They Were Counted (77 page)

‘No! Please, no!’ She spoke so low that he hardly heard her words, and as she spoke a shudder passed right down through her body starting at the shoulders. Balint’s heart missed a beat and he felt full of pity and compassion for her, for he had realized that with that involuntary movement her body had cried out to him: ‘Don’t touch me, I’m unclean!’ She used the same gesture, an arm uplifted, that lepers used to protect others from their touch; and so he at once took her hand, gently and firmly and held it
until
she had understood that it was merely out of sympathy and not the first movement of an attempt to kiss her. They moved slowly along the path, holding hands like two young children. They did not speak and their footfalls on the grass-covered path made no sound. The woodbirds, finches and siskins, flitted from branch to branch in the trees, and filled the air with their song.

When they came to a small clearing they sat down. Balint was afraid that Addy would object if he put his arms around her.
Before
that he must put her at her ease and make her forget what had happened during the night. When she did sit down he
pointedly
did not sit close to her but found a place where he was just out of reach. Then he handed her Judith’s thick envelope.

After a brief hesitation, Adrienne, seeing that the crumpled
envelope
was already half open, pulled the letter out. Four pages were covered with Judith’s emphatic square letters. Adrienne read attentively what her sister had written, slowly taking it all in. Then, still holding the letter, she said: ‘Poor Judith! Poor, poor girl!’ For a long time she said nothing more but just sat there wrapped in her own thoughts. Balint waited, saying nothing. At last Addy spoke: ‘You know, this is really all my fault. Yes, really, don’t be surprised! I’m at the bottom of it all. All this unhappy
affair
is my doing. Not directly, of course, but she’s heard me say many of the things she writes in this letter: “
I
will
save
you
.
That’s
my
vocation,
to
sacrifice
everything
to
save
a
man
from
himself
.”
That might have been me, a hundred years ago before I knew … I used to say things like that! Listen to this: “
No
matter
how
guilty
the
world
thinks
you,
I
care
nothing
as
long
as
you
are
true
to
me
.”
These were my ideas, and when I was a girl I used to proclaim them proudly, thinking that it was all so true and so beautiful. Now it’s all been manna for poor little Judith …’

She paused for a while, her brows knitted in thought. Then she went on: ‘But she goes even further: “
Even
if
you’ve
done
wrong,
if
you
believe
yourself guilty
…” She keeps using phrases like that. I don’t quite understand, has Wickwitz something on his
conscience
, has he done something wrong, something wicked?’

‘It’s possible!’ said Balint grimly.

‘Do you know anything about it?’

Balint hesitated; but he had to answer. ‘Yes I do! But I can’t say anything about it as I was told in confidence. I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you.’

‘Not even me …?’

It was hard not to give in, but Balint’s sense of honour
prevailed
. ‘Not even you!’

Curiosity unleashed the eternal female in Adrienne. She slid over to Balint and took his hand. ‘You must give me some idea! At least say something. Not everything, of course, but just what sort of thing. Is it horses … or women? What is it? Surely you can tell me that?’

‘It’s money! A sordid, ugly affair. Very nasty indeed, but don’t ask me to tell you more!’

‘I could have guessed as much. The man has a horrid laugh.’

 

At midday the guests gathered in the drawing-room before lunch. Uzdy came in with a big pile of newspapers. He seemed in high good humour, a triumphant glitter in his narrow black eyes.

‘News from Budapest,’ he said. ‘Most interesting!’ He spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. ‘There is a new government! Now all you politicians, which one of you can guess who’s the new Minister-President?’

The Alvinczys suggested Kossuth, then Andrassy, and finally Wlassits.

Uzdy shook his head and laughed. Then he turned to Abady. ‘Haven’t you anything to say? You keep silent but you’re the only one here who ought to know. I’m only a modest member of the Upper House, but you are a Member of Parliament, an elected legislator, a professional. Well? Won’t you give us the benefit of your opinion? What’s your guess? We’re all waiting for you?’

‘Geza Fejervary?’

‘Bravo!
Alle
Ehre,
alle
Respekt,
alle
Ehre
–
quite right, my
congratulations
!’ and Uzdy bowed, swinging his arms and letting the upper part of his body dangle loosely as if it had been broken at the waist. ‘Well said, indeed! There’s clear sight for you!
Congratulations
!
Respekt
!’
At this point Adrienne came in and Uzdy turned to her at once: ‘I’ve just put all your followers to the test. Our friend Abady was the victor; he’s a genius!’

Countess Clémence now came in. Her presence had a calming effect on her son and, though the conversation was still about Budapest politics, it proceeded in a quiet and gentlemanlike
manner
. Everyone deplored the nomination of a government by the Crown without any elective justification. Why, it was little else than a return to absolutism, and there had not been anything like that since 1848! This continued throughout the meal.

Seeing Adrienne once again beside her husband, Balint was haunted by the memory of what he had discovered the previous night. It was made all the worse by Uzdy’s air of triumphant
possession
, by the way he flaunted his ownership of her in front of the guests. He would lean over and fondle her arm during the meal, caress her shoulders when they rose to leave the table, and all these things he did, not with the tender air of a man in love with his wife but rather as if he needed always to remind himself – and everyone else – that she was his, just as a dog belongs to its master. Balint shuddered every time Uzdy touched her and
convinced
himself that the husband knew this and redoubled his
efforts
to demonstrate his rights in consequence. It was unbearable, intolerable!

As soon as lunch was over Balint asked if he could have a carriage to take him to the station. He used the formation of the new
government
as a pretext, saying that he would be urgently needed in Budapest as there would certainly be an emergency meeting of the House. No doubt a telegram was already waiting for him at his house at Kolozsvar. He must go at once, by the very next train.

Balint felt badly about leaving so abruptly, especially as it meant that he would not be able to see Adrienne alone before he left. He wanted so much to say a few tender words to her, words that would tell her how much he felt for her and how he
understood
the horror of her life. But anything was better than staying in that dreadful house and having to be a witness, every minute of the day, to a situation he hated; and nothing would be worse than staying and making polite conversation, keeping a straight face, and pretending to notice nothing when all the time he had murder in his heart. He was sure that Adrienne understood why her friend was leaving so suddenly, and indeed, when he took his leave she did not urge him to stay on – though there had been
sorrow
in her golden eyes and an unspoken demand for his pity. When she said goodbye, her lips had opened slightly as if she were offering them to be kissed. It was just as Balint had taught her on the cushions in the Uzdy villa, but that was all …

‘Never! Never again!’ said Balint out loud to himself as Uzdy’s fast American trotters whisked the yellow-wheeled
bricska
out of the forecourt. ‘I’ll never set foot in that house again!’

T
HE ROYAL DE
C
REE
appointing the Fejervary government caused general consternation. All over the country people were stunned and apprehensive. No one believed that such a thing was possible since, for more than half a century, they had felt secure in the knowledge that they were living in a democratic parliamentary era. What had just happened was the negation of their civil rights, while that feeling of security had been suddenly and unexpectedly shattered. Those now in power issued
communiqués
that stated categorically that there would be no changes other than those essential for carrying on the business of
government
, and that nothing, again excepting only what was
necessary
, would affect any man’s constitutional rights. No one believed a word of it and the government’s explanations were not even thought worth considering. At first some people imagined that all this must be the outcome of some nefarious plot by Tisza; but this theory was soon seen to hold no water since Tisza
publicly
condemned the appointment of the new government and
declared
himself opposed to the new cabinet. He even refused to see any member of his own party who showed signs of sympathy with this unconstitutional move. Not for years had a political event been so universally condemned.

The annual meeting of the Kolozsvar constituent assembly was held in an atmosphere of the general resentment which verged on an uneasy spirit of revolt.

The hall was packed tightly. Every member who could possibly attend had done so and behind them, the galleries reserved for the general public were overflowing, largely with university
students
. It was soon clear that the public’s intention was to cheer any spokesman who opposed the new government and to shout down anyone who dared to speak in its favour. Everyone was aware that a proposition had been made that all provincial and municipal employees should refuse to obey orders from the
central
government. That Hungarian non-violent resistance. call it passive disobedience or what you will, had its birth at the
Kolozsvar
assembly was proved by the fact that the date of the meeting had been long established and therefore preceded any of the
discussions
in other parts of Hungary. Everyone was wondering how the president of the Assembly, the mayor Szvacsina, would
proceed
. Would he agree to discussing the motion for civil
disobedience
or not? No one knew what would happen, and it was because of this uncertainty that the radical Professor Korosi, with his colleagues the author of the motion, had not only organized the presence in the hall of all the university students, but also
arranged
for the streets outside to be filled with peasant youths who would march up and down, cheering and booing, to make it perfectly clear to the ruling classes who formed the majority of those attending that they really meant business. From time to time someone went out onto the balcony to speak to these young men, bolster up their interest and prevent them from returning home out of boredom.

Inside the dark hall, under the larger-than-life portrait of the Emperor Franz-Josef, the financial secretary of the assembly read out the details and figures of the annual expenditure, fully aware that no one was interested and that no one was listening. Not a single voice was raised; not a single criticism, lest any unnecessary discussion might be started which would distract the assembly
before
the real business began. Everyone tacitly understood this, so that when the mayor asked if the assembly passed the accounts there were impatient cries of ‘Aye! Aye! Aye!’

From the back of the hall several voices were heard calling out: ‘Korosi! Korosi!’

‘Dr Korosi asks to be heard. Silence, please!’ said the presiding mayor. He then leaned back, his thin, tired-looking form reclining in the presidential chair and his long Fingers folded as if he knew that for some time now he would have nothing to do and so could relax.

Dr Korosi rose to speak. In front of him sat the real heads of the opposition in Kolozsvar, Professor Apathy and his close
colleagues
, who clustered round him as if they were his bodyguards. This group stared ahead of them at the benches opposite where Tisza’s supporters sat. They, too, were largely composed of university
professors
for in Kolozsvar, as almost everywhere else, the seat of learning was also the seat of political strife. Korosi addressed his remarks directly to them, not, as protocol demanded, to the
president
of the assembly. He was a tall man, fat and broad; and he spoke the dialect of the great Hungarian plain where he was born. His words flowed, a constant stream of familiar slogans and
platitudes
: ‘The accursed Austrians … the camarilla of Vienna … traitors! Gaolers! Lackeys! Henchmen! … Lajos Kossuth and the Honour of Hungary … the martyrs of Arad … Haynau and Bach … soldiery and army intrigues … Hungarian sword-tassels … the language of command … independent national customs … independence of the banks … Rakoczi and Bocskai …’, and so on. Korosi left nothing out. Everything that could inflame public
opinion
was included and thumped home with all the superficially seductive argument of the professional theologian. His strongest arguments and bitterest accusations were hurled directly at those sitting on the benches opposite; but, though he clearly expected an uproar of protest, he was listened to with calm, smiling
acquiescence
. At last he read the proposition whereby provincial and municipal administrations should forbid their employees to obey the orders of the central government, should stop the
enrolment
of army volunteers and should withhold payment of all tax-monies to the finance ministry.

When at last he had finished, Korosi mopped his tousled
forehead
. Huge cheering broke out from all parts of the assembly hall and one of his colleagues rushed out on to the balcony to signal to the crowd below that the time had come when everyone should shout aloud to let the town aristocrats know that the people were behind the opposition.

Within the hall the mayor raised his hand for silence and asked if anyone wished to add to the proposal now before the assembly. He spoke calmly, in a non-committal voice.

There was silence. Apathy and his band of parliamentary coalitionists looked over to where sat the little gynaecological professor who was the spokesman of the official government party. They all thought that he would rise and in his well-known, sarcastic, razor-sharp tones, begin to protest. But he did not move, merely gazing back with an ironic smile on his face, silent and inscrutable.

‘Professor Dr Korosi’s proposal is unanimously accepted,’ the mayor declared pompously.

The opposition and their followers were taken by surprise. They had not expected things to go smoothly, and indeed had been prepared for battle, noise and disturbance. The assembly cheered the mayor and council and cries of ‘Long live the Mayor’ went up all round. ‘Long live Szvacsina! Long live the Council!’ They smiled and bowed, glad that for once they had been cheered and were popular; on all previous occasions the careful discipline of the Tisza party members had meant that the opposition had normally been forced into unpopular and rowdy behaviour: and for once this had not happened. It was extraordinary but the Tisza party had also declared itself against this ‘government by lackeys’ and so their policy of resistance was for once not only
accepted
but also popular! And so they started to sing that
revolutionary
song ‘Lajos Kossuth sent a message …’ to remind them of the great days of Hungarian opposition to Habsburg tyranny.

The triumphant opposition members now left the hall to join the mob gathered outside. This had now been increased by groups of ordinary strollers and loiterers as well as by the gypsies and stall-holders from the market who had all gathered round to see the fun. The streets and pavements were covered with
people
. Korosi climbed on to a bench in the central part of the square, where each morning vegetable stalls would be set up, so as to broadcast what had happened in a spirited and patriotic speech. As soon as he had finished another man, bull-necked with long arms and dressed in Hungarian national costume, jumped up on the bench opposite: ‘People of Kolozsvar!’ he shouted, ‘I
salute
this patriotic town in the name of the Szekler people from the Maros who on this sacred day …’

It was Janko Cseresznyes – Cherrytree – the unscrupulous
demagogue
who had been used by Azbej in engineering Abady’s election and had made such a good thing of it for himself. He
happened
to be in Kolozsvar that morning by sheer chance, having come into the pig market to purchase thirty young piglets for a firm in Torda. Having done what he came for, he had wandered into the centre of town and, seeing a mass of people all gathered together, could not resist the temptation to play some part in whatever was going on. Accordingly he adopted the role of an
envoy
from the Szeklers living by the Maros river. As such he could address the crowd to his heart’s content.

‘We, the Szekler people who taught the Russians such a lesson in ’48; we, who chased the entire Austrian army to the very gates of hell, we are determined to fight to the end, offering our blood, our lives …’

Professor Dr Korosi and his friends waited for Cherrytree to come to an end but, seeing that he had no intention of stopping, gave up and went home to lunch. Janko went on, his huge voice carrying to the far end of the square, reciting endless promises of good things to come: ‘They talk of “independent customs” but if I was in power I’d see that we got a good price for everything we sell. And, what’s more, what we buy we’d buy cheap! That’s what I’d do!’

‘Bless you! Well said!’ shouted the mob.

‘And I’d lift all the taxes! Yes, sir! I’d wipe them all out!’

‘That’s rubbish!’ cried someone from the crowd. ‘You can’t run a state without them!’

‘I would! And I’d get enough money from the customs for the country not to need taxes. What do they want so much money for anyway? Only to make our boys into Austrian soldiers!’

‘Hear! Hear!’

Then he started on foreign affairs. ‘The Russians thought they’d teach the Japs a good lesson, and look what happened! They’re finished! Well then, why does the Austrian Emperor need so many soldiers? Why does he want Hungarian boys to be bossed about in a foreign language – in German! – by foreign officers who are nothing but henchmen of the Austrian monarchy?
Enslaving
our good simple Hungarian lads, laughing at them and boasting of their own superiority …’

It was at this moment that an open carriage was driven
towards
the mob where Cseresznyes was speaking. It slowed down and finally stopped as the road was blocked. ‘Hop! Hop! Move along there!’ cried the coachman, but no one moved and some of the men in the crowd started to grumble menacingly. In the
carriage
sat a tall dark-haired lady and next to her was an officer in a blue uniform tunic: it was Mme Bogdan Lazar, who had been born Sara Donogan, and Egon Wickwitz.

Cherrytree saw them. ‘Look there!’ he shouted. ‘The sacred
assembly
of the good Hungarian people is menaced by the army!’ and he pointed to the uniformed figure of Baron Egon.

Many faces were turned towards the carriage, ugly, menacing faces that surrounded it completely. The coachman began to get alarmed and Wickwitz put his hand on his sword, ready to draw if he should have to, for the ‘Kaiser’s Rock – the King’s uniform’ – must never be desecrated. All the same, he did not move. Mme Lazar, on the other hand, leapt to her feet, threw back the carriage veil which protected her from dust on the road, and drew herself up to her full height.

‘What is all this nonsense?’ she cried in a commanding voice. ‘Isn’t a Hungarian hussar respected any more? Shame on you all!’ Then, recognizing the speaker on the bench, she shouted
directly
at him: ‘And as for you, Cherrytree, you scoundrel, you’d do better to account to me for that money I gave you to buy calves with last week instead of playing the fool here! Be off with you!’

‘I kiss your hands, Gracious lady,’ said Cherrytree, jumping down from the bench. ‘Why, I was on my way to find your
Ladyship
. That’s why I’m here.’

‘That’s all right then!’ She turned to the crowd. ‘And now, my friends, please let me by. I still have much to do.’

Many of the people in the square knew Mme Lazar. She was generally respected and known to be a clever and industrious
woman
who managed her own estates. She was often to be seen
mingling
with the crowd at the hay auctions or in the market place, and she always had a good word for everyone she met.

Some men came forward at once and saw to it that a way was cleared for her carriage.