Miklós Bánffy - They Were Found Wanting

Hearing these words Balint awoke from his dreams and started to pray with great fervour; and in his prayers, though not expressed in words, were still inextricably woven those dreams of his successor, that heir the certainty of whose coming was more to him than Hope itself.

The priest now moved up to the altar table and stood there, his raven-black gown contrasting richly with the radiant whiteness all around him. Carefully folding back the brocade cloth he revealed the ancient vessels of the Communion Service — two chalices, a huge cup and the small dishes for the bread, all of them of massive silver-gilt and all placed upon silken mats lavishly embroidered with gold and silver thread. A ray from the sun fell on the altar from one of the high windows, picking up a gleam of silver from the chased and engraved chalices or a sudden flash of gold or scarlet from the embroidery on the altar cloths. The sunlight transformed those ancient works of man’s artifice into a festive, almost transcendental display of pious splendour.

In the white simplicity of the church the Communion vessels, which dated mostly from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, glowed with the promise of another world. One of the chalices was of the old medieval pattern with a nodular design on its stem, while the rest of the decoration was in High Renaissance style; and this mixture of ideas stemmed from the fact that in Transylvania the goldsmiths still used gothic patterns long after they had been discarded elsewhere. The other chalice had been formed in the image of a lily, the segmented petals radiating from an elaborately perforated stem. This, too, was at least two hundred years old as were the silken mats on which they stood. All these things had been the gifts of successive generations of Abadys who had felt a spiritual need to furnish their church’s altar with the richest and most beautiful artifacts of their day. In this they were by no means exceptional, for in Transylvania there was hardly a village church, great or small, that could not boast that the vessels they used so reverently every Sabbath were worthy of display in some great museum.

Balint recognized each vessel with renewed pleasure.

His joy, however, was short-lived for the dismal thought then came to him that maybe, by the rules of the church, he should not attempt to partake of the Bread and Wine. Did not adultery joyfully persisted in without repentance burden his soul and prevent his being in a state of grace?

This was something he had never before thought about. His wide reading of natural history, and even of theology — reading that he had faithfully maintained especially when he had been writing his treatise on ‘Beauty in Action’ — may have widened his general outlook but it had also nearly obliterated any faith he may once have had in dogma and the teachings of his Church. He had come to believe that all such things were the creation of man and that they were but reflections of the feelings of the days in which they had been formulated. He believed in the spirit of the Reformation, when such men as Luther, Calvin and John Knox challenged the ex cathedra infallibility of the Pope and when traditional dogma had been scrutinized anew and not a little discarded. The strong Protestant conviction that the traditions of the Church and the decisions of the great Church Councils had been in conflict with the simple truth enshrined in the Gospels had been so strongly imbued in his youth that for many years he had always gone out before the Communion.

Had he been alone now in the family pew he would have left as did several other members of the congregation; indeed the singing of the choir was always prolonged at this point so as to make it possible for those who wished to go without disturbing those who wished to stay. Even the priest was waiting for the departure of those who, for whatever reason, felt themselves unworthy to remain, before he began to expound the nature of the Sacrament and emphasize that acceptance of the Bread and Wine should only follow a strict examination of their own souls by those who remained to take Communion. The priest, he explained, was merely the medium by which the Sacrament was passed to the faithful. He himself was unable either to absolve or to punish, he was empowered only to recall to the faithful their bounden duty and to remind each and every one of them that by the Calvinist creed each man stood alone before his Maker … and that every man too must search for the truth in his own heart, and must himself be judge both of his virtues and of his shortcomings.

Countess Roza remained firmly in her place. With no sign of doubt she sat there completely motionless. If Balint had risen to go at this point it would have caused a scandal. He paused, not knowing what to do.

The priest was reading out the awe-inspiring text that defined so clearly every individual’s own responsibility: ‘… therefore if any of you be a blasphemer of God, an adulterer, or be in envy or malice, come not to that holy Table; lest after the taking of the holy Sacrament, the Devil enter into you and bring you to destruction of body and soul.’

He listened to the ancient words, standing completely still; and, as he did so, he searched his own soul as he never had before, candidly, clearly and in total humility. He thought about his whole life; and that he was guilty in his actions there could be no doubt. But in his thoughts? Ah, that was different. With every nerve, every act of will, every thought he had sought the way to find the right, decent solution to his relationship with Adrienne. Their intentions had never been sinful or base; and never, in their new-found love for each other, had they ceased to seek a solution to their problems which would conform with the law. Both of them fervently desired that their offspring should be worthy successors of their race and creed. As Balint was so ruthlessly examining his own actions and intentions, he had the strongest feeling that his failings would be understood and pardoned by Him who sat down to eat with publicans and sinners and who saved the woman taken in adultery.

Now came his turn to be handed the chalice, and, bending over it, he made a secret vow. With all his strength and all the will-power he could muster, though he knew he would never be strong enough to deny his love, he would strive to overcome every obstacle that stood between him and marriage with Adrienne. The priest’s words seemed to be an unexpected reply to his prayers to be sent a son and heir.

‘Ask, and it shall be given unto you …’

THAT AFTERNOON BALINT went into the tower that stood at the south-east corner of the castle of Denestornya. This was the oldest part of the great house. It had been there before the Tartar invasions, and from it came the name that had lasted for so many later generations. Once it had stood alone, guarding the slopes below and, unlike the later parts of the castle, it was constructed largely from undressed stone. Its walls, too, were exceptionally thick — more than three metres at their base — and there were neither arrow-slits nor windows on the ground floor. On the first floor of this tower had been placed the castle archives, collected in chests of bleached pine that were placed in alcoves formed by the stone arches which encircled the interior walls. Every chest was labelled alphabetically and in these had been placed all the documents. In the centre of the room was a vast oak-topped table, on which there was a map of the castle domains, and under it were drawers containing the old plans of the building itself, including all the elaborate alterations of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.