They Were Divided

by Miklos Banffy

  As it happened the German chancellor, Bethman-Holweg, found himself forced to come to an agreement with the French. This was not easy, but after prolonged negotiations, during which the German demands grew progressively weaker, Bethman-Holweg was obliged to accept compensation in the form of a slice of the Congo which was riddled with yellow fever.

  It was an ignominious ending to an enterprise which had started with such a high-handed flourish; but for all its comedy the affair had its serious side. Before the Agadir incident the open-door policy as regards Morocco had been generally accepted. Now it was clear that Germany had bought peace by abandoning a policy that was in everybody’s interest. And this she had done by selling her commercial rights in Morocco in exchange for a dish of lentils, which is what her newly acquired colony in Africa was derisively named by the other powers. Germany’s action in almost breaking the peace and then descending to diplomatic blackmail (even though it was clear to everyone that what she had given up in Morocco was far more valuable than what she received elsewhere) served as Bethman-Holweg’s introduction to the stage of world politics – and it was also the first significant dent in Germany’s prestige abroad.

  The Moroccan crisis had lasted from July 5th, 1911 until the end of September in the same year, and coincided with the general mobilization in Montenegro. This marked the start, in Budapest, of the parliamentary obstruction of the Hungarian army estimates. On July 9th Asquith announced Britain’s solidarity with France, and on July 11th Kossuth declared that he would fight the Hungarian government’s defence proposals with all the means in his power: and it was on the following day that he put into effect the obstructive tactics designed to prevent the modernization of the Hungarian army.

  On July 26th the British fleet was put in a state of readiness and on the 30th Gyula Justh held a public meeting at which he brandished the slogan of universal suffrage as infinitely more important to Hungary than the nation’s ability to defend itself. The rabble, roused by this irresponsible speechifying, streamed wildly down Rakoczy Street and was only halted at the corner of the Karolyi Ring. This occurred on the same afternoon that the British torpedo-boat flotilla left Portland Harbour for an ‘unknown destination’, and when the prospect of a European war had been at its most menacing.

  And so it went on. Parallel to every event of world importance was some manifestation of purely parochial interest in Budapest; and when the Agadir incident was closed and the revolt in Albania came to a temporary halt, then other sinister happenings disturbed the peace of Europe, many of them close to the borders of Hungary, matters so dangerous and so close to home that one would have thought someone in Budapest would have noticed.

  The next move was once again in the Balkans, close to the Hungarian border.

  The Franco-German agreement was signed on September 28th. Two days earlier two Italian fleets sailed from Syracuse, one to conquer Tripoli, the other to attack the Turkish empire.

  Both of these moves were unexpected and came as a surprise to Vienna as to Berlin. It had been long recognized that France had agreed to Tripoli being in Italy’s sphere of influence, even after that country had seized upon Tunis; but no one had thought of it as being anything more than a sop to Italian sensibilities, a sort of consolation-plaster to be applied to the Italian public’s wounded heart, and of little importance as there were so few Italians living in that part of North Africa. And indeed few people had given it a thought for some time past.

  Now, all of a sudden, Rome remembered she was short of colonies and declared war on the Sublime Porte. Of course, when Germany had seen fit to ignore the international agreements settled at Algeciras and took her own individual line at Agadir, a proceeding whose negotiated settlement effectively closed the old open-door to Morocco, she did irreparable harm to Italy’s trading interests. At much the same time Aehrenthal’s sudden announcement of the annexation of Bosnia-Herzegovina had encouraged Italy to enter, even if somewhat belatedly, the European powers’ race to acquire colonies. And this she did, independently of her allies and, as Austria had done with Bosnia in 1908, keeping her intentions secret until the last minute. Once again those international agreements, on which the peace of Europe had so long depended, were ignored.

  This had happened in October, but despite the inevitable international repercussions, in Budapest no one seemed to notice and in public life nothing was changed. Political argument and obstruction went on as before, with the political leaders all claiming to be acting in the nation’s best interests. Public opinion remained unawakened to the implications of what was happening abroad; and though Apponyi asked the House to consider what would happen if the Turko-Italian conflict spread to the Balkans, in the very same session all that seemed to interest Mihaly Karolyi, one of the leading opponents of the government, was the possibility of obtaining cheap meat from the Argentine.

  The Speaker, Berzeviczy, tried to arrange a meeting between the government and the opposition in the Karolyi palace … but only three ministers turned up, and the negotiations and the obstruction continued for a whole month until Berzeviczy resigned. There was then a short truce so that the Budget could be passed, during which time matters of defence were put on the shelf until, three weeks later, they were brought up again only to be the object of renewed obstruction.

  By this time it had become obvious that the ‘Entente cordiale’ – Britain, France and Russia – which had brought Germany to her knees over the Moroccan question, would present a solid front whatever happened and that Italy’s war in Tripolitania was being backed by Britain and France: the proof, if proof were needed, was the occupation by Britain of the Egyptian port of Solum.

  And in Hungary all went on as before. As the world situation got worse and worse so the politicians in Budapest buried their heads deeper in the sand and went to war only with each other.

  Franz-Josef’s threat of abdication came like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. He had ruled so long, become so associated with the very idea of monarchy, that it seemed that the man himself, and only he, was in fact the institution. Perhaps some people realized that one day a change would come, but few could imagine what it would be like. In Hungary some of the political leaders such as Justh and his followers had, through the turncoat Kristoffy, maintained some sort of contact with the so-called ‘workshop’ of Franz-Josef’s heir, the Archduke Franz-Ferdinand, at the Belvedere Palace in Vienna, but it must be admitted that this was mainly a matter of political tactics, one of the backstairs routes to power. Such men hoped that by exerting pressure on the Heir they might finally not only gain some of their vote-catching aims (such as, for instance, the introduction of universal suffrage) but also that this would enable them to ride into office; but they never really grasped that a change of ruler might also involve other changes too. Some there were, ambitious men who felt their talents had not been sufficiently appreciated, who offered themselves to the Belvedere with much the same desperation as a bankrupt foolishly spending his last penny on a lottery ticket expecting thereby to win a fortune! But it would have been difficult, among all the thousands of other politically-minded inhabitants of Budapest, to find one who had really considered either the effects of change or indeed that change might come at any time, maybe today, maybe tomorrow.

  Now, suddenly, this horrid prospect was upon them; and it had appeared in its most unexpected form, the possible abdication of the monarch.

  While the Minister-President conferred with his colleagues behind the closed doors of the Deak Room, and while Count Berchtold, accompanied by a small group of old friends, strolled with insouciant elegance through the galleries of the club, more and more people came thronging into the public rooms. In little groups they discussed the terrible news in hushed voices and, at the bottom of the stairs, the newspaper men waited for definite news, and cross-questioned each other to find out if anyone knew more than they did. The telephone never stopped ringing, sounding as loud as a fireman’s bell in the general hush.

  Everyone was upset
and worried, for to most of them the Heir represented the Unknown. Only one thing was sure, and that was that Franz-Ferdinand hated the Hungarians. Only that was certain, everything else was a mere question-mark.

  The government’s supporters were filled with anxiety, but the opposition’s reaction was one of anger. No one dared say openly what they felt, but the unspoken thought was there behind their words and what they felt was anger, anger with the old monarch who seemed to have stolen a march upon them all by being so ungentlemanly as to make such a threat at such a time. Why, it was as if two men had been playing a friendly game of chess – only it happened to be the game of government – when suddenly one of them got up and walked away!

  Indeed it was all a little like chess where the accepted rules make sure that bishops only move diagonally, knights can jump a square or two, and pawns, while they can be taken from the side, can only move forwards and then only one pace at a time; and every move has only one aim, to checkmate the opponent’s king. For as long as anyone could remember politics in Budapest had been like that. By strictly interpreting the House Rules, by reviving forgotten procedures, by shifting loyalty and by endless declarations of vote-catching slogans, the opposition had for more than ten years obstructed all progress, especially delaying the modernization of the army, until they thought they had got the king surrounded and defenceless. This was how they themselves saw the situation in 1912. Their reasoning was thus: who needs an army? The country? Not at all: only the king needed an army. Who needs a navy? Well, the king needed a navy; and if he wanted it all that much then he must be made to pay for it and pay for it by conceding the opposition’s just demands. Of course he would give in because the pressure of world affairs would make it imperative for him. The worse the international situation became, the more they would insist on their demands being met, and they would squeeze the old sovereign until he would be forced to concede all they asked. Now, just as they had come to believe that this policy was working and that the government was preparing to surrender, what happens? The king announces that he is going to quit the game and let his successor take his place at the chessboard. It was a hard blow; and as unfair and as unsporting as the player who slams his fist down on the table. It was more: it was not the act of a gentleman.

  Though that is what everyone thought, no one said it openly.

  Fredi Wuelffenstein came as close as any to saying frankly what was in his mind. He was standing in the doorway of the Szechenyi Room holding forth to a group of younger men in the belief, not entirely justified, that they admired him. Noisily advancing the left-wing view, he said, ‘We mustn’t fall for this! The King is only bluffing. He just wants to scare us, which isn’t at all what we might expect of him. Of course he won’t abdicate! Never! Not he! It’s bluff, nothing but bluff! He believes we’ll all be so scared of what the Heir’ll do that we’ll just give in; but we won’t. Anyhow, what would happen if Franz-Ferdinand did become King? All he could do would be to come to some arrangement with us. We wouldn’t crown him if he didn’t; and without a coronation there’d be no King! Even the Belvedere must accept that. It’s one of Hungary’s most sacred traditions…’ and he went on, ever more loudly and brashly, and always repeating himself, as people do who have only a meagre vocabulary at their command. Each time he said the same thing again he beat his fist like a hammer as if this would serve to convince his audience.

  Then Niki Kollonich intervened. At the last elections he had come into the house on the Popular Party ticket. He was just as prying, insolent and insincere a man as he had been a boy; and he loved to stir up trouble. Now, he asked mildly: ‘Surely I remember you saying last autumn that we ought to pay court to the Heir, to His Highness the Archduke Franz-Ferdinand?’

  Wuelffenstein nearly exploded with rage because what Niki had said was only too true. Not long before, through his sister the beautiful Countess Breezy, he had managed to wangle an invitation to shoot at the Archduke’s place at More; and all that had happened had been that his host had completely ignored him, failed even to give him the time of day and indeed had not appeared even to notice his presence despite the smart English clothes he wore each day. This had continued for the whole three days of the shooting party – not a word, not even a glance. The only result of the whole expedition had been that back in Budapest, where the news of his presence in the enemy’s camp had been widely trumpeted, poor Fredi now found himself an object of suspicion in his own party.

  ‘I never said any such thing!’ he shouted. ‘All I said was that the Heir should be kept informed, that we should see that he knew what we wanted. Someone ought to tell him that we’ll never give in, and that we won’t yield an inch. He’s got to know that without our co-operation the Crown gets nothing! That’s what I said. Without us there’ll be nothing, no army, nothing, just nothing!’

  Niki then added, in admiring tones, ‘Of course you told him that when you were shooting together, didn’t you?’

  ‘I’ve always said it, and to him too … at least I would have done if the occasion had arisen … but he doesn’t impress me, I can tell you that! Nor anyone else either for that matter. And as for the Archduke, well, he has no say in the matter until he becomes King; and when that time comes he can only rule if we want him to!’

  Even Fredi might not have argued so passionately, nor uttered such idiotic remarks, had he seen who was standing behind him.

  It was Slawata, adviser to the Austrian Foreign Office and an intimate of Franz-Ferdinand. Behind his thick glasses his eyes seemed to gaze into the distance and the bland expression on his face gave away nothing of what he might be thinking. He stood there, apparently somewhat bored, as if he had simply strayed there by chance. After a moment or two he wandered off to see what he might overhear elsewhere.

  At that moment Abady arrived at the club and almost collided with Slawata at the door. The latter at once brightened up as if thankful at last to meet someone he knew.

  ‘Komm! Ich muss mit dir reden! – come with me, I want a word with you. At last I’ve found somebody I can talk to. Let’s find a quiet spot!’ And so saying he took Balint’s arm and led him away.

  For some time Balint had tried to avoid Jan Slawata’s confidences, because Slawata frequently said things that offended Balint’s patriotic feelings. Yet it was difficult to avoid meeting this old colleague – for they had both started their careers in the Ministry for Foreign Affairs in Vienna – and there was something about having worked in the Ballplatz that formed a bond between its alumni that often lasted a lifetime. So it was with Slawata and Abady. Whatever their differences there always remained this old link, which was something more than mere friendship for it was based less on mutual attraction and more on the fact that, diplomatically speaking, they spoke the same language. Usually Abady’s reluctance to listen to Slawata’s often tactless opinions had led to his avoiding the diplomat’s company, but on this day he welcomed it, for he was anxious to hear something more authoritative than the gossip and rumour that were flooding the Casino at that moment.

  ‘You can imagine,’ said the friend and confidant of Franz-Ferdinand, ‘the emotions produced by the Old Man’s announcement. For years we have been waiting for our turn to come and now we are not even ready for it! Nothing is prepared, we have no definite programme and no men trained and ready to take over the reins of government. Of course His Highness knows what he wants, but the details still have to be worked out. The “workshop” is feverishly busy, but I can tell you it’s chaos, absolute chaos! Personally I could wish for some other solution to this crisis … we’re simply not ready! I’ve been sent to see how the land lies, find out what people are thinking, judge everyone’s reactions, their moods, what their reactions are … It’s not a nice job, and I don’t like it one bit. And it’s a dreadful responsibility. If anything goes wrong then I’ll get the blame and His Highness, as you know, can be pretty ruthless. He doesn’t play games, that one!’

  ‘Well, I for one don’t think there’ll be a
ny change,’ said Abady. ‘As I see it Khuen-Hedervary will resign and whoever succeeds will simply back down and withdraw the resolution. After all the government only adopted it as a means to stop all this obstruction.’

  ‘That might be so had Tisza not accepted it too; but with him involved things are much more serious. The resolution is now his baby. Of course I now see what a mistake we made in telling our defence minister Auffenburg to protest to the Hungarian government. That’s what has made Tisza so angry; you know how touchy he can be about anything that seems like an infringement of Hungary’s independence. Anyhow we think Tisza has an ulterior motive in supporting the resolution: he wants to use it against us as soon as there is a change of ruler. The theory at the Belvedere is that Tisza believes that when this happens there won’t be any more bargaining; just a clean break with the resolution remaining but with the obstructionists removed. If, when the Heir ascends the throne, he finds himself opposed by a majority in the Hungarian Parliament, then he’ll find himself up against the Constitution. In our view Tisza is the true enemy, not those loud-mouthed demagogues in opposition. He is a far more serious opponent than the others, much stronger – a real hard Hungarian, that one!’