The Tightening String

by Ann Bridge

And Amiens lies in ashes,

  And Bapaume, and Arras.

  The acacias stand by Balaton,

  Their sweetness fills the night;

  They droop above the water

  Like lovely ghosts in white.

  But in the whole of England

  Shows not a single light.

  The reed-beds stand round Balaton,

  Whispering, grey, and tall –

  The water talks along the shore

  Where flowers in silence fall.

  And there’s barbed wire in Downing Street

  And sentries in Whitehall.

  When day breaks, over Balaton,

  Will rise the cattle grey

  To browse through dew-grey pastures

  By waters grey as they –

  While from the aerodromes at home

  The pilots roar away.

  So deep the peace round Balaton,

  But no peace there for me

  While England stands in peril

  By land, and air, and sea –

  And her most beautiful and brave

  Fight, now, to keep her free.

  I must get out by Balaton

  The train goes on to Nice.

  Perhaps if I were going home

  My heart might find some ease

  To be in England at war

  Might bring my spirit peace.’

  She screwed the cap onto her pen when she had finished, and began to fold the sheets of paper together.

  ‘Might one see? Only if you wish’ Count Táray said.

  ‘Oh yes, of course. I expect it’s silly’ Mrs Eynsham said, handing the poem over. Pista Taray drew the lamp towards him, and read it, slowly.

  ‘This is not silly’ he said when he had finished.’ First, it is beautiful; one sees our Balaton. But I wish all our people felt so – and with such conviction. Few Hungarians, I think, would wish to be in Hungary at war. Would you really be happier now in England?’

  ‘Oh yes, so much happier! Look, Pista, it’s lovely being here, and everyone is so kind; but one isn’t doing anything, don’t you see? One’s just comfortable and safe – or fairly safe. At home one could be an air-raid warden, or work in a canteen, or something.’

  ‘I wish more of our people felt so’ he repeated.

  It was nearly eleven by the time they were driven up to the great house, where six men-servants, all in elaborate Hungarian livery, met them in the hall; old Bento, the major-domo, led them up to where the Prince awaited them at the head of the broad staircase. ‘I am so thankful about your boy’ he said, as he kissed Mrs Eynsham’s hand. ‘Now I will take you to your room – you will not want to meet people tonight. Pista, Bento will see to you; come along to my study presently for a night-cap.’ The Prince’s mother had been the daughter of a Scottish Duke, and his English was indistinguishable from that spoken in good society in England.

  Balaton-Siraly, to give it its full name, was nearly half the size of Versailles; Mrs Eynsham, who had often stayed there, always carefully timed the distance from the stairhead to her bedroom, in order not be late for the formal assembly in the drawing-room before meals – the Prince had a thoroughly Scottish sense of punctuality. Tonight the walk took a full three minutes. ‘I have put you in the Hapsburg suite,’ Prince Tereny said as they walked along broad corridors – ‘I think you have not been in that before. The portraits are quite interesting.’ Then he turned to a more immediate subject. ‘Countess Dolinsky is staying here’ he said. ‘She telephoned and asked to come, and her husband is such an old friend of mine that on this occasion I did not like to refuse her.’ Mrs Eynsham smiled to herself, though she was embarrassed at the idea of Countess Dolinsky’s presence in the house; the lady was notoriously and rabidly pro-Axis and anti-Ally. And Willie Tereny seldom had any inhibitions about telling unwanted guests that it was ‘inconvenient’ to receive them. Something must be up.

  ‘I hear she’s so charming’ she said carefully, wishing that she needn’t be careful at this time of night. ‘The French Minister once told me that any man who sat next to Countess Dolinsky at dinner was sure to be well looked after!’

  He laughed, pleased.

  ‘Well, you shall not sit next to her! You will sit by me, and I hope be well looked after too. But – a little caution would be wise.’

  ‘I’ll try. You know I’m not very good at caution. Thank you. Good night’ – for they had at last reached her quarters. The Prince kissed her hand again as he said – ‘Sleep well.’

  Her cases had come up, and two pretty Hungarian maids were unpacking them – the nightdress already lay on the huge bed, with its cobweb-fine linen sheets and lacy quilt, her brushes and toilet-effects were being ranged on a vast antique toilet-table in front of a big mirror framed in silver. The bedroom was the size of an ordinary billiard-room; portraits of Hapsburgs, with their gloomy expressions and long chins, hung on all the walls; through an open door Mrs Eynsham caught a glimpse of an even larger sitting-room full of French furniture, where the soft glow of rose-shaded lamps revealed yet more Hapsburg emperors and their wives in massive frames. She found the ‘suite’ rather depressing, but was touched by old Willie’s gesture in giving her the most famous set of rooms in the house precisely at this moment. She realised exactly what it meant, for all the Prince’s moves were most carefully calculated – it was a salute, not to her, but to her country. Good for him, bless him.

  A sound of running water disturbed her reflections. She had been taking off her coat, hat, dress and so on all this time, and as fast as she did so one of the maids hung them over a delicate walnut clothes-rack, to be carried away and pressed. Through another open door she saw that a bath was being run for her in a large bathroom – Prince Tereny had made Siraly completely up-to-date in those respects. In her rather halting Hungarian she told the maid that she would take her bath in the morning, that she wanted tea at eight, her breakfast at nine, and a glass of cold milk now. Rosina did not pretend to speak the language socially, but she had prudently mastered such words and phrases as would get her what she wanted in Hungarian country houses, where she often stayed, and where few of the servants ever spoke even German. It always amused her that at Siraly there were no bells in the rooms – from 6.30 a.m. onwards a man-servant or maid-servant, according to the sex of the visitor, stood outside the bedroom doors, to be summoned by a call from the inmate. At first she had found all this service and formality, and indeed the sheer size of the house, rather oppressive; but this feeling gradually disappeared as she came to recognise how good the relations were between the Prince and his people; a tireless and devoted care for their interests on his side, a contented and affectionate response on theirs. It was just a different order of things, no longer familiar in western Europe – though probably medieval England had been like that, when England was still merry.

  The normal hour for visitors at Siraly to make an appearance in one of the smaller drawing-rooms was at 11 a.m. – by which time Prince Tereny, who rose early, had already interviewed his bailiff on estate matters, seen the chef about the meals, the head-gardener concerning what flowers should be cut and sent in to the florists in Budapest for sale, and after going through his mail had dictated several letters to his secretary, besides scribbling notes for replies on those which the secretary could handle. After this he was ready to devote himself to his guests. Not all this methodical activity was typically Hungarian: most of the Magnaten, the big landed aristocracy, took pains to run their estates well, but they didn’t start so early in the morning, and few would have dreamed of making a profit out of their gardens and greenhouses by selling flowers commercially – that was Willie’s Scottish practicality coming out.

  Rosina Eynsham was familiar with this time-table, but she often found it rather a bore to assemble with the other guests, march downstairs, be handed fly-whisks in summer or be put into snow-shoes in winter by the men-servants in the lower hall, and then walk slowly about out of doors. On that Monday morning in June 1940, after a good
night’s sleep – the best for days – she took a bath between her morning tea and breakfast, and was down and out, alone, well before ten.

  She loved the gardens at Siraly. They were rather informal – great stretches of lawn surrounded by shrubs and flower-beds, and long cool avenues shaded by that loveliest of trees, the silver lime, Tilea argentea, whose leaves are almost white on the underside. Barefooted girls in bright dresses, with kerchiefs on their heads, were mowing the lawns with scythes – their rhythmic movements and gay colours were as pretty as a ballet. An ignorant stranger would have condemned the Prince for not installing motor-mowers, but Mrs Eynsham knew the reason for this occupation. The Hungarian government, in some ways much wiser than the English or the Russians – or indeed the Americans – had realised the importance to the vitality, the morale of a nation, of keeping a large proportion of the population on the land; hence restrictions had been placed on the use of agricultural machinery, including lawn-mowers. That was why horses pulled the plough in the rich fields all over Hungary, and girls gave the Prince’s lawns a close-cut shave with the scythe – and, incidentally, why Hungary had no dust-bowl, since its soil was held firm by organic manure, not crumbled by powdery fertilisers out of sacks. Country-bred Rosina applauded this wisdom, and smiled on the pretty mowers.

  On her way back to the house to appear at the appropriate time she encountered the Prince, returning from the kitchen garden, at a crossing of two of the lime avenues.

  ‘You are out early! Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Very well, thank you. The Hapsburgs must have blessed my slumbers.’

  ‘I am glad. Now, I have had an idea – it is excellent that I should meet you now, so that we can arrange it quietly. I must drive over to Devis to see my new developments there – would you care to come with me this morning? The lake is pretty. My sister and Oria can look after the others.’

  ‘Yes, I should love to.’ Crafty old Willie, Rosina thought gratefully – keep me and the Dolinsky apart for the morning, anyhow!

  ‘Then go in by that door, and get your hat; it is the shortest way to your room. In ten minutes, here?’ They were approaching the immense yellow-grey façade of the house, which had several entrances besides the one normally used, at the foot of the main staircase.

  ‘How beautiful it is’ Mrs Eynsham said, pausing to look at the great sub-baroque building. ‘Your great-greatgrandfather, or whatever he was, knew what he was about.’

  The Prince was pleased; his small, sharp-featured, aristocratic face creased into a smile.

  ‘Yes, he did indeed. But not only by building the house. Do you realise that he founded here, in the village, the first agricultural college in Europe – which means in the world – so that young men might come and learn the principles of agriculture and viticulture, and go out and teach their fellow-countrymen?’

  ‘No, I’d no idea. How extraordinary! Does it still go on?’

  ‘Oh yes – with State grants now, of course’ Prince Willie said Scottishly. ‘And he began the library. Have I shown you the library?’

  Rosina said he hadn’t.

  ‘Oh well, I shall show you that – perhaps after tea. I have added to it considerably myself, with the help of my excellent librarian, a most learned little Dominican. We do not keep the collection of Napoleon’s letters there – they are in an armoire in the gold drawing-room.’

  ‘Goodness, have you got a collection of Napoleon’s letters? Why?’

  ‘Because an ancestress of mine was one of his stepdaughters; she married the King of Bavaria, and Buonaparte was always writing to give her advice on how to behave to the Germans, and to enquire about her grossesses. He had an absolute obsession with children’ the Prince said, looking amused.

  ‘Oh, could I see those? I should love to.’

  ‘Of course. Tomorrow. I wish you would catalogue them – no one has.’

  ‘Dear Willie, you are really quite mad! Have a collection of Napoleon’s letters and not catalogue them! I never heard of such a thing! Can’t your Dominican do it?’

  ‘He only works in the library’ the Prince said, laughing a little at her emphasis, but quite unoffended. ‘Now go and get your hat, or I shall not have enough time at Devis.’

  Devis was a small watering-place, based on the hot radioactive springs which occur here and there in Hungary; at Devis many of them emerged into a small lake, so that swimmers could get the benefit of the waters while taking exercise. The place was on Prince Tereny’s property, and he had decided to add a couple of modest but modern hotels to the collection of rather tumble-down boarding-houses which had hitherto accommodated the health-seekers. When they arrived he was at once fastened on by his architect and the clerk of the works. ‘Can you amuse yourself for an hour?’ he asked Mrs Eynsham.

  ‘Yes – I should like to swim. Only I didn’t bring my bathing-dress. Oh what a pity!’

  The architect, who spoke English, at once said that she could hire one at the bathing-establishment, a wooden building projecting out in to the lake on stout pine-wood piles. Thither she went, and while the Prince discussed his new hotels Rosina Eynsham donned a rather lumpy bathing-gown, and walked down some wooden steps into the lake. It was the most entrancing bathe she had ever known. The water was blue-green and clear, its temperature that of a good hot bath; waterlilies grew round the sides, willows and chestnut trees in bloom overhung the little lake, and when she swam towards the shore floating blossoms brushed against her chin. Magical, she thought, turning over onto her back to float and look up at the pink and white flowers against the blue sky; if Willie really developed this place it would be famous throughout Europe. Where else could one bathe in such surroundings?

  She spoke of this to him as they drove back.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I shall only do it on a small scale, for connoisseurs – like you! For one thing I do not want a huge resort on my doorstep; and for another, a big fashionable place would corrupt the people. High wages and a bad example for three months of the year, and discontent for the rest of it. No’ the Prince repeated. ‘There are higher values than money, useful though that is; any development, in any country, should be related to local values, local traditions. Have I ever shown you my cellars?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, I will. The peasants here have always grown their own wine, but in the past rather ignorantly, and from poor vines. I have built on this tradition: given them good stocks from Germany, and taught them better methods. They sell their grapes to me, and I arrange the bottling and marketing – Siraly-Riesling now commands a high price. It is profitable for them as well as for me; it gives more employment, and the land is not wasted by misuse. I hate waste!’ the Prince said with energy, as the car crackled up over the gravel sweep to the front door.

  Rosina only just reached the drawing-room in time, after a hurried change before luncheon; she fairly ran along those endless corridors, and arrived rather out of breath. She paid her respects to the old Princess, Willie’s sister, who like her brother was small, with sandy hair slowly turning grey above a little peaky face – kissed the tall Oria, and then met the large company. Countess Dolinsky certainly was very pretty, with a face as animated as a squirrel, and hair of a squirrel’s golden red; but in spite of her smile Mrs Eynsham thought that she looked wicked as well as clever, and was confirmed in this view when the young woman said – ‘I am so hurt that your charming Minister never asks me to his delightful jours. Why not?’

  ‘Oh, because no one is ever asked- anyone who wants to just comes. We keep open house on Wednesdays’ Rosina replied. This was an attack, she felt; glancing at the Prince she saw a lightening gleam of approval on his astute face, and was glad.

  ‘Then may I come the day after tomorrow?’

  ‘Of course – please do. You will meet lots of English people, and some charming Poles’ Rosina said, passing to the attack in her turn. Again she glanced furtively at Prince Willie; he sketched a tiny nod just as old Bento announced that the Princess was se
rved, and they all moved into the dining-room.

  Rosina Eynsham was by nature rather greedy; that is to say that she cared about good food, and was at pains to provide it for her family – today, after her swim, she was hungry as well. And the food at Siraly, she knew already, was something quite out of the world of even the best restaurants – something miraculous. If old Willie encountered some heavenly sauce in a princely house in Poland or Austria, or in some restaurant in Paris or Monaco, he would send his chef there for a fortnight to learn the secret. Mrs Eynsham saw no harm in this; again it belonged to an unfamiliar order of things, like the stately formalities of this sub-royal household – a vanishing world, but not a bad one, and with more moral values attached to it than to most industrialised societies. She ate heartily of the delicious food, judiciously praising items of it to the Prince – beside whom, as he had promised, she sat. On her other side was Count Endre Erdôszy, a very slim pale young man, with pale grey eyes and an amused expression which never left his long hatchet face, but was intensified when he found something particularly entertaining.

  ‘And how is my little Biedermeyer?’ he asked Mrs Eynsham, when her host turned to speak to the woman on his other side. Rosina stared at him coldly. She knew perfectly well that he was referring to Lucilla, and liked the aptness of the comparison between her child and the eighteenth-century elegance of Biedermeyer furniture; but Count Endre was running after her, as he ran after every pretty woman in sight, and was quite unscrupulous. ‘Plait-il?’ she said warily.

  ‘But of course I ask after your lovely daughter. She really is pure Biedermeyer; the delicacy, the restraint – not in the least like most girls today.’

  ‘Oh, I see. I didn’t understand you’ Mrs Eynsham said rather repressively. ‘She is well, thank you. But she is very anxious and unhappy about her fiancé. He is with a Scottish regiment, in France, and the news we get of them is rather alarming.’

  ‘But I thought all the English troops were getting out from Dunkirk – so marvellous, all those little boats going across to fetch them! Who but the English could organise such a thing? The Prince told me that your son is safe – may I say how glad I am?’