They Were Found Wanting (Writing on the Wall: The Transylvania Trilogy)

by Bánffy, Miklós

  More recently there had arisen another subject for speculation and rumour. This was not quite as exciting as getting worked up about the wicked Count Tisza, but it still served to keep people’s tongues wagging. This was the mysterious goings-on of Kristoffy.

  Everyone remembered that in the spring Kristoffy had started to canvass the ideas of founding a Radical Party. Since then little had been heard of the project. Now, however, in September, the joyful news came that the idea had been abandoned, the party premises had been given up, and the party itself dissolved. The Corridor did not rejoice for long, for as soon as the new session had been opened it was revealed that what had really happened was that Kristoffy was now addressing himself to the vast numbers of agricultural workers rather than to the more limited ranks of those members of the middle-class who had a liking for radical ideas. Now, in association with a number of petty leaders from Pest, he had started to advertise meetings under such new names as the Peasants’ Party and the National Agricultural Workers’ Party. No one had ever heard of anything so absurd as to start organizing political parties formed of those people who owned nothing, and who talked irresponsibly of the redistribution of landed wealth and even of emigration.

  No one in the independent camp had been worried by the radicals in the middle classes. That was only a minor irritation and in any case was confined to the towns and to a limited number of ineffective intellectuals. Neither were they worried by the apparent rise of trade union influence. Neither of those two issues was truly Hungarian, after all – one was merely play-acting, and of course the other was just a matter of Jewish trouble-making! Neither mattered at all. But to start stirring up the village people – that was quite another thing. That meant trouble. Just as people were beginning to get worried about Kristoffy the news came in that something similar was going on at Somogy. There some country bumpkin from Nagyatad, one Istvan Szabo, was making a real nuisance of himself. That, they said, really must be stopped – and quickly, for did not the Hungarian peasantry form their very own faithful band of loyal supporters? No one must be allowed to monkey about with them!

  At once there was an outcry and the Corridor rang with calls for immediate and drastic, if not draconian, action. Andrassy must, they demanded, send out cohorts of gendarmes and put a stop to all this nonsense. Such gatherings as were now advertised must be strictly forbidden, on pain of God knows what, as it was clearly unpatriotic to distract the attention of simple electors from such vital matters as independent national banking and customs systems with subversive talk about minimum wage scales, the law of master and servant, and emigration. It was ridiculous to bring up these issues now. Why, had Daranyi not just introduced new legislation to deal with such matters, even though it had not yet come into force; and was there not a new commissioner to control all emigration matters and a new contract with the Cunard Line, not to speak of the magnificent newly-constructed clearing house for emigrants at Fiume? You only had to go and look; it was truly beautiful!

  What irresponsible demagoguery it was to spread gossip about the Coalition not caring about the needs of ordinary people! How dared people say such things! It ought to be put a stop to!

  If Andrassy wished, from the lordly height of his social position, to appear impartial, and therefore to make it clear that he respected the right of all people to gather together and express their political opinions, saying that they had the same rights of assembly as us, then someone should make it clear to him that our meetings are right and proper, because we are true patriots, whereas they are nothing but a band of lackeys and play-actors! Someone must tell him! And as for this new party: well, it just shouldn’t be allowed, it was as simple as that! In fact it was everybody’s patriotic duty to see that it was suppressed. If Andrassy failed to do his duty then someone should point out to him that in any case the 1848 Party still had a majority in the House and could therefore outvote anything anyone else might propose.

  It was this sort of thing that was being said by those whose interests lay in the Great Hungarian Plain. Those whose interests were not so tied up with the country’s largest agricultural province merely shrugged their shoulders and asked themselves, and everyone else who would listen, whether there was any point in worrying about such things now when the next elections were still three years away.

  The newly assembled Members of Parliament met each other in the corridor of the House and argued out these matters, some shouting their views for all to hear, others whispering in dark corners or plotting their next moves in the shadow of the drawing-room’s lofty pillars. No one, however, bothered to discuss what might be going on in other parts of the Dual Monarchy, let alone on the world’s great stage. It was true that at this time there were no world-shattering events to discuss – though what was happening outside the boundaries of Hungary proper was, for anyone with eyes to see, symptomatic of some very important trends.

  For instance, there was the great ‘Sokolist’ meeting held at Susak, the sister-town of Fiume, at which the Czechs and Slovenes and Croats all fell on each others’ necks and embraced warmly. Shortly after this there were bloody riots in Kraijna when Slovenes and ethnic Germans fought a bloody battle – but as all this happened on Austrian territory no one in Budapest was much interested.

  Nor was there much interest in the fact that the Ban of Croatia – Hungary’s own appointed viceroy – and his deputy were publicly insulted in Zagreb and now could not move about without a special escort of bodyguards. No one had much to say either about the long-drawn-out business of appointing the new Serbian Patriarch of Karloca, even though the first two candidates proposed by the Serbs were rejected by the monarch and a third had to be found who was considered acceptable to the state.

  All these things were, of course, almost parochial since they were events within the boundaries of the Dual Monarchy. As to news from other parts of Europe, this was looked upon merely as a moving picture to be gazed at with amused detachment. No one really believed that what they now read in the foreign pages of the newspapers could possibly be of much significance. Apparently the British fleet had visited Reval! Oh, really? You realize it’s a most sinister display of Anglo-Russian friendship? Is it, indeed? Well, I never! The Bulgarian army has taken over control of the State Railways! Why on earth would they do that? Won’t it provoke the Turks? What rubbish! Prince Ferdinand would hardly be jaunting about all over Europe if he were planning to declare war. Isn’t he expected here tomorrow?

  Leading articles in the London newspapers were now obsessed with the rumours that Austria was about to annex Bosnia-Herzegovina. What nonsense! cried the Hungarians. Don’t those stupid English journalists know that Austria alone cannot make decisions that affect the Austro-Hungarian Empire. And if they don’t even know that, what do they think they are scribbling about? In any case no one would think of such a thing! Would you? No, of course not, any more than I would … or anyone else for that matter. Anyway we live in peaceful times, which is why the Austrian Aehrenthal and the Russian Izvolsky have just had such a happy meeting at Buchlau. You’ve read all about that, haven’t you? Most reassuring! Really, what are those hysterical English writers worrying about?

  Anyone arriving in the House on the morning of September 22nd 1908 could make his own choice of which of these themes he himself wished to discuss. He could also decide, in that famous corridor, how he would do it – with gay unconcern or serious disapproval, loudly or quietly in a discreet alcove, it was as he pleased. Only one rule had to be obeyed, if he were to find a sympathetic band of listeners, and that was that he must remain strictly within the mood of the Corridor and to do this he would have to express one or other of the views we have just described.

  This, it must be understood, was because though every Hungarian politician prided himself on the independence of his thinking, he was never quite so pleased when someone else seemed to be thinking independently too.

  Towards noon the news spread rapidly that Andrassy had arrived and was busy explain
ing to leaders of his party the views of its president concerning the proposed reform of the voting laws. Suddenly nothing else mattered and every other subject was dropped while all who could hurried to where Andrassy was so as to hear what was going on. Even those who did not manage to get within listening distance were happy because everyone felt that the Corridor was being honoured by being the first to hear the leader’s hitherto secret thoughts. It was tantamount to showing the world that the Corridor itself was a political force to be reckoned with!

  It was, of course, politically astute of Andrassy to make his views known in this way, casual though it might seem to an outsider. The mood of the Corridor was more easily influenced by a seemingly informal and confidential discussion between friends than it was by a formal speech in the House itself. And so now he stood, clearly at ease, facing not only his admirers but also those antagonists who had not ceased to criticize him in their newspaper articles – though not too overtly since until now no one had been sure what views they were criticizing. Now he was able to answer all objections or questions in words that were generally reassuring but which might not look so impressive if printed in the daily Record of Proceedings.

  He could have chosen no better way of convincing his opponents, for when Andrassy spoke in this way one could almost feel the honesty and personal conviction behind his words.

  Standing at the centre of a milling crowd, he gave the impression that his frail body was held straight only by force of will and the burning conviction that what he proposed was right; and that without such spiritual support it would have instantly crumbled. He might have been a living example of a painting by the Spanish school – El Greco or Zurbaran – an ascetic saint whose Christ-like hands with long and emaciated fingers held a thick Havana cigar rather than a crucifix. Sunk deep in his face, his eyes seemed unnaturally large as they shone with all the intensity of a fanatic.

  Andrassy’s way of talking matched his appearance. His manner was the opposite of that of any demagogue. His listeners somehow felt that he was almost physically in labour, wrestling with his subject, and that a heavenly solution would be born at any minute. As he spoke he hesitated, almost stammered, as if he searched blindly for the right words, and this technique was so perfected that every really important phrase or proposal was always underlined by a word so brilliant, exact and appropriate, that his listeners were as carried away with the feeling that they, and they alone, had been a part of this troubled birth. The strange thing was that none of this was intentional. As it happened this manner had been forced upon him by the need, in two decades of parliamentary service, to master a physical handicap; and he had done it in such a way that anyone who did not know his story might have assumed that the manner had been subtly and astutely, but consciously, developed.

  And so, on this September morning in the corridor, Andrassy made it publicly known that his policy as regards the reform of the suffrage was based firmly on the principle of the plural vote, which for him was a sine qua non. The bill was not yet ready as several important aspects remained to be worked out in detail. But, whatever else might be modified – even to the point of disappearing altogether – ‘plurality’ was the backbone of his proposals and he would stand or fall by it!

  It was this that Andrassy now wanted to make clear. It was a warning to the Corridor, for no one could be in any doubt that if Andrassy went the Coalition went with him, and that this would automatically entail the demise of the Independence Party. It looked as if he had planned this announcement so as to put a stop to the growing campaign in the Press and the whisperings in the ranks of the 1848 men and the group which followed Hollo. And he was not mistaken. Hollo’s party backed down and, after a few last little splutters in one or two leading articles, so did the newspapers.

  So, for the moment at least, there was peace again in the ranks of the Coalition.

  Outside these ranks there was much skirmishing about and growling by those who followed Kristoffy and by the frankly socialist. People there were who knew in advance about Andrassy’s plans and who had only waited for him to declare himself. A few days before, the socialist newspaper Nepszava – the People’s Voice – had somehow obtained a copy of the Plurality Bill (probably purloined from the secret recesses of the Ministry of the Interior) and published it in full, paragraph by paragraph, down to the smallest detail. This had meant that it had been impossible for Andrassy to manoeuvre or bargain; and so he had in reality been forced into declaring himself publicly in an attempt to still the tempest of speculation and rumour that had been created. Rumour might have been stifled, but not unrest. Soon there were stormy demonstrations in the streets of the capital and shots were fired.

  It was in this electric atmosphere that the news arrived in Budapest that what the London newspapers had predicted had come to pass.

  The Crown announced the annexation of Bosnia-Herzegovina.

  It was October 3rd. Budapest had just had a number of royal visitors. A week earlier Prince Ferdinand of Bulgaria had been in the Hungarian capital and only that evening the King of Spain had taken his leave after a three-day visit accompanied by his queen. The royal couple, after paying their respects to the Emperor Franz-Josef, had everywhere been fêted. Balls and receptions had been given in their honour and, exceptionally enough, even the Archduke Franz-Ferdinand had swallowed his dislike of Hungary and come to pass a few days at Budapest for the sake of his Spanish cousin; though he had somewhat ostentatiously slept in the royal train rather than at the palace. The capital was filled with visitors, many foreigners and a cohort of diplomats from Vienna, who had all come for the Spanish king’s visit. At the same time there was a large delegation of elderly Austrians who were attending some convention or other, and many young men with the entrée at court who came at this time because it was also the beginning of the racing season.

  Fortunately enough the weather was so good that it might still have been summer. Partly because of this, and also, of course, because of the influx of visitors from abroad, it was to the Park Club that most people now went in the evenings. Here people would dine and entertain their friends; and here too grand balls were given almost every night. Sometimes, as this evening, it was only a small dance – a tancerli – so instead of opening up the large ballroom they danced in the inner dining-room on the first floor. In the big dining-room next door some people were still at table though it was quite late.

  Abady arrived with two foreign couples, people he had first met when he was still a diplomat. Driving out to the club after the opera Abady had been worried that there might still be signs in the streets of the riots that that afternoon had followed the first socialist demonstration calling for the immediate reform of the voting qualifications. After the mass meeting held in the wide spaces of Arena Street a belligerent group had decided to go on to the Inner Town. Along Andrassy Street they went, but as soon as they had arrived at the corner of the Vorosmarty Street, there was a clash with a police cordon and they were beaten back by the drawn swords of officers on horseback. Abady was afraid that some sordid traces of the ensuing battle might still be there and so, ashamed for his country, he leaned out of the carriage window to look around. To his relief everything had been cleaned up; and if there were any armed guards still about they must have been so discreetly posted that no one would notice their presence.

  The orchestra was playing waltzes in the inner room and so it was as a matter of course that they went there to dance after supper. Balint at once took one of his friends’ wives onto the floor but it was hardly a success since they were playing a Boston waltz and his visitor was quite unable to ‘reverse’ – an art, he reflected, that had only really been mastered by the Viennese and the Hungarians.

  Balint tried his best for a few turns but soon stopped, feeling slightly dizzy as he had had to use more energy that usual to push his partner in the right direction. For a moment he leaned against a side table wiping his forehead, and as he did so his partner was whisked away by someone else. />
  He had only been there for a moment when, as softly as a bird alighting on a branch, a girl in a tulle dress stopped beside him and a familiar voice said, ‘Hello! Do you remember me?’

  It was Lili Illesvary; but how she had changed! There was no sign of the layer of baby fat in which she had been enveloped only a year before. She seemed to have grown both taller and more slender and was no longer the chubby schoolgirl she had been when Balint had seen her at Jablanka. Now she was a girl ready for marriage with a smooth skin, slim neck and shoulders which might have been the model for a Greek statue. She must, too, have known herself how pretty she had become for when she smiled up at Balint her violet-coloured eyes and finely drawn mouth, whose soft outlines tempered the firm chin inherited from her Szent-Gyorgyi ancestors, were full of self-confidence.

  ‘Don’t you recognize me?’

  ‘But you must be Countess Lili!’ Balint could not conceal both his surprise at the beauty of the girl and also the pleasure it gave him. Lili understood him completely and so smiled all the more.

  ‘We were in Vienna for the Spring season,’ she said. ‘I never thought I could have danced so much. It must be almost a year since you last saw me. I was barely out of the schoolroom then!’

  She spoke with such gentleness that Balint was again enchanted by the sweetness of that rather throaty voice which he had particularly noticed at Jablanka. Then she went on, ‘I’ve seen you recently at some of the big balls, perhaps a couple of times, but when you didn’t come over to speak to me I thought that maybe you hadn’t recognized me. Of course you may not even have seen me as there’s always such a crowd at those big “do” s. Anyhow, you don’t dance with young girls, do you? Only with married women, perhaps?’