Francis Joseph comes to terms with Hungary—His famous interview with
Francis Deák—“Well, Deák, what does Hungary demand?”—Dualism—The
objection of the Slavs to Dualism—Coronation at Buda—Andrassy, whom
he had hanged in effigy, becomes his Prime Minister.
Defeated by the Prussians, Francis Joseph felt that he must come to
terms with the Hungarians. Their sullen and enduring disaffection had
been one of the causes of his discomfiture. They seemed to be looking
on, rather pleased than otherwise, at the spectacle of the Habsburg
Empire in the melting-pot, and there were even Hungarian exiles helping
the enemies of the Habsburgs. It was necessary to win them over, even
at the cost of giving them what they wanted.
The popularity of the Empress helped to make them approachable. It
would be an exaggeration to say that the Hungarians loved the Emperor
because they had first loved the Empress, and loved the Empress because
of her friendship for Nicholas Esterhazy; but that, nevertheless, was
the trend of Hungarian sentiment. Elizabeth was, at all
events, a friend at Court, and since she had been Empress there had
been far more Hungarians about the Court than previously. So now,
after Sadowa, but before his acceptance of the Prussian terms, Francis
Joseph sent for the Hungarian leader, Francis Deák: a stubborn man, but
moderate, and with a statesman’s eye for the practical.
Deák obeyed the summons, and was ushered into a room in which he saw
the Emperor alone, absorbed in thought. After a short silence, a short
dialogue passed between them:—
“Well, Deák, what does Hungary demand?”
“No more than she demanded before Sadowa—but no less.”
“And what have I to do now?”
“Your Majesty must first make peace, and then give Hungary her rights.”
“If I give Hungary a constitution at once, will the Hungarian
Parliament vote me money to carry on this war?”
“No, your Majesty, the Hungarian Parliament will do nothing of the
kind.”
For two reasons: because Hungary had no quarrel with Prussia, and
because the hour of Francis Joseph’s embarrassment was the hour in
which it would be easiest to bargain with him. So Francis Joseph
realised that Deák had him at an advantage. He remained silent for a
few moments, and then said simply: “Very well. I suppose it must be as
you insist.”
That was the quiet origin of the present Austro-Hungarian
constitution—the system known as
Dualism. It solved one Austrian problem with a stroke of the pen;
but there were a good many other problems which it left unsolved.
Notably it left unsolved the pressing problem of the Slavs, whom the
Hungarians, no less than the Austrians, regarded as inferior people,
only fit to be oppressed. What the Hungarians had wanted—and now
obtained—was not equal rights all round, but an invitation to go into
partnership with the oppressors, and Magyarise one-half of the Empire
while the Austrians were Germanising the other half. Whereupon there
came a furious protest from a Slav historian:—
“If it is decided” (wrote Palacky) “to reverse the natural policy
of Austria; if this Empire, composed of a medley of different
nationalities, refuses to accord equal rights to all, and organises
the supremacy of certain races over the others; if the Slavs are to
be treated as an inferior people, and handed over to two dominant
peoples as mere material to be governed by them; then Nature will
assert herself and resume her rights. An inflexible resistance will
transform hope into despair, and a peaceful into a warlike spirit; and
there will be a series of conflicts and struggles of which it will be
impossible to foresee the end. We Slavs existed before Austria; and we
shall continue to exist after Austria has disappeared.”
That is hardly doubtful. “Imprison a Slav idea,” it has been written,
“in the deepest dungeon of a fortress, and it will blow up the fortress
in order to get out.” But that peril belonged to the future. For the
moment Austria was once more saved; and the Emperor’s coronation in the
cathedral, in 1867, was a magnificent ceremony, every detail of it
fraught with significance to those who knew their history. We have to
picture Francis Joseph, mounted on a snow-white horse, ascending the
ancient hill, and brandishing his sword to the four points of Heaven as
a sign that he would confound his subjects’ enemies, whether they came
from north, south, east, or west; a very different experience truly
from that of the days when Milan had received him and the Empress,
with their heads covered, in stony silence, and the people of Venice
had shunned the Archduke Maximilian and the Archduchess Charlotte as
if they were lepers who had escaped from quarantine. A part of the
ceremony consisted in the presentation to him of a purse of money,
and he ordered its contents to be distributed among the families of
those who had fallen fighting against him in 1849. It was one of those
magnificent gestures which, like kind words, are worth much and cost
little.
So that Francis Joseph, having turned a rebuff to his advantage, was
stronger after Sadowa than before it; and he soon showed his skill in
conciliating individuals by bestowing the office of Prime Minister
upon the Count Andrassy who had been condemned to death, and hanged
in effigy, for his share in the Hungarian rebellion. “I am so glad
I didn’t really hang you,” he said genially, “for, in that case, I
should have deprived myself of the most capable and amiable of my
Prime Ministers”; and he did as good a day’s work when he said that as
when he promoted the old soldiers whom he had caught poaching to be
game-keepers. Moreover, he displayed a similar readiness to let bygones
be bygones and to fight shoulder to shoulder with his old enemies when
Prussia fell out with France in 1870.
That, however, is an intricate story, and demands a separate chapter.