The Phoenix Land

by Miklos Banffy

  Meanwhile I had to prepare our application for acceptance as a member of the League of Nations. We had heard reports that one or two special conditions were going to be imposed upon us. Questions were going to be asked, and doubts expressed. It was all very vague, but it seemed highly probable that Benes, whose hatred of Hungary had flared up again ever since the king’s putsch, would try to find some impediment to anything we proposed or at least suggest some humiliating procedures to be followed. It was clearly necessary to mobilize every scrap of the goodwill that I had recently worked so hard to build up. Nevertheless, I did decide that if something too shaming were demanded of us then I would withdraw the application rather than agree to any further degradation for Hungary.

  As regards the question of our frontiers, I needed to memorize every relevant detail, however small, concerning all questions of geography, hydrography and distribution of population so that no matter what I was asked as a result of the Millerand letter, I would be able to answer with all the facts at my fingertips. I needed to know all the maps and learn vast quantities of statistics by heart. This I did with a good will because all my life I have loved acquiring knowledge and have had the enviable facility to learn quickly. The only matter I found antipathetic was the numerus clausus125. This had stemmed from a government decision in which I had had no part, but which I might have to defend in an international forum. To prepare for this, I agreed a formula with our government, and this I intended to read out at Geneva.

  I set out in the first days of September and took with me a numerous staff. Béla Török, then a counsellor of the embassy and later an ambassador, came as my deputy, and we took Fedor Vest and Villányi as frontier experts. Already waiting for us at the headquarters of the League of Nations was our permanent delegate in Geneva, Zoltán Baranyai.

  Notes

  122. Bánffy is still remembered with affection and respect at the Budapest Opera House. Some forty-five years after his death in 1950, a tribute to his enterprise and achievement during his period as Intendant was still being printed in the programme and, in 1994, at the invitation of his current successor, his daughter Katalin unveiled a marble bust of Bánffy by his friend, the famous sculptor Strobl, in the foyer of the theatre.

  123. Danzig (Gdansk) the Baltic port of Poland, was made an internationally administered zone after World War I, while the German industrial region of the Saar was placed under League of Nations jurisdiction, only to be returned to Germany in 1935. The Ruhr was occupied by France until 1925 when she withdrew.

  124. Both Poland and Lithuania claimed the city of Vilna. The Soviet Union supported the Lithuanian claim, and the League of Nations, under French pressure, supported that of Poland. The city was to remain Polish until 1939 and is now the capital of Lithuania.

  125. In 1920 an infamous decision had been made to limit the number of Jewish students entering universities to six per cent of the intake.

  Chapter Nine

  It was wonderful to be in Switzerland again and to travel in the shade of giant snow-covered peaks, along the shores of countless lakes and by mountain pastures covered in flowers. Sometimes, from the windows of the train, one could see great distances, spreads of wooden houses with the roofs weighted down with stones, fields full of grazing cows with people busy tending to them: tiny specks in the distance but all beautiful, perfect, as clearly delineated as little Norwegian toys. The most beautiful, for me, is the countryside on the shores of Lac Léman with softly sloping banks and, across the lake, the theatrical backdrop of the Mont Blanc range. It was lovely to see it all: this wise peaceful country where three different peoples with three different languages could make common cause, where there was true brotherhood between people of German, French and Italian race, where the practice of neighbourly love was a reality, and where Christ’s teaching of patience with one’s fellow men can be seen everywhere. I spent a month in Geneva on this trip and during that time learned a lot about the Swiss with their proud but modest patriotism and that willingness to accept sacrifices that is so characteristic of those who live in this happy land. This happy state was not achieved by accident but stemmed from their own merits and hard work, from their spirit of cooperation, from their common sense and clear-headed pragmatism, and from their imperturbable self-control. At Genève – which, being purely French, is what I suppose I should call it – I stayed at the Hotel Beau-Rivage, although my companions, for economy’s sake, stayed at a cheaper and more modest hotel. I would have preferred to have gone there too, but could not do so, as heads of mission must often receive official visits and, since in the eyes of the world a man is judged by appearances, it would have been harmful to my country if I had had to greet callers in some third-rate pension. As it was, I had two small rooms: one for sleeping in and the other for work and receiving visitors.

  The Beau-Rivage was then small and elegant and long-established: quite different from the caravanserais of today. It was from here that poor Queen Elisabeth set out on foot to board the ferry and was assassinated on the quayside126. The Beau-Rivage then really lived up to its name – ‘Beautiful Lakeside’. The windows overlooked the lake, and there was a marvellous view of Mont Blanc whenever that king of mountains deigned to reveal himself. During my stay I saw him just once, for a few minutes only. The rest of the time he was shrouded with dense cloud, although the numerous peaks of the foothills, with their sharply edged sides revealing occasional glimpses of a glacier, were reward enough, especially when also reflected in the dark-blue waters of that crystal lake.

  Also installed at the Beau-Rivage were several other heads of mission, principally from the smaller countries, as well as the Japanese and Chinese delegations.

  For me the Japanese were the most important because Japan was a permanent member of the Council. And, luckily for me, in their delegation was Mr Onda, then Japanese ambassador in Vienna, whom I knew well as he was also accredited to us. He introduced me to the leaders of the Japanese party and so, being in the same hotel, I was fortunate enough to see them daily at breakfast, exchange greetings with them and often enough indulge in a few words of chat.

  The Abbé Seipel, who had succeeded Schober as chancellor of Austria, was there too, and with him was my old acquaintance Count Mensdorff. They had come to Geneva not only for the conference but also in connection with the proposed League of Nations loan. This too proved to be most useful to me, since I was able to do them some favours that were always returned. It can be of great help to get scraps of information in such a way; and Mensdorff, as a result of his long service, had many excellent contacts, especially in English circles.

  Among other acquaintances I found in Geneva was a nice elderly Swede, Branting, a socialist who was then their prime minister and who was staying at the Hotel des Bergues with his charming wife, and many others. But the man I was most glad to see was Hanotaux, present as head of the French delegation.

  Our first days were spent in getting to know one another, in paying and receiving courtesy visits and in observing the traditional formalities. I paid my visit to the so-called First Committee, which was responsible for proposing new candidates for membership to the General Assembly. The chairman was Count Laudon, the head of the Dutch mission. He was a well-meaning fair-minded man: a diplomat of the old type of grand seigneur, with little understanding or sympathy for post-war manners or deceit in negotiation. He was just not made for it, for he was truly a noble-minded man. He assured me we would receive the best possible reception – and he was as good as his word.

  The day fixed for my appearance before the First Committee soon arrived. I went trembling with anxiety because of the rumours we had heard before leaving Budapest. I read my initial Declaration in which I affirmed that we would stand by the terms of the peace treaties and that we had nothing but peaceful intentions. After that I expected to be asked some questions, and indeed had prepared my answers knowing that the Czechoslovak delegate would be present. However no one spoke up, and no questions were asked. There was pr
aise for my presentation of Hungary’s case, and Laudon was able to declare that the committee unanimously approved our acceptance. This was a great joy to me, and I came away a happy man.

  Next day came the surprise. In the official gazette of the League of Nations it was stated that the committee had asked me several questions and then made a number of reservations as regarding our acceptance as a full member of the assembly. There was no mention of the unanimity of the committee in declaring their support for our membership. I went straight to Laudon and demanded a retraction in the next issue of the gazette and a true statement of what had actually transpired. It was obvious to me that Benes must have had a hand in all this, and that what had appeared in the gazette was only the first round in a new offensive against us. However, when I explained this to Laudon, although he agreed that the news published in the gazette had been false, he would not accept that there might have been some malevolent intent behind it. He was so honourable himself that he would not accept even the possibility that the facts had been intentionally falsified – and there the matter rested.

  The question of our acceptance came before the General Assembly three days later, and then there transpired exactly what I had foreseen. The Czechoslovak ambassador to Paris rose to speak and, referring to the lying account published in the gazette, attacked Hungary and repeated many of the slanders that had been spread by Benes and printed both in the international press and that of the countries of the ‘Little Entente’.

  On the following day I demanded permission to speak and quickly answered all those accusations as well as re-establishing the truth of what had really occurred at the meeting of the First Committee. Laudon then confirmed the truth of everything I had said. In this way the attack upon us was foiled, but the serenity of our admission had been somewhat spoiled in the process.

  At all events, this is how Hungary became a fully-fledged member of the League of Nations. Soon afterwards came the election for the assembly’s president, and I mention it because there was an amusing and somewhat touching story linked to it.

  At one end of the assembly hall a podium about four or five steps above the level of the floor stretched from wall to wall. At each side sat the secretaries, facing each other. The president’s throne-like chair had been set in the centre under a baldaquin supported by four slender pillars. Directly in front of him was the rostrum for those addressing the assembly. This jutted slightly forwards. On it was now placed the ballot box with a narrow slit on top to receive the papers.

  The voting took place in an atmosphere of quiet boredom. Once again it was Motta, the Swiss foreign minister, who was elected. The votes were cast in alphabetical order.

  When it came to the turn of Romania, we found that a little plump elderly female had been given the task of casting the vote. Doamna (Madame) Vacarescu was unfortunately so short sighted as to be almost blind. It was not easy for her to find the stairs; and when she had found them and arrived on the podium it was clear that she had completely lost her bearings. First she went up to a secretary sitting at the side and seemed to want to slip her voting paper under his collar. ‘Au milieu, Madame! A droit, Madame!’ cried the secretaries. Off to the centre she stumbled and then collided with the presidential chair before trying to push the paper towards his shoulder and then into his ear. The president defended himself as best he might until the poor lady realized she was on the wrong track and succeeded in locating the ballot box. Once there she spent some time looking for the slit; and when she found it and cast her vote she looked around with such a charming smile of relief that we all applauded. She was a very nice woman, highly cultivated, and it was said that when she was young King Ferdinand had once wanted to marry her. Little still remained of her former beauty; but her younger sister, who had accompanied her to Geneva, was the image of Madame Vacarescu when young, and indeed very alluring, especially for anyone attracted to dark-haired women. I went to call on these two several times and was always enchanted by Madame Vacarescu’s witty conversation127.

  The most influential department of the League of Nations was undoubtedly the Secretariat. Its chief was Sir Eric Drummond but, as he was also the leading spokesman for its council, he was an extremely busy man and hardly had anything to do with the daily running of his department. Some lesser luminaries decided everything, and these were reputedly in the pay of Benes. That some were not averse to ‘presents’ I knew from personal experience. It was these men who prepared each day’s order of business and provided the working papers for the specialist committees – and who edited the League’s official gazette. The false news about the First Committee’s handling of our application for membership had been cooked up in this kitchen. In order to get close to them, I managed to become a member of their club. This was arranged by our gifted chargé d’affaires, Baranyai, who had excellent connections and who also introduced me to various other literary and social circles.

  Although I never managed to get anywhere with the Secretariat, I soon found myself on terms of intimate friendship with some of the native-born Swiss.

  Pre-eminent among these was certainly de Traz, who at that time was editor of the Revue de Genève. He was an excellent writer and a most charming man who was related to most of the local patrician families. He received me warmly, and I am sure that our friendship would have developed into a most valuable literary association if he had not died so soon afterwards. Another man with whom I quickly became on the most confidential terms was Monsieur Hensch, who was not only the proprietor of one of the city’s principal private banks but also its executive chairman. One day he invited me to lunch with his family. Driving himself, he took me in his car to his villa just beyond Nyon on the road to Lausanne. As we drove, he told me all about how Switzerland’s armed forces were run. There, he said, everyone is a soldier and nobody is. Apart from some very small specialist units, there were no professional soldiers. The highest official rank was that of colonel. Hensch, although a banker in everyday life, was also a colonel. He told me that when in 1919 there had been some sort of uprising in Zürich he, as senior officer in the canton of Fribourg, was ordered to restore order. So off he started with his troop, surrounded the trouble centre by a strategic march through the mountains and disarmed the rebellious faction. And when the battle had been won, by strategy rather than by force of arms, he hung up his uniform and went back to being a banker in Geneva. What an amazing country, I thought, where such a thing can happen! Every grown man keeps his weapons and ammunition at home; and, until he is called to the flag, he goes quietly on with his own occupation, be it labourer, shopkeeper, craftsman or business executive. When called up, everyone comes at once – everyone. They do what is asked of them and then they go home, hang up their guns in the closet and become civilians again. There is no martial spirit: soldiering is not an independent career, merely an aspect of service to one’s country. I can imagine no other country where this could be possible. Where else would it be conceivable that military arms and ammunition could be kept at home and only occasionally brought out for target practice or when the civilian army was called up for service? Anywhere else there would be a general massacre. To maintain this strict discipline a prodigious and sober sense of duty is required, as well as a feeling for humanity and that unspoken patriotism that is so characteristic of the Swiss people. During the world war so recently ended Switzerland had mobilized its forces to defend its neutral status and had marshalled them along the French and German frontiers. Troops were also stationed on the borders with Austria and Italy. There were no warlike incidents anywhere. The Swiss merely kept watch and waited. If any belligerent happened to stray across the frontier, he would be quietly arrested and interned in a humane and friendly fashion. To a man they were impartial, whether the stranger were on the French or German side. Surely this is evidence of a deeply Christian spirit?

  This was not a recent development. It had been the same ever since the Reformation, and I found deeply interesting everything that the Swiss had t
o teach me during this visit.

  In the early days of the reform of the Church the upper cantons were Catholic, while the lower ones were Protestant. Despite this the Catholic cantons raised cattle, cheese and other milk products and sold them to the Protestants, while they in return sent back flour, tanned hides, agricultural implements, even guns and gunpowder. It had been agreed that the wares of one faction would be deposited at a specified border stone and, on the following day the other would bring their counter-value to the same spot. No one cheated; and the two sides never met, for they had realized that, should they catch sight of one another, blood might be spilt and someone might get killed. But commerce was peaceful – and necessary to life. What an admirable spirit! And all this at the same time as those religious wars in which Tilly slaughtered babes-in-arms at Magdeburg during the Peasant’s Rising in Germany, when all culture was destroyed and churches burned – together with anyone, of whatever religion, unlucky enough to have sought refuge inside – and when even the crops were set on fire so that the country people would starve to death.

  For us the most important issues were now the frontier questions.

  We appealed against the new Austrian border largely for the sake of form, since the essential aspects had already been settled at the Venice conference and the king’s putsch had put an end to further serious negotiation. Still, there were one or two borderline villages whose status had still to be decided.

  More important was the frontier with the new Yugoslavia.

  By the terms of the Treaty of Trianon the south-western corner of the county of Vas, where only Hungarians lived, had been given to Yugoslavia; as had Murakös, where the inhabitants were Slovenes who hated the Croats and whose capital was Szombathely, which had been left in Hungary. Both these disputed territories depended economically on Hungary, since the Slovenes were cut off by the river Drava (Drau in German), and the inhabitants of County Vas by ranges of mountains. Also the purely Hungarian Ormanság now found itself in Yugoslav Baranya.