Miklos Banffy - They Were Divided

So, together on the wide bed, he in her silken wrap and she with her night-dress slightly torn and slipping down over one shoulder, they fell on the sooty chestnuts with hungry delight.

‘Wasn’t it lucky you bought them!’ said Addy.

WHEN KAROLY KHUEN-HEDERVARY formed a new government in January, 1910, few people, and especially those who had been immersed in the fantasy world of Coalition politics, believed it would achieve any more than had its predecessors. Everywhere it was said that the new government would soon suffer the same fate as that of General Fejervary five years before for it was still believed that a government made up of people not in Parliament had no solid base and therefore would not stand the pace. Indeed so frosty was the lack of welcome with which it was received that when Khuen-Hedervary announced that Parliament was to be adjourned he was met with an immediate motion of ‘No Confidence’.

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.