They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [63]
It seemed that the royal guest would never stop. On and on he talked – for about an hour and a half – in good German and well-turned phrases. Of course his fluency was helped by the fact that he had said all this many times before, in several different languages and many different countries. And of course, too, he was listened to in deferential silence. There were no interruptions and no disturbances; how could there be?
After half an hour had passed young Garazda came quietly up to Bogacsy’s chair and whispered something in his ear. Later Farkas Alvinczy did the same thing, and later still it was Joska’s turn. There was nothing conspicuous about it, for each message was delivered discreetly and quietly. Bogacsy himself merely nodded acknowledgement of whatever he had been told, and these nods could equally well have been taken as tacit approval of the Prince’s plea to end duelling in Europe.
At long last the Comte d’Eu got up, and so did everyone else, straightened his elegant figure, looked with his sad grey eyes at the people near him, thanked them for their hospitality and warm welcome, and said how touched he was to find himself surrounded by so many people in tune with his philanthropic movement. He had hardly, he said, expected to meet with such success, such understanding and such sympathy among the people of a nation so traditionally warlike as the Hungarians and was surprised, as well as delighted, to encounter such support from those whose habit had always been to settle everything with a sword. And yet, here he was and everybody he met seemed to be in perfect agreement with him and to be only too happy to join the league against duelling. He said he felt filled with renewed strength and confidence and was now quite sure that very soon duelling would disappear for ever and be thought of only as one of the errors of the past.
‘Dank, meine Herren. Dank, Dank, Dank – thank you, gentlemen, thank you, thank you, thank you!’
These words were greeted by well-bred, if slightly muted, applause; and nobody seemed to notice that at the back, from the direction of the card-room, came some hastily suppressed giggles.
Surrounded by the Casino’s three directors and, as befitted his exalted rank, preceded by two footmen carrying tall candelabra, the prince was escorted down the stairs. Just as he reached the swing-doors into the street there was a moment’s interruption as a little man with a turned-up collar and carrying a small Gladstone bag scurried in. The newcomer quickly effaced himself, flattening himself modestly against the dark wall of the vestibule. No one noticed that he carried a bottle of disinfectant under one arm and that his pockets were stuffed with bandages!
He was one of the doctors that Bogacsy had sent for to attend the duel.
Though he was a trifle late Wuelffenstein managed somehow to get to the train on time. He was wearing what might have been a white turban on his head and his suddenly swollen nose was decorated with a wide Leukoplast dressing.
He was in a thoroughly bad temper for young Kamuthy had not only opened up his scalp but also slashed him on the nose, which was far more humiliating. Stupid ass! thought Fredi. Dwarfish little beast!
It so happened that, on the command to attack, Wuelffenstein, awkward as some tall men sometimes are, swung out his sword-arm in a wide arc, and little Isti, like an enraged hamster, had jumped in, hit him on the nose with his sword-hilt and given him a nasty slash on the forehead which had needed eight stitches to patch up. But that was not the end of it. The worst moment came when Fredi’s nose started to bleed and that was when the fight was stopped, though not the nosebleed which continued ignominiously until the flow had been stemmed by two huge wads of cotton-wool which nearly suffocated him. Now he could only breathe through his mouth and he was racked with anxiety as to how he would look the following day with his nose all black and blue. It was a dreadful