Miklós Bánffy - They Were Counted

Balint’s first reaction was to move away, to avoid them — an inexplicable subconscious reflex that lasted but a moment. Adrienne came calmly towards him, without quickening her pace, her beautifully formed mouth in a wide and generous smile. She put out her hand, saying:

‘How marvellous to find you here, AB!’ This was what he had always been called in Transylvania: ‘Look! I’ve dwindled into a chaperon! I’m responsible for these two now!’ and she put her arms round the shoulders of her two younger sisters, who were both extremely pretty and slightly shorter than Adrienne.

The two young men came up to join them. One was Akos, the youngest Alvinczy boy. Balint did not know the other, who turned to him and clicked his heels in a formal soldierly manner.

‘Egon Wickwitz,’ he said, and bowed. He was the unknown man Balint had seen in the Miloths’ carriage. Shaking hands, Balint looked him over, trying rapidly to assess him.

Baron Wickwitz was tall and good-looking, with the wide shoulders and narrow hips of an athlete. The impression of an inverted triangle was emphasized by the line of the stiff white dress shirt and outlined by the sloping lapels of his black tailcoat. He was dressed with meticulous care, as if he were not entirely at ease in such garb. Balint did not like this, and though he could not deny that Wickwitz was a handsome man, he did not like his face either. He had sad brown eyes, a long, narrow jaw and black hair that grew low on his forehead.

For a few moments they exchanged polite courtesies and then started to walk along the paths between the rose beds. Balint was in front with Adrienne, behind them Margit Miloth with Alvinczy and finally Judith with Laszlo and the Austrian.

‘Who is this nitwit?’ Balint asked Adrienne. She laughed.

‘It’s funny you should call him that. Everyone does, though you can’t have heard it anywhere. It’s very apt,’ and she added seriously, ‘but it shows how good-natured he is because he never seems to mind.’

‘Well then, who is this good-natured gentleman?’

‘He’s really very nice. Amateur rider — good all-round sportsman — an Oberleutnant in the Hussars and stationed at Brasso.’

‘Shouldn’t he be in uniform?’ Balint could not help sounding somewhat hostile.

‘He’s on long leave.’

As they walked on in silence Balint found himself more and more in the same groundless, aggressive mood that he had felt each time he had met Adrienne since her marriage.

‘And he’s your latest flirt, is he?’ he asked offensively.

‘Not actually mine … though they do say he’s paying a lot of attention to your old flame, the pretty Dinora!’

Coming from Adrienne this was most unexpected. In the old days she had never given any sign that she even knew of his passion for the little Countess Abonyi. Balint veered away from the subject.

‘He seems to speak Hungarian quite well.’

‘That’s because his mother came from Hungary; from Bihar, I fancy.’

‘He’s got cow’s eyes!’

Adrienne laughed again, lightly.

‘Does it matter? He’s not overburdened with brains!’

Suddenly the peace of the garden was shattered by a shrill peal of bells from inside the castle. Cling! Clang! Clang! Cling-Clang! The rhythmic carillon announced that dinner would be served in half-an-hour’s time. Balint and Laszlo ran, because they still had to change. The others walked slowly towards the house.

IN THE GREAT HALL on the first floor, which stretched right from the facade to the rear of the building, a large table was laid for forty guests. Countess Laczok sat with her back to the balcony at one end of the great table; Count Jeno sat opposite her at the other.

The older guests, with one exception were all seated in order of precedence on each side of the host and hostess. The exception was the Prefect, who was seated on Countess Ida’s right, in the place of honour which by right should have been accorded to Crookface Kendy, who was not only older than Peter Kis but also a Privy Counsellor. So Crookface found himself on his hostess’s left. The reason was simple. The Prefect was not a man of their class; and this was underlined by giving him precedence.

Of course Peter Kis did not himself grasp the reason for this distinction. He was already flattered and grateful that he alone of the politicians had been asked to stay to dinner and he decided that, in appreciation, he would make a speech which would show these aristocrats that he, too, was a man of the world and knew how to behave in grand company. Accordingly he sat in silence, trying to work out a play of words on his hostess’s Christian name.

On the Prefect’s right sat Alice Laczok, a skinny version of her brother; after her was Joska Kendy, who just managed to pocket his pipe while dinner lasted, and then young Ida Laczok, named after her mother, and Balint.

Next to Crookface on the other side sat the pretty little Dinora, Countess Abonyi, and after her Uncle Ambrus and Adrienne. Countess Laczok had put Uncle Ambrus between the two young women because she thought they would have more fun being next to someone so popular.

At the centre of the table, on both sides, were seated all the young people, boy next to girl but in no special order. They sat where they chose. Only three seats were reserved, furthest away from the places of honour. These were for the two young Laczok boys who were seated at the centre of the long table with their tutor between them. At the far end of the table Count Jeno had Aunt Lizinka on his right and Countess Gyalakuthy, the rich Adelma, on his left. From where the hostess sat that end of the table seemed unbalanced. Aunt Lizinka’s tiny shrunken head was only just visible above the table cloth while Adelma, though a woman of only medium height, seemed to tower a head above her neighbours. Countess Ida, thinking someone had made a mistake, called down the table to her husband:

‘Jeno! Change chairs with Adelma! Someone’s given her too high a chair.’

Countess Gyalakuthy protested: ‘I’m perfectly all right!’

But the hostess insisted: ‘Not at all! Come along, change the chairs!’

Count Jeno looked up but did not move, so Tihamer Abonyi, who was sitting on Adelma’s left, jumped up, eager to please, and gave up his chair. Somewhat unwillingly Adelma rose and accepted the other chair … but when she sat down she was just as tall as before. There was a painful silence and a few artificial coughs — and some barely suppressed giggles from the young. Then Lizinka spoke up, her voice shrill and malicious as ever:

‘Dear Adelma, no matter where you sit you will always be a queen upon her throne!’

The embarrassed widow said nothing but the whole table rocked wirth mirth. The loudest laughter came from the two young Laczoks who, quite without manners, laughed so hard that one lolled forward until his head was in his plate and the other doubled up and disappeared under the table. Between them their tutor sat tight-faced and serious, upright in his high-buttoned Franz-Josef tunic, his face expressionless.

Balint, sitting opposite the tutor, noticed his non-committal expression and wondered where he had seen his hard wooden face before. Between jutting cheekbones a smallish pug-shaped nose divided slanting black eyes. Above his rather fleshy face there was a huge dome skull whose shape was emphasized by the closely shaven hair — every division of the cranium was defined by faint grey lines as in an anatomy model.

I know that face, thought Balint, Where? Where? And, as the laughter subsided, he turned to his neighbour, the young Ida Laczok.

‘Who is he, your brothers’ tutor?’

‘Oh! He’s only here for the summer. Papa hired him as those rascals failed their exams. He’s preparing them to take the maths again at the end of the holidays. He’s called Andras Jopal and he’s very good even if he isn’t qualified,’ she said. Then, confidentially; ‘You know he’s quite crazy! Imagine, he thinks he’s going to invent a flying machine!’ She laughed softly.