They Were Found Wanting (48 page)

This, it must be understood, was because though every Hungarian politician prided himself on the independence of his thinking, he was never quite so pleased when someone else seemed to be thinking independently too.

Towards noon the news spread rapidly that Andrassy had arrived and was busy explaining to leaders of his party the views of its president concerning the proposed reform of the voting laws. Suddenly nothing else mattered and every other subject was dropped while all who could hurried to where Andrassy was so as to hear what was going on. Even those who did not manage to get within listening distance were happy because everyone felt that the Corridor was being honoured by being the first to hear the leader’s hitherto secret thoughts. It was tantamount to
showing
the world that the Corridor itself was a political force to be reckoned with!

It was, of course, politically astute of Andrassy to make his views known in this way, casual though it might seem to an
outsider
. The mood of the Corridor was more easily influenced by a seemingly informal and confidential discussion between friends than it was by a formal speech in the House itself. And so now he stood, clearly at ease, facing not only his admirers but also those antagonists who had not ceased to criticize him in their
newspaper
articles – though not too overtly since until now no one had been sure what views they were criticizing. Now he was able to answer all objections or questions in words that were generally reassuring but which might not look so impressive if printed in the daily Record of Proceedings.

He could have chosen no better way of convincing his
opponents
, for when Andrassy spoke in this way one could almost feel the honesty and personal conviction behind his words.

Standing at the centre of a milling crowd, he gave the
impression
that his frail body was held straight only by force of will and the burning conviction that what he proposed was right; and that without such spiritual support it would have instantly crumbled. He might have been a living example of a painting by the Spanish school – El Greco or Zurbaran – an ascetic saint whose Christ-like hands with long and emaciated fingers held a thick Havana cigar rather than a crucifix. Sunk deep in his face, his eyes seemed unnaturally large as they shone with all the
intensity
of a fanatic.

Andrassy’s way of talking matched his appearance. His
manner
was the opposite of that of any demagogue. His listeners somehow felt that he was almost physically in labour, wrestling with his subject, and that a heavenly solution would be born at any minute. As he spoke he hesitated, almost stammered, as if he searched blindly for the right words, and this technique was so perfected that every really important phrase or proposal was always underlined by a word so brilliant, exact and appropriate, that his listeners were as carried away with the feeling that they, and they alone, had been a part of this troubled birth. The strange thing was that none of this was intentional. As it
happened
this manner had been forced upon him by the need, in two decades of parliamentary service, to master a physical handicap; and he had done it in such a way that anyone who did not know his story might have assumed that the manner had been subtly and astutely, but consciously, developed.

And so, on this September morning in the corridor, Andrassy made it publicly known that his policy as regards the reform of the suffrage was based firmly on the principle of the plural vote, which for him was a
sine
qua
non
. The bill was not yet ready as
several
important aspects remained to be worked out in detail. But, whatever else might be modified – even to the point of
disappearing
altogether – ‘plurality’ was the backbone of his proposals and he would stand or fall by it!

It was this that Andrassy now wanted to make clear. It was a warning to the Corridor, for no one could be in any doubt that if Andrassy went the Coalition went with him, and that this would automatically entail the demise of the Independence Party. It looked as if he had planned this announcement so as to put a stop to the growing campaign in the Press and the whisperings in the ranks of the 1848 men and the group which followed Hollo. And he was not mistaken. Hollo’s party backed down and, after a few last little splutters in one or two leading articles, so did the newspapers.

So, for the moment at least, there was peace again in the ranks of the Coalition.

Outside these ranks there was much skirmishing about and growling by those who followed Kristoffy and by the frankly socialist. People there were who knew in advance about Andrassy’s plans and who had only waited for him to declare himself. A few days before, the socialist newspaper
Nepszava
– the People’s Voice – had somehow obtained a copy of the Plurality Bill (probably purloined from the secret recesses of the Ministry of the Interior) and published it in full, paragraph by paragraph, down to the smallest detail. This had meant that it had been impossible for Andrassy to manoeuvre or bargain; and so he had in reality been forced into declaring himself publicly in an attempt to still the tempest of speculation and rumour that had been created. Rumour might have been stifled, but not unrest. Soon there were stormy demonstrations in the streets of the
capital
and shots were fired.

It was in this electric atmosphere that the news arrived in Budapest that what the London newspapers had predicted had come to pass.

The Crown announced the annexation of Bosnia-Herzegovina.

It was October 3rd. Budapest had just had a number of royal
visitors
. A week earlier Prince Ferdinand of Bulgaria had been in the Hungarian capital and only that evening the King of Spain had taken his leave after a three-day visit accompanied by his queen. The royal couple, after paying their respects to the Emperor Franz-Josef, had everywhere been fêted. Balls and receptions had been given in their honour and, exceptionally enough, even the Archduke Franz-Ferdinand had swallowed his dislike of Hungary and come to pass a few days at Budapest for the sake of his Spanish cousin; though he had somewhat
ostentatiously
slept in the royal train rather than at the palace. The
capital
was filled with visitors, many foreigners and a cohort of diplomats from Vienna, who had all come for the Spanish king’s visit. At the same time there was a large delegation of elderly Austrians who were attending some convention or other, and many young men with the entrée at court who came at this time because it was also the beginning of the racing season.

Fortunately enough the weather was so good that it might still have been summer. Partly because of this, and also, of course, because of the influx of visitors from abroad, it was to the Park Club that most people now went in the evenings. Here people would dine and entertain their friends; and here too grand balls were given almost every night. Sometimes, as this evening, it was only a small dance – a
tancerli
– so instead of opening up the large ballroom they danced in the inner dining-room on the first floor. In the big dining-room next door some people were still at table though it was quite late.

Abady arrived with two foreign couples, people he had first met when he was still a diplomat. Driving out to the club after the opera Abady had been worried that there might still be signs in the streets of the riots that that afternoon had followed the first socialist demonstration calling for the immediate reform of the voting qualifications. After the mass meeting held in the wide spaces of Arena Street a belligerent group had decided to go on to the Inner Town. Along Andrassy Street they went, but as soon as they had arrived at the corner of the Vorosmarty Street, there was a clash with a police cordon and they were beaten back by the drawn swords of officers on horseback. Abady was afraid that some sordid traces of the ensuing battle might still be there and so, ashamed for his country, he leaned out of the carriage
window
to look around. To his relief everything had been cleaned up; and if there were any armed guards still about they must have been so discreetly posted that no one would notice their presence.

The orchestra was playing waltzes in the inner room and so it was as a matter of course that they went there to dance after
supper
. Balint at once took one of his friends’ wives onto the floor but it was hardly a success since they were playing a Boston waltz and his visitor was quite unable to ‘reverse’ – an art, he reflected, that had only really been mastered by the Viennese and the Hungarians.

Balint tried his best for a few turns but soon stopped, feeling slightly dizzy as he had had to use more energy that usual to push his partner in the right direction. For a moment he leaned against a side table wiping his forehead, and as he did so his partner was whisked away by someone else.

He had only been there for a moment when, as softly as a bird alighting on a branch, a girl in a tulle dress stopped beside him and a familiar voice said, ‘Hello! Do you remember me?’

It was Lili Illesvary; but how she had changed! There was no sign of the layer of baby fat in which she had been enveloped only a year before. She seemed to have grown both taller and more slender and was no longer the chubby schoolgirl she had been when Balint had seen her at Jablanka. Now she was a girl ready for marriage with a smooth skin, slim neck and shoulders which might have been the model for a Greek statue. She must, too, have known herself how pretty she had become for when she smiled up at Balint her violet-coloured eyes and finely drawn mouth, whose soft outlines tempered the firm chin inherited from her Szent-Gyorgyi ancestors, were full of self-confidence.

‘Don’t you recognize me?’

‘But you must be Countess Lili!’ Balint could not conceal both his surprise at the beauty of the girl and also the pleasure it gave him. Lili understood him completely and so smiled all the more.

‘We were in Vienna for the Spring season,’ she said. ‘I never thought I could have danced so much. It must be almost a year since you last saw me. I was barely out of the schoolroom then!’

She spoke with such gentleness that Balint was again enchanted by the sweetness of that rather throaty voice which he had
particularly
noticed at Jablanka. Then she went on, ‘I’ve seen you recently at some of the big balls, perhaps a couple of times, but when you didn’t come over to speak to me I thought that maybe you hadn’t recognized me. Of course you may not even have seen me as there’s always such a crowd at those big “do” s. Anyhow, you don’t dance with young girls, do you? Only with married women, perhaps?’

It flashed through Balint’s mind that maybe she was referring to Adrienne, but Lili’s fine eyes shone with such genuine pleasure and candour that no one could imagine there was a grain of
malice
in what she said. Then she continued ‘… and then there’s always such a crush that all you can do is say hello to each other and dance away … like a machine!’

‘But you like to dance, don’t you?’ said Balint.

‘Oh yes, of course. But you, er, Count Balint …’ and he could hear in the hesitation that she was trying to decide if she should use his family name rather than the more familiar ‘Balint’. ‘You talked to me once or twice at Jablanka; and, you know, those are the memories that stay with you … the person with whom one seemed to hit it off.’

‘Of course. It was at the big shoot!’

‘Yes, then too, but also afterwards, when we were talking about Uncle Antal’s horses and you told me that you had a stud too. You said that all the mares had old Hungarian names.’

‘How well you remember it all!’

‘Of course I do. I could even tell you their names. If you like I’ll recite them all! You have no idea’, she said, taking him into her confidence, ‘how wonderful it is to be treated as a grown-up when you’re still really in the schoolroom.’ She said ‘schoolroom’ with as much disdain as if it had been decades since she had been anywhere near it. ‘Anyway, one always takes note of what people tell one.’

They went on chatting for a little time. The music stopped and though most people started to leave the room they went on talking. Then Lili looked around and saw that they were quite alone.

‘I’m sure they want to air the room,’ she said. ‘Would you like to take me to the buffet?’

They walked slowly back through the large dining-room, the drawing-room beside it, and the card-room; and, as they went, Balint looked hard at Lili and thought how amazing it was what effect a single season could have on a young woman. Barely a year before Lili had been still in her teens, awkward, gauche and unformed. Now, in the way she moved, spoke, looked around her, she had all the elegance and quiet dignity of an experienced woman. It would have taken years for a young man to have acquired such poise.

Lili had learned her lessons so well that it was with perfect
self-confidence
that she made her way through the crowded room, fan in hand and elbows held closely to her sides. Neither too fast nor too slow, she moved lightly between the groups of people gossiping or talking politics, between the couples engaged in flirting and behind the fat backs of elderly people sitting at cards. She never seemed to look where she was going but somehow skirted all obstacles without for a moment deviating from her course.