The Hungarian Revolution/Chapter 1
CHAPTER I.
THE EXPLOSION.
October 30th carried the saturated air of the political tension over the capital.
The newspapers gave themselves up to criticism, polemics, and a quite strange avalanche of news, for whose confirmation no "official" stamp was valid enough. The reports of the shots still re-echoed which had fallen by the Kettenbrücke. This had happened in this way:—
The Governmental crisis, which in one event contained chronic, acute, and latent elements, found not the man who could have controlled it. The throne tottered, and the supposition is justified that clever councillors conjured up mirages before the eyes of the man on the throne, who, moreover, only possessed the bare uniform, without leadership or independence of thought. All things urged to the necessity of placing the truth of the further developments before the monarch's eyes. This must of necessity be attempted in the way of a popular demonstration. And as the demonstration—moving in an undeniably friendly temper—arrived at the Kettenbrücke to go on toward Ofen, so as to place the Insupportable in miniature before the eyes of the councillors of the absent Throne. Guards on horseback dashed up.
The front of the groups—for the demonstrators were not long a continuous mass—fell into wavering. The pressure from behind, however, carried the procession forward, whereupon some old Landsturm men, who formed the first cordon, desisted from employing any force against the crowd. (The warning hes in this detail: the first sign, a departure from strict obedience on the part of the soldier.) But the police employed force. Some minutes later there broke through shooting the sickening noise of lamentation. Wounded people shrieked their despair. Far fell the bullets. Hoofs struck on the asphalt, whistles sounded, and in the hall of the Ritz Hotel I saw the first wounded.
One man died.
Near around me alternated loud command and suppressed whisper, heliograph signals clattered over the porter's lodge, outside something droned past, the hooters of the ambulance wagons formed the accompaniment.
And on the day after whizzed the hail of hate against the police, who had not refused obedience. It is not to be wondered at, then, that the police, under this frightful and crushing contempt of the whole population, was one of the first institutions to place its services at the disposal of the National Council, already the pre-revolutionary power. The police wished to wipe out the stain by open confession to the people.
This use of force, these unholy tactics of the holders of power, which they themselves in the preliminary stage applied to the development of things at the Kettenbrücke—then the scattering of a crowd of students before the Ofen Palace—all this was mirrored still in the newspapers of October 30th. At the same time the papers greeted with enthusiasm the police, who had already over night submitted themselves to the command of the President of the National Council.
But the whirl of excitement arose out of the deep sense of uncertainty. The governmental crisis had been protracted for weeks, and the "explanation" given—the marriage of, it seemed, several gentlemen, added fuel to the fire.
A concentration of the Left was, from the beginning, impossible. Not only were the Social-Democrats now absolutely against it, but also the majority of the Kàrolyi-party, which had all the popularity. And during these crises the King was conferring with obsolete magnates, Andràssy was making well-meant but irrelevant efforts in Vienna, and by his quasi-recognition of the execrated, low-toned Imperial-and-Royal Ministry of the Exterior, had deprived himself of the sympathies which without doubt largely existed for him in bourgeois circles. Count Hadik, the probable Premier, was negotiating meantime as eagerly as if he could really believe that his efforts would result in anything. Prince Windischgrätz, the ex-Food-Minister, then staying at Berne, also took part in the political questions. His official standing was that of First Sectional-Chief in Andràssy's Ministry-of-the-Exterior; but far-reaching machinations in internal politics were attributed to him, and he is pointed to as the man who hastened the King's downfall through evil counsel. But history will need to acquire full light on these side-questions, which at present are too heated for cold reason to deal with them. Anyway, the Prince has brought upon himself, a great load of hatred, and the lack of any clear declaration of attitude on his side is significant. Against him first, then against Andàrssy and Hadik, a fury was lit: but Cabinet-director Seidler and Master-of-the-Household Count Hunyadi will find themselves heavily laden with every sin of commission or of omission. One cannot act against a People, without having to bear the consequences.
While the Emperor-King, far from the theatre of events, withdrew himself, full of anxiety, in the critical hours, while decisions as to the destinies of generations were being made over the telephone, the Press joined in with the general opinion. A world of stinging criticism whipped the shortcomings of the régime that called itself the government. Already it is now clearly established that faults not quite definable had been committed, faults which in the reel of events magnified themselves to crimes.
October 30th mirrored all this.
Yet the streets were quiet. Rumours of strikes began to be bruited, but they proved unfounded. The compositor functioned, but the least actual flaring-up of these restrained and well-disciplined people must have been at once known.
While the evening darkened over the city, still came pouring in more rumours respecting the probable action of the no-longer existing Government. About seven o'clock the foreman of the great Budapest newspaper syndicate said to me that I might have some of my packets taken away, as it was uncertain whether he would be coming to the office in the morning. He added that a sort of time limit had been fixed by the Social-Democrats, and in case the interval was not employed to effect the definite appointment of Kàrolyi, the strike would be proclaimed.
Late in the afternoon I learned at the Radical Party's office that something was under way, but one knew not what exactly, or was unwilling to divulge it. Only a certain heightening of activity was to be remarked, and it was as if all at once thrice as many members were about as could be seen at other times.
At the Gendarmerie there was nothing unusual to be observed. A readiness for action, almost usual already, was well maintained, some motors stood ready, and a direct and unbroken contact with the military was kept up—at this time without complaint.
I went along the Donauquai, and, before the Parliament House, remembered the monster demonstration, which had passed off quietly, but only thanks to the merit of the crowd, for all had been done to goad the people to frenzy. This demonstration for Kàrolyi, whose aim was merely to convince the "ruling classes" that Kàrolyi was the only man in whose person all confidence was concentrated, presented a distressing picture. Generals with their cloaks puffed out backward by the wind, showing in this way the scarlet-red of their dress, and the blood-red of their souls in their rigidly-fixed visages, whizzed incessantly in service motor-cars over the open space. It was like a red rag to the crowd. . . .And infantry, posses of police, and whole companies of machine-gun contingents beset the Parliament Square. Thus was exhibited to the masses, some days before the explosion of their powers of expansion, to what ends the military still, as always, was misused. The men at the rudder forgot what an excellent lesson this was. And just as the open-air demonstration was at an end, there drove the best-hated man in Budapest over the Platz—General Lukachich, the victor of Isonzo and the victor of Schaffott, who in a few weeks had hundreds upon hundreds of men executed for move absence from the ranks, among them a private in Kecskemét, who had run home out of hospital to his work and wife, carrying with him the wound he had received in battle. I cannot mention this without making a mental apology to Mr. Nikolaus Favago. He had brought a report to the Az Est about this stretching of authority reminding one of Chinese atrocity—a fabulously realistic report, which I felt as unusually lacking in taste: for the reading of the thing made me sick—how the man, after he had twisted about on the ground, weeping, vowing eternal loyalty and begging pardon, was shouted at by the sergeant, with, "Come, no nonsense!" upon which four ill-aimed shots fall, the poor man writhes—and then, on command, another volley—it made one sick: but I now feel that many people may have been moved to take an active part in the Revolution through hearing, if of no others, anyway of this case, which must have clearly: shown that the power of which such things is a trait must be crushed!
All this at the time whirled uncertainly through my head. I could give myself no reason why I did not simply go home. But I had a feeling that something must happen, to miss which was to miss an experience. . . .
I called at Gerbeaud, on the Gizellatér, the best confectioner of Budapest, expecting to meet my wife there. I wound among a throng that one could hardly see over, people eating, chattering, enjoying themselves. It was as if all these people in a body wanted to insist that they could be gay. . . .Arm in arm we went thence through the Inner Town, which seemed quite deserted. Toward half-past nine we went back to the Gizellatér, in a house of which the Kàrolyi-party had their quarters—some rooms quite modestly furnished.
Before the house were some people, but still there might have been no party headquarters there. Slowly assembled a small throng of men. Then appeared on the balcony a speaker, who had a singularly high voice, and could not be understood in the endless noise of applause. Meantime the throng increased enormously, new masses came up, flags were visible, soldiers appeared, and there was much passionate shouting.
Later on came Kàrolyi, who was received with indescribable cheering, and spoke some words from the balcony.
And then arose the first impulse. Within the frame of the club-window bobbed up suddenly the helmeted silhouette of a constable. At first one knew not what to make of it. I had the impression that it was a puppet. But I soon saw my mistake, for, though men often speak like puppets, this puppet on the contrary spoke so clear and manlike, that he was keenly listened to. The constable spoke as a man of the people to the people. In some seconds jubilation was resounding over the place. A constable who was about, and yet arrested nobody, accosted nobody with blows and roughness. . . .the crowd was enchanted. The police, then, were on their side. . . .was that really possible?
(I hurried up into the party headquarters. It can be said now, easily enough, that the constable was hissed—words only, for I cannot doubt my own senses. But at present he still seems to me rather like a puppet which was exposed in the shop-window—even if by its own wish.)
Above in the [Socialist] party headquarters I heard that a company of soldiers were waiting at the East Railway Station, ready to be taken to the front. . . .(Heavens! "company," "front," "taken". . . .are there such things? Have I not perhaps read about something of the kind, so far back it all lies. . . .!). It was said that precautions had been taken to prevent the company being carried away to the front. Movement below, in the street, movement above, in the head. . . .the thing began to harmonise.
Thick throngs went away, in order to co-operate at the railway station. Meantime, fresh and still fresh throngs arrived. Quite to the Deàkplatz thronged the mass. Songs were sung. . . .and all at once broke out a mighty roar, the Marseillaise. . . .the Internationale in the Hungarian words.
Then began the whirl of rumours. It was bruited by soldiers who arrived that the company under marching-orders had been already set free. Many said that its soldiers had been already seen below. It was said that blood had flowed, and the sentinels at the station had been overcome by force. I hurried into the street, made my way into the Vàciutca, got a cab, and cried to the driver "East Railway Station!" as a wild uproar arose, cries of despair, a crazy crush. Constabulary on horseback were coming—it was said. But it was only a false alarm. The throng quickly regained composure, but surrounded the cab like a flood, so that I had to get out, and my wife was lifted out bodily.
Now it was along the Vàciutca in the thickest press. Suddenly someone cries out: "We need no two-headed Eagle! Down with the scutcheons!"
Nimble fellows climbed up the frontages in the most ingenious ways, and crash, crash, fell the imperial and royal arms, the proud emblazonry of the purveyors to the Court. But beyond the cries and jubilation no single breach of the peace took place.
How utterly disciplined the crowd was is best shown by the following incident.
A troop of young fellows discovered a glass-window with a splendid collection of Court-purveyor ensigns which were adorned both with the two-headed Eagle and with numerous high, highest and all-highest coats-of-arms. The troop wanted to shatter the glass, but a lively opposition arose, the crowd resisted, and someone cried out: "Order! don't soil the Revolution with sherds!"
"Revolution". . . .
And the aggressive fellows were driven off; so also the crowd itself held all that was foul in its midst under its eye. But an inventive man procured paste from a near newspaper-press, and the pretty emblazonry was thickly pasted over. To revolt peaceably is very possible, I think!
***
The throng pushed us with it along the Kossuth-Lajos-Strasse on to the Hotel Astoria, where the offices of the National Council were.
Along the long balconies a lively movement: and ever new speakers stepped out. They all recommended calm and self-possession. So far as my recollection goes, the sense of their speeches was that thenceforth things would go as Kàrolyi intended; and toward midnight the word was that the King had appoinled Kàrolyi Premier.
The crush had meanwhile become dangerous to life.
The 30th of October passed into the 31st. It was midnight. Rare clocks struck the hour.
As mementos of the decisive day I had picked up these fragments: the claw of a two-headed eagle in papier-maché, a star out of a king's crown torn down, and a feather of a German eagle in gilt tin. Against these positive gains—whose unlawfulness I am not ashamed to admit—stood a positive loss. An equally provident as precautionary revolutionist had discounted the chances of the morrow by abstracting my spectacles as well as my gloves from my coat pocket.
But the fragments have compensated me for this loss, and I should not be now ready to make an exchange.