For once Balint also decided to attend. Since he had been in Budapest for the parliamentary sessions he had accepted invitations only to a few private dinners and on those evenings when there were no debates he either dined quietly at the Casino or went to a bachelor party with gypsy musicians and girls from the demi-monde. But though he tried hard to find pleasure in the political struggles and in carousing with other young men at the tsigane parties, the truth was that he could raise only fleeting interest in the cocottes while the debates, with their endless trivial argument and the substitution of political slogans for constructive proposals, bored him to death. It seemed that no one would ever put forward any positive plan to solve the country’s problems. All they did was to repeat, over and over again, what had been said before.
Perhaps the underlying reason for Balint’s disillusion lay in the fact that he was depressed and inwardly perturbed. He seemed to have lost his way. If he were really to have an effective role in what was happening rather than remaining forever a spectator, then he wondered if perhaps he should choose a leader and follow faithfully wherever he might lead. As it was he felt he was an outsider, set apart from the others, forever wondering what line he should take. Surely it was both senseless and somewhat absurd for someone so new to politics to set himself apart as he had done. During this last session this feeling had become stronger and stronger, until it was clear that no matter how hard he tried to discuss things with other members, whatever their political allegiances, he was answered only by a repetition of their party’s official policies which had already appeared in print a hundred times over. Politicians with party ties would shy away from him if he ever tried to discuss seriously what they really thought. Each man with whom he talked assumed at once that he was a secret envoy from one of the parties to which they themselves did not belong. This was extremely frustrating, though now Balint was starting to realize that it was natural and inevitable. A man who tried to see every side of every problem, who bent over backwards to take a fair and equitable view, was a suspect animal in the world of politics. What, to most politicians, could be more equivocal and therefore not to be trusted, than someone who admitted that those with contrary opinions might possibly also be right? Audiatur et altera pars (which might be translated as ‘There are two sides to every question’) held no attraction for committed party members for whom their own party’s programme was no less than Revealed Truth, while that of their opponents was just as inevitably the work of the Devil. We are right and they are wrong, and that was that!
Thus it was, is now and ever shall be! And in the Hungary of the first decade of the twentieth century it was even more true than it was in other countries and at other times. To the generation that grew up in the years following the 1867 Compromise, the feeling of isolation that stemmed from Austria’s dominant role in the Dual Monarchy together with the long years of peace, taught them to ignore any events that occurred outside the country. Since, until recently, the same Government had remained for time in office, the Opposition had never had the chance of experiencing the realities of government and instead had concentrated all its efforts in increasingly unrealistic criticism. In its turn, the Government saw in the Opposition only an irresponsible enemy who must at all costs be crushed. In these circumstances Balint began to wonder if he might not be better employed by allying himself to some party from whose ranks he could contribute more effectively to political reform. In particular, he was anxious that some attention should be paid to the problems and economy of Transylvania.
This, thought Balint, was where his mission lay. He had been much influenced by an article which had recently come out in a distinguished English publication, the Contemporary Review. It was written by a Romanian, one Draginesco who, in undisguised hatred of the Hungarians, put the entire blame for the present stagnation of the Hungarians on the repressive and arrogant administration in Budapest. Balint wondered if there was any connection between the publication of this article and the increasingly active agitation from the ranks of the Transylvanian-Romanians.
It was true that Mihaly had spoken with moderation in the debate on the Address, but had he not said: ‘We who are members of the Hungarian political system’? Could there be a link between the emergence of minority representation in Parliament and the plotting of extremists in the province itself? And, if there were, was this not something of vital importance that the Government should take seriously?
It was such things as this that occupied Balint’s mind as he was being driven to the ball. He arrived at the Park Club late. Inside the entrance the committee of the Club was grouped around Laszlo who, as representative of the sponsors, was acting as host for the evening. Behind them stood two footmen holding brightly-lit candelabra, for a telephone message from the Palace had just been received announcing that the royal party was already on its way, and custom dictated that the royal guests should be greeted at the door by the committee and escorted up the stairs with all the ritual of candle-light and court procedure.
Seeing his cousin, Balint was reminded of the rumours that Laszlo had become a reckless and fanatical gambler. When he had heard this he had decided to find an opportunity for having a serious talk with him and, if necessary, to speak to him severely, even harshly, on the dangers of such a life. This was something from which Laszlo must be saved, and he believed that because of their long-standing friendship he was the only person who could rescue his cousin. Until now no occasion had presented itself, for Laszlo was always so busy and in such a hurry that when they had met there had been no chance of an intimate talk. Seeing him now, Balint went up at once and he said: ‘I’ve something very important to discuss with you. It’s urgent. When can I see you? We’ll need a little time.’
‘Anytime!’ said Laszlo.
‘Anytime is never!’ laughed Balint. ‘Will you be at the Casino tomorrow afternoon?’
‘Of course. I lunch there every day.’
‘Well then, tomorrow at two I’ll be there. We’ll have to find a quiet corner where we won’t be interrupted.’
‘Of course!’ Laszlo replied with a distracted air, for all his attention was directed at the entrance where the royals were expected. ‘Of course, splendid!’ he repeateded absent-mindedly.
Something is the matter, thought Balint, noticing that instead of his usual open and cheerful expression Laszlo looked serious and withdrawn. He turned away and went up the stairs.
Balint assumed that Laszlo was worried about his mounting debts but in this he was wrong, for Laszlo, who had just had a run of good luck, owed little to the money-lenders and was not being pressed for what he did owe. What had caused Laszlo to frown and look unusually serious was that he had heard indirectly that a big dinner had been given that evening at the Kollonich Palais and that he, though a close relative and a normally welcome guest, had been left out. He now realized that Peter and Niki, whom he had seen at the races, had been careful not to mention it in front of him. This clearly showed that his aunt had declared war and that the whole family knew it. All his old resentment came flooding back, and it was in a cloud of bitterness that he found himself having to stand at the door of the Park Club and force himself to attend to his duties. In vain he tried to convince himself that Klara would stand firm and be true to him and that together they would win through, but he was constantly returning to the superstitious thought that the horse on which he had staked Klara’s ten crowns as a symbol of their ultimate victory had come nowhere. It was a bad omen!