The Phoenix Land (37 page)

Then Khuen-Héderváry was able at last to clarify what he had meant.

All the same, this misunderstanding on our part acted to our advantage because it gave us something on which we could yield, which is often desirable if one does not want to seem
over-obstinate
. So we dropped the question of including the
Lettre d’Envoi
in the agreed document, but its exact meaning got in anyway, although in different words, and we would never have achieved this if we had not argued so fiercely for the letter itself.

So this misunderstanding became an amusing example of how, even in the most serious moments of international
negotiations
, chance can play an important part.

The task of finding a settlement to the border dispute was given to the military observers of the Great Powers. We agreed to this since General Ferrario (his two colleagues were a
lieutenant-colonel and captain) was a good friend of ours. It had been agreed that, pending the Sopron plebiscite and the report of the border commission, the area would continue to be policed by the Hungarian gendarmes. We had suggested this initially, but the official proposal had come from the Italians for the reason that it would be much more costly if English, Italian or French troops were to be stationed there. Much to my
astonishment
this went through quite smoothly.

Somehow we got towards the end of the conference.

Then the Austrians put forward a new demand: it was that Hungary should clear the area of the irregular guerrillas.

Of course, we could not openly accept this responsibility since to do so would have been tantamount to acknowledging that the partisans had been supported by the Hungarian government. We therefore replied that we would do everything in our power to make the partisans lay down their arms, and that we had reason to believe they would listen to us, but that as they were not government troops but were recruited mainly from the local citizenry, we could not order them to leave the territory.

Now Austria demanded that, in the circumstances, Hungary must suppress the guerrilla bands by force if necessary. Failing our government’s readiness to do this, they would consider the whole agreement null and void, refuse to sign any document and leave the conference table without delay. At this they started to rise from their seats.

It was a horrible moment.

We were asked either to abandon all our efforts for peace or to agree to take up arms against all those honest young Hungarians who had fought so valiantly for their country’s cause.

It was true that we were confident that the partisans would obey our instructions; but to give a written undertaking to take up arms against our own flesh and blood was unthinkable: to that we could never consent.

A solution had to be found, and in such a tight spot one’s mind can work at the speed of lightning.

I got up and asked the chairman Toretta for a brief recess.

Bethlen and I then retired for moment to one of the window embrasures and then went together to Toretta.

I then put to him the solution I proposed. Explaining that Hungarian public opinion would never accept either the Austrian proposal or that we should agree to act as a police force for Austria, but recognizing that the conference would end in failure unless we could persuade Schober and his delegation that the terms of the agreement would be carried out smoothly, we suggested that we would acknowledge our responsibility to evacuate the territory if we could do so privately to the Italian mediators and not publicly to Austria. No one else should know of this commitment, but we would give him our personal word of honour that our promise would be kept. Based on this, Italy should be able to declare that she would guarantee the peaceful handing over of the Burgenland and, hopefully, this would satisfy the Austrians.

Toretta was delighted, for if the conference were to break up without agreement, the fiasco would not only affect Italy’s
international
standing but also his own position as the minister responsible.

We returned to the conference hall, where Toretta announced that Italy would guarantee that the terms of the agreement were carried out. He said this in an authoritative tone, admitting no contradiction. The Austrians were appeased, for any cavilling on their part would now would suggest a lack of confidence in the Great Powers.

This is the true story of the Venice conference. It was a real success for us, as we had achieved everything we wanted.

It was certain that Sopron and its surrounding country would stay Hungarian; and indeed when the plebiscite was held at the end of December, sixty-three per cent voted in our favour.

We also obtained an agreement that the border commission would take into account not only the economic and geological report of the Hungarian government but also the views and needs of the local inhabitants as expressed by all the villages along the frontier.

Not only this, we also succeeded in our demand that the Hungarian gendarmes should remain in place during the plebiscite. This was in the interest of public confidence and not because we had any intention of using force to obtain the results
we hoped for. This would not only have been immoral but also, according to what Machiavelli laid down as worse in politics, stupid at a time when international observers would be
everywhere
and we needed the goodwill of the people. Our continued presence would also be decisive since many of the individuals composing the mass of voters had no firm opinions of their own. Such is the psychology of crowds that the majority will follow whoever appeared to be in power, and so to many the presence of our gendarmes would signify that power still remained with the Hungarian government. Those friendly to Hungary would have the courage to speak up, and the more cautious would follow their example. This would be particularly important for a whole string of villages, including all the Croatians (who had always been pro-Hungarian) and not a few Germanic ones too – in effect, all those on the eastern bank of the river Lafnitz – would probably vote to remain Hungarian.

The dividing up of the Habsburg possessions and the return of the art treasures that had come originally from Hungary were also settled satisfactorily at this time.

Another somewhat comic incident occurred when we came to sign the documents. Under the old rules for international
agreements
, the signatories had not only to sign their names but also affix their seals. This seems to have been a legacy of the Middle Ages when not everyone could write properly. Neither Bethlen nor I knew about this, and only Khuen-Héderváry wore a signet ring, which he would need for himself. The matter was solved when our ambassador to the Quirinal, Count Albert Nemes, lent us the two seals he had on his watch-chain, one of which he had inherited from his mother, who had been born Baroness
Wodianer
. So Bethlen used the arms of the Nemes family, while I employed the time-honoured crest of the Wodianers. I mention this for future students of heraldry lest they should imagine that, sometime in the first part of the twentieth century, the Bánffys had exchanged their old griffon for the Wodianers’ red-wrapped tobacco leaf and sailboat! We left Venice full of hope.

As our train crossed the dike to Mestre I leant out of the window to wave goodbye to the city of lagoons where once again
I had found myself filled with joy and where I had had such good luck.

We were all in a good mood, except for Khuen-Héderváry who seemed full of gloom. It turned out he was highly
superstitious
and that he thought it a bad omen that the agreement had not only been signed on 13 October but that the day had also been a Friday. He had done everything he could to have the agreements drawn up by 12 October, but there had not been time even though the drafting commission had worked without stop right up to midnight.

The rest of us just laughed; but Khuen-Héderváry was soon proved right.

A week later King Karl arrived at Sopron; and this second
putsch
nearly destroyed everything we had just achieved.

Chapter Six

We did not arrive back in Budapest until after ten o’clock in the evening of that Saturday because we had to return by way of the Tyrol, Vienna and Bratislava.

Even though it was so late there was a huge crowd waiting for us at the Western railway station. The platforms were jammed with people, and we were greeted with a speech by Ferenc Herczeg. There was such a multitude of people that our car was hardly able to move because of all those waving their hats and handkerchiefs in the air and trying to touch our hands. The next day the capital was filled with joy, as everyone understood that the Venice Agreement had been a great victory for us. On Monday Government-Commissioner Antal Sigray, Colonel Lehár, Ostenburg, Ranzenberger
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and Prónay, the commanding officer of the gendarmes, were summoned to the prime
minister’s
office to make preparations for the plebiscite and arrange for our gendarmerie to be under the authority of General Ferrario. We also had to discuss the most important question of the
disbanding
of the partisans without delay.

We outlined what would be needed and established every detail of the actual deployment of our forces. There would be no need of so many gendarmes: at least four-fifths of their number could be recalled at once.

It was mainly Bethlen who did the talking, because these
matters
came under his authority. As he went into all the details, I was looking at the others. Ranzenberger and Prónay listened in silence. Both of these were big strong men, Prónay with fists as large as horse’ hooves, while Ranzenberger was built like a
prizefighter
. Both were clearly proud of their physiques, and I noticed that, as they sat there listening but not speaking, again and again
they would flex their muscles as if somehow they were both trying to impress upon the other how terrible each could be. It was difficult not to smile.

I could not say the same of Ostenburg. His name had
originally
been Moravec but apparently he could not use this because of some ancient feud, and he had therefore chosen the
better-sounding
Ostenburg. He, like Prónay before he had become a gendarme, had once been notorious as the leader of one of those irregular bands that had wreaked so much havoc at the time of the White Terror. Moravec/Ostenburg just sat there lazily,
occasionally
nodding his head when Colonel Lehár said something.

Lehár himself was very different from the others. He was a good-looking military type, intelligent, reserved: a man of few words.

I had known Sigray for a long time. He was an old friend with whom I had often played polo. He was bold and witty, with a quick brain. As I silently watched these last two I had the
impression
, from what they said and asked, that they shared some secret idea, something that qualified their reactions. Although they agreed with everything, and accepted all the arrangements, they seemed to speak with some hesitation. They would say things like: ‘All right, if it turns out like that…’ or ‘Yes, that
could
be done.’ rather than ‘It will be done.’ or ‘We’ll do that.’

Accordingly, when the discussions were over I sat down next to Sigray and asked for an unequivocal promise from him, as the man responsible for carrying out the government’s decisions, that I had his word of honour that he would faithfully execute the programme we had just agreed.

For a moment Sigray seemed to hesitate. Then he said: ‘All right. I give my word of honour,’ and we shook hands.

After the meeting the two of us shared a car back into town. We were both in a good humour and discussed the tasks ahead of us like friends not simply as official colleagues. Then Sigray
suddenly
threw in the remark: ‘If King Karl should happen to be there, I’ll put him on a train and send him to you.’ Astonished I then asked: ‘There’s no question of that, I hope?’ ‘No! No! But one never knows with him. I just meant that I wouldn’t bother with him myself but let you sort it out back here.’
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Unfortunately, I did not take this casual remark seriously at the time. I just replied: ‘God forbid! But if he does turn up, it would be best for him not to stay there.’ If I had then thought to ask Sigray why he had mentioned this I might have then
discovered
, and thereby have better understood, what later occurred, but we let the subject drop, as he then started to talk about
something
to do with the conference, and the king was not mentioned again. It was as friends that we parted in front of the Ritz.

It was either the same day or the next when Gustáv Gratz, our ambassador in Vienna, came to see me at my request. I had asked him to call because we had chosen him to represent Hungary at the economic conference due to be held at Portorosa on 21 October.

When I entrusted him with this task he at first hesitated and then tried to get out of it, although without giving me any
reasons
for his reluctance. Finally he accepted.

This also did not arouse my suspicions, because I imagined that as my predecessor as foreign minister, he might now resent taking orders from me. However, he did take the dossier from me before returning at once to Vienna since he would have to leave on 19 October.

Some little time before, the prime minister had held some confidential talks with the Legitimists. As I have already written, these people had grown in strength ever since the king’s attempted
putsch
at Easter, and so Bethlen had thought it best, at least for the time being, to keep the matter in the air by arriving at some sort of compromise. He had therefore, with the
agreement
of Andrássy and his friends, worked out a declaration of which the substance was that in the present situation, and for some time to come, the government would be unable to consider the question of the ruler, but that he was convinced that the matter could not be resolved without involving the king
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.

Bethlen had agreed with the Andrássy Party that he would include this in the speech he was to give at Pécs on 20 October, when an important meeting had been planned to celebrate the return to Hungary of Baranya. As well as the head of
government
, several ministers and many members of parliament would also be there.

I believe that these discussions had been held before we went to Venice, but I did not take part in them and only heard later about the agreement.

I was not present either at Pécs, but stayed in Budapest.

Apart from myself and Belitska, the defence minister, all the other members of the cabinet had accompanied Bethlen to the meeting.

The twentieth of October was a Friday, just a week after the Venice conference. On that day I needed to telephone Sopron about some minor matter. In the late afternoon I called long
distance
and, after a long wait, our exchange told me that it was impossible to get through and that there must be some fault on the line.

I then went to the prime minister’s residence to have dinner with my cousin, Margit Bethlen. From there, both before and after our meal, I tried again to call Sopron and, later, Szombathely. There was no reply from either.

Now I began to be puzzled, so I asked Belitska to come over, and together we sat by the telephone from nine o’clock until eleven. Still no answer. Belitska grew tired of waiting and went home, but I began to be worried and felt that something must be wrong. Finally it occurred to me that perhaps the
superintendent
’s
department at the post office could get through on their own line.

So I asked for their help.

Finally, at half past eleven I received an answer. They told me that they had got through, but only to Szombathely. A post office employee had answered the call. She had said just a few words before hanging up, just enough to pass on a rumour that King Karl had arrived in Sopron and that the
Government-Commissioner
had forbidden any communication with Budapest!

The omen had been proved true.

Bethlen returned early on Saturday morning. I had sent word to the station of the news from Sopron. Soon afterwards there was a conference of the government ministers and talks with Horthy. By noon reports had started coming in, not from Sopron itself but from Ovár and Györ, where there were those
conscientious enough to send us what information they could. So as to give a coherent account of King Karl’s arrival I will tell what happened in chronological order even though it was only later that we learned some of the details.

On 19 October King Karl presented himself at József Cziráky’s house at Dénesfa
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. He arrived with Zita and Borovicsényi. Borovicsényi was a secretary at the embassy who, on his own request, had been granted leave from the foreign office to attend King Karl. The intention had been that he should send back regular reports as to what was happening in the exiled court. His duties should have included his trying to dissuade King Karl from attempting a second
putsch
and also
letting
us know of the King’s intentions. It was some time before we had realized that he was unsuitable for that post, as he had been seduced by the glamour of the ‘court’. It was probably clumsy of us to have sent him there. Borovicsényi had been Bethlen’s secretary in Vienna in the spring of 1919 and it had been part of his duties then to liase with the representatives of the Great Powers, which sometimes involved him in fairly important matters. As so often happens in revolutionary times, some quite mediocre characters find themselves in positions way beyond their real capacities simply because they happen at that time to be the only people available. Such persons are apt to fancy themselves geniuses, and this is what had happened to Borovicsényi. When normal times returned he had gone back to the foreign office in the same, or maybe only slightly higher, grade to which he would have been entitled by his years of service. Unfortunately, after his time in Vienna, he had thought himself worthy of better things and decided this was a backward step.

In Budapest he was always discontented and always criticizing whatever was done, which is probably why Kálmán Kánya, the foreign minister’s deputy who dealt with staff matters, gave him leave.

King Karl’s other companion was Queen Zita herself. It must have been a hard decision to leave her many children – for she gave birth nearly every year – in order to be at her husband’s side, but she did it even though she was once again pregnant. She was, of
course, a strong-willed woman. When her husband had still been heir to the throne she had come to Kolozsvár; and as I had been assigned to her service I had several days in which to observe her at leisure. This little anecdote may help illuminate her character.

One day it had been arranged that she should visit various places in the town including the Transylvanian Museum and several churches and convents. Archduke Friedrich, then
commander
-in-chief of the army, arrived on the same day and also wanted to see the sites of Kolozsvár. This immediately created difficulties because the Archduchess Zita declared she did not want to meet Archduke Friedrich anywhere. Accordingly, the day’s programme had entirely to be rescheduled, which was not easy in such a small place. The cars would have to make all sorts of detours so as not to meet on the road. It was a real headache, but in the end I thought I had worked it all out. If everyone kept strictly to the times allotted for each visit, then the two would not meet. But it was not to be. No matter how often I would say, with watch in hand, that it was time to go, we always stayed too long wherever we went. And so it happened that, although we
managed
to avoid an actual meeting, their cars did pass each other while going through the park. Zita was furious, and when angry she could be terrifying. She went very pale and her tongue darted in and out of her thin lips like a snake’s.
‘Ich hab ‘doch gesagt, dass ich ihn nicht sehen will!’
– ‘I have already said I will not meet him,’ she said over and over again, and her whole body trembled with hate.