What luck that man has! he thought. And what a crazy world!
The next few weeks were dull enough for Abady, though the political scene was lively.
While he had been away in Transylvania the Coalition had been on the verge of collapse, and the atmosphere in Budapest ever more tense.
All over the country the campaign for the establishment of the independent banking system had been stoked up, but at the same time that section of the Independence Party that was led by Justh did all it could to fight against the policies of Ferenc Kossuth, still their nominal leader, proclaiming that in this matter they would accept no compromise. They even went so far as to demand that Wekerle’s government should at once vote the fantastic sum of 500 million crowns for defence.
That the army desperately needed the money at a time when all Europe was arming and Russia seemed to be preparing for a general war was true enough, especially as Austria-Hungary’s military equipment was so antiquated. It was perfectly true that the Dual Monarchy would be useless, whether as enemy or ally, unless its army could swiftly be modernized, but it was still fruitless to raise this demand at a time when the government was powerless to act. Again there was raised the spectre of the cold hand of the Heir, who was thought to be plotting to bring to power his own nominee, Laszlo Lukacs.
Once again the government resigned and Wekerle went so far as to announce in Parliament that the Coalition had been dissolved. But the Monarch said: ‘Weiterdienen! — go back to work!’ and refused to accept the resignations.
This was the situation that Abady found when he returned to Budapest, so he was on the spot for all that followed. The government crisis was so drawn-out that it seemed like eternity. It was complicated by a kaleidoscopic change of allegiances. At one moment there was a short-lived cabinet headed by Wlassits; just before that one led by Kossuth, and just after it another with Andrassy; but all were so brief that they passed almost unnoticed, appearing and as swiftly vanishing on that fantasy stage of politics, insubstantial as some mad nirvana. Each one had his own unreasonable reasons to excuse his failure: Wlassits had no majority; Kossuth would only remain if he could go on carrying simultaneously the banners of the independent banking system and the separation of the Austro-Hungarian Customs; and Andrassy insisted that Vienna should yield on the questions of appointing Hungarians to army commands and using the Hungarian language in army orders. He was adamant on these principles and the Crown was equally adamant in refusing, even though Andrassy had proposed a face-saving formula by which the Hungarian army demands were accepted in theory but not put into practice. None of these contradictory moves did anything to alleviate the general malaise nor stop the decay of the Coalition.
It was not long before the general public wearied of all the artificial excitement, and the more they were bombarded by leading articles in the Press, each party lambasting the policies of its opponents, the more the man in the street became disillusioned with the lot of them. People no longer believed a word of what they read in the Press, until all the different political elements in the Coalition had lost credit with the general public. The fundamental flaw that brought the Coalition down was that when it had first come to power its leaders had pretended that they had now won everything for which they had fought while in opposition; while the truth was that they had capitulated on almost all points. All that nationalistic nonsense that had been used to win votes before they achieved power proved to be nothing but a bag of campaign tricks once they were in office. That famous Pactum, whose very existence had been so hotly denied until the fiction could no longer be maintained — since it had become clear to everyone that it had been the price paid for getting office — and the fact that after three and a half years nothing had been done to realize the promised universal suffrage, had brought the whole political structure into disrepute with the ordinary citizen.
The leaders of the different parties forming the Coalition fought against each other in a sort of vacuum, though they themselves still thought the battles were real and significant. They proclaimed the same slogans, for which they had once been worshipped as demigods, but now the effect was not the same. Those ideas which had once raised cheers of enthusiasm and support — the old questions of banking, customs, Hungarian sword-tassels for army officers etc. etc. etc. — now raised no more than disillusioned yawns. And the politicians were so wrapped up in their own importance that they never even noticed.
Sadly enough, this disdain for internal politics was reflected by an equal disregard for the signs of more sinister developments abroad. It should have been a warning to Hungary that when all the defendants in the Zagreb treason trial were given heavy sentences of imprisonment, the French Press hailed it as a welcome sign of Balkan disintegration. What, it should then have been asked, was the true significance of the meeting at Racconigi between the Tsar of Russia and the King of Italy? No one knew, no one cared, and no one bothered to ask. True, there were cheerful gossipy items in the Press about the meeting of the two rulers, one of them the ally of the Anglo-French Entente Cordiale and the other of Austria and Germany, but it was complacently assumed that nothing would shake Italy’s loyalty to the central European powers. The newspapers wrote, ‘There is no question of Italy quitting the Triple Alliance’. No one thought to look further, and nothing was said to reassure those who might have been surprised that the Tsar‚ who had never been a peripatetic monarch like King Edward of England, should have gone to Italy at all. And yet, as was learned much later, it had been during this visit that plans were laid that led later to Italy’s change of heart during the Great War.
Even Abady, who had formerly followed all such developments with growing concern, kept himself aloof, wrapped up as he was by his personal sadness and his worry over Adrienne. He only attended the sessions in Parliament once, and that was because he had been summoned by the Speaker who had sent a message that more members were needed to make a quorum so that the business of the House could continue. When he got there he discovered that the unfinished business was simply that the House could not legally rise until the date of the next session had been fixed and that there were not enough members present for any decision to be legal. In the past no one had minded or bothered to count: now it was different.
It had started when a Slovak member had been absent and one of his friends had tried to vote for him. A count was taken and there were too few members in the Chamber. Justh adjourned the session while everyone telephoned everyone else to come quickly. At the next count there were still only fifty-nine when there should have been at least a hundred.
Pandemonium! Old hands grumbled, but the House Rules were the House Rules and had to be obeyed. Bells rang throughout the House, footmen were sent searching every corner for stray members … and all was in vain, for now only fifty-seven could be rounded up.
Despite every effort by five o’clock only sixty-seven supporters had been gathered in. Only sixty-seven: no one else could be found.
This is when they thought of Abady, who hurried in a little after eight. As he passed along the corridor he found he had to pass a laughing group of People’s Party members who were merrily puffing at their cigars and gloating over the impotent rage of Justh and the more vociferous anger of Hollo. And the more they discussed it all, the more it was obvious that for them it was all the most enormous joke.