thus even harder than documenting patriotism. Historians facing insufficient information are ultimately obligated to profess ignorance. The lack of evidence, however suggestive, does not prove the lack of patriotism. One might, perhaps, provisionally presume national indifference, but definitive claims about the absence of national feeling would require evidence. If, in the past, evidence of patriotic feeling among a nationalist intelligentsia has wrongly been taken to imply general patriotism, modern historians should not make the opposite error.

 Tara Zahra, “Imagined Noncommunities: National Indifference as a Category of Analysis,” Slavic Review, vol. 69, no. 1 (2010), 93 – 119; Rok Stergar, “National Indifference in the Heyday of Nationalist Mobilization? Ljubljana Military Veterans and the Language of Command,” Austrian History Yearbook, vol. 43 (2012), 45 – 58.  Zahra, Kidnapped Souls, 5.

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Evidence of national indifference nevertheless appears within the biographies of the even most ardent patriots. Consider Ferenc Pulszky, encountered above professing his inability to distinguish the ethnonyms ungarisch and magyarisch and praising national endogamy in his novel about the 1848 revolution. Pulszky served as minister during the 1848 revolution, and followed Kossuth into exile both in Britain and then in the United States. After accepting an imperial amnesty in 1866, Pulszky served both as Member of Parliament and president of the literary section of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences.²²⁶ Pulszky, in short, spent his entire life in public service, and thus seems an unlikely source of national indifference. Yet the historical record shows that Pulszky’s willingness to nationalize his daily habits extended only so far. In the early 1840s, Pulszky acquired a public reputation as a defender of the Védegylet, the society, discussed in Chapter 4, which encouraged Hungarians to consume only Hungarian-made products. Indeed, one Austrian diatribe denounced the Védegylet as the work of “Pulszky and his comrades,”²²⁷ addressing its counterarguments specifically to him. When first introduced to the Viennese salon where he first courted his brideto-be Therese Walter, a family friend warned the Walters that they would have to “excuse the very coarse cloth of my passionately rigid Magyar.”²²⁸ Pulszky nevertheless arrived at the salon, as his future bride subsequently recalled, wearing “a black evening dress, as civilized as any disciple of French fashion.”²²⁹ The Védegylet, evidently, had not transformed the sartorial habits of Hungarians as thoroughly as patriots might have hoped. By courting in non-national clothing, Pulszky showed that even the Védegylet’s most outspoken proponents, even at the height of the boycott, dispensed with national clothes when social need pressed.²³⁰

 Ferenc Pulszky, Meine Zeit, Mein Leben, 4 vols (Bratislava, Leipzig: Stampfel, 1880 – 83); available in Hungarian translation as Életem és korom (Budapest: Franklin-Társulat, 1884).  The text mentions Pulszky 16 times; Kossuth’s name appears only in the introduction. Dr. H., Gegen den ungarischen Schutzverein und seine Tendenzen (Leipzig: Ambrosius Barth, 1845), 63.  Therese Pulszky, Memoirs of a Hungarian Lady (London: Colburn, 1850), 6. In the German text, the friend warns the Pulszkys that they must excuse “the crude Hungarian coat of my friend, since he clings tightly to his national prejudices.” See Therese Pulszky, Aus dem Tagebuche einer ungarischen Dame (Leipzig: Grunow, 1850), 7.  Pulszky, Memoirs, 7; Tagebuche, 5.  János György Szilágyi, “A Forty-Eighter’s Vita Contemplativa: Ferenc Pulszky (1814– 1889),” The Hungarian Quarterly, vol. 39, no. 149 (Spring 1998), 3 – 18; Eugen Scherer, Ferenc Pulszky 1814 – 1897: Eine politische Biographie des 19. Jahrhunderts (Vienna: Ungarisches Nationalmuseum, 1999).

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Perhaps the multi-faceted diversity of everyday patriotism explains the limits to its success. If proper Hungarian patriotism imposed rules governing the individual’s smoking, drinking, grooming, courting, and dressing, Zahra’s question, posed about Bohemia, applies also to Hungary: “Is it surprising that relatively few individuals embraced the exhausting demands of this nationalist lifestyle?”²³¹ Everyday nationalism did sometimes occur, particularly when people submitted to social pressure or feared social sanction. Yet even the most ardent patriots, like Pulszky, sometimes had non-national moods. People experience rich internal lives and a broad palette of emotions: nobody feels patriotic all the time. Perhaps the transient manifestations of everyday nationalism most change our understanding of early nationalism by showing the effervescence of patriotic imagination. In the twenty-first century, politicians can draw on centuries of experience with nationalist mobilization: politicians have certain instincts about what will work and what will not. When the national era began, however, patriots had no equivalent traditions to act as precedent. Patriots therefore experimented. Some of their experiments worked, and became part of the national world, familiar to subsequent generations; other experiments failed, and have been forgotten. We can, however, recreate the experiences of early patriots by only remembering their failures alongside their successes.

 Tara Zahra, Kidnapped Souls: National Indifference and the Battle for Children in the Bohemian Lands (Ithaca: Cornell University, 2008), 5.

Conclusion Hungary’s Lessons for Nationalism Theorists While I hope that readers interested in Hungary have enjoyed my narrative about tobacco, wine, moustaches, sexuality and clothing, this conclusion returns to “national awakening” as a historical problem. Effervescent early nationalism manifested itself in several spheres of everyday life, and particularly in spheres of life subsequently treated as nationally neutral. Theories of everyday nationalism have a general interest transcending any particular case study. The Kingdom of Hungary, while interesting in its own right, also illustrates a global phenomenon, since several techniques used by early Hungarian patriots have appealed to patriots in other times and places. What generalizable conclusions can be drawn? Which theoretical approaches prove useful, and which not? One famous theory of national awakening, widely cited in the historiography, is conspicuous by its absence: Anthony Smith’s ethnie has not come up. In a series of books, Smith repeatedly posited a pre-national ethnic community, called in French the ethnie, which anticipates and foreshadows the nation without itself being a nation. Smith imagined “nations being based on, and being created out of, pre-existing ethnies,”¹ and in 2009 outlined a research strategy for studying the transformation: the first step is to search for the ‘ethnic core’ of the nation and trace its social and political origins, in the belief that nations are characterised by a degree of cultural unity and distinctiveness, which in turn draws much of its potency and durability from a conviction of ethnic solidarity.²

Smith elsewhere argued that “many of the East European and Asian nations were created around ethnies or ethnic networks,”³ specifically including Hungary in his list of examples. The emergence of nationalism, according to Smith, occurs when an ethnie transforms into a nation. To study this transformation, firstly, requires analysts to understand those characteristics that distinguish an ethnie from a nation, a

 Anthony Smith, Nationalism and Modernism (London: Routledge, 2013 [1998]), 196.  Anthony Smith, Ethno-Symbolism and Nationalism: A Cultural Approach (London: Routledge, 2009), 45.  Smith, Ethno-Symbolism and Nationalism, 44. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638448-011

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task that proves problematic in practice.⁴ Where one scholars sees a full-fledged nation, another may see a not-yet-national ethnie. ⁵ Smith’s model, in this respect, recalls the many models contrasting nations with “almost-but-not-quite” non-national communities, discussed in chapter two, save that in Smith’s model the ethnie precedes the full-fledged nation, rather than existing in simultaneous opposition to it. Smith provided many definitions of the ethnie over the course of his career, but overall his thinking shows great continuity. In 1986, he imagined “named human populations with shared ancestry myths, histories and cultures, having an association with a specific territory, and a sense of solidarity.”⁶ In 1994, he posited “a named unit of population with myths of common ancestry, shared memories and culture, an association with a homeland and sentiments of social solidarity.”⁷ In 2009, he expanded the definition to a “a named and self-defined human community whose members possess a myth of common ancestry, shared memories, one or more elements of common culture, including a link with a territory and a measure of solidarity, at least among the upper strata.”⁸ The words “named,” “ancestry,” and “solidarity” exist in all these definitions. The words “territory” and “memories” occur only in two of three, but are implicit in the third: the gap from “territory” to “homeland” is small, as is the leap from “memories” to “myths.” Some of Smith’s criteria have not played much of a role in this study. The idea of a national “territory,” for example, has been neglected, even though landscapes and territories also became objects of national fascination and fantasy.⁹ Nevertheless, the “national-nationality” question, a central problem of

 See e. g. the discussion in Dominique Schapper, Community of Citizens: On the Modern Idea of Nationality (New Brunswick: Transaction, 1998), 18.  Alexander Maxwell, Tim Smith, “Positing ‘Not-Yet-Nationalism’: Limits to the Impact of Nationalism Theory on Kurdish Historiography,” Nationalities Papers, vol. 44, no. 5 (2015), 1– 17.  Anthony Smith, The Ethnic Origins of Nations (Oxford: Blackwell, 1986), 32.  Anthony Smith, “Ethnic Nationalism and the Plight of Minorities,” Journal of Refugee Studies, vol. 7 (1994), 189.  Anthony Smith, Ethno-Symbolism and Nationalism: A Cultural Approach (London: Routledge, 2009), 27.  László Kürti The Remote Borderland: Transylvania in the Hungarian Imagination (Albany: SUNY Press, 2001), 1– 24; Alexander Maxwell, “From ‘Wild Carpathians’ to the Puszta: The Evolution of Hungarian National Landscapes,” in: Ruth Buettner, Judith Peltz, eds, Mythical Landscapes Then and Now (Yerevan: Antares, 2006), 53 – 77; Peter Nemes, “Reading the Plains and the Lake: Landscape in Hungarian Travel Literature,” Hungarian Studies, vol. 24, no. 1 (2010), 127– 34; Steven Jobbitt, “Memory and Modernity in Fodor’s Geographical Work on Hungary,” in: Steven Tötösy de Zepetnek, Louise Vasvári, eds, Comparative Hungarian Cultural Studies

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Hungarian history, illustrates a problem with treating territory as a criterion of nation-hood (or ethnie-hood): intellectuals representing different communities made overlapping claims to various territories in the Kingdom of Hungary. Transylvania, for example, was contested as a traditional homeland among Romanian patriots, Hungarian patriots, and Saxon patriots alike. Smith’s criterion of “memories” suffers from similar difficulties. Memories have also attracted intense study in recent work on nationalism, but that work shows that memories are perpetually in flux: they may indeed persist, as Smith imagines, but they can also fade, vary, or be induced. “Hungarians” of all ethno-national communities shared similar memories of past struggles against the Turks, but the kingdom’s Croats, Germans, Magyars, Romanians and Slovaks had noticeably different memories of the 1848 Revolution. Do memories push for unity or divergence? Other elements of Smith’s definitions, however, have featured prominently in this book. Since Hungarians have an ethnonym, they are “named,” and the politics of ethnonyms was discussed at length. Once again, however, the “national-nationality” question undermines Smith’s thinking. As shown in Chapter 1, Hungarians have not one but two ethnonyms, theorized above as the endonym and the exonym, and their exact meaning and applicability became an important point of contestation. Non-Magyar Hungarians routinely articulated a sense of Hungarian-ness, even though they also had distinctive “names” as Croats, Germans, Romanians, Slovaks, and so on. The pre-national ethnie, however, precludes any analysis of such multiple national loyalties, since the eventual nation is foreordained. Smith might argue that only Magyar nationalism counts as “Hungarian” nationalism. Hungary’s Germans, Romanians, and Ukrainians could be imagined as members of distinct ethnies; indeed, Smith explicitly posited distinctive ethnies for both Croats and Slovaks.¹⁰ It seems less clear, however, whether Smith would posit a distinct Székely ethnie, even though the Székely also have a “name” distinct from other Hungarians. And what about Hungarian Jews or Gypsies? Would Smith deny Jews a chance of membership in the Hungarian ethnie and nation? Overall, Smith’s model of an ethnie transforming into a nation discounts contingency and choice. By mentally partitioning the Kingdom of Hungary (West Lafayette: Purdue University Press, 2011), 59 – 71; Bálint Varga, The Monumental Nation: Magyar Nationalism and Symbolic Politics in Fin-de-siècle Hungary (New York: Berghahn, 2017).  On Croats, see Anthony Smith, National Identity (Las Vegas: University of Nevada Press, 1991), 163; on Slovaks, see Anthony Smith, Nationalism: Theory, Ideology, History (Cambridge: Polity, 2010), 152.

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into ethnic territories even before the age of nationalism, Smith precludes any explanation of the partial successes of Magyarization, or indeed for the general success of Magyarization among Hungarian Germans and Hungarian Jews. Nor can the ethnie explain repeated non-Magyar effusions of loyalty to and affection for the Kingdom of Hungary. By defining the pre-national ethnie through “solidarity,” finally, Smith contradicts the abundant evidence of national indifference which permeates the historical record. If the Revolution of 1848 witnessed extraordinary displays of solidarity and goodwill not only between Magyars, but between Hungarians of all communities, the revolutionary moment nevertheless proved both ephemeral and the precursor to civil war. In less extraordinary times, Hungarians sometimes expressed solidarity with one other, yet also articulated various grievances and resentments. In analyzing competing and coexisting solidarities, scholars should probably start from an initial assumption of national indifference. The emotion of “ethnic solidarity” is not a precondition of national awakening, but rather its aspiration; an aspiration, furthermore, which can only be temporarily achieved. Smith posits the ethnie to defend historical continuity from what he sees as the excesses of the modernization school, exemplified by scholars like Anderson and Hobsbawm who, as noted in the introduction, influentially analyzed nationalism with the verbs “imagine” and “invent.” Smith rejected Anderson’s “imagined community” partly because the phrase can be used “in just those senses from which Anderson wishes to distance himself: it is so easy to slide from ‘imagined’ in the sense of ‘created’ to ‘imaginary’ in the sense of ‘illusory’ or ‘fabricated’.” Smith similarly criticized Hobsbawm’s “invented tradition” because the term “carries connotations of fabrication and/or creation ex nihilo – something that Hobsbawm is at pains to refute.”¹¹ In such passages, Smith rebutted neither Anderson nor Hobsbawm, but rather his own deliberate misreading of their work. I suggest, however, that the nation can easily be theorized as something “fabricated.” When Smith objects that a theory of fabricated nations “undermines the sociological reality of the nation,”¹² he implicitly imagines that fabricated things exist in binary opposition to reality. Yet even abstract human constructs have a claim to reality. Even leaving aside physically manufactured objects like railroads or battleships, money is a social construct with realworld effects.

 Anthony Smith, Nationalism and Modernism: A Critical Survey of Recent Theories of Nations and Nationalism (London: Routledge, 1998), 137 (on Smith), 130 (on Hobsbawm).  Smith, Nationalism and Modernism, 137.

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Perhaps Smith’s ideas do not fit Hungary because he developed them with other case studies in mind. In his various published works, Smith’s sparse references to the Kingdom of Hungary betray both disinterest in and ignorance of Hungarian history and its peculiarities. For example, Smith claims that in Hungary “the intelligentsia received considerable support from dispossessed minor aristocrats,”¹³ a formula which either confuses the distinct categories of “aristocrat” and “noble” or confounds the central role played by aristocrat intellectuals, such as counts Széchenyi, Dessewffy, Drasković, and Majláth; or barons Eötvös, Mednyánszky, Podmaniczky, and Wesselényi. Even more embarrassingly, Smith characterized “the elevation of Hungary within the Habsburg Empire” as one of the “main achievements” of the 1848 Revolution.¹⁴ Overall, then, Smith brings only errors and banalities to the study of everyday nationalism. The contrast with Benedict Anderson is striking: though an expert in SouthEast Asia with no particular expertise in Hungary, Anderson sketched Hungarian politics, and the motives of Hungarian patriots, with some perspicacity.¹⁵ Whatever their differences, however, Smith shares with Anderson and Hobsbawm, or with Ernst Gellner, his opponent in the famous “Warwick debate,” a similar long-scale timeframe for the rise of nationalism. Whether the nation emerges ex nihilo, from Hobsbawm’s “proto-nationalism,” or from a preexisting ethnie, all these scholars view nationalism as something that gradually grew in strength during the late eighteenth to early twentieth century. They all imagined nationalism inexorably emerging from gradual social transformations. Different theorists, of course, emphasize different transformations. Readers can easily imagine that different scholars place varying relative weights on industrialization, the rise of a middle class, improved transport and/or communication infrastructures, the spread of literacy, or whatever other ingredients they choose to include in the recipe for “modernization.” Indeed, several scholars, most notably Miroslav Hroch and Partha Chattergee, have devised schematic and generalizable theories of nationalization, according to which an individual national movement may pass through the different phases at different rates.¹⁶ Nor are they the

 Smith, The Ethnic Revival, 129.  Anthony Smith, Nationalism: Theory, Ideology, History (Cambridge: Polity, 2010), 95.  Anderson, Imagined Communities, 78 – 79, 81– 82, 101– 109.  Miroslav Hroch, Social Preconditions of National Revival in Europe: A Comparative Analysis of the Social Composition of Patriotic Groups among the Smaller European Nations (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 23; Partha Chattergjee, Nationalist Thought and the Colonial World: A Derivative Discourse (London: Zed Books, 1986), 51; see also Alexander Maxwell, “Typologies and Phase Theories in Nationalism Studies: Hroch’s A-B-C Schema as a Basis for Comparative Terminology,” Nationalities Papers, vol. 38, no. 6 (November 2010), 865 – 80.

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only scholars to depict the growth of nationalism as an inevitable process characterized by steady growth from decade to decade. Everyday nationalism, by contrast, apparently operates on shorter timeframes. National tobacco, for example, emerged from a tariff dispute, and changed its character from year to year in response to state policy or political events. Other forms of everyday nationalism arose after mere months of Védegylet agitation, or even in response to a single event, such as the fall of Metternich. If Jókai’s novels accurately reflect the Hungarian experience, furthermore, a sense of patriotism might emerge during the course of a single conversation: in Nincsen ördög, as noted above, Dumany experiences a sudden and ultimately transient nationalization when questioned about his lack of moustache. Rather than view nationalism as a gradual process, therefore, everyday nationalism encourages us, in the words of Rogers Brubaker, to see “nationness as an event, as something that suddenly crystallizes rather than gradually develops,” and more generally “as something that happens.”¹⁷ Everyday nationalism, furthermore, can both rise and fall, since several manifestations flourished for only a few years, and then dissipated. The cult of Tokaji and nationalized sexual anxieties have both persisted to the twentyfirst century, but national tobacco, national moustaches, and the national costume no longer have much potency in contemporary Hungary: at most, they linger in popular memories. Indeed, this book has focused on aspects of nationalism that ultimately proved transient. Hungarian nationalism is alive and well, but some of its nineteenth-century manifestations no longer flourish. Insofar as nationalism reflects the economic interests of dominant social classes, such transience is unremarkable: in a developing economy, economic interests evolve. Economic forces evidently play an important role in nationalism. The first two chapters of this book took what might be loosely described as a Marxist approach, and it is surely no coincidence that several leading nationalism theorists, including Anderson, Hobsbawm, and Hroch, were influenced by Marxist thinking. The unqualified use of the term “Marxist,” of course, may generate more misunderstanding than clarity, since the word contains multiple complex and contradictory meanings. Several nationalism scholars differentiate: Özkırımlı’s survey of leading nationalism theorists describes the leading nationalism scholars as “Neo-Marxist and rational choice theories” rather

 Emphasis in the original. Rogers Brubaker, Nationalism Reframed: Nationhood and the National Question in the New Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 19; see also Rogers Brubaker, Ethnicity Without Groups (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 2004), 12.

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than representatives of “traditional Marxism,”¹⁸ while Hobsbawm, meanwhile, distinguishes “Marx and Engels” from “Marxists of the Second International,” and both from “Leninist Marxism” and “inter-war Marxism.”¹⁹ Other scholars are, perhaps, better qualified than I to analyze the impact of these diverse Marxisms on nationalism. This book can neither offer a typology of Marxist theories nor differentiate Marxist approaches from the various incarnations of “modernization theory,” which also emphasized the primacy of economic factors.²⁰ Nevertheless, a base-superstructure model with a vaguely Marxist pedigree helped explain two incarnations of everyday nationalism: national tobacco and national wine, discussed in chapters 3 and 4. Nevertheless, historians of nationalism have mostly discarded purely economic models for good reason. This analysis found that economic forces provide only a partial explanation, even for nationalized tobacco, the manifestation of everyday nationalism with the most obvious economic roots. Phenomena with economic roots take on a life of their own, outliving their original purpose. Furthermore, other manifestations of everyday nationalism, most notably national moustaches, had no obvious economic foundation. Some sort of cultural approach is required. This analysis has drawn much insight from Billig’s notion of “banal nationalism.” Much as Billig’s liberal democracies sought to reify the nation and its claims through unwaved flags in post offices, so too did Hungarian patriots seek to reify the nation and its claims, as they imagined them, by nationalizing everyday practices. Indeed, the National Casino, the Védegylet and similar patriotic institutions successfully competed with the Habsburg dynasty, and the dynasty’s efforts to flood the public sphere with patriotic symbols. Admittedly, the notion of “banal nationalism” required modification and recontextualization before it could be applied to the multi-national Hungarian kingdom, or to the Habsburg Empire as a whole, but scholars such as Skey and Dragostinova demonstrate that the notion of banal nationalism is easily extended beyond the rather specific circumstances Billig originally had in mind. If, as Skey suggested, one pays due attention to diversity of constituencies within a given polity, and if, as Dragostinova suggested, one examines how people manipulate everyday nationalism from below, then Billig’s basic observation that mundane and everyday items can “flag” nationality explains a lot about everyday nationalism in the kingdom of Hungary.

 Umut Özkırımlı, Theories of Nationalism (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000), 72.  Hobsbawm, Nations and Nationalism since 1780, 2, 44, 152– 53.  Lynn Hunt, Writing History in the Global Era (New York: Norton, 2014), 7– 9, 14– 16,

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Historians of nationalism would benefit from further investigations into “banal” nationalism and its limits. The rise of banal nationalism during the 1848 Revolution, for example, suggests the porous frontier between banal and “hot” nationalism as a potentially useful site of analysis. Scholars could also devote more attention to idiosyncratic manifestations of banal nationalism. Tobacco, wine, and moustaches, for example, are unusual national symbols. Their nationalization therefore reveals interestingly contingent peculiarities of Hungarian history. Other examples of banal Hungarian nationalism have counterparts elsewhere, but examining their details still brings insights. The enshrinement of the díszmagyar costume, for example, has peculiarities that repay study, even if schemes for a national costume have appeared in many different societies.²¹ Hungarian national sexuality also illuminates Hungarian national imaginations, even if the nationalization of sexuality appears as universal as national flags. To understand nationalized sexuality, and gendered nationalism generally, scholars of nationalism should pay more careful attention to Carole Pateman’s explanation of the “fraternal social contract.”²² Pateman argued that contract theorists concealed “political right by proclaiming sexual or conjugal right as natural. Men’s dominion over women is held to follow from the respective nature of the sexes.”²³ While her works are often cited in passing when gender-curious historians consider foundational documents of national revolutions, I suggest that Pateman’s analysis applies more widely to nationalism than Pateman herself realized or claimed. Indeed, Pateman’s work proved conspicuously more helpful than that of Nira Yuval-Davis, whose book Gender and Nation is more widely cited. YuvalDavis, however, studied not nationalism as such, but nationalism’s impact on women. She herself declared “the position and positionings of women” her primary object of analysis, and while she promised to consider “men and masculinity,” she did so only because “‘womanhood’ is a relational category and has to be understood and analyzed as such.”²⁴ Yuval-Davis’s research agenda, a five-point list of possible research topics published in collaboration with Floya Anthias, makes the focus on women even more explicit. Point five uncontroversially notes that women may be “participants in national, economic, political and military struggles.” Point one examines women as “biological reproducers of ethnic collectives,” even though mothers as such may be nationally indifferent. In point four, meanwhile, Yuval-Davis and Anthias shift their focus beyond physical    

Alexander Maxwell, Patriots Against Fashion (London: Palgrave, 2011). Pateman, The Disorder of Women, 33 – 57. Pateman, The Disorder of Women, 39. Nira Yuval-Davis, Gender and Nation (London: Sage, 1997), 1.

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human beings to discuss allegorical women as “signifiers of ethnic or national differences, as a focus and symbol in ideological discussions.”²⁵ They show no interest in men’s roles as participants in national struggles, as biological reproducers, or as signifiers of difference. Though the title appears relevant to a gender-curious analysis of nationalism, Gender and Nation would be better characterized as a study of how nationalism affects women. Other scholars of gendered nationalism show a similar preoccupation with women. Vera Tolz and Stephenie Booth present a similar list of “key questions” in their volume Gender and Nation in Contemporary Europe. Their list includes both “images of nation and the role of women,” and “political transitions and the situation of women.”²⁶ Tolz and Booth, like Yuval-Davis and Anthias, takes an interest in nationalism only insofar as nationalism has affected women. Such studies, as Joane Nagel observed, have all too often “involved a conflation of the terms ‘gender’ and ‘women’,” resulting “in an almost exclusive focus on women.”²⁷ One cannot integrate gender into the study of nationalism simply by changing the conversation topic to “women.” Gender, famously a “useful category of analysis,”²⁸ permeates human societies: since gender constrains and influences people, informing their ideas and behavior, it constrains and influences nationalists. Gender is thus relevant to the study of nationalism, even if several leading figures in nationalism theory, including Smith, Anderson, Hobsbawm, and Gellner, have lamentably neglected it. Gender scholars often lament the neglect of gender in studies of nationalism, but if such scholars want to influence the key debates in nationalism studies, they must provide insight into those debates. The study of nationalism requires the study of the people whose thoughts and deeds embody nationalism in a particular place or time. Even if, as Tamar Mayer observed in her Gender Ironies of Nationalism, “much of the literature on gender and nationalism has focused on the centrality of women to the nation-

 Nira Yuval-Davis, Floya Anthias, eds, Woman-Nation-State (London: Macmillan, 1989), 7; see also Nira Yuval-Davis, Floya Anthias, Racialized Boundaries (London: Routledge, 1995), 115.  Vera Tolz, Stephenie Booth, “Introduction,” in: Vera Tolz, Stephenie Booth, eds, Nation and Gender in Contemporary Europe (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2005), 3 – 4.  Joane Nagel, “Masculinity and Nationalism: Gender and Sexuality in the Making of Nations,” Ethnic and Racial Studies, vol. 21, no. 2 (March 1998), 243.  Joan Scott, “Gender: A Useful Category of Historical Analysis,” American Historical Review, vol. 91, no. 5 (1986), 1053 – 75; see also Patricia Hill Collins, “Toward a New Vision: Race, Class, and Gender as Categories of Analysis and Connection,” Race, Sex and Class, vol. 1, no. 1 (1993), 25 – 45; Joan Hoff, “Gender as a Postmodern Category of Paralysis,” Women’s History Review, vol. 3, no. 2 (1994), 149 – 68; Joan Scott, “Gender: Still a Useful Category of Analysis?,” Diogenes, vol. 57, no. 1 (2010), 7– 14.

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al project,” the fact remains that, as Mayer also observed, “the nation has largely been constructed as a hetero-male project.”²⁹ Most of the key figures in nineteenth-century Hungarian nationalism were men, and several manifestations of everyday nationalism specifically excluded women from participation. Even when women participated in nationalist circles, one cannot simply conflate the categories “women” and “nationalists.” How could the research agendas of Yuval-Davis, Anthias, Tolz, and Booth shed light on the nationalization of moustaches? The study of national moustaches, while gendered, primarily remains the study of men. There also exists, of course, an influential literature on national masculinity. However, the bulk of that literature only considers how most violent forms of militarized masculinity contribute to fascism, extremism, atrocity, or sexual violence. Klaus Theweleit’s oft-cited Male Fantasies psychoanalyzed war veterans to explain German fascism;³⁰ the equally influential George Mosse intriguingly explained the Nazi catastrophe through ideas of respectability.³¹ The contribution of masculinity to the violence in former Yugoslavia has also received sustained attention.³² Other studies examine militarized masculinities in the British empire.³³ Several scholars have studied nationalized masculinity in the civilian con-

 Tamar Mayer, “Gender Ironies of Nationalism: Setting the Stage,” in: Tamar Mayer, ed., Gender Ironies of Nationalism: Sexing the Nation (London: Routledge, 2012), 6 – 7.  Klaus Theweleit, Male Fantasies, 2 vols, trans. Stephen Conway, Erica Carter, Chris Turner (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1987– 89).  George Mosse, The Image of Man: The Creation of Modern Masculinity (New York, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996); Nationalism and Sexuality: Respectability and Abnormal Sexuality in Modern Europe (New York: Fertig, 1985).  Paul Parin, “Open Wounds: Ethnopsychoanalytic Reflections on the Wars in the Former Yugoslavia,” in: Alexandera Stiglmayer, ed., Mass Rape (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1994), 35 – 53; Euan Haugue, “Rape, Power, and Masculinity: The Construction of Gender and National Identities in the War in Bosnia-Herzegovina,” in: Ronit Lentin, ed., Gender and Catastrophe (London: Zed, 1997), 50 – 63; Wendy Bracewell, “Rape in Kosovo: Masculinity and Serbian Nationalism,” Nations and Nationalism, vol. 6, no. 4 (2000), 563 – 90; Lene Hansen, “Gender, Nation, Rape: Bosnia and the Construction of Security,” International Feminist Journal of Politics, vol. 3, no. 1 (2001), 55 – 75; Dubravka Zarkov, “The Body of the Other Man: Sexual Violence and the Construction of Masculinity, Sexuality and Ethnicity in Croatian Media,” in: Caroline Moser, Fiona Clark, eds, Victims, Perpetrators, or Actors? Gender, Armed Conflict and Political Violence (London: Palgrave Macmillan 2001), 69 – 82; Dubravka Žarkov, The Body of War: Media, Ethnicity and Gender in the Break-Up of Yugoslavia (Durham: Duke University Press, 2007); Jamie Munn, “The Hegemonic Male and Kosovar Nationalism, 2000 – 2005,” Men and Masculinities, 2008, vol. 10, no. 4 (2008), 440 – 56.  Heather Streets, Martial Races: The Military, Race and Masculinity in British Imperial Culture, 1857 – 1914 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004); Vidya Tyagi, Martial Races of Undi-

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text of sport,³⁴ yet much of the resulting literature links sporting masculinities to war and militarism.³⁵ Hungarian sociologist Miklós Hadas, who written extensively about non-violent sporting masculinities in turn-of-the-century Hungary, linked them to anti-Semitism.³⁶ Characteristically, even Anikó Imre’s gender-curious study of “Hungarian Poetic Nationalism” appeared in a volume called Violence and the Body and discussed “the gendered significance of rape as a representational vehicle.”³⁷ Analyses of rape, however insightful, shed little light on the equally gendered significance of, say, Széchenyi’s attempts to harness chivalry and gallantry for the national cause. The narrow focus on militarized nationalized masculinity seems all the more striking given that the burgeoning scholarly literature on masculinity generally shows a deep awareness of the diversity of masculinities, which are typically discussed in the plural. In its very first issue, the journal Men and Masculinities ex-

vided India (Delhi: Kalpaz, 2009); Sikata Banerjee, Muscular Nationalism: Gender, Violence and Empire in India and Ireland (New York: NYU Press, 2012).  Albert Grundlingh, “Playing for Power? Rugby, Afrikaner Nationalism, and Masculinity in South Africa, c. 1900 – 70,” International Journal of the History of Sport, vol. 11, no. 3 (1994), 408 – 30; Eduardo Archetti,”Masculinity and Football: The Formation of National Identity in Argentina,” in: Richard Giulianotti, John Williams, eds, Game without Frontiers (London: Aldershot, 1994), 225 – 43; Patrick McDevitt, “Muscular Catholicism: Nationalism, Masculinity and Gaelic Team Sports, 1884– 1916,” Gender and History vol. 9, no. 2 (1997), 262– 84; Mervi Tervo, “Nationalism, Sports and Gender in Finnish Sports Journalism in the Early Twentieth Century,” Gender, Place and Culture, vol. 8, no. 4 (2001), 357– 73; Kausik Bandyopadhyay, “Race, Nation and Sport: Footballing Nationalism in Colonial Calcutta,” Soccer and Society, vol. 4, no. 1 (2003), 1– 19; Patrick McDevitt, “May the Best Man Win”: Sport, Masculinity, and Nationalism in Great Britain and the Empire (London: Macmillan, 2004).  Sue Jansen, Don Sabo, “The Sport/War Metaphor: Hegemonic Masculinity, the Persian Gulf War, and the New World Order,” Sociology of Sport Journal, vol. 11, no. 1 (1994), 1– 17; J. A. Mangan, ed., Militarism, Sport, Europe: War Without Weapons (London: Routledge, 2004); Dean Allen, “‘A Man’s Game’: Cricket, War and Masculinity, South Africa, 1899 – 1902,” International Journal of the History of Sport, vol. 28, no. 1 (2011), 63 – 80; Thierry Terret, J. A. Mangan, eds, Sport, Militarism and the Great War (London: Routledge, 2013).  Miklós Hadas, “Lovak a csolnakban: Adalékok a modern férfiasság kialakulásának vizsgálatához,” Replika, no. 43 – 44 (2001), 85 – 106; Miklós Hadas, “A gymnastica, avagy ‘a fiatalsági öröm köntösébe burkolt munka’,” Korall, no. 7– 8 (2002), 15 – 33; Miklós Hadas, Victor Karady, “Soccer and Antisemitism in Hungary,” in: Michael Brenner, Gideon Reuveni, eds, Emancipation through Muscles: Jews and Sports in Europe (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2006), 213 – 35.  Anikó Imre, “Hungarian Poetic Nationalism or National Pornography? Eastern Europe and Feminism – With a Difference,” in: Auturo Aldama, ed., Violence and the Body: Race, Gender and the State (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2003), 53.

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amined not just “political patriarchy,”³⁸ but mama’s boys and househusbands.³⁹ The opening issue of Culture, Society and Masculinities similarly considered househusbands, gay male athletes, and feminist men alongside violent masculinities.⁴⁰ Scholars of gendered nationalism could usefully broaden their horizons to study a wider spectrum of national masculinities. The hyper-nationalized man described in Sárváry’s poem, cited in the introduction, was neither rapist nor killer nor athlete, but instead a wine-drinker, feaster, consumer, singer, dancer, and husband. Such domestic masculinities have attracted scholarly attention, but their nationalization has not. Pateman did not present her work as an investigation of nationalism, and her work offers no discussion of the “nation,” either as a piece of political rhetoric, or as a historical phenomenon. As a feminist political theorist, Pateman sought to illustrate “the difference that a feminist perspective makes in political theory.”⁴¹ Yet insofar as she sees the debates of political theory as “controversies about the legitimacy and justification of … power,”⁴² her work addresses the central purpose of the “nation,” as argued in the linguistic analysis from chapter 2. For nearly all Hungarian political thinkers, recall, the “nation” existed in binary juxtaposition with some “almost-but-not-quite” non-national collective, variously formulated, and possessed a striking ability to legitimize political claims that the non-national collectives did not. If Pateman investigated the gendered nature of power, her findings extend easily to the influence of gender on the nationalist legitimization of power. While Pateman’s analysis of contract theory illuminates nationalist rhetoric, applying her insights poses some methodological challenges. Contract theorists generally formulated their ideas methodologically, and some nineteenth-century patriots did as well, but most patriots spouted fantasies so emotional and amor-

 Mark Kann, “Similarity and Political Patriarchy during the American Founding,” Men and Masculinities, vol. 1, no. 2 (1998), 173 – 92.  Jonathan Holden, “Mama’s Boys,” Men and Masculinities, vol. 1, no. 1 (1998), 46 – 57; Calvin Smith, “‘Men Don’t Do This Sort of Thing’: A Case Study of the Social Isolation of Househusbands,” Men and Masculinities, vol. 1, no. 2 (1998), 138 – 72.  Radhika Chopra, “Ghar Jawai (Househusband),” Culture, Society and Masculinities, vol. 1, no. 1 (2009), 96 – 105; Shaun Miliault, Murray Drummond, “Gay Male Athletes and their Perceptions of Clothing,” Culture, Society and Masculinities, vol. 1, no. 2 (2009), 177– 96; Jeff Nall, “Exhuming the History of Feminist Masculinity: Concordet, 18th Century Radical Male Feminist,” Culture, Society, and Masculinities, vol. 2, no. 1 (2010), 42– 61; Ana Amuchástequi, “Partner Violence, Technologies of the Self, and Masculinity in Mexico,” Culture, Society and Masculinities, vol. 1, no. 2 (2009), 155 – 76.  Pateman, “Introduction,” The Disorder of Women, 6.  Pateman, “Introduction,” The Disorder of Women, 2.

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phous that Gellner, a philosopher, infamously dismissed them as “hardly worth analyzing.”⁴³ Sifting through patriotic fantasies nevertheless shows that they conform to Pateman’s diagnosis: male patriots imagined the nation as a masculine brotherhood, and saw national women as the collective possessions of the national brotherhood. Nationalists concurred with contract theorists as concerns conjugal right, and while nationalism remains “patriarchal” in the sense that it continues to oppress women, nationalists treat men primarily as husbands rather than fathers, and see women primarily as spouses rather than mothers. Scholars can also bring gender into the main stream of nationalism theory through Brubaker’s emphasis on “categories.” We can analyze the organizational and discursive careers of categories – the processes through which they become institutionalized and entrenched in administrative routines and embedded in culturally powerful and symbolically resonant myths, memories, and narratives. We can study the politics of categories, both from above and from below.⁴⁴

Pateman’s thinking, extended to Hungary and expressed as an analysis of categories, suggests that Hungarian men from all ethno-national communities associated nationality with masculinity. Those few women who participated in everyday nationalism, furthermore, concurred: Therese Pulszky née Walter, Crescence Széchenyi née Seilern, and the female Slovak songwriters discussed by Norma Rudinsky expressed an apparently genuine patriotism through devotion to patriot husbands. Indeed: one might interpret the Hungarian women’s movement as a struggle against this conflation of nationality and masculinity. Indeed, many aspects of nationalism can usefully be studied as the interaction of categories. Categories may be mutually exclusive, independent variables, or mutually reinforcing, and different social actors may make different judgements about any given pair of categories. If in 1800, to use the words of as Andrea Komlosy, membership in the Hungarian nation “relied on noble status, land-ownership, and the availability of peasants and serfs to cultivated one’s land,”⁴⁵ then the nationalism of the Reform Era, as a struggle against aristocratic domination, can be read as the struggle first to disaggregate the “national” from the “aristocratic,” and then from the “noble.”

 Ernst Gellner, Nations and Nationalism (Oxford: Blackwell, 1983), 124.  Rogers Brubaker, Ethnicity without Groups (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 2004), 13.  Andrea Komlosy, “Imperial Cohesion, Nation-Building and Regional Integration in the Habsburg Monarchy, 1804– 1918,” in: Stefan Berger, Alexei Miller, eds, Nationalizing Empires (Budapest: CEU Press, 2015), 385.

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The interaction between categories, furthermore, can shed light on dimensions of everyday nationalism overlooked here. This study, for example, has rather neglected the nationalization of religion. Nationalized religious practices have entered the narrative only in passing: the chapter on moustaches, for example, discussed a Virgin Mary statue with a moustache, and the chapter on religion discussed cross-confessional marriage. Nevertheless, much has been left unsaid. By neglecting religion, furthermore, the book has also neglected AntiSemitism. Both Anti-Semitism and movements against Anti-Semitism played important roles in Hungarian life during the nineteenth century. Such struggles, however, can also be analyzed as conflicts over categorization. The fight for civil marriage, for example, attempted to disaggregate the “national” first from the “Catholic,” and then from the “Christian.” Finally, the analysis of categories facilitates analysis of the “national-nationality question,” the terminology of which has haunted not only nineteenth-century thinking, but subsequent historiography as well. This book specifically concurs with Mary Neuberger, whose study of Bulgarian nationhood emphasized “the practice of naming and the question of the relationship between names and the named.”⁴⁶ Hungarians most frequently proclaimed national rights, or denied them to other, through the politics of categories: they chose and propounded definitions of “Hungary,” or particular ethnonyms, or generalizable definitions of the “nation,” that suited their needs. Patriots from different ethnonational communities experienced the nation differently, and both ethnonyms and national definitions varied dramatically. In conclusion, therefore, this book draws its greatest theoretical inspiration from Rogers Brubaker. His strategy of considering “ethnicity without groups” highlights the agency of patriots as political entrepreneurs, but also raises the question of reception, since, after all, only some of the wares offered in the marketplace of ideas attract no buyers. His suggestion to study the nation as “practical category, as classificatory scheme, as cognitive frame” liberates scholars from fruitless definitions and counter-definitions of the nation. Great insights result from studying nationalism as classification.⁴⁷ More generally, Brubaker’s emphasis on the study of categories and categorization provides a framework for thinking about the intersection between the national and other social-historical variables. This book has considered at length the different understandings of the nation, but also nationalized aristocracy and  Mary Neuburger, The Orient Within: Muslim Minorities and the Negotiation of Nationhood in Modern Bulgaria (Ithaca: Cornell University, 2004), 15.  Alexander Maxwell, “Nationalism as Classification: Suggestions for Reformulating Nationalism Research,” Nationalities Papers, vol. 46, no. 4 (2018), 539 – 55.

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nationalized gender. Other scholars might consider themes neglected here, such as the interaction between the nation and race or religion. The intersection of and interaction between categories nevertheless promises a productive analytical framework for analysing such themes. Brubaker, in short, is the cutting edge of nationalism theory: he has shown us the path. Future theorists, of course, may supersede Brubaker with insights as yet unimagined. As new theories perpetually displace the old, academic fashions change, and sometimes even for the better.

Index Abend Zeitung (newspaper) 129 Abstinence, see Celibacy, Temperance Adler, Der (newspaper), 201 Ady, Endre 15 Adriatic 100 – 101, 174 Agramer Zeitung (newspaper) 86, 136, 224 Aiud, see Nagyenyed Albania, Albanians 182 Alföldi dalok (poem) 7 Alföldi Hirlap (newspaper), 70 Allgemeine Moden-Zeitung (journal), 90 “Almost-but-not-quite” Nations 36, 38 – 41, 43, 45 – 46, 52, 57 – 58, 230, 240 Alter Peter 50 American Civil War 75 American Revolution 62 – 64, 66, 151 American tobacco 62 – 64, 67, 74 – 75 Americans, see United States Anderson, Benedict 11, 232 – 234, 237 Andraščík, Ján 119 Anthias, Floya 236 – 238 Anti-Semitism 7, 116, 119 – 120, 122, 239, 242 Ansted, David 75, 89 – 90, 220 Ányos, Pál 193 Apaldo 61 – 64, 67 – 68, 70 – 75, 82 Apponyi, Rudolf 197, 202 Arabic language 14, 16 Arad 62, 68, 188, 209; see also Martyrs of Arad Arany, János 122, 139, 151, 160, 163 Arányi, Lajos 135 Aristocrats 13, 30, 75 – 77, 87 – 89, 93, 101, 109, 113 – 114, 121, 133 – 135, 139, 179 – 180, 189 – 190, 194 – 199, 212, 215 – 216, 222, 225, 233, 241 – 242; see also Nobles Armenian language 16 Árpád 23 – 25, 130 – 131, 201, 222 Armenians 21, 45, 148 Árva 117 Attila (jacket) 190, 197, 199, 201, 203 – 204, 206 – 207, 209 – 213, 215 – 217, https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110638448-012

222 – 223, 225 – 226; see also Díszmagyar costume Aurora (journal) 81 Ausgleich, see Settlement of 1867 Australia 204 – 205 Austria, Austrians 6, 35, 45, 54, 60 – 63, 70, 74 – 75, 84 – 86, 89, 91, 98 – 101, 109, 114 – 115, 124, 129, 131, 133, 135, 138, 142, 146, 175, 179, 181, 206, 208, 210, 213, 217, 227; see also Habsburg Government Austrian Germans 131, 135, 181, 208, 210 Austrian Newspapers Online (ANNO) 1 Awakening, National 4, 9 – 12, 59, 87, 93, 229, 232 Baden 138 Badran, Margot 53 Bach, Alexander 71, 212 Bach Hussars 208 Bach Regime 71 – 74, 139 – 141, 155, 206, 208 – 209, 212, 219 Bács-Bodrog 62 Balatonfüred 91 Balázsfalva 45 – 46 Ball, Ball season 90, 197, 209, 211 – 212, 218 – 219, 225 Ballagi, Mór 94, 131 Ballarat gold mine 205 Baller, Steven 208 Balogh, Sándor 56 Banal Nationalism 13, 112, 122 – 128, 153, 187, 198, 200, 203, 214, 221, 235 – 236; see also Billig, Michael; Hot Nationalism Banat 49, 112, 147, 169 Banking, Banks 65, 69, 181 Banknotes 123 Banská Štiavnica, see Selmecbánya Barabás, Miklós 199, 205, 217 Bárdy, Rudolf 137 Barnard, Malcolm 215 Bărnuțiu, Simion 46

Index

Barrington, Lowell 51 – 52 Bars 120 Bartal, Georg 66 – 67. Barthes, Roland 215 Bartl, Július 57 Bartosságh, József 110 Base-Superstructure Model 87 – 88, 93, 125, 235 Batthyányi, Kázmér 109 Batthyányi, Lajos 143, 203, 205; see also Martyrs of Arad Batthyány, Tódor 101 Batthyány, Vince 62 Bavaria, Bavarians 60, 134, 194, 199, 202 Beards 128 – 129, 134, 136 – 138, 140 – 143, 147 – 150, 152, 205; see also Moustaches Beer 93, 110 – 113, 118, 125 Bélavézse 120 Belgrade 101 Bella, Ardelio Della 27 Belostenec, Ivan 27 Belting, Isabella 138 Benkert, Karl-Maria, see Kertbeny, Károly Mária Beregszászi, Pál 16 Berlioz, Hector 203 Bern 60 Bernolák, Anton 28 Berlin 82 Bethlen, István 144 Bethlen, Kata 154 Berzeviczy, Gregor 62, 64 Beskids 126 Bible 14 – 16, 120, 131 Bienenfeld, Adam 62 Billig, Michael 13, 122 – 127, 153, 198, 200, 203, 221, 235; see also Banal Nationalism, Hot Nationalism Biloveža, see Bélavézse Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine 134. Blaj, see Balázsfalva Blomkvist, Anders 65 Bod, Péter 154 Bohemia, Bohemians 6, 30; see also Czechs Bolond Miska (journal) 131

245

Booth, Stephenie 237 Bordeaux 100, 106 Borsszem Jankó (journal), 131 Boston 204 Brace, Charles Loring 73, 83, 90, 139 – 140, 206, 219 Bracelets 175, 219. Brandy 102, 112, 115 – 120, 171; see also Spirits Brașov, see Brassó Brassó 73, 219 Bratislava, see Pozsony Breuilly, John 32, 51 Britain, the British 52, 63, 72, 88 – 89, 103, 134, 195, 238; see also England, Wales, Ireland Brubaker, Rogers 13, 55 – 58, 124, 234, 241 – 243 Bucharest 169. Buda county 104 Buda Castle 69 Buda University 106 Budapest 1, 65, 67 – 69, 71, 76 – 78, 84 – 85, 96, 99, 106 – 108, 126, 136 – 137, 139, 143, 152, 157 – 158, 166, 181, 199, 201 – 203, 205, 207, 209 – 212, 217, 219 Budapesti Hirlap (newspaper) 205 Budenz, József 18 Bukovina 61, 168 Bulgaria, Bulgarians 36, 197, 242 Bunda 85 Butler, Edward 163 Byzantine Empire, Byzantines, 14, 17, 30; see also Greece, Greeks Cafe Pilvax 69 Cafés 80, 91, 136 Calvinist Church or clergy 22, 154, 156. Carnival 69 Carpathians 17, 120 Cassel, Paulus 128 Casino movement 78 – 79, 90 – 91, 93; see also National Casino in Pest. Catherine the Great 103

246

Index

Catholic Church or clergy 21, 28, 97, 121, 154 – 156, 195, 242, see also Franciscins, Jesuits, Uniate Church Caucasus 174 Celibacy 161, 176 Černokňažník (journal) 132 Červenák, Benjamín Pravoslav 24 Chain bridge 65, 84 Chalupka, Ján 23, 25 Charity 78, 159, 225 Chattergee, Partha 233 Chauvinism 24, 29, 34, 50, 113, 115, 119 – 122, 142, 147 Chivalry 91, 239 Christianity 14 – 15, 116, 118, 120, 154 – 155, 242; see also Calvinist Church, Catholic Church, Greek Catholic Church, Protestant Church, Romanian Orthodox Church, Serbian Orthodox Church Chynadiyovo, see Szentmiklós Cigars 62, 68 – 70, 81 – 86, 90, 109, 214 Cigarettes 62, 68, 86 – 87, 92 Cincinnati 204 City names 3 – 5 Civil Marriage 155 Clean-Shaven, see Shaving Clergymen 41, 83, 90, 97, 117 – 118, 121, 126, 133, 135, 139, 141 – 142, 161, 195, 217; see also Calvinist Church, Catholic Church, Greek Catholic Church, Protestant Church, Romanian Orthodox Church, Serbian Orthodox Church. Cluj, see Kolozsvár Cockades 187 Cohen, Robin 190 Colonialism 67, 71, 182 – 183 Comenius, Iohannes Amos 27 Communism 11, 114 Connor, Walker 51 – 52 Conservatives 39, 66 – 67, 138; see also Reactionaries Continental System 63 Contract Theory 13, 150, 183, 236, 240 – 241; see also Pateman, Carole Conversi, Daniele 54 Cornides, Dániel 20 Cornis-Pope, Marcel 168

Corruption 63 Counter-revolution 84, 109, 138, 213; see also Reactionaries Crane, Diane 215 Croatian Academy of Science and Art, 1 Croatian language 5 – 6, 17, 23, 24, 26 – 27 Croatian State Archive (Zagreb) 1 Croats, Croatia 4, 6, 10, 13, 24, 26, 36, 40, 43, 58 – 59, 70 – 71, 111, 121 – 122, 148, 156 – 157, 187 – 188, 201 – 226, 231; see also Šokci Csallóköz 200 Csangós 162. Čsaplovics, Johann 22, 64, 111, 174 Csapó, Dániel 161 – 163 Csopei, László 26 Culture, Society and Masculinities (journal) 240 Currency, see Dollar, Florin, Franc, Gulden, Kreuzer, Pound, Thaler Cyrill a Method (newspaper) 118 Cyrillic alphabet 17 Czech lands 61, 101, 179 – 180, 207 Czechs 208, 211; see also Bohemians, Moravians Czechoslovakia 10 Czoernig, Karl von 16 Dalmatia 6, 61, 223 – 224 Dalmer, Martin 136 Dandy, Dandies 82, 181, 191 – 192, 195 Danica (newspaper) 24 Danube river 61, 65, 79, 101, 104, 166, 179, 197, 217 Daróczy, Vilmos 86 Debrecen 4, 60, 62, 67, 104, 107, 165, 198, 206 Debröd 62 Dénes, Iván 77 Denmark, Danes 100 Dercsény, Paul 106 Dessewffy, Aurél 39 – 40, 66, 233 Dessewffy, Emil 67 Dezső, Dóra 216, 218 Diet of Hungary, see Parliament, Hungarian Diet of Transylvania 45 – 46 Distillation 100, 112, 114 – 117, 120

Index

247

Distillery tax 117 Díszmagyar costume 13, 189 – 191, 196 – 205, 207 – 213, 215 – 216, 218 – 225, 236; see also Hussar Uniform, Magyaros costume Divatcsarnok (journal) 219 Divorce 168 Dollar 189, 204 Dolman 190, 197, 199 – 201, 203 – 204, 208 – 209, 211, 216 – 217; see also Díszmagyar costume Double standard 173 Dragostinova, Theodora 125 – 126, 235 Drasković, Janko 224, 233 Dresden 129 Drunkenness 111 – 112, 114, 116, 118 – 119, 121, 126 Dual Monarchy, Dualism 54, 171; see also Settlement of 1867 Dual nationality 47, 146; see also political nation Ducat 106, 134; see also Florin, Gulden, Kreuzer, Thaler Dugonics, András 94, 130 Dukhnovich, Aleksander 10, 120

Entrepreneurs 77; see also Merchants, Manufacturers, Stock Market Enyedi, Ágnes 164 Eötvös, József 33 – 39, 81, 233 Erdély Híradó (newspaper), 201 Erdély, János 94, 113, 115, 130, 149, 161, 163 Erdélyi, Gabriella 154 Estate (landholding) 65, 107, 115, 159; see also Gazdasági Egyesület Estate (social hierarchy) 44 – 45, 47 – 48, 112 – 114, 121, 133, 135, 187, 194, 197, 215, 218; see also Aristocrats, Nobles Eszterházy coat 189, 195 – 196 Eszterházy family 142, 189, 195 Ethnie 191, 229 – 233; see also Smith, Anthony Ethnonyms 12, 14 – 32, 36 Eugenics 7 Evangelical Church, see Lutheran Church, Calvinist Church Evans, R. J. W. 179 Export taxes 63 – 64, 67 – 68, 74 – 76, 114, 117 Extra Hungariam non est vita (adage) 96, 105

Eclectic Review 83 Eder, Joseph-Carl 45 Edinburgh 63 Egressy, Béni 92 Egy falusi nótárius Budai utazása (book) 191 – 193 Elisabeth (empress) 198 Elliott, Charles 134 Ellrich, August 88 – 89 Elter, Jozsef 149 Endogamy 153 – 155, 157 – 158, 161, 168 – 170, 172, 174 – 178, 182 – 183, 227 Endrey, Anthony 208 Engels, Friedrich 185, 235 English language 3, 6, 17, 19, 31, 37 – 38, 42, 44, 81, 84 England, the English 67, 75 – 77, 79, 85, 97, 100, 120, 134 – 135, 139, 149, 175, 180, 182, 200, 209, 217, 220; see also Britain, the British Enloe, Cynthia 182 – 183

Facial Hair, see Beards, Moustaches Falk, Franz 215 Farkas, József 199, 202 Farkas, Márton 204 Farkas, Pál 96 Farkas-Vukotinović, Ljudevit 223 Fascism 11, 144, 238 Fashion magazines 90, 189, 216 – 217, 219 Fashion plate 201, 216 February Patent 74 Federalism 124 Feminism 8, 53, 148, 150, 182 – 185, 240; see also Pateman, Carole Fényes, Elek 36, 94, 107, 114 – 115, 200 – 201 Ferdinand V (Habsburg Emperor), 135, 140 Ferko, Milan 57 Fields, Dorothy 164 Fillértár (journal) 132, 188 Finno-Ugric language family 16, 18 First World War 144

248

Index

Fiume 62, 68, 98, 100 – 102, 225 Flags 69, 122 – 123, 127, 142, 159, 203, 210, 218, 235 – 236 Fliegende Blätter (journal) 130 Flirting 151, 173 – 174 Floh, Der (journal) 132 Florin 60 – 61, 63 – 64, 73, 75, 99 – 100, 109, 114; see also Ducat, Gulden, Kreuzer, Thaler Flügel, John 214 Fogarassy, János 20 Folk Costume, see Peasant costume Fóris, Ferencz Otrokocsi 15 Fox, Jon 112, 123, 125, 197 – 198 Franc 105 France, the French 67, 69, 75, 79, 85, 87, 96 – 97, 105, 132, 134, 150 – 151, 181 – 182, 197, 203, 220, 223 Francis II/I (Habsburg Emperor) 45, 135 Francis II (Habsburg Emperor), 135 Francis Joseph I (Habsburg Emperor), see Franz Joseph I Franciscans 118 Frankfurt am Main 97 Franz Joseph I (Habsburg Emperor) 74, 140 – 141, 143, 207 – 208, 210, 212 Freifeld, Alice 198, 206 Fremden-Blatt (newspaper) 209 French fashion 220, 227, French language 19, 37, 134, 220, 229 French Revolution (of 1789) 9, 20, 150 – 151, 181, 184, 223, French wine 100 – 102, 105, 121 Frimmová, Eva 57 Frock coat 196, 209 – 211, 223 Füzes-Gyarmat 62 Gaj, Ludevit 24 Gavlovič, Hugolín 118 Gazdasági Egyesület 107 – 110 Gazdasági Tudo´si´ta´sok (journal), 108 Gellner, Ernst 233, 237, 241; see also Warwick debate Gemer, see Gömör Gender vs. Sex 148, 153 Genersich, Johan 81 Gerando, Auguste de 79

Gerhart, Henrik 205 German language 3 – 4, 6, 17 – 23, 28 – 30, 35, 37, 39, 41 – 42, 45, 47 – 48, 94, 97, 165, 179, 206, 219 Germans 4, 20, 24, 26, 29, 36, 40, 58, 67, 80, 84, 88 – 89, 110 – 114, 125, 129 – 133, 135 – 136, 138, 141, 147, 152, 155 – 157, 161, 164 – 167, 176 – 177, 179 – 181, 183, 187, 191, 197, 200 – 204 208 – 210, 212, 222, 225, 231 – 232; see also Austria, Austrian Germans, Saxons (Translyvanian), Swabians Germany 49, 63, 66 – 67, 69, 98, 101, 138, 171, 198, 217, 238; see also Bavaria, Prussia, Saxony Gerő, András 208 Gerrits André 50 Gesta Hungarorum 14 – 15 Gesta Hunnorum et Hungarorum 15 Glatz, Ferenc 56 Gold 66, 67, 100, 190, 194 – 197, 199 – 200, 204 – 205, 210 Gömör 120 Goodrich, Charles 134 Google Books 1 Gramsci, Antonio 88 – 89 Greece or Greeks 30, 45, 165, 167, 182, 196 Greek Catholic Church or clergy 22, 44, 120 Greek language 14, 16 – 17 Grishka, Carl 140 Griselini, Francesco 112 Groß-Hoffinger, Anton Johann 133, 151 Gulden 63, 65, 72, 89; see also Ducat, Florin, Thaler Gulyás, Pál 28 Gvadány, József 172, 191 – 194 Gypsies, see Roma Habdelić, Juraj 27 Habsburg, dynastic family 6, 71, 99, 135, 190, 194, see also Elisabeth, Ferdinand V, Francis II/I, Francis II, Franz Joseph I, Joseph I, Joseph II, Leopold I, Leopold II, Otto von Habsburg Habsburg Eagle 207

Index

Habsburg Government or Empire 3 – 4, 6, 12, 54, 59 – 64, 67 – 74, 76, 82 – 84, 97 – 99, 101, 109, 114, 125 – 125, 127 – 128, 138 – 139, 140, 144, 155, 157, 165, 170, 182 – 183, 194, 196, 198, 205, 207, 213, 218, 220 – 221, 226, 233, 235; imagined as German 212; see also Austria, Dual Monarchy Hadas, Miklós 239 Hainburg an der Donau 61 Hajdu, Tamás 216 Halász, Zoltán 9 Haller, László 154 Hamburg 100, 101 Hamilton, F.H. 79 Hanák, Péter 56 Handabanda (journal) 220 Hathi Trust 1 Havránek, Ladislaus 121 Haynau, Julius 205 – 206, 218 Hebrew language 15 Hečko, Pavel 47 Heinbucher, Joseph 187 Henszlmann Imre 211 Hermann, Franz Benedikt 100 Herman, Ottó 143 – 144 Heteronormativity 167, 170 – 171, 238 Heyser, Christian 45 Hidas 62 Hiller, Gottlieb 103 Hiraldo, Carlos 53 Hitel (book) 64 – 66, 101, 105, 178, 180 Hobbes, Thomas 150 Hobsbawm, Eric 11, 232 – 235, 237; see also Invented Tradition Hodoș, Iosif 46 Hodža, Michal Miloslav 41 – 43, 119 – 120 Hoffmann, Karl 112 Hoitsy, Samuel 23 – 24, 28, 41, 146 Holland, the Dutch 67, 100 Holocaust 7 Holy Roman Emperor 6, 45 Holzendorff, Herrmann von 138 Homosexuality 171 Honderű (magazine) 7, 96, 132, 216 Honi rings 174 – 175 Honi Védegylet, see Védegylet

249

Honvéd 137, 160, 203 – 204 Horn, Marilyn 214 Horse racing 77 Hortobágy 104 Horthy, Miklós 144, 213 Horvát Árpád 160 Horváth, Andreas 22 Hot Nationalism 122, 125, 236; see also Banal Nationalism; Billig, Michael Hübner, Alexander 74 Hugo, Albert 180 – 181 Humorist, Der (journal) 132 Hunfalvy, Pál 29 Hungarian Academy of Sciences 65, 227 Hungarian endonym 14 – 17, 19 – 21, 23, 26 – 28, 231; see also Hungarian vs. Magyar Hungarian exonym 17 – 21, 23 – 24, 26 – 27, 231; see also Hungarian vs. Magyar Hungarian language 3 – 4, 6 – 7, 14, 16, 18 – 23, 26 – 31, 33 – 43, 45, 130, 175, 179, 201 – 202 Hungarian moon, see Magyar Moon Hungarian vs. Magyar 4, 12, 14 – 32, 36, 48 – 49, 227; see also Dual nationality, Political nation, Non-Magyar Hungarians Hunnia (cigarette brand) 86 – 87 Hunt, Lynn 184 Hurrah Patriotism 94, 159, 162, 171, 178 Hussars 128, 136, 165, 190, 195 – 197, 199, 203, 205 – 208, 217 Hussar Uniform 134, 190, 197, 207 – 208, 210, 217; see also Díszmagyar costume Ignjatović, Jakov 166 – 168, 170, 173 – 174, 177, 183 Icce (unit of measurement) 107, 113 Ilirske narodne novine (newspaper) 223 – 224 Illustrierte Welt (journal) 141 Illyes, Gyula 139 Imagined Community 6, 11, 232; see also Anderson, Benedict Imre, Anikó 239 Industrial Fair 115 Internet Archive 1 Invented Tradition 11, 191, 232; see also Hobsbawm, Eric

250

Index

Ireland, the Irish 79, 119 Iron 174 – 175, 210 Istria 106 Italian language 17, 76, 84 Italian wines 97 – 98 Italy, Italians 63, 67, 69 – 70, 74, 112, 138, 209 Jakab, István 161 Jakabb, Adeodat von 89 Jankó, János 132, 142 Jánoshalma 95 Jánosháza 62 Jefferson, Thomas 100 – 101 Jena 165 Jerusalem 6 Jesuits 106 Jewelry 175; see also Bracelets, Honi Rings Jewels 189, 194, 196, 198 Jews 21 – 22, 54, 60, 67, 107, 111, 113, 116, 119, 120, 122, 149, 154 – 155, 196, 211, 231 – 232 Jókai, Mór 69, 92, 141 – 142, 152, 234 Joseph I (Habsburg Emperor) 135 Joseph II (Habsburg Emperor) 135, 155 Jósika, Miklós 149 Judson, Pieter 34, 140 Junimea (journal), 169 xxx Kalocsa 97 Kalpak 99, 195 – 196, 204, 209 – 211 Kapitány survey 145 Kapuvár 62 Karadjić, Vuk 148 Karl VI (Habsburg Emperor) 135 Karlovac, see Károlyváros Karlowitz (treaty) 60 Karoline Auguste of Bavaria 194 Károlyi, Eduard 219 Károlyi, Mihály 144 Károlyváros 101 Kassa 68, 103, 117 Kesckemét 207 Kecskeméthy, Aurél 142 Keglevics, László 108 Kellner-Hostinský, Peter 25, 47

Kemény, Zsigmund 142 Kertbeny, Károly Mária 171, 183 – 184 Keyssler, Johann Georg 62 Kiegyezés, see Settlement of 1867 Kisfaludy, Károly 81 – 82 Kiss, Sámuel 162, 164 Kisses 95, 104, 149, 165 Kladderdatsch (journal) 82 Klaproth, Julius von 17 – 18 Klaszy, Vencel 202 – 203 Klein, Ion Inochentie 44 Kölcsey, Ferenc 136 Kollár, Jan 16, 118 – 119, 164 – 167, 170, 176 – 177, 179, 183 – 185 Kollár, Mina 165 – 166, 179, 189 Kolmár, József 163 Kolo (journal) 223 Kolozsvár 3 – 4, 79, 137, 209 Kolozsvár Casino 79 Komárno, see Komárom Komárom 200, 217 Komenský, Jan Amos 27 Komlosy, Andrea 241 Kőrösy, József 157 Košice, see Kassa Kóspallag 62 Kossuth, Lajos 11, 28 – 29, 37 – 40, 48 – 49, 57, 71, 109, 129, 140, 143, 155, 166, 182, 203 – 205, 212, 218, 224, 227; conversation with Stratimirović 48 – 49, 57 Kossuth hat 204, 206 Kostyál, Ádám 201 – 203 Kővári, László 45 Kreuzer 64, 113; see also Ducat, Florin, Gulden, Thaler Kriehuber, Joseph 22 Kronstädter Zeitung (newspaper) 209 Krúdy, Gyula 143, 212 Küküllő 204 Kun, Béla 144 Kunz, Egon 205 Kürti, László 111 Kuzmány, Karol 117 Kvaternik, Evgen 26 Lafferton, Emese

144

Index

Landowners 12, 40, 65 – 67, 72, 74 – 77, 87 – 90, 93, 103, 108, 114, 200; see also Aristocrats Laszgallner, Ágost 103 Latin language 4, 17, 19 – 20, 22 – 23, 27, 41, 44, 96 – 97, 194 Launer, Štěpan 118 Legrády, László 108 Leopold I (Habsburg Emperor) 135 Leopold II (Habsburg Emperor) 45, 135 Lévai, Csaba 101 Liberalism 3, 22, 34, 64, 107, 109, 114 – 115, 121, 124, 126, 138, 141, 150, 155, 180 – 182, 184, 206, 211, 224, 235; see also Radicalism Lichard, Daniel 26 Liptó 117 Liptov, see Liptó Liqueur 115, 118; see also Spirits Liszt, Ferenc 199 Literáti, János (pseudonym) 173 Locke, John 150 Lodomeria 6 Löher, Franz von 29, 152, 212 London 83 – 84, 100, 196 Losonczy, László 160 – 161 Louis XIV (French King) 97 Louis XVI (French King) 184 Love (romantic/sexual) 92 – 93, 151 – 153, 159, 161 – 166, 173 – 181 Lübeck, Johann 106 Luca, Ignatz 146 Lucian Blaga University, Online library 1 Luna (newspaper) 112 – 113 Lupescu Radu 44 Lusatia 166 Lutheran Church or clergy 16, 22, 25, 41, 45, 47, 116 – 119, 156, 165, 223 MacCannell, Jennifer 183, 185 Madeira 105 Madrid 96 Magdeburg 82 Magnates, see Aristocrats, Landowners Magog 15 Magor and Hunor 15 Magyar Dohányujság (magazine) 86

251

Magyar Minerva (journal) 193 Magyar Moon 129 – 130 Magyar vs. Hungarian, see Hungarian vs. Magyar Magyarization 22 – 23, 26, 28 – 30, 40, 43, 49, 129, 132, 140, 147, 171, 209 – 211, 222, 225, 232; see also Pulszky-Thun correspondence Magyaros costume 216 – 220, 225; see also Díszmagyar costume Maiorescu, Titu 169 Majláth, János 22, 48 – 49, 89, 233 Manherz, Karl 147 Maniu, Vasile 46 Mannová, Elena 57 Manufacturers 68, 71, 107, 115, 120, 203; see also Merchants, Entrepreneurs Maria Theresa (Habsburg Empress) 99, 135 Marriage 8, 95, 152 – 159, 164, 166 – 170, 172, 179, 181 – 183, 185, 198, 205, 242; see also Civil Marriage Márton, József 19 – 20 Martyrs of Arad 205, 219 Marx, Karl 87 – 88, 127 Marxism, Marxian thinking 13, 75, 87 – 88, 93, 127, 234 – 235 Mathias, Paul 198 Matúška, Janko 10 May, Gideon 60 Mayer, Tamar 148, 237 – 238 Mazuchelli, Nina 91 McCracken, Grant 214 McHugh, Jimmy 164 Mecklenburg Uniforms 207 Mednyánszky, Alajos 110 Mednyánszky Sándor 84 – 85, 200, 205, 233 Medvedev, Katalin 207 Melbourne 204 – 205 Melzer, Jakob 22 Memorial Library, University of Wisconsin Madison 1 Men and Masculinities (journal) 239 Ménes 104, 106 Merchants 60 – 61, 63, 66, 102 – 103, 107, 136, 193, 209; see also Entrepreneurs Metternich, Klemens 69, 76, 136, 234

252

Index

Mihály I, Apafi 60 Milan 70, 96 Miller-Idriss, Cynthia 112, 123, 125, 197 – 198 Minier, Márta 160 Miskolc 68 Mitrák Sándor 27 Mitscherlich, Alexander 184 Mittelpacher, Ludwig 106 Mohl, Józef 103 Mocsáry, Lajos 42 – 43 Modernization theory 232 – 233, 235; see also Anderson, Benedict; Gellner, Ernst; Hobsbawm, Eric Molnár, Albert Szenci 19 Money, 70, 139, 232; see also Currency, Dollar, Ducat, Florin, Franc, Gulden, Kreuzer, Pound, Thaler Mongol language 16, 18 Montenegrins 36 Moormann-Kimáková, Barbora 56 Móricz, Zsigmond 144 Morvai, Krisztina 185 Moson 201 Mosse, George 238 Moustaches 13, 128 – 152, 154, 163, 185, 187, 199, 205, 214, 216 – 217, 229, 234 – 236, 238, 242 Müller-Guttenbrunn, Adam 147 Munich 130 Muraköz 62 Mureșanu, Andrei 10 Nádasy, Ferenc 135 Nádasy Thomas 142 Nagel, Joane 237 Nagy, László 205 Nagyenyed 79 Nagyszeben 73, 169 Nagyszombat 193 Napoleon, Bonaparte 6 Napoleonic Era 43, 63 – 64, 70, 75, 155, 193 – 194 Národnié zpiewanky (book), 165, 176 – 177 Národnost w lásce (poem) 177 – 178 Nation-state 124 – 125 National Anthems 10, 95, 123

National Awakening 4, 9 – 12, 59, 87, 92, 229, 232 National Casino in Pest 76 – 79, 99 – 100, 136, 235 National Digital Library of Romania 1 National Indifference 13, 59, 125, 158, 188, 226 – 228, 232, 236; see also Zahra, Tara National Revival, see National Awakening National-Nationalities Question 58, 230 – 231, 242 National Széchényi Library (Budapest) 1 Nationalism theory 9, 12, 49 – 50, 53, 229 – 243; see also Anderson, Benedict; Barrington, Lowell; Billig, Michael; Breuilly, John; Brubaker, Rogers; Chattergee, Partha; Connor, Walker; Conversi, Daniele; Fox, Jon; Gellner, Ernst; Hobsbawm, Eric; Hiraldo, Carlos; MillerIdriss, Cynthia; Parashar, Parmanand; Smith, Anthony; Spencer, Philip; Symmons-Symonolewicz, Konstantin; Tishkov, Valery; Wollman, Howard; Zahra, Tara Nationalities Law (Law XLIV of 1868) 33 – 35, 38 – 39, 47 Neigebaur, Johann Ferdinand 217 Némäti Kálmán 16 Nemes, Robert 78, 86, 92, 172, 193, 216 Nemzeti dal (song) 69 Netherlands, the Dutch 67, 100 Neuberger, Mary 242 Neue freie Presse (newspaper) 210 New Buda (Iowa) 205 New York 37, 204 Nikolai, Friedrich 98 Nincsen ördög (novel) 92, 141 – 142, 234 Nitra, see Nyitra Nobles 15, 22, 25, 43, 71, 78 – 79, 83, 88, 92, 99, 101, 108, 111, 113, 116, 121, 124, 126, 137, 151 – 152, 157, 188 – 189, 191 – 197, 200 – 201, 205, 215, 217, 224, 233, 241 Nógrád 113 Non-Magyar Hungarians 25, 31, 36, 43, 47 – 49, 52, 56, 89, 110, 112, 114 – 116, 122, 131, 135, 143, 146 – 149, 158, 161,

Index

164, 166, 170, 173, 182 – 183, 222, 231 – 232; see also Political nation, Hungarian vs. Magyar Norway 119 Nosák, Bohuslav 173 – 174 Noszlopy, Gáspár 207 Novi Sad, see Újvidék Nyisd ki, babám (song) 162 – 164 Nyitra 110, 117 O’Brien, Eugene 50 October Diploma 74 Orava, see Árva Orczy, Lőrinc 108 Orthodox Church, see Romanian Orthodox Church, Serbian Orthodox Church Orthography 17, 22 Ost und West (newspaper) 136 Österreichischer Beobachter (newspaper), 194 Ottoman Empire, see Turkey Otto von Habsburg 190 Özkırımlı, Umut 32, 234 Paget, John 79 – 80, 90 – 91, 103, 128 – 129, 133, 137, 149, 196, 198 – 199 Paládi-Kovács, Attila 188 Palánk 62 Pálffy, Stephen 81 Palinka 107, 111, 113 – 114, 116 – 119, 121; see also Spirits Palkovič, Juraj 27, 119 Pantaloons 136, 210 Pápai, Ferenc Páriz 19 Papiu-Ilarian, Alexandru, 28 – 29, 47 Paprika 8, 162 Parashar, Parmanand 51 Pardoe, Julia 80, 195 Paris 69 – 70, 96, 135, 193, 197, 202 Parliament, Austrian (Reichsrat) 74, 89, 141 Parliament, Hungarian 9, 24, 33 – 34, 37 – 38, 48, 64, 66 – 67, 69, 71, 75, 77, 85, 89, 95, 108, 110, 116, 136, 142, 144, 155, 160, 166, 193 – 196, 211, 224, 227 Párta 209 Partition of Hungary, see Trianon (treaty) Passau 129

253

Pateman, Carole 13, 150 – 152, 170, 183 – 185, 236, 240 – 241 Patent of nobility 126, 198 Patriarchy 53, 91, 137, 150, 184 – 185, 240 – 241 Patterson, Arthur 29, 88, 200, 212, 222 Paul Robert Magocsi Carpatho-Ruthenica Library 1 Paulíny-Tóth, Viliam 25, 47, 164, 177 Pavlovych, Aleksander 120 Pázmány, Peter 142 Pearls 198, 195 – 196 Peasants, Peasantry 25, 39, 69, 83, 88 – 89, 92, 112, 114, 119 – 120, 132 – 133, 140, 168, 174, 187 – 188 – 189, 195, 199, 205, 221, 223, 225, 241; see also Serfs Peasant costume 165, 172, 187 – 188, 195 – 196, 199, 205, 221, 223, 225 Pécs 4, 62, 68 Péczely, József 20 Pest, see Budapest Pest Casino, see National Casino Pest flood 199 Pešťbudínské vedomosti (newspaper) 25 Pester Courier (newspaper) 84 Pesther Handlungszeitung (newspaper) 89 Pester Lloyd (newspaper) 86, 209 Pester Zeitung (newspaper) 70, 84 Pesther Handlungszeitung (newspaper) 68, 102 Pesther Tageblatt (newspaper) 91 Pesti Divatlap (journal) 90, 137, 217 Pesti Hirlap (newspaper) 244 Pesti Napló (newspaper) 207 Péter, László 47 – 48 Pétervárad 83 Petőfi Júlia 159 – 160, 185 Petőfi, Sándor 69, 92, 95, 101, 131, 143, 159 – 162, 170 – 171, 183, 185 Petrichevich-Horváth, Lázár 216 Petrovaradin, see Pétervárad Pipes 61, 68, 78 – 83, 85 – 86, 88 – 93, 128, 131 – 132, 135, 193; collection 88 – 89 Planer, Ignaz von 74 Plenker, Georg von 73

254

Index

Plošic, Julius 25 Podmaniczky, Frigyes 211, 233 Poland, Polish 53, 114, 203, 213 Political nation 33, 35, 40, 42, 44 – 48, 146 Pop, Ioan-Aurel 44 “Possessive” definition of the Nation 39 – 41 Postl, Karl 99 Pound 189 Pozor (newspaper) 26 Pozsony 3 – 4, 49, 61, 68, 101, 107, 117, 135, 137, 147, 194, 206, 222 Prague 3, 174 Praisinger, Mária 175 Pressburg, see Pozsony Pressburger Zeitung (newspaper) 115, 194, 204 Prices, see Currency, Money Pridham, Charles 217 Primordialism 190 – 191; see also Smith, Anthony Prochaska, Karl 168 Protestant Church 27, 154 – 156, 165; see also Catholic Church, Lutheran Church Prussia, Prussians 88, 98, 138, 171 Pulszky, Ferenc 30, 181 – 185, 227 – 228; courtship 181 – 182, 227 Pulszky, Therese 137, 181 – 182, 227, 241 Pulszky-Thun correspondence 30 Puszta 83, 102, 217 Pusztay, Alexander 18, 135 Pynsent, Robert 165 Question of reception 126 – 127, 242; see also National Indifference Quin, Michael Joseph 79, 104 – 105, 179, 197 Quinn, Erika 199 Race, Racial thinking or terminology 7, 12, 34 – 38, 43, 48, 58, 129, 143 – 144, 215, 243 Radetzky, Joseph 70 Radicalism 71, 82, 99, 138 – 139, 174, 176 Railroads 65, 100 – 102, 232 Rakamasz 62

Rákóczi, Ferenc 97 Rákosi, Mátyás 145 Rakovac, Dragutin 223 Rakovszky, János 20 Ranchod-Nilsson, Sita 183 Rascians 40, see also Serbs Ratkó 62 Reactionaries 69, 138, 206; see also Conservatives, Counter-revolution Reform Era 48, 65, 106, 128, 137, 155, 159, 165, 180, 195, 197 – 198, 202, 213, 216, 224 – 225, 241 Regensburg 96 Regulations 62 – 63, 66, 75, 99, 189, 195 Reichsrat, see Parliament, Austrian Rejtényi, József 26 Reviezky, Adam 66 – 67 Revolution of 1848 24, 28 – 29, 37 – 38, 41 – 42, 48 – 49, 69 – 71, 79, 81 – 82, 84, 87, 92, 95, 108 – 109, 117, 119 – 120, 124, 137 – 140, 144, 151, 159, 166, 173 – 174, 176, 203 – 205, 213, 215, 217 – 218, 225, 227, 231 – 233, 236 Revolution of 1956 11 Revue indépendante, La (journal) 135 Richter, Wilhelm 88, 90, 112 Rijeka, see Fiume Rodde, Jacob 20 Romanian language 3 – 4, 17 Roma (Gypsies) 7, 111, 141, 164, 187, 200, 231 Romania 3, 23, 25 – 26, 69 Romanian Orthodox Church or clergy 44 – 45, 168 Romanians 10, 22 – 23, 25 – 26, 28 – 29, 36, 44 – 47, 58, 111 – 112, 114, 122, 124, 146, 156 – 157, 168 – 169, 183, 187, 231; see also Wallachians Rothenberg, Gunther 207 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques 150 Rozenblit, Marsha 54 Rudinsky, Norma 175, 241 Rum 115 Rumy, Károly 62, 102, 112 Russian language 17 – 18, 20 Russia, Russians 36, 98, 160, 162, 182, 213

Index

Rusyns 25 – 26, 112, 120 – 122; see also Ruthenians, Ukrainians Ruthenians, 10, 21, 111 – 112, 146, 187; see also Rusyns, Ukrainians Sabre, see Sword Saint Stephen 209 Salon 227 Salzburg 61 Same-sex attraction 171 Sandaled Nobility 189 Šariš, see Sáros Sáros 117 Sárváry, Béla 7 – 8, 11, 161, 183 – 184, 240 Sasinek, František 25 Saxons (Transylvanian), 43 – 45, 103, 176, 231; see also Germans Saxony 60, 165, 197 Scandinavia 69, 100 Schams, Franz 94, 106 – 107, 202 Scheint, Daniel 112 Schivelbusch, Wolfgang 91 Schlesinger, Max 84 Schlözer, August 16 Schmid, Antal 132 Schmidl, Adolf 196 Schmidt, Wilhelmina 165 – 166, 179, 189 Schönholz, Friedrich 100, 103 – 105 Schmidt, Wilhelmina 165 – 166 Schuster, Joan Traugott 19 Schwicker, Johann Heinrich 147 Scissors 137, 145 Scott, Walter 189 Sealsfield, Charles, see Postl, Karl Second World War 11, 20, 213 Sedlmayr, Krisztina Ferencziné 198 Seduction 151, 173, 178, 180 Segesvár 160 Seilern, Cresence 179, 241 Selmecbánya 80 Šenk Palenčeny (book) 119 Serbian language 4, 6, 17, 24, 26, 148; see also Serbo-Croatian language, Slavic language Serbian Orthodox Church or clergy 156

255

Serbo-Croatian language, 3, 27; see also: Serbian language, Croatian language, Slavic language Serbs, Serbia 4, 24 – 26, 39, 43, 48 – 49, 58, 111, 146, 146, 148, 156, 166 – 168, 169, 173, 183, 187, 217 – 218, 223 Serbske Narodne Noviny (newspaper), 24 Serbskiji Ljetopis (journal), 177 Serfs, Serfdom 120, 188, 241; see also Peasants Servants 86, 88, 91, 109, 120, 133, 136, 151, 194, 199, 218, 221 Settlement of 1867, 9, 46, 75, 144, 210 – 211, 212 – 213, 222 Seton-Watson, R.W. 34 Sex vs. Gender 148, 153 Sexual Contract 150, 236; see also Carole Pateman Sexual double standard 173 Shaving 128 – 129, 131 – 132, 134 – 145, 147 – 148, 152 Shepherds 89, 135, 196 Sherer, Joseph Moyle 195 – 196 Sherry 105 Sibiu, see Nagyszeben Sideburns 140 Sidó, Zsuzsa 202 Sighișoara, see Segesvár Siget, see Szigetvár Sign Language 133 Silesia 98, 217 Silver 193 – 194, 196 – 197, 199, 210 Simon of Keza 15 Șiria, see Világos Sissi, see Elisabeth (Empress) Skey, Michael 126, 235 Slavenski Jug (newspaper) 24 Slavic ball 225 Slavic language 17, 18, 24, 26 – 28, 30, 36, 41 – 42, 114, 116; see also Croatian language, Russian language, Serbian language, Serbo-Croatian language, Slovak language, Ukrainian language Slavici, Ioan 29, 146, 168 – 170, 183, 188 Slavonia 6, 223 – 224 Slavophobia 116

256

Index

Slavs 23 – 24, 30, 35, 38, 41, 69, 111 – 112, 115, 118, 126, 165 – 166, 174, 179, 183, 208, 223, 225; see also Slavic language Slovak language 3 – 4, 10, 12, 17, 22, 24 – 28, 42, 47, 56 – 57, 135; see also Slavic language Slovakia 4, 31, 120 Slovaks 4, 10, 21, 23 – 28, 33, 36, 40 – 43, 47, 56 – 57, 58, 89, 110 – 115, 117 – 122, 124, 131 – 132, 135, 140, 146, 148, 156, 157, 161 – 166, 173 – 177, 183, 187 – 188, 195, 199 – 200, 223, 231, 241 Slovenské Noviny (newspaper) 25 Smith, Adam 63 Smith, Anthony 13, 52, 229 – 233, 237; see also Warwick debate Smith, Berkeley 85 – 86 Snuff 68 Smoking, see Pipes, Cigarettes, Cigars, Tobacco Spiegel der Kunst, Eleganz, und Mode (journal) 137 Social Contract, see Contract Theory Šokci 36; see also Croats Sopron 4, 68, 98, 104, 106 – 107 Spain, Spanish 134 Spanish wines 98, 102 Spencer, Philip 53 Spinder, Stephen 145 Spirits 13, 93, 106, 110 – 112, 114 – 122, 127, 162; and criminality 116 – 117, 121; see also Brandy, Liquer, Palinka, Rum Spiš, see Szepes Spolok strjezliwosti 117 – 118 Spurs 147, 199, 208 Stafford, Anne 180 State-Framed Nationalism 124 State Library of New South Wales 1 Steamboats 65, 79, 179, 217 Steindl, Imre 85 Steppe 15 – 16, 89, 128 Stessel, Zahava Szász 116 Stiles, William 189 Stock Market, Stocks 65, 77, 180 Stratimirović, Djordje 48 – 49, 57 Studenten-Zeitung (journal) 138

Stulli, Joakim 27 Sumptuary laws 188 – 189 Stuttgart 96, 141 Sugar, Peter 56 Šulek, Bogoslav 23 – 24, 223 – 224 Supplex Libellus Valachorum Transsilvaniae 44 – 45 Surka 222 – 226 Svätý Jur, see Szentgyörgy Swabians, 200, 222, see also Germans Switzerland, the Swiss 60, 182 Sword 49, 99, 190, 195 – 197, 199, 204, 207, 209 – 210, 222 Symmons-Symonolewicz, Konstantin 54 Szabó, Béla 40 – 41 Szálasi, Ferenc 144 – 145 Szapary, Johann von 62, 98 Szatmár 62 Széchenyi Béla 180 Széchenyi, Crescence 179, 241 Széchenyi, István 11, 39, 64 – 66, 76 – 78, 81 – 82, 84, 91 – 93, 99 – 101, 105 – 108, 126, 136 – 137, 178 – 179 – 180, 182 – 184, 197, 208, 216, 233, 239 Széchényi, Ferenc 76 Szeged 3, 62, 67 Szeged criminal court 132 Székács, Pál 90 Székelys 43, 112, 146, 231 Szemere, Bertalan 218 Szendrey, Júlia 159 – 160, 185 Szentendre 166 Szentgyörgy 104, 106 Szentmiklós 119 Szepes 107 Szeredy, József 15 Szigetvár 202 Színi, Károly 163 Szirma 62 Szirmay, Antal 97, 149 Szőke-Magyarosy, Katalin 169 Szőlőiskola 108 – 109, 126 Szontagh, Gusztáv 36 Szózat (poem by Vörösmarty) 95 Taddio, Arturo 70 Takács, Judit 171

Index

Tănăsescu, Eleonora 169 Tanodai lapok (journal) 121 Tárkány Művek 164 Târnava, see Küküllő Tatras 126, 173 Tekov, see Bars Temes 176 Temperance 117 – 119 Tétreault, Mary Ann 183 Teutsch, Georg Daniel 45 Thackeray, William 134 Thaler 147; see also Ducat, Florin, Gulden, Kreuzer Thayer, William Roscoe 129 Theweleit, Klaus 238 Thun, Leo 30 Tishkov, Valery 57 Tisza river 89, 95 – 96 Tobacco 12 – 13, 59 – 94, 100, 102 – 103, 109, 122, 124 – 128, 131, 145, 150, 153, 201, 204, 226, 229, 234 – 236 Tobacco boycott 82 – 84; in Italy 70 Tobacco monopoly, see Apaldo Tobacco production 64, 73 – 75 Tokaj 96, 98, 103, 112, 116 Tokaji wine 96 – 98, 102 – 104, 106 – 107, 109, 112, 116, 121, 234 Toldy, Ferenc 161, 163 – 164 Tolna 62, 67, 147 Tolz, Vera 237 Tomas, Ferdinandus 16 Tomaskovič, Martin 24 Top hat 210, 211 Török, J.N. 67 Tóth, Árpád 77 Transport costs 100 – 101, 106, 115, 233 Transylvania 12, 28 – 29, 43 – 46, 49, 60, 66, 78, 79, 89, 97, 107, 112, 114, 117, 124, 146, 148, 154, 159, 164, 168 – 169, 200 – 201, 204 – 205, 212, 225, 231 Trent, Council of 97 Trianon (treaty) 3 Trnava, see Nagyszombat Turkey, the Turks 60, 65, 105, 109, 162, 192, 197, 217, Turkish language 18 Turkish tobacco 62

257

Turkish Wars 60, 131, 231 Tyrol 60 – 61, 72 Tyroler, József 204 Udvarhely 117 Ugocsa 62 Uhl, Friedrich 175 – 175 Újházi, László 205 Ujszékel 116 Újvidék 48, 68, 83 Ukraine 23 Ukrainian language 6, 17 Ukrainians 122, 187, 231; see also Ruthenians, Rusyns Ung river 17 Ugro-Turkic war 18 Ungarische Miscellen (magazine) 64 Ungvár (Uzhhorod, Ungwar) 17 – 18 Uniate Church see Greek Catholic Church Unio Trium Nationum 43 United States of America, Americans 30, 37, 53, 55, 62 – 64, 67, 73 – 75, 84 – 85, 99, 101, 129 – 130, 138, 182, 189, 206, 219 Uzhhorod see Ungvár Vahot, Imre 36, 109, 217 Valério, Théodore 132 Vambery, Rustem 30 Vámbéry, Ármin 18 Varasd 68 Varaždin, see Varasd Vas 98, 107 Vasárnapi Újsag (newspaper) 142, 201 Vasvári, Louise 164 Védegylet 109, 227, 234 – 235 Venice 72 Vidin 197 Vienna 3, 68 – 70, 73, 90, 133, 138, 141, 181, 195, 209 – 211 Vinum Regum, Rex Vinorum (adage) 96, 102 Világ (book) 105 Világ (newspaper) 136 Világos 169 Virgin Mary 14, 141, 209, 242 Vlachs 24, 111 – 112; see also Wallachians Vörösmarty, Mihály 95

258

Index

Waiters 136, 199 Wales, the Welsh 123, 139 Wallachians 21, 36, 39 – 40, 43, 44, 89, 111, as fourth nation of Transylvania 44 – 45; see also Romanians, Vlachs Walter, Therese 137, 181 – 182, 227, 241 War of Bavarian Succession 128 Warwick debate 190, 233; see also Smith, Anthony Waxing (of moustaches) 128, 145 Washington D.C. 101 Wealth of Nations 63 Werkele, Sándor 143 Wesselényi, Miklós 36 – 37, 233 White, George 51 Wikipedia 22 Wine 7, 13, 93 – 128, 131, 153, 159, 161, 163, 165, 171 – 172, 183, 201, 214, 222, 226, 229, 235 – 236, 240 Wine consumption 94 Wollman, Howard 53 Wurmser, Dagobert Sigmund von 128 Würzburger Journal (newspaper) 130 Xenophobia

11

Yiddish language 4 Yugoslavia 238; see also Croats, Serbs Yuval-Davis, Nira 170, 236 – 238 Zach, Krista 44 Zágráb (Zagreb, Agram) 4 – 5, 23, 112, 222 – 223, 225 Zagreb, see Zágráb Zahra, Tara 226, 228; see also National Indifference Záturecký, Adolf Peter 131, 148 Zemun, see Zimony Zemplén 96, 98, 116 Zichy, Károly 179 Zilahy, Lajos 149 Zimbru, see Zombrád Zimony 101 Žitný ostrov, see Csallóköz Zipser, Christian 79 Zmertych, Karl 47, 146 Zók, Anton 202, 203 Zólyom 120 Zombrád 188 Zürich 60 Zvolen, see Zólyom