They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [19]
The country started to breathe more easily as the consequences of the rash measures of the recent past were gently swept aside. It was all somewhat grey and colourless, but it was obvious that matters were being handled with simple common sense and so everyone began eagerly to prepare themselves for the inevitable general election. Such was the mood when Parliament was adjourned.
Everyone was content except for some members of the Independence Party who had brought forward a bizarre theory that as they had been elected to office and as the Budget had not yet been voted, there could be no new elections. When Khuen-Hedervary rose to move the adjournment they made such a noise that no one could hear a word he said.
Khuen remained standing at his desk and waited until the uproar died down, but as soon as he opened his mouth again the commotion raged once more. At last seeing no other solution, as this was likely to go on indefinitely, he decided to move closer to the stenographers so that they at least would be able to hear and take down a record of his words. Hardly had he stepped down from his place when some rebellious members sitting on the extreme left jumped up and started bombarding him with anything they could lay their hands on such as books, inkpots and paperknives. A heavy inkpot struck him on the forehead and blood poured down his face. Despite it all, and throughout this unexpected tempest, Khuen-Hedervary maintained his usual good-humoured calm.
This appalling scene scandalized the public, and even the party leaders of those who had behaved so badly condemned what had happened. The unruly members’ excuse, which was published on the following day – namely that they had thought the Minister-President was moving from his rostrum to insult them personally – was believed by no one. It was indeed absurd to imagine that one frail elderly man was about to tackle physically a group of several hundred able-bodied members sitting together on the benches at the extreme left-hand side of the Chamber. When, on December 13th, 1904, the same group, more or less, had attacked the security guards in the Chamber, the public had believed their tale not knowing, though the members had, that the guards had been expressly ordered not to retaliate if provoked. Now no one credited this kind of fantasy. Everyone thought that, rather than try to excuse themselves, it would have been better and more dignified if they had admitted the fault and merely explained that they had been carried away in the passion of the moment. That at least would have been honest, or could have been taken as such, and might have suggested extenuating circumstances. As it was, all that happened was that the riotous members and their parties lost all respect; and the incident was not forgotten when the time came for the elections and the voters started to weigh up the Coalition’s record.
The result was soon seen: barely a hundred candidates from the three main parties of the Coalition were elected to the new Parliament. On the other hand Khuen-Hedervary’s supporters got a huge majority, and it was generally thought that now some constructive work could be begun.
Begun? Yes; but whether he would be able to achieve anything was another matter.
Obstruction, that cancer at the heart of all attempts to put through progressive measures in the Hungarian Parliament, which had paralysed successive administrations for the previous ten years and which had now become the habitual weapon used by the insubordinate left wing even against its own leadership, might well be used again to frustrate the new government. It could rise at any time, brandishing no matter what popular slogan, and it would always find support in that section of the press whose only allegiance seemed to be to the trouble-makers. There were also other sources of possible weakness, less obvious, less familiar, but