The Phoenix Land (54 page)

Chapter Ten

Having now finally abandoned all diplomatic and political work, I found new interests in artistic matters.

Just at this time Klebelsberg, then minister of education, founded the National Council for Fine Arts with the aim of improving standards, especially in architecture, sculpture and painting. He asked me to be the first chairman, and I believe that he started the organization because at that time I was available for the job. It was, so to speak, tailored to my size. In my youth I had been a painter myself
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; I was then a pupil of Bertalán Székely. Architecture had always interested me; as Intendant of the State Theatres (1913–1918) I had been responsible for the Opera House and for the transformation of the National Theatre; while in the competition for a design for a commemorative statue to Queen Elisabeth, I had collaborated with my friend Telcs and with Kálmán Györgyi. Our design had been awarded the first prize.

All building work in Budapest was nominally under the
authority
of the Board of Public Works. As in recent times, its
controlling
function had become limited to technical and town planning matters, the Council for Fine Arts was now given artistic control of public buildings all over the country. Also falling under its jurisdiction was the organization of national exhibitions both at home and abroad. A further task was to be the founding of local museums in the country towns, for which there was plenty of material – especially in the field of fine arts – reposing in the
storage
vaults of the national museums in the capital because lack of space prevented their being shown to the public. We were also expected to organize painting and sculpture competitions, arrange the necessary publicity and advise on the state purchase of new works.

I was delighted to be offered this task. It promised to be most interesting, particularly as it gave us the chance to guide public taste. This was just the time when the state was building village schools and guard-posts for the gendarmerie in the country, and the Southern Railway was constructing stations on the Balaton line. People see stations, schools and guard-posts every day, and what they see gives them an idea of what is modern and
beautiful
and so contributes to the formation of taste. And what they hold as modern and beautiful is what people tend to imitate. It was therefore important for the Council to ensure that every approved design should serve as an example of excellence. We held discussions about this in the section devoted to architectural planning. I was strongly of the opinion that we should not follow foreign ideas; not try to copy the popular German style nor
imitate
English cottages or Scandinavian workers’ dwellings, but rather search out the best and most interesting of our own native models from which we could evolve an internationally
recognizable
Hungarian style.

We decided to use as a prototype the vernacular style popular at the beginning of the eighteenth century in the country round Vesprém and Komárom on the west side of the Danube, and Miskolc and Tokaj, where the numerous manors and country houses, built mostly with porticos and varied façades,
harmonized
beautifully with their surroundings.

Among my colleagues were Róbert Kertész, Dénes Györgyi, Medgyaszay and Kocsis – to name but a few – and together we were able to realize many of our ideals. When I visited the
country
a year or two later I found to my joy that many of the new schools, village halls and guard-posts and railway stations had been built in the style of the sketches we had supplied to MAV (the Hungarian State Railways) and to the ministries of the interior and education. So we had managed to found a school which had influenced popular taste and which made use of local materials.

Our work was both sympathetic and agreeable, as well as being interesting. During that time I met many artists who became my friends. It was also interesting to learn of many things that were not so agreeable: things to which until then I had unfortunately given no thought.

My architect friends drew my attention to the abuse of power and actual swindles that were rife in the award of building
contracts
arranged by the Board of Public Works.

It was a rule that all contracts for state-sponsored buildings were awarded only after open competitions had been held. On the surface, it appeared that the board observed this ruling, but in its own way. When a substantial building was proposed some five or six large firms were asked to submit tenders; but only those firms that were linked by cartel received invitations with the result that they decided among themselves whose turn it was, and somehow it was always this firm that received the contract – and the more expensive the better. No firm outside the cartel got a look in.

From the many complaints I received from building firms with whom I was on friendly terms, it seemed that this type of corruption would be the easiest to prove. Thinking that it was my duty to inform the government of this, I asked the builders to provide me with full details, which I then took to the minister, József Vass. At that time I truly believed that I would be doing him a favour by telling him of the ‘
panamas
’
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going on in his board. Although many people believed him to be a part of it, I found this hard to credit, for Vass was both a professor and a man of the Church. It is true that there had been gossip about him in Budapest, but I did not believe that his official integrity was involved. He had spent his life in the ministry of education as the
Referens
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of matters concerning the Catholic Church, and so it did not occur to me that he could have had any knowledge of
corrupt
dealings in the department for which he was responsible – or so I then thought.

This had been a difficult decision for me personally since I knew well, from my friendship with Klebelsberg, who opposed him in the cabinet, that Vass had been one of those who had taken part in the campaign against me when I had been in Geneva. Nevertheless, I did not allow this to deter me from taking the matter straight to him as I thought it right that he should be the first to hear of accusations levelled against the
conduct
of the board. After making an appointment by telephone I went to see him in his office. He received me at once with every
expression of regard. On entering his office my first impression was one of shock. His room at the ministry was newly furnished and decorated in an elaborately ornate and expensive manner inappropriate and unbecoming to our poverty-stricken country. It was lined with carved oak panelling in the pseudo-rococo taste (or rather bad taste) in which the Budapest decorator, Kozma delighted so much at that time. As soon as I saw it I remembered that I had heard that Vass’s own home had been done in the same manner, at enormous expense.

I explained the reason for my visit and handed over the proofs of what I had said. Vass accepted them and thanked me
effusively
, saying that he would immediately instigate a most
rigorous
investigation. He made a good impression on me and seemed sincere. He then accompanied me to the very last door, repeating his thanks over and over again until he finally showed me out.

After that nothing … and the swindles continued as before. When many weeks had passed, and there had been no sign of any action, and the abuses remained unchecked, I went to see the prime minister and laid everything before him.

Bethlen seemed fairly interested in what I had to tell him, but he had such confidence in Vass that I was sure he would not intervene. It was one of his greatest weaknesses that he had such confidence in all his colleagues that, even when their failings had been made all too clear, he would still keep them on and refuse to believe anything bad about them. The most unselfish of men, he could never bring himself to recognize self-interest in those who served him. He found it difficult ever to part with a colleague, and when he did it was usually only after the man concerned had found some more lucrative post and then made Bethlen believe that the change would somehow benefit the state. As a result, quite a number of his ministers found that they were in their well-paid posts for life; and this was to prove detrimental to his ministry. There can be no doubt that it was a great pity that the prime minister should have had more faith in Vass’s integrity than in the facts and figures I showed him. At that time the matter could have been dealt with discreetly and without
creating
a public outcry. This was to come later when the so-called Dréhr Scandal broke out. Imre Dréhr was the politically
appointed Secretary of State of the ministry of welfare from 1925 to 1931. He was accused of being responsible for various ‘
panamas
’ in the ministry and condemned to a term of
imprisonment
. He committed suicide, as did Hankó-Veress, his section chief. At the height of the scandal Vass also died suddenly, and although it was given out he had had a heart attack, many people believed that he too had killed himself. Nothing harmed the Bethlen government as much as this scandal.

However, there were many pleasanter jobs to be done in the National Council for Fine Arts.

Here I will relate an amusing incident that occurred when two professorial posts fell vacant at the Academy of Fine Arts. Klebelsberg wished to appoint Károly Lyka and Vaszary, both excellent choices, for Lyka was one of our finest art historians, while Vaszary was a painter of considerable accomplishment. He submitted their names to the Regent, but Horthy refused to confirm their appointments, no matter how hard Klebelsberg pressed him. Horthy’s reluctance stemmed from the fact that he had two intimate friends, both painters. One was Karlovszky, who had painted his portrait. Karlovszky was a talented artist, if old-fashioned, who hated anything new and who had a most malicious nature. The other was Merész, who also painted in an antiquated manner but who was decidedly second-rate. This last was a frequent guest at the Regent’s and, as Horthy in his free time liked to try his hand at water-colours, Merész used to give him pointers on technique and in so doing had become Horthy’s tame expert. It was clear that these two had done their best to block Klebelsberg’s nominations, especially that of Vaszary. When the minister realized that he was not going to get Horthy’s agreement, he asked Oszkár Glatz, the rector of the Academy of Fine Arts, and myself to accompany him to an audience in the Fortress
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.

The first to speak was Klebelsberg, who explained the reasons for his choice in a formal and respectful manner. I followed, speaking more freely since I had known Horthy for many years dating back to the time when we used to shoot together at Szovata when he was still aide-de-camp to Emperor Franz Joseph.

Then Glatz spoke up. He had a merry, good-humoured manner and at once roared out:

‘Come on, nominate them, do! I can tell, Vaszary is a great painter. Do listen! You can believe us. We know your Excellency is no painter, so you can’t know!’

‘Please…’ said Horthy, ‘…I do paint, you know.’

‘Well, yes, your Excellency paints, of course … but that is not at all the same thing!’

‘But I really do paint…’

‘All right! All right! Of course you do…’ replied Glatz,
smiling
. Then, with a deprecating wave of the hand, he said:

‘You do paint, of course! But that isn’t the point. We are now talking about real painting. Do please make these appointments. This really is quite a different matter…’

Glatz spoke in such an uninhibited and good-humoured way that Horthy started to laugh. Nothing that either his own minister or I had said had had the same effect as Glatz’s cheerful sincerity; and Horthy was won over by it. He agreed to nominate our candidates and when we left shook hands with Glatz with marked warmth. This was an instance of the modesty that Horthy used to display before his sycophants flattered him into believing he knew everything and was a great statesman, which later led to megalomania.

After my resignation in the summer of 1923 I went home to Transylvania for the first time since the revolution. It was painful for me, but there was also joy mixed with the pain. I went straight to my lovely home, Bonczhida, and found that
everything
was just as I had last seen it when I left in 1918
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.