Miklós Bánffy - They Were Found Wanting

The death blow to Gazsi’s hero-worship had come when Joska accepted the post of Prefect, for now his lack of conscience came as a real disappointment. Gazsi felt somehow deceived and started to look at his friend with new eyes, and judge him ever more harshly; for this revelation of his old hero’s real character coincided with a new spiritual hunger that, had he known it, had been growing in him for several years past. More and more it was borne in upon him that all those years spent in trying to be like Joska were wasted years, years squandered in pursuit of a foolish, vain and useless dream. Gazsi, though basically intelligent, had not done as well at school as he should have. Though a volunteer for army service he had remained a soldier principally because in those days young officers in hussar regiments spent most of their time, like Joska, either riding in steeplechases or resting while their collarbones, broken at point-to-point races or in training sessions, had time to mend. Now he began to realize that he was ignorant and knew nothing of things that really mattered. Accordingly he had left the army, started buying books and studying in a mad desire to catch up on everything that he had previously disregarded. His reading was haphazard and indiscriminate. He would read anything, particularly works of philosophy. But the more he read the more bewildered he became. He would puzzle out one problem only to be faced with another; and when he had started to tackle the next subject the more complicated and puzzling it would seem. And the more he read the more he developed a deep resentment for his former neglect of himself: and with it almost a hatred for Joska Kendy on whom he had squandered ten long years of hero-worship. And when he drank too much, as he had on the day of the bazaar, these thoughts became so strong as to become almost an obsession.

Akos Alvinczy was telling a new story. This time it concerned a landowner, one Todor Racz, whose property was situated in a remote country district. He was a passionate but singularly unskilful gambler and, of course, he usually lost. The new Prefect, Joska, was one of his regular poker school. One night, after the usual disastrous session, Racz told everyone that this would have to be the last time he played because in two days’ time the bailiffs would come to take possession of all he owned. For years, Racz explained, he had managed not to pay any taxes, not a penny, but now they had caught up with him and everything he owned would have to go to auction. What, asked Akos, did Joska do? Why, he sent for the village headman and ordered him to declare an outbreak of cholera in the district and to mark every other house with a red cross, thereby in effect putting the whole district in quarantine. When the bailiffs arrived on the following day they were chased away by armed guards from the village itself.

‘And so Todor Racz’s absence didn’t spoil their game after all. He went on playing and to this day the bailiffs haven’t dared set foot in the place!’

At this Gazsi could no longer contain his anger. ‘I don’t think that’s at all funny. No humour in that little stor-r-ry!’ he growled, rolling his ‘r’s as usual. ‘A Prefect isn’t appointed to ensur-r-re that a fellow ar-r-ristocr-r-rat can welsh on his taxes!’

Whatever, they all wondered, had come over Baron Gazsi? He had always been such a joker, a fellow never known to take anything seriously. Abady, however, remembered the little speech that Gazsi had made that evening at Mezo-Varjas when, though less tipsy than tonight, he had talked about the non-existence of true happiness. Something is troubling this man, he thought, as everyone else looked at Gazsi astonished.

Joska Kendy merely took his friend’s words as the introduction to some joke or other and so, from where he sat near to Mrs Korosi — having until now behaved as if he had heard nothing at all of these flattering stories about himself — he called out, pipe in mouth, ‘When four-legged animals form a government you too can be a Prefect!’ in the sort of bantering tone they had always used with each other.

‘Not even then!’ retorted Gazsi in an angry tone. ‘I’d never accept a job I didn’t know how to do. I’m a fool, a donkey, and I know it!’

‘Fancy admitting it! That’s most interesting,’ said Joska in a tone of unconcerned mockery.

‘And even if I were made Pr-r-refect for four-legged animals — as you so cleverly put it, meaning donkeys I presume — I’d still feel I had some obligations and not tr-r-reat it all as some kind of joke!’ Turning to Balint, Gazsi went on, ‘Aren’t I right? You talked to me once about this. Do you remember?’ And then, not waiting for an answer, he shouted over to Joska, ‘At least I admit I’m a donkey.’

‘And what does that mean?’ asked Joska drily, pipe in mouth, but with a serious expression which showed them all that the argument was about to get serious. Gazsi hesitated for a moment, obviously searching in his mind for the appropriate insult.

At this point a tall lean figure stepped up between the place on the platform where Joska was sitting and the stand, a yard or two away, where Gazsi had sat down. It was Pali Uzdy, tall as a tower, who was dressed in a long travelling overcoat. Totally disregarding everyone else he stopped in front of his wife, put one booted foot on the steps leading up to the platform and said, ‘I’m leaving for Almasko! Do you have any messages, dear Adrienne? Is there anything you need from there?’

‘You’re going now? At this time of night?’ asked his wife, somewhat taken by surprise.

Uzdy’s slanting eyebrows were raised even higher than usual as he asked, ‘Surely, my dear, you are not still surprised by my comings and goings?’ And his tone was as ironic as ever. ‘My carriage is at the door. So there is nothing you want? Good! Well, I just asked. Well, well! Goodbye then! Until we meet again!’ and he swept his beaver hat in a wide gesture of general farewell. ‘Goodbye to you all!’

He turned and stalked out with the same silent measured tread as when he had walked up a few moments before.

When the doors had closed behind him Adrienne’s and Balint’s eyes met for a brief second.

Young Kamuthy now decided to take advantage of the sudden silence to return to his favourite theme. ‘In Angland,’ he said with even more self-importance than before, ‘no one expecths national figureth to be experths in their jobthe. On the contrary, they feel that too much expertithe destroythe all objectivity.’

‘Well, nothing’ll destroy yours!’ shouted Joska, who was all too glad of the diversion because he would have hated to have been obliged to have it out with Gazsi as this would have meant making their dispute an ‘affair of honour’ with the inevitable duel to follow. Everyone, in fact, was happy that the laughter and the joking had started again and they all joined in with gales of mirth when Pityu Kendy went for Kamuthy and said, ‘You’d do better to go and wash those stamps off your face, young man! Someone might try to shove you in the post-box!’ At which the stage-Englishman touched his forehead and, horrified, screamed out in English, ‘Oh, my God! Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!’ and ran shamefacedly away.

Kamuthy’s going prompted others to leave too.

‘Goodness, how late it is! Time to go home!’ said someone; and at these words, as if by magic, everyone started getting their things together.

‘Only now, when the party’s over, does one notice how tired one is,’ said Adrienne as she walked towards the door.

Balint stayed on for a few moments, barely seeming to notice Adrienne’s departure. He appeared to be absorbed in something that the Prussian baron was explaining — though it might have been that he was merely fascinated by Ugo’s Pomeranian accent.