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.




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