So the music went on. Song followed song.
Laszlo was there too; sitting between Adam Alvinczy and the puffy-cheeked Kamuthy. He sat stiffly upright because he had drunk a great deal.
Then Wickwitz entered the room.
He had come from Brasso by the late evening express and was in uniform. It had been a long and tiresome journey and he was deeply worried by the precarious position in which he found himself. It was really beyond bearing, he thought! Dinora — silly goose — had written several letters asking him to explain what Blau’s increasingly pressing demands could possibly mean: she couldn’t make head nor tail of it all, she said. Then, too, that monster Blau was himself becoming more and more menacing; and even the colonel — so ein Kerl — what a fellow he was! — had been decidedly sticky about granting him leave just when he most needed it. It was all beyond bearing, intolerable! The need to scribble all these lies to Dinora and Blau — and all the time desperate with fear that everything would come out into the open before he could get his leave and scamper off with Judith. Then, he prayed and hoped, her family would come to the rescue for their daughter’s sake, and settle this odious matter for him once and for all.
He felt like a stag at bay, surrounded by angry keepers and barking dogs, hemmed in, caught in a trap with no way of escape. Even Wickwitz’s nerves, usually as insensitive as a coil of ship’s rope, were beginning to fray, so he decided, on arriving at the hotel, that an hour or two with the gypsies and a few glasses of champagne would do no harm and would help him to see the world in a better light in the morning. The following day he would send a message to Judith and the day after, at dawn, they would be on their way to Austria. Just a day and a half and he would be safe. Nothing untoward, surely, would happen in such a short time. Wickwitz had already written to Varad saying that everything would be settled in two week’s time — and, of course, in two weeks he could truly be master of his fate.
Seeing Uncle Ambrus seated there he went up, clicked his heels in the classical military fashion and sat down modestly at the end of the table. However he did not stay there for almost at once Laszlo Gyeroffy called out to him loudly: ‘Come over here, my good namesake! Come here, where I can see you!’
Wickwitz had no idea why Laszlo should call him his namesake, but knowing that there was no point in arguing with a drunk, got up and went over and sat down where Gyeroffy indicated. He put his sword between his knees and ordered a small bottle of champagne.
‘Why a small one?’ interrupted Gyeroffy. ‘Why economize? People like us don’t have to economize. Others maybe, but not us! Why should we? A big bottle for my alter ego — my other self, my brother, he that bears the same name as I!’
Champagne was brought. The music played. Uncle Ambrus burst into song from time to time, his huge bass-baritone filling the room, and at times he shouted, always louder than the others. After several verses the gypsies played a new song and it was time for everyone to drink another toast.
‘To your special health, Nitwit, my very dear alter ego,’ said Laszlo once again. ‘And as for you, you should drink only to me, not to the others. The others … they’re different from us, very different … but you and I belong together!’ The words may have sounded friendly but Laszlo’s tone of voice certainly was not, nor was the mocking laughter which followed his words; indeed it was filled with anger and hostility. They touched glasses and drank to each other. This happened several times and each time Gyeroffy said more or less the same words, and each time the sarcasm and the latent desire to pick a quarrel became more and more evident. However Baron Egon was a peaceful man by nature and submitted with all the calm of some great mastiff dog to the incomprehensible hints about himself and Gyeroffy being in some way the same. He only thought that Laszlo was extremely drunk and did not really know what he was saying.
It was true that Laszlo was drinking heavily.
‘Do you know why we are brothers?’ he asked at last, leaning across the table towards Wickwitz. ‘Don’t you really know? Well, I’ll whisper it to you! Come on, lean forward. Let me speak into your ear!’ Wickwitz obeyed meekly. ‘We are brothers,’ murmured Laszlo, ‘because I am just as infamous a villain as you are! That’s why!’
Wickwitz was surprised, but he merely leaned back in his chair, waved a hand and said: ‘All right! All right! You’ve had an awful lot to drink!’
‘No way “All right! All right!” It’s the truth.’ Gyeroffy was now shouting. ‘It’s nothing but the truth! You are a scoundrel! Oh yes, I know all about you, all about you, I say!’
‘Steady on,’ said the officer calmly. ‘Careful what you say. I won’t accept this, not here in a public place.’
‘And why should I be careful? What can’t you accept this here in a public place? You don’t have to pretend with me! It’s just as I say: you’re a scoundrel too and I know it!’
It flashed across Wickwitz’s mind that all this was very inconvenient because he would be obliged now to make it an affair of honour and more time would be lost before he would be able to get away. As he hesitated the other went on, shouting more and more loudly:
‘Just one word, that’ll be enough! Blau! You understand. Blau! Blau! Blau!’ Then Laszlo stood up and screamed: ‘And me too, me too! Scoundrel! Scoundrel! Scoundrel! Base, vile scoundrel!’ and he beat the table with his fists, was full of rage, as much against himself as against Nitwit, hating everyone, hating himself, desiring only to strike so hard that he too would be annihilated by his own blows. A glass overturned on the table in front of him and a plate clattered to the floor. Laszlo’s neighbours jumped up and grabbed him, pulling him back from the table. Everyone rose and tried to calm him and shut him up. They all talked at once.
‘God damn it! Don’t be such an ass!’ bellowed Ambrus Kendy at Laszlo; and to Nitwit, who was already on his feet with his hand on his sword, he roared: ‘You, too, don’t you be idiotic either. Can’t you see he’s dead drunk!’ Uncle Ambrus, who knew what he was doing, tried to stop the quarrel before it got too serious. Anyway, he hated to have his drinking bouts disturbed.
Baron Egon did not even hear Uncle Ambrus. Laszlo, though reeling and held back by the others across the table, was still shouting: ‘Blau! Scoundrel! Blau! Blau!’ until his legs gave way beneath him and he fell back into the arms of Akos Alvinczy and Isti Kamuthy. All Wickwitz could think of was that Gyeroffy knew everything about him, and that therefore he would have to kill him, right now in this very room, before he was able to say more. But the table was between them and several of the young men had come round and were holding him back too. There was nothing he could do at that moment. If he drew his sword they would all surround him and stop him at once. So he drew himself up as straight as he knew how, clicked his spurs together, bowed to the assembled company in front of him, turned and, making his way slowly through the other tables where everyone was sitting in stunned, frightened silence, left the hall.
The next day at noon an infantry captain and a senior lieutenant waited on Gyeroffy. Wickwitz, who knew his Army Regulations, was aware that as an officer on active service he was obliged, if publicly insulted, to ask only other officers to act as his seconds. This was just as well, for soldiers don’t ask questions, don’t intervene in such affairs and certainly require no explanation. For them the Tatbestand — the cause of offense, was enough. Wickwitz had reported what had happened to divisional level, which in turn sent back an order that the commanding office of the infantry regiment stationed at Kolozsvar should select seconds in this affair. The colonel, as it happened was on leave, but the second-in-command, one Lieutenant-Colonel Zdratutschek, was in charge during the colonel’s absence. Wickwitz went to see him and explained the insult offered to him, and which was serious chiefly because he had been in uniform at the time and that therefore it was the ‘Kaiser’s Rock’ — the official dress of the emperor’s service, which had suffered the insult. This was a good argument with Zdratutschek who became red with rage, named two officers at once and told them, off the record, that they must insist on the most severe conditions. ‘Dieser magyarischer Rebellen-bagage — these rubbishy Hungarian rebels,’ he shouted, ‘must be taught a lesson! We’ll show them!’ For Wickwitz this support was not an unmixed blessing for the irate lieutenant-colonel ordered him to shut himself up and see no civilians until the duel had been fought, which meant that he couldn’t see Judith. This was annoying, but Wickwitz hoped that he would be able to deal with Gyeroffy that afternoon and so be free to contact Judith in the evening.