‘Thank you, sir, but I’m in rather a hurry and must get on. Goodbye, sir.’
They shook hands. Laszlo got back into his carriage and they were just moving off when Ambrus suddenly went up and leaned in towards him. ‘Wait a minute!’ he said, laughing. ‘Wait, I say!’
During their brief conversation he had been looking at the carriage and the horses. He had heard a rumour that Laszlo had been seen in Kolozsvar with the attractive Mrs Lazar and that he was now living with her. Ambrus never liked to hear of other men’s successes with women and now his own disastrous outing made him want to hit out. With a cruel and mischievous expression in his eyes, he was about to speak when Laszlo remonstrated. ‘Really, sir,’ he started, but Ambrus cut him short.
‘First of all, young fella-me-lad, don’t “Sir” me! I’m not that old! And now, what the Devil are you up to, cowering back in the shade in bright sunshine? You’re up to no good, I can see. What sort of funny business is it, then? Come on, out with it! Where are you off to? Whose carriage is this? Any fool can tell it’s not yours. Come on, out with it! I won’t let you go until you come clean.’ And he stuck his foot like a spoke up between Laszlo’s seat and the driver’s.
Laszlo did not really see any harm in all this and he was living such a calm natural life with the charming and kindly Sara that it never occurred to him to be anything but honest, let alone to protest.
‘I’m going to Mrs Bogdan Lazar’s place at Dezmer, and this is her carriage. It’s no secret.’
At Sara’s name Ambrus yanked out his foot and began an ironic dance of joy, twisting his body and stamping his feet and crying out, ‘Ay-yi-yi!’ while clapping his hands as if in applause. ‘That’s good, that is! That’s rich! Bravo, my boy. Ay-yi-yi! Free room and board … bed and breakfast. That’s rich, that is!’
And more in the same vein, but Laszlo did not wait to hear. His face darkened as he said curtly to the coachman, ‘Drive on!’
Ambrus shouted more coarse jokes after the rapidly disappearing carriage, but Laszlo heard nothing. He leaned back into the cushions and it was a few moments before he began to realize the full import of what Uncle Ambrus had been saying. Of course he had at once sensed that Ambrus was out to hurt and to offend but when he began to grasp Ambrus’s real meaning it was as if he had been hit by a sledgehammer.
It was some time before he had fully disentangled the implications of Ambrus’s mockery from the coarse way it had been expressed. For some time now Laszlo had floated through life without heeding what was happening around him, and so he needed a few moments to come down to earth. He had still not fully analysed his new train of thought when the carriage drew up at the station and Sara got in. They drove off at once.
After a few seconds Sara, after looking hard at Laszlo, said, ‘What is it? Something’s wrong, I can see. What’s happened?’
‘It’s nothing. Nothing at all, really. Why?’ replied Laszlo in the most casual tone he could muster; and he looked her full in the face trying hard to smile.
‘Are you sure? Do you feel all right? Something is wrong, isn’t it? What’s happened?’
‘No, no, nothing! Nothing at all!’ he answered and they took each other’s hands and looked hard into each other’s eyes for a long time, she with concern and he with a fear he could not understand. Then suddenly Laszlo’s internal brakes failed and he could no longer control himself. He buried his head on her shoulder and wept like a persecuted child. For a long time he cried, feeling without reason that he had somehow lost this sweet loving woman to whom he owed his rescue from the hell of the last few years. At this point he knew only too well that the day would soon come when he would reject and throw her away, just as he had rejected and thrown away everything good that had ever come to him. And so, in the grief this moment of self-knowledge brought him, he clung ever more closely to her, grabbing her arms, her shoulders, her hands, so as to make sure that at least for this moment she was still there beside him. Still there, still there …
It was as well that the rain-hood was still up so that they could stay clinging together without anyone seeing them. And nobody did see them.
The hare that was put up down by the river was a real St Hubert’s Day hare who clearly knew what was required of him. After showing himself several times on the crest of the hill – where the ladies could get a good glimpse of the hunt – he allowed himself to be caught after only twenty-five minutes of the chase. This, everyone agreed, was most considerate of him since it was time for the luncheon that had been prepared for them all at the Hubertus House.
The kill took place at a bend in the valley just beyond the last crest of the hills; and then, after the ‘worry-worry’ when the hounds had devoured the dead hare, most of the riders trotted back to the road to rejoin the ladies. Not the Master, however. Knowing the dangers of bringing a pack of hounds among such a crowd of horsemen, he took them off to drink at a spring on the hillside and then led them back to the crest of the hill, whence he could take them quietly back to their kennels.
A small band of riders stayed with him. These were Tisza and the two Whips; Abady, Farkas Alvinczy, Bogacsy, the retired major, and, of course, the two Laczok boys who would rather have died than miss a moment of their first hunt.
They were crossing a meadow at a slow trot and the hounds were widely spread out because it was unlikely that they would find here as they were riding through fields where the horses were always being taken for exercise.
Everyone was surprised, therefore, when a hare suddenly sprang out from behind a diminutive blackthorn bush.
The pack howled its delight and raced in pursuit. However, this was no young animal like the first quarry, but rather a huge meadow hare, strong and experienced, who had been chased by farm guard-dogs for several summers. He was in magnificent shape, well-muscled and gleaming with health; and as he ran it was clear that as yet he was not even in much of a hurry. With his great ears pricking backward and forward as he ran he made a few playful leaps as if to tell his pursuers he knew he could outdistance them all. Disdaining the usual advantage of racing uphill, he turned back to the north and sped away down the valley.
And so started one of the greatest runs of that season or any other.
The riders galloped gently across the soft meadow-grass. In a few moments they were down in the valley and there, clearly visible, was the great hare running smoothly up the hill on the other side.
The most notable feature of the Zsuk hunting grounds was that, though to the north the slopes were gentle and the fields rich and productive, on the southern side were steep cliffs with outcrops of bare rock emerging from the yellowing clay-skids. This was the chosen escape route of the quarry and with his long muscular hind legs he overcame all its difficulties so that he was already disappearing over the crest before the pack of harriers were barely one third of the way up the hillside.
Even so the hounds were naturally faster then the horses who, with the often considerable weight of their riders, needed to be carefully nurtured at this hazardous start to what promised to be a long run. The Master arrived at the summit soon after the pack and there he was joined by the rest of the field, some of whom rode up at a gentle canter while the others, more cautiously, took the hillside at a trot. When the Master arrived it was clear that the first of the hounds, which were the youngest and strongest and also, of course, the least experienced, had lost the scent and were nosing around in all directions and wagging their tails with excitement. Then there arrived the old lead-hound Toss-it-up and he, with years of experience behind him, hardly had his nose to the ground when he picked up the scent, let out a howl of delight, and raced off down the opposite side of the hill with the rest of the pack in full cry behind him. Again the hunt raced downhill.
However there were three hounds which did not hear the call as they were still searching some thorn bushes below the summit. From above Gazsi caught sight of them and spurred Honeydew again down the slippery clay slope. This the mare clearly did not
like and although she did as she was told she showed her disapproval by quickly turning a full circle on the twenty-degree slope, as if she were executing a quick waltz, and found time to buck at the same moment. It was one of her party tricks on bad ground. Most other horses would have lost their footing with such a caper and if they had not fallen themselves at least got shot of their rider. But Honeydew was a marvellous creature and Kadacsay an excellent horsemen.
Quite unperturbed by Honeydew’s eccentric prancing Gazsi had no sooner reached the lost hounds than he was cracking his whip, calling to them and leading them swiftly back up the hill at a fast canter before hurling himself forward to rejoin the rest of the pack.
Now they were all off at a dizzying pace. And this was not only because these Transylvanian-bred harriers, unlike their counterparts in England who were not known for speed, had become as fast as deer-hounds, but also because the hilly Zsuk country exacted a rather special technique of sparing the horses when going uphill but letting them take the sharp descents at a full gallop. This was the only way that the riders could keep up with the hounds, and both riders and horses had to learn what to do if they wanted to keep up – in old Hungarian hunting parlance to shincoraz, which came from the French chien-courant.
And so it was for the whole run. Down at full gallop, up gently. Down again, up again. Down, up; down, up; down, up – in a straight line like a Roman road.
The hounds streamed out behind the leader like a bouquet of yellow and white flowers. Only Kadacsay kept close behind the Master, while Tisza and Balint followed at a respectable distance so as not to crowd the pack. Kozma stayed behind them and Akos Alvinczy and Major Bogacsy a hundred yards behind them. Lastly came the Laczok boys whose two stallions, though excellent mounts, were somewhat slow and arrived at the crest of each hill just as the rest of the field were already behind the hounds at the bottom of the succeeding dip.
The weather now grew misty and it was difficult to see far ahead. As a result they could only rarely catch a glimpse of the hare. Even so they knew they were on the right track since Toss-it-up was leading the pack in full voice and he had never been known to make a mistake.
‘I’m sure the hounds have switched to a fox!’ Gazsi called out joyfully to Abady. ‘Such a miracle hare can’t exist!’ and to regain his place as chief Whipper-in he spurred his new thoroughbred up the hillside at the speed of a hurdle-race. Honeydew responded at once, eager and fresh, and quite unperturbed, heedless of the spurs. It was clear that she revelled in these long runs.
After a steep run downhill the bed of the valley and the river became wider. It was a place, called ‘Borsa’ from the hillside above it, where the banks were made of boggy mud and the water too wide to jump. Balint crossed by an old bridge but Gazsi lost time looking for a shallow fording place.
The Borsa hill was one of the highest in the district. Its sides were deeply eroded and in places very steep indeed. When the first riders arrived at the bottom of the hill they found that even the hounds had had to spread out among the little bushes that were all that grew on that bare earth. Even so they did not have to wait, for the pack soon found the scent again and as the first four horsemen dug their spurs in to take the slope without drawing breath, the hare, who had stopped running for a moment, jumped up just ahead of the lead-hound.
So there, for all to see, was proof that it was no fox but still that mighty hare himself.
Once over the crest he needed all his strength to make one last effort and reach the shelter of a densely-grown thicket in the centre of a wood some five hundred yards ahead on the borders of the neighbouring Doboka County.
The rest had done him no good. The effort was too now much for him. He shot ahead of the hounds before falling back only to try again. And then, quite suddenly, he made a great leap in the air and fell dead in front of them without being touched by the hounds. All around him they milled; but they did not touch him. They too were exhausted and they just gazed up at their master with tongues hanging out and it seemed that they might have been saying, ‘Well, we did well, didn’t we?’
As the Master dismounted he called back to the three who had kept up with him, ‘That run lasted a hundred and three minutes!’
He lifted up the hare; it was as stiff as a board.
When the others had also dismounted, their horses did not have to be held; even Honeydew was as mild and tame as anyone could have wished.
‘What a run! Wonderful! Wonderful! This’ll be a day to remember!’
Everyone was repeating the same words and congratulating each other and trying to work out how far it was from the Zsuk meadow to the Doboka boundary, for this is what they had taken at a gallop without a check. It must have been twelve or fourteen kilometres; uphill-downhill all the way! That said something for their horses and for the hounds! They were still talking of nothing else when the rest of the field turned up, first Aron Kozma, then Bogacsy on his sturdy chestnut; a little later came Farkas Alvinczy who was covered with mud from a fall at the Borsa creek and finally, happy and flushed with victory, the two Laczok boys and their groom.
‘Well, you boys,’ laughed Gazsi as they cantered up, ‘you’re in luck to have such a run the first time out.’ And Balint thought he must write to his mother to let her know instantly how the new mare from Denestornya had stood the pace, how she hadn’t hesitated for a moment and was one of the four to be in at the kill – and two of them English thoroughbreds; also what good condition she was in with tendons strong as iron and no sign of a saddle sore. Why, she had hardly been sweating at all, even at the finish. He knew how pleased his mother would be, for she loved her horses as much as if they had been her own children.
After finding some water for the hounds they started for home, riding straight across country, but very slowly as it was obvious that the hounds were now very tired.
The afternoon light was fading and from the west the sun was setting in a blaze of red. From the top of each hill-crest the hills ahead were silhouetted in wavy lines of deep lilac shadow and resembled the huge waves of a petrified ocean.
The Master, the Laczok boys, Farkas Alvinczy and Bogacsy rode ahead of the others. Tisza had stopped to light a cigar and as Balint and Gazsi had waited for him those three were now somewhat behind, riding three abreast with loose reins. For a while no one spoke.
‘I’d like to ask you something,’ said Gazsi at last, turning to Tisza who nodded to him to go on. It was merely this, went on Gazsi: as a hussar officer on the reserve list he had been given a secret order to keep his regiment informed at all times of his whereabouts. Just that, nothing else: but the more he thought this over the more it seemed to him that the only reason could be a possible mobilization because of the Bosnian affair. And mobilization meant that there was a possibility of war. Could this really be possible, he wondered, and went on to ask why, if that were possible, anyone had even considered the annexation?
Though a political leader and former Minister-President, Tisza was not normally given to talk about such matters, and in any case there were few men with whom he would have discussed affairs of state. But he approved of Abady, who had selflessly undertaken much important work, and who had been sensible enough not to join any of the quarrelsome political parties. He had also been attracted to Kadacsay because of something he had said some while before.
At the time of the 1905 elections there had been an argument in the Casino Club of Kolozsvar with most of those present reviling Tisza, who at that time was still in office. Gazsi had defended him until someone shouted, ‘You’re no better than a traitor, talking like that! You’d sell your own country next!’
Then Kadacsay inclined his great woodpecker nose and replied, rolling his ‘r’s, ‘Of cour-r-rse I’d sell it. Sell it r-r-right now. But no one would buy it while you lot still lived here!’
There had been a roar of laughter, and then everyone had calmed down for in Transylvania a good joke wiped everything else from people’s minds. Nevertheless it had taken courag
e to reply like that in the overheated atmosphere of those days, and so Tisza was honouring his honesty when he decided for once to say what was in his heart.
Tisza began by saying that no matter what political problems arose nor what international friction resulted, the crisis would eventually be smoothed away without further complications. And this would in no small measure be due to Austria’s overwhelming military strength.
He went on in much the same vein, developing his arguments rather as if he were rehearsing for himself a speech he would later make in the Upper House, outlining in hard dry phrases the significance of the nation’s current foreign policy and what were the implications for the future.
‘Personally,’ he said, ‘I am convinced that the annexation was necessary; and so I am ready to bear its consequences. There is no point in discussing whether the government took all the necessary diplomatic precautions or exercised the desired-for tact in carrying it out.’ He refused even to discuss such aspects of the affair and would advise everyone to refrain from such a profitless activity. It was every patriotic Hungarian’s bounden duty to support the actions of the monarch, for internal solidarity was of prime importance to any healthy country faced with opposition or danger from abroad. The uproar created by the other great powers in Europe was quite out of proportion to the real importance of this matter.
‘All this consternation,’ he said, ‘is just an exercise in rabble-rousing directed against the Dual Monarchy.’ It was, of course, he explained, led by the English, whose disingenuous action in making out that Austria-Hungary had only done it so as to stab the Turkish constitution in the back was obviously motivated by spite. England was now using the Turks as a pretext for her concern, just as she had the Poles in the sixties and the Danes in the Schleswig-Holstein affair. The only effect of this simulated concern for other people was to arouse their passions and create false hopes about matters which would soon be dropped in mid-stream. What was certain, however, was that the fifteen-year-old peace in the Balkans was at an end and that Europe was now entering the first, and perhaps most serious, phase of a new East-West confrontation. The Dual Monarchy must now draw its own conclusions from the electric atmosphere in the Balkans, must be even more alert than before for signs of trouble; and, above all, must be ready to make unexpected sacrifices.
They Were Found Wanting (Writing on the Wall: The Transylvania Trilogy) Page 42
