# The Hungarian Revolution/Chapter 2

CHAPTER II.
FROM MIDNIGHT
TO MIDNIGHT.
A plague of cigarette-smoke, through which, for moments, cold Autumn air bored deep channels, when passage-doors and balcony-exists were opened at the same instant. An excitement which could no more be heightened. Underneath the window of the National Council quarters in the Hotel Astoria, from whose balconies speakers without intermission wrought pacifically upon the crowd and lowered its temperature. An extract of the population of Budapest was in flux: clerks, workmen, servants, officers, ladies—every class.
Twelve minutes past twelve.
The first "announcement." A troop of soldiers, who had tendered allegiance to the National Council, had marched to the Maria Theresa Barracks to overcome it. The first bloodshed was impending. Indescribable excitement: motors shot by hard on the skirts of the crowd, men in wild haste climbed the stairs, an unspeakable intensity filled all men and things. The National Council had been sitting in permanence for days now. All decisions were rapidly made. The fight at the barracks must be prevented. Ladislaus Fényes and Eugen Landler were sent from the Council, and their efforts succeeded in averting the conflict. The watch at the Maria Theresa barracks restrained itself—no shot was fired.
​Sharp on this the second report: the Platzkommando in the Inner Town is being besieged.
Alexander Garbai and the author, Ludwig Birò, afterwords Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs were despatched thither to work for quietness. They had scarcely hurried away when two officers entered with incomparable aplomb, and bluntly announced:—
"Be it known to the National Council: the Platzkommando is overcome: the watch is on our side: the Central Garrison alone withstands the National Council. We await its orders."
Frenzied jubilation after an icy silence; the held-back breath burst from the lungs; and while the mass below received the tidings with drunken rapture, the first salvos roared out, salute-guns were planted in the streets, out of windows, shots of jubilee were discharged, a wild sense of exhilaration carried away all, and all the bounds of ceremony and stiffness were abolished.
In the meantime, delegates of the National Council had taken over the building of the Platzkommando without the least disorder.
Toward two o'clock the news was known that the Soldiers' Council, which all at once was there with as much assurance as if it always had been there, had resolved to beset the Stadtkommando, and to take over the command of the Budapest Garrison and all troops in the city.
A few people hastened with some members of the Soldiers' Council to the Stadtkommando. The officer in command obeyed their mere order at once. Salvos of cannon announced the taking of this Central post, too, by the Executive of the National Council. . . .
Shortly thereupon, accompanied by five staff-officers, General Vàrkonyi appeared in the Hotel Astoria. He declared with a shaking voice that he remained faithful to his oath to his King, but yielded to force, and gave over the military command of Budapest to the National Council. The General was taken into custody, and put into Room 106 of the Hotel Astoria. Nearby, in No. 105, the Chancery of the National Council had been installed, while in other rooms there was a crush of people; some dozed for weariness, ​others called aloud to one another, while in the midst of it the telephone bell constantly rattled.
Suddenly, gun-fire from below. Some joyful news. . . . ?
No. The first victims. Victims of a mistake.
Some gendarmes were coming up on a huge motor-wagon, to take the oath of fealty to the National Council. The hated tuft-of-feathers was received as an enemy, someone cried out that they were coming against the people, and in the next instant fell the first sharp shots—well-aimed. But there were no dead, only some wounded. An explanation followed, and great bloodshed was prevented by a prompt handling of the situation. About this hour I forced my way out through the main portal of the Hotel Astoria, and saw those well-known watch-dogs which had accompanied the demonstrations, the little, almost insignificant machine-guns. They lay about the street up to the hotel—no longer directed to-day against the people, but against the misusers of power of yesterday. The long lines of weapons lay serpentine there, confident and secure, smoking soldiers played on the cartridge-boxes, jested, and lounged about their weapons.
But the threatened soldiers of the counter-revolution that were to spread panic and flight came not at all; only one lonely one-horse carriage trotted over the adjoining Rakòczistrasse, but was away at the first summons as fast as the nag could draw.
Far beautiful the windows of the Hotel Astoria into the night. The pulse of all that activity made itself felt far around.
In the first vagueness of dawn I tried to telepone; but failed.
A handful of soldiers had beset the Theresa-district Telephone Exchange which readily acquiesced, and soon after had beset the other telephone-places; from this hour till further notice only the National Council was switched on, and it alone could make calls with any success. For every other place—no connection; and it was well so: for much harm might have been done, if the reactionaries could have got their orders through. The unselfish bravery of the personnel ​of the telephone, of those often censured telephone girls. was one of the most satisfying phenomena of these hours of crisis, for there was still no certainty whether the members of the National Council would see the morning morally exalted, or merely physically by suitable mechanism.
It was a nerve-racking game of roulette. The winning chance was indeed enormous; but in judging these men and their worth one should not forget that each, without exception, was playing with his head.
A heavy sky full of cloud shed a light rain.
We see that there was suddenly something which looked furiously like Revolution. Who did it?
The answer is amazing. One, at the most, two dozen people, who, with much decision, indescribable temerity, an unsurpassed mass of disdain, contrived all that which is meant in the crisis of the foregoing short period. A few manipulators sharply grasped the nettle, in the decisive moment got through a great mass of work with the worker's joy in energy, took upon themselves a responsibility superhuman, hardly measurable, and—this is their real merit—stood firm, even then when the flood was nigh to covering them. They did not lose their heads, held taut the reins, prevented, by the highest exhibition of decisiveness, the sprouting of anarchy, and, after some days of interim order, left quite acceptable conditions behind them.
The National Council itself was political, but the night of the revolution saw fewer politicians in the rooms of the Astoria than men of affairs. The whole thing resembled an inter-editorial conference.
There was Jàszi, leading-article writer for The Vilàg, with his colleague Birò, first Minister of Nationalities later on, and last Secretary of State for the Exterior, tutor, author, journalist; Ernst Garami, now Minister for Trade, the responsible editor of the Népszava"; Ladislaus Fényes, chief assistant-editor of the Az Est, a deputy, and now Government-commissary; then Dr. Ludwig Halàsz, the distinguished Chief of the ​Press-bureau of the Premiership then, likewise then an editor. Somewhat apart was Baron Ludwig Hatvany, editor of the Pesti Naplò, and an author—then Editor-in-chief Ludwig Purjesz, Editor Paul Kéri, Editor Ludwig Magyar, as well as leaders of the Social-Democrats, Garbai, Kunfi, and some of the Radical Bourgeois Party.
Let the above-mentioned Ludwig Magyar be specially noted. He was the Secretary of the National Council of the Revolution-Bureau, got through for days the most fabulous amount of work, and was, besides, Keeper of the Great Seal. And it is a fact that the National Council had neither stamped note-paper, nor any other sort of printed thing. Only one single seal. One single india-rubber seal. It is a little piece of History.
This little round seal represented during the first days of the revolution the omnipotence of the State's authority. Ludwig Magyar, who had the handling of it, says of it: "This seal of the National Council was the greatest power in all the land. The sight of it put barracks in motion, brought up batteries, directed machine-guns and forage-trains, opened the banks, and shut the drink-shops, set printing-presses working, and provided benzine, commanded the payment of wages and subsidies, sent orders to Ministers—in short, governed." This little round stamp, which the reader finds reproduced in the reproduction of my passport, was the most potent and the most singular, the most reliable and trusty agent of an Executive which has ever existed.
By morning the sailors, having adhered to the National Council, had meanwhile brought the Danube monitors opposite the town. The greenish grey steel-fishes lay without order under steam, and blinked out of their dun-painted guns over the town.
A morning misty and moist credit up over the town, and the early risers looked with wonderment round them. Heavy military motors hummed about the streets, echoes of numerous shots cracked from the walls, electric vehicles stood abandoned about the streets, like children's ​playthings of which they have become tired, soldiers gay with flowers were going about the city, and the people were tutoying one another. . . .huzzahs, meantime, loud cries, clattering down-fall of the cafes' revolving-shutters. hurrying men and small groups whose centre in general consisted of an officer divested of the Imperial and Royal rosette on his cap.
It was a strange sight, the many officers all without rosettes, and with their sword-belts wrapped with National bands.
And how had all that happened?
So simply! Some people had sworn an oath, and adhered to this oath springing out of their own will, rather than to an earlier one wrung, from them. They had sworn to the National Council:—
"I swear and promise on my honour that I will remain true to the Hungarian National Council, am prepared, for Hungary's independence and freedom to give my life, and to the best of my power will ever follow the directions and behests of the Hungarian National Council."
And they did, all, all, all, to the best of their power.
With my head in the clouds I slept half-an-hour, took a bath, and toward 8 a.m. was again in the streets.
Most businesses were shut up, but some cafés were open. Later on other shops too, were opened.
Toward 9 o'clock I learned in the National Council somewhat as follows:—
The railway-men had gone over to the National Council, the Post-office officials and servants likewise, the police had already gone over earlier. The political prisoners had been liberated from the Honvéd Prison in the Contiutea. All the telephone-exchanges stood at the sole disposal of the National Council.
Enormously increased in number were the notices whose rank growth had covered nearly all businesses: "Under the ægis of the Hungarian National Council!"
At street corners, on houses, and kiosks and notice-pillars appeared the first edicts of the National Council, of the City-command ant Heltay, of the various departments just born. And ​suddenly was seen everywhere the placard: "Long live the Republic!"
In the shop-windows revolutionary poems were to be read; appeals in tones the most varied met one everywhere, a whirlwind of exhortation: the Event, so indescribably sudden, was struggling for rapid ratification. The victory was so great, so startlingly rapid, and so dear, that men were impelled to secure it by all means, lest it should be exposed to the danger of an ebb.
At this hour were bruited the rumours, afterwards proved to be unfortunately true, of the chaotic conditions in Croatia, of shootings in Fiume, of robbery and plunder in Jugoslavia. The other rumours were for the most part inventions.
Toward midday the atmosphere grew clearer. The National Council had taken over the Executive power, and Court Kàrolyi was exercising it as Premier—and, in truth, as a quite legal Premier.
The King had appointed him by telephone through the intermediary of the Archduke Josef. Kàrolyi had related in detail to the Archduke the events of the night, and Josef of Hapsburg, as he is now called, had managed the affair in such a way, that Kàrolyi held one receiver of the telephone apparatus, as the King appointed him.
But it was clear that this appointment, intended to uphold the throne, was no longer capable of doing so, and it was only a question of hours for the Revolution to run its natural course.
There is a building in Ofen of a peculiar significance—the Platzkommando. On this building, when I went past it after a hasty meal, was exhibited even outwardly the rush of change. The imperial and royal coat-of-arms had been literally torn in two, and the Austrian half removed.
And the Königsburg—now the National Palace—bore on the side wall opposite the Premier's Office the National Tricolor; so also the palace of the Archduke Josef was beflagged in the national colours. . . .And, even though this may seem laughable to the foreigner, this sight was monumental. I admit it is hard to understand: for what can be so surprising in the fact of the Royal Palace of a country carrying the national flag? Now, it is easy to explain this, quite easy. ​Hungary had a King's Palace erected and embellished with fairy splendour—without a king. He was for ever in Vienna. When he came, it was the King's flag that was hoisted, the hated colours under whose sovereignty in 1848 the most atrocious tyranny was inaugurated over Hungary. What a sensation of happiness and liberation it was for every Hungarian to see the national flag. . . . .
Certainly, crazy relations. But even because they were so crazy had a sane Revolution to bring reason to bear upon them.
In the afternoon 1 learned the authentic story of the "conquest" of the Municipal Gendarmerie.
The police-constable Környey and the detective Kormos went some time after midnight to the Gendarmerie. Kormos hastened into the house- exchange, and forbade the telephone-girls, appealing to their love of country, to make any telephonic connection whatever. And while the heads of the police were thus suddenly cut off from any possibility of communication among themselves or with the outer world, Környey called upon the Captain-of-gendarmerie von Sàndov to take the side of the National Council, and to hold his subordinates at the disposal of the National Council.
The Captain delayed, protested. . . .and meantime all the officers present, with all functionaries and employés, adhered to the National Council, precisely to serve against which it was that they were being kept doing over-time. Some hours later the new régime wars a fait accompli, a new captain was appointed, and Kormos, the detective, is now Chief of Detectives, Környey has been highly, advanced, and the others who in that interval fervently espoused the cause of the National Council with great danger to themselves are in the leading positions.
Even the police were ripe for a new and humane régime, and only thus was it made possible for two persons to master the whole body.
In the afternoon hours even greater masses thronged the streets, numberless workers took holiday, speeches were made, and an agitation reigned which threatened to lead to no good ​But order was nowhere seriously disturbed; only from the outer districts came in news of some plunder.
At an office I heard of the setting up of Soldiers' Councils in Vienna, and the rapid spread of the movement of revolt.
In the afternoon spread, too, the news that the Government, Kàrolyi's new Cabinet, had asked of Italy an immediate armistice. I heard privately that this step was against the views of the High-Command in Baden, which fought to prevent the Hungarian Government acting on its own score. It will be ascribed to the absolute energy of Kàrolyi that the matter of the armistice was forced forward, by which means much inflammable matter in the people was kept under, for the news of the movement toward peace had a very tranquilising effect. It was not then, indeed, known—at least not widely—how matters actually stood at the front; but that proved useful in accelerating some of the events of the the revolution.
The constitution of the Cabinet was now known. It sounded responsible. Kàrolyi had placed the oath in the hands of the Archduke Josef, as representative of the King. The last phase in the monarchical life of the State. . . .
The National Council was the effective authority of the Government. The Revolution was quite frankly and obviously republican, and nobody was inclined to think even remotely of a government with a king dragged in. The King, even as a man, had put himself out of court, since at the time of the great crisis he had abandoned Budapest and betaken himself to Vienna, on the pretext of solving grave problems—in reality for the obvious reason that the ever faithful Vienna offered move security in the face of the revolutionary trend of events. . . .Well, this calculation, too, resembled so many others in this war: it, too, was astray, was false.
The National Council had transferred its temporary quarters from the Hotel Astoria to the Stadthaus. In memory of the Revolution, the Astoria has since been called the Hotel Republic.
The National Council immediately took in hand the special problems of the moment. The swiftest ​decisions were made with unerring sagacity, and the impossible was realised: the most important occupations took up their work on command, and the public approvisionment, the baths, the electric work, the Austrian-Hungarian Bank, the sanitary institutions, surmounted the Revolution with wonderful composure. The newspaper trades functioned faultlessly, and the publication of news was so regular and sure, and the work of restoring tranquility so unanimous, that any disagreeable consequences could be obviated.
This day declined in the Sign of the White Rose. The millions of white roses had been meant for the church-yards—now they decked every soldier, caps, tunics, great-coats. They are churchyard flowers—and were perhaps quite appropriate to the day. For that day the past was buried, land what now came was the funeral-feast. Anyway, the inheritance was forthwith to prove more embroiled, uncertain and burdensome than anyone would ever have dared to think. . . . .
It was toward seven o'clock in the evening that the first real shock of the Revolution reached me.
Count Stefan Tisza murdered!. . . .
May one speak on this theme already, when History has not yet given her verdict on rôles and causes? Well, well—the heavy load of responsibility for causing the war has been laid on Tisza's shoulders; but already the most recent revelations show that at least he was not the instigator, and that the sending of the fatal note to Serbia did not take place through him, either directly or indirectly. Not he had spoken the word.
Tisza is a phenomenon which I do not venture to criticise, and I have always regarded as presumptuous the fluent judgments of the young men of the newspapers. I believe that he was not the genuine embodiment of all that is hateful which he was made out to be. He was a complete man, he had extraordinary talents, and faults corresponding with them. His only crime was that his Party came to grief. But if one is to judge every statesman who ruled by force and failed, of success, one will have to damn every second leader ​of men from antiquity to our days. To judge him is for the future. He failed, he had to fall—but to die? The guilt of Berlin and the Ballplatz, of generations, and methods of education, and guiding traditions, and tendencies is to be judged by the event, which is not to be expiated by the murder of a single man. Tisza was named a criminal and traitor to his country—he was apotheosised—upon him were flung stones and roses, as to few others. Could all the illusion be for, and all the truth against, him?
He had much guilt in the matter of the war, doubtless very much guilt. Others, too: and precisely many among those who fell with wild howls upon the corpse and, anxious for themselves, damned the dead, to help the living to their "rights." Even in the first press comments was evidenced a lack of backbone not to have been expected from the numberless creatures who had basked in the sunshine of his power. They left the dead unburied, although they had sung praises to the living unconditionally, even when those praises were a shameful fraud on the people and betrayal of the truth. I have regarded it as natural that the overthrow of this strongest, most forceful, most domineering man, should not be wept by his enemies: cynicism from that side seemed to me to be very well; but that his worst enemies should conduct the last campaign of the voices of the press against him, while the press in his favour slinked in pitiful cowardice, this should by no means be forgotten. To rescue the little Ego there occurred a change of tune without parallel. It was then, in truth, very dangerous to mourn for Tisza. To-day when the bloodless Revolution has attained security, and grants her protection even to her opponents—to-day it is still the same men, who with windy side-attacks and hidden motives commit the same betrayal with the guilt of which they had before loaded themselves.
Tisza had been murdered. Might that be a sign. . . .?
No. Nothing followed. It was not an act of vengeance of the Hungarian people, to whom common murder has never in their history been a means to an end. It was a common band of crude rascals who struck down a man already ​down. And they have not the excuse of sudden passion. They murdered in cold blood and like common murderers.
Count Kàrolyi sent to the dead man a wreath with the noble words: "I esteem it my human duty to express my most sincere and honest sympathy in respect of the tragic death of my greatest political opponent."
All stood in amazement then at the murder. The event itself happened as follows: three soldiers appeared at Tisza's, whose villa in the Herminenstrasse was protected by gendarmerie concealed in the cellar. The rôle of these guardians is still not clear. Anyway, the soldiers were able to make their way quite into the living rooms. As things were, Tisza could have fled: but did not. With a Browning revolver in his hand he stepped to confront the intruders. And here let it be asserted that Tisza was one of the best fighters and shots in the country. With a Browning, armed with seven shots, a door may well be defended against more than three men. But he did not do it. One of the soldiers expressed the wish that Tisza's wife and sister-in-law should leave the room. This they refused to do. The soldier said to Tisza that he might put away the revolver. Tisza answered: "You have weapons, too." And then, nevertheless, he laid the revolver aside. He gave himself up to the assassins, as God made him, defenceless.
In the presence of his wife, who was his truest companion, who never budged from his side, who accompanied him to Parliament and to office, who was his best comrade and his truest, fell Count Stefan Tisza, that man of iron and oak, that last representative of a happily dead epoch, struck by two shots (of which one grazed his sister-in-law after it had passed through his body).
At the crack the Count chopped upon his knee.
His last words were:
"I am hit. . . .it had to be. . . .come. . . ."
With the stiffening hand in hers the Countess remained by the dead. No tears could express this grief. . . .
Tisza died like a man who is at one with his destiny. Hungary can always be proud to have had such a despot, who knew not only how to ​apply force to others, but was also able and willing to take himself the last infinite consequences. He hated in his life the cowardice of others, in the theatre of war he was the best-loved of his soldiers, and he accepted death as the close of a career, whose gigantic worth was too absolute for it to have attained to maturity in our days.
It was a satisfying sign that the Government took the sharpest vengeance on the murder.
One may think as one will of the tragedy of Tisza. One may condemn and execrate him as a politician—and far it lies from ms to wish to accept him politically. But, as a man, such an opponent is more to me than a thousand creeping friends—of whom he, unfortunately, possessed only too many. To me this death at the hand of violence is a proof of his greatness.