The Phoenix Land (51 page)

All the same it was nerve-racking work for which I paid the price. To remain tautly alert every second, continuously to have to weigh up every sentence – indeed every word – spoken can be grinding toil for anyone. I found myself constantly having to be sure that the words I spoke hit the right note, and at the same time never to lose sight of how the other man’s mind worked, how he was reacting and what approach would be most likely to raise an echo of appreciation. And it had to be done with many diverse people, at one moment Spanish and the next Swedish or Japanese, never losing oneself in the Tower of Babel that the League of Nations had become, never forgetting that the Chileans despised the Bolivians, that the Finns were touchy on the subject of their international standing, that with the Dutch one should use only ideological arguments, and that the
Lithuanians
thrived on hatred. Even so, if this had been all, I could have managed it without any damage to my health.

At the same time there were other matters to attend to, and many small claims to be settled. When the complaint about the
numerus clauses
came before the Council it was my job to defend it even though I had had nothing to do with this purely internal issue. Then Reverchon, the Grand Master of the Geneva Freemasons, came to see me to urge that the Freemasons’ lodges in Hungary be allowed to operate freely once more and would also have their funds restored to them. I had to discuss this with him and give him some hope, which put no strain on me as I fully sympathized with his point of view; but at the same time I knew only too well that I could not be of any real help since Horthy detested Freemasonry. Yet, however hesitant I might feel, it would have been impolitic not to give him any encouragement at all since I knew that the League’s Secretariat was almost wholly composed of Masons, while a large part of the many delegations
was too. After this I had to help Sarah Wertheimstein, sister of Baroness Rothschild, who came to consult me about agricultural reform
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. I tried to help as best I could. The nice Mrs Snowden was also there. Then there were all sorts of gala dinners and other national and international social engagements which could not be avoided not only because protocol demands one’s presence but also because these occasions provided the opportunity for all sorts of useful contacts and confidential exchanges of information.

At this time I found myself effectively working alone, for since Fedor Vest and Villányi had returned home after the
frontier
question had been settled, only Béla Török remained with me, and, although he was a most talented young man, he had little experience. I was only able really to use him for drafting documents and telegrams and for our reports to Budapest, since much of the work to which I was devoting myself was extremely complicated and could only be undertaken by someone who held all the threads in his own hands.

All this wore down my nerves. I had noticed some time before that my handwriting had become almost illegible, that I was apt to talk too much, and that my temper was all too readily aroused. Also I could hardly sleep. The signs of incipient nervous
breakdown
became more and more obvious.

What affected me the most – and this is what was finally to cause me to break down – was all the backbiting I received from home. The rejection of the agreement I had made with Serbia over the new Hungarian/Yugoslav frontier question and the stern reproof I had received over this from Budapest, together with many other senseless orders I had been sent but which could never have been complied with, were only made worse by the incessant innuendoes and slanders about me that appeared in the opposition press without the slightest reply from the
government
papers. I found all this hurtful and humiliating. It is
possible
I felt it all too much at the time, but it was like an automaton that I made my last efforts to finish my task. After the successful outcome of the voting for the Council seats, my nerves finally gave way.

This happened just when I was due to attend a gala dinner organized by de Traz in my honour. It had been a most kind
gesture on his part, but when Bela Török and Zoltán Baranyai came to collect me they found me in such poor state that I had been unable to put on my evening clothes and was in no way fit to socialize with strangers. I felt that at any moment I would
collapse
physically, and that thousands of ants were running about under my skin! I had immediately to take tranquillizers, speak to no one, lie down and sleep, sleep, sleep … It was impossible for me to attend the dinner, which caused me much regret.

After a few days I felt a little better and so, although I should have gone at once to a sanatorium, I wanted to finish my task at Geneva. Luckily, there was nothing really serious that had to be settled, but I still had two speeches to make. These were only statements that had been prepared in advance, which was just as well as I had found that if once I started speaking I said too much, and nothing would stop me. Pál Teleki, in his last days as prime minister, had become just the same before he shot himself.

It was at this moment that I went to Paris to see about the restoration of the little
palais
we had bought for our embassy. In the course of my short stay there I went with Praznovsky to pay a brief courtesy visit to the Quai d’Orsay. I was there only for a few minutes: nevertheless, the Legitimist press at home used the occasion to publish that lying slander about me, which I
mentioned
earlier.

The restoration of the Rue de Berry house was my last action as foreign minister. After that, I went back to Geneva and waited for the closing of the League of Nations General Assembly. I paid my farewell courtesy visits and thanked all those who had supported me for their help. I went first to Rivas-Vicunna and presented him with the Hungarian Cross of Merit, out of
gratitude
and also as something to remember me by.

Those were very mixed days for me in the beautiful capital of French Switzerland. Even though it was then that my health broke down completely, I look back on those days with great pleasure, for I still have wonderful memories of that beautiful city.

One of the most marvellous was the view from a lakeside villa. One day I had been invited to a garden party at the house of de Traz’s father-in-law. The villa was about ten kilometres east of
Geneva and stood in a vast garden shaded by the wide-spreading foliage of centuries-old oak-trees. The house dated from the end of the eighteenth century and was filled with works of art brought from Paris by the host’s forbears who, from father to son, had served in the Swiss Guard of the kings of France. Everything was beautiful and rare and the best of its kind; but the most memorable of all was the view from the garden. I shall never forget it. An emerald-green lawn sloped gently down to the steel-grey water. The lake that day was like a mirror. As it was already late in the afternoon, the lower parts of the mountains on the other side of the lake were in dark shade. The lower peaks, the steep valley-sides and ravines seemed to form a steep wall of shadow, no longer fragmented by shafts of sunlight. Only a few of the highest stood out like claws, showing that there were many of them, high plateaus and crests, one in front of the other, those in the far distance paler than those closer to us. These, however, were only the foothills. Above them were more summits of ice and sparkling snow with, where the sun did not reach, azure streaks almost the same colour as the sky. And then, suddenly, unexpectedly, so dazzling as to appear unreal, defying
imagination
and as high up as one would look for the stars, shone a
blinding
white triangle, Mont Blanc itself, dwarfing everything around until it seemed that the highest ranges of the Alps were but little hills beside this mighty monarch. It was a sight to make real the ancient’s belief that it was on the highest peaks that the gods lived.

My friend de Traz saw how enchanted I was by this view. The other guests had all departed, but he did not disturb me, and we waited peacefully in the garden for night to fall.

Slowly everything below turned violet-blue, and wisps of grey vapour rose above the surface of the lake. The snow-capped mountains turned to flame, while above them the sky at first turned pale green until the dying orange-red glow of the sinking sun vanished completely to leave both mountains and sky a
uniform
lilac. As the darkness spread, the bright snow above and the foothills below became as one until, as the night approached, one or two stars appeared. And still there, shining fire-red in the night sky, the glittering triangle of the king of mountains floated
serene and alone, unreal in the violet sky like a vision, a holy apparition, triumphant and eternal, the symbol of the
all-powerful
Lord of All.

Perhaps I had made a mistake in waiting until the General Assembly of the League was finally brought to an end. It might have been wiser to have returned earlier, but then I have always found it difficult not to complete what I have begun and I could not then have known what my enemies were already planning for me. It was so beautiful in Geneva, quieter and more peaceful than elsewhere. Besides this – and although of course I was fully aware that I would be greeted in Budapest with wicked intrigues that would try me sadly – I had another reason for delaying my departure.

Ever since I had first arrived I had been bothered by the fact that there was no sign or memorial to remind us of the place where Queen Elisabeth had been assassinated. In the Alps, as at home, it was customary to erect a cross or a small statue to mark the spot where some fatal accident had occurred, where someone had fallen to their death or been struck by lightning. The Austrian Alps are full of such little wayside shrines – ‘martyrs’ crosses’ they call them – so I thought I would suggest to the city authorities that some mark should show the place where that angelic being, the Great Lady of Hungary who loved us so much, met her death.

My first idea was that a small picture of the Madonna should be fixed to the tree at the foot of which our queen had collapsed; but that did not prove acceptable since it turned out that the City Council did not want anything too conspicuous, partly, I fancy, because they were still somewhat embarrassed that the
assassination
had taken place in their city. Lengthy discussions
followed
, and it was finally agreed that they would affix a little medallion, measuring only some six by ten centimetres, to a wrought-iron ring between two of the balusters marking the quayside. It would certainly be inconspicuous but still, for us, a permanent memorial.

I decided to wait for this decision before leaving Geneva. I received it in the last days of my stay.

As soon as I reached home I commissioned Szentgyörgyi to design a bronze medallion. On the front there was a profile of
Queen Elisabeth surrounded by her name and the date of her death; while on the reverse a few words of our eternal gratitude to her. It was very beautiful, but as it was only delivered to me at the beginning of December, a few days before I left office, I handed it over to my successor and charged him to send it on to Geneva, where Baranyai was to arrange to have it put in place. This never happened. About a year later I had to consult one of the ministry’s advisers, and I found it on his desk. He had used it as a paperweight.

Back in Budapest, while I had been busying myself with all this, my enemies had profited by my absence to circulate even more damaging reports about me. Before, they had kept to the suspicions of my ‘treason’; now it appeared that, with mounting joy, they had spread the rumour that I was going mad, had already lost my reason, even that I was a raving lunatic.

As soon I as I arrived home I went straight to see the prime minister. Bethlen received me warmly, as a friend, and I reported to him on the work I had done at the League of Nations and also told him how it had affected my nervous system. I asked him for permission to take a lengthy holiday so that I could recover my health in some sanatorium, during which time I would prepare for him a detailed account of my mission so that he would have everything on paper.

On this we parted. I did not return to my office in the ministry but went straight to Vienna so as to be on my own.

When I returned I handed in three copies of my report, which gave details of everything that had transpired in Geneva: one was for Horthy, one for the prime minister and the third for the ministry’s archive. I made a copy of this, leaving out only the most confidential aspects. I had decided to read this out in
parliament
, although I later abandoned the idea.

I also withdrew from the appointment to Paris, even though my
Agrément
had already been accorded. It had so happened that Praznovsky had married a rich Frenchwoman and resigned from the diplomatic service, thereby leaving the Paris post unfilled just when we urgently needed an ambassador there. I did not yet feel strong enough for the job, and indeed Bethlen himself asked
me to step down. I believe that he had been somewhat influenced by what had been spread around about me.

As it turned out it was to be some time before the Paris post was filled. It was not until the end of January or the beginning of February that Frigyes Korányi arrived in Paris, by which time I was myself fit enough to do the job. So my withdrawal, made for the most selfless of reasons, had achieved nothing. I received a private message from the Quai d’Orsay saying that they would rather have had me than anyone else; but my decision had been taken on 14 December, at the same time as my resignation as foreign minister, so I was no longer in any position to revive the idea. I must also say that the campaign against me, which had been planned in some most influential circles, had soured any ambition I might still have had. Even my report about Geneva, which totally vindicated my actions there, was never read in the House and so received no publicity either then or later. It seemed as if everyone had agreed to maintain a profound silence about everything I had achieved while acting as minister for foreign affairs. They succeeded only too well.