They Were Divided (47 page)

T
HAT YEAR, FOR THE FIRST TIME,
Balint Spent Christmas alone, but he consoled himself by thinking that it would only be that once.

In the years to come Adrienne would be there; and, if God was kind, others too, more and more.

For the great household at Denestornya everything passed as
it always had, with the same ceremonies as there had been during Countess Roza’s lifetime. Nothing had changed: the tree was placed in the centre of the dining table, around it heaps of
presents
on the white tablecloth that had been arranged, as before, by Mrs Tothy and Mrs Baczo. The old butler, Peter, stood by the door, as in every other year. There was one difference: Countess Roza’s throne-like gilt chair was not in its usual place.

Instead Balint stood, slightly to one side just as if his mother had still been there, and handed out the presents to the women and children who came in one by one just as they always had. He wanted no break in the tradition so that next Christmas Adrienne would continue what Roza Abady had done all her life.

When everyone had left and most of the myriad candles in the chandeliers and in the sconces had been snuffed out, Balint stayed there for a long time. He walked from end to end of the immense hall, stopping before the display cabinets, gazing deeply at all the family treasures they contained and also at the objects on the tables that had been placed in the deep window embrasures. They all had their part in his past and that of the family. He looked at everything pensively, almost absentmindedly. It was a strangely varied collection ranging from exquisite pieces of china from Meissen and Vienna to a huge ancient lock of rusty iron which had once fastened the castle’s portcullis. There were also some things which were frankly cheap or ugly, but these were
souvenirs
of Countess Roza’s youth and had been kept for the
sentimental
memories they evoked. There was a pottery figure of a girl whose skirt would oscillate if touched, a china pug with
bulging
eyes which had been given to his mother as a child and
treasured
by her ever since and so placed side by side with the precious cups of gold and silver and the pieces of fine porcelain – objects that had been handed down from generations of former Abadys.

Balint knew the history of each object: and he swore then that everything must always stay as it always had been.

After a long time he went down to the ground floor. There he put on a warm coat and went out into the dark night. Across the courtyard and down to the churchyard where a new Abady vault had been built up against the church when, at the end of the eighteenth century, there had been no more room in the crypt beneath the nave. Here were resting the remains of Balint’s grandparents, of his father and, since the previous spring, also of his mother.

The vault was locked, but Balint had had no intention of going
in. He only wanted to go as far as the door so as, symbolically, to tell Countess Roza that the Christmas Eve ceremony had been held and that he had done it, and always would do it, exactly as she had. He remained there only for a minute or two. Then he said a silent prayer and walked back up to the castle.

Time went slowly by. Adrienne came back from Lausanne rather later than she had planned because little Clemmie had had some recurrent bouts of fever and Adrienne had not wanted to leave until the girl had been thoroughly checked by the doctors. Finally they declared that there was no cause for anxiety, that this sort of thing often occurred with growing girls and soon would
disappear
of itself. Nothing to worry about, they said.

So Adrienne came home reassured.

There was a great deal to do as soon as she was back. She and Balint had many plans to make. With their architect they worked on the detailed plans of that part of the castle in which they were going to live. Discussions were held with contractors for installing running water and electric light, hitherto unknown at Denestornya despite the family’s great means. Decisions had to be made about whether the necessary power should come from motor generators or from turbines driven by the mill. All sorts of new projects occupied them every day.

In the great world outside there was a lull, even in the Balkans. Only the Albanians were still in turmoil. Oddly enough they did not seem at all to appreciate the new Prussian guards officer king that the great powers had so carefully chosen for them. It was true that the excellent Prince of Wied was hardly known to his new subjects for in the last two months, ever since he had become King, he had barely set foot in his new country but had preferred to make a round of the courts of Europe, great and small, to offer thanks for his elevation to royal status. Wherever he went he was greatly admired. He was tall and slim and
powerfully
built and boasted a full set of white, if somewhat equine, teeth. Such a tour was an excellent opportunity to show off these physical advantages and make himself admired, for as a ruling monarch he was able always to stand in the middle of the room, thereby making sure that he was the centre of attention and that everyone would be able to see what a fine upstanding lad he was; and, as all the parties were given for him, all he had to do was to smile continuously with a benevolent, if not very
intelligent
, expression on his face.

And how was he repaid by those vile Albanians? Only two months out of the country and revolution broke out. Not only that but in January those ungrateful rebels announced that the Prince of Wied had been deposed and replaced by a man of their own choice – one Izzet Pasha. The great powers declared that this was beyond endurance and sent a fleet to demonstrate off Valona. At the same time they bade the Prince of Wied to hurry up and take possession of his throne. ‘At once!’ the new King cried; but then found that his country’s new coat of arms was not ready.

He had ordered it to be prepared by some of the world’s
leading
experts on heraldry, and naturally could not present himself to his new subjects without it, for how could a man be a real king if he had no proper heraldic insignia? Not only that but he had to form a royal guard, and although he had issued a tempting invitation to the adventure-hungry young aristocrats of Europe, no one had yet come forward; and how could he set foot in his kingdom without a guard? So he continued on his travels, always smiling, and went to Rome, Berlin and London.

While the ‘pacification’ of Albania found no smooth path, the solutions proposed in the Aegean proceeded without a hitch. The islands of Imbros and Tenedos were given back to Turkey while the rest were handed over to Greece. It was true that these were still occupied by the English, but as this was said to be only a
temporary
arrangement, it seemed that peace had been achieved there too.

All the same there were a few signs that something disquieting was moving under the surface, and this not only in the Balkans. It was rumoured that a Russian secret agent, one Count Dobrinsky, was travelling about in disguise on the Hungarian side of the Carpathians.

It seemed that he had already been in Ruthenia for some little time and that his presence there had only become remarked when, instead of the old-style little wooden chapels, there had been erected many new churches built of stone in the Russian manner with money from an unknown source. Wherever such a new ‘Russian’ church appeared so at the same time did a portrait of the Tsar, Father of all the Russias. But Dobrinsky was not only there to build propaganda churches, his real function, it was reported, was to draw strategic maps of the passes over the Carpathians and to recruit a network of confidential informers, about fifty of whom had been arrested and brought to trial at the end of December.

This was the calm before the storm. It was the beginning of 1914.

Society in the Hungarian capital did not seem to be aware of any of these things. Nor did Parliament. Nearly everyone was interested only by whatever scandal came their way. Only Tisza was doing everything he could to make up for lost time. Only he saw how necessary this was. Even though it was so late in the day he did all he could to bring peace to the controversy over the
status
of the ethnic minorities in the kingdom. He alone, it seemed, realized how essential it was to get these troubles settled before some world crisis would test the country’s mettle. He initiated talks with the influential Romanian politician Maniu – and was promptly attacked by Justh and other chauvinist demagogues for so doing. The county of Pest reacted stormily. The discussions went on for some six weeks, until, in the end, the Romanian ‘national committee’ rejected the Minister-President’s overtures. Despite their refusal to co-operate Tisza declared that for his part he would be as good as his word and continue to hold out the hand of friendship whether it was grasped or not.

It was the last very late attempt to solve a problem that had dogged Hungarian politics for more than a decade. It was,
perhaps
, a trifle shop-soiled too, because of the irredentist
pretensions
of the Bucharest peace treaty. But Tisza, even if he had wanted to, could not then have offered more. His hands were tied, firstly by the fact that public opinion was against him and secondly because there were so few others in public life sufficiently clear-sighted to realize the seriousness of the international situation.

At the end of February Balint again found himself back in the Kalotaszeg. He had to go to Magyarokerek to deal with a most interesting situation that had developed there. After a series of abortive attempts a Co-operative society had been formed in the villages in the mountains where the only work was in forestry. This was not unlike the one of two similar societies which had already been formed in the Szekler country. Abady was anxious to
persuade
this new Co-operative to affiliate to his national movement. This was no easy task, especially in the bigger villages like Kalota-Szentkiraly, Valko and Gyero-Monostor who had all rejected the idea of affiliation. However, the people of Magyarokerek were more flexible in their ideas and accepted Balint’s proposition within a month of forming their Co-operative.
Balint therefore felt himself bound to find them a forest, for though the villagers were honest, and full of goodwill and joy in their work, they had no money with which to pay for the standing timber on whatever land might be made available to them. This was the custom, but it was difficult to find a landowner willing to forego the profit on land which he had always regarded as there only for his personal profit.

Balint accordingly had decided to give them one of his own holdings which was separate from the other Abady forests. It was situated on the south side of the Kohegy on the boundaries of the county of Szekelyjo. Balint’s idea was to allow the villagers to owe him the purchase price until they could start to make a profit from felling the adult trees. Accordingly he went there with his own forest manager, the engineer Winkler, and his secretary Miklos Ganyi, to advise the Co-operative on how to plan the
felling
and also how to run the new society.

It was pouring with rain when Balint’s little party arrived. Everywhere was water and mud and their only consolation was that most of the snow had already disappeared from the mountains.

They walked the boundaries of the forest and checked that they were properly marked; and in the afternoon they sat down in the judge’s house and saw that the contract was properly drawn-up. At the same time they drew up a schedule of when the timber should be sold and what its price should be. Then they estimated how much would be left, when the land price had been paid and the cost of the labour settled, to form the society’s
capital
. This last had been Abady’s express wish and would be his gift.

When all these things had been settled and there only remained some minor details and the preparation of fine copies of the
agreements
– work which would take an hour at most and which could best be done by Winkler and Ganyi – Balint realized that he had time to call on Farkas Alvinczy, whom he had not seen for a long time.