They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [56]
‘Es ist eine verachtenswürdige Sache, dass man in unserem aufgeklärtem Jahrhundert noch immer duelliert. Das Duell ist pure Barbarei – nicht wahr? Und ausserdem auch ein schrecklicher Blödsinn! Das ist wohl auch ihre Meinung? – it is a disgraceful thing that in this enlightened age men still go in for duelling. The duel is pure barbarism, is it not? Apart from being frightfully stupid! I’m sure you agree, don’t you?’
This was said directly to Bogacsy, and the prince then went on to explain how utterly idiotic duelling was: the winner was naturally the man who was a better shot or who knew best how to wield a sword, and what had this to do with who was in the right? It was stupid and unworthy of sensible men and a shameful legacy of the past!
Bogacsy was outraged and almost apoplectic with rage. It was not for him to start contradicting such an eminent guest and yet he knew that everyone within earshot was watching his reactions and with their true Transylvanian sense of the absurd were inwardly laughing at his predicament. Despite the restraint that was imposed by good manners Bogacsy was so angry at the thought of all that silent mockery that surrounded him that he would have exploded in protest if dinner had not then been announced. A difficult moment was somehow avoided; but the duelling major was still so upset that he could hardly touch any of the delicious dishes put before him, even though he had had to fork out twenty-five crowns for his dinner, which even then was by no means cheap.
At the end of one of the wings of the great U-shaped table was seated old Daniel Kendy. Remembering that he spoke French fluently as a result of having once been an attaché in the Austro-Hungarian Embassy in Paris in the last years of the Third Empire, the organizers had decided that he ought to be invited so that when dinner was over they could introduce him to the prince who would therefore be able to talk to someone who knew Paris well. As the old man had no money his nephew Crookface Kendy paid for his ticket, but as a broken-down old fellow of no importance he was seated some away from the guest of honour. It was important to see that old Uncle Dani did not, as he usually did, drink too much. On this occasion the old man swore that he would not, and indeed was full of good intentions, so happy was he at the thought of coming again into his own and being made much of as the old social lion who had once been a favourite at the court of the Empress Eugénie and well known as a man-about-town in Paris in the years that followed. He decided that this night he must do all in his power to be at his best.
He had shaved and dressed with great care, and indeed the effect was impressive. Count Daniel Kendy for the first time in years looked truly distinguished and many eyes were upon him. His slightly thinning silver-white hair was parted in the middle and set off his jet-black eyebrows and aristocratically aquiline nose. His moustaches had been curled for the occasion and beneath his lower lip was an elegant little goatee. The whiskers on each side of his face were long but neatly trimmed, and with the low folded collar, wide lapels and broad starched white shirt and old-fashioned evening suit, he seemed the perfect evocation of the dandified boulevardier of a half a century before. His appearance was so striking that the prince immediately asked who he was; and when told his name and history by Crookface, at once declared that he remembered him well from the days when the French royal family had first returned from exile abroad. ‘of course!’he cried. ‘Le Comte Candi!’ (which is what all