They Were Counted (61 page)

When Laszlo left the tote counter he decided not to go back to the grandstand, as he knew that if he did he would be drawn back to Klara. Instead he remained on the lawn from where he could just see the horses moving at a slow canter towards the start. Because of the dense crowd, all that he could see was the flash of racing colours above the undulating sea of black top hats. For the first time he became interested in the race and so started to look for a place from which he would be able to watch
properly
. He hardly noticed where he was going until his way was
suddenly
barred by the frothy green lace of a lady’s parasol.

‘Stop at once!’ said a merry female voice. ‘So you don’t even notice me any more?’ It was Fanny Beredy, surrounded by her nieces and faithful band of admirers. Greetings and laughter
followed
, with Laszlo being teased for his sudden interest in the races. Realizing that he must know on which horse he had placed Klara’s bet, he asked the others to let him see a programme. ‘Since when have you been interested in horses?’ asked Fanny. ‘You haven’t actually bet on one, have you?’

‘I have!’

‘You? Backing the horses now?’ The remark sounded like a mild rebuke, inferring that cards were quite enough.

‘Just this once.’

‘Which one, may one ask?’ said d’Orly.

‘Number nine.’

‘That will get nowhere! The Festetic filly’s bound to win hands down!’

Laszlo’s heart missed a beat.

Fanny noticed that a cloud passed over Laszlo’s face at this last remark and she turned towards him, concerned. ‘Did you bet a lot?’

‘Oh, no! Only a trifle! Just my life!’ And he said it so lightly, with a soft laugh, that they all took it for a joke and laughed. But Fanny looked sharply at him, paused, and then asked him to give her a chair to stand on so that she could have a clear view of the race. Szelepcsenyi handed Fanny his race-glasses.

There was a sudden hush of excitement as the starting bell rang. Through the glasses Fanny could see the race clearly until the horses reached the first turn and were hidden by other
spectators
. After a few seconds there was a sudden surge of shouting from the public stands, a thundering roar as the crowd took up the name of the leader. Closer and closer it came, the noise ever louder, though all that could be distinguished was ‘Pa-a-a-, Pa-a-a-’, only that. All at once, in tearing speed, the horses were past Fanny’s little group and the race was over. In front, several lengths ahead of the field, the wonder filly Patience, her jockey carrying the golden Festetic colours, flew effortlessly past the finish.

‘Trouble?’ whispered Fanny as Laszlo reached up to help her descend from her chair.

‘No! No! I only risked ten crowns. It’s nothing but a farce really.’ Though he smiled as he spoke, Fanny did not entirely
believe
him and pressed his hand a little longer than was necessary out of sympathy.

 

In the grandstand everyone now stood up to look for some
refreshment
. The princess, who had returned to her place just
before
the race began, moved down beside Klara.

‘Look there!’ she said, her face rigid with disapproval, and as she pointed to where Countess Beredy was surrounded by her
little
court. Laszlo was helping Fanny get down from her chair, and this was the moment when Klara’s lover was looking up into Fanny’s lovely smiling face.

In Klara’s heart something tightened and all her doubts flooded back, just as her stepmother had intended. In an instant the girl had chased her fears away, but the radiant sense of joy which had until then filled her whole being had fled, never to return.

 

On the evening of the King’s Cup Race a grand ball was always given at the Park Club, and as this was the pinnacle of the spring season everyone felt it their duty to be there. As well as those
families
with debutante daughters and the young men who
attended
every dance as religiously as if they were going to work, the King’s Cup ball was also graced by the younger married
couples
, by leading political figures, by the principal owners of racing stables, by members of the court, ladies-in-waiting and equerries, and all those elderly country aristocrats who contributed to the organization of the ‘Gentlemen’s Ball’, as this event had come to be called. This year the Archduke and Archduchess were also to be present with two of their daughters, and they had brought two royal princes from Germany as their guests. There were so many people that every room at the club was filled with people. The
invitations
bore the magic legend ‘Decorations’, indicating that royalty would be present, and so all the married women wore tiaras and every man who was able to wore dress uniform just as if he had received an invitation to court. The great oval ballroom had all the air of a reception at Schönbrunn or the Hofburg.

For once Balint also decided to attend. Since he had been in Budapest for the parliamentary sessions he had accepted
invitations
only to a few private dinners and on those evenings when there were no debates he either dined quietly at the Casino or went to a bachelor party with gypsy musicians and girls from the
demi-monde
. But though he tried hard to find pleasure in the
political
struggles and in carousing with other young men at the
tsigane
parties, the truth was that he could raise only fleeting interest in the
cocottes
while the debates, with their endless trivial argument and the substitution of political slogans for constructive proposals, bored him to death. It seemed that no one would ever put forward any positive plan to solve the country’s problems. All they did was to repeat, over and over again, what had been said before.

Perhaps the underlying reason for Balint’s disillusion lay in the fact that he was depressed and inwardly perturbed. He seemed to have lost his way. If he were really to have an effective role in what was happening rather than remaining forever a
spectator
, then he wondered if perhaps he should choose a leader and follow faithfully wherever he might lead. As it was he felt he was an outsider, set apart from the others, forever wondering what line he should take. Surely it was both senseless and
somewhat
absurd for someone so new to politics to set himself apart as he had done. During this last session this feeling had become stronger and stronger, until it was clear that no matter how hard he tried to discuss things with other members, whatever their
political
allegiances, he was answered only by a repetition of their party’s official policies which had already appeared in print a hundred times over. Politicians with party ties would shy away from him if he ever tried to discuss seriously what they really thought. Each man with whom he talked assumed at once that he was a secret envoy from one of the parties to which they
themselves
did not belong. This was extremely frustrating, though now Balint was starting to realize that it was natural and
inevitable
. A man who tried to see every side of every problem, who bent over backwards to take a fair and equitable view, was a suspect animal in the world of politics. What, to most politicians, could be more equivocal and therefore not to be trusted, than someone who admitted that those with contrary opinions might possibly also be right?
Audiatur
et
altera
pars
(which might be translated as ‘There are two sides to every question’) held no attraction for committed party members for whom their own party’s
programme
was no less than Revealed Truth, while that of their
opponents
was just as inevitably the work of the Devil. We are right and they are wrong, and that was that!

Thus it was, is now and ever shall be! And in the Hungary of the first decade of the twentieth century it was even more true than it was in other countries and at other times. To the
generation
that grew up in the years following the 1867 Compromise, the feeling of isolation that stemmed from Austria’s dominant role in the Dual Monarchy together with the long years of peace, taught them to ignore any events that occurred outside the
country
. Since, until recently, the same Government had remained for time in office, the Opposition had never had the chance of
experiencing
the realities of government and instead had
concentrated
all its efforts in increasingly unrealistic criticism. In its turn, the Government saw in the Opposition only an irresponsible enemy who must at all costs be crushed. In these circumstances Balint began to wonder if he might not be better employed by
allying
himself to some party from whose ranks he could contribute more effectively to political reform. In particular, he was anxious that some attention should be paid to the problems and economy of Transylvania.

This, thought Balint, was where his mission lay. He had been much influenced by an article which had recently come out in a distinguished English publication, the
Contemporary
Review
. It was written by a Romanian, one Draginesco who, in undisguised hatred of the Hungarians, put the entire blame for the present stagnation of the Hungarians on the repressive and arrogant administration in Budapest. Balint wondered if there was any connection between the publication of this article and the
increasingly
active agitation from the ranks of the
Transylvanian-Romanians
.

It was true that Mihaly had spoken with moderation in the
debate
on the Address, but had he not said: ‘We who are members of the Hungarian political system’? Could there be a link between the emergence of minority representation in Parliament and the plotting of extremists in the province itself? And, if there were, was this not something of vital importance that the Government should take seriously?

It was such things as this that occupied Balint’s mind as he was being driven to the ball. He arrived at the Park Club late.
Inside
the entrance the committee of the Club was grouped around Laszlo who, as representative of the sponsors, was acting as host for the evening. Behind them stood two footmen holding brightly-lit candelabra, for a telephone message from the Palace had just been received announcing that the royal party was
already
on its way, and custom dictated that the royal guests should be greeted at the door by the committee and escorted up the stairs with all the ritual of candle-light and court procedure.

Seeing his cousin, Balint was reminded of the rumours that Laszlo had become a reckless and fanatical gambler. When he had heard this he had decided to find an opportunity for having a serious talk with him and, if necessary, to speak to him severely, even harshly, on the dangers of such a life. This was something from which Laszlo must be saved, and he believed that because of their long-standing friendship he was the only person who could rescue his cousin. Until now no occasion had presented itself, for Laszlo was always so busy and in such a hurry that when they had met there had been no chance of an intimate talk. Seeing him now, Balint went up at once and he said: ‘I’ve something very
important
to discuss with you. It’s urgent. When can I see you? We’ll need a little time.’

‘Anytime!’ said Laszlo.

‘Anytime is never!’ laughed Balint. ‘Will you be at the Casino tomorrow afternoon?’

‘Of course. I lunch there every day.’

‘Well then, tomorrow at two I’ll be there. We’ll have to find a quiet corner where we won’t be interrupted.’

‘Of course!’ Laszlo replied with a distracted air, for all his
attention
was directed at the entrance where the royals were
expected
. ‘Of course, splendid!’ he repeateded absent-mindedly.

Something is the matter, thought Balint, noticing that instead of his usual open and cheerful expression Laszlo looked serious and withdrawn. He turned away and went up the stairs.