But things had changed and the political climate in 1910 was not at all what it had been five years before. The public had become disillusioned and now there were not many who bothered themselves with anything so trivial as a change of government.
In 1905 such had been the general optimism that people had really believed that Hungary stood on the threshold of a new golden age. The resounding promises of reform and improvement which had been brandished as the election slogans of the parties forming the Coalition – as, for example, the separation of the army commands and the establishment of an independent Customs service – had everywhere been taken as if these goals had already been achieved or, if not exactly achieved, at the very least only temporarily delayed by the unpatriotic plots of their political opponents, that wicked camarilla whose sinister influence would be swept away as soon as the Coalition came to power. Few people had then paused to reflect that the trade-unionists would never really co-operate with any other group and had only joined in the call to overthrow the existing government because they themselves had never expected to be called upon to face the realities of political power; nor that there were forces in the running of a great nation far greater and more complicated than were admitted in the seductive paragraphs of the radical press. It never occurred to the majority that the real national interest lay in the sound administration of agriculture, industry and commerce, in the defence of the realm and the maintenance of law and order; and in fair treatment of the ethnic minorities and the under-privileged. It was on how such matters were handled that the prestige of the Dual Monarchy and its position as a great power rested; and it was on Austria-Hungary’s position as a great power that the continued prosperity of the individual depended. And yet, simple and logical as this proposition might have appeared, it still seemed beyond the grasp of the general public.
During the period of Fejervary’s government the leaders of the Coalition began to grasp that their fight was hopeless because they had argued themselves into a totally false position. It was this that led to the famous Pactum between the radical coalitionists and the Emperor.
And now they made their first great irremediable mistake: they declared publicly that the compromise was a triumph. This bare-faced lie, like the principle of original sin, bedevilled the five years of their reign until, totally divided, quarrelling over every issue, accusing each other of ineptitude and incapacity, the Coalition ended in total fiasco. The general public, for once, grasped what had happened and withdrew its support, turning away with bored contempt. Khuen-Hedervary quickly grasped what was happening and cleverly turned the situation to his own advantage.
The new government’s initial programme was intentionally, and wisely, colourless and confined itself to generalities. The only exception was a declaration of support for the idea of introducing universal suffrage, expressed only in the vaguest terms. Indeed the whole document was so imprecise that everyone, conservative or radical, could read into it support for anything they themselves desired.
The first real action taken was to correct some of the most glaring of the Coalition’s mistakes. Rauch, the Ban of Croatia, whose rule had been so disastrous, was dismissed and the judgements in the Zagreb treason trial set aside. All prosecutions for sedition that were pending against representatives of the ethnic minorities were immediately abandoned.
The country started to breathe more easily as the consequences of the rash measures of the recent past were gently swept aside. It was all somewhat grey and colourless, but it was obvious that matters were being handled with simple common sense and so everyone began eagerly to prepare themselves for the inevitable general election. Such was the mood when Parliament was adjourned.
Everyone was content except for some members of the Independence Party who had brought forward a bizarre theory that as they had been elected to office and as the Budget had not yet been voted, there could be no new elections. When Khuen-Hedervary rose to move the adjournment they made such a noise that no one could hear a word he said.
Khuen remained standing at his desk and waited until the uproar died down, but as soon as he opened his mouth again the commotion raged once more. At last seeing no other solution, as this was likely to go on indefinitely, he decided to move closer to the stenographers so that they at least would be able to hear and take down a record of his words. Hardly had he stepped down from his place when some rebellious members sitting on the extreme left jumped up and started bombarding him with anything they could lay their hands on such as books, inkpots and paperknives. A heavy inkpot struck him on the forehead and blood poured down his face. Despite it all, and throughout this unexpected tempest, Khuen-Hedervary maintained his usual good-humoured calm.
This appalling scene scandalized the public, and even the party leaders of those who had behaved so badly condemned what had happened. The unruly members’ excuse, which was published on the following day – namely that they had thought the Minister-President was moving from his rostrum to insult them personally – was believed by no one. It was indeed absurd to imagine that one frail elderly man was about to tackle physically a group of several hundred able-bodied members sitting together on the benches at the extreme left-hand side of the Chamber. When, on December 13th, 1904, the same group, more or less, had attacked the security guards in the Chamber, the public had believed their tale not knowing, though the members had, that the guards had been expressly ordered not to retaliate if provoked. Now no one credited this kind of fantasy. Everyone thought that, rather than try to excuse themselves, it would have been better and more dignified if they had admitted the fault and merely explained that they had been carried away in the passion of the moment. That at least would have been honest, or could have been taken as such, and might have suggested extenuating circumstances. As it was, all that happened was that the riotous members and their parties lost all respect; and the incident was not forgotten when the time came for the elections and the voters started to weigh up the Coalition’s record.
The result was soon seen: barely a hundred candidates from the three main parties of the Coalition were elected to the new Parliament. On the other hand Khuen-Hedervary’s supporters got a huge majority, and it was generally thought that now some constructive work could be begun.
Begun? Yes; but whether he would be able to achieve anything was another matter.
Obstruction, that cancer at the heart of all attempts to put through progressive measures in the Hungarian Parliament, which had paralysed successive administrations for the previous ten years and which had now become the habitual weapon used by the insubordinate left wing even against its own leadership, might well be used again to frustrate the new government. It could rise at any time, brandishing no matter what popular slogan, and it would always find support in that section of the press whose only allegiance seemed to be to the trouble-makers. There were also other sources of possible weakness, less obvious, less familiar, but these lay hidden for the present from both the government’s supporters and their political opponents.
The government announced that its first aim would be electoral reform. As this was only mentioned in outline everyone could declare their support, whether they wanted only minor changes or radical reform of the suffrage qualifications. Thus a substantial majority declared its support for the cabinet without anyone knowing which standpoint was the stronger even inside the government party. The Independence Party, as it had been for some time, was split in two. Kossuth and his followers took up a moderate stance while Justh led his splinter group so far to the left that a few months later they joined up with the socialists. It was this later move which led to that surprising situation when Tisza and Kossuth stood together on the same platform while the other wing of the government party, led by Laszlo Lukacs, made approaches to Justh and the left-wingers.
All this proved the old adage that where elections were concerned it was best to leave such important issues in as much uncertainty as possible.
It was also clear to some obs
ervers that one reason for Khuen not making any more precise declaration of his policy was that he had no wish to antagonize Tisza, for without him and his liberal party followers’ support he would be bound to fail to obtain any reform at all. Khuen’s over-riding purpose was to re-establish harmony between the King and the Parliament, the twin pillars of the Constitution, and to this end he subordinated any other consideration and welcomed to his side anyone who would serve his purpose, even if he was not otherwise an ally or supporter. And so was formed the 1910 Parliament which was the first one in many years not to be composed entirely of blinkered politicians blinded by their own unthinking allegiance either to the 1867 Compromise or to the independence principles of the Men of 1848; and which consequently was also the first Parliament to take notice of what was going on outside the Kingdom.
As the traditional party slogans had become anathema to many people a surprisingly large number of districts – thirty-one in all – voted for candidates free of any party commitments. This had never happened before. Another side effect was that many of the new members, though they belonged officially to one party or another, by no means always followed slavishly that party’s official line. This was clear for all to see when it came to dealing with the project for electoral reform. It began at a conference of conservatives held in the Vigado building where Istvan Tisza and the extreme Independent Mihaly Karolyi were shown to hold the same opinions. On the same day the former Minister-President and Protestant leader, Dezso Banffy, met at the town hall with two pillars of the conservative party, Pal Sandor and Gyula Lanczy, and also with the Christian Democrat Giesswein and the democrats Vazsonyi and Jaszi, to agree their joint programme for a radical revision of the right to vote.
There was at this time another issue which transcended traditional party lines: this was the Transylvanian Movement.
This had come into being as a result of a widespread feeling in Transylvania that its individual traditions and history, as well as its own very special spirit, had become less and less recognized, let alone respected, by the central government in Budapest, who were all too apt to think of Transylvania as just one of a string of otherwise insignificant provinces. Nothing of its riches, either of historical achievement or individual culture, nor of its real problems, was accorded any real importance in the capital. The Transylvanian spirit was slowly being drained away in the maw of Hungarian self-sufficiency and at best was ignored. So delicate, so subtle were Transylvania’s real problems that it needed much knowledge and experience to know how to handle them. When the central government did interfere it did so with brutal indifference, usually doing more harm than good.
Balint Abady had seen this with growing concern and so was one of the founders of the movement whose aim was to encourage a better understanding and a more just treatment of his beloved homeland. He first drafted a programme and then in March started canvassing his ideas and whipping up support from his fellow Transylvanians, starting with Tisza himself in Budapest. Through the lawyer Timisan he tried to interest the Romanian minorities. In all this he deluded himself that he was only doing his duty, but the reality was, of course, that this plunging into work on behalf of Transylvania and immersing himself once more in the development of the Co-operative movements, was really for him little more than a narcotic taken to relieve the pain of his sorrow and self-torment.
Tisza, though sympathetic to Balint’s ideas, still ordered his followers to hold aloof from the movement because it smacked too much of particularism. Tisza listened politely with his habitual quiet, somewhat derisive smile. He told Balint it was all very interesting … but he didn’t offer any support.
Balint, bitterly disappointed, had gone on with his self-chosen task, but without joy or hope, despite the fact that the first public meeting was not inauspicious.
The banner of the Transylvanian Movement was unfurled on March 12th at one of the principal hotels in Vasarhely.
Also present with Balint were the other original founders of the movement, Istvan Bethlen, Miklos Banffy, Zoltan Desy and Gyozo Issekutz as well as many others who attended without knowing in advance anything of what they were about to hear. Among them were many who were not native Transylvanians but who had come to represent districts in the province as a result of the peculiarly feverish atmosphere of the elections at the time of the Coalition.
Abady brought with him his detailed proposals for the movement’s programme and in his speech he concentrated on three points: the forthcoming electoral reform, Transylvania’s special commercial interests, and the many problems posed by the existence of the minorities.
The first two subjects met with little comment or opposition, but the third at once aroused all sorts of conflicting reactions. Balint wished to obtain support for a new law governing the rights of the minorities. At this point the representatives of the Szekler people started to demur, mostly those who were not of indigenous Szekler origin but who had come into Transylvanian politics from Budapest or the Great Plain, and who had been invited only because of their official positions. At once an acrimonious discussion started which threatened to get worse as Abady stood firmly by his proposition. Then Istvan Bethlen, who was presiding, decided to adjourn the meeting for a short while so as to give himself a chance to talk it over with Abady in private. Bethlen well understood the implications of what Balint had proposed and agreed with everything he had said. Nevertheless, seeing the mood of those who disagreed, he advised Balint to drop any specific details concerning the actual proposed law lest further discussion should bring about the disruption of the meeting and thus bring the movement to a halt before it had even got under way. He proposed that Abady’s text should be allowed to stand as it was, in general terms, but that discussion of the details of the proposed minority law should be left until later, it being understood that when the movement was firmly established the matter could then be brought up again and the introduction of the law openly demanded.
Abady was reluctant to agree, but could see no alternative. As a result his amended speech was read at the general session of the conference which was held at the county head-quarters the following day. His proposals were accepted unanimously by the thirty-odd delegates, who included Under-Secretaries of State, prefects, MPs and other elected officials in the presence of an exceptionally large audience. Everything of real importance was contained in the section of the speech entitled ‘To all the Peoples of Transylvania’. After a short introduction, during which he referred to the forthcoming elections, he said:
‘Now is the time when we should all stand together, regardless of party, in all matters which affect our native land and which affect our peaceful existence now and in the future. It is time to put an end to that harmful situation where decisions affecting us are taken without our being consulted. That is all wrong. We no longer ask, we demand, that our special conditions should be taken into account in all law-making that concerns us. Finally we must have our say in all affairs that concern the well-being of our own homeland.
‘This demand is justified historically. When Transylvania was made an integral part of the kingdom we surrendered unselfishly the autonomy we had known for centuries and refrained from imposing any conditions in return. We did not stop to worry about the possible loss of material or personal advantages which had been part and parcel of our inherited independence. But … but this patriotic selflessness merits the quid pro quo that the central government should show as much special understanding, love and consideration for intrinsically Transylvanian matters as we would have shown ourselves. This is their moral obligation, but today there is no sign of it … unfortunately.
‘It is unfortunate, too, that with very few exceptions we have found ourselves treated as unwanted step-children so often are, disregarded, ignored, not worth bothering about! And if they do for once take a casual glance at the many complicated issues of which our society is composed, and the problems these entail, no one tries to understand what it is all about.
‘We suffe
r deeply from this indifference and ignorance. In particular we are forced to witness the degradation of our ethnic minorities, the destruction of our middle class and the continual recession in our industry and commerce.
‘A national policy that is as uncaring as it is ignorant as regards our minority problems is now increasingly provoking dangerously irredentist and seditious tendencies, tendencies which can be justified as provoked by unfair treatment. We must say outright that for centuries in Transylvania people have lived happily together regardless of race or creed or language and that to do this we need more than manufactured opinions and slogans borrowed from other lands and other peoples. These merely inject poison into our system.
‘With full knowledge of our own national circumstances, and in the interests of all Hungary, it is clear that we must eliminate those walls of mistrust which otherwise divide us. We must tear down those artificial barriers which separate our peoples; we must disregard all difference of language and religion, and above all we must strive to ensure that there is trust, mutual trust, between the ruler and the ruled. Everybody who is or wishes to be at home in this country must be welcomed and made to feel at home with confidence that nowhere will he find any form of discrimination, for that will never bring peace and ease and prosperity to our land. No administration can achieve anything without consultation and mutual trust.
‘In making these considerations the basis for our demands we offer a friendly hand to anyone who, regardless of race or language or religion, desires to work for the peaceful evolution of our land.’
This ended what Balint had to say about the question of the minorities. Then he tackled the subject of economics:
‘We demand that the central government fulfils its moral obligations towards us and that firstly this is shown by a just investment in Transylvania’s cultural and material welfare. At present everything goes to Budapest and nothing comes back.
They Were Divided Page 5
