They Were Divided (31 page)

It’s amazing, thought Balint, as he bent forward to sip his tea. How she would have loathed all this only a month or so ago!

A tall young woman dressed in rust-coloured linen appeared in the doorway.

It was Adrienne.

She could hardly get through against the rush of those trying to get out, and had to stand by the door to let the crowd go by. She stood there, beside the door, with her back to where Countess Abady was sitting.

She was already standing patiently there when Balint looked up and of course instantly knew who it was.

Joy flooded through him … and then fear of what would happen
next. If Adrienne did not see them, even though she was so close, and so did not greet his mother, Countess Roza would assume that it was done on purpose. Also it was unthinkable that, finding themselves so close to each other, they could make do with a formal greeting. A few words, however trivial, would have to be exchanged, or it would be ruder than if they managed not to see each other at all. He knew that Adrienne would do
whatever
was necessary, but how would his mother react? After all she had hated Adrienne for years, and for a long time the two women had not met. Before that, if they had somehow
encountered
each other at a charity bazaar or in the house of mutual friends, Countess Roza would nod icily and turn away. What would she do now? It would be dreadful to have to stand by and see his mother, by her manner if not in so many words, insult and hurt the woman he loved.

All this flashed through his mind, and his heart constricted with pain.

And then the unexpected happened.

Roza Abady touched Adrienne’s sleeve with her left hand and in gentle tones said, ‘Why, Adrienne! Didn’t you see me?’

The younger woman turned, startled by something so
unexpected
. For a moment she was lost for words, but she quickly recovered herself, greeted the old lady in her turn and lifted Countess Roza’s hand to her lips. There was more in this
spontaneous
gesture than the mere politeness of a younger woman for an older, for in those days grown women kissed old ladies’ hands only if they were close relations. In Adrienne’s gesture gratitude was almost equally blended with humility. Then, across the table, she greeted Balint, who had risen when she turned towards them.

Countess Roza waved to Balint’s empty chair and said, ‘Won’t you join us? We’re rather squeezed, but do come and sit with us … or are you with friends?’

‘Thank you. I’d love to for a moment if I may. I just came in to get something.’

Adrienne spoke hesitantly in rather an embarrassed tone, but the old lady was completely calm and as cheerful as if nothing had ever come between them. She even seemed happy, and indeed she was happy because her desire to play the role of the gracious royal lady always surged up in her whenever she had a chance of giving, and especially when that gift would be
unexpected
and surprising, and appear to come from the great height of her queenly throne. In her happiness now there was also
mingled a real element of goodness as well as a certain faint and forgiving irony for the obvious embarrassment of her son as well as that of Adrienne, though she was careful not to let any of this appear. She rambled on naturally – perhaps indeed almost too volubly – so as to help the others regain their equanimity, telling Adrienne all about Abbazia and how she had spent the winter there, and then asking for news of Adrienne’s father, Akos Miloth, of her sister Margit, and even of her little girl Clemmie who she had heard was at school in Switzerland – so sensible to have her brought up there!

‘I came here to buy her some chocolates,’ said Adrienne, ‘and also some for the head-mistress and her room-mother. I always do, every time I come back, just to show how much I appreciate them.’

Then, apparently without any reason, she added, ‘I only just arrived – on the five o’clock train this afternoon,’ and Balint
wondered
if she said this so as to show that she had known nothing of the Abadys’ movements and so had not contrived this meeting in collusion with him.

They exchanged a few more words and then Adrienne got up and said goodbye, disappearing into the throng of busy shoppers at the counter. A little later they saw her go out carrying three parcels. As Adrienne passed near Countess Roza she bowed her head gracefully to the old lady … and in her eyes Balint could catch the glint of tears.

A quarter of an hour later Balint took his mother back to her hotel. They walked in silence and they did not speak, even when they separated in the great hallway of the Hungaria, except merely to confirm what they were doing that evening. Balint was anxious to look in at the Casino to hear all the latest news. When they said goodbye he kissed her hand but held it in his for a fraction longer than usual. Countess Abady patted her son’s cheek with her chubby little hand.

These two almost imperceptible gestures were all that was needed to mark the gratitude of the son and the acknowledgement of reconciliation by the mother. It was enough for both of them.

When Balint arrived the Casino was crowded. Storms were
brewing
once again.

During the previous weeks Lukacs had been doing everything he could to get the army estimates passed with only a year’s
validity
. To get Justh’s co-operation he had made two different offers
on the suffrage question. Both had been turned down. Neither did he get very far elsewhere for Apponyi, in a public speech, declared that neither he nor any of his followers would even
discuss
what Lukacs was proposing, while Justh let it be known that he found even the suffrage concessions inadequate.

The chances of reaching general agreement were still further reduced by a split in the Independent party, for just when it had appeared that an agreement with Justh was imminent, the Kossuth-Apponyi group brought up an absurdly far-fetched set of nationalistic demands. Then, as Justh did not want to be made to appear less patriotic than the others, he in turn put forward some even more radical suggestions – and only Lukacs knew how his hands had been tied by his secret allegiance to the Heir’s
policies
which left him with no room for manoeuvre. The Justh party now put forward ever more stubborn and revolutionary demands for reform in the mistaken belief that the
Minister-President
had the power to grant them. They had the means to obstruct the passing by Parliament of any measures with which they did not agree, and they used this power relentlessly. All that was done in the House in those days was endless voting on
trivialities
… voting, voting … closed sessions and more voting.

At this point Tisza once more emerged into the limelight.

Though it had not yet happened, it was everywhere believed that soon Navy, who had succeeded Berzeviczy as Speaker of the House, would resign and that Tisza would take his place.

This would mean a violation of the Rules of the House for only a few years before, in 1904, Tisza had himself been at the head of affairs.

Abady moved from group to group, saying nothing but
listening
to what everyone had to say. He only stayed about fifteen minutes listening to each discussion before moving on to the next; but everywhere he heard the same thing, hatred for Tisza, hatred and more hatred, hatred from every kind and shade of opinion in the opposition, hatred from faithful believers in the 1867 Compromise, hatred from the followers of Andrassy, from
members
of the People’s Party and even from those unrepentant old politicians who still brandished the banner of 1848 and revolt against the Habsburgs. There was no difference anywhere.

On the other hand there was no such unanimity in the
government
’s own ranks. Those few supporters of Tisza who were
present
kept their mouths firmly closed and stood about in frigid silence. The rest of Lukacs’s supporters belonged to that familiar
type of politician, inane and passive like so many who blindly
follow
where they think the majority are leading and who are only happy when betting on a certainty. Such men are dismayed by the hazardous and they were now restless and anxious, shaking their heads and vainly trying to reassure themselves by repeating to each other what they firmly believed to be words of ponderous political wisdom. They were obviously scared, for they
remembered
what had happened in 1904, and the memory of the
disastrous
days that followed now made their very bones ache. They tried to bolster up their courage by telling each other that Tisza’s force of will would overcome all difficulties and that it would be done peaceably and with none of the violence of those other days. The mere fact of having a strong man like Tisza controlling the business of the House would be menace enough to keep the trouble-makers in their place. Hedging their bets, as such
politicians
are wont to do, a number of them went round whispering in the ears of anyone who would listen, especially their political opponents, that should there be any repetition of violence in the Chamber, they personally had never approved of such methods and indeed went so far as to oppose them!

Balint found all this deeply disheartening. He thought of Tisza, whom he greatly admired, risking his entire political future faced with the deadly hatred of his opponents and backed only by a mob as treacherous as the men he was trying to confront. The more he thought about this appalling situation the more worried he became.

He had no doubt that the policy of forced votes would win the day. If Tisza managed to by-pass the Rules of the House and succeeded in getting the necessary legislation passed, he would be applauded by the majority and, though the opposition might rant and rave, that was all it would amount to. But afterwards? What would come later? All Balint could see was that Tisza would pile up such a mountain of hatred against himself that he would find himself permanently consigned to a political
no-man
’s-land. What a tragedy if his powerful presence were to be forever lost to Hungarian public life, especially if that loss came about because he had been sold down the line by his own
followers
, maybe even by this present government, or by its
successor
, as soon as it might seem expedient to return to the rule of law! Nothing would ever wash away that legacy of hatred, for not only would the opposition do all it could to keep it alive but the government’s own supporters would do the same if only to make
sure that the most eligible candidate for the office of
Minister-President
was squeezed out of the race. No one else would suffer in the same way, but Tisza could find himself excluded for life from any high office. Could it be coincidence, Balint wondered, that this fate was reserved for the man Slawata had declared to be the most serious obstacle to the Belvedere’s adventurous plans?

But what other solution was there? At present effective
government
was impossible for, if the rule of law was to be respected, then this irresponsible handful of obstructionists could continue indefinitely to hold up implementation of everything the country so urgently needed. To break down this obstruction, the only course seemed to be to ignore those very rules which for centuries had guaranteed the freedom and integrity of the Hungarian Parliament. The pity was that it looked as if no one but Tisza would shoulder the responsibility for doing this and that he and he alone would afterwards be blamed. Was it not possible that some other courageous, hard-headed politician could be found? Someone not so important to the state, who would not be such a loss if he found himself cast out into the wilderness? That would at least be better; for the cynical truth is that the man who acts is blamed, not he who gave the order. The man on the platform gets the rotten eggs, the brains behind him are forgotten.

Balint thought he should speak to Tisza on the subject.

For a long time he wondered if he really should mix himself up in all this. Wouldn’t Tisza think he was just pushing himself forward? But what he had thought made him so anxious that it seemed more important to pass it on to Tisza himself. The next morning he asked when he could see him and was given an appointment that afternoon.