They Were Divided (18 page)

It happened that Mensdorf was closely related to King Edward and so he had considerable influence in social affairs. He bestirred himself and the miracle happened: Kamuthy was accepted.

So, for the two weeks that Isti was in England he was to be seen, day after day, from morning till evening, sitting at one of the first floor windows of the St James’s Club gazing proudly out into Piccadilly. No one spoke to him and even the club servants hardly tried to conceal their contempt. Isti did not care. He could sit there in the window, surrounded by huge mirrors, happy in the knowledge that the thousands of people who passed along the street in front of him could look up and envy him and that, among all the more than seven million inhabitants of London there was barely one who was so privileged as to have the right to sit there behind the glass and drink his tea in the sight of all. It was a heavenly feeling.

After his two weeks Isti had come home. Though he had
studied
his Baedeker until he almost knew it by heart, all he had seen of England were the rooms of his club. It is true that he had marched through some of the museums, not because he was
interested
by anything he saw there but rather so that he had
something
to talk about when he returned. And talk he did. Even now he was telling Fredi about his experiences; and this was the origin of their quarrel. When Isti said that he had become a member of the St James’s, Fredi was so jealous that he turned as yellow as if he were suffering from jaundice. From then on if Isti used an English word, Fredi would correct his pronunciation. ‘You don’t say “Anglish” but “Inglish”, “Waterloo” not “Waterlow”, “
mewseum
” not “mooseum”.’ Fredi became insufferable and Isti couldn’t bear it. He spluttered out that ‘thomebody who had never been in England shouldn’t prethume to correct him’, and at this Fredi rejoined that if one didn’t speak English it was
ridiculous
to go there.

The quarrel got noisier and noisier and Laci Pongracz, who
was not far away, heard it and promptly switched to an even
louder
csardas in an attempt to cover up what was happening. Even so some of those sitting nearby were beginning to notice, and Kadacsay called across the table, ‘Watch it, you two! People are listening.’

Whereupon the two would-be Englishmen stopped arguing and sat next to each other in grim silence. Before long Wuelffenstein could stand it no longer and, so as to have the last word, turned to Isti and said scornfully, ‘Anyhow I don’t believe you ever set foot in the St James’s!’

Kamuthy swelled with rage and, scarlet in the face at being denied his triumph, jumped up and lisped at the top of his voice, ‘Thatth nothing but ungentlemanly intholence! Intholent and ungentlemanly!’

‘How dare you?’ cried Wuelffenstein, also jumping up and at the same time banging the table with his enormous fist so that a coffee-cup was overturned and went clattering onto the floor. It was fortunate that Stanislo Gyeroffy chose the same moment to rise from the table and with considerable presence of mind guide his royal guest away from the scene of battle into the quiet of the smoking-room. Amidst the noise of everyone getting up from table the Comte d’Eu himself was quite unaware that anything untoward had happened. Posting himself in front of the fireplace he proceeded to give a long scholarly dissertation on the history and development of duelling to the group of obsequious old
gentlemen
who had accompanied him out of the hall.

Bogacsy was there too, sitting facing the prince. He did not remain there long because almost as soon as he had sat down Farkas Alvinczy came up to the back of his chair and whispered a few words in his ear. Then he vanished. The retired soldier’s eyes glinted but he did not move because at that moment the prince was looking in his direction. Somehow it seemed that his great handlebar moustaches had grown even longer as Bogacsy’s mouth widened in a smile of pure joy. As soon as the Comte d’Eu’s attention was engaged elsewhere Bogacsy got up and quietly left the room, leaving an empty place in the royal circle.

Kamuthy’s seconds were already waiting for him in the
so-called
Ladies’ Dining Room on the other side of the stairway. They were Joska Kendy, who stood there silently sucking on his pipe, and a mild young man called Garazda who came originally from Western Hungary and was now in his third year at the
university
in Kolozsvar. The usual stern greetings were exchanged
with much formal ceremony but no shaking of hands. Then Fredi’s seconds, Bogacsy and Alvinczy, sat down on one side of the table and Isti’s on the other.

Then the traditional words were uttered, ‘Our client, Count Nandor Wuelffenstein, demands satisfaction.’

All went according to the customary procedure, and in a few moments everything had been settled. There was no question of a reconciliation, nor of a Court of Honour as was recommended by the Anti-Duelling League to all its members. Armed
satisfaction
then? Of course! Swords? Naturally! Both sides agreed to light cavalry sabres. Up to what point? Disability, of course! When …?

This was a problem, for Fredi, as general-secretary of the League in Hungary, was expected to accompany the prince as far as the Romanian border; and the prince was due to leave at five a.m. It was too late to change any of these arrangements.

‘Well then,’ said young Garazda, ‘what about when he gets back from the border?’

‘Certainly not!’ said Bogacsy peremptorily. ‘The Code Duverger expressly states that if both parties to a duel are present nothing shall prevent the meeting taking place. The duel can take place at once, tonight. It isn’t even eleven yet; by midnight the whole affair will be settled.’

‘Very well, but where? The Gymnasium is now closed and there is no other suitable hall.’

‘But there is!’ roared Bogacsy triumphantly. ‘Right here! This room is quite big enough if we push the table to one side. The floor isn’t too slippery, in fact it’s just right. As one of the Casino’s directors I hereby give my official permission.’

Then they got down to details. Two medical men would have to be routed out of their beds and made to attend. Bogacsy had a pair of light cavalry sabres at his apartment and Farkas Alvinczy two more. They would send for them and the two
opponents
could draw lots as to which pair was used.

Then Farkas said, in a worried tone, ‘Where on earth can we find a sabre-sharpener at this hour? Mine are as blunt as anything.’

Here the major interrupted, saying proudly, ‘Mine are sharp as razors! And my man can sharpen the others. He’s very good at it: I taught him myself!’

To make sure that all went smoothly certain responsibilities had to be allocated. Garazda undertook to rouse Kamuthy’s
doctor, while Farkas agreed to get the other, and also to collect his two swords. Bogacsy, as a director of the Casino and one of the hosts at the banquet, could not leave the building while the prince was still under its roof, and so he asked Joska to go to his flat and wake his valet who would collect everything necessary and bring it all over, the sabres and the honing instruments. And so it was arranged that everything could be done at once and precisely as it should be.

Bogacsy now returned to the smoking-room and, finding that no one had usurped his chair, sat down again where he had been facing the prince, who was still in full flood. The duelling major listened with joy in his heart.

‘… and from where, I ask you, does duelling stem? Who started this barbaric habit? I tell you, gentlemen, it is the last
survival
of the medieval
auto-da-fé.
In those benighted times people still believed that God would intervene and give victory to the one with right on his side, to the gentle and true in heart, while the sinner would perish miserably. Even then, of course, they were apt only to let the most experienced swordsmen take their chance with God’s judgement. But today, gentlemen, today? Who believes that Divine Providence has anything to do with the outcome? Who on earth would be bothered with such nonsense? Nowadays we all know that the victor is he who has had most practice, be it with swords or pistols. Why, the vilest man can kill the most honest! It is terrible, really terrible!’

An approving murmur greeted these words. Even Crookface belched out something, but whether it was in agreement with the royal proposition remained doubtful. Bogacsy, however, nodded his head vigorously at every word.

This was only to be expected for the battling ex-officer had been uncomfortably aware of what a ridiculous figure he had cut before dinner when all the young men, especially those who were now standing about in the background, had been mocking his predicament. Now it was his turn to lead their silent mockery of the philanthropic prince; and the turn of those mocking young brats to admire him, Bogacsy, the perfect second who could listen so impassively to the royal visitor’s absurdly
inopportune
speeches. Nothing showed in his expression, for it was a
golden
rule where duelling was concerned, that no one spoke of the encounter until after it had happened. So he sat there stiffly, with his legs stretched out and his paunch protruding, the very picture
of authority and elegant sangfroid. He knew he was doing it right and that everyone else knew it too.

It seemed that the royal guest would never stop. On and on he talked – for about an hour and a half – in good German and well-turned phrases. Of course his fluency was helped by the fact that he had said all this many times before, in several different languages and many different countries. And of course, too, he was listened to in deferential silence. There were no interruptions and no disturbances; how could there be?

After half an hour had passed young Garazda came quietly up to Bogacsy’s chair and whispered something in his ear. Later Farkas Alvinczy did the same thing, and later still it was Joska’s turn. There was nothing conspicuous about it, for each message was delivered discreetly and quietly. Bogacsy himself merely nodded acknowledgement of whatever he had been told, and these nods could equally well have been taken as tacit approval of the Prince’s plea to end duelling in Europe.

At long last the Comte d’Eu got up, and so did everyone else, straightened his elegant figure, looked with his sad grey eyes at the people near him, thanked them for their hospitality and warm
welcome
, and said how touched he was to find himself surrounded by so many people in tune with his philanthropic movement. He had hardly, he said, expected to meet with such success, such understanding and such sympathy among the people of a nation so traditionally warlike as the Hungarians and was surprised, as well as delighted, to encounter such support from those whose habit had always been to settle everything with a sword. And yet, here he was and everybody he met seemed to be in perfect
agreement
with him and to be only too happy to join the league against duelling. He said he felt filled with renewed strength and
confidence
and was now quite sure that very soon duelling would
disappear
for ever and be thought of only as one of the errors of the past.

‘Dank,
meine
Herren.
Dank,
Dank,
Dank
– thank you, gentlemen, thank you, thank you, thank you!’

These words were greeted by well-bred, if slightly muted, applause; and nobody seemed to notice that at the back, from the direction of the card-room, came some hastily suppressed giggles.

Surrounded by the Casino’s three directors and, as befitted his exalted rank, preceded by two footmen carrying tall candelabra, the prince was escorted down the stairs. Just as he reached the
swing-doors into the street there was a moment’s interruption as a little man with a turned-up collar and carrying a small Gladstone bag scurried in. The newcomer quickly effaced
himself
, flattening himself modestly against the dark wall of the
vestibule
. No one noticed that he carried a bottle of disinfectant under one arm and that his pockets were stuffed with bandages!

He was one of the doctors that Bogacsy had sent for to attend the duel.