Miklós Bánffy - They Were Found Wanting

Old Nyiresy, who had managed the Abady forest holdings for many years, could not stomach the reforms that Balint had brought to what the old man had come to look upon as his own domain. Until quite recently Nyiresy had been omnipotent, smoking his pipe with the air of a squire and able to do whatever he liked. Now a young, and highly qualified, forest engineer had been appointed to supervise the running of the forests and Nyiresy could do nothing without consulting him. It was unbearable. And that was not all; the new man, on Balint’s instructions, had moved into the spacious Abady estate house at Beles, which for thirty years the old manager had come to think of as his own property. The man had been given two rooms, both of them formerly guest-rooms; and the loss of these, and of the room reserved for Count Abady himself, meant that Nyiresy had nowhere to put up a friend for the night. Beles was so remote that now he could only be visited by those two close friends who lived in the mountains close by — Gaszton Simo, the notary from Gyurkuca, and the manager of the nearby sawmills. No one could come from further afield as there was nowhere for them to sleep. He couldn’t even have an evening of cards, let alone throw those wild parties which had been such a solace in his lonely life. So he asked to be allowed to retire, and he asked also, in recognition of his long service, that he should be allowed to live in the Abady house at Banffy-Hunyad which until then had always been let. This was really asking too much, but Balint agreed because he was anxious that the old man should go and did not want any more ill-feeling to spoil his departure.

Accordingly Nyiresy had now been installed for some time at Banffy-Hunyad, where, as it was a market town, everyone for miles around gathered once a week to exchange news and gossip. And what could be more interesting than to chronicle the comings and goings of young Count Abady? Though he did not much relish writing letters the old man wrote a note to Azbej every time he heard something that sounded interesting.

That was one source of information; the other was the inn-keeper at Lelbanya, who was a distant cousin of Azbej and who, greedy and self-seeking, hated the farmers’ club that Balint had founded, for although it was true that no wine was served there it still took customers away from the inn. Furthermore the inn-keeper did not like the fact that their Member of Parliament came so often to the town and poked his nose into everything that went on there. To him Balint was nothing but a nuisance. The innkeeper was an even better informant than old Nyiresy, for Lelbanya was such a tiny place and there, up in the lonely prairie-lands, everybody was so bored that if there was any gossip they all, peasant, minor civil servant or shopkeeper, would always think it worth a two-hour walk to spread it around.

With these two informers beavering away Azbej was quickly kept up to date with everything that Balint did; and he saw to it, through the housekeepers Tothy and Baczo, that Countess Roza was also kept informed. Every day, after lunch and dinner, the two old women took their places at either end of the table in the drawing-room behind which Roza Abady sat to do her needlework. As always at this season all three were knitting warm clothes to be given to the village children at Christmas.

If Balint was not there one of the fat housekeepers would start off by sighing deeply. Then the other would ask why; and so, like a game of question and answer, with many ‘Indeed!’s and ‘Not possible!’s, and much nodding of heads and pregnant silences, they would relate the gossip they had heard. Not that they ever addressed the countess directly, their tales were directed only at each other. In this way Balint’s mother learned that her son had again been in the forests at Hunyad and that he had had a lodge erected there, a lodge that was — guess where? Just where the Abady holdings adjoined those of Count Uzdy. And where did the young master go? To Almasko, of course. And in the same way the drama of the watchman’s cow at Mezo-Varjas and Balint’s part in it, quickly reached Denestornya and was related with much drawing in of breath and self-righteous disapproval.

In this way Baczo and Tothy laboured hard to poison their employer’s love for her son; and it was no wonder that, however hard Balint worked to improve the family fortunes or whatever he achieved in the public interest, the old lady believed none of it and imagined that her son was making it all up just to cover his godless relationship with the hated Adrienne.

And so it was that when Balint announced that he would soon be leaving for Homorod, his mother fixed him with a glassy stare and said, ‘Surely the season’s over now, at the end of October?’ in a mocking tone which meant, in her roundabout way, that she supposed that Adrienne had gone there to take the waters, even though it was late autumn. Balint knew instinctively what his mother was thinking and so took pains to explain that Homorod had been chosen for the Szekler congress for the simple reason that as the spa was closed there would be plenty of rooms in the hotels — and even villas to let — and so all the two hundred or so delegates to the congress would be able to find a bed.

‘Strange place to choose, Homorod! Very unusual!’

‘Yes, it is unusual; but I believe that Samuel Barra wanted it. And, of course, there will be plenty of room, much better than in most country towns.’ And though it was obvious that his mother did not believe a word he said, he went on to outline the project he was going to present, hoping that he could convince her that it was true that he was going only for political reasons.

But Countess Roza merely looked in another direction and began to talk about something else.

The congress had been called to discuss a problem that was beginning to grow to alarming proportions. The districts inhabited by the Szekler people were becoming dangerously depopulated as a result of emigration. Daranyi, the new Minister-President, had proposed giving aid on an unprecedented scale so that the afflicted areas would be re-populated by the very people who were now seeking their fortunes abroad. Among the new proposals were free distribution of breeding stock, free technical advice on modern farming methods and the appointment of a special delegation drawn from the Szekler people themselves to help direct how this aid should be organized.

The plight of the Szeklers was indeed grave. They were a prolific people and their inheritance traditions exacted that each child should receive an equal portion of the family holding. As a result the Szekler small-holdings had been divided and subdivided into such tiny strips of often very poor land that even the thriftiest farmer could hardly glean from them a fraction of what was needed to feed a family. At first the Szeklers had tried to find a living working in the forests or on the railways, or even in small businesses; but wherever they went there was never enough work for their rapidly increasing numbers. Then they started to go to Romania, and now more and more were heading for America and there, save for a few, they stayed.

Istvan Bethlen, realizing that this growing emigration and the depopulation it left behind were a serious blot on the reputation of the Hungarian government as well as being damning proof of a careless economic policy, had encouraged successive agricultural ministers to take some measures to reverse the trend; but instead of searching for cures to the reasons why so many were leaving, all that the government had done so far was to organize the emigration. Though this was done so as to prevent exploitation of the poor emigrants the only real effect was to contribute to the evil itself. Daranyi was the first national leader to tackle the problem seriously.