Miklós Bánffy - They Were Found Wanting

Would it not be better, he asked himself, to let the affair take its course without any interference by him? After all, he rationalized, Absolon had brought all this upon himself. He, Balint, had wanted none of it and indeed had really nothing to do with it!

On the other hand, could he really stand aside and keep silent about what he knew to be true? Had he not already said before two witnesses why he would not himself shake hands with the lawyer? Even if he had not mentioned any names, neither Frankel’s nor anyone else’s, was it not true that he entirely agreed with what Absolon had said of Boros? Surely the old man had the right to feel that he could count on Balint not to let him down when he was risking his life because of what Balint had told him? And fight old Absolon would certainly have to do — probably under the most dangerous conditions — unless he could prove the truth of his accusations. And this he obviously would not be able to do without Balint’s help. He was hardly the type to start checking facts and figures. It was unthinkable, thought Balint, that by his silence he should allow the honourable old gentleman to get himself killed when right was on his side.

After many hours of painful brooding Balint finally made up his mind: only if the worst came to the worst would he ask for Frankel’s dossier. This was because he did not want to cause any harm to Kossuth. With any luck that dossier would not be needed; and, maybe, some of all those papers now peacefully at rest in that study drawer at Denestornya would provide what was necessary. They could never have served as evidence in a court of law but there was sure to be enough to satisfy a Court of Honour. He resolved to go home at once and see what he could find.

Before leaving he went to see Alvinczy, and afterwards Absolon, to tell them what he intended to do.

The old Tartar was in a merry mood.

‘Well, my boy, it’s nice of you to take this matter to heart, though I don’t think there’s really any need for proof. It’s only that old ass Alvinczy who invented all this stupidity. Of course they’ll all believe me. When I say someone is a swine, then he is one! And if they won’t believe me then we’ll fight it out instead: it won’t be the first time I’ve put a shot in someone’s belly!’ Whereupon, with great relish, he embarked on a tale about how, some twenty years before, on the shore of the Tsertsen Lake, he had shot three robbers with a small revolver. ‘All three fell like rabbits, like rabbits, my boy. And these were real tough customers, not like your legal lick-spittle! This is nothing, my boy, nothing at all!’

Balint left quickly.

Although he had intended to spend only three days in Transylvania — one in Kolozsvar to see Adrienne, and two at home at Denestornya to collect the evidence he wanted — things turned out differently. Although it was already the end of March when Balint left to catch the night train to Budapest, the snow was falling as heavily as if it were January. In the darkness the carriage-driver hit a road-stone, one of the wheels was broken, and Balint missed the train.

This was particularly provoking because he had promised Absolon’s seconds to be back on the fourth day. As yet it was not serious for the Court of Honour would not meet until three days later. So as to minimize the chance of any further mishaps on the road he travelled to Kolozsvar by the slow afternoon train the next day, and waited there for the Budapest express. He was now worried because, in the train from Denestornya, he had had time to look through the papers he had come for. None of them, on its own, amounted to much. It was only after reading the lot that a general picture began to emerge, and that picture amounted to a most serious indictment of the lawyer’s honesty. He decided to show everything he had got to Alvinczy and Bogacsy and if they didn’t think they amounted to proof then, as a last resort, he could always turn to Frankel. His documents really were proof, decisive proof; but Balint decided he would only ask for them as a last resort.

Then, if the Court of Honour declared against Boros without making public Balint’s and Absolon’s reasons, that would be for the best. Balint consoled himself with this thought, for then there would be no more political consequences.

Dinora was happy. Boros had told her that he wouldn’t wait any longer for his furniture to arrive from Transylvania but would move immediately into his new flat, high up on the top floor above her; so he would always be close at hand.

‘This is wonderful,’ she cried, ‘but what about all your things?’

‘I’m fed up with waiting for them. I’m just going to bring over some of the nicer pieces from the Buda flat. I made the appointment with the movers this morning.’

‘I can help,’ she said. ‘I’ll do it very well. You’ll see! Oh, it will be fun!’

Boros’s expression clouded over.

‘No, no! Not yet. It’ll all be heavy work now, and anyhow I know exactly how I want it. So I’m going to do it all myself … and I’m going to do it alone.’

‘What a perfectionist you are!’ laughed Dinora. ‘I never realized it before.’

‘When everything is finished you can come and see for yourself. And then you can give it a few finishing touches.’

He put his arms round her and kissed her on the neck.

This conversation took place on the day when the Court of Honour agreed to the eight days’ adjournment. The next morning the lift was continually rumbling up and down. Under the cage for the passengers was a compartment designed to carry goods. Most of what Boros brought came up in this lower compartment: only what would not fit in was brought up by hand.

Half the workmen stayed down below, the other half worked at the top; and the work took all day. The first pieces to arrive were the largest. Boros devoted the whole day to the move. He had his bed placed exactly where he wanted it, then the wardrobes and chests of drawers. He fussed over his writing table to make sure it was in a good light, then drove everyone mad by shifting the bookcases another inch to the right. The sofa he placed just so, and then he supervised the work of the carpenter who had been summoned to repair any little damage the movers might have caused.

When something really heavy had to be manhandled up then Boros himself would help the workmen, pulling his weight just like the rest of them.

On the second day the carpets arrived, also two large gilt mirrors which he had recently bought and which required great care and skill in hanging. Also many smaller objects like lamps and vases and objets d’art . Finally only the chests and trunks were left. There were about ten of them; some filled with linen and clothes and three packed with documents. These needed fewer men, even though the document chests were heavy enough. Once at the top, however, he only needed the porter to help him unpack, so he paid off all the other workmen except two whom he instructed to remain at the bottom and come up only when the last trunk had been sent up, not before.

It started getting dark and so the lights were switched on at each floor; only the staircase well remained dark. Boros looked down the lift shaft and realized that it was enough to make anyone feel giddy. All one could see were rows of banisters, one after the other, six floors of them seeming to get smaller the further down they were. The ground floor could hardly be seen from where he stood.