They Were Divided Page 23

  Slawata could not leave the subject of the dangers he saw in Tisza’s surprising support of the resolution; neither could he conceal his deep anxiety. He was clearly worried by what Tisza might obtain in a private audience with Franz-Josef. Indeed he might even persuade the old monarch, who had always appreciated his brilliance and charm of manner, to give way, especially if he could convince Franz-Josef that Auffenberg’s unfortunate intervention in Hungary’s parliamentary affairs had been instigated by the Heir, which, of course, it had been. If Tisza was able to make it seem that the resolution was the logical outcome of Franz-Josef’s own work, and was designed to protect the 1867 Compromise against the destructive plots of the Heir, then it was by no means unlikely that the monarch would withdraw his threat of abdication. ‘And then,’ went on Slawata, ‘we shall really find ourselves in difficulties; and we’ve already got enough as it is.’

  Balint had never seen Slawata so worried. He, who had never been anything but sure of himself, of the rightness of his view of things, of the ineluctable truth of his own judgement and the sureness of his political analysis, now seemed so hesitant and so unsure of himself that he was reduced to seeking advice. To Balint it looked as if Slawata had at last grasped what an abyss yawned before the politician who had pronounced judgement on political affairs when he had no responsibility for their conduct, and was then forced to stand by what he had said.

  The envoy of the Belvedere sighed deeply, took off his thick spectacles, wiped them on his handkerchief and replaced them on his nose; and Balint, who had long before noticed that Slawata always did this when he was about to say something important, turned to him expectantly just as the politician looked Balint full in the face and said, ‘If there should be a change of monarch, would you consider the offer of a portfolio in the new government?’

  This was quite unexpected, and a thin crease of anxiety appeared on Balint’s forehead. What he already knew of the Heir’s plans for the Dual Monarchy – and most of it had come from Slawata himself – was utterly opposed to Abady’s most cherished belief in traditional values. He had been revolted by what Count Czernin had written some years before, when he had prophesied that Franz-Ferdinand would transform the loose conglomeration of independent countries that had formed the Habsburg empire into a huge monolithic authoritarian superstate with an all-powerful central government. This was just what the youthful Franz-Josef himself had once proposed long before he had accepted the 1867 Compromise. At that time Balint’s own grandfather, Count Peter, had been nominated without his consent to the proposed new Upper House and had, scornfully, refused to have any part in a project which would have imposed Austrian authority throughout the Balkans; and even, eventually, to find his beloved Transylvania handed over as a dowry to whatever Habsburg princeling found himself nominated to the throne of Romania! Memories of what his grandfather had told him flooded through Balint’s mind until his blood boiled with anger.

  Even so he remained outwardly calm, and answered the question put to him with another.

  ‘I would have to know first with whom I would have to serve; and, of course, what programme was envisaged.’ Abady’s voice was suddenly very cold.

  ‘Kristoffy is the only man who has His Highness’s confidence.’

  ‘Kristoffy! Why, that’s ridiculous! Apart from anything else there isn’t a man in the country who’d consent to work with him!’

  ‘Oh, but perhaps there is,’ and Slawata smiled knowingly. ‘We have reason to believe that Lukacs would … and maybe even Justh.’

  ‘Justh is a radical Independent and it was Kristoffy who destroyed that party when he was Minister of the Interior. They’re deadly enemies! Nothing would make those two work together!’

  ‘You perhaps do not know that they have been in secret contact for quite a time. They came together over the universal suffrage proposals, and those form the first part of the Heir’s programme for Hungary. Other things will come later.’

  ‘What “other things”?’

  Franz-Ferdinand’s confidential envoy barely hesitated before he uttered that old diplomats’ familiar plea for secrecy, ‘Unter uns, natürlich – just between ourselves, of course!’ and then started to explain:

  The first step, he said, would be a manifesto from the ruler. The principal item would be the introduction of universal suffrage. The importance of national defence would be touched upon, as would the need slightly to modify the terms of the Compromise so as to put an end to all the current bickering. The existing Parliament would be asked only to pass the necessary legislation for the suffrage proposals and the defence estimates – both with validity for one year – and the government, which would have been in on the planning of this programme, would then prorogue Parliament as soon as these two measures had become law. Everything else, the coronation and the proclaiming and passing of the laws needed for bringing about the centralization of the Monarchy, would be the task of the next Parliament.

  ‘In that case,’ interrupted Balint, ‘the first thing is to make sure that whatever proposals Kristoffy makes to the House are accepted by a decent majority. Frankly, I find that most unlikely.’

  ‘Lukacs will bring over the radicals in the government party and Justh will be followed by the whole Independent clan. When that happens the People’s Party would naturally join us too. All that would be left against us would be Tisza and his lot.’

  ‘Just let us suppose all this happens. Do not forget that with this political grouping Justh would be the only leader with a majority; and can you imagine him voting for an increase in Austrian power and centralization, and not for his own programme based on the union of our two countries only through the person of the monarch who sits on both thrones? Justh will be careful to see that the suffrage proposals, and the redrawing of constituency boundaries, are all to his own party’s advantage. And I’m sure that even if today he seems to agree to accept revision of the Compromise and the centralization of the Monarchy, even if he goes so far as to give in over the army proposals, he’ll only do it with the secret reservation that the revised voting laws ensure the supremacy of his Independent Party. In the case that the future reforms have to be introduced by Justh, then the future ruler will find himself in a far greater predicament than Franz-Josef has ever done. And, even if this does not happen, any collaboration between Lukacs, Kristoffy and Justh is bound to fall apart at the first strain put upon it. What then?’

  ‘Then we would bring in our own voting laws and proceed accordingly!’

  ‘Do you really believe it would work? That you’d be able so easily to create a majority that would approve …’, and here Balint paused as he searched for some ironic phrase to clothe his real thoughts, ‘… would approve of what you have planned so neatly?’

  ‘Mein Gott – my God!’ replied Slawata forcefully. ‘The Belvedere “workshop” certainly believes it possible. We count on Lukacs to carry at least half, possibly two-thirds, of the government party; Kristoffy the radicals – though it’s true there are not many of them and those mostly intellectuals – and most of the minorities. So Justh would just have to join in, and the socialists with him. That’s how Kristoffy sees it … and also Milan Hodzsa.’

  ‘Hodzsa? Is he part of all this too?’

  ‘Of course! His Highness has much confidence in him.’

  For a few moments there was silence between the two men. Then Abady spoke, and his manner was both serious and unusually dry.

  ‘I find all this alarmingly adventuresome, and very dangerous, as much to the Archduke as to anyone else. The mere fact of a change of monarch constitutes a crisis. To add to it a general election, with all its attendant clash of chauvinist slogans and demagoguery, would be nothing less than madness. It would be sheer chaos, it couldn’t be anything else. The monarch could never work with a Parliament opposed to all he stood for. The new ruler would find himself in a hopelessly false position, and helpless with it. There’d be no question today of imposing a repressive régime like that of Cou
nt Bach after 1848. The old Emperor could only do it then because he had Russia behind him and peace everywhere else. Today it would be unthinkable. Anyhow it couldn’t last and would soon end badly. Only chaos would remain, with all the various parties at loggerheads, desperately jockeying for position. What a picture to show the world! Especially now when we’re already pretty near to chaos at home and the Balkans are ready to flare up at any moment! What a time to start provoking even more turmoil in the country!’

  Slawata replied pensively, ‘Well, it’s the only thing against it.’

  ‘It certainly is not! There are far deeper and more serious matters at stake. The very stability of the Monarchy lies in its respect for tradition. It rests on tradition and in turn is upheld by it. The ties between the monarch and the different strata of society and of the administration of the country are legion. The ruler who ignores this, and starts to destroy these links and replace them with something altogether less ancient, reputable and respected, will destroy the foundation on which his kingdom rests. A dictator thrown up by a revolution can do this because he owes his pre-eminence to his popularity. A successful general can do it because he is supported by his troops. But that sort of power rarely outlives the man who creates it. Such a dictator can try to make all men equal, and indeed he is wise to attempt it, if only because such potent personal rule will always be more effective if it is imposed on a homogenous society than on one based on a historic class structure, which is the historic rock on which hereditary monarchy is built. Hereditary power is only possible when it rules a society that is itself built up in layers whose traditional apex is the Crown. There is nothing logical in this. It is a historical and emotional acceptance of an illogical fact; that is all. The monarch who turns demagogue and who puts himself at the head of popular revolutionary movements may fancy that he’s feathering his own nest, but what he’s really doing is preparing the way for a republic, or for the ruin of his country!’

  Slawata smiled ironically as he said, ‘All that is sheer Montesquieu – esprit des lois!’

  ‘Of course! But it is no less true, however long ago it was written. Anyway we are only guessing. All this is purely hypothetical and I, for one, don’t believe His Majesty has any intention of abdicating … so all this talk is really about nothing, at least for the moment. Khuen-Hedervary will resign and a new government will be formed which will reform the suffrage laws, which in my opinion should have been done long ago. I hear that Justh is quite ready, at least for a year, to drop all that tiresome obstructionism, especially as regards the army estimates. So, if the army question is out of the way, the other reforms the Heir wants to see could well be presented without upsetting anyone.’

  Slawata’s reply took Balint by surprise.

  ‘But we don’t want anything while Franz-Josef is still on the throne. Indeed we’ll make quite sure no real reform is possible. Perhaps some little concession here and there, but only if it proves unavoidable. His Highness wants to do it all after he succeeds to the throne, and until then he’ll do everything in his power to prevent any changes. If Laszlo Lukacs becomes Minister-President, which seems likely, he’ll forbid it outright!’

  ‘Even if that means holding up the defence proposals?’ marvelled Balint.

  ‘Even that!’

  ‘I just don’t understand! Surely, in these critical times, the country’s military readiness is vital to the Monarchy itself? Isn’t that just what the Heir has been trying to achieve?’

  ‘Of course, but not at that price! Just think,’ the Heir’s trusted adviser went on, ‘when the Archduke succeeds to the throne the most important card he’ll hold will be the introduction of general suffrage. And it must be he, and he alone, who gets the credit. If it is introduced now, before his time comes, he at once loses his trump card and with it the handle which will open the door to his other plans. Therefore nothing must be done now, nothing. Under no circumstances. Under no circumstances at all! Better for everything to stay as it is.’

  Balint jumped up unable to conceal his anger.

  ‘What insufferable egotism! Here is our country behind all the other powers in military preparedness. We are in the middle of an appalling international crisis, and our beloved Archduke is prepared for purely selfish reasons to hinder what is in his and the country’s best interests!’

  ‘No need to flare up like that!’ said Slawata. ‘After all the Old One can’t live for ever … and perhaps in a month or two …?’

  ‘In a month or two you’ll be able to embark on these dangerous adventures you speak of … is that it? I can see that nothing else is important to you now. All you want to do is to destroy what we already have – and the more brutally the better – only to replace it with some ill-thought-out and thoroughly nebulous super-monarchy. And that is why, as you yourself admitted, you can’t find any supporters who are worth a tinker’s cuss! The only men you’ll find to support such a plan are those who have nothing to lose or those who fancy they’ll benefit even if everything else crumbles.’

  ‘I’m most disappointed that you should take it this way,’ said Slawata morosely. Then he too got up. ‘And I’m sorry, because in you I had hoped to find a colleague and sympathizer.’

  ‘You have nothing to be sorry about! I should never ever have supported such a plan. Indeed, you have nothing to be sorry about … Servus!’

  ‘Servus!’

  Balint turned away and left without offering his hand.

  Chapter Two

  IN THE FOLLOWING WEEKS Balint often recalled his talk with Slawata.

  For the moment everything remained much the same as before. The government resigned but was re-formed almost as it had been after some three weeks of argument and, as a result, the resolution which had so provoked the ruler was dropped. Khuen-Hedervary agreed to continue in office so as to get matters cleared up but, after another three weeks of renewed and gleeful obstruction from the opposition, gave in his final resignation and withdrew from politics. So, in the middle of April, Laszlo Lukacs became Minister-President.

  Officially his programme barely differed from that of his predecessor, but he had surreptitious negotiations with Justh even before he took office. It was much the same with other grandees of the opposition, but it was soon clear that such inter-party contacts were purely formal and had little significance.

  Gossip about the news now became ever more confused and confusing, to the point where the most unlikely and impossible was everywhere believed. It would be declared as gospel truth that Lukacs and Justh, those dedicated left-wing reformers, were forming a right-wing lobby with – or without – the support of Tisza, their arch-enemy. There were even some developments which seemed to lend credence to this unlikely tale, such as when the followers of Kossuth sent a delegation to Vienna to protest that Auffenberg’s message to the Budapest Parliament constituted an infringement of Hungarian sovereignty, only to find that the Austrian minister’s action was defended by one Tivadar Batthyanyi who belonged to Justh’s own inner circle. This represented a complete volte-face, and it was followed by others. Mihaly Karolyi, the president of the OMGE – the reactionary land-owners’ agricultural association – who had always been a member of the Independent Party and who only two years before had been campaigning at Tisza’s side on the suffrage issue, was now known to have switched allegiances and, as a radical, was acting as go-between between Justh and the heads of the government.

  Though gossip was rampant, no one knew anything for certain; except, of course, that the atmosphere behind the scenes was becoming stormier and stormier while all the old obstruction went on as merrily as ever. Public interest in what was happening in Parliament was steadily being stifled, for all that anyone could find out from reading the newspapers was that the country’s elected legislators either met in closed session or else were insisting upon voting only about trivialities. This was all too boring to be of any general interest.

  During this time Abady only came to Budapest when it was necessary for
his work for the Co-operatives. His mother had planned to return home at the end of April so as the weeks went by Balint spent much of his time travelling between Transylvania, Budapest and Abbazia, where Countess Roza still was.

  Now, just when she was about to come home, something occurred to delay her. Her room at the Hungaria Hotel in the capital had already been reserved and her son daily expected to hear when she would arrive. The telegram came, but it was not what Balint was expecting. It read: ‘CAN’T TRAVEL NOW. LETTER IN POST. MOTHER.

  Two days later the letter arrived. It proved to be a large hotel envelope with the address written by some hand Balint did not know instead of his mother’s slanting spidery handwriting. Anxiously Balint tore it open to find two letters inside.

  The larger one read:

  ‘My dear boy,

  ‘I am dictating these lines; but do not be disturbed as I am not seriously unwell. I have had a slight mishap in that when I woke up this morning I found I could not use my right hand properly. It is limp, rather as if it were asleep. As it did not get any better during the morning, at midday I sent for a doctor – though you know how much I dislike them. He has diagnosed circulation trouble and says it will soon be better. He has ordered me to have alcohol compresses and massage. It is all quite trivial, but I did not feel like travelling in this rather helpless state. So I shall stay on here for a couple of days, really only because it would be difficult in the wagon-lit train compartment with only one hand working, and it would be hard to dress and undress in the sleeper. You know how I dislike being helped.

  ‘Please don’t worry. There is no need for you to think of coming here.

  ‘A thousand kisses.’

  Countess Roza had dictated this letter to her old personal maid Terka, who had herself written the second letter. In this she said: