It was this that was being discussed in front of the fire at Jablanka; and in particular what had really taken place at Ischl.
Irma Szent-Gyorgyi, Countess Illesvary, sat in an armchair close to the fire. She was tall and thin, like her brother, and in her long fingers she held a medium-sized Havana cigar, which was then unusual for a woman. Countess Irma, however, again like her brother, held herself to be above criticism and so felt no compunction in braving public opinion. When she spoke of some facts of which she was certain she would underline the words with extra-strong puffs of cigar-smoke.
‘I don’t believe a word of all this gossip!’ (she used the words toutes ces blagues as she habitually spoke mostly in French). ‘One of my friends who was staying with the Emperor at the time said it was merely a friendly visit, an act of politeness — une visite de politesse. After all, it would be only natural to call on Europe’s oldest ruler if one found oneself visiting his domains!’
Pfaffulus, rather cautiously, tried to interject a note of contradiction. Surely, he said, England possessed similar watering places to Marienbad? If King Edward was so anxious to rid himself of his excess weight why, he dared ask, was it necessary to go all the way to Bohemia?
It was now Slawata’s turn. He embarked on a lengthy exposition feeling that he should in some way sing for the supper to which he, as did his host, felt he really had no right, by revealing something of the secrets of the Ballplatz, the foreign ministry in Vienna. He decided to let drop a small secret — nothing that could be thought of as streng geheim — or ‘top secret’ as it would come to be known in later years — but something that could be told in confidence to reliable people of standing knowing it would go no further. Even so he still spoke cautiously, mincing his words so as not to get himself into trouble.
‘According to reports from London,’ he said, ‘the King of England certainly had the intention, if possible, to wean the Emperor away from the German alliance. He was going to offer, in the event of a war between England and Germany, to support the Habsburg monarchy on condition that Austria-Hungary remained neutral. That, of course, would have been tantamount to suggesting the automatic dissolution of the Tri-partite Alliance. However it never came to this for, before any such offer could be made, his Majesty made it quite clear to King Edward that he would never desert his old friends. Of course we can’t know exactly what was said, word for word, between the two monarchs, but this is the gist of the communiqué that we at the Ballplatz sent round to the German ambassador. Berlin had been understandably nervous, as you can imagine, for if Austria-Hungary had joined up with the other great powers then Germany would indeed have been encircled.’
‘Why on earth,’ cried Wuelffenstein, ‘should the King of England wish to destroy the Emperor Wilhelm, his own nephew?’
Slawata smiled.
‘When relations don’t get on, their dislike of each other is far stronger than that for a stranger! However the real reason has nothing to do with that. What has led England on is nothing less than the build-up of the German fleet. That is something that England will never accept.’
‘Unfortunately,’ murmured the priest in his modest manner, ‘the real risk is ours. In the event of war, we could easily lose not only our provinces in Italy but also our friendship with that country. Italy could hardly do otherwise than side with England. She is surrounded by sea — and the English rule the seas. I heard talk of this when I was in Rome recently. So the danger is not just the encirclement of Germany, but the encirclement of both central powers — in other words, us!’
Behind his thick glasses Slawata glared.
‘Dann müsste man eben Prevenire spielen — then we must play our cards so as to prevent it!’ he said mysteriously.
The fat little priest turned towards him, his face as always calm and enigmatic, and all he did was to raise his bushy black eyebrows. He was about to speak when Countess Illesvary sighed deeply and said, quite quietly, ‘Perhaps, after all, it was a mistake not to listen to King Edward?’
Her brother interrupted her before she could say any more. ‘Surely his Majesty knows best what is right for us all?’ he said in a hard decisive tone that brooked no argument.
Slawata quickly grasped this heaven-sent opportunity to agree with his host. He said at once that the situation of the Dual Monarchy itself would be impossible if ever it were to turn against Germany. They would then be the first victims of any war for whatever might happen elsewhere in Europe the far-flung boundaries of Austria-Hungary were untenable, even indefensible. Bohemia, where the Skoda Works, their only ordnance factories, were situated, would be in German hands in a matter of days and then their only defence would be the Moravian hills! All Bohemia would at once be a battlefield. Up until this moment Slawata had spoken with professional restraint, objectively, as became a diplomat. Now his voice rang with personal conviction, deeply moved by the thought of the possible fate of his own homeland. As he said himself, he was, first and foremost, a Czech.
Only two people had not taken part in this discussion. One was Warday, who smoked his cigar in silence and smiled quietly to himself, thinking of the sweet experience that awaited him later that night. The other was Abady. Everything that he had just heard was new to him. Of course he had read the newspapers, and, as he had formerly been a diplomat himself, he had not been able to avoid such thoughts as everyone had so openly been discussing that evening. But he had been so wrapped up in domestic Hungarian politics, in his co-operative projects — and above all in his love for Adrienne — that he had paid little heed to what was going on in the world.
How different life was here, he thought, from that in Transylvania, where everything was on such a tiny scale. All that mattered there were only little quarrels, minor disagreements. There it was important to know what would happen to Beno Balogh-Peter, the former chief notary of Monostor who had collaborated with the Bodyguard government and tried to install the nominated prefect. This was the sort of issue for which his native Transylvanian brothers started blood-feuds and hates that endured for generations, while all the time, in the real world outside, the threads were being spun of some giant tragedy to be enacted in the unpredictable future. On the other hand, here at Jablanka, in North Nyitra, these people were living in the centre of world happenings, aware of what was going on around them, so familiar with it all that they need discuss only the consequences, not the facts that led to them. And all this lightly, even politely.
While thinking about this Balint was watching Antal Szent-Gyorgyi, who stood, upright and slender, in front of the stuccoed fireplace. Far above him, set in the plaster-work, was a life-sized portrait of his great-grandfather, he who had been palatine to Queen Maria-Theresia. He had been painted with the insignia of the Order of the Golden Fleece hanging from a heavy gold chain and was wearing a heavily embroidered cloak of purple velvet and on his head was a powdered wig. And suddenly Balint saw that it was the same man who stood there today, in front of the marble and stucco fireplace, dressed in a velvet smoking-jacket, just like any of the other men in the room, but, unlike the others, with the tiny emblem of the Golden Fleece on his watch-chain and that worn not out of pride or vanity but because it was the rule of the Order that it was always to be worn no matter what the dress or occasion. There, below the painted portrait, was the same narrow face, the same proud self-sufficient glance. Even the living man’s greying hair made the similarity the more pronounced. Antal Szent-Gyorgyi was the very archetype of those men of family who had lived for generations close to the throne, who in Hungary had controlled the country’s destiny since the end of the Turkish wars, who had looked empirically at their country’s needs with all the knowledge of what else was happening in Europe, and who yet still remained essentially Hungarian, like Ferenc Szechenyi, Gyorgy Festetics or the Eszterhazys.