They Were Counted (3 page)

The proof of the right-mindedness of both these clearsighted patriots was finally proved in 1943. Early in the war what the Hungarians considered to have been an historic injustice to their country was in part rectified when the so-called Vienna Award restored to Hungary the northern part of Transylvania which
included
Kolozsvár, the castle and lands of Bonczhida, and the Bánffy forest holdings in the mountains. Romania did not take the same view. On 9 June 1943, Bánffy went to Bucharest to meet the Romanian Foreign Minister, Georges Mironescu, in order to try to persuade the Romanians to sign a separate peace with the Allies and thereby forestall a Russian invasion and the destruction and the Soviet-imposed political revolution this would inevitably bring about. Despite warnings from Hitler that he knew very well what was going on, both sides did agree to abandon the Axis, but there the agreement stopped. Romania, whose claim to
historic
rights over the whole region had brought about the transfer of sovereignty after the First World War, wanted the immediate return of Northern Transylvania while Bánffy argued that it would be better to leave this question in abeyance until the war was over when the great powers would make a final decision.

Bánffy’s private dream, and that of many other Transylvanians at that time, was that this was the opportunity for Transylvania once again to become semi-autonomous as it had been in the seventeenth century. The return to Hungarian rule of the
northern
part of the province by the 1940 Vienna award had not been greeted by many Transylvanians with quite the same joy that it had been in Budapest. What Bánffy and his friends really wanted was a measure of independence for their beloved country; and though he and the Hungarian Foreign Ministry both wished to postpone a decision on the future of Transylvania, it was not
entirely
for the same reasons. Neither wanted to offer such a hostage to Fortune as would be a preliminary pledge to return those
disputed
lands to Romania. It was an agonizing choice, for Bánffy realized that unless both Hungary and Romania agreed to
abandon
the Axis, this dream would be for ever unobtainable.
Nevertheless
the negotiations were continued, and there was a further meeting between him and a Romanian delegation, this time headed by Iuliu Maniu. Once again the stumbling block proved to be the Transylvanian question and negotiations were broken off on 23 June 1943. Nevertheless these secret negotiations had one remarkable success. Bánffy was able to arrange that
Kolozsvár
was declared an open city and so its historic centre was spared the ferocious bombing that devastated much of the surrounding country.

In 1944, as the Russians advanced towards Kolozsvár, the German army looted the castle of Bonczhida, and set it on fire as a spiteful revenge for Bánffy’s part in trying to persuade the
Romanians
to sign a separate peace. The contents of Bonczhida were loaded onto 17 trucks to be taken to Germany and were bombed to smithereens by the allied air forces. The once beautiful medieval and baroque castle is now a largely roofless, windowless, floorless ruin with most of its baroque decoration destroyed. Bánffy
himself
lived until 1950, dying at the age of 77 in Budapest after
staying
as long as he could in Kolozsvár (Cluj) trying desperately to save what still remained of his family inheritance. He did not succeed.

A prolific writer, his great work the trilogy
A
Transylvanian
Tale
, was described in 1980 by Professor István Nemeskurty, one of the speakers at the 1994 symposium, as essential reading for all
Hungarians
who wished to understand the history and character of their own country. It had been Nemeskurty’s article, published in a Budapest literary review when the Communist régime was still in power, that had led to the re-publication in 1982 of the first volume (
Megszámláltatt
á
l
–
They
Were
Counted
). The English titles of the second and third books are
They
Were
Found
Wanting
and
They
Were
Divided
. On the fly-leaves of each of the three books is printed a quotation from the Book of Daniel describing
Belshazzar
’s Feast. These are taken from a Hungarian Protestant version of the Old Testament. In December 1993 the whole trilogy was republished in Budapest in one
de
luxe
volume, and it was again critically acclaimed.

As we were getting into our stride trying to make a viable
English
language version of this extraordinary book I reluctantly
became
only too aware of the leisurely pace of the trilogy, whose first volume – though it can stand on its own as a complete work of art – is much the same length as
Anna
Karenina
. I estimated that if we were not careful the full text of our translation of the trilogy would be nearly as long as all four volumes of Paul Scott’s
Raj
Quartet
. This meant that, as English needed more words than Hungarian to achieve the same effect, we would have to eliminate all textual repetitions (some used for emphasis in the original) and probably sacrifice some inessential details in the many
subplots
as well as some political detail that would be meaningless to anyone not a dedicated scholar of Hungarian political history: that is if any publisher were to look at it twice; and this despite the fact that the recent complete republication in one weighty tome – the original three volumes came out in 1934, 1937 and 1940 – and the symposium held in April 1994, had transformed a dead writer into one very much alive – at least in Hungary.

A
Transylvanian
Tale
is a remarkable work, compulsive and
romantic
, filled with love and sorrow and bewilderment and sex and action and splendid set-pieces of grand shooting parties, balls in country-houses, gambling for vertiginous stakes, and dramatic scenes in Parliament; as well as benign social comment, which can erupt into indignant condemnation of social folly. It is
written
by a man of amazingly clear sight, a patriot who loved his country – and women – and who understood, even if he could not wholly forgive, the follies and the political blindness which finally led to its dismemberment and humiliation after the First World War. Bánffy himself was an eye-witness to many of the historical scenes he describes in the book; and his detailed description of the last Habsburg coronation (published as his
Emlékeimböl
–
From
My
Memories
, an early book of memoirs now out of print-though we have started doing it into English) forms a sad footnote to the Habsburg domination which had so preoccupied Hungarian politicians from 1848 to the fall of the dynasty in 1918. As the struggle with the Habsburgs was the background theme to the trilogy, my conviction grew that this was a book which, if
published
in the West, would lead to a far greater understanding not only of present-day Hungary but also of the conflicts now
erupting
all over the Balkans.

As a pendant to Bánffy’s best known work a posthumous book of late memoirs by him was recently published in Budapest. Bánffy wrote these in 1945 when he found himself alone in Cluj (still Kolozsvár to all Hungarians), after his wife and daughter had returned to Budapest to salvage the contents of their town house in Pest, which had all been thrown out into the street by the Russian troops who had requisitioned it. For three years they were separated, for the border between Hungary and Romania was closed by the military; and when Bánffy finally was able to rejoin his family he only had a year or so more to live. After Bánffy’s death his widow deposited what remained of the Bánffy papers in the library of the Ráday Institute (the HQ of the
Reformed
Church in Hungary) in Budapest. These memoirs, which were recently discovered there and edited and published by Zoltan Major, are quite short and deal only with the period when Bánffy’s was Foreign Minister to István Bethlen who had succeeded as Prime Minister after the exiled Habsburg monarch, King Karl (who had never formally abdicated), made his first
ludicrous
attempt at restoration and brought down the government in the process. Karl’s second
putsch
(in October 1921) came
during
Bánffy’s time as Foreign Minister, and had more serious
repercussions
, which included effectively scuttling all Bánffy’s efforts to achieve
rapprochement
with the new states of
Czechoslovakia
and Yugoslavia and the greatly enlarged kingdom of Romania, as it was now to be spelt. In this work we can see the working-out of much of what Bánffy feared would result from the
pre-war
fecklessness of his countrymen so graphically described in the trilogy.

I should here mention that in a work filled with unfamiliar names we have thought it better not to further confuse the reader with the many accents which abound in written Hungarian.
Similarly
, in the course of revising the text it became clear that there were many references, both to actual events and to once well-known public figures, which would mean nothing to an English-language readership, however potently evocative these may have been to Hungarians fifty years and more ago. Rather than inflict footnotes on the reader we decided, where necessary, slightly to amend the text to make the meaning clear.

After much heart-searching we also decided to give our
translation
of the trilogy the English title of
The
Writing
on
the
Wall
rather than
A
Transylvanian
Tale
. We wanted to get away from the overtones of Dracula now inevitably associated for western readers with any mention of Miklós Bánffy’s homeland; and feel that the biblical reference is justified by the author’s own choice of titles for his three books –
They
Were
Counted,
They
Were
Found
Wanting
and
They
Were
Divided
– and also because he himself placed those quotations from the Book of Daniel before the title pages of each volume.

In a book that includes descriptions of historic events and real characters it is inevitable that some may wonder how much of the work has an identifiable key. The answer is very little. There are descriptions of places which can be identified – for example the
library
at ‘Simonvásár’, the fictional Kollonich palace near Lake Balaton, is clearly based on that at the vast Károlyi manor-house at Foth, east of Budapest; while the Kollonich palace in Budapest is equally clearly the Károlyi house just behind the State Museum in Budapest. Similarly there are elements of the Teleki house at Gernyeszeg in the fictional castle of ‘Vár-Siklód’. There are many others likenesses of this sort both to people and places but, while incidents in the life of the author have their echoes in what
happens
to the two heroes of the work, Bálint Abády and his cousin László Gyerőffy, the only autobiographical element is that Balint’s political views seem to reflect those the author later
expressed
in his memoirs. There is one notable exception: Abády’s family home, the castle of ‘Denestornya’, is a lovingly described picture of Bánffy’s beloved Bonczhida; but even that is situated in a different part of the country. Likenesses abound, but that is the only true portrait, while the family names Bánffy chose for his characters mostly come from those of families who had long ago died out. Even though what has had to be a brief study of the source materials has proved endlessly fascinating, such recondite knowledge is not needed to enjoy the story Bánffy has to tell.

I must now offer grateful thanks to Patrick Leigh Fermor who started by offering me the most helpful advice when we embarked on this project, went on with invaluable textual suggestions, and who has now written such a graceful foreword. Rudi Fischer, of Budapest, was also very helpful and I received much
encouragement
from Professor István Nemeskurty and also from Professor Mihály Szegedy-Maszák, of Eötvös Loránd University, Budapest, who in 1996 printed extracts from our translation in
Hungarian
Studies
, the journal of the International Association of Hungarian Studies (Nemzetkösi Magyar Filológiai Társaság). My thanks are also due to Dr Richard Mullen for publishing my articles on Bánffy and his works in the
Contemporary
Review
(which,
incidentally
, is mentioned in the text of
They
Were
Counted
).

My deepest thanks are reserved for my co-translator, Kathy Bánffy-Jelen, who has patiently suffered endless questioning from a collaborator largely ignorant of her native language and even accepted with a good grace those textual losses from her beloved father’s great work that proved unavoidable if our labours were ever to appear in print.

Tangier, 1998

Patrick Thursfield was born in 1923, educated at Charterhouse and Christ Church, Oxford, and served in the RNVR (combined operations) 1942–6. He joined the staff of
The
Times
in 1949 and later wrote scripts for television and articles on literary and other subjects. From 1971 he made his home in Tangier, where he died in 2003.