They Were Counted (56 page)

The time passed swiftly. When the clock above the fireplace struck twelve, Warday got up, checked the time with his own watch and stepped over to Fanny.

‘I really must go now, Countess,’ he said rather awkwardly as he bent over her hand. She nodded to him and he left the room after brief farewells to the others.

Laszlo too rose to his feet. He took Warday’s departure for a sign that it was now time to leave, even though none of the others had moved. Countess Fanny held him back for a moment.‚
saying
: ‘I hope we’ll see you again next Wednesday?’

‘I’m not quite sure,’ said Laszlo hesitantly, thinking that he might be able to see Klara that day and not wanting to tie himself down. ‘I can’t promise …’

‘You don’t have to. Come if you can and we’ll be pleased to see you, but if not it doesn’t matter. There’s no formality in this house. But do come if you’re free.’ At this point she gave him her hand, and her fine fingers held his for a fraction longer than was necessary. Then she turned abruptly to her neighbour, Szelepcsenyi, and went on: ‘What were you telling me, Carlo, about that new painter? The Italian? Segantini, did you say he was called? Is he really very good?’

Laszlo put on his coat quickly at the top of the stairs. He wanted to catch up with Warday so that they could walk down together as far as the Land Bridge, but when he reached the door there was no sign of him either outside the house or in the street, though he could see down its full length. There was no one about. It was as if the earth had swallowed him up. He must have walked very quickly, thought Laszlo since he had not heard the sound of a carriage.

So Laszlo walked alone down from the old fortress quarter of Buda and when he reached the Disz Square he was passed by
several
carriages probably taking home the other guests from Count Beredy’s house …

 

Laszlo now went to Fanny’s every Wednesday. Not only were the parties relaxed and amusing but also he found himself
accepted
by the others on equal terms. He was able to go regularly because on that day the Kollonichs did not receive and did not accept other engagements. It was their day for staying at home. Sometimes at Fanny’s he would play the piano. He would sit down at the instrument and play when he felt like it because the atmosphere was so free of protocol and so friendly that he realized that this was what was expected of guests in the Beredy house. Old Szelepcsenyi made all sorts of flattering remarks about his compositions, even when he played the most modern and daring of them, and this added to his ease and pleasure. It was wonderful to feel that he belonged to a group where he was so appreciated.

 

March and April went by for Laszlo in a sort of dream. He saw Klara almost every day but always in company as they were never allowed to be alone together. Even when he went to the Kollonich Palais for a family meal, Peter and Niki were always present and so, usually, was Magda Szent-Gyorgyi or some other friend or relative; and the princess’ watchful eye saw to it that they had no chance of talking in private. They had to be always on their guard, watching what they said and where they went. Despite the restrictions imposed on them, both Klara and Laszlo found a certain delight in all the obstacles they were forced to overcome. After all, they were together most of the time, whether sitting in one of the drawing-rooms, walking with the others around the shops or, as spring came, playing tennis. Laszlo was always at her side, making harmless conversation with an
expressionless
face, and sometimes, when no one could hear, slipping in an allusion to their love that both would treasure for days. These allusions were made in a sort of code, which only they could understand, and to anyone else the phrases would seem
ordinary
and without any special meaning, as one day when the whole group stopped to gaze into a shop window and Klara said, apparently quite innocently: ‘I still think chintz-covers are the prettiest. I have them in my room at home!’ and Laszlo knew that she was thinking of the first and only time they kissed. It was for both of them a wonderful time, filled with magic and expectation. It did not matter if they had to wait for the fulfilment of their love, because that was certain, not perhaps tomorrow, or the day after, but one day soon.

Laszlo felt all this with a sort of sensuous languorousness. Everything was wonderful. He sometimes won quite large sums at cards and was able to pay back a large part, though not all, of what he had borrowed from the money-lenders. He had, of course, to keep some back for he still had a lot of expenses, and this wonderful life was not cheap.

Klara felt the same. For her too this was a time of magic and joy. The wordless pact that bound them together was pure
pleasure
to her, as was Laszlo’s continual presence and the knowledge that everything he did was for her sake. She cherished the way he looked at her with the eyes of a faithful watchdog, the manner in which he arranged a thousand little unperceived attentions that floated round her like a cloud of incense, just as the scent she used would clothe her young girl’s body with the mystery of
womanhood
. As a woman she did not think of this period of waiting in the same sort of mystical poetic way that Laszlo did; she was far too down-to-earth for that. She had laid her plans and she waited with determination for the moment when she could make them a reality. At the end of May she would come of age and so she could afford to wait. There would be little point in trying to get her own way now, for it would only lead to lengthy scenes with her father and an icy reception from her stepmother. This would last for months and would poison her life, and it was
always
possible that she might not be able to summon up enough courage to survive the ordeal. And what if she were forced into submission? It was unthinkable. As Mama Agnes had arranged her whole life until now it would not be easy to face her day after day as a rebellious daughter. No, it was far better to keep
everything
for one big final battle which would last only for a day and from which she was bound to emerge victorious. One day must take care of everything, must make them accept what she wanted above anything in this life. She dreaded it, but she was
determined
to see it through.

Klara had planned everything as she lay in her little white schoolgirl’s bed at Simonvasar. A few days after she had officially come of age she would tell her parents, quite suddenly when they were not expecting anything and so would not have had any
opportunity
to formulate their objections; she had worked out her own arguments long ago. Her plan was this: one day after lunch, just when her father was finishing his cigar, she would come up to him and stand ceremoniously in front of his chair. She would have already seen to it that Peter had taken Niki away
somewhere
, so that she would be alone with her parents. Then she would tell them that she had decided to marry Laszlo, that she loved him and would accept no one else as long as she lived. She would then ask for their blessing. It wouldn’t be easy, though perhaps her father would be more ready to give in than her
stepmother
. It was certain that Mama Agnes would fight hard against the match, but what could she say except that he wasn’t grand enough for her? Well, she knew he wasn’t a great match, but that was not what she wanted. She did not need parade and splendour; she only wanted a modest life with the man she loved. They could hardly use the argument that Laszlo was neither
Austrian
nor of a ducal family but merely an obscure Hungarian noble, because wasn’t that exactly what Aunt Agnes Gyeroffy had been before she became the Princess Kollonich? Her stepmother could not deny her own origins and, in front of her
husband
who was no snob himself, was not likely to rake up the story of her plots with the Princess Montorio and her ambition to be
accepted
in the Vienna Olympus! If they asked Klara to wait, she would say that she was now of age and that she had the right to make up her own mind. All she asked, begged for, was their
blessing
… but, if they withheld it, she would marry him just the same. If they asked what she and Laszlo would live on, she would reply that he had a small estate and that she would sell the jewels she had inherited from her mother. This would hurt her father who had always been proud of the diamond necklace, the ruby clasps and everything that had been her mother’s. Though these trinkets had always been kept in her father’s safe, he was far too much a man of honour not to hand them over when she asked. Had he not always told her, ‘All these are yours, all yours’.

Klara had been through all this over and over again and
always
she ended up thinking only of Laszlo. She saw his tall figure, with the long lean face on which his slanting eyebrows nearly met and which gave him such a mysterious appearance. She saw the slim body, the tapering artist’s hands and imagined his arms around her holding her as he had in that single magic embrace at Simonvasar when they had first opened their hearts to each other. She could feel his hands wandering over her body, lightly
caressing
her thighs, her breasts, her neck and arms. All this she would give him, all this would be his to do with what he liked. A restless trembling overcame her as she lay motionless in her little bed wondering how she would have the courage to yield herself. All her bones seemed to dissolve into jelly, until at last she
surrendered
to the over-riding need to sleep.

In the morning, when she awoke, she would find her pillow cradled in her arms as if she had slept all night in the embrace of her lover.

W
HEN MAY ARRIVED
social life in Budapest once more
became
busy and animated, not only because of the races and balls, both private and public, but also because of the new session of Parliament. In political circles all interest now centred upon the nature of the Address with which the old opposition
parties
, who now had an overall majority in the House, would attack and condemn the policies that had been followed during the time of Count Tisza’s undisputed rule.

Public support for the opposition was strong but, though the rank and file were vociferous and confident in their condemnation of Vienna and triumphantly brandished patriotic slogans, their leaders were becoming increasingly dismayed by the fact that no progress had been made to resolve the government crisis.

This was the situation when Balint Abady arrived in the capital. Balint took his seat in Parliament every day. At the first session he attended they were arguing about the Address and this continued for the whole of the first two days. Although tempted to sympathize with the opposition’s point-of-view by what Slawata had revealed to him about the secret plans being formed in the Belvedere Palais in Vienna, the nonsense, hot air and chauvinistic posturings
revealed
by the Address and the speeches in its support drove him right back to his faith in Tisza and to the old monarch.

In the House the different parties were still seated as they had been in the winter after the elections, but the atmosphere was not at all the same. In the seats occupied by the victorious opposition, the camaraderie and friendliness, the mutual congratulations and warm hand-shakes that had united the different factions of which it was formed, had completely evaporated. Now the
members
looked bitter and cross, and the conflict of interest between each section had made them all as wary of each other as they had been before their victory at the polls. The divisions were there for all to see, for each group kept itself apart from the others. Balint was disgusted by the insincerity and triviality of it all.

The first two days were excessively dull. Platitude followed
platitude
and each mindless patriotic slogan was greeted with
predictable
cheers or jeers depending on which side was addressing the house. On the third day, however, it was the turn of the ethnic minorities to express their points of view, the first opportunity that they had ever had. From the centre of their little group Tivadar Mihalyi rose and, in excellent Hungarian, opposed the Address. In measured tones, with moderation and diplomacy, he explained that the minorities he represented could not accept the Address as in their opinion it did not deal with the real evils that bedevilled the progress and prosperity of Hungary. He
proposed
to present a totally different Address which would
concentrate
upon internal problems rather than those provoked by the constitutional relationship with the Austrian monarchy. In
Tivadar
’s Address the emphasis would be on electoral reform, which would ensure that government in Hungary truly represented all those of Hungarian nationality regardless of ethnic origin. This would naturally entail the re-drawing of electoral boundaries, and revision of the nationality laws which had never been
accepted
by the minorities he represented. Tivadar spoke quietly in measured tones and simple straightforward phrases. Everything he proposed was moderate and reasonable – and above all he
reiterated
, time after time, that the minorities were an essential part of Hungary and the Hungarian political system, and that all they asked was that they should be recognized as such. When Tivadar sat down, Balint was surprised to note that this first speech by the minorities’ leader caused little stir in the House and was barely applauded. Of course, he reflected, everyone here is only interested in continuing the battle with Tisza. No matter how
important
any other subject was they would pay attention only when the ex-Minister President rose to speak – and he noted that quite a number of the members had left the Chamber while
Tivadar
Mihalyi was on his feet and returned only when he sat down. Among those present only one thing counted, and that was the
total
destruction of Tisza no matter what the battle cost, no matter how much blood was spilt, no matter if all Hungary perished! No one paused to reflect that Tisza had already been defeated in the elections and had left office months before in January.

Bedlam broke out as soon as Tisza rose to speak. Ferenc Kossuth did all he could to quiet the members of his party, hoping that they at least would behave with the dignity required of those who claimed to be fit to rule a modern European nation. The noise died slowly and at last Tisza was able to speak.

‘As one who has resigned as Minister-President I no longer have the constitutional right to direct the proceedings of the House …’he started.

‘Too right! Sit down! Get out of here, you old fool!’ The shouts arose from all sides, but Tisza remained on his feet, tall and erect, his dark-clad figure standing broad-shouldered and defiant against the red velvet that covered the ministerial benches. Tisza held his left hand behind his hip, as if he were taking up the stance of one about to fight a duel. When he started to speak he stabbed the air with his right index finger to underline what he was
saying
. Though he was backed by the members of his own party he gave the impression of being alone – completely, utterly alone.

Despite shouts of ‘He’s inciting the peasants against us!’ he
continued
impassively, quoting figures and statistics to back up his argument, and for more than an hour he went on just as if he were speaking to an assembly of reasonable politicians ready to discuss what was best for their country. Despite innumerable
interruptions
Tisza kept on his feet until, with his virile, accusing voice, he came to the end of his argument. Then he sat down.

‘He’s a cheeky bastard for someone nobody wants!’ one
red-faced
‘patriot’ shouted. This was going too far and the new
Minister
-President Justh was obliged to give the man an official
reprimand
; not that this made much impression, for immediately three or four others jumped up from the rows of the 1848 Party crying: ‘Cheeky bastard! Cheeky bastard! What about
reprimands
all round?’ and the uproar grew so loud that the assembly had to be suspended.

The House quickly emptied, its members congregating in small groups in the corridors, each surrounding a party leader hoping to catch a phrase or two that they would repeat as their own in the club bars, in small party meetings and in talking to political journalists. In this way the back-benchers hoped to curry favour with the general public.

No one gave a thought to Tivadar Mihalyi’s speech. The only subject thought worth discussing was Tisza, who was accused of every treachery, from intriguing with Austrians to destroy the
liberty
of Hungary, to plotting with disloyal Hungarians to break with Austria. The attitude of the Croatians was also a
disappointment
to the others. Before the House met everyone had imagined, and the newspapers had predicted, that they would vote for the Address. No one had thought that they would do the opposite. Such was the general political naïvety, and the disappointment at what had actually happened, that they at once assumed that they were the victims of conspiracy. They saw enemies everywhere, not realizing that all nations were governed by their own interests and that the skill with which these were grasped and developed was the true basis of a nation’s peace and prosperity. From this distrust of anyone who did not agree with them sprang the
divisions
within their own ranks which would lead, eventually, to the disintegration of the ruling Croatian party. No one present at this disastrous session of the Budapest Parliament foresaw that with the defection of the Croatian party the way would be opened up for the pan-Serb coalition that would eventually succeed in
depriving
Hungary of the provinces beyond the Drava river.

The Transylvanian lawyer, Zsigmond Boros, summed up the general reaction, saying: ‘We have to admit that our noble and patriotic Address, in the face of the united and prejudiced
opposition
of Tisza, the Croatians and the smaller minorities, has now no chance of being received either sympathetically or objectively by the Throne! That’s the trouble. Only that. It is they who have spoiled everything. If it hadn’t been for them, the King would certainly have yielded. Of course he would! The King’s only too anxious to expand the army. It’s his passion. Only
this
lot have spoiled it all!’

Balint listened sadly for a few moments and then turned away. As he did so he caught a glimpse of the small group of Romanians who were gathered in a dark corner, among them the lawyer Timisan. He went over and greeted them, shaking hands. Timisan, just as he had been on the train, was pleasant and seemed in a good humour, though his smile was mocking and
cynical
. The others, to whom he presented Balint, were cold, silent and suspicious, and Balint felt that he was being watched, doubted and judged. He started to speak about one of Tisza’s commercial points that affected Transylvania, thinking that it might form a common bond of interest, but they answered him only with polite phrases that showed clearly their distrust of him. After about fifteen minutes the bell rang summoning the
members
back into the House. Frustrated but somewhat relieved, Balint moved away.

As he went back to his seat he passed close to Wuelffenstein, who spoke to him.

‘How could you speak to those barbarians? It simply isn’t done! My Hungarian blood boils at the mere sight of them!’

Abady felt the veins in his forehead swelling with anger. ‘I do as I see fit! Do you object?’ he said fiercely to Fredi, who did not have a drop of Hungarian blood in him.

‘No! No! Of course not! I only thought …’ said Wuelffenstein, quickly sliding down in his seat with hunched shoulders, his black and white suit in stark contrast to the red of the benches.

 

Later on at the Casino – and at every other political
meeting-place
– the view so succinctly expressed by Zsigmond Boros was rehearsed over and over again. There were minor variations, but the theme remained the same. No one spoke of anything else. In the great world outside Hungary events were taking place that would change all their lives: the uprising in Russia, the dispute over Crete, the Kaiser Wilhelm’s ill-timed visit to Tangier, the
revelation
of Germany’s plans to expand its navy – but such matters were of no importance to the members of the Hungarian
Parliament
. Even events closer to home, such as the rabble-rousing speech of an Austrian politician in Salzburg urging revolt among the German-speaking minorities in northern Hungary, or the anonymous pamphlet, which appeared in Vienna and revealed the total unpreparedness of the Austro-Hungarian forces
compared
with those of the other European powers, went unnoticed in Budapest. Naturally, when Apponyi made a speech in favour of Dezso Banffy’s proposal to limit the demand for Hungarian commands in the army to using Hungarian only in regimental matters, everyone listened and discussed it as if their very lives
depended
on it.