They Were Counted (The Writing on the Wall: the Transylvanian Trilogy)

by Bánffy, Miklós

  Abonyi returned at midday saying that in his opinion the choice of weapons should be theirs as they were the offended party. Their opponents, however, disagreed, maintaining that as they had issued the challenge, the choice was theirs.

  ‘I won’t give in over this,’ insisted Abonyi. ‘As I said yesterday the most important thing for me is your best interest. I’m determined to establish an “act of violence” on Kendy’s part. The glass proves it! Therefore I’ve insisted on pistols as is clearly prescribed by the Code Duverger. I don’t want to speak about swords unless the exchange of pistol shots has no results. They don’t want to accept this, so what do you think I’ve done?’

  ‘What have you done?’ asked Balint with a smile, thinking that the whole matter was becoming increasingly absurd.

  ‘I’ve demanded that a Court of Honour and Arms be convened!’ said Tihamer triumphantly. ‘They won’t decide until lunch-time, or by early afternoon at the latest, so that the duel can take place before dark. Where can I find you after lunch?’

  They agreed to meet at the Casino at three o’clock.

  Balint had lunch at home with his mother. He kept her amused by recounting many little incidents that had occurred at the ball until Countess Roza was laughing happily, pleased to know what was going on in the world but thankful she had not had to be there in person. After they had drunk their coffee Balint rose and took his leave. When he was sure that his mother could not see him he beckoned to Mrs Baczo to follow him. She put down her knitting needles and got up, but left the room by the little service door that led to the back passages of the house. Balint was just wondering if the old housekeeper had misunderstood him, or had gone that way so as not to arouse her mistress’ suspicions, when Mrs Baczo appeared in the hall.

  ‘At your Lordship’s service!’ she said with a small curtsy.

  ‘Look, Baczone,’ he said hesitantly, searching for the right words. ‘Everyone gossips so much … It’s possible that … I wouldn’t want my mother to be worried …’

  ‘I know all about it, my Lord! Indeed, the whole town knows, my Lord! A duel! God forbid!’

  ‘I don’t think my mother knows yet, and I want to make sure she hears nothing.’

  ‘Your Lordship can set his mind at rest. Naturally! You can be sure of that! We’ve already warned all the servants to keep their mouths shut, and the porter has been told not to admit any callers to the Gracious Countess. We’ll watch over her, never fear!’

  Reassured by this Balint went to the Casino. There he found an unusually large number of hats and coats in the hall and realized that many people had come in solely to hear the latest news about the impending duel. Not wishing to run the gauntlet of enquiring glances in the billiard and smoking-rooms, he went by a back way directly to the library and sat down at the end of the long reading table from where he would have a direct view through the adjoining room and would be able to see the arrival of his seconds when they came in search of him. To pass the time he started to glance at an illustrated magazine that lay on the table. After a few moments Pityu Kendy came in, also trying to get away from the impertinent glances of the curious. When he saw Abady already there he paused in slight confusion, and then, not wanting to draw attention to his presence, he sat down at the far end of the table from where Abady was sitting. The latter, engrossed in his magazine, had not noticed Pityu’s arrival and so they sat there, for some time, Balint reading, unaware of Pityu’s presence and Pityu gazing sadly at him. No one in the smoking-room had noticed.

  From where Balint and Pityu sat the noisy group in the smoking-room could be heard but not seen, since all the men who were so eagerly discussing whether pistols or swords should be the choice of weapons were gathered round the fireplace in the far corner of the room. From the library it was only possible to distinguish occasional words when someone got excited and started shouting; old Rattle, forthright as ever telling some young man not to be idiotic, or Uncle Ambrus growling that true Hungarians only fought with swords and that ‘if it was my duel I’d cut off his balls’, though the obscene end of the sentence was swallowed up by a roar of laughter.

  One man took no part in the general discussion. This was Pal Uzdy, who reclined in an armchair well apart from the others and in full view of Balint, his long legs crossed in front of him, appearing to take no notice of what else was going on in the room. He lay back in silence holding his watch-chain in his left hand, the watch itself swinging like a pendulum in front of his face. As the watch swung to and fro he would narrow his right eye and close his left just as he did when taking aim through a gunsight.

  As the argument at the fireplace became more heated, young Kamuthy began backing away from the others until he was standing in the centre of the room under the chandelier. He was of the sword party and took great pleasure in insisting on his point of view in a high-pitched voice, lisping out his arguments with unusual vigour.

  ‘What, the thword ithn’t a theriouth weapon! I deny thith motht thtrongly! Ethpecially now afther old Keglevich wath killed in Budapetht; he wath killed on the thpot, on the thpot! Ithn’t that theriouth enough?’ With every phrase he would raise his fat little body on tiptoe in emphasis. Balint could see him and found the sight irresistibly funny. As he watched, he saw Uzdy suddenly leap to his feet his hand reaching for his jacket pocket.

  ‘This only is serious!’ said Uzdy in a tone of hard mockery, and raising his right arm towards the ceiling he let off the Browning automatic he had just taken from his pocket. In the chandelier a bulb shattered with an almost simultaneous explosion, and pieces of glass rained down on the head of Isti, who jumped aside in fright.

  ‘God Almighty! – Christ, what an idiot! – That’s going too far!’ and other such remarks could be heard from some of the fireplace group while others just doubled up with mirth. Uzdy laughed derisively and flung himself back in his chair, his expression one of satanic amusement at a job well done.

  Tihamer and Gazsi arrived just as the shot went off. Tihamer was startled but pulled himself together and went up to the others shaking his head gravely, as it was an unwritten law that a second must at all times remain calm and avoid any sign of excitement or distress. He looked around him as if nothing had happened and then, seeing that Abady was in the next room, moved unhurriedly to the library to join him. Only when he had sat down did he say quietly to Balint: ‘Uzdy must be mad! What a thing to do, letting off a pistol in the club!’ and he wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.

  ‘He always carries a gun. But you must admit he’s a good shot!’ said Baron Gazsi, laughing as he came up behind Tihamer.

  At the far end of the library Major Bogacsy appeared and went straight to where Pityu Kendy was sitting. Abonyi got up and bowed to them ceremoniously and then, turning back to Abady, broached the subject for which he had come.

  The Court of Honour and Arms, he explained, had reached a decision. The ruling was that there had been offence on both sides for which satisfaction must depend on a duel with swords, to be fought until one party at least was disabled. As it was too late to fight on that day the seconds had agreed that the meeting would be held on the following morning at eight o’clock precisely.

  ‘You know how to fence, don’t you?’ asked Tihamer. ‘If you’re a bit rusty, or need some training, I’d gladly go with you to the gymnasium. It’s only a quarter past four, so we’ve time for a practise session.’

  Balint looked at the clock; he had thought it must be much later.

  ‘No, thank you,’ he said. ‘I think I’ll go for a walk!’

  ‘Shall I come with you?’ asked Tihamer good-naturedly.

  ‘It’s good of you, but no thank you. I really ought to go and see my mother first!’

  Abonyi made a slight bow and shook Balint’s hand warmly.

  ‘I quite understand. Oh, indeed I do!’ He thought that Balint wanted to be alone to say goodbye to his mother; but that was not what Abady had in mind. As soon as he left the Casino he went towards the main squar
e which was in the opposite direction to his mother’s house.

  Immediately Tihamer had told him that there would be no duel that day he had decided to go to Adrienne. Her husband was still in the Club and her mother-in-law away in Meran and so he was sure that if he went quickly he would be sure to find her at home alone. He was convinced that her illness had only been an excuse, but even so she would not have gone out if she wanted to keep up the deception. Also it was certain that she would have heard something about this idiotic duel as the whole town was talking of nothing else. It was an ideal opportunity for him to see her. Perhaps she was even a little worried on his behalf. He would be foolish not to take advantage of the situation.

  When he reached the square he hailed a cab and told the driver to take him quickly to the Uzdy villa on the Monostor road. As Balint sat back in the carriage he started to think out his strategy. He was seized with all the excitement of a hunter at the start of the chase. He would make no direct reference to the duel, he decided, though perhaps it would be as well to let drop some slight allusion, vague but unmistakable in its implications. The most important thing would be, somehow, to kiss her as soon as possible. It would be difficult but once achieved the rest would be easy. With the threat of death hanging over him she could hardly refuse one last embrace. No one could be so heartless. Once they kissed the ice would be broken and then he could ask for more, always a little more until she surrendered completely. And the thought of such ecstasy made him so excited that he quickly tried to banish such fancies, wishing above all to remain calm, collected and in full control of himself.

  The cab stopped and Balint quickly paid off the driver and sent him away.

  The shutters of the main building were still closed showing that no one was in residence. Balint walked across the snow-covered path to the glazed veranda in front of the entrance to Adrienne’s apartment where he found the old maid doing some work.

  ‘Is Countess Adrienne at home?’ he asked.

  ‘The Countess is not at home to anyone, my lord,’ said the old servant. ‘She is indisposed.’

  Balint took a visiting card from his case and scribbled on it: ‘I shall probably have to go away tomorrow for a long time. Please see me!’ This he gave to Jolan, saying: ‘Pray give this card to her Ladyship all the same. I’ll wait here for an answer.’

  The maid disappeared into the house, leaving Balint on the veranda. He waited for what seemed an eternity though in reality it was only a few minutes before Jolan reappeared.

  ‘If your Lordship pleases,’ she said, gesturing to him to follow her to the drawing-room door, which she opened, and then stood aside for him to enter.

  The room was at least thirty feet long. It was lit by three large windows through which the last rays of the afternoon sun cast a soft glow over the white walls which were hung with portraits of former Uzdys who looked down with frozen, meaningless smiles. Most of the furniture dated from the late Empire period, as in so many Transylvanian houses. An unusual feature of the room was the wide fireplace sunk deep in the walls between crudely carved limestone columns. This was the only reminder that the room had once been the villa’s kitchen. The fireplace was quite large enough to roast a whole calf on the spit of which there were still traces on the stone columns.

  In all other respects, except one, the room was just like countless others at Kolozsvar and in the country around. What was unusual and surprising was that on the floor in front of the fireplace lay a large white carpet with a deep pile and on it were strewn a quantity of soft cushions covered in different shades of red silk. In the centre of these cushions Balint could see a deep indentation as if someone had just been lying there. Adrienne, however, got up from a small sofa in the corner of the room.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve come,’ she said smiling. ‘I hardly dared hope you would.’

  ‘I had to see you once more, before … before I leave. I wanted to take with me the memory of your face, as a sort of parting gift.’ He spoke seriously but calmly, in a low musical tone. ‘There are so few who mean anything, but I wanted to be sure that … well, that there might be one person who would remember me …’

  Balint went on. He started repeating himself, for he was far less at ease than he had planned and, indeed, as soon as he started speaking his plan of campaign went completely out of his head. There was nothing artificial either in his manner or in the words he spoke; words of resignation and farewell which came directly from his heart. The idea that he would never see her again had so taken hold of him that the elation of the hunter that had so possessed him in the carriage had completely given place to the despair of the rejected lover. He spoke ever more softly: ‘… so I was sure I’d find you at home, alone. It had to be alone. I had to tell you, just once more, quite soberly, without passion … you had to know how much I love you. I know I’ve told you already; but you have to know it’s true. I thought if I came and told you now … now that … well, perhaps you’d believe it. And I had to hold your hand once more, your beautiful soft hand, just feel your touch in mine, not by force, but humbly, very humbly …’

  Adrienne did not resist. Indeed, on the contrary, she offered him her hand as a gift when, rather tentatively, he put out his own towards her. Gently, rhythmically he caressed her palm, looking deep into her eyes, talking, persuading, cajoling.

  As they sat there the room grew darker and darker. Adrienne’s golden onyx eyes seemed to Balint to glow with an inner light. He was not sure but he thought he heard a clock chime somewhere. And just at that moment Adrienne leant forward and murmured: ‘I love you too!’

  ‘Thank you!’ whispered Balint. ‘Thank you!’

  For a long time they sat together in silence, lost in each other. Their faces were very close and Balint, conscious only of his joy, gave himself up to the ecstasy that flooded his soul. Now he felt only a deep longing that absorbed him almost to the point that had he died then, he would have died happy.

  ‘Give me one kiss, just one, before I go!’

  For a brief moment it seemed as if Adrienne’s glance faltered. Then she lifted her head and offered him her lips. For a long time they remained in a close embrace, Balint kissing her closed mouth and holding her, very lightly, by the waist. Then, holding her more tightly, he made as if to bring her body more closely to his. Adrienne pushed him gently away.

  ‘Now you must go,’ she murmured. ‘Please!’

  They rose and moved slowly towards the door, their hands entwined like brother and sister. They did not speak. When they reached the door Balint turned to Adrienne and bent over her hand to kiss it.

  ‘If … if … you don’t have to go away,’ she said in a whisper, a catch in her throat, ‘how will I know?’

  ‘Then I’ll come at the same time as today!’

  Balint spent the evening quietly at home with his mother. He tried hard to keep her amused by telling her little jokes and anecdotes about people she knew, but somehow it was not a success, for try as he would he was too absentminded to be convincing. This was not due to thoughts about the next morning’s duel: his mind was filled only with Adrienne. Even when he was giving orders to be called early he was thinking of the time he had spent in her drawing-room that afternoon, how she had murmured ‘I love you, too!’; how they had gazed silently into each other’s eyes without speaking, and how, when they kissed, it had been as if he were embracing a young inexperienced girl who knew nothing of love between a man and a woman.

  It was extraordinary that the gay flirtatious woman who he had seen gliding over the ice from one man to another, who had been capable of parrying the overtly sensual advances of Alvinczy and Pityu while continuing to keep them on a string, and who, by enouraging him on Tuesday and failing him on Wednesday, had also reduced Balint to a state of bewildered frustration, could only kiss like a child! After more than three years of marriage and giving birth to a daughter, how was it possible that she would keep her lips tightly closed when kissed by the man she had just said she loved? Something was
very wrong!

  Balint could think of nothing else the whole time he was with his mother and it was the same back in his own rooms. Even after he had gone to bed he could not sleep but tossed and turned pondering the enigma he had uncovered. When, finally, sleep began to overcome him and the self-questioning that obsessed him started to fade from his mind, Balint became conscious only of a feeling of happiness and wonder. It was as if instead of falling for an experienced woman he had met a virgin who wanted to offer her love but did not know how.

  Chapter Nine

  BALINT ROSE EARLY and had a bath. Then he dressed with his usual care and was ready and breakfasted well before Tihamer, formally dressed in a black morning coat and carrying a top hat, came to fetch him. Baron Gazsi was waiting for them downstairs and together they went in a closed carriage to the gymnasium, a long barrack-like building which was always used for duels in Kolozsvar.

  Abady was led into a small, barely heated dressing-room where he found the physicians and the fencing master awaiting him. On their instructions Balint stripped to the waist and then the physicians bandaged his entire upper body with layers of cotton wool and gauze covered with bands of black silk. When all was ready Balint’s seconds led him into the ice-cold fencing hall, and as they went in another door opened at the far end and Pityu Kendy entered flanked by his seconds, Major Bogacsy dressed like Abonyi in top hat and a morning suit which was too tight for his increasing girth, and Baron Wickwitz, who had put on his dress uniform. He hardly recognized Pityu, who was swathed to the chin with black silk bandages exactly like those they had just wound round Balint.

  While the antagonists remained where they were the four seconds advanced, greeted each other ceremoniously and drew for choice of swords. At the same time the physicians started arranging their implements on the benches that lined the walls. To Balint they looked like medieval instruments of torture, strange shaped knives, scissors, saws and tweezers. With them were placed big pharmaceutical jars filled with strange liquids, and piles of cotton wool and gauze bandages. When they declared themselves ready they proceeded to disinfect the pair of sabres that had been selected for the fight, soaking them in carbolic solution until the gymnasium began to smell like a public lavatory. When all this had been done Bogacsy stepped forward to perform his role as principal second. With heavy portentous steps he moved to the centre of the hall, carrying a third sword with which he waved the two antagonists to their appointed places with imperious self-important gestures. Then he spoke, his loud voice echoing in the large hall.