The Balkan Trilogy

by Olivia Manning

  Guy grunted and picked up a newspaper. She knew he had no use for religion, seeing it as part of the conspiracy to keep the rich powerful and the poor docile. He was prepared to discuss very little that did not contribute towards a practical improvement in mankind’s condition. Harriet’s own theories, of course, were too simple-minded to matter.

  At the moment he held up the paper to screen him from any more of her nonsense. She said to provoke him: ‘Clarence says you’re merely the rebel son of a rebel father.’

  ‘Clarence is an ass,’ Guy said, but he put the paper down. ‘In fact I could say I reacted against my father. The poor old chap was a bit of a romantic. He imagined the moneyed classes were the repository of culture. He used to say: “That’s their function, isn’t it? If they don’t safeguard the arts, what the hell do they do?” When I began to meet rich people I was shocked by their ignorance and vulgarity.’

  ‘Where did you meet these rich people?’

  ‘At the University – the sons of local manufacturers. They weren’t aristocrats, it’s true, but they were rich. And not first-generation rich, either. They were the country-house-owning class of the Midlands. They were always talking about “parvenus”, but even the most intelligent of them preferred the fashionable to the good.’

  She laughed. ‘They’re much like everyone else. How many people do love the highest when they see it? They just about tolerate it if they’re told often enough that it’s the right thing.’

  He agreed and was about to go back to his paper when she said: ‘But did you know these people well? Did you go to their houses?’

  ‘Yes. I suppose I was taken up by them – in a way. At first they wouldn’t believe I was a genuine member of the proletariat. I was too big and untidy. According to them I should have been a bony little man in a dark suit, permanently soul-sick. When they found I was quite genuine, they adopted me as their favourite member of the working class.’

  ‘And you didn’t mind? You liked them? You liked the Druckers?’

  He had to admit it was true. He could not help liking people who liked him. They became, and remained, his friends.

  ‘But,’ he said, ‘I know that humanity’s superiority depends on a few persons of intellectual and moral structure: people like my father, for instance, who almost never have money or power, and have no sense at all of their own importance.’

  With that, Guy went back to his students; and Harriet, as soon as the heat began to relax, took herself up to the roof to talk to Sasha.

  Guy had said once that, although she was nearly twenty-three, she still had the mentality of an adolescent. Perhaps her relationship with Sasha was a relationship of adolescents.

  Guy’s all-knowingness, his lack of time for any sort of fantasy, was frustrating her. She felt gagged. Sasha, on the other hand, had unlimited time. He did not say much himself, but he listened to her with the intent interest of someone new in the world. He was delighted to be entertained, watching her with warm, attentive eyes that made her feel whatever she said was pertinent and exciting. He believed – or rather, his silent extrusion of sympathy led her to believe he believed – that he, as she did, related life to eternity rather than to time.

  Now when Guy was out she had somewhere to go. During the day, she had occupation enough. It was in the evening, the time of relaxation, when the changing light, giving a new spaciousness to the city, induced a sense of solitude, that she thought of Sasha who was lonely, too.

  That evening, when she went to see him after tea, she spoke of Codreanu, saying: ‘He loved the peasants. He gave them this idea of a nation united in brotherhood. Surely the important thing was that people believed in him?’

  Sasha listened uneasily. ‘But he did terrible things,’ he said. ‘He started the pogroms. My cousin at the University was thrown out of a window. His spine was broken.’

  That was the reality, of course. ‘But why did the reality have to be that?’ she said. The ideals had been fine enough. They had been formulated to combat a corrupt regime in which the idle, self-seeking and dishonest thrived. Why then, she wanted to know, must they degenerate into a reality of blackmail, persecution and murder? Were human beings so fallible and self-seeking that degeneration was inevitable?

  Guy, who had dismissed pretty sharply any suggestion of a flirtation with the Legion of the Archangel Michael, knew the answer to human fallibility: it was a world united under left-wing socialism. Sasha did not know the answer.

  To please her, he was trying to consider the problem with detachment, but as he looked at her his soft, vulnerable, loving gaze was troubled.

  She remembered the moment at the Drucker table when one of his aunts had asked: ‘Why do they hate us?’ Drucker had sent the little girls out of the room, but he did not send Sasha. Sasha had to be prepared for reality. However much his wealth might protect him, he could not be protected from prejudice. But, of course, he had not been prepared. Enclosed and loved as he had been, he could not relate their stories of persecution to himself.

  He said: ‘The peasants are very simple people. It wouldn’t be difficult to make them believe in Codreanu. They’d believe in anything,’ and he gazed appealingly at her as though to say: ‘Let that explain away the mysterious influence of Guardism and all that came of it.’ In short: ‘Let us talk of something else.’ He probably wanted to talk about the peasants who had shown him, at times, a rough kindness. They had respected him because he spoke English, though they could scarcely believe he had actually been to England. England they held to be a sort of paradise, the abode of titans.

  He described how they stood, as patient as their own beasts, all day on guard in the midsummer heat, clad in winter clothing. Money was allotted for the purchase of cotton uniforms but it was misspent somewhere. Who were they to complain?

  ‘What did they guard?’ Harriet asked.

  ‘Oh, a bridge or a railway-station or a viaduct. It was silly. When the Russians came, the officers just piled into cars and drove away. We didn’t know what to do …’

  She saw his face change as this mention of the army’s flight recalled Marcovitch. By now she had heard other stories – of the Orthodox Jew whose skull had been kicked in ‘like a broken crock’; and the distinguished folklorist who, having been beaten by his sergeant, had appeared next day wearing a medal. ‘So you have decorated yourself!’ said the sergeant. ‘No,’ replied the scholar, ‘the King decorated me,’ for which piece of impertinence he had been struck violently across the face.

  Nothing very terrible had happened to Sasha himself, but, unprepared as he was, he had been appalled at this treatment of his scapegoat race. He had run away.

  He said: ‘I can remember some of the songs the peasants sang. The folklorist used to collect them.’

  As he talked, she looked over the parapet and saw Guy crossing the square on his way home. In the early days of their marriage, she would have sped down the stairs; now she leant still and watched him, thinking of Sasha’s theory that Guardism had grown not from the power of its founder but the credulity of his followers. She felt that the argument had, as arguments often did, come full circle. Wonders were born of ignorance and superstition. Do away with ignorance and superstition and there would be no more wonders, only a universe of unresponsive matter in which Guy was at home, though she was not. Even if she could not accept this diminution of her horizon, she had to feel a bleak appreciation of Guy, who was often proved right.

  She broke in on Sasha to say: ‘I’m afraid I must go now.’

  He smiled, as uncomplaining and unquestioning as the peasants, but as she went he said forlornly: ‘I wish I had my gramophone here.’

  ‘You should be studying,’ she said, for at her suggestion Guy had set him some tasks: an essay to write, books to read. The books lay scattered over the ground. He had opened them, but she doubted whether he had done much more. ‘Why not do some work?’

  ‘All right,’ he said, but as she turned to descend the ladder she saw he had picked up
his charcoal and was scribbling idly on the wall.

  10

  One morning, while the city quivered like a mirage in the August heat, Harriet came face to face with Bella in the Calea Victoriei. Bella gave a smile and hurried into a shop. So she had not gone to Sinai after all, but had remained here, like everyone else, the prisoner of uncertainty and fear.

  The Rome Conference had broken down. This time no one imagined that that was the end of the matter. There would be another conference. When it was announced, there was no stir and no more talk of defiance. The new Cabinet had announced complete fealty to the Führer and the Führer required a peaceful settlement. A settlement of any kind could only mean Rumania’s loss. Around the cafés and bars this fact was beginning to be accepted with a half-humorous resignation. What else was there to do? Yakimov, inspired by the tenor of conversation about him, had thought up a little joke. ‘Quel débâcle!’ he said whenever opportunity arose: ‘As you walk cracks appear on the pavement,’ and even Hadjimoscos had not the heart to snub him.

  The young men still stood with their banners on the palace pavement, supported now by an admiring crowd. As for the King, having made his speech, his declaration of constancy, he had retired into silence, and a song was being sung which David did his best to put into English verse:

  ‘They can have Bessarabia. We don’t like corn.

  The best wheaten bread’s the stuff in our New Dawn.

  Let them have the Dobrudja. Ma’s palace, anyway,

  Has been sold to the nation for a million million lei.

  Who wants Transylvania? Give it ’em on a plate.

  Let them take what they damn well like. I’ll not abdicate.’

  The last phrase ‘Eu nu abdic’ was the slogan of the moment. Jokes were told and the point was ‘Eu nu abdic’. Riddles were asked and the answer was always ‘Eu nu abdic’. However recondite, it was the smartest retort to any request or inquiry. It always raised a laugh.

  In the face of the threat to Transylvania, no one gave much thought to the southern Dobrudja, but the story went round that the old minister who had wept over Bessarabia, had wept – probably from habit – when the Bulgarian demand was received. He reminded the Cabinet that Queen Marie’s heart was buried in the palace at Balcic and the queen had believed her subjects would safeguard it with their lives. He stood up crying: ‘To arms, to arms,’ but no one, not even the old man himself, could take this call seriously. The queen, though barely two years dead, symbolised an age of chivalry as outmoded as honour, as obsolete as truth.

  The transfer of the southern Dobrudja was announced for September 7th.

  That, Harriet thought, was one frontier problem peaceably settled, but when she made some comment of this sort to Galpin, he eyed her with the icy irony of one who has good cause to know better.

  They had met on the pavement outside the Athénée Palace and Galpin was carrying a suitcase. ‘For my part,’ he said, ‘I’m keeping a bag ready packed and my petrol-tank full.’

  ‘Oh?’

  He crossed to his car and put the case into the boot, then remarked in a milder tone: ‘I thought it darn odd they were willing to settle for that mouldy bit in the south when they could grab the whole coast.’

  ‘Do you mean they are grabbing the whole coast?’

  ‘They and one other. I expect it was arranged months ago. When the Bulgars take the south, the old Russkies will occupy the north. Between them they’ll hold the whole coastal plain. It’s a Slav plot.’

  When Harriet did not look as alarmed as he felt she should be, he said on a peevish note: ‘Don’t you see what it means? Rumania will be cut off from the sea. The Legation plan is to evacuate British subjects from Constanza. You’ll be one of the ones to suffer. There’ll be no escape route.’

  ‘We can go to Belgrade.’

  ‘My dear child, when the Germans march this way, they’ll take Yugoslavia en route.’

  ‘Well, we can go by air.’

  ‘What, the whole blessed British colony? I’d like to see it. And anyway, when there’s trouble the air service is the first thing to pack up. I’ve seen it time and again. Well, I’m taking no risk. When I get wind of the invasion, I’m into the flivver and off.’

  ‘Ah, well,’ said Harriet, attempting to lighten the situation, ‘perhaps you’ll take us with you?’

  Galpin’s eyes bulged. ‘I don’t know about that. I’ve got baggage. I’ve got Wanda. The Austin’s old. The road over the Balkans is bad. If we broke a spring, we’d be done for.’ Looking as though she had attempted to take an unfair advantage, he got into the car, slammed the door and drove away.

  When she reached the flat, the telephone was ringing. Inchcape was looking for Guy. ‘Tell him I’ll be in after luncheon,’ he shouted and she felt the jolt of his receiver violently replaced.

  He arrived while the Pringles and Yakimov were still at table. Guy had scoffed at Galpin’s story of a Slav plot, saying the Russians would not seize territory on which they had no claim. Even if they did occupy the northern Dobrudja, that would not prevent British subjects leaving from Constanza.

  Yakimov brought out his ‘Quel débâcle!’ joke and showed an inclination to sit and talk, but Inchcape walked about the room with such a show of impatience that it eventually came to Yakimov that he was not wanted. When he went, Inchcape swung a chair round, sat astride it and said: ‘They’re trying to get us out. They want us to go.’

  ‘Who wants us to go?’ Guy asked. ‘The prefectura or the Legation?’

  ‘The Legation. They’re trying to thin out the British colony. They want to get rid of what they call the “culture boys”.’

  ‘Because of this Dobrudja business?’ Harriet asked.

  ‘That among other things. Dobson had the cheek to suggest we’ve outlived our usefulness here. He said: “You must realise that having you around means extra work for us.” That’s all they’re worrying about.’

  ‘Do you mean it’s a definite order?’

  ‘An attempt at one.’ Inchcape lit a cigarette and stamped angrily on the match. ‘But they can’t expel us without good reason. Their first move is to get us to close down the English Department. Once they do that, they can say: “What is the point of your being here?” I’m determined to stay open.’

  Guy nodded his support and Harriet wondered if any mention had been made of the Propaganda Bureau, which, inactive in its heyday, was now moribund. Before she could ask, Inchcape stubbed out his cigarette, two-thirds unsmoked, into a saucer, and said: ‘When I was summoned to the Legation this morning, I insisted on seeing Sir Montagu.’

  ‘What happened then?’ Guy asked.

  Inchcape, his hand shaking, lit another cigarette. The war between nations was forgotten. He was waging his old war against the Legation. ‘I was called in, ostensibly about these notices to quit which we keep getting. Dobson said: “We think it would be better if the summer school closed down.” I refused to discuss it with him. I demanded to see one of the top brass. They tried to fob me off with Wheeler. In the end, believe it or not, I got in to the old charmer himself. And what do you think he said? “Summer school?” he said. “What summer school?” I told him that before we could stop work we’d have to get a direct order from our London office. That’s not likely to come in a hurry. No one at home has any real idea of what’s going on here.’

  ‘And –?’

  ‘The old boy blustered a bit. I stood firm. So he said: “If you stay, you do so at your own risk. I don’t guarantee to get one of your fellows out of here alive.”’

  ‘What about Woolley and the other businessmen?’

  ‘He said they could look after themselves. They’ve got cars. When the time comes, they can drive into Bulgaria. He said: “You chaps without cars won’t find it so easy. The trains will be taking troops to the frontier. The civilian aircraft will be commandeered by the army. There won’t even be a boat if Constanza’s in Russian hands.” I said it was a risk we were prepared to take.’ Inchcape looked for
confirmation to Guy.

  Guy said: ‘Of course.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Harriet.

  ‘Because we have a job to do,’ Guy said: ‘While we’re of any use here, we must stay.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Inchcape. He sat down again, calmed by Guy’s support. ‘Besides,’ he said, ‘there’s the Cantecuzeno Lecture in the offing. Pinkrose is being flown out. He’s getting a priority flight to Cairo. That’s not granted to everyone. I shall certainly be here to welcome him.’

  ‘What else did Sir Montagu say?’

  ‘He tried persuasion. “You can only speak for yourself,” he said. “The other men should be consulted.” I said: “I know my men. I can speak for them.” “Nevertheless,” he said, “they should get together and discuss the situation. Let Dobson have a word with them!” I could see the wily old bastard thought I’d keep you in the dark, so I said: “Very well. I’ll call a meeting this very evening. Anyone can attend. I know my men, I know what they’ll say.”’ Inchcape gazed intently at Guy, who again nodded his support. Inchcape stood up, satisfied: ‘The staff-room at six, then.’

  ‘Can I come?’ Harriet asked.

  Inchcape looked round, surprised that she should feel concerned in this. ‘If you like,’ he said, then he turned to Guy again. ‘Alert the others. Dubedat, Lush and the old ladies. I think you’ll find they’re all behind us. No one wants to lose his job.’

  By six o’clock the haze was lifeless and yellowish, like a thin smoke over the inert streets. The heat was stale and without fervour. The shops, though open, seemed asleep.

  In the Calea Victoriei one pavement baked in the honey-yellow sun, the other was Prussian blue. Harriet walked in the shade until she reached the German Propaganda Bureau and there, before crossing the road, she paused. The map of France had appeared and disappeared in less than a month, but the map of the British Isles had remained so long, people were losing interest in it. Harriet was the only one looking in the window. She said to herself: ‘They’ll never get there,’ and saw that among the towns ringed with flames was the one where she had been born – a town she hated. Her eyes filled with tears.