Miklós Bánffy - They Were Counted

‘Peter has told me what a great task you have undertaken at the Academy, how hard you study!’ The princess made it clear from her manner and way of speaking that she approved and sympathized with the path he had chosen. ‘Why should everyone feel they have to go into politics? It is wonderful if someone has a talent and wants to develop it. Dear Laci, I’m sure you will do great things with your music. You have a great talent! Still, it wasn’t very kind of you not to let us know you were back from Transylvania, not to write or send us word. You know how I’ve always been like a mother to you, don’t you! I was rather hurt, you know, but it doesn’t matter. At least you have been with us now.’ She was carefully to say ‘have been’ in the past tense, but Laszlo, starved of affection, was so grateful to her, so appreciative of her kindness to him, that the nuance escaped his attention.

Kissing her hand again to show how touched he was by her kind words he begged forgiveness for his neglect of them in Budapest and began to pour out to her all his plans and ambitions, what the professors had said of his work and, as always when he spoke of music, he became carried away by his enthusiasm, describing his visions of a new kind of music, of daring new forms and harmonies.

Though she hardly understood anything of what he was telling her the princess listened to him with apparent attention only occasionally interjecting an encouraging word: ‘Ah, how interesting that would be!’ or ‘Dear Laci, that’s beyond me!’

‘I love your enthusiasm, your devotion to your music. You must promise to play for me next time you come!’ This time Laszlo noticed what she was saying, the little phrase ‘next time you come’ tolled in his ears, for was he not planning to stay now, was he not here, ready, and could play for her that afternoon? But his aunt went on, not giving him the chance to speak: ‘What a pity, as you’re taking the midday train that there won’t be another chance today! I’ve ordered the big carriage for you, so you’ll be quite comfortable!’

The princess was still smiling, but her look was implacable, and her words were an order, severe and irreversible.

Laszlo felt suddenly cold, too stunned to find words.

‘Of course. Yes … the midday train. I don’t have much time!’

The princess, having delivered her broadside, continued to speak in the gentle, affectionate tone she had adopted since her nephew had come to her room. But though she talked gently, pouring the ointment of family affection into the wound she had herself just inflicted, she was watching Laszlo’s face with close attention. Was he in love with Klara? Was he courting her in secret? Princess Agnes still did not know, and Laszlo, accustomed as an orphan to hide his feelings in public, was careful to keep his face expressionless and not to allow anything in his words or manner to betray him. Blandly, therefore, he talked on for a little while and then rose to say goodbye.

‘I really must go and pack!’ he said as he bent over his aunt’s hand.

He closed the door of his aunt’s little sitting-room slowly, with perfect control, and then, though the main stair was closer he went automatically back to the library by the way he had come. After such a heavy, totally unexpected blow only his feet knew where they were leading him; in his mind he could only think: They’ve thrown me out! They’ve simply thrown me out! The words drummed in his brain: They’ve simply thrown me out!

He found himself on the little library stair and there, leaning against the carved railing, stood Klara.

‘Good morning, Laci,’ she said, coming towards him and holding out her hand. ‘I love to look down from here. Everything looks so different, so beautiful!’

Laszlo leaned on the smooth balustrade, with Klara so close that their shoulders touched. ‘Look down there,’ she went on. ‘See how strange it is, it only shines where the sun touches.’

They stood together in silence. Laszlo thought: I should take her in my arms now. Kiss her! One kiss at least before they throw me out! But before he could make a move the girl stirred slightly, straightened up and took a few steps along the library’s upper gallery. Then she turned, stood once more against the balustrade, her body leaning back: ‘These are all old French novels from the eighteenth century. Poor stuff, all very silly — but look how beautiful the bindings are!’

Again they stood side by side in silence, and again Laszlo thought: If only she’d look at me! If only she’d look at me as she did yesterday and I could be sure she would not be angry, then I would kiss her before they throw me out!

But again the moment passed, and Klara moved away, back across the landing, and stood in front of a door that faced that of the princess’s sitting-room. Leaning back against the doorway, she looked once more up into Laszlo’s face, her whole expression one of mute questioning, of expectancy. Now! thought Laszlo, Now! Take her in your arms, you ass, and kiss her! It’s obvious that’s what she wants, what she’s yearning for! As these thoughts crossed his mind, he glanced involuntarily at the door to his aunt’s room. Would she come out and for ever banish him from the house?

Perhaps Klara sensed what was in his mind, for she drew away and said lightly: ‘You’ve never seen my new little home? Papa’s just had this room done up for me.’

She opened the door and went in. It was a small room with just one window, furnished with English furniture upholstered in floral glazed chintz: even the walls were covered in the same material.

‘Isn’t it pretty? It’s so cool and smooth to the touch; I love to touch it!’

Laszlo stepped into the room behind her. They stood together by a chest of drawers. The girl raised her ringers to the wall. ‘It’s fresh and cool, just as if it had been iced!’ With the movement, her breast touched the young man’s arm. They were very close.

Now, at last, he put his arms round her and drew her even closer. Their lips met and for a long time they were sealed together in a long hungry kiss. Klara’s hand went up to Laszlo’s shoulder, her fingers searching the nape of his neck, caressing. Their kiss could have lasted forever for she seemed to promise herself to him with the last drop of strength in her. Her body was soft, yielding, seemingly without bones, nothing but melting flesh, yearning for fulfilment; and it was his, only his. Only when they had no more breath left did they draw apart.

‘You must go!’ whispered Klara. ‘Leave now, at once!’ Her arms held him away from her. ‘Go now! They’ll be looking for you. The carriage is already waiting.’

All along the bumpy country road to the railway station and in the train compartment itself, Laszlo felt himself to be riding on a soft billowing pink cloud. He felt no movement and saw nothing of the country, though it was bathed in a clear sober light and the fields and meadows stood out clearly in the bright winter sunshine. Everything around him had the unreality of a fairy tale and even when the carriage darkened as the train entered the station at Fehervar, it seemed the effect of magic and not because the carriage was in the shade of the station roof. Sitting looking out of the window as the train moved on, he saw nothing of the lake, bordered with ice, nothing of the reeds on the shore, nothing that passed before his eyes. Everything was a dream-land invisible to all but him.