They Were Divided by Miklós Bánffy

far greater and more complicated than were admitted in the seductive paragraphs of the radical press. It never occurred to the majority that the real national interest lay in the sound administration of agriculture, industry and commerce, in the defence of the realm and the maintenance of law and order; and in fair treatment of the ethnic minorities and the under-privileged. It was on how such matters were handled that the prestige of the Dual Monarchy and its position as a great power rested; and it was on Austria-Hungary’s position as a great power that the continued prosperity of the individual depended. And yet, simple and logical as this proposition might have appeared, it still seemed beyond the grasp of the general public.
    During the period of Fejervary’s government the leaders of the Coalition began to grasp that their fight was hopeless because they had argued themselves into a totally false position. It was this that led to the famous Pactum between the radical coalitionists and the Emperor.
    And now they made their first great irremediable mistake: they declared publicly that the compromise was a triumph. This bare-faced lie, like the principle of original sin, bedevilled the five years of their reign until, totally divided, quarrelling over every issue, accusing each other of ineptitude and incapacity, the Coalition ended in total fiasco. The general public, for once, grasped what had happened and withdrew its support, turning away with bored contempt. Khuen-Hedervary quickly grasped what was happening and cleverly turned the situation to his own advantage.
    The new government’s initial programme was intentionally, and wisely, colourless and confined itself to generalities. The only exception was a declaration of support for the idea of introducing universal suffrage, expressed only in the vaguest terms. Indeed the whole document was so imprecise that everyone, conservativeor radical, could read into it support for anything they themselves desired.
    The first real action taken was to correct some of the most glaring of the Coalition’s mistakes. Rauch, the Ban of Croatia, whose rule had been so disastrous, was dismissed and the judgements in the Zagreb treason trial set aside. All prosecutions for sedition that were pending against representatives of the ethnic minorities were immediately abandoned.
    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