 Down the long path of history Tramping across centuries and continents and the graves of kings and the necks of dictators Seeking always a way of life where the people have their freedom believing, praying, fighting, dying We came this way The NBC University of the Air, a public service of the national broadcasting company and its independent affiliated stations Presents the second chapter in a new series We came this way a dramatic account of man's struggle down through the ages for a democratic way of life For listeners at home at overseas we present chapter two a story of Alexander Badoofy We came this way Hear the minstrel sing I strike the harp and a tail comes forth. I strike the harp and a tail is born I strike the harp and the air is fragrant with metal and forest and the river Danube Sweet with the song of my Hungarian land What tail shall I sing to you brothers? What tail but a tale of freedom? What tail but a hero's epic? Draw close Listen to the tale of young Alexander Alexander Badoofy Hungarian singer, buebler of freedom My lips shall sing of him My heart shall pray. I strike the harp for Alexander Badoofy. I strike the harp and the tale begins In the dead century behind us My Hungary was a prisoner of a nostrian king Ferdinand, a child's brain Frightened by empire But at his right hand like gaunt death stood Prince Matronik the plotter And on his left General Anjau the killer Hungary groaned under the Austrian oppression on the plains the herdsmen sang bitter songs I My soul is a wounded bird My spirit is a heavy storm They sang In the huts of the peasants the smoke of their fires was thin as their joys None was free but the wind and the river None was free, but the well-born lords I Hungary was bowed Like a prisoner in chains Do the city of Buddha in this time of oppression came young Alexander to the city of riches the wanderer came asking Where is the house of Michael Bush Mercer for Schmertier the poet? Where is his home? Schmertier the poet he's out at the park Who doesn't know Michael Bush Marcher lad at his house there above the cafe Is your master in my master? Yes Michael Bush Mercer. Is he home and who's calling upon him? Alexander Paterfi I'm afraid. I don't know a Paterfi. Will you take me to your master? What my dear boy? I am the master I am Michael the smarty you Then forgive me. I I didn't know I mean come in If I had no master. I guess yes. Yes. I know inside here. There's a fire going Now what is it? I've come from Debrecen to see you. I'm Alexander Paterfi from Debrecen The coach rides like a journey in a police van, isn't it? I didn't come by coach. I walked. Are you serious lad? It's over 200 miles. I said I walked You rarely walked over 200 miles to see me What for in God's name to show you my poems? By the fireside Alexander Paterfi read them To Michael Bush Mercer. He read his poems And the logs dived down to a glowing And the air grew still asleep And for Schmerter listened to the songs That is the last one for Schmerty How old are you Alexander 20 20 a boy yet? How will you take fame? Fame yes These poems will bring it to you They're beautiful Ah beautiful is such a weak word How shall I say it lad? Hungry lives and breathes in them, but I don't understand. How will I take fame? I'll listen to me Alexander For I'm a veteran of the literary wars in Hungary When a young poet becomes famous overnight as you will The rich and the nobility size him up They applaud him They give him expensive dinners and inexpensive flattery They woo him Alexander and if there's a hint of protest in his poems why they admire the spirit and the courage But nonetheless say Boy, let the bitterness in your poems be the bitterness of disappointed love Let your anger be an anger at the shortness of life. Therefore at the shortness of pleasure Art they will tell you should be of spiritual things Reality they will tell you will make a scrub woman a woman of the streets out of art Right charmingly boy. They'll say right pleasantly offend no one and you will go far They'll say this to me. They will Alexander I hear the people singing in your poems I hear our whole hungarian land The low country the carphathians. I hear a whole nation oppressed Will you forget that oppression? Is that what you are afraid of or smetcha? You're young yet Alexander. Listen to me In every seven I lived in a garret and from my window. I could see the town square There was a gallows on that square An austrian gallows and when I looked upon it. I saw the fable of my nation Hungry swinging from the jibbit I swore I would give my poems to my people as one gives an axe to their hands That is why I've come to budapest That is why I've come to you. I need a publisher for my song Like the cannon burst like the lightning's explosive flash Young alexander's poem struck the land freedom's bugler the people's singer Like isaias trumpet his sweet peel echoed across the hungarian land So they suffer millions slaves they suffer and they bear the harsh the brutal chain Has heaven no dream or hope to offer? Shall they pray and plead and all in vain? No My song shall wake our nation's shout and wonder. I shall sing of liberty and light In streams of living thunder And amongst the people went young alexander His words were banished in the wind Devotion gave eloquence vision gave fire Amongst the people went their singer crying. Hungry must be independent The austrians keep our nation tied in the chains of feudalism. Our peasants are serfs slaves They cannot own land taxes lay them down like carpets in mountains I say we have been cursed with feudal titles and privileges long enough Strip the nobility of this power and a new republic in hungry will arise Into the gilded salons with alexander Into the perfumed rooms came peasants and herdsmen hunger and suffering For a frightening woman ragged and wild eyed Hungry stood in the glittering room. Will you let me for a wild potato? I cannot. Uh, please, uh, please try to enjoy yourself. Over what? Talk of a place on V&E's Dancing Master Rope? A drama of tea cups and chatter? Why, I found it charming, alexander. My apologies to you, madam, but it was stupid and criminal. Uh, please, because they, uh, don't turn my drawing room into a parliament. Well, I will not stand for it being a nursery for children. You talk, talk, and it's like listening to the sounds in a sea show. Unreal and far away. Look outside your window, man. There's an Austrian cavalry in the streets. And a handsome must they are, too. Handsome. What must be done to make you understand? A whole nation rise. A powerful movement exists against the Austrian oppressor and you, madam, consider the oppressor handsome. I said, I have no education here, potato. It is here, my dear count, and it will always be here. For truth is like death. You may shut the windows and the doors. Your servants may guard the gates. You may even lock yourself up in this very room. But in spite of all, it will pop in. Yes, my dear count, in spite of all. Beside the leaders stood young alexander. Beside Louis Cauchute. But all of me was the mayor. Beating the drums of freedom for Hungary. And his purpose was steady as a hawk's flight. Unwavering as a ship's prowl. Certain was he, unchanging. His poems were axes against the Austrian gibbet. Now strike the harp for the young girl. Now strike the harp for Julius André. In the glittering rooms he met her. And love was an ambush. A salad. And young alexander was seized. And his young body cried like a voice in the wilderness. In the night when the city is sleeping, a wanderer moves through the streets. In the depth like silence, there echoes the lonely sound of his feet. Over cobble and pavement, he wanders. Like a demon returned for the sight of the beloved, who's dreaming in a trance an unreal night. Julia. Yes, alexander? Help me, Julia. With what, alexander? I sit at a table with paper and pen, Julia. And the words come. They come like children, laughing and racing into the sunlight from the dark cut. But when I'm here with you, I'm dumb. My tongue freezes on the words I want to say. Alexander? Yes, Julia. Alexander, please. Please try to say them. Please. In the night when the city is sleeping. No, not in a poem. Say it to me simply, like anyone else. I want to hear the words simply. I cannot. It's not poetry I want now, alexander. Can't you see that? Not something you made out of skill and talent. I want it simply. The way other people would say it. Julia, I... Try, alexander. Try. Will you be my wife, Julia? Will you be my wife? I shall dance, I tell you. Dance right here in the street, posh matchy. And when will it be? In a week, posh matchy. In just one week, and I shall have a bride. You'll have apoplexy if you don't calm down, lad. Where will you go? To Couto Castle on the Danube. I saw it once. It rises like Asgard, the home of the hero. I know it. A romantic place. And when will you be back? I don't know. Who can think of Budapest now? She'll be with me, posh matchy. Julia will be with me. Well, you won't forget Hungary, will you? So, you told me yesterday that the crisis is rapidly drawing to a head. We'll need your poems, alexander, to help on the fever. What are you talking about, posh matchy? Of course I'll write poems. Of course! To Couto Castle, alexander took his bride. And the Danube floated fastness at their feet. The flight of eagles reaved their castle walls. The wind trumpeted to the hosts of heaven. Stars glittered like warriors' eyes. To Couto, alexander took his bride. And no nation's agony could reach them there. And alexander wrote, Oh, holy night, I wander with my love through garden and through grove. In love's delight, sharp and clear, bells are heard from far. On heaven's blue floor is shining many a star. Wherever you are, let me be near you too. If you were the heaven, beloved, I'd be a star in that heaven too. And if you were doomed to hell, my beloved, I'd seek perdition to be near to you. It became weak, weak became month, and only love was found. Peasants and herdsmen groaned in the distant valleys below. In the heights, love grew fat. In the heights, shimmered the unreal world. And from the city of Buda came Michael Vosmerche. And in the great hall of Couto Castle, they welcomed him. Julius André, the beauty. The Dirty, the singer. And Michael Vosmerche read the poems. Well, how do you like them? Is this what you've been writing all this time? What do you mean? I mean these poems, these charming and clever verses. Well, they're more than that. Yeah, perhaps, perhaps. Don't turn away, Vosmerche. If you have more to say, say it. Tell me, Alexander. Do you know what's been happening in Hungary during these last few months? News is scarce here. How could I know that? Weren't you interested in finding out? I had many things to do. Didn't you know that all Hungary is seething while you lived in these romantic towers of Couto, that Louis Kossuth and the Liberals had prepared a program for an independent Hungary that Austria has increased its troops in the country? What's happened to you, Alexander? Nothing's happened. People asked me in Budapest, where is our singer of freedom? Where is the people's voice? Alexander Podolfi. What shall I tell them when I return? Tell them nothing and let them mind their own business. Haven't I the right to live like others who are in love? Have I said stop loving? Apparently they do. Now listen to me, lad. Listen to me because I love you. I know there are great poems in you, but they will die and wither if you cut the roots that feed them. The roots are the people and the struggle for liberty. You will dry up, lad. You will end as nothing but a small voice in a forgotten room. Don't you understand, Alexander? Poetry must be fed by life, by action, by participation. And you are in a tower, Alexander, a soaring romantic tower. Come down, lad. Come down. When do you leave for Budapest for Schmetchen? I'm sorry if I've been unpleasant, Alexander. I had hoped it would be different. I'll leave immediately. No. Wait until tomorrow for Schmetchen. Then we will all go home. And back to the city of Buda, came young Alexander, and again he beat the drums for freedom. For 40 years, Prince Matanik of Austria has held Europe in the grip of reaction. The ground now shakes under him, for one can feel the approaching revolution like an animal senses a coming earthquake. Shaked the ground still more, my brother. Shaked the world for your liberty. And it was 1848, the year of fire. In Vienna, the people shook their fists at the Palace of Emperor Ferdinand. Under empire and king, the ground shook until it could shake no more. Well, Alexander, what is it? The news for Schmetchen, the news. A revolution in Vienna. A revolution against Matanik. Are you sure? Yes. Yes, the people have risen. Matanik's fallen. It's a moment for Schmetchen. Austria's wounded, it's a moment. Hey, where are you rushing off to? To the streets. The people will be pouring into the streets of Budapest. Come, come quickly. Will you come down for a moment, Alexander? No, not even for a moment. I'm going for Schmetchen into the streets, into the squares. For now, now our revolution begins. Into the streets went young Alexander, the people's singer, into the public square, and the people cheered crying, give us our banner, Alexander, a song, Alexander. And in the public squares, he gave them their song. Till now we were but slaves. Our fathers resting in their graves, sleep not in freedom soil, arise against the slavery in which they died. For by the Magyars' God above, we truly swear, we truly swear, the tyrant's yoke's no more to bear. The sword is brighter than the chain. Men cannot nobler treasure's gain. Shake off the feathers and be free. Uncheat your sword for liberty. For by the Magyars' God above, we truly swear, we truly swear, the tyrant's yoke's no more to bear. Strike the harp for victory. Now strike the harp for the people's joy. Hungary free, Hungary independent. In the spring they rose against the oppressor. In the spring they rose. And in the summer, my Hungarian land was free. Emperor Pardinand of Austria, to hear by grant of my own free will and in good faith to the Hungarian people, they're independent and do now order the immediate evacuation of all Austrian troops, cavalry, and officials from their nations. In friendship do we part on this day of our Lord, August 10th, 1848. Signed Pardinand. In the city of Buda, the church bells rang. John was the feudal world. John was the slavery. The taxes burdening the poor like caupatian mountains. All were free like the wind and the river. I all were free. But the wind stopped. And the rivers wind up lost in the sea. Louis Cauchute told me, Alexander, it's not a rumor. An Austrian army marching on Budapest? Aye. They've changed their mind about independence. The panic is over. The mobs have gone home. It's safe to gather an army now. Well, what will we do of us, Major? Call the Andres, the people's army together. When? Tomorrow. And where will they gather? In the lowlands. Alexander, I think you and Julia better leave Budapest. It may not be safe. Leave? Go to Debrison. I have a house there just outside the city. Is it just outside the world, Vosmetia? Eh? No, not at Debrison or anywhere else will I go, Vosmetia. But only to the lowlands where the hundreds gather. There go I. It is almost dawn, Julia. I know, Alexander. My unit marches into the water. Hold me, Alexander. Hold me close. Do you remember how the dawns came up in Kulto Castle, Julia? With eagles screaming as if they were harness to the sun? I wish we were in Kulto Castle now. Do you? Then we would have to be living in a different world, Julia. We'd have to be two different people in a different time. Still, I wish we were. But would it be the same Kulto Castle for us? Yes, yes. No. No, don't you see, Julia? History has come out from behind the palace doors. It is in the streets now. It is in the billocks and the marching feet. It has whether we like it or not. Take yourself. Missing us headlong toward the future. It is like a huge, a mammoth wave that tosses both ships and men upon a strange beach. A new world. And we turn, and they are all about us. Debris fills the sea. Look, Julia. Look closely, and you'll see Kulto Castle is amongst the wreckage. This is a different time, Delft. A different time. Why? Why must this happen? Why must armies rush into our lives? Because Europe is in the throes of a new and violent birth. In agony and pain shall it come forth. And it shall be known as democracy. Into the ranks of the Andred Army went Alexander. Into the battle went the people's singer. His sword gleaming like a morning star. His sword shining for freedom. On the char, young Alexander fought the oppressors. On the banks of the Danube, he still was marching. At Buddha, his saber still flashed in the sun. But the ranks stood silent. That's take as far. The ranks stood silent and dumb. The terti cried the captains. The terti echoed the corporals. And they waited as children wait. But the ranks stood stricken and dumb. Dead was Alexander. Dead was the singer. Aye, the singer was dead. The lips pale. The heart still. The trumpeter of freedom, mute on the ground. The fire is dimmed. The stars fade. The dawn, newborn and blind, fingers the east. For you who are travelers in this morning. You who journey the highway to the future. Look to the signs upon the road. Listen to the songs upon it. A wanderer passed here. Young Alexander. Alexander the terti. He came this way. The tilt is done. NBC University of the Air has brought you chapter two in the new historical series. We Came This Way. Next week, We Came This Way will present the story of Victor Hugo, The Great Exile. A handbook containing background information with suggestions for further reading is now in publication. We shall be happy to send you this valuable We Came This Way handbook, especially written for the current series. Send 25 cents to cover the cost of printing and mailing to We Came This Way, post office box 30, station J, New York 27, New York. It was written by Raphael Hayes and was directed by Homer Heck. The music was arranged by Joseph Gallicchio and Amel Soderstrom and conducted by Mr. Gallicchio. Members of the cast included Cleve Curby as the tatter, William Everett as the dearthee, Fred Sullivan as Vorice Mercia, and the Rhett Pilgrant as Julia. Others in the cast were Howard Hoffman and Tom Pose. This series is presented each week as a public service feature of the National Broadcasting Company and its affiliated independent station.