‘En politique et en amour il n’y-a ni jamais ni toujours — in politics as in love there is no never and no always!’ quoted Countess Illesvary, laughing at Fredi’s insistence.
‘And what about the legal aspect? Could the law remain as it is?’ asked Pfaffulus in a low sweet voice.
‘Well, it’s an old adage that a law respected will live on but a law ignored will soon die of its own accord.’
‘And the union of our ruling parties? Can it survive no matter what happens? Will today’s Coalition endure even when the franchise has been broadened? Even now, are the parties really united on, for example, the Croatian question? I can hardly believe that Andrassy agrees with the dismantling of the Unionist Party which is, after all, our only real support?’
Countess Elise also found any sort of wrangling or dispute bad manners; and for her it was particularly bad form to disagree about Hungarian politics in the presence of strangers. She therefore turned to the only stranger present, Count Slawata, and, so as to make everyone understand her meaning and speaking rather more loudly than usual and in German, she said, ‘Do forgive us, Count, for this little discussion in Hungarian about domestic affairs which can’t possibly interest you.’
The counsellor to the Foreign Ministry in Vienna turned to his hostess and, in his most diplomatic tones and smiling through his thick lenses, said, ‘Oh, but I do understand a little Hungarian, you know, and what Seine Hochwürden — his Reverence — has just said is very true. It’s all a great pity for the Croatian unionists who are, they say, the only party to be truly Kaisertreu — loyal to the Emperor — and they say …’
At this Szent-Gyorgyi intervened.
‘Königstreu! — loyal to the King, if you please!’ for in spite of his Viennese sympathies and personal devotion to Franz-Josef himself, he would always strictly maintain the niceties of etiquette of the Dual Monarchy. Also he was not sorry to administer a gentle rap on the knuckles of the secret envoy of the Belvedere Palace.
‘Natürlich! Natürlich! — Of course! Of course!’ said Slawata with a bow before continuing, ‘Rumour has it that the Ban is seeking new elections in Croatia too. That would be most aggravating, and could end in untold disaster.’
The conversation continued for a while and the Croatian situation was considered, in all its aspects, with many details, for Szent-Gyorgyi owned a considerable property in Szeremseg (which, of course, Pfaffulus knew) and the host was therefore eager to hear what the well-informed priest could tell him. However all of this was discussed in measured, somewhat subdued tones, following the ancient tradition by which the most radical of opposing opinions could be expressed providing that it was done with gravity and finesse.
Though Balint took no part in this conversation, for the Croatian problem was not one of his fields of interest, he still found it useful to listen to what was being said. However his neighbour at the table, young Magda, found the subject boring. With a sudden little bird-like movement of her head she turned to Abady and asked, ‘Well, how many did you bag this morning, in your corner?’
‘I really don’t know. I didn’t count exactly. Perhaps a hundred and fifty … or a hundred and sixty or so.’
‘That’s not very much! Last year we didn’t have a real shoot as we were all in mourning for my uncle, though Papa and the boys used to go out whenever they could — just walking the fields, you know; but the year before that the corner gun shot 237 hares alone.’
‘Who had that place? He must have been a better shot than I am!’
‘Oh!’ she paused, embarrassed. ‘I don’t remember!’
‘Nonsense!’ said Balint. ‘Whatever can you mean? You know he shot 237 hares, but you don’t know who did it?’ He laughed. ‘Come on, out with it! Who was it?’
Magda’s voice was very low when she replied, and her manner suddenly seemed oddly frightened.
‘It was poor Laci, that’s who it was …’ and she lifted her finger to her lips and looked across at her father. ‘Papa has forbidden us to talk about him. Even his name is never to be mentioned in the house … but we’re all so sorry for him!’
Coffee and liqueurs were served in the great drawing-room by an army of silent footmen.
The hostess only stayed in the room for a few moments. In spite of a roaring fire in the great open fireplace and two white porcelain stoves heating the far ends of the room, Countess Elise still fancied she was cold; and so, with Fanny Beredy and Klara, she quickly retired to her own cosy little sitting-room. When she had gone most of the men of the party, with Countess Illesvary, gathered round the fireplace in the centre of the room while Magda and Lili Illesvary, with Louis Kollonich and the two young sons of the house, sat down at a round table near one of the porcelain stoves and played a game with chips called ‘Hoppity’ that was fashionable that year.
Back in the centre of the room politics were once more being discussed. In the previous summer, in August, Edward VII, King of England, had visited the Emperor Franz-Josef at Ischl. Officially it was merely a visit of personal friendship with no political significance whatever. But rumour held otherwise. It maintained that it was a political visit and this view was strengthened by the fact that King Edward, as soon as he had returned to Marienbad where he was taking his annual cure, was visited by some other important international statesmen; first Clemenceau, and then the Russian minister Izvolsky. It was more than anyone was prepared to believe that these two gentlemen had come, just at that moment, merely to take the waters.
The Franco-Russian alliance had been in existence for some time. It was also a matter of common knowledge that the Belcassé pact — the Entente Cordiale — had been agreed between France and England three years before. This pact brought definite agreement between those two powers regarding their colonial differences in Africa; and even the friction that had grown at the time of the Boer War had gradually been worn down and the old friendly relationship re-established. The way that both powers handled the Moroccan situation had made this clear to the rest of the world. The French had been allowed a completely free hand there to do as they wished and, to everyone’s surprise, they had been encouraged in this by Germany who hoped that adventures in Africa would tie down the French army for many years to come. In Berlin they forgot, or ignored the fact, that most Frenchmen had never forgiven Germany for their defeat in 1870 … and never would.
But that summer had also brought an unexpected turn to international affairs.
After settling the African disputes Edward the Peacemaker had turned his attention to matters further east and further north. One Asian problem was quickly solved. The centuries-old rivalry between Russia and England had been brought effectively to an end when England, taking advantage of Russia’s preoccupation with the Russo-Japanese War (which she had lost most ignominiously), achieved an impregnably strong influence over both Tibet and Afghanistan, which formerly had been real bones of contention between the two countries. The new-found accord between England and Russia was to be celebrated, it was announced, by an official visit of the King of England and the principal units of his enormous fleet to Reval in the following Spring.
And having achieved all this King Edward turns up at Ischl just before having even more discussions with French and Russian leaders.
Any outsider might well be pardoned if he looked at the King of England’s movements and then decided they could have had one purpose and one purpose only — the encirclement and isolation of Germany.