Far off in the mountain lands, somewhere to the east of the setting sun,
lies the principality of Graustark, serene relic of rare old feudal
days. The traveler reaches the little domain after an arduous, sometimes
perilous journey from the great European capitals, whether they be north
or south or west--never east. He crosses great rivers and wide plains;
he winds through fertile valleys and over barren plateaus; he twists and
turns and climbs among sombre gorges and rugged mountains; he touches
the cold clouds in one day and the placid warmth of the valley in the
next. One does not go to Graustark for a pleasure jaunt. It is too far
from the rest of the world and the ways are often dangerous because of
the strife among the tribes of the intervening mountains. If one hungers
for excitement and peril he finds it in the journey from the north or
the south into the land of the Graustarkians. From Vienna and other
places almost directly west the way is not so full of thrills, for the
railroad skirts the darkest of the dangerlands.
Once in the heart of Graustark, however, the traveler is charmed into
dreams of peace and happiness and--paradise. The peasants and the poets
sing in one voice and accord, their psalm being of never-ending
love. Down in the lowlands and up in the hills, the simple worker of the
soil rejoices that he lives in Graustark; in the towns and villages the
humble merchant and his thrifty customer unite to sing the song of peace
and contentment; in the palaces of the noble the same patriotism warms
its heart with thoughts of Graustark, the ancient. Prince and pauper
strike hands for the love of the land, while outside the great,
heartless world goes rumbling on without a thought of the rare little
principality among the eastern mountains.
In point of area, Graustark is but a mite in the great galaxy of
nations. Glancing over the map of the world, one is almost sure to miss
the infinitesimal patch of green that marks its location. One could not
be blamed if he regarded the spot as a typographical or topographical
illusion. Yet the people of this quaint little land hold in their hearts
a love and a confidence that is not surpassed by any of the lordly
monarchs who measure their patriotism by miles and millions. The
Graustarkians are a sturdy, courageous race. From the faraway century
when they fought themselves clear of the Tartar yoke, to this very hour,
they have been warriors of might and valor. The boundaries of their tiny
domain were kept inviolate for hundreds of years, and but one victorious
foe had come down to lay siege to Edelweiss, the capital. Axphain, a
powerful principality in the north, had conquered Graustark in the
latter part of the nineteenth century, but only after a bitter war in
which starvation and famine proved far more destructive than the arms of
the victors. The treaty of peace and the indemnity that fell to the lot
of vanquished Graustark have been discoursed upon at length in at least
one history.