“DOWN WITH THE GOVERNMENT!”
The Mardi Gras season of this year was powerless to improve the humor
of the Viennese. Bitter cold, much snow, rooms unheated because a
hundred-weight of coal cost a hundred thousand kronen, failure after
failure, the closing of a great bank in which many had deposited their
money.
Dances and fancy dress balls were held in the sign of the peasant
costume exclusively. As extravagant dress was not being indulged in,
necessity was made into a virtue, only country dances were given, and
Vienna looked more like a country fair than a metropolis.
The city’s theatrical life had come to an absolute standstill. The
best members of the National Opera were constantly playing abroad, the
Philharmonic Orchestra was just finishing a tour in South America,
the private theatres had degenerated into provincial troupes with
inadequate direction, inferior actors, and antiquated scenery; and
visiting artists from abroad had long ago stopped coming because Vienna
could not pay the great sums they demanded. Besides, some papers had
lately had to suspend publication because the number of their readers
was constantly diminishing; and suddenly the alarm was sounded again:
“The krone is falling!”
Enormous quantities of kronen were being sold on the foreign exchanges,
so that Zurich soon rated them at the thirty-thousandth part of a
centime. Prices rose in proportion, and the populace began to grow
desperate. When a pound of fat cost a half million kronen there
appeared again the mysterious little leaflet of the League of True
Christians, with the question:
“How long, Citizens of Vienna, will you bear with this government?
When will you at last make the National Assembly dissolve, and force
new elections to be called?”
The morning of the next day was marked by looting in the markets;
the embittered housewives stormed the stands, beat their owners, and
took possession of the foodstuffs. In Favoriten the riot developed a
revolutionary character; but the National Guard, which was called out,
refused to proceed against the women.
In the National Assembly, which was in session just then, not only the
Social-Democrats, but some Christian-Socialists and Pan-Germans as
well, put the question to the government as to what it proposed to do
to help the desperate people. The Social-Democrats made a declaration
of urgency and moved that the government immediately call new
elections, so that the voters could decide themselves whether they were
prepared to bear present conditions any longer.
Deathly pale, the Chancellor rose to rejoin.
“To call new elections at this moment of general confusion would be to
deliver the fate of our country into the hands of the radical elements,
and to open our gates wide to the Jews! The proudest and greatest
work ever created by the Austrian legislature would collapse because
we are not patient enough, because we are not capable of sufficient
self-denial to endure present conditions and overcome our difficulties.
I know that international Jewry is mixed up in this, and doubtless
agitators, bought with Jewish money, are working to....”
The rest of the Chancellor’s words were lost in the terrific hullabaloo
that now filled the house. The Social-Democrats knocked on their
desks, the galleries shouted wildly, and even from the benches of his
partisans came calls like “Have you proof for your statements?”
At six o’clock in the evening the Social-Democrats’ declaration of
urgency was still being discussed; and its proponents were very
evidently doing their utmost to prolong the session. Every speaker
talked for hours; as soon as one had finished another took the
floor--most of the deputies had stopped listening long ago, and were
refreshing themselves at the buffet, and even the ministers’ bench was
empty. Only Schwertfeger, rigidly sullen, his arms folded, was still in
his seat.
Suddenly new life came into the house. The rumor spread that masses of
working-men were advancing; immediately after the sound of the workers’
song was heard from afar, the cheering and shouting of the excited mob
became louder and louder, until finally a single howl penetrated the
closed windows:
“Down with the government! Down with the National Assembly! We demand
new elections!”
Great crowds with their flags and standards were surrounding the
Parliament Building, new processions were constantly arriving; all the
workers of Greater Vienna, clerks and office employes--all had marched
out in closed groups from the factories and shops, stores and offices.
Now powerful blows thundered on the doors of the building, which had
been locked hurriedly--now a hailstorm of stones rattled against
the windows--now a deputation of workers had forced an entry. Their
leader--an iron-worker by the name of Stürmer, a powerful fellow with
bright eyes and an enormous head--took up his position in the midst
of the deputies, who, panic-struck, were huddled together like sheep
during a storm; and he declared briefly:
“The army is with us, and so are the younger men on the police force.
Either the government dissolves Parliament within ten minutes and
orders new elections to be called immediately, or the masses will
proceed with violence. The bitterness of the people is boundless; this
time the middle classes stand behind the workers, and the question is
not political, but one of actual desperation. The women are the most
furious--listen to them shrieking for firing the building. If the
government does not give in we will not answer for the consequences!”
And the inevitable happened. After a brief consultation with the
Christian-Socialist and Pan-German party leaders the government
announced that it would submit to the terror, would dissolve the
Assembly, and would call new elections immediately. The Chancellor
handed in his resignation then and there, but his colleagues and the
party chiefs adjured him not to desert them at this critical moment;
he consented, therefore, to keep the reins of government in his hands
until after the elections.
When the excited mob was informed of the dissolution of the National
Assembly the tension was transformed into wild joy; and in the
evening that followed the wine supply of Vienna suffered considerable
diminution.
Even the Frenchman, Henry Dufresne, who had witnessed the memorable
meeting from the gallery, drank a great deal too much, all alone in his
studio. The next morning, however, he was in perfect condition again;
he made an excellent sketch for the title page of one of Zola’s novels,
and when Lotte came to him, snow-covered and with cold red cheeks, he
picked her up and swung her around.
Lotte was in as high spirits as he, for after reading the morning
papers her father had said to her very gravely:
“I see a great conflict in store for you, my child! Everything
indicates that Leo Strakosch will soon be able to return to Vienna. And
then you’ll have to choose between him, whom you loved so much and whom
I would welcome as a son, and this mysterious Frenchman, whom we have
never met!”
When Lotte smilingly replied that she would like to have both Leo
and the Frenchman, Hofrat Spineder became really angry, called her
frivolous and immoral, and required much coaxing before he could be
placated again.
But now Lotte sat on her lover’s knee and kissed Henry Dufresne and Leo
Strakosch, combined in one person, with great enthusiasm.