‘But he didn’t throw it at me on purpose! In fact he didn’t throw it at all. He just struck out at the glass and it came my way by accident, that’s all. I’m not in the least offended.’
‘You think that because you’re a gentleman! The others see it quite differently. Everyone’s been talking about it, ever since lunch.’
This was the truth. At lunchtime someone had said that there had been a serious incident after the ball. No one afterwards could recall who had started the gossip, but when more people came into the club — Uncle Ambrus, young Kamuthy and others who had been present — they were cross-questioned as to exactly what had occurred. The eyewitnesses all gave their versions, most of them conflicting and before anyone realized what was happening the whole affair had become a cause célèbre with everyone taking sides. The Abady faction was convinced that Pityu had thrown the glass on purpose, while those who decided to support young Kendy declared that though the glass had been hit at random Abady had rushed at Pityu with clenched fists and menaces. There were those who denied the clenched fists and the menace but who declared that the words ‘Hey! Hey! Hey! Watch out!’ could only have meant ‘Watch out, or I’ll hit you!’ Again another group decided that the ‘Watch out!’ only referred to the flying glass but that the ‘Hey! Hey! Hey!’ would have been quite innocent if said quickly without emphasis, but that ‘Hey! Hey! Hey!’ broken by pauses and uttered in a stentorian voice constituted an insult because one only spoke to inferiors in such a manner!
When one or two moderate men tried to suggest that the whole affair was a storm in a teacup and that neither party had intended any offence, they were shouted down by the others. Even Daniel Kendy, who had been far too drunk to know what had actually happened, saw the gravity of the insult, and as on the night before cried out: ‘It’s une affaire d’honneur … une affaire d’honneur!’
Shortly after Balint had arrived at the Casino, Major Bogacsy came in and the whole complicated issue was immediately laid before him for a decision as to whether insults had been exchanged and, if so, who should demand satisfaction from whom. Bogacsy was a retired officer who for many years had been employed as an assessor at the Court of Chancery and who was considered the greatest expert in affairs of honour in Kolozsvar. In fact he considered this true profession, treating his work for the orphan’s welfare as a mere sideline by which he happened to earn a living … For a long time not a duel had been fought in the district without Major Bogacsy being involved as arbiter or second. His looks were well suited to his self-appointed role. He was a large man who sported a monocle in his right eye, which gave him a lopsided, sardonic expression; and the impression of ferocity which he liked to display to the world was carefully underlined by the cultivation of a giant moustache of which each side was reinforced by long whiskers from his beard. His face was round, his nose short and snub, and though he would have liked to look like a lion the general effect was more that of a tomcat who had stolen a sausage.
When they appealed to his judgement the Major, with much self-importance, stood with his back to the fireplace, his full belly protruding pompously, and listened carefully to the different versions put forward by the witnesses.
‘Well, all I can say is that this affair doesn’t seem at all clear to me! Still, my guiding principle is always to seek a peaceful settlement. Kendy must first ask Abady for an explanation of his words. What follows will depend on the reply.’
A small deputation went to find Pityu who was in the billiard-room. Though he had been far too drunk to remember anything at all, he meekly agreed to do what he was told. He asked Adam Alvinczy, who was standing beside him, and young Kamuthy, to act for him.
Accordingly these two went at once to the library and asked Abady to explain the meaning of his words ‘Hey! Hey! Hey! Watch out!’ Balint replied that now he could not recall exactly what he had meant but that it must have been intended to refer to the glass. Then they asked if the words had had any offensive intent, and Balint replied that he had no reason to offend Pityu Kendy. The seconds seemed to be completely satisfied with this reply and everyone assumed that the matter would end there. But it didn’t.
For the rest of the evening no one discussed anything else, the most opinionated being those who were in no way concerned. Bogacsy himself was dissatisfied, perhaps because he had not been asked to be a second. While discussion raged Balint went home to see his mother and did not return to the Casino. Gradually the general opinion was formed that Abady’s reply had not been satisfactory and that therefore the matter was not settled. What had he meant, they asked, by ‘no reason to offend’? This was circumlocution: it was always possible to mean to offend even if one had no reason. Honour demanded a straight answer. Abady would have to be asked again if he intended to offend: and he must answer ‘Yes’ or ‘No’. Everyone agreed, because Abady was not really liked. Some were jealous of his money, others found him conceited and stand-offish, and the general opinion was that he was not really one of them. Well, they would show him that they weren’t to be trifled with!
The following morning Abonyi, who surprisingly took Balint’s cause very much to heart, went to see him and related that it had been decided that Pityu Kendy should ask for a further explanation before he would agree to be satisfied.
‘Really, this is nothing but tomfoolery! You’ve given a perfectly adequate answer and that should be an end of it! Have his seconds called yet?’ asked Tihamer with good-hearted indignation.
He had hardly spoken when Major Bogacsy and Egon Wickwitz were announced. Dressed in black coats they advanced ceremoniously into the room and sat down, side by side like twins, upon a sofa. Then Bogacsy started to speak:
‘We are here to represent our good friend Count Peter Kendy. He is not satisfied with the answer you gave him yesterday and demands a precise explanation. Did Count Abady intend to offend him or not?’
‘I gave my answer yesterday,’ replied Abady with a disdainful gesture, ‘and I have no intention of saying anything further.’
‘Then I must ask you to name your seconds!’ cried the assessor of the Court of Chancery with all too apparent joy; and he jumped to his feet with all the precision of a toy soldier on springs. Wickwitz followed suit, faithfully copying every move his leader made. Balint looked at them with cold displeasure. He found it derisive that Wickwitz, who had acted so dishonourably with Dinora, should now be setting himself up as a defender of someone else’s honour. Too angry to reply, he turned to Tihamer.
‘Count Abonyi! I should be honoured if you would accept this challenge on my behalf and choose someone to assist you in the matter.’
Abonyi was delighted. ‘Naturally! I’m most gratified. I will do so willingly, but who do you wish me to choose?’
‘Oh, I don’t care. Perhaps Gazsi … or anyone else you can find. I leave it all to you.’
Kendy’s seconds took their leave, stiffly and formally, and Abonyi hurried out after them, full of zeal. Balint remained alone.
‘What an absurd situation!’ he said to himself as he walked up and down in his room.
Abonyi returned at midday saying that in his opinion the choice of weapons should be theirs as they were the offended party. Their opponents, however, disagreed, maintaining that as they had issued the challenge, the choice was theirs.
‘I won’t give in over this,’ insisted Abonyi. ‘As I said yesterday the most important thing for me is your best interest. I’m determined to establish an “act of violence” on Kendy’s part. The glass proves it! Therefore I’ve insisted on pistols as is clearly prescribed by the Code Duverger. I don’t want to speak about swords unless the exchange of pistol shots has no results. They don’t want to accept this, so what do you think I’ve done?’