When a few days later Kristof Azbej came to report to the countess before he returned to the country, Balint lost no time in asking him about the house at Lelbanya. He needed to know who the tenants were and for how long it was let.
‘One is a joiner who doesn’t pay the rent, and the other is a tailor to whom I was about to give notice, because he pays so irregularly and does a lot of damage to the property. Your Lordship should know that I had intended to throw them both out on St George’s Day. You see, my Lord, I never neglect anything. I watch over your Lordship’s interests more than I do my own! My only aim, as always, is …’
‘How much rent should we be receiving, from them both?’ asked Balint, interrupting the lawyer’s flow of loyal protestations.
Azbej looked at his master, his protruding eyes full of suspicion: Why ever does he want to know that? he thought. I’d better go carefully here! So he answered uncertainly: ‘I imagine it must be about five or six hundred crowns … I don’t know offhand … and something more for the land. They don’t pay it! If your Lordship wishes it I’ll send a detailed report from Denestornya?’
‘That’s all right, it isn’t urgent. I just wanted to know if we could get rid of the tenants. Please don’t mention this to anyone until we have spoken about it again!’
‘Naturally, my Lord, naturally. Anyhow it was the Gracious Countess who signed all the contracts, as always it is her Ladyship, always her Ladyship, not me!’
As he backed towards the door the little gnome-like lawyer kept bowing obsequiously and repeating: ‘Always at your Lordship’s service. Whatever your Lordship commands.’
Abady left for Lelbanya by the morning express train. He arrived with little time to spare and forgot to buy a newspaper.
One other passenger was already seated in the first-class compartment, a broad, heavy-set, elderly man with large grey moustaches and striking blue eyes. His chin was close-shaven though it was obvious that a strong beard grew under the smooth skin. He was rather like Count Miloth, thought Balint, only he was much bigger. He found the stranger sympathetic.
Seeing that his travelling companion had two newspapers — the Budapest Hirlap and the Viennese Reichspost which he was then reading, Balint asked him if he could borrow the former. Later, when he had read all he wanted, he handed it back and then the stranger offered him the Reichspost, saying: ‘Take a look at this one! There’s an article on the Hungarian situation you might find interesting’ and he indicated the leading article.
It dealt with the crisis which faced the Dual Monarchy and pointed out that the present conflict was entirely due to the failure in practise of the concept of Dualism. It was intolerable, therefore, that the Hungarians should be in a position to jeopardize the security of the whole Empire. The article suggested that the Hungarian government, whatever it might pretend, was by no means democratically elected and therefore represented only a limited privileged class. In no way could it be taken as expressing the will of ‘die Gesamtheit der Völker — the totality of the people’. The army, however, must essentially be an integral part of imperial organization, a joint interest with a joint duty, and though this did not imply that Austria had any intention of meddling in Hungary’s internal affairs, it did mean that its prime task was to watch over the security of the Empire. The article ended with a vague appeal to the emperor not to forsake his paternal role of keeping in mind the interests of all the peoples he ruled.
‘Interesting, don’t you think?’ said the old man when he saw that Balint had finished reading. ‘That’s what they think in Vienna, and I must say that there’s a lot of truth in it.’
Abady rose and introduced himself. When he held out his hand the other looked at him with an air at once hesitant and faintly mocking, as if the mention of his own name might make Abady withdraw his hand:
‘I am Dr Aurel Timisan, one of the defendants in the Memorandum trial!’
‘I am very happy to meet you,’ said Balint, smiling. ‘I hear you’re one of our new members?’
‘That’s why you find me in this compartment. First class is not normally for the likes of me!’
They started to talk. Dr Timisan spoke such excellent Hungarian, and expressed himself so wittily in that language, that no one would have taken him for a Romanian. He was extremely well-informed about world affairs. He talked about the recent revolution in Russia and wondered what would be the effect on the European situation if the proposed Duma were to be established, as now seemed likely. Perhaps he chose these subjects knowing that Abady had formerly been a diplomat, or perhaps because he thought it more tactful to avoid the thorny subject of the minority nationalities in Hungary. In fact it was Balint who broached this subject himself as he was anxious to obtain information and thought he could learn much from a frank discussion with the Romanian lawyer, far more than was to be culled from political speeches or published party programmes.
Timisan spoke reasonably, taking care to choose his words well and forcefully. He discussed the projected Nationality Bill, its faults and the important aspects of the situation that it failed to cover. He emphasized that the minority Members would not oppose it, for it was absurd of Hungarians and Romanians to be at each others’ throats when they were surrounded by an ocean of potentially hostile Slavs. Hungarians and Romanians needed each other and should act together in harmony. It was senseless to foster suspicion and hatred between the two peoples, but co-operation was constantly being artificially hampered by the activities of a group of shortsighted chauvinists. Now Timisan allowed himself to get worked up, showing plainly his hatred for the politics of those shallow chauvinists who, he said resentfully, were often not true Hungarians at all but just a bunch of foreign riff-raff! Why, Rakosi himself was nothing more than a German from Szepes, whose name used to be Kremser until he bought a Hungarian name by bribing the registrar. Now he had the nerve to tell other people how to be Hungarians, talking about the Romanians as ‘Romanian-Hungarians’ and the Moldavians as ‘Hungarian-Romanians’ as if such important matters could be settled by playing word games with names and terminology. Did they really think that Hungarian public opinion could be manipulated like that? It was all such nonsense: Romanians were Romanians and would remain so eternally, no matter what new names were invented for them.
‘Nobody expects anything else,’ said Balint, ‘but you must admit that the country in which you live has a right to demand that you learn its language!’
‘Naturally, I’m not against that,’ said Timisan, and once again a barely perceptible mockery lurked in his smile. ‘That’s to everyone’s advantage. As you see I’ve learned it myself, even becoming a Doctor of Law at a Hungarian university and serving in the Hungarian army, both with tolerable success, though I say it myself. It’s true I’ve been to prison twice, for political reasons, of course, but all that was most interesting, even enjoyable!’ He laughed, remembering the Memorandum trial, which had been the highlight of his career, and the judgements which followed. ‘But you must admit, too,’ he went on, ‘that it is most unjust that the public notaries, high sheriffs, tax-collectors — indeed all public servants — are not obliged to speak the language of the people they serve. It is really absurd that the people cannot explain themselves in court in their own language, but have to use an interpreter. The Nationality Bill was supposed to grant us this … but of course it’s been drawn up by Hungarians without our being consulted!’