Miklós Bánffy - They Were Counted

So Laszlo started to play, but not the sentimental little ballads that the gypsies had just been playing for the girls. He played tunes that were sharper, full of rhythm, but witty and playful. When he played a song, he would not sing the words but would speak them mockingly, ironically, even scornfully. Sometimes he would imitate the famous Lorant Frater, but in the manner of a French diseuse . His technique was extraordinary. The violin itself seemed to chuckle as if it were being tickled, and then suddenly Laszlo would pluck the G-string sharply, so that the instrument itself seemed to be scandalized with shock; and a pause would follow as if a question had been asked, and it was waiting for an answer. And, after the pause, again a sudden rush of melody which seemed to bubble with merriment.

The guests loved it. They applauded, cheered, and their laughter and appreciation spurred him to give them more. Perhaps because Laszlo was already a little drunk he began to clown, searching for broader and funnier effects. Without for a moment ceasing to play he would run round the room, jumping and whirling and leaping between the chairs before returning to the band-leader’s place beside the cymbalist. Sometimes he would play with the fiddle on his knee or hold it above his head while he crouched on the floor, slithering from side to side, his legs flung out as in a Russian dance, his toes twinkling, until once more he leapt in the air like a goat. Whatever he did the sound remained perfect, flawlessly beautiful, the melodies unbroken by his antics, the rhythm impeccable. The poor band-leader, Pongracz, watched anxiously, worried about his beloved violin. It was as good as any turn in the music hall, and so funny that the guests rocked with laughter.

Balint himself was embarrassed by the clownishness of Laszlo’s performance. It annoyed him to see his friend debase himself. Edging up to him he said, in a low voice:

‘Play us something of your own!’

Gyeroffy stopped, suddenly serious: ‘I have nothing to suit these people …’

‘The Valse Macabre?’ suggested Balint, remembering one of Laszlo’s earlier and milder works.

‘Well, yes. That one, perhaps …’ Laszlo turned to the gypsies and, so as to give them a lead, played a few notes in the key of G-minor. Then he straightened up and stepped forward in front of the little band. Suddenly he was no longer a clown but a figure whose demeanour and presence sent a wave of surprise among the guests. A frown furrowed his wide clear brow which was surrounded by thick wavy brown hair, features that more strongly than ever recalled his Tartar ancestry, and his mouth was set in a hard line, severe and implacable — a straight, calm and elegant figure that would not have been out of place on the stage of a famous concert hall. He paused for a moment and then, drawing his brows together in still more of a frown, he began to play.

First he held a deep long-drawn note for about four beats — the gypsies hesitant, not quite knowing what to expect — and then, almost imperceptibly the rhythm of a slow, unusual waltz began to emerge. The beat was unconventional, strange, not the usual three-four beat, but modified, transformed, modern, harsh, with unexpected passages which seemed sadder than anything anyone had ever heard before. The bewildered gypsies could not follow him; more and more confused they stopped playing, one by one. Pongracz shook his head with disapproval; this was not at all his kind of music. But Laszlo played on, unperturbed by the gypsies’ defection until he was playing quite alone.

There was silence. Then Farkas Alvinczy jumped up, waved to the disconcerted gypsies and led them back into the ballroom. In a few moments the latest popular waltz from Vienna could be heard and soon the hall was filled up dancing couples.

Laszlo Gyeroffy stood alone in the middle of the almost empty drawing-room. Dodo Gyalakuthy came up to him, looking up with admiration in her large doe-eyes.

‘It was beautiful, what you played! I don’t think many people understood it, but I did. I liked it very much. It was lovely, so unusual, so new and interesting.’

Laszlo looked down at her, resignedly.

‘It was silly even to try!’ he said. Then, encouraged that he had at least one listener who sympathized with him and understood his music, he started to explain how difficult it was for a band to follow his unfamiliar harmonies.

As Laszlo and Dodo talked in the middle of the room, the little Countess Abonyi emerged from the window embrasure, followed by Egon Wickwitz. She walked towards the ballroom and, seeing Balint still by the door, called to him, her spirits visibly improved by the sight of her old friend: ‘Dance with me!’ It was an order and, when Balint complied, she nestled into his arms and whispered her old endearment for him: ‘Little Boy — Little Boy!’ in her once-familiar caressing voice as they danced away into the great hall. Balint pressed her hand in recognition of the memory, but his eyes remained cold and unmoved.

‘Don’t worry,’ she went on, ‘I don’t expect anything of you. I’m just pleased to see you again, Little Boy!’

They danced in silence, Balint’s arm tightly round the well-remembered slim waist that pressed against him with such careless abandon. They danced for a long time until, at the far end of the room where no one was standing, Dinora suddenly stopped. Looking at Balint with something of the old feeling in her eyes, she said:

‘Look, Balint, you’ll be back at Denestornya in a day or two. Do come over to Maros-Szilvas soon. I’d love to see you. And I’m sure you remember the way,’ she added flirtatiously, ‘but seriously, I want to ask your advice about something important. We are still friends, aren’t we?’

‘Something important? A serious matter? Of course I’ll come.’

‘A very serious matter!’ Dinora smiled sweetly, but she looked worried. Then she seemed to recover and her little white teeth gleamed between the voluptuous lips. Suddenly she passed her hand over Balint’s cheek in the lightest of caresses. She laughed at her own audacity and turned away. ‘Goodbye,’ she murmured over her shoulder as she glided away, to be swept up at once by another dancer; and in a flash she was gone.

Balint pondered what Dodo had told him in the drawing-room, and looked around to find her. Once again she was sitting alone on one of the chairs ranged along the wall, and so he walked over and asked her to dance. As they floated round the floor he thought how well she danced, indeed she followed instinctively everything that her partner wanted to do, and when he reversed and danced anti-clockwise round the hall in a complicated new step that had just been introduced in the capital, she followed perfectly. She was like an ideal pupil who divines every unspoken instruction. He was so pleased that they went on waltzing for a long time.

It was hot in the hall when they finally parted. The windows had been kept shut as the slightest breeze sent a shower of wax from the candles. Balint decided he would like a breath of fresh air, and stepped out onto the terrace.

The unexpected beauty of the moonlight made Balint catch his breath as he might have had he been startled by a sudden cry of fear. Coming from the hothouse atmosphere of the ballroom it was like emerging into a wonderland as unreal and full of magic as a fairy tale. The azure sky merged into the far horizon; distance and nearness did not exist. The terrace was all in dark mysterious shadow, limited only by the faint horizontal line of the balustrade where here and there a carved stone arabesque gleamed faintly.