Miklós Bánffy - They Were Counted

A little before midday, the telephone rang. It was the secretary of the Casino reminding him that precisely at noon that day the forty-eight hours’ delay would be up and that if Count Gyeroffy’s debts had not by then been settled, his name would be posted on the blackboard.

‘Thank you! I understand,’ said Laszlo, and rang off.

So his name would be on the board, which wasn’t black even though they called it so. In fact it was a large rectangle of smooth green felt in a frame two metres wide. On it, fastened only by a drawing pin, would be a little slip of paper with a name written on it, nothing more, but everyone knew what it meant … if the person whose name appeared there had not settled his losses within one week he would automatically be scratched from the list of members. Laszlo had once seen there such a name, though now he could not recall whose it was. It hardly mattered, for now it would be his, pilloried there for all to see — Count Laszlo Gyeroffy — just that, no more. It would remain there for a week and then it would disappear … for ever.

The telephone rang again. This time it was Neszti Szent-Gyorgyi’s butler saying that his master would like to see Count Gyeroffy at once if that were possible. Laszlo automatically replied that he would, only later wondering why he had been summoned and regretting that he had not refused to go. However, he had said he would and he could hardly back out of it now. Therefore he picked up his hat and gloves and went out, but not before putting the packet of money in his pocket, for Mr Bacherach would be in his shop at two o’clock.

Count Neszti lived quite close by in a house surrounded by a garden in Horanszky Street. It was a strange house and everything inside bore the imprint of its owner’s tastes. The floors were covered with the skins of lions and tigers, killed of course by Count Neszti himself, and the walls were closely patterned by the stuffed heads of more wild game also shot by the owner of the house. Under these trophies, low bookcases contained every issue of the stud book and on the chimney-shelf were arranged a multitude of great cups and trophies which his horses had won all over the world during the past three decades. When Laszlo came in he found Count Neszti seated in a deep armchair, the remains of his breakfast on a table beside him. He was smoking a pipe because he liked it, and because he believed that every pleasure should be indulged even if it were not the fashion.

‘Come along in,’ he said in his usual swift monotone. He gestured Laszlo towards a chair. ‘Sit down, I want to ask you something.’ He put up his monocle. ‘Did you know that your name has been posted on the blackboard?’

‘I know.’

‘Well? Can you settle … or not?’

Laszlo hesitated for a moment, his elbow pressed tightly against the wad in his pocket.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I can’t.’ He looked Szent-Gyorgyi firmly in the face. Count Neszti let his eye-glass drop. He lifted a hand to his face and twirled his long drooping moustaches. Not a muscle moved, his features might have been carved from granite.

‘So you can’t! I thought as much.’ He, too, paused for a moment. Then he passed a hand over the smooth marble-like surface of his bald skull before asking: ‘How much is it altogether?’

‘Seventy-two thousand on word of honour and five thousand signed for.’

‘And what do you intend to do about it?’ said Count Neszti with ice in his voice. Laszlo continued to look the older man in the eye, but he did not answer or move, only his fingers imperceptibly caressed the money in his pocket.

There was silence for a few minutes. Then Szent-Gyorgyi put his monocle once more to his eye and, his words clipped hard like the clanking of a rusty cog-wheel, he said: ‘I shall settle the debt. For your part you will immediately inform the Casino of your resignation as a member. I will arrange that this is accepted without query. You will do this in writing. There is paper on the table.’ and he pointed with the stem of his pipe to a writing desk that stood in front of the window.

Gyeroffy did as he was told. He walked over to the desk and when he had finished writing and handed the paper to his host, he tried to stammer out his thanks, saying that naturally as soon as he could he … Count Neszti interrupted him: ‘I care nothing for all that! And please do not thank me. I am not doing this for you but because I do not like to see disgrace fall on someone bearing a noble name like yours. That is the only reason.’ The monocle dropped from his eye: for Count Neszti the matter was settled, the case finished and there was nothing more to be said. He did not put out his hand when Laszlo rose to say goodbye and the latter knew that his punishment had started.

What would he have thought if he’d known that the money was in my pocket all the time, thought Laszlo, smiling in cynical self-mockery as he found his way out through the garden to the street.

When Laszlo arrived at the jewellers he was told that Mr Bacherach was in the shop and would be with him in a moment. Then he was shown into the room lined with showcases where Fanny had arranged to pawn her pearls. He sat down in the same armchair that had been offered to the Countess Beredy. After a short wait the fat bespectacled little jeweller came in and asked who it was that he had the honour to serve. Laszlo gave his name.

‘And how can I serve your Lordship?’ asked Bacherach, seating himself at the chair behind the table.

‘Before leaving for Italy Countess Beredy entrusted me with the sum which you had advanced her on the security of her pearls. Eighty-six thousand crowns, was it not?’

‘That is so,’ said Bacherach, counting the banknotes that Gyeroffy had placed on the table. When he had finished he said: ‘What does her Ladyship wish me to do with the pearls?’

‘The Countess would like you to keep them in safe custody until she returns. Then she will send round for them. In the meantime, however, please give me a paper confirming that the Countess’s account has been settled and that the pearls are at her disposal any time she might wish to collect them. Naturally the paper will mention only Countess Beredy’s name. Mine should not appear.’

A discreet smile hovered for a moment over the merchant’s fat face. Then he bowed slightly, rose, and said: ‘Certainly, your Lordship. It will be done at once!’ He hurried out of the room and in a few minutes was back with a letter, which he signed in Laszlo’s presence before putting on the firm’s official stamp and handing it over.

Laszlo went straight to the post office and sent off Bacherach’s receipt to Fanny by registered letter.

With the words ‘It is finished’ ringing in his head, Laszlo stepped out, head held high, and walked briskly home. As he passed the Casino, on the other side of the street, he looked across defiantly thinking that at last he had rejoined the ranks of the just.

Back in his little apartment, which was now empty of nearly all his things, he looked around to make sure that nothing had been forgotten. From the wall he took down a hand-coloured photograph of his father that he had brought from Kozard and laid it in a suitcase that had not yet been closed. Then he thought he must write some line to Fanny for good manners required at least that. He had no writing paper so he took a visiting card from his case and wrote on it: ‘ Thank you for everything! ’ It was enough. It said all that was necessary. Then he addressed it to the Beredy Palais so that she would find it on her return.

Now it was nearly dark. Laszlo looked at his watch and saw that it was already after five. He had decided to take the six o’clock train, hoping that he would see no one that he knew and so would be able to travel alone. He called down to the hall porter to carry down his luggage and summon a carriage and, while waiting, went over to the window embrasure.