They Were Counted (62 page)

Balint assumed that Laszlo was worried about his mounting debts but in this he was wrong, for Laszlo, who had just had a run of good luck, owed little to the money-lenders and was not being pressed for what he did owe. What had caused Laszlo to frown and look unusually serious was that he had heard indirectly that a big dinner had been given that evening at the Kollonich Palais and that he, though a close relative and a normally welcome guest, had been left out. He now realized that Peter and Niki, whom he had seen at the races, had been careful not to mention it in front of him. This clearly showed that his aunt had declared war and that the whole family knew it. All his old resentment came flooding back, and it was in a cloud of bitterness that he found himself having to stand at the door of the Park Club and force himself to attend to his duties. In vain he tried to convince himself that Klara would stand firm and be true to him and that together they would win through, but he was constantly
returning
to the superstitious thought that the horse on which he had staked Klara’s ten crowns as a symbol of their ultimate victory had come nowhere. It was a bad omen!

 

Many people were crowded on the wide gallery of the main
staircase
, not, however, to watch the arrival of the royal party but rather to catch a glimpse of Burian, the Finance Minister of the Dual Monarchy who had that day arrived from Vienna. As the king’s personal representative he had come for discussions with the coalition government, and it was rumoured that this represented the crown’s final effort to achieve reconciliation. Not that Burian gave anything away. Even those who managed to talk with him questioned him in vain for he was a reserved, silent man whose bland expression revealed nothing, even though his short-sighted eyes twinkled merrily enough behind his pince-nez. In contrast to this non-committal and soft-spoken man, General Geza Fejervary was standing not far away talking loudly to a group of pretty women who had immediately surrounded him on his arrival. Fejervary’s unexpected presence had caused a sensation, for though he claimed that he had put in an appearance solely to please his granddaughters, no one believed that this was the whole truth. Boisterously he laughed and joked with the beauties who crowded around him, his tall figure towering above them.

The general was an imposing figure with a eagle’s beak of a nose above a white hussar’s moustache and a wide manly chest which was shown to its best advantage in his court uniform of white cloth faced with gold lace. Among his many medals was
displayed
the little cross of the Order of Maria Theresia, which as a young captain he had won at the battle of Custozza.
This
is a man, said the glances of the women who surrounded him, and they brought into play all their feminine wiles and obvious
admiration
for the overpowering maleness of his presence, laughing and flirting and ogling the old general, in the hopes of getting him to reveal what he must know of Burian’s mission.

The rumour had gone around that the general had been
designated
by the king to play an important role in this new effort at negotiation and so Balint at once decided to join the group around him. Though catching only occasional phrases from what was being said, Balint heard enough to catch the drift. One of the beauties, flashing her eyes boldly, was being more direct than all the others. She was saying that the ruler would have no
alternative
but to make concessions and accept the Hungarian point of view. Political arguments flowed from her lovely petal-shaped mouth and she ended by saying once again: ‘There is no other way! The King must give in!’

The old general laughed loudly: ‘Really? Really? You think that?’ he said. ‘What if something else is planned, something quite different? Ha-ha-ha! Quite different from what they expect!’ And he stuck out his mighty chest even further and twirled his white moustache with an air of triumph, his whole being infused with the confident spirit of one who has never lost a battle. Balint thought that he must have been like this when leading his men to victory, and it was with a sudden pang that he heard the
general
, supremely confident of his own invincibility, let out a roar of mocking, victorious laughter. Balint’s heart constricted. What did this confidence mean? What new, unexpected, violent
solution
was being brewed up in Vienna? What it could be he could not imagine, but that there was something was certain; Fejervary’s whole bearing was proof to anyone with eyes to see. Was it to this that Slawata had referred when he had written ‘…
something
quite
different
to
anything
the
Hungarians
expect
is
now
being
prepared
.’? What could it be? New elections controlled by the army? An attempt to impose absolute rule, putting aside the
ancient
constitution which Franz-Josef had sworn a coronation oath to preserve? Neither seemed probable. Such measures were
unthinkable
, yet the self-satisfied laughter of the old military man had made an impression that was hard to erase.

It was Balint’s fate that evening that he could not escape from politics. Even when he asked Fanny Beredy to dance and then have supper with him and they joined several other ladies at a table near the buffet, the talk was all about politics. He was amazed to see how passionately these elegant ladies argued. They were all supporters of the conservative opposition. Many of them were extraordinarily well-informed, putting forward their views with well-reasoned arguments and sophisticated political acumen just as if they were lawyers arguing a case in court. Dry
paragraphs
of party views flowed from their rosy lips with astonishing precision and their desirable bare shoulders heaved with the
vehemence
of their arguments. In their hair, at their ears, and round their necks, diamonds sparkled as if to add hundreds of new arguments to their talk. They were all militant patriots, dedicated to and obsessed by the Tightness of their cause, all of them the more sure of themselves because one of the more
influential
newspapers had just published a leading article eulogizing the political acuteness of the Hungarian ladies and the
importance
of their role in the national struggle. This had given these society ladies much pleasure. ‘At last the press gives us proper
recognition
!’ said one lovely blonde, as she bit into a strawberry with her snow-white teeth. Though this statement only
underlined
the general feeling at the time, Balint found it worrying. To change the subject he turned to Fanny and asked about Laszlo.

‘I hear my cousin Gyeroffy often comes to see you these days?’ he said.

‘Yes. He’s a sweet boy and an excellent musician. We all like him a lot.’

‘Is it true that he’s gambling heavily?’

‘Yes,’ she smiled, ‘passionately.’

After a slight hesitation Balint said: ‘I rarely see him nowadays, though today we’ve met several times. Has he been losing a great deal?’

Fanny looked straight at him, her pussycat smile even more
inscrutable
than usual.

‘I don’t think so. My friend Devereux, who is a great gossip and knows everything, would certainly have told me if he had. No! As far as I know he’s on a winning streak at the moment.’

‘But I’m sure he has something on his mind. He’s worried about something, I can see it in his face … you don’t know him as I do.’

There was a flash of interest in her eyes, though she quickly dropped her eyelids to conceal it.

‘Yes, I’ve noticed it too.’ And she went on calmly, ‘However, you’re wrong about the reason. It’s not money. He’s much too reckless to count the cost or be worried about that!’ Her eyes
narrowed
to slits, long diagonal lines that swept obliquely upwards, and her mouth spread in a smile as if she were savouring the taste of honey. ‘Love!’ she went on. ‘That’ll be it! Love! Perhaps
something
’s gone wrong.’

‘Klara?’

‘Of course!’

‘Does she love him?’

Fanny shrugged her beautiful shoulders.

‘A young girl like that? What does she know about love?’ Fanny spoke scornfully. ‘The choice isn’t hers anyway. She’ll marry whoever is chosen for her. She may protest a bit, but in the end she’ll do whatever Agnes decides. And Agnes, as you know, is a terrible snob!’

‘That’s what I thought, too.’

‘There you are, you see! As far as Agnes is concerned, our good Laszlo is nobody –
Niemand
. She wouldn’t care if one of us eloped with the chauffeur, but her daughter will only marry the man
she
chooses!’

The thought seemed to give Fanny pleasure, though for what reason only she could tell, and she adjusted the lace
shoulder-straps
which, as they often did, had slid down her bare arms.

 

The Gentlemen’s Ball always finished early. After being on
parade
from noon most of the guests were tired and disinclined to dance until dawn. By three o’clock in the morning everyone had gone and Laszlo, who had to remain to say goodbye to the last guests, decided to go on to the Casino.

On arrival he found that the gamblers were still playing. As
always
on the night of the big race, the room was crowded and the play was higher even than usual. Bets of many thousands of crowns were being laid on the table and the atmosphere was fraught with ill-feeling. There were so many onlookers that it was not easy for Gyeroffy to get near the table. When he finally managed this a place was at once offered to him, as it was an unwritten law that room should always be found for a gambler as famous as Laszlo.

Laszlo refused the offer. ‘No, thank you,’ he said. ‘I’m not
staying
.’ For a few moments he stood there watching the play, then turned and left the room.

‘He must have a girl waiting for him!’ said somebody, for in that world
la
bonne
fortune
(an amorous rendezvous) was
considered
the only valid excuse for not joining in a game.

Laszlo went slowly down the stairs, through the halls of the Casino, hesitating as he went as if it were physically difficult for him to leave this sacred place. He then had himself driven to those cheap furnished lodgings which he had rented when he first came to Budapest to study and which he had never changed.

He went to bed, but did not sleep as it was a long time since Laszlo had come home so early. As he lay stiffly on the narrow bed he seemed to become more and more awake. The day’s events went round and round in his head. Klara ... his promise, ah, that he had to keep and would keep. It would be vile not to do so! But what about the ball? She must have understood that he couldn’t get near her as he had been commanded to partner one of the young archduchesses in the quadrille, an honour that no one could refuse. He recalled seeing Klara supping with Warday not far from the royal table where he sat. They had been chatting vivaciously enough. No doubt that dimwitted farmer had been entertaining her with tales of muck-spreading and ergot in the wheat, thought Laszlo bitterly. Or had Klara been teasing him as she had Montorio two days before? Oh Klara! Klara! He had been dying to dance with her but his duties as
elotancos
, especially with the royals present, meant that he had been occupied the
entire
evening and it had seemed he would never even get close to her. Even when, just after the last figure of the quadrille, he had managed to get near her with his specially large saffron-coloured bouquet, she was already being so inundated with the favours brought to her by others that he couldn’t even exchange a word with her, not a single word! How could the Kollonichs leave him out of one of their big dinners when they had always before
insisted
he must be there? It was obvious that this had been done on purpose so that they should not have a chance to speak to each other. Would this always be the same? It would be dreadful if there should never be an end to it!