St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1894-05-10
Correspondence
INTERVIEW WITH KOSSUTH.
An Extremely Interesting Private Let
ter from Mr.. lap

there are four events which made a
lasting impression on my memory
my first sight of Daniel Webster in
the old Marlboro Hotel, Boston; the
first speech l heard of Rufus Choate
at the great wing convention in
Springfield, Mass. lin 1912, Think "a
railway ride with my father and the
good missionary Justin Perkins with
the turbaned bishop of Orooniah
Marjohannah accompanying him.
These were three sensations of my
boyhood, and the fourth was when
I waved my hat high in air and
shouted till | was hoarse, as the
Hungarian patriot Kossuth passed
through the crowded streets of my
home on the Connecticut. To me
Louis Kossuth was one of those
great characters scattered along the
ages, embodying the highest
heroism and patriotism. l think no
presence had then ever impressed me
more, for, coupled with his patriot
ism and courage, he possessed also
the eloquence of our most gifted
orators. This week, kilograms tell
US that this political figure, which
forty years or more ago filed so
prominent a place in European his
tory, has passed away, and today, af-
ter a voluntary exile of nearly fifty
years, his ashes rest on the banks of
the Danube among the people he
loved so well.
Nine years since, l met in Hungary
several of his old friends, who hadfol-
lowed him in his wanderings and from
them l learned much of him whose
plan it was to secure for Hungary
what Garibaldi did for Italy. Six
years ago | CHANGED to be in Turin,
and remembering that Kossuth was
living there in retirement, having &C
cepted the invitation of Victor
Emanuel a score of years before to
make Italy his home, l said to the
servant at my table: docs Kos
suth lives in Turin, and can strangers
see him ?" He replied, "Kossuthl lives
here, but in close retirement, seeing
no one. We all love him because no
one was a better friend of those who
saved Italy" 1t was a cold Novem-
Der day, foggy, and the air frosty,
and l had strolled through the
arcaded streets of Turin till the
sights Of the shop windows were
exhausted, and 1 decided for a
change, to make a search for Kos
suth and endeavOr to secure an in
terview with the old hero who had
given my lungs such a test when a
New England school boy. At first l
could get no track of his home, but
at length a cabman turned up who
knew it and in five minutes l was
landed in front of an un~pretentious
looking mansion overlooking one of
the public squares of the city. The bell
brought quickly a servant, but as he
had an Italian tongue only, and
mine English only, we made no pro-
gress in our attempts to carry on an
intelligent conversation. In the ante
room where we hurled at each other
bits of unintelligible language, was a
broad s%ettee, and on this l planted
myself, believing, as proved to be the
case, someone would soon come to
conduct me to the street or admit
me to the house. Shortly a tall,
dignihed lady came to me, and in
good English introduced herself as
the sister of Kossuth. She confirm
ed what l had already learned, that
her brother received no one outside
the family, preferring the quiet of his
library and the society of his books
and papers to all other attractions. |
l begged 70 be considered an excep-
ton to the rule on the plea that l
was an American citizen, had worn
a Kossuth hat as a boy, and had
made myself hoarse shouting over
her brother, as he rode through the
streets of my New England home.
My plea was a success. The wall
which Kossuth had built to separate
himself from the outside world was
levelled for a time, and an appoint
ment was made for me at one p. m, I
and leaving my card, went out in
to n of the densest, iciest fogs l
ever struggled through outside of
London.
At one l was again at No. % Via
de Mile, and Kossuth himself met
me with a cordial welcome at the
door of his library. 1t was a very
large, high room with several win
dows looking out on the park, be-
tween two of the windows a large
writing desk covered with books and
papers-my "workshop."a as Kossuth
called it. Along the walls were ORA W.
ers neatly labelled. and ON the walls