They Were Found Wanting (2 page)

As he spoke a new Boros appeared, quite different to the man Abady had known up to this moment. Until now Balint had seen only the elegant, somewhat bombastic orator who had a talent for the well-rounded patriotic phrases which were so appropriate to popular meetings. Now he talked from the heart, to the point, and from a totally unexpected point of view.

He spoke with bitterness and hatred in his voice.

‘It is clear,’ Boros started, ‘that the present government is based upon a lie. They have made the public believe that the Coalition has won the battle. But the truth is just the opposite. It is the King who has remained on top and who has proved that the so-called road to progress, the controversy about army
commands
and all the other slogans we have brandished for so long, is altogether impracticable. But no one will admit this. And to maintain the lie, to keep up their pretence, the public is fed with all manner of nonsensical rubbish. All through the session Parliament has been discussing Rakoczi’s so-called rehabilitation laws. Slush, just slush! This new decree – slush again! Other
proposals
will follow, anything which will ensure the government’s continued popularity. More slush! And they will have to, because they dare not admit that everything they promised before the elections is impossible to realize. So what do they do? They go trudging along after more and more tasty-sounding carrots to disguise the fact that their programme is an utter fiasco. This is very‚ very dangerous, if only because only pretend-laws and pretend-decrees will be passed, things that the press will acclaim and write about. And since we are powerless to alter our
relationship
with Austria our incapacity will be disguised and dressed up in all sorts of false colours. It will be just the same with the banking question, with the Austro-Hungarian customs problem and with the military “quotas”. Oh, the Austrians are clever enough! They’ll make us pay for our little gestures towards independence with the jingle of silver and gold and we’ll pay the price for the sake of being able to name the filthy bargain a “customs contract” instead of “integrated customs”, or some such meaningless phrase! And this will be so in all things because all our beloved government wants is to be able to
maintain
the show of progress towards national independence; so they’ll do it in all matters not subject to the
Pactum
. As I
understand
it Apponyi is now planning a new law for the State schools – which will cost a great deal of money – so as to have a show of Hungarian language teaching – on paper, of course – and Kossuth is working on a plan to bring new order to the Croatian railroads. They are already drawing up the plans for a decree to ensure that all railroad employees should use the Hungarian
language
even there. Can you think of anything more stupid and ill-conceived?’

‘Surely that’s not possible,’ said Balint. ‘Doesn’t the law already state that Croatian is the official language in Croatia?’

‘Of course! While I was in office I did all I could to speak against the idea. Especially because it was our fault that the Khuen government collapsed and thus ensured the majority of the Serbian Coalition. But this was exactly what Kossuth wanted because the Serbs were the only party who backed him on the Personal Union issue.’

Abady felt that this was really going too far and he answered, with some heat, ‘I’m sure they didn’t do that just to please us. The immediate consequence of Hungary’s personal union would have been Croatia’s right to the same autonomy, leading sooner or later to the formation, with Bosnia and Dalmatia, of a new sovereign country within the empire. Triality instead of duality. It’s already an idea dearly beloved in certain circles in Vienna!’

‘That is a matter for discussion. But one thing is certain and that is that it is absurd to foster a movement and later on to strike down what we have laboured to create. And, if this government remains in power, that is exactly what will happen. My problem is this. It is or is it not my duty to try to overthrow the
government
before it is too late?’

Balint thought quickly about the discussions he had recently had with various Ministers about the development of his
co-operative
and housing programmes in Transylvania, discussions which showed every sign of leading to official support for his plans, and he did not want to do anything which might put these plans in jeopardy. At the same time he was extremely reluctant to have any part in an intrigue which would lead to a new crisis in the government.

‘What you have just told me‚’ he said, ‘is certainly very‚ very serious. It is indeed dangerous, and harmful, if the government gives too much weight to individual nationalistic aspirations without regard to the well-being of the whole nation. I am
honoured
,’ he continued, feeling himself getting more stilted and pompous with every word he uttered, ‘that you should have trusted me and told me all these things. However, I don’t really know how to advise you. I imagine that you have talked over these matters with others as well as myself?’

‘Not from quite the same angle‚ at least not in such detail. In fact‚ I didn’t really expect advice from you. I really only wanted the opportunity to talk over the matter, to try to clarify my ideas, with someone whose opinions I respect. I also wanted to explain that I had resigned office for important national reasons and not just because of some dubious financial dealings as some of my so-called friends have been pleased to suggest!’

At this point Dr Boros returned to his usual orotund manner. The bitter note disappeared from his voice and the velvety
politician’s
baritone took its place as he went on ‘… because I, who have given my life’s blood to work only for the salvation of my country‚ with no other notion, no other intent, than to make our nation great and prosperous and powerful, ready at all times to face undaunted the villainy and craftiness of …’

In the corridors the bells rang shrilly‚ the sound echoing throughout the domes and vaults of the vast building.

From all directions members started to run back into the Chamber to regain their seats. A young member of the 1848 Party dashed past the sofa on which Balint and Boros were sitting.

‘Apponyi’s going to speak. Everyone to their places! Apponyi’s on his feet …’ And he ran on.

Abady was thankful for the interruption. He felt annoyed that Boros should have spoilt the effect of his apparent sincerity by returning so abruptly to his usual affected politician’s manner. Somehow it diminished the seriousness of what he had just been saying.

They walked back to the Chamber together.

It was some time before Balint saw Zsigmond Boros again and so the question of the
Pactum
was not again discussed between them.

The public condemnation of the Fejervary government did not, after all, take place. The committee of the Department of Justice met again on the following day and five men were
nominated
to draft a new text. The matter was thus neatly buried and forever after forgotten.

The leading article in the ‘
Fremdenblat
t
’ had told nothing but the truth.

I
T WAS ALREADY HALF-PAST TWO
in the morning when the members of the gypsy band collected themselves together and set out in the calm spring night. March had been unusually mild that year. Laji Pongracz‚ as befitted the leader of the band, stepped smartly out ahead of the others, his fur collar turned up on each side of his fat cheeks and with, carefully swathed in a wrap of soft silk, his precious violin under one arm. The last of the group was the cymbal-player‚ limping as he carried his heavy instrument on his back. Behind the musicians followed an open wagon on which had been placed a table and six chairs. The wagon moved slowly‚ driven by a coachman beside whom sat a waiter holding on his lap a basked filled with glasses. Between the waiter’s knees was a box in which some ten bottles of champagne and a couple of bottles of brandy rattled together, and a bucket of ice. The procession was closed by two policemen. These had been sent over from the Town Hall, since the city’s regulations demanded that all serenades should be officially announced in advance and must be provided with a police escort.

As the group of musicians turned into University Street, out from the hotel’s main hall came the gentlemen who had ordered the serenade. In front were two men, arm-in-arm. One was large and good-looking, the other was much smaller: they were Adam Alvinczy and Pityu Kendy.

These two were now always seen together since for more than a year they had both been helplessly in love with Adrienne Miloth. No doubt they felt that a sorrow shared was the easier to bear and so they spent all their time in each other’s company. When they had both drunk enough they would explain their
sadness
and grief to each other. Each felt increasingly sorry for the other and when at last they felt they could drink no more they would return to their respective homes, only to meet the following day to repeat the pattern, day after day, night after night. On this day they had already been at their favourite pastime for some hours and both were in full flood of woe and commiseration.

Behind them were two other men. On the right was Gazsi Kadacsay‚ who was on leave from his regiment of hussars that was stationed in Brasso, and who was therefore not in uniform but dressed in a short jacket with a sheepskin hat askew over one ear. On the left was Akos, the youngest of the four Alvinczy brothers. Between these two strode Ambrus Kendy who, though older than his companions, was still the leader of
the
jeunesse
dorée
of Kolozsvar. The two younger men were assiduous in their
attentions
to ‘Uncle’ Ambrus, for they felt that it was a great honour to them that he had interrupted his evening of drinking and
carousing
with the gypsies to join them on this serenade. They also knew that if he had not agreed to join them they would never have been able to get the gypsy musicians away from him. Indeed they had hardly known how to ask the favour.

To their great joy Uncle Ambrus had agreed at once.

‘Devil take it!’ the older man had shouted. ‘I’ll join you myself‚ though I can see from your faces you’ll be going far afield tonight, pack of young rogues that you are! What? Right out there? To the lovely lady herself! To the Uzdy villa, what? To Adrienne Miloth, no less? Oh, yes, I’ll come with you. Why not? I’ll come along though I’m far more used to pursuing women indoors than squeaking away outside their windows!’ And he let out a long drawn-out cry ‘Aay-ay-ay!’ and rubbed his great hands together just as peasants do when they dance the csardas.

Uncle Ambrus’s presence was one of the reasons why they had brought along the chairs, for they knew that he did not much care for standing about, and if one chair why not several others and a table and some champagne to set upon it? Of course they had done all this before, but tonight they all felt it was a special occasion.

The sixth man to join them had been Laszlo Gyeroffy and his presence was by chance. He had just been loafing around in the street‚ as always something of an outsider. In the darkness he seemed very elegant, for in the dimly lit street no one could see how threadbare and worn was his well-cut coat nor how shabby and damaged his once expensive hat that had come from St James’s Street in London. He still looked as handsome and as proud in his English clothes as he had been a year earlier when he was still the
elotancos
– the leading dancer and organizer of all the smart parties in Budapest – before he had been ruined by gambling too heavily and had been made to resign from his clubs in the capital. Laszlo’s good looks had not changed but there was something in his manner that had not been there before, an awkwardness, an infinitesimal air of servility that was only
apparent
when, for example, he would go to the end of the table and sit down only when expressly invited, and how gratified he seemed if anyone deigned to speak to him. When he had had too much to drink this new-found timidity would desert him and then he changed completely‚ wrapping himself in a strange
exaggerated
pride and carrying himself with dignity. Then he would stand exceptionally straight, tilt his tall hat on the back of his head and, with an air of disdain and infinite distance, speak scornfully as if all the world were beneath him. On this evening he had not yet reached this state as, even at that late hour, he had not yet put enough alcohol beneath his belt. Modestly‚ therefore‚ he hung back and quietly followed the others on their way.

The first stop was on the Torda road where the widowed Countess Kamuthy lived with her grandchildren in an old house which had been built against the ancient walls of the town. Here the procession entered the courtyard, because the windows of the family’s rooms all opened onto it, and at once Akos Alvinczy ordered the musicians to play the tune that the youngest Kamuthy girl had chosen as her own, then his song followed by a couple of waltzes. As there was no answering sign from the
windows
Akos told the musicians just to play some mood music. All at once there appeared behind one of the windows a lighted
candle
. This symbolized the fact that the serenade had been accepted and so the band broke into a swift and merry csardas. As soon as this was brought to an end the party left the house and headed for the Monostor road. Here they stopped in front of Jeno Laczok’s house, lifted the table from the wagon, set it up on the sidewalk and placed the champagne, glasses and ice bucket upon it. Around the table sat Uncle Ambrus and all the rest of them, except Baron Gazsi, drinking heavily and toasting each other. Gazsi remained standing by the gypsies because here it was he who had ordered the music. Although it never entered his head when he was sober, a little drink always convinced him he was madly in love with Ida Laczok. One sad lovelorn song followed another as Gazsi gazed up mournfully at the almost instantly lit window, his woodpecker nose tilted on one side in the very
attitude
of the despairing lover.

Nearby the cook from the house next door was saying goodbye at the wrought-iron gate to her soldier lover. Hearing the sweet music they remained discreetly in the shadow, hiding behind the stone gatepost. The policemen were just about to ask them to move on, but seeing that they were merely standing quietly in the dark and were not making any trouble they let them be.

At the end of Gazsi’s serenade the little band continued on its way down the Monostor road. They had between three and four hundred metres to go before they reached the Uzdy villa. At Kolozsvar this was considered a great distance but there is no sacrifice a loving heart will not make to tell his beloved of his devotion, and in this party there were three of them who felt that way about the beautiful Countess Adrienne, wife of Pal Uzdy. Adam and Pityu had been her devoted slaves for a long time, and everyone knew it, but now they had a new recruit in Uncle Ambrus, though he himself had kept very quiet about it.

Until recently Ambrus had concentrated on more facile
conquests
. With his hawk-shaped nose and bristling dark brown moustaches he had the sort of good looks that made servant-girls catch their breath when they met him on a dark staircase. He was usually in luck even though his conquests rarely lasted more than half an hour and were the result of a casual and laughing request for a ‘quick rough and tumble’ for which nothing more was needed than the opportunity and an available sofa. Since he had been a boy Ambrus’s heart had never beat the more swiftly for any woman, and he was convinced that they were all there for the taking whenever he was in the mood.

It was also true that he never made a move towards any girl who had not already shown him that she was ready for it.

He had never previously taken much note of Adrienne’s
existence
. Of course they had moved in the same social group for
several
years. He had danced with her countless times, often dined at the same table and met in the same houses, but Adrienne, with her girlish appearance, thin neck and undeveloped body, and with the air of icy disapproval with which she kept at bay any conversation that seemed to be heading towards
risqué
subjects or lewd innuendo, had held no interest for Ambrus. Subconsciously he had felt that she was not yet really a woman in spite of having a husband and a child. In some way she was different from the women he was used to. When Adam Alvinczy and Pityu Kendy had openly avowed their love for her he had laughed at them and told them they were a pair of donkeys. But everything had
changed
‚ quite suddenly‚ when he saw her again this carnival season in Kolozsvar.

It was difficult to explain what it was in Adrienne that made her seem different. She was cool and flirtatious, but she had been both before, and she had always loved to tease the men who were in love with her‚ even tormenting them a little. The truth was she played with them as if they were amusing automatons‚ dolls without hearts. This play was totally instinctive, like that of the fairy tale giant princess who tossed the dwarfs in her pinafore, never for a moment reflecting that they might have human
feelings
. Adrienne kept her playthings in strict order. No words with double meanings were ever allowed; and no reference, however veiled, to sexual desire or contact, to kisses or even innocent
compliments
to her beauty‚ complexion or colouring were allowed to pass their lips. All this remained unchanged … yet there was a difference, subtle but definite. Now she played her game with compassion and with a softer, wiser understanding than before. Though, as before, all references to sex were forbidden, now it seemed as if her veto sprang not from a lack of knowledge or from unawakened ignorance, but rather because she held the subject so holy that she felt it would be too easily profaned.

The men who continued to pursue her were still her playthings, but she no longer treated them as unfeeling objects, rather,
perhaps
, as lesser beings who knew nothing of what they wanted to discuss and who, if they suffered at all, suffered only lightly with no risk of serious wounds. If they desired something it could only be trivial, minor yearnings with which she could sympathize and feel sorry for, listen to gently and even try to ameliorate by a kind word … but as for taking them seriously? What did they know of love‚ of what she had experienced, of what
she
had lived through?

What she had lived through … It had been the previous
summer
. For one short month she had escorted her sisters to Venice and, during those four weeks, every dawn had brought her one step nearer to self-destruction, to a death towards which she went with head raised, happy as she had never been before, as if she carried her red beating heart in her two hands in joyous sacrifice, glorying in the magic of her own fulfilled womanhood. That she did not kill herself before returning home, as she had planned, but came back to the husband she loathed and dreaded and must continue to live with, was for her the real sacrifice. This was the price she had had to pay if she was to save her lover from taking his life too. She would willingly have accepted her own death, but she could not bear to be responsible for that of her lover. He would have killed himself if she had‚ and that was the reason why she had come back. With this memory deep within her, with the knowledge that she had already lived through all the pain and bliss of life, experienced every pleasure and faced the reality of death, with this secret in her heart, everything else in her eyes seemed grey and drab, cheap and poor. It was because of this that she listened with sympathy and understanding, and with a tiny pitying smile upon her lips, to Adam Alvinczy or Pityu Kendy when they poured out their woes to her and tried to tell her what sorrow she caused them. She treated them like children who had to be comforted when they had fallen and bruised their knees.

No one knew anything of the drama she had lived through in Venice: no one, that is, except perhaps her youngest sister, Margit, who was an observant girl and who may have guessed, but only guessed, a little of the truth. But even she knew nothing for certain and the others nothing at all.

Adrienne’s appearance had hardly changed. Her figure was as tall and slender as ever, like the Greek statues of antiquity‚ but her arms were perhaps a little rounder and the hollows above her collarbone, which had given her such a girlish undeveloped look, had now filled out. And her ivory skin shone even smoother, as it does when women leave their childhood behind them, and glowed as if lit from inside. Adrienne no longer pulled her wraps or boas tightly round her shoulders as young girls instinctively do when some man glances at them. Now she allowed herself to be admired, though she did so with the somewhat contemptuous air with which beautiful women use their desirability as a form of armour, which would itself hold an enemy at bay.

No one saw this clearly, though Adam and Pityu were more hopelessly in love than ever, but Uncle Ambrus had felt it
instinctively
and so he too started to pay his court. He believe that it would take no time at all to reach his goal. At first he started with the same approach he used to peasant girls, but when Adrienne reproved him sternly he became all submissive and tried other ways of attracting her attention with humbleness and sentimental looks and phrases. In Countess Uzdy’s presence the formidable Ambrus became quite a different man. When he was with her he played the faithful guard-dog – but only in her presence; when he was with the other men he felt obliged, so as not to lose face, to maintain his former role of the all-conquering seducer and every now and again would let drop hints that he wasn’t hanging around that ‘pretty little thing’ in vain!