It's been a while, but after enjoying the excellent They Were Counted, I finally found some time to move on to the second part of Miklós Bánffy's 'Transylvanian Trilogy', which continues the personal and political struggles of the Hungarian gentry just before the First World War. Of course, as it's a sequel, there may be a few details revealed over the course of the review which could affect your enjoyment of the first book - so be warned ;)
*****
They Were Found Wanting (translated by Patrick Thursfield and Katalin Bánffy-Jelen, review copy courtesy of Arcadia Books) begins with a parliament (as usual) in turmoil. With a fragile coalition government unable to pass any meaningful legislation, time is spent on petty squabbles, while outside in the real world (and the Hungarian parliament is a bubble which appears blind to events outside Budapest) Europe is taking the first steps towards the catastrophic war which will erupt in just a few short years.
Things are no less dramatic for the two main characters of the series. Laszlo Gyeroffy, having fallen from grace, is reduced to living in squalor in his ramshackle family home, even though there is no shortage of women ready to take a chance on the attractive drunkard. As for the aristocratic Balint Abady, while his love for Adrienne Miloth is as strong as ever, he is becoming impatient for her to finally take the step of leaving her husband, the sinister Pali Uzdy. However, there's something preventing her from asking for her freedom, something which may make the divorce impossible...
I read the first of the trilogy, They Were Counted, a few months back, and it took a while to remember all the names and connections, but once I'd found my feet, I again raced through Bánffy's world of the Hungarian élite in the pre-WW1 era. It has that same, calming feeling as reading one of the big Victorian novels I enjoy so much, but dating from a later era (and another location), there's a slightly different mood hanging over the novel, a gloomier modernist Weltschmerz which contrasts with the more confident and secure Victorian era.
Of course, there's every justification for the tone as Bánffy is looking back from the 1930s to a time just before his country was to be torn apart, both by the war and the peace that followed. While the writing is clearly on the wall, hindsight is a wonderful thing - the poor Hungarians of the time, blinded by petty squabbles, are oblivious to the impending disaster, even when they read of dramatic events elsewhere in Europe:
"The news was mulled over when they read the morning newspapers, argued and discussed in the clubs and coffee-houses and possibly even discussed at the family meals but, while it was, everyday life went on as usual and most people only thought seriously about their work, their business interests, property, family and friends, their social activities, about love and sport and maybe a little about local politics and the myriad trifles that are and always have been everyone's daily preoccupation. And how could it have been otherwise?"
p.301 (Arcadia Press, 2011)
We, who have history to guide us, realise how foolish this is, knowing what's just around the corner...
A large portion of the novel is set in the Hungarian parliament, and through the eyes of the main character, Balint Abady, we are able to witness how futile the years of discussions there are. A junior (rather submissive) partner to Austria in the dual monarchy, the Hungarian government spends its whole time with its head in the sand, trying desperately to keep together a ruling coalition which has achieved absolutely nothing. It won't be to everyone's taste, but if you're a fan of Anthony Trollope's Palliser novels, you'll be at home in the Budapest parliament's dark corridors, even if it's a little noisier than you're used to ;)
If it's Trollope's Barchester Chronicles that appeal more, though, then the other half of the story will be for you as the time outside parliament is mostly spent in the country, where the landed gentry, drink, flirt and shoot anything that moves. There's a hunting scene which could have come straight out of a Trollope novel, and we're not short of a scheming lady or two, hoping to make a conquest of a handsome young visitor (either for life or for the night...). With the addition of dances and a country fair, it would be easy to think we'd ended up in Barchester by mistake.
Even here, though, the more melancholy mood is evident, and the love lives of the two principal characters, Abady and his cousin Gyeroffy, rarely go as planned. Balint and Adrienne are separated by the small fact of her being married to a madman, while poor Laszlo continues the downward spiral started by his addiction to gambling in the first novel. Tragically, he is unable to accept the help of those who wish to save him (and there are plenty of people who want to help the attractive, talented musician), and he is degraded further and further the longer the novel draws on. It's tempting to compare his decline with that of the country in general...
They Were Found Wanting isn't a light, fluffy read, but it's an excellent novel for those prepared to devote their attention to it. Populated by likeable characters, the book delights in complicating their lives, leaving them searching, usually in vain, for the one thing that will make it all worthwhile:
"Whatever Fate sent one's way, somehow it was never enough. It was not a question of wanting more of the same thing, it was just that there was always something else, something one did not yet have but which was or now seemed necessary for complete happiness. It was this constant desire which kept human joy in check, for everyone felt that if only he could achieve just this one little thing more then all would be well." (pp.105/6)
Alas, the moral of the story seems to be that you can't always get what you want (and if you try sometimes, you might find yourself even further away from your happiness...).
The 'Transylvanian Trilogy' ends with They Were Divided, a title with a multitude of implications, and with the first two books slowly leading us up to the First World War, you sense that the series will end with a bang. Will our heroes finally find happiness? It's doubtful, but one thing's for sure - the reader is likely to enjoy it all, whatever the outcome. I'm sure I will :)
Do you like big Victorian novels? Are you a fan of fiction in translation? Are you always on the lookout for quality books with a couple of sequels ready for you to move on to? Well, come this way, gentle reader - I may just have something to interest you today...
*****
Miklós Bánffy's They Were Counted (translated by Patrick Thursfield and Katalin Bánffy-Jelen, review copy courtesy of Arcadia Books) is the first in a trio of books entitled The Writing on the Wall (The Transylvanian Trilogy), a series whose focus on blood is more regal than vampirish. This first novel is set in Hungary in the first years of the twentieth century, a country proud of its long history but nervous of its junior role in the Austro-Hungarian dual monarchy. Despite the very real threat of a loss of autonomy, though, the upper classes continue to drink, gamble and fool around in parliament while Vienna schemes to strip the Hungarians of much of their glory.
The novel focuses on two main characters, cousins representative of the national elite. Balint Abady is a nobleman who has become an independent member of parliament, an intelligent and hard-working man who dreams of dragging his estates (and the country) into the twentieth century; Laszlo Gyeroffy, by contrast, is a bit of an outsider, a talented musician whose ambition to master music is threatened by his weakness for cards and drink.
Of course, it wouldn't be an epic classic novel without a touch of romance, and both of the cousins are unlucky in love. The bright (but relatively poor) Gyeroffy is in love with Klara, for whom her parents have much higher ambitions, and his affairs of the heart threaten to derail the plans to become a talented musician. Abady's love is directed in an even more unfortunate direction, as his desired partner, the beautiful Adrienne Miloth, is actually already married. Still, in a society where appearances and honour count for everything (and reality nothing), it's always possible to find a way...
They Were Counted is a truly ambitious novel, a deep, melancholy attempt to capture a time of great change in Hungary. From its opening scenes of Balint on his way to a grand ball at a large country house, the lover of Victorian literature is in familiar territory. The first page is Hardyesque in its description of the solitary traveller (as is much of the natural description in the novel), but the castle Var-Siklod, and the ball itself, is more Downton Abbey in its imposing majesty.
If I were looking for one apt comparison, however, it would have to be Anthony Trollope, albeit a more melancholic, modernist, Weltschmerz-laden Trollope. Abady, the well-to-do politician from the Transylvanian provinces, can't help but remind the reader of a character like Phineas Finn, particularly in his initial naivety:
"Balint's innocence stemmed not only from his straightforward nature and an upbringing that had shielded him from dishonesty and greed, but also from the fact that the protected years at the Theresianum college, at the university and even in the diplomatic service, had shown him only the gentler aspects of life. He had lived always in a hothouse atmosphere where the realities of human wickedness wore masks; and Balint did not yet have the experience to see the truth that lay behind."
p.4 (Arcadia Books, 2013)
Ah, the innocent making his way towards the metropolis - rest assured, the end of the novel will see a much more worldly Abady...
The book, while set in 1904/5, was written in the 1930s, and the story is overshadowed by the knowledge of what was to come (the First World War, and the subsequent loss of Abady's Transylvanian homeland to Romania) and the uncertainty in the air due to Germany's belligerent rumblings in Central Europe. This lends the book a sombre mood, with echoes of death and darkness scattered throughout, as shown in a small dinner party hosted by one of the main characters, where the table glistens with light, while behind the guest the food is served from the darkness:
"And yet, thought Laszlo, behind all this lay the uncertainty of real life; bleak, cold, cruel, unrelenting and evil. In front was every pleasure that man could invent: food to be savoured with knowledge, wine to drive one to ecstasy, beauty and colour, light and the rosy temptation of woman's flesh to make one forget everything, especially the merciless advance of death which lurked in the shadows behind them. The feast had been prepared so knowingly that it seemed to Laszlo that everyone present ate and drank more voraciously than usual and chatted with more hectic vivacity, as if they were driven to enjoy themselves while there was still time." (p.305)
Laszlo, in particular, is a man unlikely to meet with a happy ending. He certainly enjoys himself, but you always have the sense that he is living on borrowed time.
Laszlo's struggles, though, are merely a distraction from the main character, Balint. His efforts to understand the political intrigues of the fractured Empire, with the ethnic Romanians demanding more say in their affairs, and the Austrians determined to take the Hungarian military into its fold, allow the reader an insight into the events leading to 1914 (which, I'm sure, will be covered in the sequels). He is determined to play the part his breeding demands, and when Laszlo scornfully dismisses politics, Balint replies:
"All life is politics; and I don't mean just party politics. It is politics when I keep order on the estates and run the family properties. It's all politics. When we help the well-being of the people in the villages and in the mountains, when we try to promote culture, it's still politics, I say, and you can't run away from it!" (p.455)
Hmm. Retreating to the country to help the peasants - remind you of anyone?
They Were Counted is a wonderful novel, and I'm keen to move on to the sequels when I get the chance; however, there is one aspect to the book which is a little off. Balint's pursuit of his former love Adrienne is made unpalatable by the fact that she is scarred by her relationship with her brutish husband, a man who simply forces himself upon her. While this is bad enough, Balint himself, blinded by his obsession, is determined to have a physical relationship with her, despite her obvious trauma. It's unpleasant reading for a modern audience, an example of the vast gulf that can appear between cultures and eras...
I wouldn't let that put you off reading the book though, especially if you're a sucker for a novel with dashing army officers, magnificent ball scenes, gambling and promissory notes, and women in enough jewels to cover the debt of a decent-sized country. With an excellent translation, one which reads like one of the V-Lit classics so many of us love, this is a book to enjoy leisurely - over a long period of time. It's well worth setting aside a few weeks for ;)
