Bedlam broke out as soon as Tisza rose to speak. Ferenc Kossuth did all he could to quiet the members of his party, hoping that they at least would behave with the dignity required of those who claimed to be fit to rule a modern European nation. The noise died slowly and at last Tisza was able to speak.
‘As one who has resigned as Minister-President I no longer have the constitutional right to direct the proceedings of the House …’he started.
‘Too right! Sit down! Get out of here, you old fool!’ The shouts arose from all sides, but Tisza remained on his feet, tall and erect, his dark-clad figure standing broad-shouldered and defiant against the red velvet that covered the ministerial benches. Tisza held his left hand behind his hip, as if he were taking up the stance of one about to fight a duel. When he started to speak he stabbed the air with his right index finger to underline what he was saying. Though he was backed by the members of his own party he gave the impression of being alone — completely, utterly alone.
Despite shouts of ‘He’s inciting the peasants against us!’ he continued impassively, quoting figures and statistics to back up his argument, and for more than an hour he went on just as if he were speaking to an assembly of reasonable politicians ready to discuss what was best for their country. Despite innumerable interruptions Tisza kept on his feet until, with his virile, accusing voice, he came to the end of his argument. Then he sat down.
‘He’s a cheeky bastard for someone nobody wants!’ one red-faced ‘patriot’ shouted. This was going too far and the new Minister-President Justh was obliged to give the man an official reprimand; not that this made much impression, for immediately three or four others jumped up from the rows of the 1848 Party crying: ‘Cheeky bastard! Cheeky bastard! What about reprimands all round?’ and the uproar grew so loud that the assembly had to be suspended.
The House quickly emptied, its members congregating in small groups in the corridors, each surrounding a party leader hoping to catch a phrase or two that they would repeat as their own in the club bars, in small party meetings and in talking to political journalists. In this way the back-benchers hoped to curry favour with the general public.
No one gave a thought to Tivadar Mihalyi’s speech. The only subject thought worth discussing was Tisza, who was accused of every treachery, from intriguing with Austrians to destroy the liberty of Hungary, to plotting with disloyal Hungarians to break with Austria. The attitude of the Croatians was also a disappointment to the others. Before the House met everyone had imagined, and the newspapers had predicted, that they would vote for the Address. No one had thought that they would do the opposite. Such was the general political naïvety, and the disappointment at what had actually happened, that they at once assumed that they were the victims of conspiracy. They saw enemies everywhere, not realizing that all nations were governed by their own interests and that the skill with which these were grasped and developed was the true basis of a nation’s peace and prosperity. From this distrust of anyone who did not agree with them sprang the divisions within their own ranks which would lead, eventually, to the disintegration of the ruling Croatian party. No one present at this disastrous session of the Budapest Parliament foresaw that with the defection of the Croatian party the way would be opened up for the pan-Serb coalition that would eventually succeed in depriving Hungary of the provinces beyond the Drava river.
The Transylvanian lawyer, Zsigmond Boros, summed up the general reaction, saying: ‘We have to admit that our noble and patriotic Address, in the face of the united and prejudiced opposition of Tisza, the Croatians and the smaller minorities, has now no chance of being received either sympathetically or objectively by the Throne! That’s the trouble. Only that. It is they who have spoiled everything. If it hadn’t been for them, the King would certainly have yielded. Of course he would! The King’s only too anxious to expand the army. It’s his passion. Only this lot have spoiled it all!’
Balint listened sadly for a few moments and then turned away. As he did so he caught a glimpse of the small group of Romanians who were gathered in a dark corner, among them the lawyer Timisan. He went over and greeted them, shaking hands. Timisan, just as he had been on the train, was pleasant and seemed in a good humour, though his smile was mocking and cynical. The others, to whom he presented Balint, were cold, silent and suspicious, and Balint felt that he was being watched, doubted and judged. He started to speak about one of Tisza’s commercial points that affected Transylvania, thinking that it might form a common bond of interest, but they answered him only with polite phrases that showed clearly their distrust of him. After about fifteen minutes the bell rang summoning the members back into the House. Frustrated but somewhat relieved, Balint moved away.
As he went back to his seat he passed close to Wuelffenstein, who spoke to him.
‘How could you speak to those barbarians? It simply isn’t done! My Hungarian blood boils at the mere sight of them!’
Abady felt the veins in his forehead swelling with anger. ‘I do as I see fit! Do you object?’ he said fiercely to Fredi, who did not have a drop of Hungarian blood in him.
‘No! No! Of course not! I only thought …’ said Wuelffenstein, quickly sliding down in his seat with hunched shoulders, his black and white suit in stark contrast to the red of the benches.
Later on at the Casino — and at every other political meeting-place — the view so succinctly expressed by Zsigmond Boros was rehearsed over and over again. There were minor variations, but the theme remained the same. No one spoke of anything else. In the great world outside Hungary events were taking place that would change all their lives: the uprising in Russia, the dispute over Crete, the Kaiser Wilhelm’s ill-timed visit to Tangier, the revelation of Germany’s plans to expand its navy — but such matters were of no importance to the members of the Hungarian Parliament. Even events closer to home, such as the rabble-rousing speech of an Austrian politician in Salzburg urging revolt among the German-speaking minorities in northern Hungary, or the anonymous pamphlet, which appeared in Vienna and revealed the total unpreparedness of the Austro-Hungarian forces compared with those of the other European powers, went unnoticed in Budapest. Naturally, when Apponyi made a speech in favour of Dezso Banffy’s proposal to limit the demand for Hungarian commands in the army to using Hungarian only in regimental matters, everyone listened and discussed it as if their very lives depended on it.