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1 Introduction The Other Lemberg On 11 August 1869, members of the Polish Democratic Party – Franciszek Smolka, former revolutionary, later provincial Diet (Sejm) and Austrian parliament (Reichsrat) deputy and an honorary citizen of Lemberg,1 together with a small group of his followers from the National-Democratic Society – assembled at the top of Franz-Joseph-Berg, the highest of the hills surrounding the Galician capital. There they laid the foundation for a memorial, planned as a mound that would commemorate the 300th anniversary of the Union of Lublin’s establishment of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. To arrive at the hill, known to everyone by its medieval Slavic name Wysoki zamek (Castle Hill), the participants had passed through the city center in small groups so as not to disturb “the public peace” among other Lemberg inhabitants. These “others” were the Ruthenians and the German speakers, notably officials that had arrived in Galicia in the early nineteenth century as a result of Josephinian administrative reforms.2 At about the same time, the representatives of the “Ukrainian and Galician-Ruthenian Party” – an even smaller group of largely Greek Catholic clerics that had openly stated its opposition to Smolka’s initiative – began to distribute printed brochures of protest in the major streets and squares. At first blush, this event might appear to mark a metaphorical attempt to vanquish Habsburg Lemberg and transform it into Polish Lwów, a common desire of the time that reflected the expectation that Galicia would soon gain special constitutional status, similar to that of Hungary. Indeed, the Ruthenian leaders protested the event on these grounds, and, not surprisingly, a police informer called the event a “national manifestation.”3 An appeal to a historical precedent of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, if taken seriously, would challenge the legitimacy of the Habsburg state altogether. Yet a closer look reveals that such an interpretation is overly simplistic. Unlike the Polish conservatives headed by 2   ◆   Introduction Count Agenor Gołuchowski, Smolka and his supporters were against pursuing a special status for Galicia to the extent that they supported street protests against the 1867 Compromise.4 Instead, they wanted the establishment of a federal structure for all of Cisleithania that would take into account the distinct political heritage of all nations in the Austrian half of the Dual Monarchy. Thus although the celebration of the Union of Lublin played on Polish patriotism, the event’s real point was to highlight the federalism of the Polish Commonwealth as an alternative to a centralized model.5 The event Smolka and his party staged that day did not lead the way to political victory. The National Democrats eventually lost out in the struggle to transform the Austrian half of the new Dual Monarchy into a federal state, though most of Lemberg’s inhabitants remained loyal – or kaisertreu, a German word that needed no translation at the time – despite this and other national projects. Nevertheless, the episode illustrates two issues that lie at the heart of this book. The first stems from the historical fact that irrespective of his political agenda and its eventual failure, Smolka launched the construction of what was to become one of Lemberg’s future main landmarks, as well as a major annual commemoration held in the Vormärz-era park and beside the ruins of the medieval castle. Therefore the rich history and architectural heritage of Lemberg offers an especially tangible means of exploring the political and cultural issues that shaped the inhabitants’ views of their city, its place within Austria, and the invention of new traditions in this historic setting. Second, although appeals to nationality were employed as a frequent means of initiating discussion on the city’s appearance and its public space, the actual meaning of this rhetoric needs careful consideration. This meaning reflected the complex political and social arrangements of the fin-de-siècle Habsburg Monarchy, in which ideas about nationality and political identity differed significantly from what twentieth-century national historians often assumed them to be. Several simultaneous yet conflicting nationalizing projects existed side by side in the public space of the city, the space hitherto dominated by imperial symbolism. Yet while these projects did attempt to reclaim some of this space for themselves, they seldom aimed at any radical questioning of the legitimacy of imperial rule. Moreover, the effect various nationalist celebrations had on the wider public can often be overestimated in the face of evidence that even the most radical intellectuals – such as the former revolutionary and...

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