The Phoenix Land (24 page)

As an example of this, let us consider the extraordinary tale of the so-called
‘brucki-puccs’
– the unsuccessful coup at Bruck. I tell it exactly as it was recounted to me by several men who took part in it. What led up to it is obscure enough, but the
putsch
itself happened like this: At the beginning of June news arrived that the counter-revolutionary government of Julius Károlyi
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had been formed at Szeged. The Allies did not then recognize it, as the victorious powers, according to Colonel Cunningham, would only accept a government formed on unoccupied territory – and Szeged was then still occupied by the French. This did not worry Bethlen, who at once entered into regular communication
with Károlyi’s group in Szeged and sent there most of the exiled officers in Vienna so as to form the nucleus of a re-formed national army. He also sent money from the millions obtained from the Bankgasse raid.

The exiles who gathered at the Hotel Bristol took a different line. All right, they said, if a new National government has to be declared on unoccupied Hungarian soil, so be it! Here they were close enough to Bruck-Királyhida. They would surprise the place, occupy it themselves and declare a new government there!

They went at it without further delay.

The following plan was quickly formed. Secret envoys would contact a group of suitable men of good will, who would hide near the station on the Hungarian side of the river Laitha. There they would wait for a group of officers from Vienna to arrive on the Austrian side.

First of all they had to be sure of who and how many men would be able to be collected in secret beside the bridge over the Laitha. It seems that the numbers were mustered with not a little commotion, rather like bidding for the bank at baccarat. Some of the conspirators seem to have been carried away by typical Hungarian overconfidence, while others, more realistically minded, started thinking in terms of twenty or thirty. The more dashing thought of hundreds, and there were those who
guaranteed
that at least two thousand would rally to the call. Next the groups began to enlist the help of some of the officers who were gathering at one of the small hotels in Josefstadt. Many of those then waiting in Vienna were eager to join the venture, all the more so because the leaders firmly declared that everything was in readiness. The recruits were assured that many thousands were only waiting to join them on the Hungarian side and that even machine guns would be available. It was wonderful how every detail had been worked out so brilliantly. On the night chosen they would be transported by taxis to Bruck, and there they would hide close to the bridge which formed the frontier. A locomotive would be reversed across the bridge, pushing empty wagons into which they would climb and so would be whisked into the station under the noses of the Communist guards. Once there – hee! hee! – they would be joined by the waiting recruits,
disarm the Red guards … and Lo! They would declare a national Hungarian government on unoccupied Hungarian soil, which the Allies would naturally recognize!

One thing remained: a government had to be formed before the raid, and this had to be done in secret so that no one on the other side should start talking about it. This was done; and at once they all began to talk about its members as if they were already ministers.

Like all good Hungarian secret conspiracies – and Hungarians are unsurpassed at keeping secrets! – they all talked about it far too much, so much, indeed, that it was said the Vienna cabbies knew about it days in advance, and in their thick Viennese dialect, took much pleasure in saying to everyone:
‘Ti Kraffen kehn nach Pruck’
– ‘So the counts are all off to Bruck!’

At last the long-awaited night arrived.

Some forty officers gathered in front of the hotel in Josefstadt, where ten taxis stood ready to transport them to the field of battle. All of them had a little money, a travelling bag, soldiers’ caps and army belts; some even had a revolver. Then they asked where were the guns and ammunition that had been promised. These, they were told, were still hidden and would be supplied separately. Each officer would receive a weapon on arrival at Bruck because in Vienna it would cause something of a stir if a lot of gentlemen carrying arms were seen getting into taxis. They all congratulated each other – it had been well done, very cleverly done, they said!

Off they went, into the wild summer night. In the first car was the leader of this military expedition and behind him, in proper military order, were the other taxis filled with helmeted,
leather-belted
but civilian-clad braves.

A single car separated itself from the others. This took a roundabout route as it had to pick up the Mannlichers and the ammunition.

After quite a while it arrived at the doors of an old monastery in a lonely street. This is it, they said. This is where the monks will hand out the weapons they have hidden for us.

An officer got out and looked around. The street was empty. This was the moment. Now he could safely ring the bell, and
when the doorkeeper looked out, the password ‘Jerusalem’ could be whispered in his ear.

One of them rang the bell. Then they heard steps
approaching
, and finally a tiny window was opened in the massive oak door.

‘Was wollens?’
– ‘What do you want?’ said an unfriendly voice from the darkness inside.

‘Jerusalem!’ whispered the officer into the tiny opening.

‘Wa-as?’
– ‘Whaat?’ came from the darkness.

‘Jerusalem!’ repeated the officer, this time more loudly.

The little window was slammed shut, and footsteps died away on the other side. Outside they waited, imagining someone had gone to fetch the arms and ammunition, although still thinking it odd the man had gone away without a single word of reply…

And there they went on waiting … for a very long time.
Nothing
! Not a word, not a sound. Nothing to suggest that anything was happening inside, either to bring out the weapons or the ammunition that had been so carefully arranged by the new ‘minister’. An hour went by, and then an hour-and-a-half, and still nothing, nothing, nothing. And time was rushing by.

Anxiously they were thinking that the others would already be at Bruck, waiting for their weapons; and that the attack was planned for that very night. It was impossible to wait any longer, and so they decided to ring again.

Ring again they did, several times. Finally, after a long wait, the same heavy footsteps were heard from inside the door. Once again the tiny slit was opened.

‘Was is?’
the voice asked again.

‘Jerusalem!’ repeated the officer and then again, very
distinctly
, ‘Je-ru-sa-lem!’

‘Go…!’ bellowed the unseen voice, using a vulgar command no one would want to obey and in a rage again slammed shut the tiny window.

As this was obviously the only reply they were likely to get, it was now clear there was no more business to do there, and so the only thing to do was to follow the others as swiftly as possible and report that the excellent password had not worked. Otherwise the others might start something while still unarmed.

Off they raced in their taxi and at last arrived in Bruck, where, on the Austrian side, they found some of their companions who had been posted there on guard, while the others had repaired to a neighbouring hostelry which was called, as if to emphasize that everywhere thy were pursued by the colour red, the
Rother Ochs
– the Red Ox. There they found the whole band, together with the ‘general staff’ and the ‘ministers’.

The new arrivals then told of the failure of the password, but no one admitted responsibility, indeed they all accused each other before finally agreeing that the blame must lie with some of those who had stayed in Vienna instead of coming with the main group. The matter of ‘Jerusalem’ was never cleared up, not even years later.

Neither did I ever get to know why they stayed at Bruck at all and, having stayed, why they did not attack that same night. This was because I heard the tale not from the leaders but from their soldier followers. Be that as it may, they did stay and decided to launch the attack on the following evening.

What does one do if forced to spend the day waiting at an inn? What else but quaff a
spritzer
or a beer or some other
heartwarming
drink? And since they were so many, what more
natural
than that someone should start singing – many lovely songs, nostalgic sad Hungarian songs, interspersed with some crackling csárdás? Never mind if they could be heard on the sidewalks
outside
: there weren’t many people about and, anyway, the Lord loveth men who make music!

Not only that, but as it is irksome to sit still all day long, some of them ventured out for a stroll or to the local tobacconist for cigarettes or picture postcards. After all, perhaps the sight of strangers in that little-frequented border town, gentlemen in civilian clothes wearing army caps and tight leather belts, would not really attract any attention. There was nothing special about them; it wasn’t as if they were in full uniform!

And so the day passed.

In the afternoon two workmen crossed the bridge and came into the inn. When they sat down at a neighbouring table, some of the officers thought they might have brought over a message – but no! It turned out they were Reds sent over to spy! So they
found themselves arrested instead, dragged upstairs to a vaulted passage where they were interrogated and finally locked in one of the guest rooms with a guard at the door so that they should not escape and carry back the news of what was being so secretly
prepared
.

At last the evening came, and the company moved off towards the bridge over the Laitha. There they lay down by the rails on the edge of the embankment. Again they waited for a long time.

Night fell. Somewhere out of sight a locomotive’s whistle sounded. Perhaps that was the signal that it was coming? Then a red lamp was seen several times, swung to and fro and then
extinguished
.

Finally there was complete silence: perhaps nothing was coming!

General argument followed. It was clear that someone should go on ahead, but who?

Only one man had a proper gun. It was one of my friends who had brought his own sporting rifle: a Mannlicher-Schönauer. The others said that he, the one with the gun, should be the one to go. He demurred.

‘Why me?’ he argued, forcefully pointing out: ‘with this weapon I can shoot accurately more than a hundred metres. The men with revolvers should go first. They can only shoot at close range.’

And so this is what they did. Some five of them set off, one of the ‘ministers’ being among them.

Then, forty or so paces behind, followed the main body, led by the only man with a rifle; and then, according to the accepted rules of strategy, came the recruits.

The advance party set off. When they set foot on the bridge shots were heard and also what sounded like machine-gun fire. They stopped and conferred with each other: could it be that the Reds had noticed something and were aiming at the bridge? And if this were so, would it not be foolish to try to cross to the other side? So they returned to the main body of men most of whom, hearing the shots, had lain down between or beside the rails, while some sought refuge in empty trucks. (Eyewitnesses tell how one of the leaders, a large plump man, had flung himself
down between the rails where, so the legend goes, he lay so flat that the others lost sight of him). There were still occasional bursts of fire from the other side, so they again consulted one another as to what they should do and how to do it. Again it seemed difficult to decide.

In the end, fate took a hand. Those in the rear announced that the
Heimwehr
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were marching up from Bruck, and soon their steps could be heard.

‘Run for your lives! Scram! Hide in the empty wagons!’
someone
shouted. Once inside, in the pitch dark, they started sharing out the money they had brought with them – apparently about six or seven million from the Bankgasse raid – so as to save as much as possible. In a wild hurry they were saying, still in total
darkness
, ‘Here! Take this million!’ Others would call out: ‘I don’t want it. I’ve got two already!’ So they hid it, stuffing money into each other’s pockets or boots or wherever else they could find.

But the
Heimwehr
did find them, which they might not have done in the dark had not one of the ministers, a great hulking fellow, left a leg sticking out of a wagon he was too tall to climb in it.

‘Where there’s a leg, there’s a man,’ guessed one of the Austrian policemen, and promptly pulled out the would-be
minister
. Then they arrested the whole band and took them back to their barracks, where they were treated with much cordiality and provided with food and drink.

At first it was planned to intern them in one of the border towns, which potentially could have proved fatal for them, but they were eventually shipped back to Vienna and confined in the Schottenring whence they were finally released through Bethlen’s intervention.

None of these men came to any harm; and only my friend who took his sporting rifle to Bruck was a loser. The
Heimwehr
confiscated
his magnificent Mannlicher-Schönauer, and he never saw it again.

They were still laughing about the
brucki-puccs
when I arrived back in Vienna. Here I have told the story for its humorous
elements
, but when I reflect on how much danger so many trusting young men were placed in by the thoughtlessness and sheer
superficiality of the organizers of the
putsch
, I am appalled. Nobody ever admitted being responsible.

A few days after the Böhm-Bethlen meeting came the news that the Soviet government in Budapest had resigned
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and that Peidl had taken over and formed a new cabinet.

At this point, Colonel Cunningham, Borghese, the Italian chargé d’affaires
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and, I understand, the French appealed to the Hungarian politicians in exile to put together a real national government to include members of all parties and which could succeed Peidl. They assured them that such an administration would be recognized by the Allies, and that its representatives would be invited to the Paris peace conference. Discussions about the formation of such a coalition led to endless wrangling, as it always does when disparate groups whose following is uncertain vie for position and power while contending with the internal stresses caused by personal ambition. Several days passed in this way.