Miklós Bánffy - They Were Found Wanting

The two trains were soon linked together and, as the band on the platform played the Rakoczy March, the much lengthened train pulled slowly out. During the wait at Tovis the carriages had all been decorated with flags and so it was with a mass of bunting fluttering in the wind that the delegates were transported across the bridge over the Maros and, leaving the rich flat grasslands, entered the gorge that led to the mountains.

Soon they arrived at Balazsfalva, the seat of the Romanian Uniate bishop. It was from here that all the pan-Romanian movements of the last century and a half had been initiated.

At Balazsfalva the train was joined by the delegates from Dicso, led by Joska Kendy who was now Prefect in Kis-Kukullo. As always, Joska himself, pipe firmly clenched between his teeth, remained silent, but his companions soon made up for this. As at Tovis there were more white-clad schoolgirls, more bouquets and speeches of welcome; and here it was the banker Weissfeld who was cheered, for they all imagined, from his elaborate dress, that he must be the Minister’s representative.

Balint was watching all this from the window of his compartment when he caught sight of a young man dressed as a theology student hurrying towards the back of the train. He looked neither to right nor to left and clearly knew exactly where he was going. Balint was sure that he knew his face, and wondered where he had seen him before.

The youth was very slim, almost gaunt in appearance, with an olive-skinned face whose cheekbones showed the telltale red spot of tuberculosis. Balint watched to see where he would go.

Eventually the student stopped in front of a third-class compartment. As soon as he did so a large hand shot out of the window into the palm of which the youth pressed a small piece of paper. Then he turned and stepped back on the platform, gazing back at the richly decorated engine. His glance met Abady’s and at once Balint recognized him: he was the son of the popa at Gyurkuca in the mountains whom Balint had seen when his father Timbus had asked for wood to enlarge the village church. Balint well remembered those burning eyes as full of hatred then, when the boy was lying covered in fur rugs on the veranda of the popa ’s house, as now when gazing at the train full of Hungarian delegates. Balint had heard that he had recovered sufficiently to study for the priesthood and he remembered, too, that the notary Simo had said that while the parintie Timbus was a reliable man his son was a dangerous pro-Romanian agitator.

Young Timbus stayed where he was on the platform, rigidly upright, as the Hungarian delegates crowded back to their seats. And he remained there, still without moving, as the gaily decorated train clattered noisily out of the station and finally disappeared in the cloud of its own smoke.

The congress at Homorod opened at ten o’clock in the morning under the joint chairmanship of the sheriffs of Maros-Torda, Csik, Udvarhely and Haromszek, each taking their turn to preside in order of seniority of service. This had been planned by the government so as to recognize the loyalty of these regions which had remained faithful to the Coalition party all through the time of the government appointed by the King. These four men therefore sat together at the presidential table which had been placed in the centre of one of the long walls of the hall where the congress was to take place.

During the spa’s high season this room was used as a general place of assembly and amusement. It was built of wood and the outer walls were mostly windows. At one end there was a platform where gypsy musicians would play every afternoon and evening and where visiting theatrical companies would erect their stage. The hall had now been filled with rows of chairs where the delegates took their places, automatically following the rules of social precedence so that the more prominent and important had the better places. Between them and the presidential table was a space where the various delegations could come forward to present their points of view. There were not many of these because, although the Szeklers were an enterprising and vigorous people always ripe for new experience, they were also essentially practical folk who were reluctant to leave their land just at the moment when their fields should be ploughed and winter sowing begun. As a result there were not many of them there. Those who did attend quickly retired to places at the back as soon as they had delivered their formal speeches of welcome, and from there they listened somewhat suspiciously to what all these lords and great folk had to say.

The largest group was that of the charcoal-burners, and this was because they felt they had serious grievances to be laid before the congress. There were some sixteen of them and instead of approaching the presidential table they went immediately to find places at the extreme back of the hall.

They were stern-faced, serious men who all seemed to look much alike, perhaps because of their unceasing work in the forest where, day and night, the success of their work depended on unrelenting attention to the fires. They were dressed in the same clothes; black in colour, with black boots, and their skin too was darkened from the wood-smoke that had stained their foreheads, faces and hands with indelible little black marks.

The charcoal-burners sat in silence, waiting while the formal speeches of welcome were made, and while all the other delegates were greeting each other, exchanging compliments and somewhat vaguely outlining a rosy future for everyone present. Then someone read out the agenda for the discussions, followed by an explanation of the Minister’s proposals.

Balint was sitting at one side of the hall studying the notes he had made of his proposal that the Szekler land inheritance should be by entail and not by general division of property. At one moment he looked up and saw to his surprise that one of the faces among the charcoal-burners was familiar to him; it was Andras Jopal, the young Transylvanian mathematician who had discovered how to make a flying machine at the same time as the Wright brothers and Santos-Dumont, but who had not had the means to present it to the world before they did. He had missed his chance not only from lack of money to complete the model and build the engine, but also because he was so suspicious of other people that he had refused help when he most needed it. Balint had come forward with an offer of aid but Jopal had rejected it angrily, believing that Balint merely wanted to steal his secret from him. It must surely be him, thought Balint, as he looked at that very individual face, broad shaven skull and domed forehead, and those small bright piercing eyes. But what was he doing here among the charcoal-burners, seated at the centre of their group, holding in his hand the paper on which their complaint was written and apparently being treated as their leader?

The debate started with discussions about the Minister’s proposals for the free distribution of breeding stock and the choice of which cattle would be most appropriate to the different types of farming land.

Although there was general approval of the overall idea an argument soon started between the government expert and some of the local authorities. Whereas Daranyi’s man proposed Simmenthal cattle, one local man stood out for Pinzgau stock and another for the established local breeds. Both were talking in vain because the Ministry of Agriculture’s men, having studied the situation, had already made up their minds what was best and were not going to change their view, especially as the experiment had already been made with success in northern Hungary. While reluctant to argue about a free gift the local men were determined to have their say, if only to prove that they knew what they were talking about. The same thing happened when they started to talk about stallions at stud, poultry and pigs. And when pigs came to be discussed a self-appointed ‘expert’ from the Szilagy district, which was far removed from any Szekler settlement, got up to champion the ‘Baris’ pig which was popular where he came from even though everyone else knew that you could feed it for five years without it ever getting fat. ‘The Baris has no equal!’ cried the man from Szilagy in the tones of a religious fanatic.