They Were Divided Read online

  It had come about in the following way. Isti had been extremely active in helping the government candidate at a by-election at Szilagy towards the end of the Coalition. The man had been elected, and when they were all back in Budapest Isti had been singled out for praise by the then Minister for Internal Affairs. Isti, seeing his advantage, had at once stammered out, ‘I h-h-have a r-r-request!’ and, when encouraged by Andrassy to blurt it out, said that he would shortly be going to London and would be most grateful for an introduction to the Austro-Hungarian ambassador. Of course he had got his letter and had presented it to the ambassador, Count Mensdorf, as soon as he arrived. Mensdorf asked Isti how he could be of service and it turned out that Isti had only one request and that was somehow to be invited to join the St James’s Club.

  The request had verged on the absurd for, in the view of most foreigners and especially of the diplomatic corps, the St James’s was then thought to be the most exclusive club in England to which very few Englishmen aspired even if they possessed the most exalted social background. To be admitted one had to fulfil the most stringent, even if unwritten, conditions; and these applied as much to foreign diplomatists as they did to native Englishmen. A few diplomats had been accepted, but so few that it had been taken as a special mark of distinction. Mensdorf did his best to explain all this to Isti, adding that, according to English etiquette, new members must not speak to any existing member until the other had first introduced himself. This meant that even if Isti did get in it might still be several years before he managed to make any friends and so, the ambassador suggested, it would really be more sensible if Count Kamuthy dropped the idea altogether. He proposed a wealth of other, most tempting, ideas – invitations to spend the weekend at the houses of wellknown peers, shooting parties in Scotland, a car-trip through some of England’s most beautiful countryside, house-parties for the famed Cowes Regatta. Isti was unimpressed. He wanted only one thing, to be elected to the St James’s, and this was his only request. Nothing else. Absolutely nothing else!

  It happened that Mensdorf was closely related to King Edward and so he had considerable influence in social affairs. He bestirred himself and the miracle happened: Kamuthy was accepted.

  So, for the two weeks that Isti was in England he was to be seen, day after day, from morning till evening, sitting at one of the first floor windows of the St James’s Club gazing proudly out into Piccadilly. No one spoke to him and even the club servants hardly tried to conceal their contempt. Isti did not care. He could sit there in the window, surrounded by huge mirrors, happy in the knowledge that the thousands of people who passed along the street in front of him could look up and envy him and that, among all the more than seven million inhabitants of London there was barely one who was so privileged as to have the right to sit there behind the glass and drink his tea in the sight of all. It was a heavenly feeling.

  After his two weeks Isti had come home. Though he had studied his Baedeker until he almost knew it by heart, all he had seen of England were the rooms of his club. It is true that he had marched through some of the museums, not because he was interested by anything he saw there but rather so that he had something to talk about when he returned. And talk he did. Even now he was telling Fredi about his experiences; and this was the origin of their quarrel. When Isti said that he had become a member of the St James’s, Fredi was so jealous that he turned as yellow as if he were suffering from jaundice. From then on if Isti used an English word, Fredi would correct his pronunciation. ‘You don’t say “Anglish” but “Inglish”, “Waterloo” not “Waterlow”, “mewseum” not “mooseum”.’ Fredi became insufferable and Isti couldn’t bear it. He spluttered out that ‘thomebody who had never been in England shouldn’t prethume to correct him’, and at this Fredi rejoined that if one didn’t speak English it was ridiculous to go there.

  The quarrel got noisier and noisier and Laci Pongracz, who was not far away, heard it and promptly switched to an even louder csardas in an attempt to cover up what was happening. Even so some of those sitting nearby were beginning to notice, and Kadacsay called across the table, ‘Watch it, you two! People are listening.’

  Whereupon the two would-be Englishmen stopped arguing and sat next to each other in grim silence. Before long Wuelffenstein could stand it no longer and, so as to have the last word, turned to Isti and said scornfully, ‘Anyhow I don’t believe you ever set foot in the St James’s!’

  Kamuthy swelled with rage and, scarlet in the face at being denied his triumph, jumped up and lisped at the top of his voice, ‘Thatth nothing but ungentlemanly intholence! Intholent and ungentlemanly!’

  ‘How dare you?’ cried Wuelffenstein, also jumping up and at the same time banging the table with his enormous fist so that a coffee-cup was overturned and went clattering onto the floor. It was fortunate that Stanislo Gyeroffy chose the same moment to rise from the table and with considerable presence of mind guide his royal guest away from the scene of battle into the quiet of the smoking-room. Amidst the noise of everyone getting up from table the Comte d’Eu himself was quite unaware that anything untoward had happened. Posting himself in front of the fireplace he proceeded to give a long scholarly dissertation on the history and development of duelling to the group of obsequious old gentlemen who had accompanied him out of the hall.

  Bogacsy was there too, sitting facing the prince. He did not remain there long because almost as soon as he had sat down Farkas Alvinczy came up to the back of his chair and whispered a few words in his ear. Then he vanished. The retired soldier’s eyes glinted but he did not move because at that moment the prince was looking in his direction. Somehow it seemed that his great handlebar moustaches had grown even longer as Bogacsy’s mouth widened in a smile of pure joy. As soon as the Comte d’Eu’s attention was engaged elsewhere Bogacsy got up and quietly left the room, leaving an empty place in the royal circle.

  Kamuthy’s seconds were already waiting for him in the so-called Ladies’ Dining Room on the other side of the stairway. They were Joska Kendy, who stood there silently sucking on his pipe, and a mild young man called Garazda who came originally from Western Hungary and was now in his third year at the university in Kolozsvar. The usual stern greetings were exchanged with much formal ceremony but no shaking of hands. Then Fredi’s seconds, Bogacsy and Alvinczy, sat down on one side of the table and Isti’s on the other.

  Then the traditional words were uttered, ‘Our client, Count Nandor Wuelffenstein, demands satisfaction.’

  All went according to the customary procedure, and in a few moments everything had been settled. There was no question of a reconciliation, nor of a Court of Honour as was recommended by the Anti-Duelling League to all its members. Armed satisfaction then? Of course! Swords? Naturally! Both sides agreed to light cavalry sabres. Up to what point? Disability, of course! When …?

  This was a problem, for Fredi, as general-secretary of the League in Hungary, was expected to accompany the prince as far as the Romanian border; and the prince was due to leave at five a.m. It was too late to change any of these arrangements.

  ‘Well then,’ said young Garazda, ‘what about when he gets back from the border?’

  ‘Certainly not!’ said Bogacsy peremptorily. ‘The Code Duverger expressly states that if both parties to a duel are present nothing shall prevent the meeting taking place. The duel can take place at once, tonight. It isn’t even eleven yet; by midnight the whole affair will be settled.’

  ‘Very well, but where? The Gymnasium is now closed and there is no other suitable hall.’

  ‘But there is!’ roared Bogacsy triumphantly. ‘Right here! This room is quite big enough if we push the table to one side. The floor isn’t too slippery, in fact it’s just right. As one of the Casino’s directors I hereby give my official permission.’

  Then they got down to details. Two medical men would have to be routed out of their beds and made to attend. Bogacsy had a pair of light cavalry sabres at his apartment and Farkas Alvinczy two more. They wou
ld send for them and the two opponents could draw lots as to which pair was used.

  Then Farkas said, in a worried tone, ‘Where on earth can we find a sabre-sharpener at this hour? Mine are as blunt as anything.’

  Here the major interrupted, saying proudly, ‘Mine are sharp as razors! And my man can sharpen the others. He’s very good at it: I taught him myself!’

  To make sure that all went smoothly certain responsibilities had to be allocated. Garazda undertook to rouse Kamuthy’s doctor, while Farkas agreed to get the other, and also to collect his two swords. Bogacsy, as a director of the Casino and one of the hosts at the banquet, could not leave the building while the prince was still under its roof, and so he asked Joska to go to his flat and wake his valet who would collect everything necessary and bring it all over, the sabres and the honing instruments. And so it was arranged that everything could be done at once and precisely as it should be.

  Bogacsy now returned to the smoking-room and, finding that no one had usurped his chair, sat down again where he had been facing the prince, who was still in full flood. The duelling major listened with joy in his heart.

  ‘… and from where, I ask you, does duelling stem? Who started this barbaric habit? I tell you, gentlemen, it is the last survival of the medieval auto-da-fé. In those benighted times people still believed that God would intervene and give victory to the one with right on his side, to the gentle and true in heart, while the sinner would perish miserably. Even then, of course, they were apt only to let the most experienced swordsmen take their chance with God’s judgement. But today, gentlemen, today? Who believes that Divine Providence has anything to do with the outcome? Who on earth would be bothered with such nonsense? Nowadays we all know that the victor is he who has had most practice, be it with swords or pistols. Why, the vilest man can kill the most honest! It is terrible, really terrible!’

  An approving murmur greeted these words. Even Crookface belched out something, but whether it was in agreement with the royal proposition remained doubtful. Bogacsy, however, nodded his head vigorously at every word.

  This was only to be expected for the battling ex-officer had been uncomfortably aware of what a ridiculous figure he had cut before dinner when all the young men, especially those who were now standing about in the background, had been mocking his predicament. Now it was his turn to lead their silent mockery of the philanthropic prince; and the turn of those mocking young brats to admire him, Bogacsy, the perfect second who could listen so impassively to the royal visitor’s absurdly inopportune speeches. Nothing showed in his expression, for it was a golden rule where duelling was concerned, that no one spoke of the encounter until after it had happened. So he sat there stiffly, with his legs stretched out and his paunch protruding, the very picture of authority and elegant sangfroid. He knew he was doing it right and that everyone else knew it too.

  It seemed that the royal guest would never stop. On and on he talked – for about an hour and a half – in good German and well-turned phrases. Of course his fluency was helped by the fact that he had said all this many times before, in several different languages and many different countries. And of course, too, he was listened to in deferential silence. There were no interruptions and no disturbances; how could there be?

  After half an hour had passed young Garazda came quietly up to Bogacsy’s chair and whispered something in his ear. Later Farkas Alvinczy did the same thing, and later still it was Joska’s turn. There was nothing conspicuous about it, for each message was delivered discreetly and quietly. Bogacsy himself merely nodded acknowledgement of whatever he had been told, and these nods could equally well have been taken as tacit approval of the Prince’s plea to end duelling in Europe.

  At long last the Comte d’Eu got up, and so did everyone else, straightened his elegant figure, looked with his sad grey eyes at the people near him, thanked them for their hospitality and warm welcome, and said how touched he was to find himself surrounded by so many people in tune with his philanthropic movement. He had hardly, he said, expected to meet with such success, such understanding and such sympathy among the people of a nation so traditionally warlike as the Hungarians and was surprised, as well as delighted, to encounter such support from those whose habit had always been to settle everything with a sword. And yet, here he was and everybody he met seemed to be in perfect agreement with him and to be only too happy to join the league against duelling. He said he felt filled with renewed strength and confidence and was now quite sure that very soon duelling would disappear for ever and be thought of only as one of the errors of the past.

  ‘Dank, meine Herren. Dank, Dank, Dank – thank you, gentlemen, thank you, thank you, thank you!’

  These words were greeted by well-bred, if slightly muted, applause; and nobody seemed to notice that at the back, from the direction of the card-room, came some hastily suppressed giggles.

  Surrounded by the Casino’s three directors and, as befitted his exalted rank, preceded by two footmen carrying tall candelabra, the prince was escorted down the stairs. Just as he reached the swing-doors into the street there was a moment’s interruption as a little man with a turned-up collar and carrying a small Gladstone bag scurried in. The newcomer quickly effaced himself, flattening himself modestly against the dark wall of the vestibule. No one noticed that he carried a bottle of disinfectant under one arm and that his pockets were stuffed with bandages!

  He was one of the doctors that Bogacsy had sent for to attend the duel.

  Though he was a trifle late Wuelffenstein managed somehow to get to the train on time. He was wearing what might have been a white turban on his head and his suddenly swollen nose was decorated with a wide Leukoplast dressing.

  He was in a thoroughly bad temper for young Kamuthy had not only opened up his scalp but also slashed him on the nose, which was far more humiliating. Stupid ass! thought Fredi. Dwarfish little beast!

  It so happened that, on the command to attack, Wuelffenstein, awkward as some tall men sometimes are, swung out his sword-arm in a wide arc, and little Isti, like an enraged hamster, had jumped in, hit him on the nose with his sword-hilt and given him a nasty slash on the forehead which had needed eight stitches to patch up. But that was not the end of it. The worst moment came when Fredi’s nose started to bleed and that was when the fight was stopped, though not the nosebleed which continued ignominiously until the flow had been stemmed by two huge wads of cotton-wool which nearly suffocated him. Now he could only breathe through his mouth and he was racked with anxiety as to how he would look the following day with his nose all black and blue. It was a dreadful thought.

  It did not help Fredi’s good humour that the Comte d’Eu, instead of going at once to his grand sleeping compartment, insisted on waiting on the platform for Fredi to arrive, and when he did plied him with such solicitous enquiries that Fredi was forced to go into endless untrue explanations to excuse the condition he found himself in, for it would hardly have done for the general-secretary of the Anti-Duelling League to admit to having settled an affair of honour with sabres on the very evening that the league had held its first meeting in Kolozsvar. Up in smoke would have gone Fredi’s pride in his new royal acquaintance, gone the dreams of success in the exclusive drawing-rooms of the Faubourg St Germain, gone the thought of royal protection. Fredi’s snobbish little soul had been seduced by the thought of meeting grand French duchesses in Legitimist salons, and being on nodding terms with rich manufacturers of champagne; and he knew only too well that none of this would ever happen if it were known what he had been up to that night, which it well might if Bogacsy had not insisted on accompanying Fredi to the station.

  But Bogacsy was there with him, for it was the belligerent little ex-major’s pride that he took his duties as second with deadly seriousness and would never abandon them until the affair was over and done with. This was especially true today when he could add his own flourish of mockery to the whole ridiculous affair. When he found the anti-duelling prince still on the pla
tform at the station, old Bogacsy was overjoyed and his black-pudding moustache fairly bristled with pride. Though his German pronunciation was appalling, he was still able to give the prince an adroit and acceptable explanation for Fredi’s appearance, declaring that his good friend Wuelffenstein had tripped on the Casino stairs, fallen against the balustrade, damaged his forehead and broken his nose.

  ‘Iss grosze Maleur, Hohayt, iss grosze Maleur …’ which even the prince managed to grasp meant ‘What bad luck, Highness, what bad luck!’ Bogacsy repeated this several times, bowing each time so deeply that it was possible no one saw the triumph in his eyes.

  Only when the train had rumbled out of sight did he straighten up. Then he gave an extra twirl to his moustaches and marched off the platform as if he were Caesar and had just conquered Gaul.

  Chapter Three

  ADRIENNE GAME BACK TO KOLOZSVAR at the beginning of November. She arrived on the early morning express from Budapest, but that was only the end of her journey for before that she had been both to Lausanne in Switzerland and to Meran in South Tyrol. Adrienne had gone to Lausanne to visit her daughter Clemmie, who had been sent to the same boarding school that Adrienne herself had attended. She had found to her relief that some of her old teachers were still there and that they seemed to be just as wise and clever and sympathetic as she remembered them. The head-mistress was now Madame Laurent, who had just started her career when Adrienne had been a pupil and who had always seemed to Adrienne to be more of a friend than a teacher. It was because Madame Laurent had taken over the school that Adrienne had decided to send Clemmie there, for she had every confidence in the wisdom and understanding of children’s needs that Madame Laurent had always possessed. Now that her daughter had been there six months Adrienne had been to see her and also to discuss with her old friend what could be done with a child who had such a strangely withdrawn and unfriendly nature. Madame Laurent had explained the little girl’s problems with such clarity that Adrienne, who had been worried and perplexed, now began to understand more clearly what was needed.