Miklós Bánffy - They Were Found Wanting

‘All the same I will not do it,’ said Abady drily. ‘Kossuth is an honourable man who certainly signed in good faith. The only thing you can accuse him of is ignorance or gullibility; and in so doing you cast a slur on him he does not deserve. No! I will not do it.’

‘Pity,’ said Frankel as he got up and replaced the dossier in his briefcase. Then he added, ‘If your Lordship should at any time change your mind and need these papers they will always be at your disposal.’ Then he said goodbye and left the room.

Balint smiled as the door closed behind his departing visitor. He knew that he would never have agreed to do as Frankel wished, but it pleased him all the same that he had been able so soon to keep his promise to Dinora.

The new tax proposals were bitterly attacked in Parliament, and in particular the concessions to the co-operatives. At that time so much importance was given to the principle of private enterprise that people even saw injustice if the state reduced the burden on organizations designed to help the under-privileged.

Most of the members looked askance at the whole co-operative movement, partly because its principal supporters were Sandor Karolyi, Gyorgy Banffy, Zselinsky and Aurel Dessewffy, all of them aristocrats. Istvan Bernath and Rubinak were country-bred members of the Agrarian Party which favoured giving voting rights to agricultural workers and in any case kept well away from everyday political issues while avoiding allegiance to any party. Others objected on obscure theoretical grounds of their own.

The principle of free enterprise, unhampered by any control of prices, was held sacrosanct, as were the traditional notions of astronomy. In 1908 people were not to know that even these last were soon to be challenged by Einstein’s theory of relativity!

In the popular view anything that deviated from what was held to be the accepted order of matters economic, anything that gave added value to state enterprises or indeed any other concern, however altruistic, was held to be a sin against received truth — for such was the usual view of the principle of free enterprise.

And so the new tax proposals, especially as regards the co-operatives, which, though presented by the Minister-President Wekerle had been worked out by Daranyi, the Minister for Agriculture, were hotly contested. No one seemed to notice that by so doing they were not only giving support to those owners of village stores and innkeepers who lent money at exorbitant interest, but also penalizing the peasants who actually worked the land.

There were also those who supported the Bill, and among them was Abady.

This time he spoke better than he had two years before, so much so that he was listened to with interest, especially by Daranyi, who once or twice nodded his approval. Even so it was clear to him that the majority did not take the co-operatives all that seriously. Doubtless they thought some other matters more pressing, especially as at that very moment the banking questions were being discussed in committee in another room.

Every now and then members would rush into the chamber with news of how matters were going at the committee session and how the atmosphere there was getting hotter and hotter. Finally it was heard that the government had managed to get the discussion adjourned before it had been taken to a vote.

Balint gathered up his papers and stepped out into the corridor where he found a large group of other Members all discussing the day’s affairs. On the far side stood Boros who, when he saw Abady, made a movement as if he would walk over to congratulate him. As it happened he only started to make such a movement as Balint quickened his pace and passed by swiftly. This happened so rapidly that no one noticed — but Boros knew instinctively that Abady had hurried away on purpose, and in this he was perfectly right, for Balint really had felt disinclined to shake hands with the lawyer in front of so many people. To do so would have been tantamount to telling the world that they were friends.

For a brief moment Boros watched Abady walk away. He frowned, then he turned once again to the group who were still deep in discussion of the banking question.

At once he dominated the argument, giving his opinion precisely and in the most lucid language. He defended Kossuth’s view even though it was opposed by the committee, and explained why the link with Austrian banking was so important. He found some touching phrases to describe the ailing party leader and indeed he served his master well for, at least as long as he was speaking, even Justh’s followers found themselves in agreement. And, as always, he spoke beautifully, tear-wringing phrases fell from his mouth expressed in sonorous tones as rich as any cathedral organ. He was a master of oratory, ready, no matter how hard-pressed by worries, to express the most beautiful sentiments, using his voice like a well-tuned instrument from which he could obtain whatever effects he desired.

At this time he really did have a great deal on his mind. Since the meeting at Vasarhely quite a number of his clients seemed to have lost faith in him. For many years he had had the management of a number of private fortunes. Most of the landowners in the Maros valley lived entirely by the advice he gave and even left their money and their valuables in his care. Nobody had ever questioned his accounts or enquired how their money had been invested. Now everything had changed. Boros was besieged with letters every day, some making polite enquiries, but others there were who demanded immediate and detailed statements of account. Some made sinister references to the law and legal obligations.

Boros’s first action was to do what he had always done: he robbed Peter to pay Paul, using one client’s money to satisfy another. This he had done for many years, optimistically assuming that he would never be unable to replace whatever was necessary out of the huge professional fees he earned. Hitherto this system had served him well, but now everybody seemed to want satisfaction at the same time. This spelt trouble.

And trouble it certainly was, for Boros had no reserves of any kind. What he earned he spent, at once, and usually considerably more. His home and family cost a lot, for his wife liked to cut a dash at Vasarhely; but the real expense had been his annual visits abroad to such fashionable watering-places as Deauville or Biarritz where he lived the life of a bachelor whose hobby was keeping beautiful women. Beautiful they were, of course, but always very expensive. And recently there had been Dinora. He had bought her a flat and furniture and many splendid presents. He made out to her that it all came from the income of her property at Maros-Szilvas, but whatever he told her was never questioned by Dinora who merely enjoyed the life they led together. This life cost Boros a staggering sum, and the 100,000 crowns he had recently received were soon spent, as much of it had to be paid out to stop the clamouring mouths of suspicious clients. Even so it was not enough, for there were legions of them and as soon as one was satisfied his place was taken by others … more, and more, and more. Some he was able to send away with a draft without heeding that it might never be honoured.

Having calmed his parliamentary colleagues with his eloquence he left the building and went straight to Dinora’s flat where he usually lunched even though he still lived in his own old apartment across the river in Buda. This arrangement was in any case soon to be ended for he had recently been able to acquire the top floor flat above Dinora’s and had planned to move there as soon as he had time to do so.