Csardas Page 2

  So, for the sake of peace, he paid uncomplainingly for Kati’s party (two lots of musicians and specially printed dance cards!) and, on the orders of his wife, saw that some of the young officers from the garrison were commanded to attend. He stood at the top of the rather gloomy staircase and smiled a greeting at several little girls who all seemed to be dressed in white, at several matrons whom, no doubt, the girls in white would one day resemble, and at a variety of young officers and sons of the town’s gentry and middle-class families. He danced his few duty dances with amiable sufferance and then, feeling his obligations as a father finished, he rounded up his cronies (whom he had had the foresight to invite) and headed for the library, his cigars, and several bottles of good Hungarian brandy. There he prepared to enjoy himself in a flow of rhetoric. There was much to be discussed: politics, land reform (he would have been horrified if his views had ever been translated into practice but it was very pleasant to shock his friends with liberal ideas), the relationship between Prussia—or Germany, as she must now be called—and the invincible empire of Austria-Hungary, the position of the Jews in Hungary (this was a delicate subject for Alfred’s friends as they had to remember that Alfred’s wife, although now a Christian, was Jewish by birth), and a whole range of important social and economic questions that became more and more easy to cope with as the intake of brandy progressed. A Magyar servant moved silently round the room, filling glasses and sliding logs into the stove whenever he could manage to get past Alfred, who was conducting his forum from just in front of the source of heat.

  “Consider the minorities,” he declaimed, waving his glass in the air. “Consider what would happen if a war were to come. Just consider, I beg you, consider.”

  The company considered. They were mostly of their host’s age or older. There was the judge, the editor of the local newspaper, one or two middle-ranking officers from the garrison, the owner of the local ironworks, and, on the far side of the room, standing stiff and uncomfortable, a young officer in the dress uniform of the hussars. The oldest of the men was General Matthias, who had been pensioned from the army and found time lay heavy. He enjoyed the air of masculine camaraderie found at Alfred’s house, even though he was frequently shocked and irritated by Alfred’s views. Now he held his glass up to be refilled and said, in answer to Alfred’s dramatic question, “Well, my dear Alfred, and what would happen?”

  “What would happen, General, is that the minorities—the Slovaks, the Serbs, the Romanians—would rise up like serpents within our frontiers and destroy us!”

  “Nonsense.”

  Secretly Alfred thought it was nonsense too, but it was great fun to hold a different opinion from everyone else.

  “I tell you,” he went on, “if war comes—as well it could if Serbia decides to test her strength again and Russia backs her—when it comes, what guarantee have we that we can control the minorities? What would happen if they united and rose within our sacred frontiers to take arms against us?”

  General Matthias, who was over seventy and remembered the Prussian wars, roused himself. “What would happen, my dear Alfred, is that the King and Emperor would crush the peasants,” he said firmly. “We’ve seen revolts before and may do so again, though I doubt it. The Serbs and Bosnians and Romanians—pah!—they are like unruly children. They should be kept disciplined; then they will be happy and we shall be safe. What would you have us do, give the minorities equal rights as citizens of the Empire? Allow them to govern themselves? Nonsense!”

  The judge had been gently dozing but General Matthias’s voice woke him and he mumbled an enthusiastic, “I agree, General, I quite agree!” and drank another glass of brandy.

  “But if there was a war,” insisted Alfred rather tediously. “Let us suppose we were fighting the Russians to the east and the Italians to the west. Have you thought, has anyone thought, what a life blow it could be if the minorities rose against us?”

  “There won’t be a war,” replied the old gentleman testily. “Trouble with you, Alfred, is that you’ve been influenced by Vazsonyi, or even Karolyi and all that bunch of hotheads. You see trouble where no trouble is. The Empire is at peace, and the King and Emperor controls that peace. While he lives nothing can happen to us.”

  There was a slow, complacent rumbling throughout the library. It came from warmth, good brandy, and the knowledge that the dual monarchy was safe and omnipotent. Everyone, even the revolutionary Alfred, suddenly felt happy because God was in his heaven and Franz Josef was on the throne. The Empire was safe. The friends in the library—all old friends—were bonded in one of those swift moments of intimacy that comes with familiarity and affection. The air in the room was somnolent and everyone was ready to drift into a pleasant coma-like doze.

  “But Franz Josef is an old, old man! Very soon he will die, and then what will happen to the Empire?”

  It was as though someone had opened a window and let in a cold draught. The voice was loud, aggressive, and young, and it caused offense. If Alfred had made the same remark it would have been dramatic, argumentative, and meaningless, but the young hussar officer, who had hitherto remained silent on the far side of the room, spoke with the contemptuous authority of the very young for the old and unimaginative. Every man in the room turned to stare at him—cold, disapproving stares. Until now the conversation had been a friendly, animated discussion between gentlemen, not a bellowing of rude and unpleasant facts.

  He came forward into the circle of warmth round the stove, flushing a little and trying to lower his voice. “The King and Emperor is an old man... and he is running an old-fashioned army. And Cousin Alfred is quite right. There could be a war very soon.”

  It was all very well for Alfred to talk about an impending war. Everyone knew Alfred; he talked nonsense and they all enjoyed it. What they did not enjoy was this brash, strong, healthy young man with his blunt voice jarring the comfortable atmosphere of the library.

  The general stirred irritably in his chair. “So! There is to be a war?”

  The young man bowed. “Yes, General. I’ve been to Berlin and I’ve seen the Kaiser’s armies. I know what they can do and how eager they are to do it. It isn’t only the Serbs and the Russians; the Prussians are ready for a war too.”

  “You’ve been to Berlin—huh!—and now you know everything. You know everything, and I don’t even know your name. I don’t like young officers speaking with familiarity when they haven’t even bothered to introduce themselves.”

  Everyone laughed a little. The young man flushed, then snapped his heels together and bowed. “Lieutenant Vilaghy, Karoly Vilaghy,” he said, standing stiffly to attention.

  The general stared so hard that finally Alfred said apologetically, “A distant cousin, General. On my mother’s side.”

  “Ha!” The old man moved his legs. They ached a little, and he was suddenly resentful because he could no longer ride or dance or even stand for any length of time without the old lance wound in his thigh causing considerable pain. Lieutenant Karoly Vilaghy was large and upright, and his legs, in smooth, tight-fitting dress trousers, looked strong and tireless.

  “Well, Vilaghy, when I was a young officer we didn’t speak to senior staff in that way until we had been given permission—not even when the senior officer was retired and in the house of a friend—especially if he was retired and in the house of a friend!”

  The lieutenant, standing stiffly to attention, was white-faced. Alfred, through his embarrassment at the scene that had fermented out of nothing, felt faintly sorry for him.

  “Your pardon, sir,” Vilaghy said, staring straight ahead. “I had not intended to offend.”

  The other occupants of the room suddenly found it quite amusing. Their annoyance vanished. Old Matthias was only baiting the boy, teaching him his manners and not meaning any harm.

  “What were you doing in Berlin?” asked the general, sensing the audience with him and feeling a little better. “Spending your pay on baccarat and ballet girls?” He gl
anced round to see if everyone appreciated his wit.

  “I was viewing the modernization of the German army, sir.”

  “Ah, yes. And what great conclusions did you come to as a result of this... scientific survey?” He stretched his legs out and relaxed as he heard the titters around him. It was years since he had given a junior officer a good dressing-down—not that this gentle goading was really a dressing-down; my God, they should have heard him in the old days!

  The young man opened and shut his mouth several times like a gold-fish, and the drunken giggles and guffaws grew louder. Suddenly the young hussar’s temper snapped. Furious and uncontrolled, his voice cut across the laughter of the room.

  “I came to many conclusions, sir. One, that the monarchy’s army is hopelessly outdated and ill-equipped. Two, that it is run by old men whose minds have calcified beyond any hope of adaptation. I saw that horse regiments are going to be obliterated in a few moments by machine-guns and barbed wire.” His voice was rising, and he seemed unaware of the shocked silence in the room. “You are quite right, sir, in thinking that most of my comrades spend their time playing baccarat and chasing ballet girls—pastimes that scarcely prepare an officer for highly mechanized warfare. We need men with brains, officers with keen minds, mechanical training, scientific ability. The King’s army has little to lead it but useless old men and irresponsible rakes!”

  The general’s mouth had dropped open. There was a quick, frightened hiss of indrawn breath from someone and a nervous giggle from Alfred. Then the general’s glass shattered against the porcelain stove.

  “Why, you—you impertinent clown! I’ll have you court-martialled!” he spluttered, fighting through the brandy for words. “I’m not without influence still. You think I’m old and useless! You’ll learn. You’ll learn what an old general—like the old Emperor and his old armies—can do with a subordinate officer. My God! When I think what I’d do to you if you were one of my lieutenants! You’ll hear of this again, young man, don’t think you won’t! Causing dissension and rebellion in what used to be an honourable regiment! My God!” He tried to rise, red-faced and apoplectic, but his stick slipped on the rug and he lurched uselessly back into the chair.

  Alfred was frantically pushing the young man towards the door. He was mortified at the way his mildly provocative criticism had accelerated into a scene. “I think you had better go,” he whispered noisily. “Return later and apologize. Remember you are a guest in my house as I am trying to remember that you are a kinsman of mine. I have made allowances for your youth. The general has not.”

  Karoly Vilaghy clicked his heels again, but before he could bow he found himself pushed unceremoniously outside the door. He stood stiffly to attention, fighting his own rage and frustration. He would have liked to have gone straight back to barracks, cursing them all, but a tiny cautionary voice warned him it would be highly impolitic to leave without apologizing to the pompous old man, who was living testimony to the uselessness of the Imperial armies, a typical example of those who had brought the Empire to where it teetered at the moment—a top-heavy structure of tradition, courage (he did not dispute that), formality, and an absolute and abysmal ignorance of what modern war would entail.

  He was also miserably aware of the fact that he had abused the hospitality of Cousin Alfred and his wife.

  His frustration and fury was the result of humiliation upon humiliation. In Vienna he was not taken seriously because he was Hungarian and because his family only just scraped into the class known as gentry. In Berlin he had not been taken seriously either because, in that war-conscious juggernaut land, it was known that Franz Josef would have to follow where the Kaiser led. He had returned from Berlin aware of what must be done to the army, keen to put forward suggestions—why had he been sent if not to put forward suggestions?—and again he had been laughed at. “God! Listen to Vilaghy! What impertinence from a fellow who dares not even gamble in case he loses!”

  When he had received a new posting to the town where Alfred lived he had eagerly accepted his kinsman’s hospitality. But even here he was aware of his position as poor relation. It was known full well in the family that his father had mortgaged the estate in order to buy his commission. And it was also known that the Vilaghy family—at home—lived at approximately the same standard as landed peasants. His mother had only one servant, and his sister hadn’t had a new gown for three years. They ate meat only once a week, and there were rats in the dining-hall. With resentment he had seen how Cousin Alfred lived. Alfred, with a good pedigree and aristocratic connections (he claimed an obscure kinship with the Pulszkys which could or could not be true), had lowered his standards and married Gizelli Ferenc, Jewish, beautiful, rich, and clever—so clever that under her guidance Alfred had trebled his fortune, enlarged his estates, and made some brilliant international investments. Karoly, while grateful for the invitations to his cousin’s house, was also aware that they were given in a spirit of pity and compassion for his poverty.

  He stood, his back against the door, and listened to the music coming from the drawing-room. He tried to estimate how much Kati’s party had cost: enough to keep his mother, father, and sister in comfort for a year. He noted how all the lights—electric! Alfred had been the first man in the county to have his house wired with electricity—were left burning. That alone would have given his sister a small dowry. He tried hard to swallow his resentment and bitterness. He was intelligent enough to know that such emotions could cause unhappiness only to himself. When one has neither money nor position, he reflected wryly, one’s only hope of success is to be a jolly fellow with a good spirit.

  He wondered how long he should wait before returning and apologizing. It would have to be done, and done well. It had been a mistake to join the party in the library but he had considered it the lesser of two evils, feeling he would be even more out of place in the ballroom.

  In a spirit of self-punishment he moved towards the music. He had not yet invited Kati to dance. Perhaps he should. Even at her own party it was doubtful if she would be overwhelmed with partners. He didn’t dance very well but he imagined Kati would be grateful for anything. He had met her only a few times but her diffidence, ugliness, and lack of confidence had given him a strong fellow feeling towards her. He straightened his jacket and walked—hating himself—into the drawing-room.

  She was dancing. Kati’s mother, determined that her daughter’s party should be her daughter’s party, had indefatigably rounded up a team of young men who had filled Kati’s card before the dancing had even begun. There was no other girl in the room he would have dared to ask to dance. There was no other girl he even knew. He hunched miserably just inside the door. No one appeared to notice he was there. Am I so insignificant? he thought bitterly. In a group of provincial girls and garrison officers, am I still a nonentity?

  He folded his arms and leaned against the wall, hoping to give the impression that he was loftily comparing the charms of the various girls, but the pose was wasted as still no one looked at him. Gradually his loneliness began to make him dislike everyone in the room. He stared straight ahead, seeing nothing, seeing everything, and finally through his misery he became aware of a girl who was not dancing, a tall, quiet girl in a pink dress, and it wasn’t her appearance or style that made him notice her, or even that she was one of the Ferenc sisters, for he did not know of the Ferenc sisters. He noticed her because she was hiding pastries in a table-napkin. It arrested his attention at once. It was the kind of thing he had often thought of doing himself: filling a hamper with the venison and pike and salmon that were left from a party and sending it home to his mother.

  Fascinated he watched her careful selection: cherry strudel, chocolate-covered rigo jansci, caviar with egg, rolled ham, mocha cake, paprika salad... paprika salad? His stomach turned suddenly. She looked such a tranquil and fastidious girl it was hard to believe that she, or someone at home, needed the food that badly. She looked up, and when she saw his gaze a flush crept from th
e creamy skin of her shoulders and suffused her face, and then, completely without embarrassment, she smiled at him, a warm, friendly smile that hit him somewhere in the small of the back and spread round his chest with a suffocating sensation.

  The smile faded, then returned. He thought he had never seen such gentleness, such compassion in a woman’s face before. He noted much else about her, that she was tall and gracefully built, that her hair was brown, her eyes hazel, but the only thing that really mattered was the smile.