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

by Bánffy, Miklós

  The evening shadows fell and a maid came in to light the lamps. Then she left again to fetch the tea-tray. When she came back, Balint would not let her put it formally on the table but insisted that the tea things were placed beside them on the carpet in front of the fire. With fresh logs blazing in the fireplace, Adrienne smiled with girlish pleasure saying, as she buttered the toast, what fun it was, just like a picnic! Like two children they devoured the hot toast, the sweet fritters and little cakes that the maid had brought in. All feeling of passion had evaporated; they might have been in the nursery.

  By now it was quite dark outside and their conversation, formerly so animated, languished until they spoke only in broken phrases. The desire that Balint had suppressed with such determination and self-denial, flared again within him. He wondered how he could kiss her again after being so gently but so firmly pushed away. Of course! It was simple: by saying goodbye! When he heard the church clock strike six, he started to get up, raising himself to his knees.

  ‘I must go now. May I come again tomorrow at the same time?’

  ‘Of course. I never go out in the afternoons.’

  Abady put his arm round her waist to draw her to him, but once again she stiffened and tried to put away from his grasp, her hand on his wrist:

  ‘Don’t!’ she said. ‘Please don’t!’

  ‘You’re holding my bad arm,’ he said, ‘the wounded one!’ He spoke very softly, directly into her ear and at his words, as if melting to the gentle blackmail they implied, she abandoned her resistance and, obediently, like a good pupil, put her open mouth to his, eager to please though he could still sense a hint of resigned acceptance of the inevitable. Adrienne, while not totally surrendering to Balint’s embrace, felt herself almost swept away by the reassuring warmth of having his arms round her, and she felt giddy and breathless as when led in an intoxicating waltz by an expert partner.

  Balint kissed her for a long time, more sure of himself now and slightly more demanding, though still holding himself back so as not to alarm her. By now the hand that rested on his shoulder did not attempt to push him away … but it did not draw him to her either. When he finally let her go and straightened up to take his leave, Adrienne gently touched his arm:

  ‘But don’t think, or expect … Don’t ask more of me … ever!’

  ‘Only what you’ll allow. I promise! And I’ll be grateful, whatever it is.’

  At that moment Balint honestly believed his words to be true and spoke with such conviction that Adrienne smiled at him with renewed happiness in her heart.

  The next day Balint presented himself at the Uzdy house at the same hour. Once again they started to kiss, but Adrienne seemed preoccupied and worried about something and wanted to talk about it. They sat down side by side and Adrienne at once started to explain:

  ‘Can you imagine it! Judith wants to get married! And to whom? To Nitwit, of all people. Can you conceive anything so mad as to want such a horrid, dull man!’ Adrienne then told him that soon after he had left the day before her sisters had come to see her and how she had almost quarrelled with Judith. ‘They’ll probably come again this afternoon,’ said Adrienne. ‘It’s very disagreeable because for the first time in my life I agree with my mother, and my mother blames me for the whole horrid mess! That’s why she sends Judith to see me. It’s all my fault, she says, for not looking after her properly at the balls. I’ve been a bad influence, she says! As if anyone can watch what’s happening every minute of the time! That Wickwitz has got a nerve. How dare he! Judith never told me anything, not a word! She never even asked me … I’m really very annoyed and I’m so sorry for poor Judith who doesn’t know what a horrible decision it is!’

  Balint recalled indignantly what Dinora had told him of Wickwitz’s behaviour and his immediate instinct was to tell Adrienne everything he knew about the Austrian; but then he thought again and checked himself. If he told all he knew it would compromise poor foolish Dinora, and that he could not do. Rather confusedly, therefore, he replied: ‘Of course it’s a bad choice, unworthy of her. I don’t think he’s the man for her … I hardly know him, mind you … but I should think he’s, er, somewhat undesirable. People say he’s very reckless.’

  ‘That wouldn’t matter! But after all I’ve told them … for one of my sisters to make the same …’ She almost said ‘the same mistake as I did’ but stopped herself, only to go on ever more heatedly: ‘It makes my blood boil!’

  ‘Is she very much in love?’

  ‘In love! In love! What does a young girl know about love? She imagines all sorts of things … believes goodness knows what! But I’ve told them, warned them not to rush into marriage like …’ Again the ‘like me!’ was suppressed, although Adrienne could not resist an involuntary shudder as she thought of what marriage had meant to her. Then she pulled herself together and went on in a matter-of-fact voice.

  ‘It’ll really be much better for them to go away for a while. The girls are leaving for Vienna tonight; only my brother will stay behind. It’s for the best. There’ll be theatres, concerts, museums and Judith will have a taste of another world. A little experience of life and she’ll soon come to her senses, poor girl! Yes! It’ll all be for the best … though I’ll be very lonely, all on my own.’

  ‘Poor Addy!’ said Balint, taking her hand and kissing her palm to show his sympathy. He tried to pull her more closely to him, but Adrienne shook her head, she was too preoccupied with the tragedy of her own marriage and the threat that she was sure marriage posed to the happiness of her much-loved sister to respond at the moment. Judith’s misfortune weighed heavily on both of them, though for quite different reasons, and so they sat together in silence, bound to each other by loving confidence and trust.

  Suddenly the door opened and Judith and Margit entered accompanied by their old governess, Mlle Morin. Balint immediately rose to greet them and take his leave, but before he could open his mouth Judith cried out passionately to Adrienne: ‘This is your doing, I know it! It’s you who have plotted with Mama to send me away, to separate us! But it won’t work, I tell you right now! I love him and I will marry him! You can’t keep me in Vienna for ever!’

  ‘Mais ma chère enfant – but my dear child!’ cried Mlle Morin, shocked by this lack of reticence in front of Abady who, hardly knowing which way to turn, was still standing between Adrienne and her sister.

  ‘Ça m’est égal – it’s all the same to me. I don’t mind if the whole world knows! The more the better! Then you’ll all have to agree …’

  Adrienne jumped up and tried to take her angry sister in her arms: ‘Judith, my darling, you’re very unjust. I only said …’

  Judith brushed her away. ‘I know what you said! You told me the same yesterday! But afterwards … afterwards you took Mama’s side against me! Against me!’

  ‘You know I only wanted to spare you.’

  ‘Oh, I know all about that! You’ve explained many times how loathsome, how disgusting it is! I don’t care! It’s all the same to me what happens to my body if I can save him! That’s what I want – to save him – and I also learned from you that if it wasn’t for that …’

  Judith’s words upset Balint, making him feel he was inadvertently, spying on Adrienne’s married life and must put a stop to the conversation or he would hear things that afterwards would distress Addy herself. So he bent over Adrienne’s hand, kissed it swiftly and formally, took leave of the girls and the old governess and left the room quickly. As he closed the door behind him he heard Adrienne’s voice raised in anger: ‘How could you be so shameless? Speaking about me like that in front of Balint Abady! How dare you!’

  Pausing for a moment Balint reflected on what he had just heard. Had Judith really said ‘how loathsome! how disgusting!’ and if she had used such surprising words what had she meant? He set off home and tried to banish this mystery from his thoughts. It was to no avail. As he walked he could think of nothing but those words ‘loathsome, disgusting! I don’t care what happens
to my body!’ Had Adrienne really talked like that to her sisters? Did she see love and making love as a frightening, disgusting horror from which her sisters must be shielded? Did she wish to spare them experiences which for her had been so terrible? If all this were true it could explain her girlish unawakened appearance, her withdrawal when he started to kiss her. It would explain too how it was that she did not even know how to kiss. In this could lie the key to everything about her that he had found so mystifying.

  Poor, poor Addy! he thought as he walked towards his home. How unhappy she must be! Sudden hatred for Pal Uzdy flooded over him as he realized that it must have been he who had done this to her. Everything would be explained if he had taken her without love, brutally deflowering an inexperienced girl, and so damaging her pure and noble heart that at one stroke he had prevented her from knowing the greatest joy that life had to offer, indeed the only form of bliss those merciless gods had left to mankind!

  Chapter Ten

  WIGKWITZ NOW SET HIMSELF in all earnestness to settle his money problems. He had realized that he could not get hold of Judith without waiting at least three or four months, for even if the girl were ready and willing there would still be trouble ahead before her parents would agree to their marriage. This would be a test of endurance, a cross-country endurance ride rather than a short hurdle race, and so he must prepare himself accordingly, as he did when he trained his horses. Thinking with slow but inexorable logic he finally arrived at the thought that somehow he had to play for time, to find the means to parry any attack that could jeopardize his long-term plans. And what was needed to achieve that? Why, more money, of course! Money was needed, not only to live while he waited but also to pay the interest of Dinora’s drafts, and be available to meet any other, unforeseen calls on his purse. He might even want to elope … but that would need money too. Reckoning that his best bet was to touch Dinora again, but in a way she would think merely set everything in order, he had prepared prolongation forms, carefully not mentioning the sums involved, and two new drafts of six thousand crowns each. He would get Dinora to sign all these while she was still well disposed to him, though he would only cash the new drafts if it proved vitally necessary. All this he would have to do quickly, before Dinora became difficult and suspicious and turned on him.

  He went to see Dinora as soon as the papers were ready. Telling her that he was horrified at the ‘impertinence’ of the bank in ‘daring’ to ask anything from her, he explained that if she signed the papers he had brought with him, all would be settled and she would never hear from the bank again. It was monstrous, he said, and explained that with the prolongation papers and the two new six thousand crown drafts, the amortization would be paid off and he would be able to arrange everything for her. Dinora was delighted; she felt a great load had been taken off her mind and even went so far as to show her gratitude by kissing him as soon as she had finished signing the papers. Wickwitz, for all his slowness in some matters, was never behind-hand when he sensed that he had the advantage with a woman, at once gathered the little countess in his strong athlete’s arms and made it abundantly clear that he would like to express his gratitude even more lovingly. Dinora did not resist. It was not bad, she said to herself, even if she did not love her Nitwit any more … and so, after he left, she sat down at her writing desk and addressed a note to Abady on her oddly-shaped lilac-coloured writing paper:

  Little Boy! (Doyou remember, darling?)

  Everything I told you of the other day has been arranged. It was all just a muddle, a misunderstanding! Wickwitz has paid in full. Don’t think too badly of him. When shall I see you? You know you are always welcome. Tihamer and I are going to Budapest in a few days as everyone here is so beastly to me … though I don’t care!

  Lots of kisses and … well no! That’s enough for now. Dinora

  Balint received the letter the following day and though he had no idea how Wickwitz could possibly have raised the money, he was so glad that this unsavoury matter had been settled that he did not look for any further explanation but dismissed the matter from his mind.

  As it happened he received another letter by the same post which immediately occupied his entire attention. It was from Count Slawata, and was far more mysterious and absorbing than Dinora’s little note. Slawata wrote that it seemed as if matters in Hungary had reached an impasse, with relations between the sovereign and the majority party daily becoming worse. He referred to the government’s difficulties, how impossible it was for Tisza’s cabinet to rule when powerless in the face of an opposition majority in Parliament, how the cabinet was constantly trying to resign, how there was no question of recalling Parliament until a solution had been found to the major problem, etc., etc. None of what he wrote was new to Balint: he had seen it all for himself when he had last been in Budapest. But now a sentence occurred that aroused Balint’s suspicions. ‘Since we shall never give in on the army question,’ wrote Slawata, ‘we will have to find a solution somewhere that these rich demagogues will never think of looking. Salus populi suprema est lex – the good of the people is the supreme law.’

  After dropping this sinister hint, Slawata went on to say that he believed Abady to share his opinion and he finished his letter by saying that he would be coming to Budapest towards the end of March and would look forward to meeting him again then. ‘Ich könnte Dir manches Interessante sagen – I have something most interesting to tell you,’ he wrote.

  Balint was annoyed with himself for saying nothing when Slawata had taken him into his confidence at the shooting party at Simonvasar. If he had not wanted it to be assumed that he was in sympathy, he should have said so at once; and now, receiving Slawata’s letter which clearly showed that he assumed Balint to belong to the faction that surrounded the Heir, Balint knew he must at once put a stop to any suggestion that he had the smallest sympathy with Slawata’s views. It had been useful to have a glimpse of the future ruler’s plans, but if he allowed himself further contact with Slawata the plotters in the Belvedere Palais would take it as confirmation that he was on their side.

  Balint decided quickly what to do. He sat down without delay and wrote, rather coldly, that as his private affairs would keep him in Transylvania for the present he was obliged to deny himself the pleasure of coming to Budapest at the time of Slawata’s visit.

  Having written this, Balint had to find some reason to justify his staying on. If he were to remain in Transylvania until Parliament was recalled, and this seemed the only sure way of avoiding even a chance encounter with Slawata, he would have to find some genuine activity that would keep him in the country. In the month of March there was nothing he could do to further his forestry plans on the mountain estate. It would have to be something else. At this point his formerly vague ideas for starting a co-operative at Lelbanya came back to him so clearly that during the course of his visit to Adrienne the next afternoon he settled nearly all the details in his mind. After their first embrace and when they had spent a few precious moments in each other’s arms, Balint started to tell Adrienne about his plans and ideas. He was amazed by how interested she was; she seemed as involved as she had always been in the scientific and literary subjects they used to discuss so eagerly together. Now Balint, fired by her enthusiasm, found his ideas coming more swiftly to him, his explanations becoming ever more fluent and more cogent.

  That afternoon he stayed at the Uzdy house for longer than usual. As before they lay together, entwined in a brotherly embrace on the cushions in front of the fire, but today he spoke eagerly, though in a completely matter-of-fact manner, about the advantages to the people of different co-operative systems, and Adrienne drank it all in. He had already recalled that his mother owned a small town house and property at Lelbanya which might serve as the nerve centre of this project. Now it was obvious to him how best to use it: two of the rooms would be enough for the Co-operative Centre while the rest would serve for the Farmers’ Club and Library. The grounds would be quite adequate for a model mar
ket garden.

  As Balint explained all his ideas to Adrienne, so did his plans become formed into a cohesive and practicable proposition. Now, in her arms in the darkening room, Balint knew that he had made up his mind what he was going to do. At the same time, however, as his conscious being was apparently totally concentrated on working out the best way of forming a farmers’ co-operative, so unconsciously within him his male instincts were becoming gradually awakened and alert as he stroked Adrienne’s bare arm, or her foot, ankle or elbow, whichever part of her was closest to him. And all the while he talked without any hesitation of how he could best help the people in his constituency.

  When a few days later Kristof Azbej came to report to the countess before he returned to the country, Balint lost no time in asking him about the house at Lelbanya. He needed to know who the tenants were and for how long it was let.

  ‘One is a joiner who doesn’t pay the rent, and the other is a tailor to whom I was about to give notice, because he pays so irregularly and does a lot of damage to the property. Your Lordship should know that I had intended to throw them both out on St George’s Day. You see, my Lord, I never neglect anything. I watch over your Lordship’s interests more than I do my own! My only aim, as always, is …’

  ‘How much rent should we be receiving, from them both?’ asked Balint, interrupting the lawyer’s flow of loyal protestations.