ironical laughter. ‘But we should ask ourselves this: was it wise – statesmanlike, if you wish – to bring in this controversial language decree at this moment? Remember this, and what answer do you get? Our poor government has so few friends that it seems a pity to have offended their only allies.’
Balint intervened. ‘That, surely, must depend on the value of the alliance – and of its sincerity. Personally I’m convinced that the Serb Coalition never supported the Fiume Resolution out of love for us, but only because they were ordered to do so by Belgrade. Very cleverly they’ll give their support to anything that tends to the break-up of the Dual Monarchy. Perhaps Kossuth put in the language conditions expressly so as to find a way of breaking with his Serbian friends!’
For a moment the great Barra stared at Abady in silence, baffled by the intervention of a man he hardly knew and who rarely opened his mouth. He was just about to answer, to slay this troublesome stranger who had dared to interrupt, when Zsigmond Boros, who had been standing on the other side of the group for the last few minutes, got in first.
‘That is a highly intelligent observation,’ he said in his velvety politician’s baritone, ‘but I can assure you that Kossuth didn’t even think of it. It just didn’t occur to him that the decree would cause all this trouble, which just shows how ignorant he is!’ Then, to build up his own reputation and public image, he said, ‘I warned him, when I was still in office and the matter was discussed , but he would not listen to me. That’s why I resigned. I couldn’t say anything about it then, of course, but now it’s different . I mean, now it’s a matter of my country’s well-being and nothing else means anything to me or ever will!’
The great Barra now found himself in a dilemma. He hated Kossuth, but he also hated anyone who drew attention away from himself and stole his thunder. Angrily he went on, ‘I’m not here to defend the Economics Minister, even if he is ignorant, uninformed and often weak too, but I must say that patriotism will always find a way, through no matter what obstacle – nay, through hellfire itself – to defend the nation’s best interests. It is this flame, burning away always in our breasts, which lights the way to the future, and which has guided my way all down the years … and remember this – our country, our nationhood, our constitution, everything that we hold dear, draws its inspiration from that one word alone.’
At this moment an usher came up to Abady and tapped him on the shoulder. He had been sent for by the Minister. He turned and hurried away to the private office and, even as he reached the end of the corridor, he heard the meaningless phrases thundering on: ‘… because, I declare to you all, that I shall never falter nor waver in my view that what this country’s welfare demands is …’
Half an hour later Balint left the Houses of Parliament with the Minister’s appointment in his pocket. The same evening he started for home and, for the first time since he had entered politics, he was returning happy with a sense of achievement. At last he would be able to be of use; at last he would be able to put into effect some of his plans to help the people in the country districts he knew so well.
Before falling asleep he wondered in which district he should start his new organization. The choice was between the rolling prairies near Lelbanya or the mountain villages of the Kalotaszeg. He was still going over in his mind the merits of both when he dozed off. His last thoughts had rather favoured Kalotaszeg because there, at the foot of the mountains, were Hungarian communities where he would be able to recruit the necessary local leaders who could help him forge a link with the Romanian villages high in the forests. Yes, he thought, that was where he should start; and, faintly echoing in the deep recesses of his consciousness –
Balint intervened. ‘That, surely, must depend on the value of the alliance – and of its sincerity. Personally I’m convinced that the Serb Coalition never supported the Fiume Resolution out of love for us, but only because they were ordered to do so by Belgrade. Very cleverly they’ll give their support to anything that tends to the break-up of the Dual Monarchy. Perhaps Kossuth put in the language conditions expressly so as to find a way of breaking with his Serbian friends!’
For a moment the great Barra stared at Abady in silence, baffled by the intervention of a man he hardly knew and who rarely opened his mouth. He was just about to answer, to slay this troublesome stranger who had dared to interrupt, when Zsigmond Boros, who had been standing on the other side of the group for the last few minutes, got in first.
‘That is a highly intelligent observation,’ he said in his velvety politician’s baritone, ‘but I can assure you that Kossuth didn’t even think of it. It just didn’t occur to him that the decree would cause all this trouble, which just shows how ignorant he is!’ Then, to build up his own reputation and public image, he said, ‘I warned him, when I was still in office and the matter was discussed , but he would not listen to me. That’s why I resigned. I couldn’t say anything about it then, of course, but now it’s different . I mean, now it’s a matter of my country’s well-being and nothing else means anything to me or ever will!’
The great Barra now found himself in a dilemma. He hated Kossuth, but he also hated anyone who drew attention away from himself and stole his thunder. Angrily he went on, ‘I’m not here to defend the Economics Minister, even if he is ignorant, uninformed and often weak too, but I must say that patriotism will always find a way, through no matter what obstacle – nay, through hellfire itself – to defend the nation’s best interests. It is this flame, burning away always in our breasts, which lights the way to the future, and which has guided my way all down the years … and remember this – our country, our nationhood, our constitution, everything that we hold dear, draws its inspiration from that one word alone.’
At this moment an usher came up to Abady and tapped him on the shoulder. He had been sent for by the Minister. He turned and hurried away to the private office and, even as he reached the end of the corridor, he heard the meaningless phrases thundering on: ‘… because, I declare to you all, that I shall never falter nor waver in my view that what this country’s welfare demands is …’
Half an hour later Balint left the Houses of Parliament with the Minister’s appointment in his pocket. The same evening he started for home and, for the first time since he had entered politics, he was returning happy with a sense of achievement. At last he would be able to be of use; at last he would be able to put into effect some of his plans to help the people in the country districts he knew so well.
Before falling asleep he wondered in which district he should start his new organization. The choice was between the rolling prairies near Lelbanya or the mountain villages of the Kalotaszeg. He was still going over in his mind the merits of both when he dozed off. His last thoughts had rather favoured Kalotaszeg because there, at the foot of the mountains, were Hungarian communities where he would be able to recruit the necessary local leaders who could help him forge a link with the Romanian villages high in the forests. Yes, he thought, that was where he should start; and, faintly echoing in the deep recesses of his consciousness –
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