Hungarian Heritage Review, 1987 (16. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)

1987-01-01 / 1. szám

make an appointment to meet the secretary of state.

Brought up in a land where ceremony was the heart of government, they were astounded to see how easily they could gain access to the cabinet member, and finally to the President.

Edward Livingston, a wealthy, sophisticated man front Louisiana, was secretary of state, and when the Hungarians called at his office to make an appointment, they were told that he was available at any time and they “could go to his lodgings right then."

"This absolute lack of ceremony had seemed very unusual to us," Farkas wrote. “We could not see how we could unceremoniously drop in on the secretary of state as though he were an ordinary private citizen, but finally we summoned enough courage and went to his lodgings.

“A maid opened the door and without an announcement took us in to the minister. Mr. Livingston was occupied with something which he immediately set aside, read our letters of introduction and received us very cordially. We stayed about half an hour and discussed various subjects, but neither his behavior nor responses would have indicated a secretary of state.

“There were no piles of documents in his room, and his appearance and expressions belied the powerful official. When we left, he walked us to the stairs. It was as though we had visited a private citizen.”

It was not until they had left the residence that the four amazed travelers realized they had forgotten their chief purpose in calling on the secretary of state: to ask him “to arrange an audience with President Jackson."

They discussed whether they should wait until the next day to return to Livingston's lodgings, or simply go directly to the White House to make an appointment with the President. At length they decided on the latter approach, after pacing back and forth in front of the President's residence.

“We entered the beautiful green grassy courtyard,” Farkas wrote. “Nowhere were there any guards or liveried servants to bar our way. For a few minutes we were strolling under the graceful peristyle of the house when finally a servant appeared.

“We told him of our mission and he readily informed us that if we wished to wait a little longer until the president finished his business with the Danish envoy, we could see him. We handed him our calling cards and added that we were visiting Hungarians who wished to pay our respects to the president. He returned shortly with the message that if it was convenient for us, the president would be pleased to receive us at eleven o’clock the next morning.”

The next day turned out to be one of the most memorable in the Hungarian’s life.

“We appeared punctually at the given

time,” Farkas wrote. “The same servant showed us into the reception room. There were two gentlemen sitting on a sofa who were also waiting for the president. The reception room is not large. There is nothing fancy about it. The floor is carpeted and the furniture consists of chairs, sofas, and a wall clock, all tastefully arranged."

Farkas could hardly bear the excitement.

“There are moments in life when one is looking forward with spellbound anticipation to an event," he wrote. “All one’s thoughts and emotions are concentrated on it and still the heart feels a measure of misgiving when the looked-for moment arrives.

“I was expecting to see a man whom 13 million free citizens raised to this highest post of their own free will, and who earned this great honor neither by birth nor wealth nor a quirk of fate, but by his personal achievements.

"Soon Mr. Jackson appeared. He is a tall, graying friendly old man (64), dressed in a simple black suit without any decoration. As he entered, we went up to him, mentioning our names and nationality. He cordially shook hands with us, sat down, and offered us seats around him while introducing the other gentlemen by name.

“We spent about a half hour with him, during which he inquired about our country and our journey. Then the conversation turned to American subjects. We lauded its institutions, which seemed to please him very much. His simple manners and friendly behavior made us forget that we were talking to the chief executive of 13 million people.

“In the meantime, several others came into the room, all of whom he greeted with the same simple cordiality as if they were in the house of an ordinary citizen. Taking leave, he shook hands again and invited us to visit him again when Congress is in session."

Farkas was ecstatic.

“I shall never forget the elation I felt when we left, to have been able to see and talk to this distinguished man,” he wrote. “His handshake made me feel more proud than any honor in this world and in my memory I shall always treasure it.” Later he tried to explain to his Hungarian readers what a vast contrast there was between the formality of Hungarian courts and the “simplicity of American officials."

“Those of us who are accustomed to think of a chief executive of a nation as one who is divinely chosen to rule over us and who must be approached with awed humility and veneration will find it difficult to understand the simplicity of American officials."

In America he saw Jacksonian democracy in action. It was to be an “eternal inspiration to all oppressed people.”

During his Washington visit, Farkas visited George Washington's tomb and was deeply af.... - fflungartan-jVmgrtcana .... .—

fected at the thought of the hero who had led Americans through “their long struggle for equal human rights.”

From the time he was a child, Farkas had dreamed of visiting America, and “whenever 1 saw an American ship in the harbor, I felt my heart beat faster. In that beautiful land, the new home of humanity, I visualized in hazy outlines everything that is beautiful and perfect that humanity with all its frailty could achieve on this earth."

On the way to America, he spent the winter of 1830 in Paris, and from there went to Belgium, Holland and England. Seasickness and terrifying storms at sea made the 39-day voyage to America a nightmare.

Yet within a half hour from the moment he stepped ashore in New York on September 3, 1831, he was caught up in the excitement of being at last in the land of the free.

And when he returned to his native Hungary in December 1831, to write his diplomatically worded book about freedom in America, the impact was immediate. He was convinced that examination of the American experiment “would stimulate both study and action in his oppressed country.”

And. critics said, his observations on American democracy turned out to be “like lightning and thunder running through Hungary and Transylvania, shaking marrow and bone. Men and women, old and young, whoever could read burned from the desire to read the book."

The book was treasured for generations, and children heard it read to them at family gatherings “as ifit were a holy book." Farkas was suddenly a celebrity, honored throughout the land.

The book became foundation for a policy of reform and even revolutionary action, and the first and second editions were sold with record-breaking speed. But by the end of 1835, the Austrian bureaucracy realized the danger of the ideas, and the book was banned, with all possible copies confiscated and destroyed.

Farkas was hounded out of job and all hope of carrying out his ideals. But he clung to the hope that the book would yet inspire a struggle for freedom.

“In deed, word and writing, I spread every democratic principle," he wrote towards the end of his tormented life. “I sowed the seeds of every free institution I brought from abroad. I wanted our whole nation — without any exception — to enjoy the same freedom."

He died at age 47 on February 2, 1842, too early to see the first emergence of his country from one of its darkest periods. But 144 years after his death, freedom-hungry visitors to his monument know well the poignant significance of the inscription: “Alexander Boloni Farkas, North American traveler."

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HUNGARIAN HERITAGE REVIEW

JANUARY 1987