They Were Divided (32 page)

Balint talked at length. He told the ex-Minister-President that he agreed with the need for bringing an end to the present impasse and that to by-pass the Rules of the House was perhaps the only way. He told the older man of the hatred for him that was already being shouted out loud and which would become far worse if he put his plan into execution. Taking into account Tisza’s well-known puritan disregard of his own best interests, he said nothing about personal unpopularity and indeed emphasized what he honestly believed, that personal advantage must always give way to the nation’s best interests. But, and he said this roughly lest it might be taken as an ill-judged attempt at flattery, there was another aspect to this matter which was of over-riding importance. The question was not whether Tisza would suffer
personally by being cast out of political life, but whether the country would suffer by losing him. He was, said Balint, the only man of sufficient stature and experience to stand up to the
demagogues
who surrounded him. Therefore a man so important to the future direction of the nation’s affairs should not be expected to undertake, or indeed exposed to, a task that a lesser and more disposable politician could do just as well. Balint begged him not to accept the nomination for Speaker. Surely, he said, there must be someone among Tisza’s followers who would be eager for the post and who would do everything that Tisza asked of him?

Tisza listened attentively. He never once interrupted the younger man, but he looked closely at him through the thick glasses which made his grey eyes seem so enormous.

When Balint finished he answered him point by point with
circumstantial
detail to reinforce what he was saying. He conceded that Abady was in many ways right in what he said and
particularly
that anyone who succeeded in bringing down the
obstructionists
was putting his head on the political block. But … but … over-riding all other considerations was the vital necessity of restoring order to Parliament. He did not deny what Balint had said about his own pre-eminent stature, it was so self-evident that to do so would have been a pose unworthy of him; and Tisza was no poseur. He knew that his country would probably have need of him in the future, but despite the risks he had decided that now it was for him to act. He alone had the prestige to carry it off and no one else could shoulder that particular burden. He would not regret it, even if it meant that afterwards he would have to abandon public life. It was necessary for the country; and the cause was worth the sacrifice.

‘If I have to I will then go quietly into retirement.’

His reasoning was like a well-forged chain. There was not a
single
flaw, nor an unnecessary word. Every phrase was as solidly cast as bronze.

Tisza then got to his feet and as Balint was escorting him back to the corridor of the House he thanked the younger man for his good wishes in the most friendly terms. Then, tall, erect and broad-shouldered, he walked calmly to the head of the stairs and disappeared from Balint’s sight.

Tisza was elected Speaker on May 22nd.

The socialists, who saw in this the death-knell of all their plans, at once announced a general strike. The factory workers
turned out in force, joined up with the city rabble, and started overturning trams and trucks so as to build barricades. The mob was heading for the Parliament building but was stopped by the police at the corner of Alkotmany Street. Stones were thrown at the police and a few pistol-shots were heard. Then the police fired back: six dead, 182 wounded.

While this was happening in the square outside, the legislators in the House were still voting for or against a host of unconsidered trifles.

Throughout the country it seemed as if a storm was brewing.

That was what each man felt and fancied he saw. Behind Tisza’s back all sorts of surreptitious discussions were taking place. Secret messages passed between Laszlo Lukacs and the Independents and, though it never became known exactly what happened, it seemed likely that the Minister-President was still seeking a peaceful solution through agreement over the suffrage question. What was certain was that Kossuth and Justh believed that such an agreement, whether based on law or not, existed. Only that could explain why, on June 1st, Kossuth demanded to be heard in debate and offered, in the name of the Independent Party, to abandon all obstructionist activity if the number of those to receive the vote was increased by 120 per cent. Lukacs at first gave an evasive answer but on the following day he refused categorically to accept Kossuth’s proposal. Some people thought then that he must have been influenced by fear of Tisza, but it is more likely that he had had to stall so as to have time to consult the Belvedere, and that the Heir refused his agreement because he had set his face against all radical reform until he succeeded to the throne.

The disappointment aroused a storm of indignation in the ranks of the Independent Party and their next meeting was held in an angry mood.

This was the situation which Balint found on his return to Budapest with his mother on June 4th. He had already realized that whatever he found going on in Parliament would be
distasteful
to him, for he had grown up with a belief in the sacredness of Hungary’s constitution and respect for its traditions. It had been painful to read about recent events in the newspapers, but now, seeing it for himself, it was worse. All the same he had to be there, just as eight and a half years before, when the derisively-named ‘Darabont’ (or Bodyguard) government had sent soldiers into the House to enforce its will. Balint sensed that something of the sort
might happen again, now that passions were even more inflamed than before and there had been shooting in the streets outside. If the same sort of thing occurred in the present session then Tisza was not the sort of man to cower before the guns of the military, and if he were bold enough to stand up to them then Balint felt it would be cowardly not to do the same.

The signs of the coming storm were all there when the session began. From the outset the opposition brought into play one of its oldest time-wasting tricks, the filibuster. A member whose ability to spin any point out for an unconscionable time demanded to be heard on a point of order concerning the Rules of the House. Traditionally such a demand must be given priority, and at least three-quarters of an hour or more could be satisfactorily wasted in this way. Tisza merely dismissed the request in the most
summary
fashion. Bedlam at once broke out on the left, with members drumming on the benches and demanding an immediate closed session.

From where Balint was seated he could see Tisza clearly. The newly-elected Speaker sat there motionless, waiting for the
hubbub
to subside. The sun glinted on his short greying hair and his eyes were hidden by his thick glasses which were like two shining discs placed just under his forehead. At last, when it was possible to be heard, he said in a serious tone, ‘I must ask the honourable Members to abandon the course they have adopted, a course which is bringing our country to ruin.’

Undoubtedly he knew in advance that so mild a rebuke would be in vain and that his request would be greeted, as it was, with whistles, drumming on the benches, stamping and loud
irreverent
shouting. Tisza called for order, and again started to speak. His voice was solemn and his manner calm, and only when he quoted back at his political opponents some of their own words did he allow himself some ironic overtones.

‘My duty,’ he said, ‘as guardian of order in this House, is to bring to a definite end all obstructive tactics and technical
objections
which, as Count Gyula Andrassy has said, can be forged into an effective weapon by a mere twenty ill-intentioned
members
, and which, Albert Apponyi has declared, constitute
usurpation
of the nation’s age-old liberties …’ but he was not allowed to finish the sentence for his voice was drowned by the uproar his words had produced. Men jumped to their feet from the benches on the extreme left and howled their anger, then, above it all, Tisza somehow again made himself heard.

‘I ask the House now if it accepts the Defence Estimate Bill or not? I wish for an answer: Yes or No?’

The majority of those present at once stood up to show their acceptance and Tisza declared the motion passed. The opposition was now powerless to do anything but continue to howl their fury, cursing and raging and hurling insults in every direction, insults which never reached their mark for the noise was such that no one could hear what they were shouting. While this was going on Tisza closed the session, got up and walked out as slowly and as calmly as if he were merely out for an afternoon stroll.

This all happened before midday.

Abady went to the House again for the afternoon session. It was barely half-past three when he looked into the Chamber and saw that the opposition was already there in force. They had heard that Tisza had ordered a police cordon and had been afraid that they would not be allowed into the building. And so it happened that, with only a few exceptions, all the seats on the left-wing benches were already occupied. Everyone there seemed happy, even merry, exchanging jokes and laughing as if they were
expecting
something exceptionally amusing to happen. Some had brought whistles, others bells; and they were busy showing each other what they had brought and gently trying them out. What fun we’ll have, they muttered to each other; what jolly, jolly fun!

At four o’clock the government party took their seats and there was an ominous hush which lasted until Tisza rose to open the session. Then bedlam broke loose again with the sound of whistles blowing, bells ringing, voices shouting and crowing with manic laughter. No one could hear a word the Speaker uttered, though everyone could see his mouth open and shut. Then he stopped trying to speak, noted something with his pencil, rose and left the Chamber, all members of the government party trooping out after him. The noise-makers thought that they had won that round.

But not for long.

A moment or two later the red plush draperies over the door to the Chamber behind the left-wing benches were drawn aside and the Chief Usher entered with a paper in his hand. Behind him could be seen a high official of the Parliament in his
gold-braided
uniform, and behind him row after row of policemen.

From where Balint stood it was difficult to see exactly what happened next, but behind the dense phalanx of policemen there seemed to be some heated discussion, perhaps even a brawl.

What happened was this. Mihaly Karolyi, who found himself in the corridor just as it was filling up with policemen, pushed his way into the Chamber through the central door on the left, jumped up onto the writing desk of the first bench in front of him, stepped over the shoulders of those sitting there and ran, white shoes flashing and arms spread wide, along the bench-tops until he found himself in front of Justh. Then it seemed that he struck out at the nearest policeman with both fists – though it was impossible to see whether they reached their mark or not for at that moment expert arms caught him and lifted him in the air, and four stalwart policemen carried him bodily outside. He was the only one who physically attacked the police that day, though strangely enough his name never figured on the list of those who were arrested later.

The others merely adopted an attitude of passive resistance. When the man in gold braid touched them on the shoulder, they got up quietly and were escorted out by two policemen.

Abady left after the first of the obstructionist members had been ejected from the Chamber.

He had come to the session because he considered it his duty; and he remained until the police arrived because, though he knew that he would be deeply shocked by what was going to
happen
, he agreed that it was necessary. While all this was going on he just stood like one mesmerized, for though his innermost
feelings
were outraged and although he was horrified by what was happening, he could not tear his eyes away but felt impelled to stand there and watch the horror as it happened.

With a bitter taste in his mouth he stepped out into the
corridor
. It was empty, for Tisza had evidently given orders to his
followers
that on this day they should keep discreetly in the background and not wander about as they usually did. Even the ushers had disappeared.

Balint walked swiftly downstairs. In the hall on the
ground-floor
a small group of ejected Members stood nonchalantly at one side surrounded by policemen; they were still there when Balint returned from the cloakroom having collected his hat and stick.

Now they were crowding round the main entrance and Balint wondered what on earth they could be waiting for. Could it be checking of their papers, or were their captors expecting others to join them before they were all hurried away in one large group?

Abady was soon enlightened: the ejected members were having their photographs taken.