They Were Found Wanting (46 page)

She had never before heard music such as he now played, music that was by turns plaintive and cruel. Though her piano had not been tuned for some years and the songs that he played sounded most unusual, Sara began to feel that all her life she had known this pale young man whose eyebrows met in the middle and who, from time to time, would look over towards her and explain the music that he was now creating just for her and for her alone …

It was of these things that Sara was thinking when she went out so early to her farms. She tried to analyse her emotions, feeling that her fears and reactions the night before had been silly and morbid, if not absurd. Perhaps she had, for some unknown reason, been unusually nervous; but anyway, she reflected, what did it matter if she had only just met him and yet fallen straight into his arms? Was she not her own master? Did she have to account for her actions to anyone or to anything except her own conscience? At last, in full control of herself, and knowing how beautiful and desirable she would appear in that silken wrapper, she brought his breakfast to his room and sat down on the side of the bed. And as she did so she was not unconscious of the fact that the edge of the wrapper had opened more widely around her neck.

‘Do you like it black or white?’ she asked as she started to pour it out for him.

There was no answer … but the coffee grew cold in the cup.

Laszlo’s life now began a new phase. Soon he was spending all his time with her, moving to Dezmer as if it were his home. At first he would spend a little time at his own house at Kozard, but he was so dismayed by the disorder and squalor of it that he soon returned. It was only now that he began to see how bleak he had allowed his own place to become.

The single room in which he lived was now almost bare both of furniture and objects. For the last year he had gradually been selling all his belongings, and not only the most valuable, though these he disposed of in Kolozsvar through the agency of the Jewish shopkeeper, Bischitz. Now all the old Gyeroffy family pieces,
objets
d’art
, rosewood tables and cabinets, and the French bronzes his parents had bought together on their honeymoon in Paris, were to be found in plump little Frau Bruckner’s showroom in the provincial capital. Laszlo had got into the habit of taking the lesser things himself into Szamos-Ujvar, selling them for almost nothing, and then swiftly drinking the proceeds. He had even got rid of one of his English shotguns.

For the last year or so any money that Laszlo had been able to lay his hands on had either been gambled away in some tavern or else spent on drink.

Six months before, when old Crookface Kendy had spoken to him with such kindness and understanding, Laszlo had tried to pull himself together. He had written to Azbej asking for a list of his debts but though he had had a reply Azbej had written that the statement was not complete and that there were still some modifications that he would forward as soon as they came to hand. Put off in this way, Laszlo had soon lost interest and only remembered about the matter if he happened to catch sight of Crookface somewhere in Kolozsvar. On these occasions he would give the old man a most reverential bow, but all the same he kept his distance.

This was all that Kendy’s well-meant intervention had
managed
to achieve.

Now, after the experience of Sara’s well-run, spotless
manor-house
, Laszlo felt unequal to facing life at Kozard. He continued to return home from time to time, but for ever shorter visits. Indeed he only went so as not to have to admit to himself that he was now living on the charity of a woman.

Sara, who was no fool, herself made things easier for Laszlo to accept. She arranged matters so as to make it appear as if she needed him to help run her property. Sometimes, though
carefully
concealing the fact that the proposal was only half serious, she would ask him to oversee the ploughing or the cutting of the clover. She well knew that Laszlo was completely ignorant in such matters, but she wanted him to believe that he was being of use to her.

More importantly she induced Laszlo to take up his music again. Each evening she would make him play and when he had tried out for her some of the unfinished compositions he had brought over from Kozard, she made him get down to finishing them.

Laszlo had never been so quietly contented as he was in the first six weeks of their liaison.

W
HEN THE NEW COALITION GOVERNMENT
Came to power a new idea emerged in Hungarian politics; and it was enshrined in the phrase ‘the Corridor’. There was great
excitement
‘in the Corridor’ that day, they said. The Corridor is unmoved by the latest developments; the Corridor has not yet formed its opinion; the Corridor is quite indifferent. Leading
articles
in the newspapers discussed at length the mood, wishes and opinions of the Corridor, which were known to be desperately uncertain, incalculable and capricious.

The Corridor was spoken about with all the awe once accorded to fabulous oracles.

That the Corridor should achieve such spurious importance was, in the circumstances, inevitable. At the time of the Coalition there was no opposition to speak of, and what there was consisted only of some twenty or so members from the ethnic minorities and a few socialists who had no influence and who were in any case generally thought of as dangerous enemies of the state. The three parties to the Coalition only ruled at all as a result of
continual
discussion between themselves. Everything that was finally presented to, and passed by, the House, had been the subject of previous and secret meetings between cabinet ministers, by the
coordinating
central committee, and also at smaller party meetings, so that every resolution had already been accepted by, and was therefore binding upon, each constituent party in the government. Every measure was presented in finished form, cut and dried and accepted by all parties. There was no longer any possibility of change since to suggest modifications at this stage would have been tantamount to rebellion against the party leadership. Whether it was a question of ideology or merely a matter of form, such
suggestions
were taken as irresponsible and unnecessarily captious.

And so no one bothered to try.

And what is more, there now seemed to be no life left in the
parties
themselves. Each party leader, chairman, or working party, acted alone and mostly behind closed doors. This was what had been brought about by the fact of coalition.

The Coalition itself was in an uneasy state of nervous tension. On one side there were the Independents and Liberals who looked back to the uprisings of 1848; while on the other were those who supported the 1867 Compromise – and these, of course, included the Conservative and Clerical Parties. Such an alliance of opposites could only endure – like an ill-assorted marriage – by careful avoidance of all subjects which might, indeed certainly would, lead to quarrels and disagreement. Such subjects were legion and included almost every important issue of the day as well as the fraught questions of the demands for independence from Vienna of the banking and customs systems.

These last had once been part of the programme of the Independence Party alone. Now, however, such matters had had to be included in the election platforms of all parties officially
subscribing
to the Coalition, and this posed a severe problem for the supporters of the Compromise as to how to square such
revolutionary
ideas with their own conservative consciences. The real but concealed problem of these people was to prevent the realization of ideas foreign to their own without at the same time bringing about the demise of the Coalition itself.

If this was no easy task for the two conservative parties it was even more difficult for the radical 1848 men and especially for Ferenc Kossuth, their leader, for it was still the primary aim of them all to maintain the formula for co-operation which had brought about the much longed for parliamentary peace.

One of the reasons for this was that now that the Coalition had come to power it had become simple for party leaders to explain that the reason why various long-standing aspects of party policy had not been realized was that as all the parties were partners with each other, indeed fighting side by side, no one could now do anything to alienate their former opponents, not if they wished to remain in power. Everything that could be conceded must be conceded – and the public accepted the
argument
. And, not only that, but should the Coalition break up in confusion and disagreement, the majority Independence Party would inevitably be called upon to form a government and then it would find itself, in turn, obliged to return to all those hotly disputed policies that had for years been the basis of its party manifestos, but which had never had a chance of being realized while the party remained in opposition. To put forward such policies now would inevitably lead to a new election and this would have to be fought on the basis of a party programme in which even its leaders no longer had any belief.

All the same, the difficulties and considerations which
prevented
the achievement of any major reforms still left plenty of less controversial things to be decided. There were, for example, such parochial matters as trade permits, and the appointments of Prefects and District Commissioners which had somehow both to take into consideration the candidates’ professional
qualifications
and also be distributed fairly between the various parties of the Coalition. Apart from such less vital matters there was one great issue which could not be avoided; this was the matter of
universal
suffrage which had been promised by the Crown and which, once made law, would no doubt have an incisive effect on future elections. It was matters such as these which those
ministers
who were also party leaders had continually to discuss, still behind closed doors, balancing concessions with concessions, so that the needs of all three groups should be satisfied. All this took time and a great deal of trouble and thought, as well as
endless
precautions lest any details of these consultations should leak out before each matter was finally agreed. And, as every agreement left behind it a trail of hard-won concessions, it was hardly surprising that, as the party leaders were obliged to keep many of their activities a secret from the rank and file, the life of the political parties was in a state of stagnation. And the party leaders had no choice in the matter for if anything had been known of what was about to be conceded – even though it was, of course, merely a matter of party expediency – then such a storm would have broken over their heads that the Coalition would have been endangered.

Furthermore, it was not as if the individual parties were so very united themselves.

The Independence Party was split into two camps – one right of centre, one left – and these in their turn were divided into
innumerable
little splinter groups, each of which had its own leader. Three well-known politicians – all favourites of the public – Ferenc Kossuth, Albert Apponyi and Gyula Justh, became
leaders
at one time or another. Like determined punters on the
racecourse
who would select and bet on their own favourites, so these men juggled with their professional futures by guessing which political party would come out on top and to which
therefore
they should nail their colours.

There were so many groups that among them were now to be found some that were permanently in disagreement with the government – universal coalition though it was made out to be – and these were grouped round those demagogues whose
loud-mouthed
public utterances were most to their taste. In this way such radicals as Ugron, Barra, Hollo and Polonyi all had their day of glory; but in their cases it would last only briefly, for their followers were a fickle lot and by no means as sincerely loyal as were those, for example, of Kossuth or Apponyi. Their numbers varied too, according to the political weather-vane, so that the existence of only a few groups heralded calm weather while, like seagulls waiting on a beach, a plethora of little parties preceded a storm. A catchy slogan, a resounding speech or cunning little manoeuvre would have an immediate effect on the loyalties of many party members – and the mood of the Corridor would undergo a subtle sea-change. And it was these moods that ruled the country.

Parliament now seemed to be composed entirely of shifting
political
groups … and the Corridor.

The real corridor ran right round the Chamber itself. It was wide and grandiose and in it large sofas were placed about every ten paces. At the corners – for it ran straight along each of the four sides of the Chamber – there were plenty of little nooks and corners, especially near the entrance to the Press Gallery and where the great staircase began. In these discreet little corners it was possible to form little groups that sat at the feet of some party chieftain or other listening either to his teaching or maybe just to his doubts, sorrows and feelings of insecurity. On one side there was the drawing-room and this was even better arranged for secret plotting than was the corridor itself. Here, half hidden by the dark pillars, news could be whispered and messages received; and, when there were even darker secrets to be discussed, where better than the deserted Cupola Hall where the sofas all had such high backs that no one could see who was sitting in them? And everywhere the curtains that covered the doors were so thick that every sound was muffled. In such conditions it was no wonder that there were sown the seeds of great tempests, and since no one knew who were the sowers, these were the hardest to subdue.

The corridor had now become the only place where political life was at all active. To those accustomed to the usual cut and thrust of debate in the House itself, this new informal, unofficial, private method of bringing about legislation was both
bewildering
and disturbing. Now it seemed that all sense of responsibility had vanished to be replaced by the sort of irresponsibility
normally
only to be expected from the demagogues. Nearly everyone seemed infected by the insidious attraction of backroom intrigue and that spurious sense of power that made people join secret societies. Members of Parliament now only entered the House when some already decided measure had to be voted onto the Statute Book. Everyone met and talked in the corridor, for there one could indulge freely the dubious pleasure of saying whatever one liked about the great and important of the day. Indeed
anyone
could say anything about anything … or anybody…

And in fact it must be admitted that to stroll down the corridor when Parliament reassembled in September of the year 1908 was a real pleasure, a pleasure rarely to be found by attendance at the official debates. In the House itself business seemed largely to be confined to the reading by notaries of endless legal papers that were best condemned to eternal oblivion, and to the
formalities
of the opening session. Outside, on the other hand, one was free to choose and discuss whatever subjects one found most exciting.

And there was plenty to discuss: for example, the banking
system
. A week before Balint arrived Istvan Tisza had made a speech at Bihar roundly condemning the idea of a separate national banking system, reinforcing his argument with a forceful parade of economic fact and theory and a careful
exposé
of the inevitable effect of such an innovation upon the value of the national currency and the stability of interest rates. It was a good speech and Tisza backed his views with sound professional reasoning.

The public, always watchful where its own pocket was concerned, for once became interested, and took the matter seriously, as did some of the more thoughtful members of the Independence Party who, as a result of Tisza’s remarks, now began to question this aspect of their own party’s official policy. For these people it was perhaps an unexpected blessing that a counterbalance now presented itself in the form of a banker who was, there could be no doubt of it, a far greater expert on banking questions than the ex-Minister-President. This man, of course, was not a politician – he was no less than a real banker. And while Tisza had only been a mere ex-Minister-President – and an enemy of the Coalition to boot – the Corridor’s favourite new
oracle
was not only a professional banker but without doubt, they said, a far more patriotic Hungarian than Tisza himself.

The banker’s articles had a great effect on the Corridor and, as they were firmly in favour of an independent banking system, were warmly received by all who wanted to be seen as true
patriots
. Everywhere people praised the skill of his arguments and there were some who even announced with the air of those with inner knowledge that he was intimate with the Rothschilds and that, if one read between the lines, it was clear that he himself would be able to achieve what he wrote was so desirable and that he was offering his services to do just that for his country. What a wonderful fellow, said the Corridor, while whispering that, miracle of miracles, he also knew how to find the money to pay for such an innovation. Of course he had said that an independent national bank would have to raise interest rates but that would be no obstacle, oh, no! There were even some, Hollo’s
unimportant
little group principally, who went so far as to declare that if interest rates rose then the level of national borrowing would be reduced and soon vanish altogether. Naturally, for if interest rose then money would be cheaper! Why? Because all the middlemen would be destroyed. It was as simple as that!