They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [129]
Barely ten days had passed before the Bulgarian army had reached Adrianople and the Serbs, skirting the borders of Montenegro, had arrived at Uskub and entered Albania. They laid siege to Scutari and were now nearing the Adriatic at Durazzo. The Greeks were at Salonika. The race was on and it was no longer a question of where the Turks would take up a stand but rather which Turkish stronghold would fall first.
It was at this point that at last the Dual Monarchy seemed to wake up to what was happening. Though indifferent to the fate of Macedonia and Rumelia, that of Albania was a very different matter. A Balkan Albania was not at all what Vienna could contemplate or permit, for it would be an intolerable invasion of Austria’s own interests if Serbian power was allowed so to extend itself. Strong protests issued from the Ballplatz and also, though in a lesser degree, from Italy who was alarmed at the prospect of Serbian control of the eastern shores of the Adriatic.
The newspapers reported these disconcerting developments with excited glee and, as Franz-Josef was at that moment in Budapest, his foreign minister Berchtold hurried there to be with him, as did the Heir, Franz-Ferdinand, and Schemua, the head of the Austrian general staff. The latter left on the following day for Berlin, and three days later Conrad left for Bucharest with a personal letter, written in his own hand, from Franz-Josef to King Carol. At the same moment a semi-official statement appeared which announced that Austria-Hungary, should it be necessary, would use force to ensure the independence of Albania. More was to follow.
A large portion of the Austro-Hungarian army was put on the alert and a million men were sent to the Russian border on the pretext of a trial mobilization.
Today there was even more disturbing news. At Mitrovica and Prizren in Serbia the Austro-Hungarian consulates had been invaded by the mob, Austrian flags torn down and the premises looted.
Balint sat at his desk staring moodily before him. The news of the previous few days had been alarming enough, but this was far worse, for an attack on any power’s consulates, if it had been as reported, inevitably meant war, for no power, unless bent on hara-kiri, would let such a provocation pass.
He gazed out of the window with eyes hooded by anxiety.
Outside all was bathed in brilliant sunshine. The lawn which sloped down in front of the house was still as green as in summer but the leaves on the trees were already turning brown or reddish bronze. In front of the window a leaf, saffron-yellow with sharply serrated edges, floated in the slight breeze like the trembling flight of a giant butterfly.
It had come from the maple which grew at the corner of the house and for a while continued to float there, hesitating, balancing in the air, brightly lit by the autumn sun, until finally it fell to the ground to join, with an almost imperceptible rustle, its already fallen sisters. And, as it fell, another took its place before the window, held for a moment in the air until it too fell to the ground. Balint fancied for a moment that these dying leaves were conscious of their beauty as they prepared themselves for the death they knew would follow.
The garden was so peaceful that it was hard to believe that anywhere in the world there could exist hatred or war or destruction. It was as if such beauty must exist everywhere and as if peace must be universal.
Watching this Balint felt his heart constrict.
It was not only anxiety for his beloved country and for the fate of its simple people; something else worried him deeply. What was to become of his mother if war did break out?
Lately Countess Roza had been having sudden attacks of dizziness. She had done her best to prevent anyone knowing, but Balint had divined her secret and was sure that something of the sort must have occurred the previous night, for in the morning she had sent him a message saying that she would not be going to church with him but intended to spend the morning in bed and to get up only at lunch time. There