The Phoenix Land

by Miklos Banffy

  As far as I knew, Adatoi had accepted the Hungarian point of view. This, at least, is what Lukács and Gaszágo had been happy to tell me before they returned to Budapest in the blissful belief that the optans question had been left in safe hands.

  What then happened I do not know, except that a few weeks later I heard that the Japanese had now sided with the Romanians. It seems that instead of staying in Geneva and working to keep the Japanese up to scratch, our people in true Hungarian fashion had gone confidently home to bed, while our opponents went to work on Adatoi.

  At any rate, the next meeting was at Brussels on 27 May. Hungary was represented by Imre Csáky and Gajzágó, Romania by Titulescu, and Adatoi was present as arbitrator. Also there were the official secretaries, van Hamel and Mantoux, in their capacities as heads of the legal and political sections of the League of Nations.

  On the following day a protocol was drawn up which recorded what progress had been made in the negotiations. It had been cleverly worded, and I believe that the author was Mantoux, who was known to be the trusted friend of the ‘Little Entente’. The protocol contained no mention of any solution, yet made it clear that Hungary was not objecting to the principle of Romanian land reform, since Romania had the right to make its own internal arrangements on such matters. And, although it did make an appearance elsewhere, there was no reference to the way Romania had modified her contractual obligations.

  I only became aware of this in the first days of June when I was summoned to the prime minister’s office to attend a conference to discuss how we should deal with this new turn of events. There were quite a lot us present, and they all – Bethlen, Daruváry, Kánya, Khuen-Héderváry, Gajzágó and Apponyi – blamed Csáky for having signed the protocol. This appeared to have shocked them when the documents revealed his actions, but I personally felt it was unjust to blame him.

  It transpired that Kánya had given Csáky an order that in no circumstances was he to allow the conference to break up. Gajzágó related what had happened. On the first day they had argued from morning to night without arriving at any conclusion. At about ten o’clock the following morning Adatoi had summoned the Hungarian delegates to the Japanese Embassy. When they arrived they saw a car drawn up at the front door, laden with luggage. Csáky and Gajzágó were then told that Titulescu would be leaving for home at eleven o’clock. In Adatoi’s presence Titulescu showed the Hungarians the protocol document, which had been drawn up overnight. Then Adatoi told them to sign it. At first they demurred, but when Titulescu declared that whatever happened he would be leaving almost immediately and that if they refused to sign, the conference would break up and that it would be their fault. Csáky, remembering Kánya’s order, did not dare to take this responsibility and signed.

  Although he found himself in a very difficult situation, this whole affair showed once again the impossibility of negotiating in foreign countries with fixed orders from home, for no one can foresee what difficulties may arise once the talks start. It had been quite wrong to give Csáky plenary powers to sign: better for us all if he only had the power to negotiate. He could then have entrenched himself, as I had with Ninçic, behind the ultimate authority of his government’s ratification. If that had been done, all this trouble could have been avoided. As it was, the subsequent complications, which were not only disagreeable but also harmful to our country’s prestige, stemmed from these two errors. It must be said, however, that the original mistake lay in the manner in which the optans question was laid before the League of Nations. This I have already outlined, and this is what I put to the prime minister’s conference. Finally it was decided at the meeting that the government would disown Csáky’s signature and would inform the League of Nations that it maintained its original position. There was no other way for Hungary if she wanted to continue her fight for fair treatment of the optans.

  In these chapters I have told the part I was called upon to play in the rebuilding of Hungary. Although it had meant that I had devoted four years uninterrupted work, which had entailed ruining my health by working day and night, I still remember it all with undiminished satisfaction. Even today it gladdens my heart to think that it was I who arranged for Sopron to remain Hungarian, and also that I had played such an significant part in restoring international respect for my country. These achievements gave me the right, I believe, to stand in judgement on the policies, the sins of omission and the foolhardiness which later had such catastrophic effects for the Hungarian people.

  Some may think I have gone into too much detail, but although I might have told my tale in a shorter way, with less about myself, it seemed to me essential to relate everything in full, not so much as to vaunt my own actions but because I felt it might be useful to a later generation to be aware of everything that happened, to try to bring to life all the little details of what is involved in a foreign service career as well as to show how diplomatic problems may be solved; and, above all, to grasp how one must adapt to the very different habits of thought in the people with whom we come in contact and how important it is to be prepared to act instantly when suddenly confronted with mishaps no one can foresee.

  Hungarians are badly in need of this sort of knowledge, for, as we have no native foreign service traditions, people have come to believe that a diplomatic post is little more than an agreeable way of passing the time, mostly in attending social occasions such as evening parties, balls and festive lunches. They do not know that it is, in fact, one of the most arduous jobs of all, for it entails great responsibility. Once something has been said it cannot be withdrawn, and news of it is at once carried far and wide, creating unforeseen consequences, for we have spoken in the name of our country and those to whom we speak, although we believe them to be friends, can become our enemies overnight. This is especially true for those who represent a small country such as Hungary. Those who represent a Great Power can permit themselves many things. The English say ‘My country, right or wrong!’ and this is a great saying, not only in the purely patriotic sense in which they are apt to use it but also because it can mean that a powerful nation can change its attitude without doing any harm to itself. A small country, on the other hand, must stick closely to the truth, or it risks being punished a hundredfold. It is vital, therefore, to read between the lines of the drafts of all international agreements so as to be sure they include nothing that does not further the national interest. Lastly, only strict adherence to the truth will benefit one’s personal prestige, for that will have a more lasting effect in a diplomatic career than anything else.

  Notes

  126. On the afternoon of 10 September 1898, the Empress Elisabeth (Queen of Hungary) was walking from the Hotel Beau-Rivage, accompanied by Countess Sztaray, to board the steamer for Caux, where she planned to spend a few days. Edward Crankshaw in The Fall of the House of Habsburg writes: ‘a young man hurried towards them, barred their path, leapt at the empress and stabbed her violently and swiftly in the breast. Elisabeth fell to the ground as the young man rushed headlong away. But, with help, she got to her feet, was dusted down, refused to go back to the hotel, said it was nothing and resumed the walk to the steamer. Countess Sztaray had to help her up the gangway, but she did not collapse until she had set foot on deck; then she sank down and died. The young man was Luigi Lucheni, an Italian builder’s labourer, twenty-six years old.’

  127. In the spring of 1890 Hélène Vacarescu, a young Romanian aristocrat was the favourite lady-in-waiting to Queen Carmen Sylva of Romania. The queen soon saw that the shy young Crown Prince Ferdinand had fallen in love with the girl and did everything she could to further the romance. She omitted, however, to tell King Carol, and when, in the spring of 1891, the king was told he exploded with anger and forbade the match, insisting that his nephew would have to marry a royal princess or give up being his heir. Ferdinand gave in, and the queen, with Hélène in tow, left for Venice, where Pierre Loti, hearing the story, wrote his novel L’Exilée about them. It was banned in Romania, an
d in little over a year’s time the crown prince married Queen Victoria’s granddaughter, Princess Marie of Edinburgh, later to become Queen Marie of Romania. Hélène Vacarescu never married. For many years she lived in Paris where – rich, scholarly and witty – she spent a useful and popular life devoted to a variety of social, literary and political activities. See Marie of Romania by Terence Elsberry.

  128. Between the years 1904 and 1905 Japan had inflicted a heavy defeat upon Russia.

  129. The ‘turul’ is the heraldic bird of Hungary.

  130. That is, Emperor Franz Joseph.

  131. Bánffy was present in the government party headquarters the day the Serbs rejected the Austrian ultimatum. In the penultimate chapter of They Were Divided there is a moving description of Tisza refusing to appear on the balcony to acknowledge the cheers of the crowd who ‘could not have known that Tisza was opposed to the war. No one knew, except those who had attended the king’s council meetings. On the day that the ultimatum had been decided, Tisa had at once resigned. He had remained in office only because ordered to by the monarch himself. He had resigned because he thought that by so doing he would be able to modify the harsh terms of the ultimatum; but when he had found that his struggle would be in vain and that he would never be able to bring Berchtold and Conrad to his way of thinking, he had decided to stay, as he knew that he alone was strong enough to hold the country together at such a critical time. At the express wish of the king he had agreed to keep his opposition secret, principally because he knew that Hungary’s newfound unity would be shattered if it were known what he really felt. So he accepted responsibility for a war he had fought hard to prevent. Out of a sense of duty he had accepted a task he loathed, the task of organizing a war knowing well what it would mean. He accepted it in silence, a silence that lasted until his death.’ When the clamour has died down, and the book’s hero prepares to leave, he sees Tisza sitting alone. ‘There the man sat, in a deep armchair, not speaking to anyone, with a dark expression on his face and teeth clenched. What a tragic face the man had! Abády was startled and he sensed at once that there must have been some deep compulsion to explain why he had refused to speak, why he had rejected all appeals from his followers, why he could not allow himself to go out and make a speech and allow himself to be cheered … he knew he could not intrude, so he turned away and went home. But he never forgot the moment he had seen him there, sitting in silence in the deep armchair with his legs crossed, his thick-lensed glasses making his eyes seem so much larger, a bitter crease on his forehead, and even more bitter lines reaching down each side of his face. He had sat there motionless, staring ahead of him as if all he could see was the fate of his country…’

  132. The Hungarian Wertheimstein family had estates at Nagyvárad, soon to become transferred to Romania and renamed Oradea. There is, however, a small mistake here. Rose’s husband, the Honourable (Nathaniel) Charles Rothschild, was the second son of the first Lord Rothschild. He died before his elder brother, who had succeeded as the second Lord Rothschild, and so the title missed a generation, and it was Nathaniel Charles’ son who succeeded his uncle.

  133. ‘Les optans hongrois’ was the term used in the Treaty of Trianon to denote all those residents of the Hungarian territories which were to be handed over to the neighbouring states but who chose to retain their Hungarian nationality. Derived from the French ‘optan’ – a person who makes a choice – it was adapted into Hungarian as ‘optan(s)’.

  Chapter Ten

  Having now finally abandoned all diplomatic and political work, I found new interests in artistic matters.

  Just at this time Klebelsberg, then minister of education, founded the National Council for Fine Arts with the aim of improving standards, especially in architecture, sculpture and painting. He asked me to be the first chairman, and I believe that he started the organization because at that time I was available for the job. It was, so to speak, tailored to my size. In my youth I had been a painter myself134; I was then a pupil of Bertalán Székely. Architecture had always interested me; as Intendant of the State Theatres (1913–1918) I had been responsible for the Opera House and for the transformation of the National Theatre; while in the competition for a design for a commemorative statue to Queen Elisabeth, I had collaborated with my friend Telcs and with Kálmán Györgyi. Our design had been awarded the first prize.

  All building work in Budapest was nominally under the authority of the Board of Public Works. As in recent times, its controlling function had become limited to technical and town planning matters, the Council for Fine Arts was now given artistic control of public buildings all over the country. Also falling under its jurisdiction was the organization of national exhibitions both at home and abroad. A further task was to be the founding of local museums in the country towns, for which there was plenty of material – especially in the field of fine arts – reposing in the storage vaults of the national museums in the capital because lack of space prevented their being shown to the public. We were also expected to organize painting and sculpture competitions, arrange the necessary publicity and advise on the state purchase of new works.

  I was delighted to be offered this task. It promised to be most interesting, particularly as it gave us the chance to guide public taste. This was just the time when the state was building village schools and guard-posts for the gendarmerie in the country, and the Southern Railway was constructing stations on the Balaton line. People see stations, schools and guard-posts every day, and what they see gives them an idea of what is modern and beautiful and so contributes to the formation of taste. And what they hold as modern and beautiful is what people tend to imitate. It was therefore important for the Council to ensure that every approved design should serve as an example of excellence. We held discussions about this in the section devoted to architectural planning. I was strongly of the opinion that we should not follow foreign ideas; not try to copy the popular German style nor imitate English cottages or Scandinavian workers’ dwellings, but rather search out the best and most interesting of our own native models from which we could evolve an internationally recognizable Hungarian style.

  We decided to use as a prototype the vernacular style popular at the beginning of the eighteenth century in the country round Vesprém and Komárom on the west side of the Danube, and Miskolc and Tokaj, where the numerous manors and country houses, built mostly with porticos and varied façades, harmonized beautifully with their surroundings.

  Among my colleagues were Róbert Kertész, Dénes Györgyi, Medgyaszay and Kocsis – to name but a few – and together we were able to realize many of our ideals. When I visited the country a year or two later I found to my joy that many of the new schools, village halls and guard-posts and railway stations had been built in the style of the sketches we had supplied to MAV (the Hungarian State Railways) and to the ministries of the interior and education. So we had managed to found a school which had influenced popular taste and which made use of local materials.

  Our work was both sympathetic and agreeable, as well as being interesting. During that time I met many artists who became my friends. It was also interesting to learn of many things that were not so agreeable: things to which until then I had unfortunately given no thought.

  My architect friends drew my attention to the abuse of power and actual swindles that were rife in the award of building contracts arranged by the Board of Public Works.

  It was a rule that all contracts for state-sponsored buildings were awarded only after open competitions had been held. On the surface, it appeared that the board observed this ruling, but in its own way. When a substantial building was proposed some five or six large firms were asked to submit tenders; but only those firms that were linked by cartel received invitations with the result that they decided among themselves whose turn it was, and somehow it was always this firm that received the contract – and the more expensive the better. No firm outside the cartel got a look in.

  From the many complaints I receiv
ed from building firms with whom I was on friendly terms, it seemed that this type of corruption would be the easiest to prove. Thinking that it was my duty to inform the government of this, I asked the builders to provide me with full details, which I then took to the minister, József Vass. At that time I truly believed that I would be doing him a favour by telling him of the ‘panamas’135 going on in his board. Although many people believed him to be a part of it, I found this hard to credit, for Vass was both a professor and a man of the Church. It is true that there had been gossip about him in Budapest, but I did not believe that his official integrity was involved. He had spent his life in the ministry of education as the Referens136 of matters concerning the Catholic Church, and so it did not occur to me that he could have had any knowledge of corrupt dealings in the department for which he was responsible – or so I then thought.

  This had been a difficult decision for me personally since I knew well, from my friendship with Klebelsberg, who opposed him in the cabinet, that Vass had been one of those who had taken part in the campaign against me when I had been in Geneva. Nevertheless, I did not allow this to deter me from taking the matter straight to him as I thought it right that he should be the first to hear of accusations levelled against the conduct of the board. After making an appointment by telephone I went to see him in his office. He received me at once with every expression of regard. On entering his office my first impression was one of shock. His room at the ministry was newly furnished and decorated in an elaborately ornate and expensive manner inappropriate and unbecoming to our poverty-stricken country. It was lined with carved oak panelling in the pseudo-rococo taste (or rather bad taste) in which the Budapest decorator, Kozma delighted so much at that time. As soon as I saw it I remembered that I had heard that Vass’s own home had been done in the same manner, at enormous expense.