Free They Were Counted by Miklós Bánffy Page B

from the same district and partly because of Laszlo’s grand Hungarian connections. Balint went at once towards Laszlo, his friend and cousin, rejoicing to see a kindred spirit. As he did so he recalled the words of Schiller ‘ Unter Larven die einzig ’ f ü hlende Brust – in all these grubs just one faithful heart’, but even as he quoted the words to himself he was seized by the Prefect, Peter Kis, who greeted him with as much warmth as if he had been the prodigal son.
    Balint, who had met only the Countess Laczok, asked him: ‘Which is the host?’
    ‘I’ll introduce you at once, my dear friend,’ replied the Prefect, putting an arm round Balint’s shoulders and propelling him forward as if Balint were his special responsibility. They had to stoop to pass under the low spreading branches of the tree to reach the wide pine bench on which Count Jeno was sitting.
    The host was a heavy-set man, fat and almost completely bald. A single lock of hair was combed over his forehead, like a small brown island in the yellow sea of his smooth shining hairless skull. There were two ridges offat at the nape of his neck and he had three double chins, and his large pale face was given distinction only by an impressive black drooping moustache and the upward sweeping eyebrows that peered out from the layers of fat. Count Laczok sat rigidly upright, neither leaning on the arms of the bench nor against the tree behind him. One of his short legs reached the ground, the other was drawn up under him, and he held his hands spread on his knees. Balint at once thought of those squat Chinese soapstone figures displayed in oriental bazaars. The Lord of Siklod, sitting hieratically under the old lime tree, seemed a reincarnation of some Szekler-hun ancestor from the distant past.
    ‘May I present Count Balint Abady, my latest and dearest Member?’ said Peter Kis, pushing Balint forward with a special squeeze on his shoulder as if he were thus sealing their friendship.
    ‘Welcome, my boy! Welcome!’ said Count Jeno, extending his hand but not otherwise moving, as neither rising nor turning was easy for him.
    After greeting his host, Balint introduced himself to the guests he did not already know and went to sit down beside Laszlo Gyeroffy.
    ‘ Your Member, my dear prefect?’ quietly asked Sheriff Ordung from the other side of the table, in a mocking tone that barely concealed his underlying animosity. Ordung had two reasons to resent the Prefect: firstly because, unlike Peter Kis whose father was a middle-class merchant from far-away Gyergyo, the sheriff came from an ancient noble family of Maros-Torda and secondly, because they belonged to different political parties. As a result they were on worse terms than were usual between elected sheriffs – who could hold office for as long as they retained the confidence of the voters – and the prefects who, as appointees of the government , were apt to come and go with every political upheaval in the capital.
    ‘Well, Lelbanya is in my country,’ the Prefect replied heartily, but somewhat on the defensive.
    ‘Elected members belong to the people who have elected them,’ cried Zoltan Varju.
    ‘… or to the town or country,’ added old Count Bartokfay.
    The Prefect, finding himself cornered, took refuge in evasion. ‘I only said “my” because I like him so much!’
    Even this did not satisfy the demagogue Varju.
    ‘Sheer absolutism! Just as if he were appointed by the government ,’ went on Varju. ‘It’s not as if it hasn’t happened before.’
    ‘But he supports the ’67 Compromise.’
    ‘He’s not a member of any party … and this means he disapproves of the government and the Tisza party,’ intervened Peter Varju who, turning to Balint, went on: ‘Am I right, Count?’
    ‘I am far too much of a beginner to give an opinion,’ answered Balint, who was not at all sure what to say and felt he was getting into rather deep water.
    Now the host thought it was time he