‘That is most interesting — a defensive war!’ interrupted Slawata. After a moment’s reflection he went on, ‘You are quite right, of course! The incident to be used for declaring war would have to be provoked in Fiume, inside the lands of the Holy Crown …’ and now his voice took on a mocking tone and he emphasized his words with clownish gestures as if to underline the cynical nature of the farce he was proposing. ‘Die Länder der Heiligen Krone, of course! That’s it! That’s how it will be done; and then it will at once become a matter of Hungarian honour! A defensive war in Hungary’s interest! That’s how Hungarian opinion will see it! Sehr gut!Sehr gut!’
Abady’s expression darkened. It hurt him to hear such a low opinion of his countrymen coming from a foreigner. He cut in, making clear his displeasure, ‘These ideals are sacred to me too. Therefore please do not mock them if you wish us to discuss this calmly!’
‘I’m sorry! I beg your pardon!’ the other said hurriedly. ‘Please do not misunderstand me, I did not mean to mock. Far from it, I picked this out only to show how well I understand the political ideology that is so dear to the Hungarian mind!’
Neither spoke for a little while. Then Balint broke the silence between them. ‘A preventive war? Isn’t that a truly terrible idea? Didn’t Bismarck once say that he would never recommend starting a war only because the enemy might become stronger if he waited — though, of course he was not a sentimental man!’
Slawata shrugged. ‘If you know that you are being stalked by bandits who are eager to kill you, would you not shoot one first before they could surround you and make sure of killing you? It’s just the same situation!’ He paused for a few moments before saying, ‘All Hungary’s problems would be solved by a little war such as I’ve described. Then we would have time really to prepare for the inevitable attack from Russia. And if such a war were to be declared then the Hungarian Parliament would surely pass every estimate for bringing our joint armies up to date?’
Balint did not answer. Slawata’s reasoning filled him with horror even though he recognized its logic. Once again he was felled by his fatal capacity to see both sides of the question. Even when he disagreed from the depths of his soul, he could understand his opponent’s standpoint and his reasons, no matter how alien they might be to his own way of thinking. He had often suffered from this, especially during all the obstructions and upheavals at the time of the Fejervary government; and now, as then, he felt it all with an almost physical pain.
‘And when is all this planned for?’ Balint just managed to get the words out and still remain civil to his guest.
‘Nothing is settled yet. Hoheit — his Highness (he referred to the Heir to the throne) and Conrad both believe this to be the best way. Aehrenthal does not agree. And our revered Lord and Master? Well, of course, he is for peace at all costs. But we’ll prepare the ground, you can be sure of that! Mayor Lüger will raise the subject in his speech at the Radetsky dinner, and his tone towards Italy will be nothing if not belligerent!’
After this they exchanged only a few platitudinous phrases and then Slawata got up to go.
‘Well!’ he said. ‘Vedremo — we’ll see. Und ich danke für den wertvollen Tip! — and I thank you for a most useful hint!’ Then he disappeared through the door.
‘Thanks for a most useful hint!’ Balint was particularly annoyed by this remark as the fellow seemed to imply that he, Balint, was offering sympathetic advice to the agent of the plotters surrounding the Heir. He was so angry that for a moment he nearly followed Slawata out into the corridor. But he stayed where he was. What would be the point? Slawata was only trying to be polite in his own fashion and the difference between Balint’s bald statement that Hungarian public opinion would only give support to a defensive war and the way that Slawata seemed to interpret this as a useful piece of information and an informed warning, was nothing for him to worry about. And when you studied the matter the difference between them was so slight that even to explain it was almost impossible.
As he stood there in the middle of the room, upset and angry, it seemed to him that everything that had happened that evening somehow formed one cohesive whole. While the other guests had exchanged words in the drawing-room that could be interpreted in many different ways, Balint’s whole attention had been riveted on what they were saying. Now, later on, he found himself shocked by Slawata’s cold cynicism. Alone in his room he was horrified by the thought of war, by the dreadful possibility that a war was not far off in the future, a real war, here in Europe, not just some struggle for a remote colony but a war which could toll the death-knell of nations and which, if lost, would certainly bring about the break-up of the Dual Monarchy. And what price would be paid by his own country, by Hungary, and by his beloved Transylvania which had always stood as a proud fortress on the road from Russia to Constantinople?
This last thought so constricted Balint’s throat that for a moment he found himself breathless.
He went to the window and opened it. The icy air came in with a blast. It was good, it was real, and Balint for a moment felt soothed and soon started to breathe again normally. He leaned out, his elbows on the window sill. There was no moon and he could see nothing outside, only a myriad stars high above in the sky, the unchanging stars that had gazed down on human misery for a million years and more. They were like huge signposts which no one except a few eccentric magicians could ever attempt to interpret, claiming that they foretold the fate of men and of nations.
As if mocking the limitless oceans of space in the sky above, somewhere down below in the valley of the Vag a tiny light appeared, moving slowly northwards, crawling along the bed of the valley. Just behind it was a minute red spot — it was, he realized, the Berlin Express, for now he could even hear the faint chugging of its engine. Balint’s heart missed a beat. If there ever were a war with Russia it was through this pass that the troop trains would make their sad way to the north. This would be the road down which would go so many of the flower of the nation’s youth to the horrors of war, to their death in battle … and against such a vast enemy their sacrifice would surely be in vain … in vain …
Warday had been lodged in the third room away from the chapel. He made careful preparation for the blissful moment when he would steal into Fanny’s room. After much application of lotion and frantic brushing he decided that his hair shone sufficiently brightly. He had carefully anointed his face, neck and shoulders with scented cologne and his silk dressing-gown was just as it should be. He listened to be sure that no one was still about, and then, hearing nothing, he opened the door a crack and peered out. He had almost put a foot outside when suddenly Slawata walked by. Again he waited until everything was once more quiet. Then he stepped out.
Just as he did so the second door along from his was opened and Pfaffulus appeared. Warday drew swiftly back, but he had not been seen for luckily the priest moved swiftly, his breviary under his arm, towards the chapel door. He was wearing only his black soutane and had left off his red sash and crucifix. Then he disappeared and the chapel doors clicked shut behind him.
Again Warday waited for a few more moments, for perhaps the priest would come back. But no, he had his breviary with him and that surely meant he had gone to pray and so would be inside for some time to come. Warday was now so impatient that he quickly let himself out of his room, glided softly along the carpeted corridor as if he were skating — not that his heelless slippers would make any noise — until he reached the door to what had to be Fanny’s bathroom, the door next to the stair. It was open, and inside there was darkness.