Miklós Bánffy - They Were Found Wanting

‘And why?’ interrupted Alvinczy. ‘Kossuth is perfectly right! It’s the only way to maintain any sort of order. The country needs something different from what we’ve got.’

‘The Anglith conthtitution,’ said Kamuthy, making the ‘e’ in English sound like a flat ‘a’, ‘doethn’t allow for Houth Rulth. At Wethtminthter only tradition counth.’

Old Crookface growled his disgust at the young men’s foolishness, but as he could hardly use his habitual filthy language in front of the dowagers he rose noisily from his seat and fled.

The bored and long-suffering Lady Patronesses also found the intrusion more than they could bear and gradually melted away. So did Balint; and eventually the only two left on the platform were the tall Alvinczy and the short Kamuthy, who continued their argument for all to see — which both of them no doubt thought was an impressive and improving sight.

At length one of the organizers came up and asked them to move elsewhere as the platform was now needed for the entertainment.

As it turned out the entertainment ended sooner than had been planned because one of the star attractions had to be cancelled: this was Laszlo Gyeroffy playing the violin. Laszlo, like old Daniel, had become so dazed with drink that both had had to be helped out of the hall before disaster struck. When the entertainment came to an end the public melted away and the bazaar was over. Now the great hall looked quite different. Whereas at the beginning it had had all the air of an oriental market-place, now it looked like a gypsy encampment after a pogrom. The stalls had all been stripped of their wares; for not only had everything been sold but many of the decorations had been sold too. Some stands were lacking parts of their decoration and were now showing the bare wooden laths of which they had been constructed.

Now all the organizing ladies handed over their takings to the honorary secretary of the charity and at last everyone could relax and have supper.

The original plan had been that everyone should now retire to the Redut ’s restaurant, where a cold buffet had been laid out for them, but as no one seemed to want to move the men went to the buffet and brought back plates and glasses, dishes of food, napkins and knives and forks and spread the supper over the empty shelves of the stands and even on the floor.

Many of them formed little groups, sitting down on carpets or cushions robbed from the stands with, in front of them, great dishes of cold roast turkey or galantine or a ham garnished with all sorts of delicious savoury specialities. In a few moments Laji Pongracz and his gypsy musicians appeared, grouped themselves a little way off from the diners and in an instant the violins began to play.

Adrienne and her friends took possession of the Lady Patronesses’ platform with its wide steps where, as theirs was the largest group, there was room for them all. They were joined by the two other Laczok girls, the young Countess Szentpali, by Dodo Gyalakuthy, and finally by young Margit, who by now was somewhat dishevelled, and Adam Alvinczy whose right jacket shoulder was covered with greenish whitewash from the walls of the hall, not that anyone seemed to notice. Mrs Korosi and some of her women friends occupied the other side of the platform along with some young men who had come with them from Budapest for the occasion. This group was joined by Joska Kendy, the new Prefect of Kukullo, who, in his silent manner, was paying court to the professor’s pretty young wife.

The effect was bizarre enough; the women in their elaborate silk dresses reclining like Turkish houris on the floor and close to them their equally elegantly dressed escorts all sporting the objects that they had bought from the ladies they courted, whether this courtship was serious or merely in fun. Most of the men were carrying dolls and though Uncle Ambrus had already taken his leave, there were still plenty of others carrying their symbols of gallantry. The smallest was a tiny tassel doll which Joska Kendy had attached to the stem of that pipe which was never out of his mouth. Others peeped from Adam Alvinczy’s pockets, a giant Mr Punch was suspended from around Pityu Kendy’s neck and Abady had sat his Pierrot doll on the ground beside him. In the other group on the platform a further multitude of dolls advertised the success of Adrienne’s stall. Ugo von der Maultasch, on the other hand, had somehow pinned a large gingerbread heart on his waistcoat. Odd though all this looked, no one was quite as ludicrous as young Kamuthy.

In the course of strolling elegantly up and down the aisles of the bazaar Kamuthy had found himself at one point in front of the Stamp Collectors’ stand and there the ladies greeted him with cries of joy as if he had been a visiting Englishman.

‘But we were sure you were English!’ they screamed, and made him repeat ‘Anglish! Anglish! Anglish!’ over and over until he was so overcome with joy and flattery that he allowed them to stick a whole sheet of 10-cent stamps on his forehead. All Transylvanians, be they men or women, never cease to take pleasure in making fun of themselves and of other people — and so it was now with young Kamuthy. By the time the stamps had dried to his skin he had entirely forgotten they were there.

Laji’s musicians played on, but not so loudly as to drown the conversation or prevent the exchange of anecdotes.

Much of the talk was being led by young Akos Alvinczy, who had become a sort of honorary aide-de-camp to the new Prefect of Kukullo, Joska Kendy. Despite the fact that Joska was sitting only a few feet away making sheep’s eyes at Mrs Korosi, nothing would deter Akos from telling a series of stories which all had Joska as their hero. Ad majorem Joskam gloriam — to the greater glory of Joska — might have been the motto of Akos’s tales.

In Joska’s office, Akos related, there was a young trainee who did not turn up for work for several days. The Prefect had a notice printed which he distributed round the town. It read ‘A TRAINEE HAS GONE ASTRAY — TEN CROWNS REWARD TO THE HONEST FINDER’ exactly as if the youth had been a stray animal. Within minutes the young man had reappeared at the Town Hall from which he hadn’t budged since.

Not far away, he went on, there lived a retired Austrian army officer, who owned some land and who had bought a threshing machine from the government agricultural store. It had the Hungarian national crest fixed to the side. The Austrian somehow laid his hands on a little metal double-headed eagle and pinned this over the Hungarian emblem. So what did Joska do? He asked the man if he had obtained permission from the Emperor to sport the Habsburg crest? If he had, then all was well; but if he didn’t then he’d first be prosecuted for usurping a foreign emblem, then he’d find that his water-pail was too far — or too close — to the engine and, whatever fault had been established, woe to him as all threshing would be prohibited for three months!

There were roars of laughter as each story came to an end, for Akos knew well how to tell a tale to good effect. Only Gazsi Kadacsay, who was sitting nearby, seemed to grow sadder and sadder as he listened. In the past Joska had been his hero, the ideal man, who knew more about horses than anyone living and who held the reins better than any other amateur driver. Ever since he had been a small boy Gazsi had done all he could to imitate and emulate him, and if he couldn’t surpass him as a driver at least, perhaps, he might excel as a rider. It was, of course, true — as he knew to his cost — that it was not advisable to buy a horse from Joska; but then in that world cheating when selling horses was accounted almost as a virtue, a skill to be admired! Later it had seemed to Gazsi that Joska had not seemed unduly troubled by his conscience in other matters either, but then, as long as he was merely an amateur sportsman, such failings could be overlooked.