Miklos Banffy - They Were Divided

‘Better come to me,’ said Balint. ‘The servants will soon be round to take away the lamps as my mother doesn’t like to keep them up late. I’ll give you a candle to get back to your room.’ They turned and crossed the entrance hall, and as they did so they could see the lights on the floor above going out, one after the other, until finally one solitary glimmer could be seen moving slowly along until it too disappeared behind an arch and was seen no more.

Soon the two young men were seated facing each other at the table in Balint’s circular ground-floor room in the castle’s north-west tower. A small reading lamp cast a glow between them, but the rest of the room was in darkness.

Kadacsay hesitated for a moment before starting to speak. Looking now more than ever like a raven with his beak tilted slightly to one side, he seemed to be looking hard at the armrest of his chair as if he would get inspiration from it. Then, speaking slowly with long pauses between each phrase as if to underline that he was choosing his words with extra care, he said, ‘I have just made my will … Yes, my will. It seemed the r-r-right thing to do … now … and that is why I came to see you, to ask … to ask you to agr-r-ree to be my executor-r-r …’

Balint found this sinister and upsetting. The fate of his own father flashed through his mind, for Count Tamas Abady had developed cancer when he was hardly older than Gazsi was today, and had died within a few months. Had this happened to his friend? Was this why he had seemed so sad and preoccupied? So, trying to hide his concern, he interrupted Gazsi, saying, ‘You’re not ill, Gazsi? If anything is worrying you I hope you’ve seen a doctor?’

‘No, no! I’m all r-r-right … as good as ever-r-r, I just thought it seemed sensible to … to be pr-r-repared, to be r-r-ready … just in case … in plenty of time …’

Then he went on to tell Balint exactly how all his affairs stood and that he had settled everything with his sister when he had been over to see her a few days before. He explained all about what his property brought in, with detailed facts and figures, and told Balint that he had settled all those small debts he had incurred when still in the hussars so that all that now remained was the disposal of his family inheritance.

‘For Heaven’s sake, what makes you think of death when you’re still so young and healthy?’ broke in Balint again, now somewhat irritated by such gloomy thoughts when he himself felt so happy.

‘Does everything have to have a reason?’ asked the other, and smiled quizzically. ‘Perhaps one day my darling Honeydew will go a little cr-r-razy again, throw me and then r-r-roll all over me? Who knows, she killed a jockey like that once! R-r-rather a suitable durned up at Denestornya, the Coeath for me, don’t you think? After all, everyone knows I only know about horses. Anyhow, why be frightened of death? Didn’t Schopenhauer say something about it being only our will to live which makes us scared of death and that it was a purely animal reaction? Or perhaps I’ve got it wr-r-rong …?’ and he waved his hand in a gesture of mock dejection before laughing briefly. Then, far more seriously, he went on to tell Balint that he had decided to leave everything he could to his sister’s two sons on one condition. That was that each of them, before he came into his inheritance, must spend at least two years at some university abroad, in England or in France, and that it would be Balint’s responsibility to choose where. If they didn’t agree they were to get nothing. ‘I’m determined,’ he said, ‘that they shan’t turn out to be useless fools like me!’

Touched by what he was hearing, Balint listened hard to everything that Gazsi had to say; and all the time he was thinking how tormented his old friend must have been, and how for years he must have lived with this inner turmoil and so now was doing the only thing he could to provide for his nephews what he had yearned for in vain for himself. Later he would remember one or two especially poignant things that Gazsi had said about himself, about his unfulfilled hunger for knowledge and self-understanding, and how this hunger had led him to grab eagerly at any book he could lay his hands on, especially those on history and the modern school of German philosophy. In this way, it seemed, he had tried hard to compensate for years spent only in the saddle and in playing the fool.

‘Of course I’ll do what you ask,’ said Balint. ‘I’m flattered that you should have that sort of faith in me. All the same it’s not very likely that I’ll have to put my oar in. You’ll probably live for years and send the boys to England yourself… and any others who are not yet born!’

Gazsi got up, laughing as he said, ‘Even Habakkuk got a r-r-rude answer when he asked the Lord about the future!’ and, so as to cover his deep emotion at Balint’s ready acceptance, he laughed loudly at his own irreverence. Then he took Balint’s hand, wrung it warmly, holding it in his for a little longer than usual, in the way that one does when saying goodbye.

At eight o’clock the following morning they went out riding; not before, because at that time of year the dawn was invariably followed by a thick fog on the flat land beside the Aranyos which was where Balint wanted to go to try out the young horses. Since Gazsi had brought Honeydew, who had been ridden in several first class flat races, they were only going to try short distances so that the novices from the Denestornya stable could keep up with the experienced thoroughbred mare.

Five horses had been saddled and were waiting for them in the horseshoe court. Apart from Honeydew, there were Csinos and Ivy with Balint’s own saddles, and Menyet and Csalma with the stable lads. All four were very much alike, tall bay mares, about sixteen hands, with long elegant necks, wide shoulders and ‘a lot of ground under them’. The only difference between them was that one was a shade darker and one a shade lighter than the others, and if Honeydew with her fine bones and pulled-up belly like a greyhound had not been in sight — she was being held slightly apart from the others in case she should take it into her head to start kicking out — they too might have been taken for English thoroughbreds with those unmistakable lines of the true racehorse.

The little band of riders walked slowly out through the great gates of the courtyard, Balint and Gazsi side by side in the lead — though Gazsi prudently held Honeydew a pace or two behind because the mare was already beginning to put her ears back and he needed to be careful to control her uncertain temper — while Simon Jäger and two stable lads followed a couple of lengths behind them. The hoofbeats echoed loudly as they rode under the wide arch.

After crossing the bridge that spanned the former moat they turned left towards the river. Below them most of the wide valley was still covered in wave after wave of thin mist, so diaphanous that it might have been made from the torn remnants of some giant shawl of soft cotton. It spread over the whole plain far beyond the junction with the Maros and, wherever the sun’s rays had been strongest, glimpses could be caught of the trees and meadows beneath. In some places, where the plantations were thickest, the park could clearly be seen, but in others thin wisps of early mist still clung to the tips of the tallest poplars until the tiny patches of autumn leaves looked like golden coins suspended in the air. The little band rode down through the bright contrasting colours of the separate groups of birch, pine and maple until, after describing a wide arc, they found themselves where the lingering morning mist reduced all colours to pastel. Although by now one could see some distance ahead it was like looking through milky glass, as in a dream landscape where everything appeared to be at an infinite distance.