empire, and reducing the Austrian-Hungarian connection to a shared monarchy and army. In exchange for Polish support for the battered empire, from then on Vienna gave the Poles a free hand in Galicia. Poles replaced Germans and Austrians in the local bureaucracy, Polish became the language of education, and Poles took the Galician governorship. ‘Whether and to what extent the Ruthenians may exist,’ said an Austrian politician, ‘is left to the discretion of the Galician Diet.’ 18 Ukrainians’ acquiescence in the arrangement, and continued loyalty to the Hapsburgs, was bitterly satirised by the Ukrainian socialist Ivan Franko in his short story, ‘Budget of the Beasts’. In it the Lion, ruler of the animal kingdom, proposes a ‘budget’ of Sheep and Chickens (Ukrainians) for the Wolves, Bears and Eagles (Poles) to eat:
Pages distributed the printed figures among all the animal deputies. The deputies glanced at the figures and icy shivers ran up their backs. But what could they do now? . . . ‘Secretary,’ ordered the Lion, ‘read the budget aloud, maybe someone will want to take the floor in debate on this question!’ Then one very old Ass rose and said: ‘I move that the secretary be relieved of the necessity of reading it. We have all read the budget, and we realised at once that we couldn’t manage without a budget. We all have faith in our emperor and are ready to do anything for his sake. Therefore, I move that this House adopts this budget at once and without debate. Everybody in favour, please stand.’ All rose. The budget was adopted. From that time on true heavenly peace reigned in the animal kingdom. 19
Despite everything, Galician Ukrainians were far better off than their cousins over the Russian border. With freedom to publish and associate, real though limited participation in imperial politics, and the proverbially well-organised Czechs and Germans on hand as inspiration, they developed a remarkable penchant for activism. The largest and oldest of the Ukrainian organisations in Galicia was the Prosvita or ‘Enlightenment’ society. Established in 1868, it concentrated on teaching peasants to read. By 1914 it had 200,000 members and nearly 3,000 village libraries and reading-rooms. Around the reading-rooms sprang up choirs and theatre groups, gymnastics clubs and voluntary fire-fighting associations, taken from Czech models. The 1880s and ’90s saw the appearance of hundreds of rural cooperatives and credit unions, allowing peasants to raise cheap loans and cut out middlemen. Ukrainian-language newspapers multiplied, and in 1890 the Galicians finally formed their first political party, a decade before Russia’s Ukrainians were able to follow suit. Led by Franko, it put socialism before independence. The rival National Democratic Party made its appearance nine years later, quickly overtaking the Radicals on a platform of loyalty to the Hapsburgs and moderate liberal reform.
As well as a literary language and a burgeoning sense of national identity, Ukrainians now had a full roster of cultural and political institutions. But as the Ukrainians gathered strength, they came into increasingly sharp conflict with the Poles. For both, Galicia was the place where their political opportunities were greatest and their national movement strongest, and they clashed on all fronts. Ideally, the Ukrainians would have liked Galicia to be split into eastern and western halves, each with its own Diet. Failing this, they wanted more Ukrainian schools and their own university. In 1894 they won what turned out to be an important victory, when the Austrian government reluctantly allowed the foundation of a new chair of Ukrainian history at Polish-controlled Lviv University. (‘Ruthe-nian history,’ the Austrian education minister had complained, ‘is not real scholarship.’ 20 ) Given the euphemistic title ‘The Second Chair of Universal History with special reference to the History of Eastern Europe’,
Pages distributed the printed figures among all the animal deputies. The deputies glanced at the figures and icy shivers ran up their backs. But what could they do now? . . . ‘Secretary,’ ordered the Lion, ‘read the budget aloud, maybe someone will want to take the floor in debate on this question!’ Then one very old Ass rose and said: ‘I move that the secretary be relieved of the necessity of reading it. We have all read the budget, and we realised at once that we couldn’t manage without a budget. We all have faith in our emperor and are ready to do anything for his sake. Therefore, I move that this House adopts this budget at once and without debate. Everybody in favour, please stand.’ All rose. The budget was adopted. From that time on true heavenly peace reigned in the animal kingdom. 19
Despite everything, Galician Ukrainians were far better off than their cousins over the Russian border. With freedom to publish and associate, real though limited participation in imperial politics, and the proverbially well-organised Czechs and Germans on hand as inspiration, they developed a remarkable penchant for activism. The largest and oldest of the Ukrainian organisations in Galicia was the Prosvita or ‘Enlightenment’ society. Established in 1868, it concentrated on teaching peasants to read. By 1914 it had 200,000 members and nearly 3,000 village libraries and reading-rooms. Around the reading-rooms sprang up choirs and theatre groups, gymnastics clubs and voluntary fire-fighting associations, taken from Czech models. The 1880s and ’90s saw the appearance of hundreds of rural cooperatives and credit unions, allowing peasants to raise cheap loans and cut out middlemen. Ukrainian-language newspapers multiplied, and in 1890 the Galicians finally formed their first political party, a decade before Russia’s Ukrainians were able to follow suit. Led by Franko, it put socialism before independence. The rival National Democratic Party made its appearance nine years later, quickly overtaking the Radicals on a platform of loyalty to the Hapsburgs and moderate liberal reform.
As well as a literary language and a burgeoning sense of national identity, Ukrainians now had a full roster of cultural and political institutions. But as the Ukrainians gathered strength, they came into increasingly sharp conflict with the Poles. For both, Galicia was the place where their political opportunities were greatest and their national movement strongest, and they clashed on all fronts. Ideally, the Ukrainians would have liked Galicia to be split into eastern and western halves, each with its own Diet. Failing this, they wanted more Ukrainian schools and their own university. In 1894 they won what turned out to be an important victory, when the Austrian government reluctantly allowed the foundation of a new chair of Ukrainian history at Polish-controlled Lviv University. (‘Ruthe-nian history,’ the Austrian education minister had complained, ‘is not real scholarship.’ 20 ) Given the euphemistic title ‘The Second Chair of Universal History with special reference to the History of Eastern Europe’,
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