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too much bitterness. Others early despaired, and it was perhaps not so much from fear of Austria's power, as M. Pulszky seems to suppose, that the amiable Count Szecheny became deprived of his reason, as from doubt of his own countrymen's perseverance and consistency

The Hungarian character has much of the mobility commonly attributed to the French. Profound depression alternates frequently with the more exalted enthusiasm. A true Magyar rises in the morning with the belief that he is the greatest man under the sun, and goes to bed convinced that he is the weakest of creatures. He is capable of acts of the most frantic gallantry, and at the same time liable to the most extraordinary panics. No soldiers charge with such impetuosity, or are so easily discouraged, unless they have been long subjected to discipline. There is more of fire than caution in the Hungarians, and it would be easier to find among them fifty Murats than one Fabius.

The character of Kossuth lies open in some degree to the same objections as that of his countrymen generally; and Dr. Schlesinger very properly blames him for having remained so long undecided with reference to the treatment of Arthur Görgey. Perhaps, however, it is easier to blame than to point out what course could have been pursued under the circumstances. That something might have been done which was not done seems evident. But would it have been possible to bring Görgey to a court-martial, or in any other way remove him from his dangerous pre-eminence?' That is the question. . M. Pulszky, in his able paper on The Life and Character of the Magyar General' (affixed to Schlesinger's work), does not venture to express what Kossuth ought to have done ; but he succeeds in showing that Görgey acted as a traitor, and that his treachery was premeditated.

We do not intend giving any outline of the events of the Hungarian war; but as we have the materials at hand, we will present our readers with some account of the fortunes of the generals who escaped after the disgraceful affair of Vilagos, when Görgey, consummating a long-meditated act of villany, surrendered a splendid army to a not very superior force. Dr. Schlesinger, who has detected many proofs of the evil disposition of that brilliant general, observes: The story that Görgey, at his first interview with Dembinski after the battle of Kapolna, said to him, “ General, were I Dembinski, I would order Görgey to be shot," appears to be a fiction. A manuscript which we have in our hands gives the real version of the affair. * Surely we knew,' it says, 'that before the battle of Kapolna, Görgey manœuvred purposely so as to arrive twelve hours too late with his brigade, out of mere jealousy; and that

the same thing happened again previous to the attack of Mezetrovich, when he retired on Tassafuret. On the latter occasion he said to me himself, “If I had been Dembinski, and Arthur Görgey had so treated me, I would, as generalissimo, have ordered Arthur Görgey to be shot!”'

It is impossible to describe the effect which the news of the surrender of Vilagos produced on the scattered detachments of the Hungarian army. There was no fighting after that. Everything fell at once into confusion. Kossuth fled first to Orsowa, and then to Widdin; most of the divisions of the army surrendered either to the Russians or the Austrians; and those who did not follow the example dispersed in all speed, or began a dangerous and difficult march across the mountains. We shall accompany an artillery officer of our acquaintance to the bivouac of General Bem,* near the confines of Transylvania, merely premising that the manuscript has already given a most interesting account of all that took place subsequently to the battle of Temesvar, and that the writer, with his companion, were made prisoners by a party belonging to their own army.

• Our way lay along a path which a Kalauz (guide) pointed out. In about an hour we passed a post of Polish Hulans, and heard from time to time in the obscurity challenges in the Hungarian language, “ Who goes there?” Bivouac fires were scattered at intervals beneath spreading trees, so as not to be observed at a distance. The trampling of patrols making their round occasionally filled the air. It was a picturesque scene to behold at that hour, when the grey light of dawn began to filter through the skies, though darkness still lingered upon the earth. Near our path we sometimes saw groups of soldiers pressing round a fire, their faces lighted up, and their costumes gilded by the flames. A light morning breeze fluttered across the country, rustling gently through the clumps of trees, and breathing balmily on our cheeks. A cursory glance over these fields would have suggested the idea that they were waking to the ordinary labours of agriculture; but these scattered, half-concealed fires, these groups of reclining men, with burnished arms, their horses grazing near at hand; those suppressed sounds of life behind every hedge, beneath every grove, in every field, soon revealed what kind of harvest was ready for the sickle there.

• The sound of cocks crowing announced, as morning broke cold and grey, the neighbourhood of a village. We soon entered, and found that though some movement had already commenced, the greater part of its denizens were still asleep. Lights, paling

Dr. Sclesinger is mistaken in saying that this general broke his collarbone at the battle of Temesvar. Such an accident would have disabled him for months, whereas he never for a day ceased his active life.

before the coming day, dimly illuminated the windows of the wooden houses ; here and there a soldier came yawning forth, or leaned drowsily from a gallery. Straw and heaps of baggage and carts and horses filled the streets ; a hum, that gradually increased in intensity, rose on all sides; the cocks crowed authoritatively as the cold glories of morning brightened in the sky,

* We were still in charge of the hussars, who had arrested us by order of the little lieutenant. On the road, a soldier in a light summer dress had requested a lift in the cart as far as the village, and told us that it had been determined to emigrate into Turkey. This was the first hint we had received of such a plan, and observed to Sasz in German, “ What does this fellow know about the matter ?” “You are mistaken,” observed the man mildly, in the same language. “I know well what has been resolved ; and you will find that my information is correct.”

We were stopped by a strange figure with a wild expression of countenance and a queer scattered beard, vast in bulk, and yet not imposing. To the question, " What news?I did not answer, because I did not know who this person might be. On his repeating the same words, I replied, “Sir, it is absolutely necessary that I should speak at once to Field Marshal Lieutenant Bem; and I do not know you at all.” A squabble would most probably have resulted had not an officer thrown in the following information: “You are speaking to General Baron Stein." I expressed my regret, told him what brought me, and he immediately requested us to follow him.

'We entered a large court-yard, which at first seemed filled knee-deep nearly with straw, but an arm appearing here, a leg there, or a head or a shoulder, announced that we were in a novel kind of dormitory. It was with difficulty that we crossed at all; and we could not help occasionally treading upon one of the sleepers—a fact we were made acquainted with by an “ah!

oath. General Stein led us to a place where enormous nightcap showed above the straw. This was all that could be seen of the Field-Marshal, who slept as soundly at that anxious moment as he ever did in prison, in exile, or in the cradle. General Stein stirred him up, and he at once raised that extraordinary face of his and looked sharply at us.'

On the very same day, the small remnants of the Hungarian army began their journey across the Carpathian Mountains. They had a rough time of it for several days, but at length got into the plains of Wallachia, and marched 'in tolerable comfort to their temporary resting-place at Widdin. Here they met with a welcome which, if it were hospitable in its intentions, was uncouth enough in its forms. Complaints, however,' says

ah!” or

an

our manuscript,' were not very frequent at first—it takes a long time to starve out Hungarian enthusiasm. I remember the first visit of Kossuth to the bivouac. It became known in the morning that he was coming, and great preparations were made for his reception. The emigrants drew themselves up in military order, and with instinctive delicacy endeavoured to efface, as well as possible, the traces of their miserable position, lest these being obtruded might seem silent reproaches to the great patriot. Still, it was impossible entirely to conceal the poverty in which most were plunged. Many were without shoes, all with soiled and ragged uniforms; most, pale and haggared, from sickness and bad nourishment. They made an effort, however, to appear gay and content, and with tolerable success, for the very sight of the late president of the Hungarian Republic, as he rodehis white plume fluttering in the breeze-towards the lines, seemed to warm their hearts and make the blood course quicker through their veins. As he approached, a murmur, a buzz, a cheer, a roar of voices greeted him, and the vast shout of “ Eljen Kossuth” (long live Kossuth) must have been heard far away over the plains of Widdin, and awakened the echoes on the Wallachian shores of the Danube. It must have been a cheering sight both to him and to the indifferent spectator: he must have felt that his services were not without their reward—that the hearts of the people he had loved were not turned from him in misfortune; and the scene must have suggested the reflection to others, that it is not true that the people, the democracy, cry out only for bread. These men were hungry and ill-clothed, and enfeebled by disease-a sad looking rabble in the morning --but the presence of their tribune fell like a ray of gold upon their brows-converted them for an instant, once more, into the forlorn hope of liberty; and it was with almost feverish enthusiasm that again and again they took up the expiring cry, and thundered out “Eljen Kossuth ! Eljen Kossuth!”?

We could have wished for more ample information than the document before us gives of the negotiations which led to the apostasy of the principal Polish generals, as well as of some Hungarians. Probably the writer feels a little ashamed of the whole transaction. At any rate, he passes over the circumstance at full gallop. We glean, however, from this and other sources, that General Bem is now in the service of Turkey under the title of Murad Pasha, and that he has been employed, much against his will, in putting down the insurrection in Bosnia. When he became a renegade, it was in the expectation of an imminent war with Russia; and he sacrificed not much faith, it is true, but a good deal of dignity, in order to have an opportunity to strike a blow on a grand scale against the colossal enemy of the liberties of Europe. General Bem has always been an adventurer. His triangular face is known in every odd corner of Europe-nowhere more so, perhaps, than in the debtors' prison at Clichy (Paris). Here he spent a good part of his time in studying a new art of memory, and in perfecting his theoretical knowledge of strategy. To his honour be it spoken, however, when he was released, and better times dawned upon him, he voluntarily began to despatch instalments of his debts to Paris, and that he has not forgotten his liabilities since he has become a pasha, almost a prince.

We are not quite certain that the author of the manuscript is correct in representing Kmetty as one of the renegades. General Stein, however, is now a pasha, residing in splendid ease at Aleppo, and devoting every moment he can spare from the table and the harem to the composition of a history of his life and experiences. We may expect, therefore, at some future day, to see announced by Colburn or Bentley—the Memoirs of Ferhad Pasha.

It is well known that Kossuth is now an exile in Syria. From what we hear he has nearly lost all hope of reappearing on the world's stage as a public man. He consoles himself by the reflection that during the whole of his brilliant career, he not only had the death of no innocent man upon his hands, but that he rather erred on the side of leniency and húmanity than otherwise. Despite the attempts made to lower his character, and represent him as a mere demagogue, he will remain in history as one of the purest patriots produced by the European revolutions of 1848. The only ground of complaint at all tenable against him, is, that some of his commissioners in Transylvania acted with too great severity. For this he can scarcely be made personally responsible. The only wonder is, that in the midst of a war for altar and for hearth, like that which took place in Hungary, the influence of the mild character of one man should have been so effectual in preventing any outburst of cruelty. It may be to be regretted that any death took place during the struggle elsewhere than on the battle-field ; but really when the agents of Austria took the liberty of hunting ladies through forests with dogs, it is not surprising that when caught they should have been executed in a very summary way.

Much has been said of late of the cruelties practised by General Haynau after the last campaign. It is worth while, however, to point out that the first acts of that monster were in accordance with the last. Hardly,' says Dr. Schlesinger, 'had he received the command, hardly had he time to muster his forces, to reconnoitre the ground upon which he was to begin the war in earnest, hardly had he issued a single order of the

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