It was in these circumstances that the party rebels took especial pleasure in attacking their former leaders in the Independence Party who, they claimed, had gone back on all their former promises! It was in vain that Apponyi, with his honeyed speech and well-known eloquence, should rise and defend the party’s actions. And so the discussions and arguments became more and more personal and venomous. Things reached such a pitch that the Minister-President found himself obliged to fight a duel with Geza Polonyi. Even though both were elderly men and none too agile, their seconds still insisted that they fought with sabres.
As it turned out no great harm was done; and no blood was shed since both men were soon so out of breath that the physicians stopped the fight declaring mutual exhaustion. Though this was nothing if not accurate, it was the source of many ribald jokes throughout Budapest – and none of them were to the government’s advantage.
This was the only sort of news to which the general public paid the slightest attention. The anti-Italian speech in Vienna, made, as Slawata had told Balint, by Mayor Lüger, aroused no interest at all in Budapest. There people were only concerned with the proceedings in Parliament and so it was remarkable that no one seemed to notice or comment upon Andrassy’s cunning ruling that all civil servants must be able to speak the language of the people they served. It had been expected that the extreme chauvinists would have a field-day haggling about the details of this measure, but the storm about the army quotas overwhelmed discussion of all other issues.
Unfortunately the Croatian situation was getting worse daily. The congress of the Starcevicz party passed a resolution declaring their firm intention to break away from their allegiance to the crown of St Stephen. Although the session of the Zagreb Parliament opened on the appointed day it had immediately to be adjourned, so revolutionary was the mood of the people who were making demonstrations daily throughout the city.
Balint was even more upset by the news from Croatia since he had listened to the talk at Jablanka.
He went home to Transylvania for Christmas in a dark and depressed mood. The awful threat posed by the rivalries of the great powers, the sinister plan for a ‘little war’ with Italy, and the upheavals beyond the Drava, all weighed upon his spirits and seemed to him only to emphasize that the political unawareness of all those in Hungary whose self-indulgence, preoccupation only with such internal issues as affected themselves, and whose self-centred conviction that only such trivial matters were of the smallest significance, was leading his country to isolation and ruin.
When Balint reached Kolozsvar he thought it would be nice to surprise his mother with a small gift which just might help to soothe the tenseness that had recently developed between them. It was difficult to know what to choose because Countess Roza had a rule that she never accepted anything personal, but only gifts intended to adorn her beloved Denestornya. Little objects such as ash-trays, antique clocks, or pieces of china would do, but little else. It had to be something which would look as if it had always been there. This gave her pleasure because for her the house was like a living person and to make it more beautiful was her daily preoccupation.
Since he had not thought about this before leaving Budapest Balint went at once to see an antique dealer in Kolozsvar who always had good things.
Old Mrs Bruckner did not keep a shop; she dealt directly from her apartment on the first floor of a building in Belmagyar Street. She was a small woman, rather fat, and entirely trustworthy. She never knowingly sold imitations or fakes, even though she was entirely uneducated with no knowledge of styles or period. If she believed something to be truly old she would say, ‘Das ist gotisch – this is gothic!’
Mrs Bruckner knew everyone in the town. She led Abady through her rooms, merrily showing him a host of every imaginable sort of object piled one on top of another or hung all over the walls; commodes, chests, tables, clocks and statuettes, ornaments, pictures, lampshades, embroidery or church vestments, everything everywhere in apparent confusion.
‘I’ve just got in a lovely cup!’ said the old woman enthusiastically. ‘It’s new in, so no one has seen it except you!’ and she took her customer to a shelf on which stood three beautiful Alt Wien cups among a host of rubbish. Balint was immediately struck by the one in the centre for he recognized the painted portrait on its side as that of his mother’s great-grandfather, the Abady who had been Governor of Transylvania. It had been fashionable at the end of the eighteenth century to give such cups as souvenirs to friends or relations, especially to relations, rather as at a later date people would give signed photographs. At Denestornya they already had two similar ones, and this would make a third.
‘Where did you get it from?’ asked Balint, marvelling at his luck. But Mrs Bruckner just gave an enigmatic smile and said, ‘From a very good place, I can assure you. I can’t say where, but it’s a very good place indeed!’
The price was sixty crowns and Balint paid it without question. As the old lady accompanied him to the door she said, ‘Come again in a few days, if you like. I may have some things from the same place. Alles prima, alles hochprima – everything of the highest quality, of course, and from the same place.’
Though Balint again asked her she would not say where it came from.
Christmas Eve at the Abadys’, whether at Denestornya or in Kolozsvar, was always a somewhat solemn occasion with nothing cosy or intimate about it. While Balint had been away at school in Vienna he had always had to spend Christmas in his rooms in the college and so for many years Countess Roza had spent the holiday alone with her servants. As the years passed, the ceremonies at home had frozen into an occasion of cold convention. Always, as now, there was a small tree in the centre of the dining table. This, as always too, was bought, for to her it would have been unthinkable sacrilege to uproot and bring anything from Denestornya or from the forestlands in the mountains. On the sideboards were high piles of woollen shawls and waistcoats that the countess and her two housekeepers had spent much of the previous year knitting just for this occasion. At Denestornya they would be distributed to all the children of the village on Christmas morning itself. Now, as they were at the town house in Kolozsvar, the estate manager would collect them on Christmas Eve and travel at dawn to the country so that the children would receive their presents after church the following morning. Around the little tree, which was ablaze with a multitude of candles, was a cluster of presents for the household servants and their families, all useful objects carefully chosen and marked with the names of the recipients.
Each servant was called in turn, with members of their families, and in turn they were handed their gifts by the countess, kissed her hand and made room for the next in line. Countess Abady sat in a large armchair in the middle of the room and, as each man, woman or child came up to her, she extended her chubby little hand to be kissed, exactly as if she were a queen receiving the homage of her people. Balint himself was given two silk ties and a silver cigarette case, the tenth of its kind, since Countess Roza had little imagination when it came to choosing presents and so gave him the same thing each year.
When the ceremony was over Balint produced the governor’s cup. He had been quite right, the choice had been perfect and his mother was overjoyed. Then they went back to the drawing-room to have the tea and stewed fruit which Countess Roza always liked have served in the evening. She carried the cup with her and sat down, still holding and caressing it and examining the inscription.
Balint told his mother all about the visit to Jablanka, and especially about Aunt Elise’s solicitous enquiries about her and about all her former acquaintance in Transylvania. They stayed up for a long time and Balint had the distinct impression that his mother now thought of nothing but the news he brought her. The thunderclouds seemed to have passed, and Countess Abady was all smiles and sweetness the whole evening.
Balint was thinking about this when he finally found himself alone in his room. It was possible that the old lady had come to believe that he had found a
new distraction at Jablanka, at the Szent-Gyorgyis’, for when he mentioned little Lili Illesvary, his mother had even smiled, with no sign of disapproval or that sharp nodding of the head which always signified anger or disbelief. Of course it was more than two months since he had seen Adrienne and no doubt his mother knew this and rejoiced because she believed that his infatuation was over. In fact the link between him and Adrienne had grown ever stronger, even though they had recently met so little. Until recently, since they had renewed their love, hardly a week or ten days had passed without their somehow contriving to meet either in public or in private, or even in some secret place where they would not have risked discovery. Since his last visit to Almasko Balint had decided that he did not dare visit his little lodge built where the Abady forests marched with those of Adrienne’s husband, for it would have seemed strange to go to the cabin in winter-time, when the Uzdy mansion was so close, and therefore he would be forced to stay in that hated house knowing what happened there between Adrienne and her unhinged husband. Adrienne too, though she never told Balint that her husband had followed her through the forest with a hunting rifle on his arm, had written saying that he should not come to Almasko. It was only because of this that they had not seen each other for the past two months.
Time and again Balint said to himself that this cat-and-dog existence was no life, no life at all. Now, on Christmas Eve, he felt it even more strongly and made up his mind, which had been strengthened by these endless weeks of separation, that somehow this sterile, frustrating, bleak existence must be ended; and he thought once more of his mother’s obstinate resistance and of Pal Uzdy’s madness and total incompatibility with his wife.
Finally he decided that as soon as Addy came back to Kolozsvar they must definitely arrange her divorce.
However, days and weeks went by and they brought no change. In the middle of January Adrienne wrote and said that she would not be able to move from Almasko for some time to come. Her daughter had developed measles and even though old Countess Uzdy took entire charge of the sickroom and practically denied Adrienne access to her child, she was still unable to get away.
Balint wrote to Gyeroffy at Christmas time and, in his own name and that of his mother, asked him to spend the New Year with them. He also mentioned that he had a letter for him from his aunt, Countess Elise. Laszlo did not answer and did not appear; and so Balint decided one day to take a hired sleigh, drive to Szamos-Kozard, and take his cousin by surprise. It would be better that way for if Laszlo saw one of the easily recognizable Denestornya carriages on the road he might take fright and vanish before Balint could find him. It was not far, only about five miles.
There was thick snow everywhere that year and it took nearly three hours for the heavy covered sleigh drawn by three horses to reach the village of Kozard. It was a good sleigh, for at that time there was no lack of excellent vehicles available for hire, and it drove merrily along with a happy jingle of silvery-toned bells. They arrived at midday and drove straight up to the little country house on its hilltop.
‘His Lordship is not at home,’ said Marton Balogh, Laszlo’s old manservant. ‘He went down to the village. Perhaps you might find him at the village store. I’m afraid I don’t really know.’
‘When do you expect his Lordship back?’ asked Balint, but the old man merely shrugged his shoulders, thinking that maybe his master had gone down for some country brandy and if that were so then his movements would be totally unpredictable.
Balint decided to walk down the hill and see for himself, and so he started off down the slippery snow-covered slope. Halfway down he met a young farmer, who was also the local civic deputy and who carried an official-looking paper in his hand. Balint asked him where he should find the village store and the young man pointed out the way.
Laszlo was indeed there.
He stood with his back to the shop door and on the other side of the counter was Bischitz, the owner of the shop, who was standing just in front of the glazed door which led to his private rooms behind the shop. All around them were the thousand different items which made up the stock of a village general shop – by the doors were bunches of harness and tack, scythes, hoes and spades tied together with twine; on the shelves were tobacco, vinegar, spices, sugar, rice, bottles of raw and refined alcohol, glasses, a pyramid of salt-blocks, a barrel of salted herrings and some stiff planks of dried cod leaning against it. From all this came a strong and rather disagreeable odour compounded principally of vinegar and tobacco with a strong dominant smell of the local aniseed-flavoured brandy.
When Balint opened the door of the shop a bell rang loudly above his head and Balint just had time to see the shopkeeper seize some bit of porcelain from Laszlo’s hands and whisk it out of sight. Only a bottle of plum brandy, and a single used glass, remained on the counter-top.
‘Well! And what brings you here?’ said Gyeroffy as soon as he saw who had come in. Balint could hear no sign of pleasure or welcome in his cousin’s voice, but rather a strong note of annoyance.
‘I came to see you. As you wouldn’t come to us it has to be a case of the mountain and Mohammed!’ Abady laughed good-humouredly. ‘So you see I’ve come to you.’
‘That old fool at the house could have come for me,’ growled Laszlo as he offered his cousin a glass of plum brandy. This Balint refused, with some impatience, saying, ‘If you’ve no further business here, we might as well leave, don’t you think?’
Gyeroffy looked hard at him.
‘No! I’ve nothing more to do here; and what there is can wait until this afternoon, can’t it, Bischitz? However I’ll have another dram even if you’re too grand to join me!’ and he swung himself round leaning on the counter in an obviously sulky temper. Bischitz refilled Laszlo’s glass, which the latter drained instantly before demanding another. When that too had been despatched the young man turned back and muttered, ‘Well, we can go now!’
Even so they did not leave at once for at this point the civic deputy came in. He too was looking for Count Gyeroffy.
‘This has come for you from the County Court,’ he said, handing Laszlo a sealed letter. Then he opened the book of receipts and said, ‘Sign here, please!’
‘Sign for me, Bischitz,’ said Laszlo, throwing down the official letter and refilling his glass. Abady glanced at the writing on the document which had fallen on the counter in front of him. He picked it up and looked inside. A man called E. Leo Kardos, resident of Budapest, had asked the court for a writ of seizure and the auction of Count Gyeroffy’s house and possessions.
‘But this is very serious!’ cried Balint. ‘Look! Everything goes to auction on April 15th!’
‘I’ve had lots of those,’ said Gyeroffy, before turning to the shopkeeper and saying, ‘Send it to Azbej, you know, like the others.’
Balint shook his head. He could hardly credit such fecklessness. ‘Perhaps it would be better if I took it to him?’ he suggested. ‘I’ll be seeing him tomorrow or the day after when I go to Denestornya.’
‘What for? You’ll send it, won’t you, Bischitz? It won’t be the first,’ said Laszlo in a mocking tone.
Now they really did start to go back to Laszlo’s house.
They did not say much to each other on the way. Balint was racking his brains as to how to get Laszlo out of all his trouble and how, too, to wean him from this solitary drinking. Only when they reached the house and had gone up to the former salon of the manor-house, which now served Laszlo as a bed-sitting-room, did he take out Countess Elise’s letter to her nephew. Before he handed it over he told Laszlo how lovingly they all thought about him at Jablanka, Aunt Elise, Magda, Pfaffulus, everybody … but he did not mention either Klara or Imre Warday.
A little stove had been installed in front of the French marble chimney-piece. A fire was burning in it and the smoke and fumes were led into the chimney by a rusty black metal tube. Laszlo stood beside the stove without saying a word, his eyes fixed upon the window and on the grey wintry sky beyond. He said
nothing during Balint’s long story about his cousins, and he still said nothing when Balint came to the end of his tale and handed over the letter. For a moment he held the envelope in his hand, then he waved it twice in the air before his face before grabbing it with both hands and tearing it to pieces unopened. With his boots still covered with snow he kicked the bits of paper into the fireplace surround.
This was such a surprise that Abady jumped up in protest, only to find that Laszlo was quite calm, saying, ‘I’ve done with that world for ever, do you understand? I don’t want anything from it and I don’t want to hear anything from it. Nothing! Nothing at all! For me those people no longer exist. For all I can care they may be dead, or they may never have existed. Never! Never!’
‘Why do you reject everyone who loves you and wants to help you?’ asked Balint gently.
‘I don’t want anyone to help me! Why can’t you all leave me in peace? Especially all those, those … there in Hungary!’ Laszlo was shouting now, and getting increasingly agitated as he whirled about the dirty, untidy room where every piece of furniture was piled with filthy unwashed articles of clothing and the ragged sofa covered in old books and papers.
His cousin felt deeply sorry for him and so he moved across the room and joined him. ‘All right! All right! Nobody’s forcing you to anything,’ he said, and then, so as to give Laszlo time to simmer down, took him by the arm and started walking up and down the room, chatting trivially about a number of other subjects. As they did so they passed several times the corner of the room where there stood a delicate old glass-fronted vitrine. Its dusty velvet-covered shelves were now almost empty. In one corner there was an old chipped Meissen coffee-pot and beside it a matching sugar bowl with a long crack on one side, things no one would buy. In several places imprints on the velvet, less dusty than elsewhere, showed where other objects had once been placed. So this is where the governor’s cup came from! thought Balint, and realized why even today the shopkeeper had been in such a hurry to hide something. With his usual instinctive urge to help others Balint, without thinking, stepped over to the vitrine and said, ‘You’ve been selling the china, haven’t you?’
They Were Found Wanting (Writing on the Wall: The Transylvania Trilogy) Page 24
