‘I hereby declare open this session of the County General Assembly,’ he said in an official tone. He went on to have the minutes read and announced the names of the absentees. This noncontroversial business being brought to an end, he then started: ‘The Minister of the Interior has sent an order …’ but he was not allowed to go on for at these words bedlam broke out. From all sides there were cries of ‘Shame on you! There is no minister! Villains! Shame!’
One of the officials tried to read out the rules of assembly, but no one could hear what he said.
Then Barra rose to speak, and for a moment the hubbub subsided. Then all at once it started again, for the door behind the president’s chair had opened and a tall thin man with a deathly pale face entered the hall. It was the government nominee. He had his hand on his heart and few people could see, behind his thick-lensed glasses, the scared expression in his eyes. The president rose once again and tried to read something from a paper in his hand.
From all sides there was a confused roar of shouting: ‘Down with him! Absug — away with you! Traitor!’ Then Uncle Ambrus nudged Zoltan Alvinczy who at once raised a hand in the air. From the back of the hall eggs started to fly, well-aimed eggs — for the students had obviously had much practice — which were chiefly directed at the schoolteacher-turned-Prefect. He ducked as well as he could but almost at once was struck on the forehead and yolk ran down all over his face. He dived for shelter under the presidential table while a crowd collected round the platform with raised fists and menacing shouts. As soon as he could the poor man crawled out and fled through the door at the back, swiftly followed by the notary-in-chief who had been howled down as soon as he tried to protest.
The hall was filled with people milling in all directions. Some were still shouting abuse but most of them were now overcome with uncontrollable laughter, among them Uncle Ambrus, whose laugh was louder than anyone’s. In his deep bass-baritone voice, between gusts of mirth, he was calling out: ‘Well done, lads! That was well done indeed! We Hungarians’ll show ’em!’
All around arguments broke out. No one knew if the newly-named Prefect had had time to take the oath or not, or, if he had, whether it was valid. They cursed the notary-in-chief, calling him a traitor, and furiously discussed what should be done with such a monster.
Balint, who had arrived late and so had only been able to find a place near the doors, glanced at his watch. It was barely half-past eleven: the whole meeting had lasted only twenty minutes. If he went at once he would be able to catch the one o’clock train, he thought. So he turned and left the hall.
Although Balint had shouted with the others and even raised his fists in the air, and laughed at the comicality of the scene when the prefect had been pelted with eggs and taken refuge under the table, a great sadness descended on him as he went down the stairs and out into the street. He thought only of the fact that an innocent man had been humiliated, and that it was callous and distasteful that everyone should think the whole affair a tremendous joke and nothing more.
Within the hour Balint was at the station. He was early and no one was on the platform, so he went into the restaurant, which was empty but for one man sitting at a table: it was Aurel Timisan.
Balint went up to him and greeted him. Then he sat down and asked if he too was travelling to Kocsard.
‘Not today,’ said the old Romanian delegate. ‘I’m going up to my constituency. I’m only here to change trains.’ Then, quite softly but with overtones of ironic pleasure, he asked: ‘And is your Lordship pleased with today’s assembly?’
Balint shrugged his shoulders and made a non-committal reply.
‘I don’t imagine that it will end here, as they all seem to think,’ said Timisan. ‘This sort of thing merely strengthens the government in its determination to impose reform. I don’t suppose seine kaiserlicheundköniglicheMajestätwill find the present situation any joking matter either. Of course,’ Timisan went on modestly, his large whey-coloured eyes full of suppressed humour as he gazed at Balint, ‘I’m only a simple Romanian countryman, a mere pamphleteer, so I really know nothing about it, but I wonder, just the same …?’
‘You’re thinking of universal suffrage?’
‘Among other things, yes. That would strike a severe blow at all this resistance. Indeed it might upset the whole apple cart!’
‘But Parliament won’t pass anything this government puts forward, no matter what it is!’
‘Naturally! That goes without saying!’ Timisan nodded his agreement and again something of an enigmatic smile lurked under his thick white moustaches. ‘What do you suppose will happen if the ruler imposes a secret ballot? Could the government be selected by such a system? What will our fine resistance leaders do then? I don’t understand these things, you know, I’m just wondering …’
Balint recalled that something of this sort had been hinted at in Slawata’s letter and it was suddenly clear to him that the old Romanian deputy must know something he did not. He tried to find out what it was; but Timisan was not giving anything away and remained as politely inscrutable as before.
Chapter Six
IN AUGUST Laszlo Gyeroffy returned to Transylvania. He did not go willingly, but he finally gave in to Fanny Beredy’s entreaties that he go and put his affairs in order. It was she who had finally convinced him that the time had come when he must do something to settle his debts which, though he had occasionally been able to repay a small part of his borrowings from his winnings at cards, had been mounting steadily, not the least because the high interest charged by the money-lending sharks was designed to ensure that no one, if possible, ever escaped their clutches. As soon as he arrived Laszlo went to see his former guardian, his cousin Stanislo. Laszlo owned a one-third share of the Gyeroffy forest holdings which amounted in all to something over eight thousand Hungarian acres,† and he wanted to get Stanislo to release his share so that he could sell the land and the standing timber. His guardian would not hear of it, explaining that the license for exploiting the forest was for the total acreage which could not and should not be split up. That was his opinion and therefore his answer was No! A definite, irrevocable No! Laszlo did not know what to do, for he had no other way of raising money to pay his debts. As a result, he was in an extremely bad mood, more bitter and resentful than he had habitually become since Klara’s marriage. Only late at night when he had had a lot to drink was he able partially to escape from his sorrow and self-reproaches.