Miklós Bánffy - They Were Counted

So, after quite a series of flattering remarks about what a great gentleman his Lordship obviously was, he took out Dinora’s notes and showed them to him. Laszlo’s reaction was not at all what he had expected. Gyeroffy stared down at Wickwitz’s signatures petrified with horror, his mind suddenly flooded with the awful realization that the matter of Fanny’s pearls put him, Laszlo, on the same plane as Nitwit. He too was nothing less than a scoundrel who allowed himself to be kept by a woman. Now he suddenly saw how far he had sunk and he meant it for himself, every bit as much as for Wickwitz, when he softly and angrily repeated: ‘What a scoundrel! What a vile scoundrel!’

‘What are you saying? Do you mean the Countess’s signature is a forgery?’ cried Blau, horrified. Laszlo made no reply but seized his hat and ran from the house like a madman.

Two days went by, two days during which nothing happened. Then Fate, that dramatist without mercy, decided that now was the time to enact the tragedy which would crush poor Judith.

In the dining-room of the hotel in Kolozsvar the gypsy musicians, led by the great Laji Pongracz, were playing late and everyone was there, drinking heavily. It was well after midnight. Several tables were occupied by people from the town, another by a group of agricultural students from Monostor. The famous Laji was playing, not to them, of course, but to the principal table where Uncle Ambrus sat with his group of young followers: the Alvinczys, Joska and Pityu Kendy, Isti Kamuthy and, as a non-paying member of the band, old Daniel Kendy too. They were listening to the music, quaffing champagne, talking loudly and sometimes singing the words of the tunes Laji played. The men at the other tables did not mind because they knew that Laji always played his best on such occasions, and now they could listen to him for nothing. So they sat there quietly without trying to become involved, for if they did they knew that Uncle Ambrus would take the band into a private room, and if that happened they might as well all go home.

So the music went on. Song followed song.

Laszlo was there too; sitting between Adam Alvinczy and the puffy-cheeked Kamuthy. He sat stiffly upright because he had drunk a great deal.

Then Wickwitz entered the room.

He had come from Brasso by the late evening express and was in uniform. It had been a long and tiresome journey and he was deeply worried by the precarious position in which he found himself. It was really beyond bearing, he thought! Dinora — silly goose — had written several letters asking him to explain what Blau’s increasingly pressing demands could possibly mean: she couldn’t make head nor tail of it all, she said. Then, too, that monster Blau was himself becoming more and more menacing; and even the colonel — so ein Kerl — what a fellow he was! — had been decidedly sticky about granting him leave just when he most needed it. It was all beyond bearing, intolerable! The need to scribble all these lies to Dinora and Blau — and all the time desperate with fear that everything would come out into the open before he could get his leave and scamper off with Judith. Then, he prayed and hoped, her family would come to the rescue for their daughter’s sake, and settle this odious matter for him once and for all.

He felt like a stag at bay, surrounded by angry keepers and barking dogs, hemmed in, caught in a trap with no way of escape. Even Wickwitz’s nerves, usually as insensitive as a coil of ship’s rope, were beginning to fray, so he decided, on arriving at the hotel, that an hour or two with the gypsies and a few glasses of champagne would do no harm and would help him to see the world in a better light in the morning. The following day he would send a message to Judith and the day after, at dawn, they would be on their way to Austria. Just a day and a half and he would be safe. Nothing untoward, surely, would happen in such a short time. Wickwitz had already written to Varad saying that everything would be settled in two week’s time — and, of course, in two weeks he could truly be master of his fate.

Seeing Uncle Ambrus seated there he went up, clicked his heels in the classical military fashion and sat down modestly at the end of the table. However he did not stay there for almost at once Laszlo Gyeroffy called out to him loudly: ‘Come over here, my good namesake! Come here, where I can see you!’

Wickwitz had no idea why Laszlo should call him his namesake, but knowing that there was no point in arguing with a drunk, got up and went over and sat down where Gyeroffy indicated. He put his sword between his knees and ordered a small bottle of champagne.

‘Why a small one?’ interrupted Gyeroffy. ‘Why economize? People like us don’t have to economize. Others maybe, but not us! Why should we? A big bottle for my alter ego — my other self, my brother, he that bears the same name as I!’

Champagne was brought. The music played. Uncle Ambrus burst into song from time to time, his huge bass-baritone filling the room, and at times he shouted, always louder than the others. After several verses the gypsies played a new song and it was time for everyone to drink another toast.

‘To your special health, Nitwit, my very dear alter ego ,’ said Laszlo once again. ‘And as for you, you should drink only to me, not to the others. The others … they’re different from us, very different … but you and I belong together!’ The words may have sounded friendly but Laszlo’s tone of voice certainly was not, nor was the mocking laughter which followed his words; indeed it was filled with anger and hostility. They touched glasses and drank to each other. This happened several times and each time Gyeroffy said more or less the same words, and each time the sarcasm and the latent desire to pick a quarrel became more and more evident. However Baron Egon was a peaceful man by nature and submitted with all the calm of some great mastiff dog to the incomprehensible hints about himself and Gyeroffy being in some way the same. He only thought that Laszlo was extremely drunk and did not really know what he was saying.

It was true that Laszlo was drinking heavily.

‘Do you know why we are brothers?’ he asked at last, leaning across the table towards Wickwitz. ‘Don’t you really know? Well, I’ll whisper it to you! Come on, lean forward. Let me speak into your ear!’ Wickwitz obeyed meekly. ‘We are brothers,’ murmured Laszlo, ‘because I am just as infamous a villain as you are! That’s why!’

Wickwitz was surprised, but he merely leaned back in his chair, waved a hand and said: ‘All right! All right! You’ve had an awful lot to drink!’

‘No way “All right! All right!” It’s the truth.’ Gyeroffy was now shouting. ‘It’s nothing but the truth! You are a scoundrel! Oh yes, I know all about you, all about you, I say!’

‘Steady on,’ said the officer calmly. ‘Careful what you say. I won’t accept this, not here in a public place.’

‘And why should I be careful? What can’t you accept this here in a public place? You don’t have to pretend with me! It’s just as I say: you’re a scoundrel too and I know it!’

It flashed across Wickwitz’s mind that all this was very inconvenient because he would be obliged now to make it an affair of honour and more time would be lost before he would be able to get away. As he hesitated the other went on, shouting more and more loudly:

‘Just one word, that’ll be enough! Blau! You understand. Blau! Blau! Blau!’ Then Laszlo stood up and screamed: ‘And me too, me too! Scoundrel! Scoundrel! Scoundrel! Base, vile scoundrel!’ and he beat the table with his fists, was full of rage, as much against himself as against Nitwit, hating everyone, hating himself, desiring only to strike so hard that he too would be annihilated by his own blows. A glass overturned on the table in front of him and a plate clattered to the floor. Laszlo’s neighbours jumped up and grabbed him, pulling him back from the table. Everyone rose and tried to calm him and shut him up. They all talked at once.