The first, and probably most striking, historical divergence is in the Hungarian revolution and the timeline leading up to it. The years 1847 and 1848 were tumultuous ones across Europe, with food shortages and riots and a number of small-scale uprisings. Hungary, in particular, was stirred by a burgeoning sense of egalitarianism and a growing nationalist movement that took pride in all things Hungarian. In March of 1848, galvanized by reports of the Paris revolution, Kossuth Lajos presented twelve points to the Austrian Congress in Vienna, demanding greater independence and rights for Hungary. After reading a printed copy of Kossuth’s speech, students and other Viennese citizens rioted in the streets on March 13, clamoring for their own liberties.
When word of this citizen revolution reached Hungary, Pet?fi Sándor and the Youth of March took to the streets on March 15, 1848. They commandeered a printing press and printed copies of Pet?fi’s “Nemzeti Dal” (National Poem), a stirring poem calling for Hungarians to rise up and reclaim their historic glory. That afternoon, Pet?fi read the “Nemzeti Dal” on the steps of the National Museum, inspiring the assembled crowd to march on Pest’s town hall and then to the castle district in Buda to demand the release of political prisoner Táncsics Mihály. The Austrian government and Emperor Ferdinand, already alarmed by the rioting in Vienna and reluctant to spur more violence, quickly bowed to the Hungarian demands and granted them power to form a separate government. Obviously, my revolution plays out much differently from the actual one, which was largely bloodless. But March 15 still stands as an important day to most Hungarians, and I want to acknowledge that.
Other aspects of the story are, sadly, all too real: the prejudice and mistreatment toward the Romani people were historic fact. They were enslaved in many parts of Romania and the Ottoman Empire until the nineteenth century. In sixteenth-century England, Romanies could be branded and enslaved for two years, and if they tried to escape, enslaved for life. Beginning in the reign of Maria Theresa in Austria in the mid-eighteenth century, it was legal for Romani children to be taken forcibly from their homes and placed with German and Hungarian families, and it was forbidden for Romani families to speak their own language. Though many Romani musicians were in high demand in nineteenth-century Hungary, Romanies, in general, were discriminated against and regarded as pariahs. This prejudice still exists today in many parts of Europe. It can be difficult to reconstruct the world of nineteenth-century Romanies, as literacy rates were low and few kept records. What records we do have were often from outsiders, and either romanticized or tainted by prejudice.
The term “Romani,” as used in this story, is in some sense an anachronism—in the nineteenth century, Romanies would have been known primarily as “Gypsies” (Cigányok in Hungary). Due to the negative stereotypes attached to the term “Gypsy” and the fact that it stems from a mistaken idea of their origins (it’s a corruption of “Egyptian”), “Roma” or “Romani” has been widely adopted as the preferred form of address. I chose to use “Romani” to acknowledge this preference and to reflect the difference between the way Gábor views his family and friends (and the way Anna comes to) and outsider perspectives. Where “Gypsy” is used, it refers strictly to outsiders’ perspectives of Romani life.
Some of the characters in the story were real people. Károlyi Karolina, one of two Zichy sisters (her sister was married to Count Batthyány Lajos, who became the first prime minister following the revolution), was an influential force in the growing Hungarian nationalist movement of the 1840s. She and her sister held balls and banquets to raise money for the movement, and spawned the popularity of Hungarian-made gowns and traditional costumes among the fashionable elite. Pet?fi Sándor is also real, as is his reputation as the greatest nineteenth-century Hungarian poet. Prince Metternich, mentioned in passing as the leader of the Austrian Circle, dominated Austrian court politics for most of the early nineteenth century in Vienna, and all of the Hapsburgs mentioned were real historical figures (Emperor Ferdinand and Archduke Franz Joseph). The personalities I’ve assigned to these characters, however, are largely invented.
My thanks to Kovács Ildikó for her help with Hungarian translations, and to Bekefi Miklos, who offered a critical perspective on Hungarian Romanies. If there are faults, they are solely mine.