They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [102]
Slawata could not leave the subject of the dangers he saw in Tisza’s surprising support of the resolution; neither could he conceal his deep anxiety. He was clearly worried by what Tisza might obtain in a private audience with Franz-Josef. Indeed he might even persuade the old monarch, who had always appreciated his brilliance and charm of manner, to give way, especially if he could convince Franz-Josef that Auffenberg’s unfortunate intervention in Hungary’s parliamentary affairs had been instigated by the Heir, which, of course, it had been. If Tisza was able to make it seem that the resolution was the logical outcome of Franz-Josef’s own work, and was designed to protect the 1867 Compromise against the destructive plots of the Heir, then it was by no means unlikely that the monarch would withdraw his threat of abdication. ‘And then,’ went on Slawata, ‘we shall really find ourselves in difficulties; and we’ve already got enough as it is.’
Balint had never seen Slawata so worried. He, who had never been anything but sure of himself, of the rightness of his view of things, of the ineluctable truth of his own judgement and the sureness of his political analysis, now seemed so hesitant and so unsure of himself that he was reduced to seeking advice. To Balint it looked as if Slawata had at last grasped what an abyss yawned before the politician who had pronounced judgement on political affairs when he had no responsibility for their conduct, and was then forced to stand by what he had said.
The envoy of the Belvedere sighed deeply, took off his thick spectacles, wiped them on his handkerchief and replaced them on his nose; and Balint, who had long before noticed that Slawata always did this when he was about to say something important, turned to him expectantly just as the politician looked Balint full in the face and said, ‘If there should be a change of monarch, would you consider the offer of a portfolio in the new government?’
This was quite unexpected, and a thin crease of anxiety appeared on Balint’s forehead. What he already knew of the Heir’s plans for the Dual Monarchy – and most of it had come from Slawata himself – was utterly opposed to Abady’s most cherished belief in traditional values. He had been revolted by what Count Czernin had written some years before, when he had prophesied that Franz-Ferdinand would transform the loose conglomeration of independent countries that had formed the Habsburg empire into a huge monolithic authoritarian superstate with an all-powerful central government. This was just what the youthful Franz-Josef himself had once proposed long before he had accepted the 1867 Compromise. At that time Balint’s own grandfather, Count Peter, had been nominated without his consent to the proposed new Upper House and had, scornfully, refused to have any part in a project which would have imposed Austrian authority throughout the Balkans; and even, eventually, to find his beloved Transylvania handed over as a dowry to whatever Habsburg princeling found himself nominated to the throne of Romania! Memories of what his grandfather had told him flooded through Balint’s mind until his blood boiled with anger.
Even so he remained outwardly calm, and answered the question put to him with another.
‘I would have to know first with whom I would have to serve; and, of course, what programme was envisaged.’ Abady’s voice was suddenly very cold.
‘Kristoffy is the only man who has His Highness’s confidence.’
‘Kristoffy! Why, that’s ridiculous! Apart from anything else there isn’t a man in the country who’d consent to work with him!’
‘Oh, but perhaps there is,’ and Slawata smiled knowingly. ‘We have reason to believe that Lukacs would … and maybe even Justh.’
‘Justh is a radical Independent and it was Kristoffy who destroyed that party when he was Minister of the Interior. They’re deadly enemies!