They Were Counted (48 page)

Seeing that his travelling companion had two newspapers – the Budapest
Hirlap
and the Viennese
Reichspost
which he was then reading, Balint asked him if he could borrow the former.
Later
, when he had read all he wanted, he handed it back and then the stranger offered him the
Reichspost,
saying: ‘Take a look at this one! There’s an article on the Hungarian situation you might find interesting’ and he indicated the leading article.

It dealt with the crisis which faced the Dual Monarchy and pointed out that the present conflict was entirely due to the
failure
in practise of the concept of Dualism. It was intolerable, therefore, that the Hungarians should be in a position to
jeopardize
the security of the whole Empire. The article suggested that the Hungarian government, whatever it might pretend, was by no means democratically elected and therefore represented only a limited privileged class. In no way could it be taken as
expressing
the will of
‘die
Gesamtheit
der
Völker
– the totality of the people’. The army, however, must essentially be an integral part of imperial organization, a joint interest with a joint duty, and though this did not imply that Austria had any intention of
meddling
in Hungary’s internal affairs, it did mean that its prime task was to watch over the security of the Empire. The article ended with a vague appeal to the emperor not to forsake his
paternal
role of keeping in mind the interests of all the peoples he ruled.

‘Interesting, don’t you think?’ said the old man when he saw that Balint had finished reading. ‘That’s what they think in
Vienna
, and I must say that there’s a lot of truth in it.’

Abady rose and introduced himself. When he held out his hand the other looked at him with an air at once hesitant and faintly mocking, as if the mention of his own name might make Abady withdraw his hand:

‘I am Dr Aurel Timisan, one of the defendants in the
Memorandum
trial!’

‘I am very happy to meet you,’ said Balint, smiling. ‘I hear you’re one of our new members?’

‘That’s why you find me in this compartment. First class is not normally for the likes of me!’

They started to talk. Dr Timisan spoke such excellent
Hungarian
, and expressed himself so wittily in that language, that no one would have taken him for a Romanian. He was extremely well-informed about world affairs. He talked about the recent
revolution
in Russia and wondered what would be the effect on the European situation if the proposed Duma were to be
established
, as now seemed likely. Perhaps he chose these subjects knowing that Abady had formerly been a diplomat, or perhaps because he thought it more tactful to avoid the thorny subject of the minority nationalities in Hungary. In fact it was Balint who broached this subject himself as he was anxious to obtain
information
and thought he could learn much from a frank discussion with the Romanian lawyer, far more than was to be culled from political speeches or published party programmes.

Timisan spoke reasonably, taking care to choose his words well and forcefully. He discussed the projected Nationality Bill, its faults and the important aspects of the situation that it failed to cover. He emphasized that the minority Members would not oppose it, for it was absurd of Hungarians and Romanians to be at each others’ throats when they were surrounded by an ocean of potentially hostile Slavs. Hungarians and Romanians needed each other and should act together in harmony. It was senseless to foster suspicion and hatred between the two peoples, but co-operation was constantly being artificially hampered by the activities of a group of shortsighted chauvinists. Now Timisan allowed himself to get worked up, showing plainly his hatred for the politics of those shallow chauvinists who, he said resentfully, were often not true Hungarians at all but just a bunch of foreign riff-raff! Why, Rakosi himself was nothing more than a German from Szepes, whose name used to be Kremser until he bought a Hungarian name by bribing the registrar. Now he had the nerve to tell other people how to be Hungarians,
talking
about the Romanians as ‘Romanian-Hungarians’ and the Moldavians as ‘Hungarian-Romanians’ as if such important matters could be settled by playing word games with names and terminology. Did they really think that Hungarian public opinion could be manipulated like that? It was all such nonsense: Romanians were Romanians and would remain so eternally, no matter what new names were invented for them.

‘Nobody expects anything else,’ said Balint, ‘but you must
admit
that the country in which you live has a right to demand that you learn its language!’

‘Naturally, I’m not against that,’ said Timisan, and once again a barely perceptible mockery lurked in his smile. ‘That’s to
everyone’s
advantage. As you see I’ve learned it myself, even becoming a Doctor of Law at a Hungarian university and serving in the Hungarian army, both with tolerable success, though I say it
myself
. It’s true I’ve been to prison twice, for political reasons, of course, but all that was most interesting, even enjoyable!’ He laughed, remembering the Memorandum trial, which had been the highlight of his career, and the judgements which followed. ‘But you must admit, too,’ he went on, ‘that it is most unjust that the public notaries, high sheriffs, tax-collectors – indeed all public servants – are not obliged to speak the language of the people they serve. It is really absurd that the people cannot explain
themselves
in court in their own language, but have to use an
interpreter
. The Nationality Bill was supposed to grant us this … but of course it’s been drawn up by Hungarians without our being consulted!’

Balint did not know enough about this to discuss it in any detail so he decided to change the subject.

‘It’s my view,’ he said, ‘that we should try and find the means to draw closer together spiritually and economically. Here in Transylvania we are both at home. It is your country and it is my country. It is common ground to both of us. We could learn a great deal if we paid more attention to what really matters, and did not allow ourselves always to be sucked into the whirlpool of Budapest politics.’

Timisan listened attentively to everything that Abady said.

‘I’m most interested that a Hungarian aristocrat should have the perception to see these things. It is most unusual! But very little will be done for there are too many vested interests in Budapest, the bankers and big business will never allow it! Everything you say is true, but it’s a mirage all the same, just a,
fata
Morgana
!’

Balint would have liked to go on with the discussion and talk to his new friend about his ideas for a co-operative. It would have been instructive, too, to hear what he had to say about the best ways of organizing credit, production and marketing, but the train started to slow down for its approach to Ludas and he was obliged to get up and take his leave.

‘I’m getting off here so I’ve no time to convince you,’ he said, smiling, ‘but, if you’re agreeable I’d very much like to see you again and talk some more about these matters. I believe you live in Kolozsvar. Perhaps I could come and see you?’

‘I should be delighted!’ replied the lawyer.

Abady spent two days at Lelbanya. As soon as he arrived he sent messages to the mayor, the notary and several other leading members of the community, the two parish priests, the doctor, the chemist, the mill-owner and a few others, asking them to meet him in the afternoon. The meeting seemed to Balint to go well for everyone listened to his proposals with rapt attention, nodded their agreement to everything he said, and finally made it clear that they were all lost in admiration for the wonderful plans that their representative had been so good as to work out for them.
Later
they all dined at the Grand Restaurant Csillag, or ‘Star’, which was the only restaurant in the town, on excellent
paprika-chicken
and fried dumplings. A lot of wine was drunk and speeches and toasts were made well into the night.

In the morning Balint found a large group of people waiting to see him. Everyone wanted something, a favour or privilege or concession. One desired a licence to sell alcohol, another tobacco, a third sought a place, and a grant, for his son at the college at Eged; others asked for work on the roads, in the burial ground at Vasarhely, promotion for a brother-in-law who worked on the railways, a word to the bailiff, exemption from military service, or advice on how to cure a sick cow. As might have been expected the majority either had some complaint of injustice or bad
treatment
that they had received from the judge, sheriff, schoolmaster – indeed from anyone who exercised any authority, while others merely wished for help in fighting the wickedness of their
neighbours
. They all seemed to think that Abady was all-powerful and they came to him with the same simple confidence that children say their prayers knowing that God is listening and all will be well. And everyone ended their requests with the words: ‘It only needs a word from your Lordship.’

Balint listened gravely and patiently took notes of every
complaint
or petition. He told them all that he would look into the matter but that he could not guarantee anything. Nobody
believed
this last phrase, for they were all convinced that if the count wished it then it would be done. They also believed that if it were not done then it was because the count had
not
wished it.

A public meeting had been arranged for ten o’clock in the two-storey house they called the Town Hall. Balint was shown into a large room on the first floor which had four windows
overlooking
the market-place. At one end a table had been placed. It was covered in oil-cloth and behind it, under a large print of the Emperor Franz-Josef, were three chairs. Balint was shown to the chair in the centre and on each side of him sat the mayor, who was also the chief magistrate, and the notary. Behind them, tacked to the wall beside the gilded frame of the Emperor’s
portrait
, was a large railway timetable. The chairs for the public were placed in rows facing the table.

The room was already full when Balint was shown to his place. Some of the younger of the leading citizens’ wives came, dressed in all their finery, and smiled at the young count perhaps hoping that he might find one of them to his liking. These all sat in the front row. Behind the ladies everyone placed themselves in strict order of precedence, the most important in the front rows, the
insignificant
farther back. At the rear the young men and youths milled about in an unruly throng.

The meeting started and Abady outlined his ideas for a local co-operative. He explained the advantages of everyone’s working together, how an organization that united them all could obtain better results and more profit for everyone than if they all worked independently and in competition with each other. He talked about the peasants in Saxony, where these ideas had long been accepted, gave statistics from other countries and tried hard to use simple phrases that everyone would understand. It was not long before he realized that few people understood what he was talking about, so he brought his discourse to an end with a few
resounding
clichés such as ‘God helps those who help themselves!’

There were a few cheers when he sat down – not very many, it is true, but just enough. The Hungarian priest now made a beautiful speech, whose relevance Balint did not entirely follow, and then, as it seemed that no one had anything further to say, the mayor rose and declared that the assembly welcomed the idea and that he was happy therefore to announce the formation of the Lelbanya Co-operative Society. He further announced that, once the co-operative had been organized, a marketing
organization
would be formed.

Balint now stood up again and made the offer of the use of the Abady house and property in the town as headquarters of the society, which would be swiftly expanded to include a farmers’ club, a free public library, and a model market-garden which would be to everybody’s advantage.

This announcement brought further applause, though it seemed to Balint to be somewhat less than before, and the mayor rose again and declared that the meeting had unanimously
accepted
all three suggestions put forward by Count Abady. He then read out the names of those appointed to the preparatory committee, warmly thanked the Member for Lelbanya for his
efforts
on behalf of the constituency, and declared the meeting at an end.

The whole discussion had lasted no more than an hour and a half, so Balint proposed that they should take a look at the
property
he had offered for the society’s use. Most of the leading
citizens
who had dined with him the night before, and a few of the younger farmers, agreed to this proposal, so they all left the Town Hall and walked along the rough road that led to the upper end of the town. There, on a small hillock shaped somewhat like a rock-cake, stood a sturdy-looking stone-built farmhouse
surrounded
by a shrubbery. The building had a two-tiered roof and a large veranda supported by two strong wooden pillars. Directly inside the main door was a long room which had once served as the family living and eating room and which was now the
carpenter’s
workshop. As the party entered they were greeted by the agreeable smell of fresh sawdust. Everywhere around were piles of newly cut laths and boards of pine wood, strewn in such
apparent
confusion that there was hardly space enough left to open the door properly.

There was only one occupant of the long room, a small boy, about three years old, who sat on the floor dressed in a ragged shirt and nothing else. He was eating an apple but, seeing all these dark-clad strangers, he threw it away and, after staring at them for a moment, got up and ran towards a door at the back of the room. When he was unable to open it he hung on to the
door-handle
and started to cry. The door opened and a woman in the last stages of pregnancy came in. The child buried its head in her skirts and stopped crying. As it did so the woman saw the
strangers
who crowded the doorway and, pressing the little boy’s head to her legs, she called back to the room from which she had just come: ‘Janos! Come here, there are some gentlemen to see you.’