As they sat down Boros started the conversation. ‘I would like to ask your advice,’ he said, ‘on an important matter which affects the whole nation. I really am extremely worried as I don’t know where my duty lies. If you don’t mind I’ll have to start some time ago, with the circumstances of my resignation.’
Balint tried to remember what he had heard, but all he could recall were some half-expressed insinuations. Now, sitting next to the man, he wondered if they could be true. It was hard to believe.
Zsigmond Boros was a handsome man with a high forehead, smooth as marble. He looked at you with a straight clear eye and a calm expression. His pale complexion was set off by a well-groomed beard somewhat reddish in tinge. His clothes, which were exceptionally well-cut, only accentuated his air of reliability. His voice was melodious and he chose his words carefully and well. Firstly he spoke about the time when Voros had made the statements about the Pactum.
‘I don’t think you were here then?’ he asked.
‘No‚’ said Abady in a somewhat reserved tone. ‘I was abroad.’
‘Ah, yes. I heard that you were in Italy. You don’t mind if I go over again what happened then?’
Boros then repeated what‚ as a Minister in office‚ he had stated at the time. He said that during the preliminary discussions there had been talk of an ad hoc cabinet which would take over the administration and introduce general suffrage and that this temporary government would consist exclusively of members of the 1848 Party and members of the former government. The presiding Minister had to be Laszlo Voros and, so Boros said, the proposition had been accepted by Ferenc Kossuth.
‘But that’s when I went to see Kossuth. I wanted to know exactly what was in his mind. I needed a clear picture and I felt, as one of his confidential advisers, that I had a right to know. Kossuth admitted that such a plan had been discussed but that he personally took it only ad referendum‚ as a basis for discussion. He said that as the other two parties of the Coalition in opposition‚ the Constitutional and People’s Parties – which had formerly been against the universal suffrage proposals – now seemed to accept this reform, it had seemed to him that any other combination had become superfluous. He then showed me the actual text of the Pactum. That is the reason why I handed in my resignation. It had nothing to do with the slanderous stories that I hear were circulated about me as soon as I had resigned my ministry. As they did not know the truth I suppose it was inevitable that some people would believe the worst of me!’
Boros paused for a moment as if he were expecting some reaction from Balint. Then he went on:
‘So‚ you see, the Pactum really does exist. At the committee meeting yesterday Kossuth – well, to put it mildly – made a statement that hardly accorded with the truth. The question which worries me is this: should the matter be hushed up? Should we allow the country to believe in a lie? Is it, or isn’t it, our duty to intervene and stop the people from being misinformed? Is it, to be specific, my duty to tell the truth as I know it? I don’t know where I stand. On the one side I am not bound to secrecy by any promise: on the other I was in office at the time. Of course this is a political matter, not merely a question of professional discretion. But if I tell the House what I know the government will collapse like a house of cards.’
Boros looked questioningly at Balint.
‘Why do you turn to me‚ of all people?’ asked Abady.
‘Because I know that you accept no party whip and that you look far further in these matters than do most of our colleagues. I know all about your work in establishing the co-operatives in Transylvania and I much admire what you have achieved. Therefore allow me to explain how I view the present situation and why I believe it to be so serious, even, perhaps, fatal.’
As he spoke a new Boros appeared, quite different to the man Abady had known up to this moment. Until now Balint had seen only the elegant, somewhat bombastic orator who had a talent for the well-rounded patriotic phrases which were so appropriate to popular meetings. Now he talked from the heart, to the point, and from a totally unexpected point of view.
He spoke with bitterness and hatred in his voice.
‘It is clear,’ Boros started, ‘that the present government is based upon a lie. They have made the public believe that the Coalition has won the battle. But the truth is just the opposite. It is the King who has remained on top and who has proved that the so-called road to progress, the controversy about army commands and all the other slogans we have brandished for so long, is altogether impracticable. But no one will admit this. And to maintain the lie, to keep up their pretence, the public is fed with all manner of nonsensical rubbish. All through the session Parliament has been discussing Rakoczi’s so-called rehabilitation laws. Slush, just slush! This new decree – slush again! Other proposals will follow, anything which will ensure the government’s continued popularity. More slush! And they will have to, because they dare not admit that everything they promised before the elections is impossible to realize. So what do they do? They go trudging along after more and more tasty-sounding carrots to disguise the fact that their programme is an utter fiasco. This is very‚ very dangerous, if only because only pretend-laws and pretend-decrees will be passed, things that the press will acclaim and write about. And since we are powerless to alter our relationship with Austria our incapacity will be disguised and dressed up in all sorts of false colours. It will be just the same with the banking question, with the Austro-Hungarian customs problem and with the military “quotas”. Oh, the Austrians are clever enough! They’ll make us pay for our little gestures towards independence with the jingle of silver and gold and we’ll pay the price for the sake of being able to name the filthy bargain a “customs contract” instead of “integrated customs”, or some such meaningless phrase! And this will be so in all things because all our beloved government wants is to be able to maintain the show of progress towards national independence; so they’ll do it in all matters not subject to the Pactum. As I understand it Apponyi is now planning a new law for the State schools – which will cost a great deal of money – so as to have a show of Hungarian language teaching – on paper, of course – and Kossuth is working on a plan to bring new order to the Croatian railroads. They are already drawing up the plans for a decree to ensure that all railroad employees should use the Hungarian language even there. Can you think of anything more stupid and ill-conceived?’
‘Surely that’s not possible,’ said Balint. ‘Doesn’t the law already state that Croatian is the official language in Croatia?’
‘Of course! While I was in office I did all I could to speak against the idea. Especially because it was our fault that the Khuen government collapsed and thus ensured the majority of the Serbian Coalition. But this was exactly what Kossuth wanted because the Serbs were the only party who backed him on the Personal Union issue.’
Abady felt that this was really going too far and he answered, with some heat, ‘I’m sure they didn’t do that just to please us. The immediate consequence of Hungary’s personal union would have been Croatia’s right to the same autonomy, leading sooner or later to the formation, with Bosnia and Dalmatia, of a new sovereign country within the empire. Triality instead of duality. It’s already an idea dearly beloved in certain circles in Vienna!’
‘That is a matter for discussion. But one thing is certain and that is that it is absurd to foster a movement and later on to strike down what we have laboured to create. And, if this government remains in power, that is exactly what will happen. My problem is this. It is or is it not my duty to try to overthrow the government before it is too late?’
Balint thought quickly about the discussions he had recently had with various Ministers about the development of his co-operative and housing programmes in Transylvania, discussions which showed every sign of leading to official support for his plans, and he did not want to do anything which might put these plans in jeopardy. At the same time he was extremely reluctant to have any part in an intrigue which
would lead to a new crisis in the government.
‘What you have just told me‚’ he said, ‘is certainly very‚ very serious. It is indeed dangerous, and harmful, if the government gives too much weight to individual nationalistic aspirations without regard to the well-being of the whole nation. I am honoured,’ he continued, feeling himself getting more stilted and pompous with every word he uttered, ‘that you should have trusted me and told me all these things. However, I don’t really know how to advise you. I imagine that you have talked over these matters with others as well as myself?’
‘Not from quite the same angle‚ at least not in such detail. In fact‚ I didn’t really expect advice from you. I really only wanted the opportunity to talk over the matter, to try to clarify my ideas, with someone whose opinions I respect. I also wanted to explain that I had resigned office for important national reasons and not just because of some dubious financial dealings as some of my so-called friends have been pleased to suggest!’
At this point Dr Boros returned to his usual orotund manner. The bitter note disappeared from his voice and the velvety politician’s baritone took its place as he went on ‘… because I, who have given my life’s blood to work only for the salvation of my country‚ with no other notion, no other intent, than to make our nation great and prosperous and powerful, ready at all times to face undaunted the villainy and craftiness of …’
In the corridors the bells rang shrilly‚ the sound echoing throughout the domes and vaults of the vast building.
From all directions members started to run back into the Chamber to regain their seats. A young member of the 1848 Party dashed past the sofa on which Balint and Boros were sitting.
‘Apponyi’s going to speak. Everyone to their places! Apponyi’s on his feet …’ And he ran on.
Abady was thankful for the interruption. He felt annoyed that Boros should have spoilt the effect of his apparent sincerity by returning so abruptly to his usual affected politician’s manner. Somehow it diminished the seriousness of what he had just been saying.
They walked back to the Chamber together.
It was some time before Balint saw Zsigmond Boros again and so the question of the Pactum was not again discussed between them.
The public condemnation of the Fejervary government did not, after all, take place. The committee of the Department of Justice met again on the following day and five men were nominated to draft a new text. The matter was thus neatly buried and forever after forgotten.
The leading article in the ‘Fremdenblatt’ had told nothing but the truth.
Chapter Two
IT WAS ALREADY HALF-PAST TWO in the morning when the members of the gypsy band collected themselves together and set out in the calm spring night. March had been unusually mild that year. Laji Pongracz‚ as befitted the leader of the band, stepped smartly out ahead of the others, his fur collar turned up on each side of his fat cheeks and with, carefully swathed in a wrap of soft silk, his precious violin under one arm. The last of the group was the cymbal-player‚ limping as he carried his heavy instrument on his back. Behind the musicians followed an open wagon on which had been placed a table and six chairs. The wagon moved slowly‚ driven by a coachman beside whom sat a waiter holding on his lap a basked filled with glasses. Between the waiter’s knees was a box in which some ten bottles of champagne and a couple of bottles of brandy rattled together, and a bucket of ice. The procession was closed by two policemen. These had been sent over from the Town Hall, since the city’s regulations demanded that all serenades should be officially announced in advance and must be provided with a police escort.
As the group of musicians turned into University Street, out from the hotel’s main hall came the gentlemen who had ordered the serenade. In front were two men, arm-in-arm. One was large and good-looking, the other was much smaller: they were Adam Alvinczy and Pityu Kendy.
These two were now always seen together since for more than a year they had both been helplessly in love with Adrienne Miloth. No doubt they felt that a sorrow shared was the easier to bear and so they spent all their time in each other’s company. When they had both drunk enough they would explain their sadness and grief to each other. Each felt increasingly sorry for the other and when at last they felt they could drink no more they would return to their respective homes, only to meet the following day to repeat the pattern, day after day, night after night. On this day they had already been at their favourite pastime for some hours and both were in full flood of woe and commiseration.
Behind them were two other men. On the right was Gazsi Kadacsay‚ who was on leave from his regiment of hussars that was stationed in Brasso, and who was therefore not in uniform but dressed in a short jacket with a sheepskin hat askew over one ear. On the left was Akos, the youngest of the four Alvinczy brothers. Between these two strode Ambrus Kendy who, though older than his companions, was still the leader of the jeunesse dorée of Kolozsvar. The two younger men were assiduous in their attentions to ‘Uncle’ Ambrus, for they felt that it was a great honour to them that he had interrupted his evening of drinking and carousing with the gypsies to join them on this serenade. They also knew that if he had not agreed to join them they would never have been able to get the gypsy musicians away from him. Indeed they had hardly known how to ask the favour.
To their great joy Uncle Ambrus had agreed at once.
‘Devil take it!’ the older man had shouted. ‘I’ll join you myself‚ though I can see from your faces you’ll be going far afield tonight, pack of young rogues that you are! What? Right out there? To the lovely lady herself! To the Uzdy villa, what? To Adrienne Miloth, no less? Oh, yes, I’ll come with you. Why not? I’ll come along though I’m far more used to pursuing women indoors than squeaking away outside their windows!’ And he let out a long drawn-out cry ‘Aay-ay-ay!’ and rubbed his great hands together just as peasants do when they dance the csardas.
Uncle Ambrus’s presence was one of the reasons why they had brought along the chairs, for they knew that he did not much care for standing about, and if one chair why not several others and a table and some champagne to set upon it? Of course they had done all this before, but tonight they all felt it was a special occasion.
The sixth man to join them had been Laszlo Gyeroffy and his presence was by chance. He had just been loafing around in the street‚ as always something of an outsider. In the darkness he seemed very elegant, for in the dimly lit street no one could see how threadbare and worn was his well-cut coat nor how shabby and damaged his once expensive hat that had come from St James’s Street in London. He still looked as handsome and as proud in his English clothes as he had been a year earlier when he was still the elotancos – the leading dancer and organizer of all the smart parties in Budapest – before he had been ruined by gambling too heavily and had been made to resign from his clubs in the capital. Laszlo’s good looks had not changed but there was something in his manner that had not been there before, an awkwardness, an infinitesimal air of servility that was only apparent when, for example, he would go to the end of the table and sit down only when expressly invited, and how gratified he seemed if anyone deigned to speak to him. When he had had too much to drink this new-found timidity would desert him and then he changed completely‚ wrapping himself in a strange exaggerated pride and carrying himself with dignity. Then he would stand exceptionally straight, tilt his tall hat on the back of his head and, with an air of disdain and infinite distance, speak scornfully as if all the world were beneath him. On this evening he had not yet reached this state as, even at that late hour, he had not yet put enough alcohol beneath his belt. Modestly‚ therefore‚ he hung back and quietly followed the others on their way.
The first stop was on the Torda road where the widowed Countess Kamuthy lived with her grandchildren in an old house which had been built against the ancient walls of the town. Here the procession entered the courtyard, because the windows of the family’s rooms all opened onto it, and at once Akos Alvinczy ordered
the musicians to play the tune that the youngest Kamuthy girl had chosen as her own, then his song followed by a couple of waltzes. As there was no answering sign from the windows Akos told the musicians just to play some mood music. All at once there appeared behind one of the windows a lighted candle. This symbolized the fact that the serenade had been accepted and so the band broke into a swift and merry csardas. As soon as this was brought to an end the party left the house and headed for the Monostor road. Here they stopped in front of Jeno Laczok’s house, lifted the table from the wagon, set it up on the sidewalk and placed the champagne, glasses and ice bucket upon it. Around the table sat Uncle Ambrus and all the rest of them, except Baron Gazsi, drinking heavily and toasting each other. Gazsi remained standing by the gypsies because here it was he who had ordered the music. Although it never entered his head when he was sober, a little drink always convinced him he was madly in love with Ida Laczok. One sad lovelorn song followed another as Gazsi gazed up mournfully at the almost instantly lit window, his woodpecker nose tilted on one side in the very attitude of the despairing lover.
Nearby the cook from the house next door was saying goodbye at the wrought-iron gate to her soldier lover. Hearing the sweet music they remained discreetly in the shadow, hiding behind the stone gatepost. The policemen were just about to ask them to move on, but seeing that they were merely standing quietly in the dark and were not making any trouble they let them be.
At the end of Gazsi’s serenade the little band continued on its way down the Monostor road. They had between three and four hundred metres to go before they reached the Uzdy villa. At Kolozsvar this was considered a great distance but there is no sacrifice a loving heart will not make to tell his beloved of his devotion, and in this party there were three of them who felt that way about the beautiful Countess Adrienne, wife of Pal Uzdy. Adam and Pityu had been her devoted slaves for a long time, and everyone knew it, but now they had a new recruit in Uncle Ambrus, though he himself had kept very quiet about it.
They Were Found Wanting (Writing on the Wall: The Transylvania Trilogy) Page 2