They Were Found Wanting (Writing on the Wall: The Transylvania Trilogy)

by Bánffy, Miklós

  The foreign minister Aehrenthal, it seemed, was anxious to settle everything peacefully. As a career diplomat he naturally favoured making agreements without resorting to force, for if the guns were once fired then any subsequent arrangement would be due to the military and not to the diplomatists. For him the true art of foreign politics lay in sitting around a baize-covered table until war was definitely avoided. Opposing this view the war minister, Conrad, strongly urged a sudden attack to eliminate the Serbian opposition, draw Bulgaria back into the Austrian fold and restore the Monarchy’s dwindling prestige in the Balkans. In this he may have been right. It was certainly the last moment when such a move would have been possible, for most of the other great powers had let Austria know that she had a free hand in the matter while Russia was not yet ready to intervene. However the Emperor wanted peace and so, for once, did Franz-Ferdinand, for though he detested Aehrenthal because of his support for Hungarian national aspirations, he hated Conrad even more. In Vienna, therefore, there was a triangular battle behind the scenes in which personal animosity carried more weight than political acumen.

  During these winter months it was only possible for Balint and Adrienne to see each other sporadically. Adrienne was busy arranging to spend more and more time away from her husband so as to accustom him to her absence. Had she come to Kolozsvar they could have often been together now that Margit had flown the nest and so, knowing that she would not have been able to resist the temptation, she went to her father’s house for weeks on end on the pretext that old Count Akos was not well and that Judith’s condition had taken a turn for the worse. In this way she could prepare the ground for her divorce, for as yet she did not dare either raise the subject or do anything to bring it about. Her little daughter was still at Meran with her husband’s mother and she was convinced that Countess Clémence would never let the child go back to her mother if she caught the slightest whiff of Adrienne’s plans for divorce. And under no circumstances did she wish to risk the little girl being left with the half-mad Pali Uzdy. So she had to be careful.

  It would only, she told herself and Balint, be for a few more months, but until then they had both to be very circumspect and meet only occasionally and for brief encounters, lest anything should happen to destroy their chances.

  Now their aim was not only to be always together, possessing each other and wanting nothing more as in the first days of their love. Their longing for a child had become their deepest desire and the phantom boy who held their minds in thrall became more and more real to them as each day passed. In their letters they wrote of little else.

  In Adrienne it was symptomatic of the deepest of all female instincts, the urge to give birth and be a mother. It was the strongest expression of a woman’s love that she could give what to them both would be the most precious gift, the richest in shared joy and rejoicing. And the greatest gift any woman can give a man is the child of their love, borne in joyfully accepted pain and in danger of her life.

  This is what Adrienne felt during those months and it was with growing joy that she read in Balint’s letters how he shared her yearning. It was a double joy for she knew that the desire to be a father was not natural to all men but rather an acquired social instinct, unknown to primitive peoples and only fostered by the growth of civilization. Even so the urge was strong in some men and Adrienne was all the more grateful that it was so strong in Balint.

  Sometimes in Balint’s letters he referred to the themes he had taken up in his unfinished treatise ‘Beauty in Action’, when he tried to show that all the beauty in the world stemmed from a law of nature. Then he had been under the influence of the first mutual declaration of their love for each other. Now, that Beauty was to be the beauty of their future lives together when they could declare their love to the world and live freely and frankly without lies or pretence. And the culmination of this freedom would be the birth of an heir, who would carry on his race and all that his parents held sacred. This heir would love everything they loved, their honour, traditions and the family home where these had been nurtured. He in turn would pass it all on to the next generation, and the next, and the next, for an infinity of human tradition in which Balint saw himself merely as a link in that never-ending chain which tied the past to the future. In this way his love for Adrienne, which had begun as desire to possess the woman he loved, was gradually transformed, by the idea of this longed-for birth of a son, into the adoration for the most beautiful and graceful of mothers.

  After his return to Budapest Balint went once or twice to visit his mother at Abbazia, but he never stayed more than a few days lest the joy of seeing each other again should wear thin and the suppressed enmity between them be allowed to surface again.

  One day at the end of February when he entered his hotel on returning from Abbazia, the hall porter told him that a Mr Frankel, the managing director of a timber firm that handled the produce of the Abady forests, had come twice to see him. Balint assumed that he wanted to discuss some matter relating to his own affairs and, as he was rather pressed to complete writing the speech in which he would support a new bill in Parliament concerning the co-operative societies, he decided for the moment to delay telling Frankel of his return.

  He was sitting at his desk, surrounded by charts and tables and other statistics, when at about noon the door was quietly opened and Dinora Malhuysen slipped into the room.

  ‘What are you doing, Little Boy?’ she asked from the door. ‘Working hard, I suppose. My! How important we’ve become!’ She laughed as she came towards him. Then she lightly tapped his cheek and sank down into an armchair, opening as she did so the soft chinchilla collar round her throat. She leaned back.

  ‘Dear Dinora, what an unexpected pleasure!’

  ‘Unexpected? Naturally! Anyway, you can talk! You never once came to see me! It wasn’t at all nice of you. You’ve never even seen my lovely new flat in Szemelynok Street. You can’t spend all your time at that boring Parliament. Couldn’t you spare a moment to come and see me … or don’t you want to?’

  Balint smiled. ‘Of course I do. I love seeing you!’

  ‘Well then? But, seriously, I’ve always thought of you as my best friend, perhaps the only one. That’s why I came … I have something important to ask you. Will you do it, Little Boy? Do you remember “Little Boy”?’ and Dinora’s sensuous lips framed the little phrase with special significance because it had been her special nickname for him when they had been lovers. Even so her eyes revealed how anxious she was.

  ‘If you tell me what it is, and if I can, then I will, of course.’

  ‘I knew you would! Well, it’s like this, Zsig … Zsigmond Boros, you know who I mean, well, he’s been very good to me, and I want to ask you – please don’t do anything to harm him. You won’t, will you? Please don’t! It’d be such a little thing to you, but to me it’s very important. And he’s not a bad man, not really. You won’t do anything, will you? For my sake?’

  Balint frowned. He realized that it must have been Boros himself who had sent his mistress to plead for him, that darling foolish scatter-brained little Dinora; but as he had no intention of pursuing Boros anyway he promised to desist quite easily.

  ‘Don’t worry, darling Dinora, I won’t hurt him. You can rely on that.’

  She jumped up and pressed her lips to his and kissed him repeatedly, saying each time, ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!’

  When he was finally able to disentangle himself Balint said, ‘You know I never said anything about Boros at that meeting at Vasarhely. I didn’t even know that he was in any way involved in … in that sort of thing.’

  ‘Oh, you are good! Good and kind! I’m so relieved, so glad,’ and she started to twirl about the room in a little light-hearted dance of joy. Then she stopped and looked coquettishly back at Balint, ‘You know … if ever you’re bored I’m always … well, I wouldn’t hold you to anything…’ and her eyes made it clear that this was the only way she knew to express her gratitude.

/>   ‘Thank you, my sweet Dinora, but at present I am not bored,’ he said with a smile, though the truth was that indeed he was, bored and unhappy; but to share her with someone like Boros? It would be better, he decided, to avoid her for a little while.

  ‘That’s quite all right. I only said it so that you’d know and … Well, goodbye now, goodbye.’ And she went out as swiftly as she had come in.

  That same afternoon the porter rang up to say that Mr Frankel had called. Balint, who was tired from all the work he had been doing, was only too pleased to be interrupted and so asked for him to be sent up.

  Frankel had not come to discuss the affairs of the Abady forest holdings. He came for something quite different, and he brought with him a whole stack of official-looking papers. These proved to be copies of documents and correspondence between the Ministry of Trade and the State Railways concerning the monopoly contract signed by the Minister with the Eisler Timber Company. There was also one other paper; it was a photograph of a receipt for 100,000 crowns given to Dr Boros by Eisler and Company.

  ‘I am aware,’ said Frankel, ‘that your Lordship has already referred publicly to Dr Boros’s activities. That is why I have made so bold as to bring these documents for your perusal. Should your Lordship feel disposed to take up this matter, which is of the greatest possible interest both to forest owners and to the timber trade, both of which feel that a most unfair irregularity has been committed and that the contract would be sure to be cancelled if the whole truth were known.’

  For a moment Balint did not answer. He looked through the documents that Frankel had brought, and as he did so he realized why it was that Dinora had so hurriedly come to see him that morning. It could only have been that Boros had somehow heard that the timber merchants had got something on him and were about to appeal to Abady for help, and that he had sent Dinora hotfoot to forestall them.

  The papers that Frankel had brought were irrefutable proof of the irregularity and dishonesty of the official proceedings and Boros’s signed receipt spelt professional death at that time when to be found out was the ultimate sin.

  ‘Why,’ asked Abady as he handed back the dossier, ‘do you come to me? There are many other Members who speak more frequently than I do and whose words carry more weight. Any one of them would handle this matter far better than I would. I … I … am really not the best man for it.’

  Frankel shook his head.

  ‘Only your Lordship could do this properly. Dr Boros has a high position in the Independence Party and the deal was signed by Kossuth. No one in the party would handle it and there is no one who has left the party who would be taken seriously. Almost no one would be likely to come forward from the Constitution or People’s Parties because the only person capable of achieving their policies as regards the general franchise or the banking question would be Kossuth, and he is clearly as much out of the running as Justh. What we need is someone who is truly independent, who has no party ties and who cannot be suspected of any motive of personal gain. Your Lordship owns forests, it is true, but they do not produce timber suitable for railway sleepers. Everyone would know that Count Abady spoke only in the public interest.’

  ‘All the same I will not do it,’ said Abady drily. ‘Kossuth is an honourable man who certainly signed in good faith. The only thing you can accuse him of is ignorance or gullibility; and in so doing you cast a slur on him he does not deserve. No! I will not do it.’

  ‘Pity,’ said Frankel as he got up and replaced the dossier in his briefcase. Then he added, ‘If your Lordship should at any time change your mind and need these papers they will always be at your disposal.’ Then he said goodbye and left the room.

  Balint smiled as the door closed behind his departing visitor. He knew that he would never have agreed to do as Frankel wished, but it pleased him all the same that he had been able so soon to keep his promise to Dinora.

  The new tax proposals were bitterly attacked in Parliament, and in particular the concessions to the co-operatives. At that time so much importance was given to the principle of private enterprise that people even saw injustice if the state reduced the burden on organizations designed to help the under-privileged.

  Most of the members looked askance at the whole co-operative movement, partly because its principal supporters were Sandor Karolyi, Gyorgy Banffy, Zselinsky and Aurel Dessewffy, all of them aristocrats. Istvan Bernath and Rubinak were country-bred members of the Agrarian Party which favoured giving voting rights to agricultural workers and in any case kept well away from everyday political issues while avoiding allegiance to any party. Others objected on obscure theoretical grounds of their own.

  The principle of free enterprise, unhampered by any control of prices, was held sacrosanct, as were the traditional notions of astronomy. In 1908 people were not to know that even these last were soon to be challenged by Einstein’s theory of relativity!

  In the popular view anything that deviated from what was held to be the accepted order of matters economic, anything that gave added value to state enterprises or indeed any other concern, however altruistic, was held to be a sin against received truth – for such was the usual view of the principle of free enterprise.

  And so the new tax proposals, especially as regards the co-operatives, which, though presented by the Minister-President Wekerle had been worked out by Daranyi, the Minister for Agriculture, were hotly contested. No one seemed to notice that by so doing they were not only giving support to those owners of village stores and innkeepers who lent money at exorbitant interest, but also penalizing the peasants who actually worked the land.

  There were also those who supported the Bill, and among them was Abady.

  This time he spoke better than he had two years before, so much so that he was listened to with interest, especially by Daranyi, who once or twice nodded his approval. Even so it was clear to him that the majority did not take the co-operatives all that seriously. Doubtless they thought some other matters more pressing, especially as at that very moment the banking questions were being discussed in committee in another room.

  Every now and then members would rush into the chamber with news of how matters were going at the committee session and how the atmosphere there was getting hotter and hotter. Finally it was heard that the government had managed to get the discussion adjourned before it had been taken to a vote.

  Balint gathered up his papers and stepped out into the corridor where he found a large group of other Members all discussing the day’s affairs. On the far side stood Boros who, when he saw Abady, made a movement as if he would walk over to congratulate him. As it happened he only started to make such a movement as Balint quickened his pace and passed by swiftly. This happened so rapidly that no one noticed – but Boros knew instinctively that Abady had hurried away on purpose, and in this he was perfectly right, for Balint really had felt disinclined to shake hands with the lawyer in front of so many people. To do so would have been tantamount to telling the world that they were friends.

  For a brief moment Boros watched Abady walk away. He frowned, then he turned once again to the group who were still deep in discussion of the banking question.

  At once he dominated the argument, giving his opinion precisely and in the most lucid language. He defended Kossuth’s view even though it was opposed by the committee, and explained why the link with Austrian banking was so important. He found some touching phrases to describe the ailing party leader and indeed he served his master well for, at least as long as he was speaking, even Justh’s followers found themselves in agreement. And, as always, he spoke beautifully, tear-wringing phrases fell from his mouth expressed in sonorous tones as rich as any cathedral organ. He was a master of oratory, ready, no matter how hard-pressed by worries, to express the most beautiful sentiments, using his voice like a well-tuned instrument from which he could obtain whatever effects he desired.

  At this time he really did have a great deal on his mind. Since the meeting at Vasarhely quite a number o
f his clients seemed to have lost faith in him. For many years he had had the management of a number of private fortunes. Most of the landowners in the Maros valley lived entirely by the advice he gave and even left their money and their valuables in his care. Nobody had ever questioned his accounts or enquired how their money had been invested. Now everything had changed. Boros was besieged with letters every day, some making polite enquiries, but others there were who demanded immediate and detailed statements of account. Some made sinister references to the law and legal obligations.

  Boros’s first action was to do what he had always done: he robbed Peter to pay Paul, using one client’s money to satisfy another. This he had done for many years, optimistically assuming that he would never be unable to replace whatever was necessary out of the huge professional fees he earned. Hitherto this system had served him well, but now everybody seemed to want satisfaction at the same time. This spelt trouble.

  And trouble it certainly was, for Boros had no reserves of any kind. What he earned he spent, at once, and usually considerably more. His home and family cost a lot, for his wife liked to cut a dash at Vasarhely; but the real expense had been his annual visits abroad to such fashionable watering-places as Deauville or Biarritz where he lived the life of a bachelor whose hobby was keeping beautiful women. Beautiful they were, of course, but always very expensive. And recently there had been Dinora. He had bought her a flat and furniture and many splendid presents. He made out to her that it all came from the income of her property at Maros-Szilvas, but whatever he told her was never questioned by Dinora who merely enjoyed the life they led together. This life cost Boros a staggering sum, and the 100,000 crowns he had recently received were soon spent, as much of it had to be paid out to stop the clamouring mouths of suspicious clients. Even so it was not enough, for there were legions of them and as soon as one was satisfied his place was taken by others … more, and more, and more. Some he was able to send away with a draft without heeding that it might never be honoured.