Miklós Bánffy - They Were Found Wanting

And so no one bothered to try.

And what is more, there now seemed to be no life left in the parties themselves. Each party leader, chairman, or working party, acted alone and mostly behind closed doors. This was what had been brought about by the fact of coalition.

The Coalition itself was in an uneasy state of nervous tension. On one side there were the Independents and Liberals who looked back to the uprisings of 1848; while on the other were those who supported the 1867 Compromise — and these, of course, included the Conservative and Clerical Parties. Such an alliance of opposites could only endure — like an ill-assorted marriage — by careful avoidance of all subjects which might, indeed certainly would, lead to quarrels and disagreement. Such subjects were legion and included almost every important issue of the day as well as the fraught questions of the demands for independence from Vienna of the banking and customs systems.

These last had once been part of the programme of the Independence Party alone. Now, however, such matters had had to be included in the election platforms of all parties officially subscribing to the Coalition, and this posed a severe problem for the supporters of the Compromise as to how to square such revolutionary ideas with their own conservative consciences. The real but concealed problem of these people was to prevent the realization of ideas foreign to their own without at the same time bringing about the demise of the Coalition itself.

If this was no easy task for the two conservative parties it was even more difficult for the radical 1848 men and especially for Ferenc Kossuth, their leader, for it was still the primary aim of them all to maintain the formula for co-operation which had brought about the much longed for parliamentary peace.

One of the reasons for this was that now that the Coalition had come to power it had become simple for party leaders to explain that the reason why various long-standing aspects of party policy had not been realized was that as all the parties were partners with each other, indeed fighting side by side, no one could now do anything to alienate their former opponents, not if they wished to remain in power. Everything that could be conceded must be conceded — and the public accepted the argument. And, not only that, but should the Coalition break up in confusion and disagreement, the majority Independence Party would inevitably be called upon to form a government and then it would find itself, in turn, obliged to return to all those hotly disputed policies that had for years been the basis of its party manifestos, but which had never had a chance of being realized while the party remained in opposition. To put forward such policies now would inevitably lead to a new election and this would have to be fought on the basis of a party programme in which even its leaders no longer had any belief.

All the same, the difficulties and considerations which prevented the achievement of any major reforms still left plenty of less controversial things to be decided. There were, for example, such parochial matters as trade permits, and the appointments of Prefects and District Commissioners which had somehow both to take into consideration the candidates’ professional qualifications and also be distributed fairly between the various parties of the Coalition. Apart from such less vital matters there was one great issue which could not be avoided; this was the matter of universal suffrage which had been promised by the Crown and which, once made law, would no doubt have an incisive effect on future elections. It was matters such as these which those ministers who were also party leaders had continually to discuss, still behind closed doors, balancing concessions with concessions, so that the needs of all three groups should be satisfied. All this took time and a great deal of trouble and thought, as well as endless precautions lest any details of these consultations should leak out before each matter was finally agreed. And, as every agreement left behind it a trail of hard-won concessions, it was hardly surprising that, as the party leaders were obliged to keep many of their activities a secret from the rank and file, the life of the political parties was in a state of stagnation. And the party leaders had no choice in the matter for if anything had been known of what was about to be conceded — even though it was, of course, merely a matter of party expediency — then such a storm would have broken over their heads that the Coalition would have been endangered.

Furthermore, it was not as if the individual parties were so very united themselves.

The Independence Party was split into two camps — one right of centre, one left — and these in their turn were divided into innumerable little splinter groups, each of which had its own leader. Three well-known politicians — all favourites of the public — Ferenc Kossuth, Albert Apponyi and Gyula Justh, became leaders at one time or another. Like determined punters on the racecourse who would select and bet on their own favourites, so these men juggled with their professional futures by guessing which political party would come out on top and to which therefore they should nail their colours.

There were so many groups that among them were now to be found some that were permanently in disagreement with the government — universal coalition though it was made out to be — and these were grouped round those demagogues whose loud-mouthed public utterances were most to their taste. In this way such radicals as Ugron, Barra, Hollo and Polonyi all had their day of glory; but in their cases it would last only briefly, for their followers were a fickle lot and by no means as sincerely loyal as were those, for example, of Kossuth or Apponyi. Their numbers varied too, according to the political weather-vane, so that the existence of only a few groups heralded calm weather while, like seagulls waiting on a beach, a plethora of little parties preceded a storm. A catchy slogan, a resounding speech or cunning little manoeuvre would have an immediate effect on the loyalties of many party members — and the mood of the Corridor would undergo a subtle sea-change. And it was these moods that ruled the country.

Parliament now seemed to be composed entirely of shifting political groups … and the Corridor.

The real corridor ran right round the Chamber itself. It was wide and grandiose and in it large sofas were placed about every ten paces. At the corners — for it ran straight along each of the four sides of the Chamber — there were plenty of little nooks and corners, especially near the entrance to the Press Gallery and where the great staircase began. In these discreet little corners it was possible to form little groups that sat at the feet of some party chieftain or other listening either to his teaching or maybe just to his doubts, sorrows and feelings of insecurity. On one side there was the drawing-room and this was even better arranged for secret plotting than was the corridor itself. Here, half hidden by the dark pillars, news could be whispered and messages received; and, when there were even darker secrets to be discussed, where better than the deserted Cupola Hall where the sofas all had such high backs that no one could see who was sitting in them? And everywhere the curtains that covered the doors were so thick that every sound was muffled. In such conditions it was no wonder that there were sown the seeds of great tempests, and since no one knew who were the sowers, these were the hardest to subdue.

The corridor had now become the only place where political life was at all active. To those accustomed to the usual cut and thrust of debate in the House itself, this new informal, unofficial, private method of bringing about legislation was both bewildering and disturbing. Now it seemed that all sense of responsibility had vanished to be replaced by the sort of irresponsibility normally only to be expected from the demagogues. Nearly everyone seemed infected by the insidious attraction of backroom intrigue and that spurious sense of power that made people join secret societies. Members of Parliament now only entered the House when some already decided measure had to be voted onto the Statute Book. Everyone met and talked in the corridor, for there one could indulge freely the dubious pleasure of saying whatever one liked about the great and important of the day. Indeed anyone could say anything about anything … or anybody…