The countess went on: ‘You should look around. It would be so nice if you found someone here and settled down. I should like that so much!’
Why did allusion to marriage suddenly make him think of Adrienne? For a moment he saw her face before him.
‘Don’t worry, Mama, I’m going to stay for a long, long time!’ said the young man, raising her hand to his lips as if sealing a pact. ‘Anyhow if they have new elections, which seems very likely, I’ll probably not stand again.’
‘No? Why not?’
‘I haven’t yet made up my mind, but I hated everything I saw in Budapest. It was very depressing!’
‘Far better come home and take the estate in hand. I’m an old woman now and the work and worry are getting to be too much for me. I don’t get about as much as I should any more. You’re a man, you’re young … and it’ll all be yours anyway when I die!’ She turned to the two women: ‘Aren’t I right?’
‘Yes, indeed!’ said Mrs Tothy.
‘Indeed, yes!’ echoed Mrs Baczo.
‘I’ll have a lot to learn,’ Balint said, ‘I’ve never had to deal with these things before.’ And, as he spoke, he realized how much he really would like to take the estate in hand, all the more so as for some time he had wondered why, with such enormous properties, they always seemed to have so little income. ‘I’ll need a few months to get the hang of things. Then I’ll gladly do as you wish, even if I do decide to remain a Member.’
‘That’s wonderful!’ said Countess Roza, knowing that if he did so Balint would have to spend much more time at home with her. ‘Your poor father insisted that I should take it on, me, a woman alone! But I know that he’d want you to take over now that you’re grown up. Wouldn’t he?’ She exacted reinforcement from the two ladies.
‘Indeed he would!’ They both answered dutifully, concealing their dismay, for though they had neither of them known the late Count Tamas, it was more than their place was worth not to agree.
‘I’ll tell Azbej to prepare all the accounts and get out the contracts. He’ll explain everything.’ And, turning again to her two companions, she asked: ‘When will he be here next?’
‘He said he would be back before Christmas, after the first pig-killing,’ replied the two well-informed ladies.
Azbej arrived a few days later. He received the countess’s orders with suitable deference and, bowing very low indeed, he expressed himself overjoyed that he would have the young count for his master. His whole conversation was punctuated with bows, which he made still sitting on the edge of his chair so as to show the depth of his loyalty and respect.
Although Balint had seen him each time he had been at Denestornya he had never before talked to the little lawyer. Until now he had sensed that his mother somehow did not want him to meddle with the management of the estate. When he spoke to her of such matters she had never gone into any detail but had merely complained of the worry and torment it caused her without once explaining what she was talking about. Balint had therefore strictly avoided discussing estate matters with Azbej lest his mother should think he was going behind her back. This was therefore the first time that he had heard the lawyer speak of such matters. Azbej knew how to make a good impression despite an unprepossessing appearance, for he was a dwarfish little man with short arms and a pot-belly, practically no neck and a round head covered in black hair cut the same length as his beard; of all which had the singular effect of suggesting that above his high collar there sat a porcupine. Two clever bulging little eyes projected from the porcupine’s quills and, in the centre, there was a very red little mouth from which emitted, when he spoke, a surprisingly educated voice expressing precise and well-phrased thoughts. As to the estate business he had all the figures, details and dates at his finger-tips. He assured his new master that the Noble Count would find everything in good order, all done strictly according to the instructions and wishes of the Gracious Countess. He emphasized the fact that he had at all times acted for the best while never deviating from the orders he had been given. Another phrase emerged from time to time. Should Balint, finding some procedure either surprising or old-fashioned, ask a question, he would find Azbej answer always ended with the words ‘as his late Lordship, with the wisdom of his sacred foresight, intended.’ This happened whenever Balint asked about the management of the forests, which seemed extremely haphazard to him.
Azbej bowed himself out, swearing strict obedience to Count Balint’s orders, which would be carried out with alacrity. His manner oozed eagerness to serve, and nothing revealed his determination to keep the young man in such ignorance that no changes would be made. He had already decided this when he had received a letter from the two ladies, Tothy and Baczo, who had immediately reported to him everything that had passed between the countess and her son.
It was clear to Azbej that two things were of the utmost importance if he were to be able to maintain his control of the Abady properties. The first was that the young count should continue to be a member of the House of Representatives, which would often keep him in Budapest. If he were to remain permanently at home in Denestornya it was inevitable that sooner or later he would stumble upon some of the things Azbej would rather were kept from him. It was not that the agent had ever broken the law, he had never gone quite as far as that; but over the years certain practices had become established which would cease at once if Balint discovered their existence. From the first days when Countess Roza had given him any responsibility Mr Azbej had exacted commissions on every transaction he arranged. Sometimes they were small, almost symbolic such as little ‘presents’ of turkeys, wine or flour from the miller, innkeeper or fuller, or hay from the smaller farms. Sometimes the benefits were more substantial as when, for example, Mr Azbej’s sheep and cattle – and he kept surprisingly large herds on all the Abady farms – grazed in the Abady meadows and fed, in winter, on the feed raized for the Abady livestock. Countess Roza, of course, knew nothing of this. In the beginning, before Azbej had started his operations on a big scale, it so happened that once or twice a discontented servant or angry tenant would try to denounce him, but Azbej would take such swift action to discredit his accusers that they would be forced to contradict themselves and withdraw their complaints. When this lesson had been well learned by everyone who worked under Azbej’s control, only anonymous complaints sometimes found their way to the countess’s desk – and these she would ignore, having been warned against such things by her late husband. So Azbej, at the time of Balint’s return, was getting everything as he wanted it and even those who had cause for complaint kept silent since the agent himself turned a blind eye as long as they followed his example. But if Count Balint were allowed to stay at home with time on his hands it was inevitable that all this would come to light.
Next it was important to find some task, or problem, that he could put in the young count’s way that would occupy him so much that he would be deflected from taking too much interest in the running of the farms or the relations with the Denestornya estate tenants. From a hint or two that Azbej had picked up during his first talk with Balint, the lawyer had noticed that the new young master had not seemed entirely convinced by his report on the forestry management. The forests were some way from Denestornya … in the mountains … ah, there lay the solution! From the few objections that Balint had raised he realized that the young man had ideas of his own for introducing modern theories of planting and felling, and installing modern equipment in the saw-mills. Well, let him! Let him get involved in all the petty intrigues going on among the men in the mountain villages! Let him sink his teeth into the lengthy negotiations that would be necessary! Let him find out all the difficulties for himself: he’d have his hands full there all right!
Azbej laid his plans carefully. He sent instructions to Beles for the forest manager to present himself at Denestornya directly after the Christmas holiday. Everything went just as he had hoped, for Kalman Nyiresy was of the old school and, overconscious of his status as a member
of the minor country gentry, made no effort to ingratiate himself with the young count. Where Azbej had cunningly disguised his contempt for his employer and thus had made a good first impression, Nyiresy, puffed up with a sense of his own importance, sat down before being invited, lit an evil-smelling meerschaum pipe and, in a patronizing manner, was unwise enough to admit that he had not himself set foot in the Abady forests for over ten years. Why should he? He knew every tree as well as his own hand! Balint realized at once that the old man was incompetent and, worse, arrogant. When, coldly, he stated his intention of making a tour of inspection directly after the New Year, Nyiresy burst into loud derisive laughter.
‘You don’t know what you’re saying, sir! Not even bears go there in winter … or birds either, for that matter!’
Azbej, seeing that the old man had made just the impression he had hoped for, then intervened and made him agree to supply horses and guides as soon as word arrived from the castle.
‘Well, sir, you can do as you like, I don’t mind! Nothing’ll come of it, mark my words! I’ll offer your Lordship some good wine and the hospitality of my house, but go up there? Ha, ha! Quite impossible!’ and, still laughing at the young Count’s folly and ignorance, he took his leave.
As it turned out Balint was prevented from going when he had planned. On 5 January Tisza dissolved Parliament and announced new election for the 28th of the same month. Despite his previous decision to abandon politics, Balint renewed his candidature and postponed his trip to the mountains until February so that he could work on his election speeches.
The election campaign had been carefully engineered by Azbej.
Living at Kuttyfalva was a man of the lesser nobility whose name was Janko Cseresznyes, which meant ‘cherry-tree’. He had once been town clerk, though only for a short time before losing the job for reasons that were never made public. Since then he had become a jack of all trades, now selling farm produce, now doing a little horse-coping, now buying and selling cattle or farm machinery. He did not mind what he set his hand to. It was, however, at election time that he really came into his own for his real talent was rabble-rousing. With a huge voice capable of making itself heard above the loudest hubbub and a wicked sense of humour, he was in his element whenever a new election provided a demand for his services. And these services were given to whichever party would pay the best. Though naturally inclined to the left, he usually found that the government side would pay more. Azbej who had previously found his services useful and employed him when certain rather shady deals were in the offing, sent Cseresznyes to Balint’s constituency at Lelbanya with instructions to round up an impressive delegation of local notabilities and bring them to Kolozsvar to beg the count, whom they loved so much, not to desert them.
This delegation arrived on 7 January. Headed by Janko Cseresznyes it consisted of about ten people; the chemist and public notary in black morning coats, the judge and a few other prominent citizens in navy-blue Sunday suits, and also some shabbily-dressed peasants, as Janko thought that a group drawn from all social classes would be all the more effective. They brought with them a written petition with some two hundred signatures begging Count Balint Abady to renew his candidature and thus not forsake his faithful friends. The judge, who was also the mayor, made a speech and Janko, who felt it had not been sufficiently forceful, backed it up with another improvised peroration which brought in the thousand-year-old Hungarian Constitution, the wickedness of German-speaking foreigners, the tobacco concessions, Kossuth, taxation, the greatness of the Noble Count’s illustrious ancestors and free access to salt deposits! Balint was duly impressed by this show of mass affection and reluctantly agreed to stand again.
On 14 January he addressed the people of Lelbanya from a first floor window of the town hall which overlooked the market-place. To Balint’s surprise he was received with a marked lack of enthusiasm which, despite an occasional cheer to break the general silence, almost amounted to hostility. He thought that maybe this was due to the extreme cold and Azbej, who accompanied him back to Kolozsvar, confirmed that this must be the reason and assured him that all would be well.
But it wasn’t.
The political fever that swept Budapest had spread even to the little town of Lelbanya where the atmosphere was no different from that anywhere else. The leading articles in the Budapest papers and the party manifestos, filled as they were with the election slogans and ringing war-cries of party strife, were passed eagerly from hand to hand and provoked as much argument and bad blood among the citizens of Lelbanya as they did among the more sophisticated habitués of the Casino Club in the capital. In one sense the discontent aroused in the little country town became even more serious as the date of the election approached. It was such a small constituency that it returned only one member and now, just as the independence of Hungary seemed threatened by the complacency of the ruling party, there was only one serious candidate – and he was no revolutionary vote-buying politician from the capital but only their own Count Abady, the owner of the lake and the industries that depended on it, who relied on his social position to get elected but from whom the locals could expect no other benefit, and certainly no bribes! Unrest mounted to such a point that Abady’s prospect of election became far from certain.
Azbej had already sensed what was happening and when Janko Cseresznyes, worried by the seriousness of this unexpected development which threatened both their interests, went to see the little lawyer to explain that money, and quite a lot of it, would be needed if the count were to have any hope of being re-elected. They whispered together, made notes on slips of paper, added up some figures … and a wad of banknotes disappeared into Janko’s pocket.
Three days later Mr Azbej presented himself to Countess Roza, now installed for the winter in her town house at Kolozsvar. Mysteriously he asked for a private interview. This was so unusual that, for once, the Countess asked the two ladies to leave the room and turned questioningly to the little lawyer who stood, wringing his hands and bowing with an excess of apparent humility and embarrassment.
A long and flowery speech followed. Before reaching the real reason for the interview Azbej dwelt on how long and faithfully he had served her Ladyship’s interests, how he had always worked only to maintain the good name of the Counts Abady whose great past had contributed much glory to the nation’s history and how he would go to any lengths to shield her Ladyship and His Excellency the Count Balint from any embarrassment or affront.
The countess, thoroughly alarmed, begged him to explain.
With seeming reluctance he recounted the growing unrest at Lelbanya and how Count Balint’s re-election was menaced by the growth of revolutionary fervour. So far he told only the truth; there was no need to invent. Now, however, was the time for a little embroidery. In the last few days, he told Countess Roza there had been a new and even more serious development. Another candidate had presented himself, a worthless demagogue who had made himself much beloved by the gullible country folk of Lelbanya, and he, Azbej, felt he could never again hold up his head if such a scoundrel of a popular agitator should set himself up as a rival to the young Count and beat him at the polls! It was terrible, unthinkable! He had not slept all night worrying about this dreadful dilemma they now faced. It was no longer possible for the young master to withdraw his candidature, for he had already made his election address and this had been printed in the newspapers. To withdraw now would be an admission of weakness, of defeat, of lack of courage – a mortifying blow to the prestige of the family. And for the future lord of Denestornya to be defeated by such a low class rascal …! He left the phrase unfinished.
The countess reacted just as he had expected. Aghast at the thought of such humiliation she swallowed her pride, forgot or ignored the fact that it was really to her son that the lawyer should have applied, and turned to Azbej.
‘How terrible! This must not be allowed! Is there nothing we can do?’
Now came the opportunity he had been seeking. He t
old the countess that he must now reveal to her something that he would never normally have dared mention. Always in the past, that is until Count Balint’s election, Lelbanya had been bought! The first and only time in the memory of all the electors living that a candidate had been elected cleanly, without corruption, had been the Noble Count’s election in the previous year. The people had become accustomed, and now expected, to be paid; and in this time of ferment even the prestige of the Abadys was not enough to overcome the people’s greed. He would never have dared mention the matter, let alone propose such a solution if the Gracious Countess had not herself asked. As it was he could see no other way. There was a pause.
‘How much?’ asked Countess Roza.
The lawyer’s carefully phrased speech had made a deep impression on the countess. All her ingrained pride of race rebelled against the very idea that a failed small-town municipal employee should succeed where her son, the descendant of palatine princes and imperial viceroys, had failed, that an obscure town clerk should defeat an Abady. It was not for this that she had been brought up to believe herself all but royal in lineage, that, moving from one great room to another in the castle of Denestornya, she had been told that the portraits of her ancestors that hung upon the walls represented governors, commanders-in-chief, and great national heroes including even Istvan Bathory’s famous general. If anything the countess was even prouder of the part played by the family in Hungarian history than she was of its ancient noble status. Living for so many years alone and isolated from the political events of the capital, this pride in the thought that Abadys had always played an important role in the country’s affairs had become as ingrained in her way of thinking as had the sense of her own superiority and importance. Since she had been a child no one had contradicted her – except her husband and that was different – and what she had wanted, and commanded, was automatically carried out. And now …’
They Were Counted (The Writing on the Wall: the Transylvanian Trilogy) Page 23
