The Japanese seemed much impressed by what I had told him of Tisza and then, uttering the greatest compliment a Japanese could give, said: ‘For us it is a moral law to endure infamy if it is for the good of our country.’
He then gladly agreed to vote with us on the matter of elections to the Council and promised also to rally the support of China and Siam.
After this visit the Japanese treated me as if I were a fully-fledged Asiatic and soon afterwards asked me to attend an otherwise wholly Asian dinner. The host was Ishii, their chief delegate who was then the Mikado’s ambassador in Paris. The entire Japanese, Chinese and Siamese delegations, with most of their wives in national dress, were present. I was the only European.
It was a most interesting dinner not only because of the exotic appearance of the guests. The Chinese women in their national costumes were ravishing. I had already seen them in the hotel, but I had found something droll about their appearance when dressed in European clothes. Mostly rather short, they walked awkwardly in high-heel western shoes. Now they were dazzlingly beautiful. It was not possible to talk to them, although whether this was because they spoke no English or because etiquette forbade them to speak at all I do not know. They smiled but never spoke. On the other hand, the Japanese women – there were only two or three of them – were quite Europeanized. I sat next to the hostess, who was a real beauty; not at all like the diminutive doll-like geishas of popular legend but rather a tall slender woman with an ivory skin that would have been the envy of any elegant European. Her face was narrow, her nose thin, and she held her head high above a tapering neck. In an off-the-shoulder Paris dress she was a ravishing figure who would have stood out in any gathering of the world’s most famous beauties. She had a completely cosmopolitan air.
The conversation was in English, as few of the guests would have understood any of the others’ languages.
It was soon clear to what extent I had been accepted as one of them. They talked to me unreservedly about their former allies, especially about the English, who were the subject of much criticism. They all believed that they had been made false promises that Australia would be opened to Chinese and Japanese immigrants so as to induce them to support the Allies in the war. Both countries suffered from rapidly increasing populations they could not support at home, and as Australia was so sparsely inhabited they had counted on this promise as a solution to their problems. When the war was won, however, the promise had not been kept, and even America imposed new restrictions on immigration. The Far Eastern countries received no reward, and even access to colonization in Polynesia was denied them. And not only that, but it seemed that there was to be no question of restitution of the huge losses they had incurred. The gist of everything they said was that they no longer believed in the good faith of the countries of Europe.
I enjoyed all this whole-heartedly, especially the fact that the usually reserved and inscrutable Orientals said all this openly to me just as if I were one of them and so could be trusted. For a diplomat this was indeed a great satisfaction.
With four Baltic, four Asian and fifteen South American votes added to our own, we now had twenty-four on our side: close to but not yet quite forming a majority. I still had to look for a few more, so I tackled the Bulgarian and Albanian delegates, and with them I obtained a majority vote that caused the nomination of Yugoslavia to be defeated. If I remember the voting was twenty-six to eighteen. I can still hardly believe it.
There were several especially favourable circumstances at that time. It was fortunate that the election meeting’s president was the highly popular old Swede Branting, while it was also undoubtedly in our favour that everyone knew that it was the Serbs who had repudiated my agreement with Ninçic, thus labelling themselves the spoilers of the peace process. There were probably other reasons too, notably that not a few of the neutral countries, led by the South Americans, had grown tired of everything being decided by France and England without prior consultation with anyone else.
All this required nerve-shattering relentless work. It needed a great knowledge of men, or rather of the spirit that guided different peoples. It meant being constantly on the alert to analyse every word spoken to me so that I could put myself in the mental position of the man I wanted to win over. I feel that one of the most important assets of a diplomat is the ability to understand a way of thinking quite alien to one’s own. I feel too that maybe it was my experience as a writer that provided me with something of this ability, since all writers must be able to put themselves into the minds of others. It was also to my personal advantage that since early youth I had read widely and, having an excellent memory, retained a multitude of diverse facts, ethnographical and historical, which would at once come to mind when I found myself talking to foreigners, were they Finns, Swedes, Japanese or Bulgarians. I found that having such knowledge of their own countries rejoiced their hearts and, indeed, impressed many of those with whom I had to deal. I even remembered facts about Simon Bolivar gathered from my boyhood reading of adventure stories.
There was another aspect of this affair that surprised me then – and indeed still does – and that was that all my hard work before the election could be done in secret, and that the secret was kept. Neither then nor later did I see the smallest sign that anyone had noticed what I had been doing. I am particularly sure of this as regards the French, who always displayed towards me the greatest goodwill, despite the undoubted fact that, as the nomination to the Council had been put forward by them, they would have been understandably angry if they had known my part in its frustration. This was probably because the French were so sure of themselves that perhaps they had not bothered to wonder what was being whispered in the wings; and perhaps, too, because I had been dealing with diplomats who knew how to watch their tongues. It was an exhilarating experience for me when the voting took place, and we won with an important majority.
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 reform132. 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 al
so 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 soo
n 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.
The Phoenix Land Page 43