Week's Duels

Hungarian politicians have worse tempers and more physical courage than any other politicians in Europe. Last week Hungarian politics broke out in a fret of duels, talked and fought.

Central figures were three sometime friends, once all leaders in Hungary's anti-Communist coalition, now the three most conspicuous rivals in Hungary. They were Premier Julius Goemboes, onetime Premier Count Stephen Bethlen and Tibor Eckhardt, Hungary's delegate to the League of Nations until four months ago. Lately Count Bethlen in a campaign speech quoted Premier Goemboes against Delegate Eckhardt. Herr Eckhardt screamed slander, sent his seconds to call on the Count. Bethlen apologized, saying that he had merely quoted Goemboes. The seconds went on to the Premier's palace, convinced their man could find a fight somewhere.

Premier Goemboes' position was delicate. He is a graduate of the Military Training School for Gymnastics & Fencing, a member of the Hungarian military elite, a crack swordsman and pistol shot, wounded and decorated in the War and now a Field Marshal. The Hungarian military code of honor demanded that Soldier Goemboes give Civilian Eckhardt satisfaction, as he has already done for many another man. But Politician Goemboes, as realistic as he is vain, might be seriously compromised by a duel. For as Premier it is his uncongenial duty to enforce the Hungarian law against duelling. Goemboes asked the advice of the venerable papa of Hungarian politics. Regent Admiral Nicholas de Horthy. Thereupon he accepted the challenge but had his seconds explain to Eckhardt's seconds that he, Goemboes, had never said what Bethlen claimed he had said. This satisfactorily stopped that duel but it set off two others.

Bethlen promptly sent his seconds to call on Goemboes, who wearily trumped up another "explanation." And in Parliament up bobbed a Goemboes deputy who had decided he did not like Eckhardt's manner. The deputy, Ladislas Szalay, offered a choice of fists, pistols or light cavalry sabres at dawn. Eckhardt took sabres and the two men whacked at one another for half an hour, ten rounds, until both were, according to the seconds, "completely exhausted." Sweating and gasping, slightly scratched about the head and shoulders and completely unreconciled, the two went home.

If these political duels produced little gore last week, Hungarian connoisseurs of sabre work were edified by one duel of pure animal rage. Heavy cavalry sabres at dawn were wanted by Count Balint Szechenyi, kinsman of Hungary's Minister at London, Count Laszlo Szechenyi who is husband to Gladys Vanderbilt. Count Balint Szechenyi had heard something his wife's first husband, a Jewish businessman named Victor Stein, had said about her. Victor Stein was mad too. On the field of honor the two hurled themselves at one another three times. Stein severely battered the Count's head. The Count sliced Stein's nose through, nearly taking it off. Cursing, weeping and gushing blood, the two went! together once more, fell down, were carried away on stretchers.

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