In her embarrassment she turned to Lili. ‘And why don’t you say something, instead of just sitting there like a stuffed dummy?’
‘What should I say?’ stammered the young girl and blushed again. She blushed, not at what had been said to her but at her own thoughts. She had been thinking about Abady. When they had been together at the shoot, each time that the drive had stopped he had always talked to her; and he had talked as if she were grown-up. She was remembering how his dark-grey eyes turned up slightly at the corners and how he had looked at her in such a natural, friendly and encouraging manner. And how his moustache was lighter than his hair, yes, much lighter. And that afternoon, when they went to see the brood mares, he had talked to her again, saying, ‘I can see that you too love and understand horses! I can see it from the way you stroke their noses.’
Yes, that’s what he had said — ‘I can see it from the way you stroke their noses!’. Then he had told her that in Transylvania he too owned a stud farm. That had given her extra pleasure because he wanted to talk to her even when he wasn’t obliged to by common manners. Out there in the paddocks it hadn’t been a social duty — and this new acquaintance was a grown man, and she was still almost a child!
Influenced by this train of thought, and since they were talking of relationships and genealogy and Magda was almost insulting her, Lili felt bold enough to ask, ‘What relation is he to you, this Abady?’
‘Cousin issu des germains — second cousin,’ said Magda.
‘Then he must be my cousin too?’
‘Not at all! It’s not on the Szent-Gyorgyi side, but the Gyeroffy. My mother’s mother was Kate Abady, sister of Count Peter, Balint’s grandfather. She married my grandfather on my mother’s side, Laszlo Gyeroffy …’
Now they were interrupted by an angry voice. From deep among her pillows Klara said, ‘Please go away, both of you. I’m getting a headache from all this chatter.’ And when Magda tried to kiss her goodnight she merely pushed her away and buried her head in the pillows, saying, ‘Go away! Please, just go away!’
After saying goodnight to the others in the drawing-room Balint and Slawata had walked together along the corridor to their rooms.
‘May I come in and talk to you for a while?’ asked the diplomat when they arrived at Abady’s door.
As soon as they were inside Slawata started to pace up and down, for which there was plenty of room, for Abady’s was one of the larger apartments made out of two of the original monks’ cells. Then he took off his thick glasses and polished them carefully. He had the air of somebody who liked to tidy his thoughts before speaking.
Abady sat down and waited.
At last Slawata spoke. He started off with a few compliments saying: ‘wir — we’ (meaning the Belvedere party that supported the Heir rather than the Ballplatz where he was officially employed) ‘have been watching you. We have observed the path you have been following. We observe and we remember. We find it admirable that you have not entered party politics, not taken sides!’ and two or three somewhat flattering remarks followed about Abady’s obvious abilities. Finally, after all this preamble, Slawata started to come to the point, almost, if not quite, making a definite statement. ‘What I tell you now, and what I will ask of you, you must understand is said only by me, Jan Slawata. I have not been instructed to do so, and I must make it absolutely clear that anything I say comes only from me and that I say it because I have faith in the soundness of your judgement and in your discretion. Any answer you may make is for my benefit alone and for no one else! Also ganz unter uns — just between us!’
He stopped, readjusted his glasses upon his nose and then began again. ‘Now give me your opinion. If the monarchy should become embroiled in a war with one of its neighbours, what attitude would the Hungarians take?’
Abady was startled. At that time no one believed in the possibility of war in Europe. Everyone accepted that the race for armaments was just a device of the great powers which was nothing more than a safety-valve used to save everyone’s face. The compliments just lavished on him by this former ‘colleague’ at the Foreign Office made Balint suddenly cautious. Therefore, before giving a direct answer, he felt he needed more information.
‘A war?’ he said. ‘But I thought you were saying after dinner that the Macedonian question had now been settled by Izvolsky?’
‘That is so. And in any case Russia is in no state to make war today. All her supplies have been used up in the Far East and the revolutionary movements are keeping her busy at home. That is why the question is becoming a real threat.’
‘What threat? There is general peace. If Russia can be counted out for some years to come then surely the Serbs too will keep quiet? Romania and Italy are our allies. Which neighbour could possibly attack us?’
Slawata had quickly grasped that he would get no answer from Balint unless he gave him some more information. He paused. Then he pulled up a chair and sat down.
‘This is the situation. Father Czibulka interpreted the problem quite correctly when he analysed the consequences of the Anglo-Russian Agreement. Undoubtedly Italy is already lost to us — and in my opinion Romania too, their sympathies are far too close to St Petersburg. And so we have to think of what will happen in a few years’ time when Russia has been re-armed with French gold. Then the Dual Monarchy will have to face a coalition compounded of Russia, Serbia and Montenegro that will, of course, be backed by Italy and probably Romania, since they all hanker after different parts of our territory. There’ll always be some reason for a war in the Balkans. All this means that the monarchy’s 47 million citizens will have to face quarrel with 182 millions all around them. It is obvious that we could never survive unless someone came to our aid. And if Germany comes galloping along to the rescue they’ll find themselves attacked at once by France and England — France because it would offer a marvellous chance of revanche for 1870 and England because it would be in their commercial interest to destroy the German fleet. It would be a terrible risk for the German Reich to take, especially because of the great resources and remarkable toughness of the English. There is only one solution, and it would have to be put into effect immediately without any hesitation. This is the opinion of Conrad, the Chief of Staff. Germany’s enemies — and our own — would have to be put out of action one by one, starting with Italy who has no fortifications and whose military equipment is far too antiquated to be any use. Ours is too, for that matter,’ added Slawata with a wicked smile, ‘largely owing to Hungarian obstruction, of course; but the Italians are even further behind than we are, so it’s certain we would have an easy task. Therefore my question is this: Where would Hungary stand in these circumstances?’
‘Certainly I assume that Hungary would stand by her obligation, her duty if you will, to contribute to the defence of the monarchy. However it may appear, loyalty to the King is strongly rooted. Of course sympathy with Italy exists too, in no small measure — but as long as our people understood that they were merely fighting a defensive war …’