Miklos Banffy - They Were Divided

Balint found the old revolutionary’s mocking smile insupportable. They parted, and Balint went home.

BALINT ARRIVED at Denestornya in the afternoon. Two of the stable-lads had already received their army papers, as had eight farm workers, a ‘ darabont ’ — man of all work — the blacksmith and three of the under-gardeners and, most serious of all, Miklos Ganyi, his right-hand man. There was a great deal to do for all these had somehow to be replaced, and all arrangements must be made before Balint himself left to rejoin his regiment at Varad on the following day.

On his desk was a registered letter from Vienna. The envelope bore the elegant gold circle emblem of the foreign ministry. It was from Slawata, now head of his department. It was dated August 4th and informed Abady that Slawata had arranged for him to be seconded to the General Staff as liaison officer for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. He was asked to go at once to Vienna where his duties would be explained to him.

Balint was sure that Slawata had done this out of goodwill for an old friend thinking that he could thereby save him from service in the front line. It also showed that Slawata at least was happy about the way things were going, because he went on to take Balint into his confidence, telling him ‘ Berchtold hat die Sache brilliant gemacht — Berchtold has managed everything brilliantly,’ and he went on to explain exactly where this brilliance lay. He had purposely, wrote Slawata, not shown the text of the ultimatum to Austria’s allies; neither to Berlin lest they should pass it on to Rome, nor to Rome since they would have shown it at once to London and Paris! Even if it had got no further than Vienna there would have been cabinet meetings and discussions and the wording would have been changed and toned down. They would have ruled out the demand for compensation which would ensure ‘ Die endgültige Abrechnung — the final reckoning…’ In this way Berchtold had so arranged it all that no one could stop him.

Italy, of course, went on Slawata, had already abandoned her former friends, but then Austria had not taken her into account for several years past; but the German foreign minister, Bethman-Hollweg, good fellow that he was, had swallowed it all without a word! ‘ Wir haben den Kerl überrumpelt! — we caught the fellow unawares!’

Balint was horrified by the casual tone of everything Slawata wrote. He supposed that it was possible that this was not exactly what he thought but that, as a career diplomat, he was merely applauding the adroitness with which Berchtold had out-manoeuvred his allies.

Later on another sentence struck him. ‘ Conrad war auch famos — Conrad, too, was splendid!’ for it was he who had broken down the opposition of the Emperor himself. What had happened was that Conrad, as Chief of the Austrian general staff, had told Franz-Josef that the Serbs had already forced the crossing of the Sava river. It had not been true, but it had been the only way to get the monarch’s signature.

Balint read this letter sitting at his grandfather’s desk in Count Peter’s old manor.

He was overcome with anger and the deepest sorrow. So between them Berchtold and Conrad had forced the country into war! And they had chosen this moment to do so! Balint could not conceive how they could have shouldered such an awful responsibility, even if one admitted that sooner or later war would have been inevitable.

As for Russia, she had been preparing for war for a long time and so, even if hostilities did not start at once, they were inevitable in the next year or so. The great show-down could not be postponed more than three years at most; but to provoke it now, when the Dual Monarchy was at a severe disadvantage, seemed to Balint to be sheer folly. Surely it would have been better to wait, for the situation was so fluid that things might well have improved. It was always possible that Russian and English interests in Asia might conflict; while, in Africa, English, French and Italian aims could well be so opposed that any alliance between those nations would be gravely threatened. There were sinister stirrings in Ireland that might pre-occupy the British. Given time anything could occur to diminish the encircling threat to Germany and Austria.

But they had chosen this moment when everyone was their enemy!

Balint sat for a long time before the window. Then he sat up and shook himself. He had not come there to waste time in gloomy thoughts but to put his affairs in order before he had to leave.

He picked up a telegram-form, addressed it to Slawata, and wrote:

‘

DANK. KANN UNMOGLIGH KOMMEN. HABE MICH BEI REGIMENT GEMELDET — THANK YOU. UNABLE TO COME NOW. AM RECALLED TO MY REGIMENT.’

He had joined the Vilos hussars and was expected at regimental headquarters for posting to the front. Of course he could save his skin by accepting some important job on the general staff, but why should he worry about his own life? After all it wasn’t worth anything any more — a bullet would be better …

This thought was uppermost in his mind as he started to work with Ganyi. Together they went over all the files and arranged matters so that the Co-operatives could carry on despite their absence. He decided to burn all his private papers, and sent word up to the castle to light a fire in the tower room for this purpose.

Ganyi took his leave, and Balint was about to follow him out when he again started thinking about what the war might bring. Unlike everyone else he was convinced that it would last for a long time and that it was bound to be lost. He had not said this to anyone because he did not want to undermine their warlike enthusiasm, but he had thought this from the very beginning. It was possible that the Russians might well get as far as Denestornya, and, if they did, then everything would be destroyed and he would be far away if he were not already dead.

His eyes now fell on his grandfather’s desk, and he thought that he really should open it and know what was in it before an invading enemy hacked it to pieces. What sacrilege, thought Balint, that this simple old piece of furniture which held so many memories of his childhood might be thoughtlessly destroyed. He felt for the key and fitted it into the lock. Then the unexpected happened. The key turned easily and the lock clicked. This had never happened when he had tried it before, but perhaps now he had unknowingly been more adroit. He pulled the drawer out and looked inside. A strange old scent assailed him, a scent made up of tobacco in an old wooden box, and sealing-wax long turned to resin.

Then he took up the other keys and opened the side drawers. There he found all sorts of little mementos — a golden amber mouthpiece for a pipe, a fine whetstone that Peter Abady must have brought from England, a green leather case with six handsome razors, one for each day of the week; and a little wreath carved from lime-wood which Balint remembered his father showing him and explaining that it was the work of Ferenc Deak himself who had given it to him many years before. Its history was engraved on the base.

There were so many things, now of no possible use.

In the left-hand drawer he found the pair of satin slippers that he also recalled having seen when he was a boy. They were heelless and the soles were paper-thin. Narrow ribbons were attached to them and they were so small that their owner must have had feet as delicate as wafers. Now, as Balint picked them up, he fancied he saw his grandfather turning them over, showing him the wear on the soles, smiling, and saying ‘Look! See how much that little charmer danced!’