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

by Bánffy, Miklós

  Having calmed his parliamentary colleagues with his eloquence he left the building and went straight to Dinora’s flat where he usually lunched even though he still lived in his own old apartment across the river in Buda. This arrangement was in any case soon to be ended for he had recently been able to acquire the top floor flat above Dinora’s and had planned to move there as soon as he had time to do so.

  From the Parliament building to Dinora’s was only a matter of a few hundred yards. By the time he arrived Boros had come to a decision.

  Abady had neatly avoided him and this could not be accepted. He absolutely had to catch him and force him to shake hands where everyone could see. If he could do this all would be well, for it would be the equivalent of giving satisfaction, almost of an acknowledgement that Boros was blameless. If he did not shake hands then he must be challenged to a duel. That would perhaps be best, for a duel on such a serious matter would solve everything. When the legal year closed there was always calm for a few weeks. So it would be if he managed to shoot Abady, for people were such cowards that no one would blame him. And if the opposite occurred … well, that too would be a solution.

  He rang for the lift attendant and as he went up he counted the floors, each marked by a faint clanking sound as he passed … two, three, four, five. His own flat was on the sixth floor, right at the top. When the lift gates were opened he looked first up and then down through the mesh of the lift shaft. They had come up in seconds – and yet it was a long way down.

  Balint went to Transylvania for ten days, three of which he spent at Denestornya, two in the mountains, and the rest of the time at Kolozsvar so as to see Adrienne who had to pass through the town and stopped there just so that they could have a few hours together.

  He returned to Budapest by the morning express and at the station found two of his acquaintances who were travelling by the same train. They were Count Adam Alvinczy, father of the four Alvinczy boys, and Tamas Laczok. Alvinczy seemed worried, as indeed he was for his son Farkas who was now in Parliament and had got himself so into debt that his father was going to Budapest to see what could be done to settle the problem.

  Laczok was in radiant good humour.

  ‘Salut!’ cried Laczok as soon as he saw Balint approaching, and then explained that he too was on his way to the capital to deal with ‘une énorme affaire’ which he would explain as soon as they were settled in the train.

  ‘I found out,’ he began, ‘that the Minister of Agriculture is the final authority on all that concerns the affairs of community properties in the country districts’ and so he was now on his way to the Ministry. Even though Abady – ‘mon jeune ami’ – seemed disinclined to have any part in exposing the scandal of the settlement of the lawsuit against the Laczok Timber Company he, Tamas Laczok, was not the man to give up so easily. All right, it was possible that Boros had won the first round, had managed to have himself cleared of any underhand dealings by the Law Society’s investigation and had even brought a suit for slander against the newspaper that had published the allegations against him; so he would now have to be tackled in a different way. This time Laczok would go direct to the Minister and demand that he send inspectors to the community concerned and take over its administration. If this happened then someone would be sure to talk. ‘Here,’ shouted Laczok, ‘here are all the details they need. Tous les documents, mon cher! Tous les documents!’

  Balint gazed at the squat little man with wry amusement. He was a bizarre figure, sitting there in the railway carriage, bolt upright like a Chinese statuette with long pointed beard and bald head. His slanting eyes glistened with eagerness and expectation and from time to time he slapped at his briefcase with his short fat arms and cried, ‘Mon frère Jeno, il va en crever – my brother Jeno will do a bust!’

  My brother will do a bust! This was the only thing that really mattered to him: My brother will do a bust!

  Once again the capital was bombarded with disquieting news from abroad. Troops were sent to the southern border; and, even more seriously, the government declared the imposition of censorship.

  In Russia the foreign minister Izvolsky told the Austro-Hungarian ambassador that though his masters were at one with the other great powers they still wanted an international conference to discuss the Bosnian annexation. Hope flared in Belgrade where everyone clamoured for war.

  The Ballplatz replied by leaking the fact that Serbia would soon be issued with an ultimatum; but the Serbs went on mobilizing just the same.

  The Monarchy found itself on the threshold of war.

  While the storm clouds gathered both the Austrian and the Hungarian Parliaments found themselves beset with other problems. In Vienna the recent concessions to Budapest concerning the administration of the joint armies were violently attacked, and this despite the fact that both the foreign minister Aehrenthal and the war minister agreed that they were a good basis for the modernizing of the army. Behind these attacks stood the sinister figure of the Heir to the throne. Franz Ferdinand did nothing himself; but it was his intimate friends who provoked all these attacks, and they did it on his orders.

  In Budapest parliamentary business was in a turmoil with everything turned upside-down. The committee considering the banking question threw out all the proposals put before it and this was taken as a triumph by the men surrounding Justh, who did not even try to conceal their joy.

  Those radical followers of Hollo and Barra stamped about the corridors of the House like generals after a great victory and if their footsteps did not resound it was only because the carpets were so thick. The government was powerless and only remained in office because of the foreign situation.

  This was the atmosphere that Abady found in the corridors of the House. Here he found the scent of triumph too strong to be supported, and so he retired to the almost deserted drawing-room.

  For almost half an hour he allowed himself to be bored to distraction by Isti Kamuthy who mouthed endless political platitudes at him – all, of course, from what Isti believed to be the soundest of English sources – until he suddenly noticed that Zsigmond Boros had just entered the room by a door on the opposite side. Out of the corner of his eye Balint saw the lawyer look around and at once realized that he was probably looking for him. Indeed he started to walk towards him in a most decided manner.

  Balint took out his watch, glanced at it and turned quickly to Isti. ‘I must run! Servus!’ he said quickly and turning away left the room abruptly. Little Isti was much put out as he was right in the middle of what he considered to be a very clever sentence indeed.

  Chapter Three

  THAT AFTERNOON two Members of Parliament came to call upon Abady. They were well-known seconds who were always employed when any matters of honour were concerned and had acted at the duel when old Keglevitch had been killed by a thrust to the heart.

  ‘On behalf of our friend Zsigmond Boros,’ said the elder of the two, ‘we have come to demand satisfaction. Our friend could not help noticing that your Lordship intentionally and most offensively rose and turned away when our friend was about to greet him this morning. According to our friend this was not the first time that such a thing has occurred but until this morning our friend could not be sure that your Lordship’s apparent attitude was intentional. Today, however, it was so obvious as to leave no room for doubt.’

  Balint answered icily, ‘I am free to come and go as I please, am I not?’

  ‘Of course, but our friend is entitled to feel himself insulted if someone leaves the room because of him.’

  Now the other second spoke up. ‘Our friend will only be satisfied if your Lordship declares most solemnly that he did not intentionally avoid Dr Zsigmond Boros and, on the contrary, that he holds him in high esteem. Furthermore our friend demands that your Lordship beg his pardon verbally in front of witnesses as well as in writing!’

  At this Balint started to laugh. ‘I really see no reason to beg anyone’s pardon, let alone Dr Boros’s. However,’ he went on s
eriously, ‘I suppose you had better be in touch with my seconds. Please inform me where they can find you tomorrow morning. I am not sure that I can be in touch with them any earlier.’

  ‘From ten o’clock … at the House.’

  They bowed stiffly and left the room.

  What an absurd performance, thought Balint – stupid, stupid, stupid! Perhaps it had been rather conspicuous, the way he had got up and left the room so suddenly. Of course it had been clumsily done, but what had been the alternative? However the fact that Boros would not be satisfied by a simple straightforward explanation but was pressing for what amounted to a Certificate of Good Conduct made it clear that the lawyer wanted something beyond a normal settlement. What it was Balint did not then grasp, but in the meantime he would have to find seconds himself. He had no idea who to ask; certainly no one in politics or this would become a political affair.

  Then he realized it might be best to get someone from Transylvania, someone serious who was unlikely to do or say anything foolish and who was respected by everyone. Far better go to one of his own countrymen. Keep it in the family!

  His recent travelling companion, the older Adam Alvinczy, occurred to him. It was the ideal solution, for Count Adam had acted in a number of such affairs of honour and always with restraint and good sense, though he was no genius when it came to brains. Although his son Farkas was a Member of Parliament he sat as an independent, so that no one could say there was any political reason for Balint having chosen his father.

  He asked the hall porter of his hotel to telephone round and find out where Alvinczy was staying. He soon had the answer: it was the Pannonia Hotel and Count Alvinczy was at home at that moment.

  Balint had himself driven there at once, and the old gentleman agreed with alacrity, asking only who should be asked to act with him.

  ‘I leave that to you,’ replied Balint. ‘I should prefer whoever it is also to be from Transylvania, but it doesn’t really matter. I don’t think anyone too young would be really suitable,’ he added, so as to make sure that he did not ask Kamuthy.

  ‘All right, my boy. I’ll have a look round at once.’

  Later that evening Balint, who was then at the Casino Club, was called to the telephone.

  ‘I just wanted to let you know that I’ve found the ideal man, someone who fits your needs perfectly. I have asked him without waiting to consult you. It’s Miklos Absolon, who is staying at Rudas having treatment for his bad leg.

  ‘Oh!’ said Balint. ‘Oh! Absolon!’ and there was no mistaking the disappointment in his voice. The old man noticed at once and said, ‘Don’t you like him? I thought you’d be pleased!’

  ‘Well, yes, of course he’s an excellent choice; but he’s hotly opposed to the Independence Party at home in Maros-Torda, while Boros is their champion there … so people might think there was something political in all this.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that!’ said the older man. ‘But you did authorize me to act and as he’s already accepted it would be difficult to go back on it now.’

  ‘Oh, no, for Heaven’s sake! Not now! Anyway I’m very grateful and you’re the man in charge. You’ve far more experience than I have in these affairs, so I trust your judgement.’

  ‘You can rely on me,’ Alvinczy assured him, ‘to see that no irrelevant side issues are brought into this. But thank you for warning me all the same.’

  The next day Balint was visited by Alvinczy and Absolon who had already spoken to Boros’s seconds.

  ‘What they want is quite absurd. It’s sufficiently unusual to ask for an apology,’ said Alvinczy, after telling Abady that they had insisted on exactly what they had demanded the day before, ‘but to ask you to humble yourself publicly is really going too far. I will not agree!’ He then added that they now said that if their demands were not accepted they would insist upon the most punitive conditions allowed by the duelling code.

  As yet Miklos Absolon had held his peace. Now he placed his short crutch on a nearby table and his bad leg on the chair opposite him. Balint noticed with renewed amazement how much he looked like his nephew Pali Uzdy, despite not being tall and having such broad shoulders. He must once have been a powerful man, reflected Balint and, looking at his typically Tartar face with its wide cheekbones, it was easy to believe that, when he travelled Tibet in disguise, people really took him for a Kirgiz nomad.

  He took out a very black cigar and in one movement bit off the end with his snow-white teeth, spat it out, and said, ‘As I see it the essence of the matter is this: did you avoid shaking hands with Boros on purpose or not? If it was sheer chance, then you shake hands now and that will be an end of it. If on the other hand – and this I’d find quite natural – you avoided him deliberately, then the matter is quite different.’ His slanting eyes glistened as he looked hard at Balint. ‘So answer that, my boy!’

  ‘I knew exactly what I was doing. I did it on purpose.’

  ‘May I ask why?’

  Abady hesitated. Then he said, ‘That I would prefer not to say!’

  ‘So,’ said the old explorer mockingly. ‘You don’t want to say. Well, well!’ He took his leg off the chair in front of him, stamped it on the ground and then looked up seriously at the younger man. ‘I must tell you that if you will not explain yourself because you have given your word of honour not to, or if a woman is involved, you need not answer. In all other cases you are obliged to do so. We are your seconds and we have a right to know.’

  ‘I don’t agree,’ said Alvinczy mildly, because he did not care for Absolon’s hectoring tone and had been fidgeting in his chair since he had begun his interruption. ‘If Abady doesn’t want to say … well, that’s his affair and does not concern us.’

  ‘But it does!’ shouted Absolon, curling back his lips in a snarl. ‘If our young friend has good reason to refuse to shake hands with Boros then we have to know what they are. Would you allow him to engage in what might be a mortal contest with an unworthy opponent, someone who may not even have the right to fight a duel? Just think of it: Balint might be killed and the truth only come to light when it was too late. It would be unthinkably negligent on our part to let such a thing happen. It does concern us and it is our responsibility!’

  At the word ‘responsibility’ Alvinczy caved in.

  ‘I’m sorry! You are right, of course, absolutely right.’ From then on the discussion was conducted entirely by Absolon. Balint realized that he had to answer their question. So he explained, as briefly as possible, that since the Vasarhely meeting he had been sent a pile of documents all accusing Boros of dishonesty and corrupt pleading. Some of the tales may have been exaggerated but many were obviously true enough. That was why he did not wish to shake hands with the man and, since he had not consciously intended to offend Boros, he regretted that the lawyer had noticed it. ‘But I would rather fight with him,’ he said, ‘than publish all that dirt. I don’t want to destroy him, it’s not in my nature, but neither do I want anyone to think that I raked all this up just to save my own skin.’

  ‘So you’d rather shoot it out with a rogue like him. That’s what he is and we both know it!’

  ‘Yes,’ said Balint drily. ‘And that’s why I’m asking you not to make any use whatever of what I’ve just told you!’

  ‘Indeed! I see.’

  There was silence for a moment while Balint and Absolon looked hard at each other. Then the old traveller started to laugh, ‘All right then, we agree … but I’ll keep it in mind all the same.’

  Now it was Alvinczy’s turn to object. He burst out, saying, ‘Excuse me, my friends, but I cannot and will not agree. It is contrary to all the rules,’ and he started to explain that it was quite wrong to allow the man they represented to face a possible death just because he refused to reveal his reasons. ‘No! No! No!’

  Absolon reacted only with a superior smile. He got up, took his crutch in one hand and with the other patted old Alvinczy on the shoulder.

  ‘I’ll explain it to you late
r,’ he said. Then he turned to Balint. ‘You can rely on me. I’ll arrange everything just as you wish. May I therefore just say that you had no intention to offend?’

  ‘By all means.’

  ‘All right. Leave the rest to me.’

  When Balint was alone he found that he was extremely put out. He regretted that he had not followed his original instinct, which had been to protest at the way Absolon had now somehow manoeuvred the whole affair in a quite different direction from that he himself had intended. Absolon had somehow managed to make this trivial dispute with Boros part of the ancient party feud that had existed for so long in the districts along the valley of the Maros. And with his sharp mind he was well on the way to arranging that where he led Alvinczy was bound to follow. And there was nothing that Balint could do about it. And yet … and yet …? Well, there was one thing he could do: he could keep the documents from being used. If Absolon were to ask for them he would merely say that he had thrown them away and, as it happened, this was almost true. He had given back the dossier that Frankel had brought and he had thrown Tamas Laczok’s original letter in the fire. All the rest had been shovelled into some drawer or other in his study at Denestornya; and anyway most of it had been worthless. This last thought comforted him.

  Abady’s and Boros’s seconds met that night in one of the Casino’s private rooms.

  Alvinczy and Absolon started off by declaring that their friend had had no intention to offend. This they were quite prepared to have recorded in the Club’s minute-book. In their opinion nothing more was needed and the affair could therefore be considered as closed. Boros’s seconds hesitated for a moment. Then, with none too good a grace, they agreed to consult their friend and let him decide if this satisfied him. They did not, of course, have even the faintest idea that Boros might have secret reasons of his own for wishing the duel to take place.