Chapter Four
Champagne, An Invitation, And A Trout
Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.
"So what about your honeymoon, darling?" Edith asked, still trying to take her mind off Max. Not that she would rest easy until he was back here, safe and sound, and standing before her.
"Well, now you come to ask, Manfred has promised to take me to Paris in September!"
"Paris! Oh, how romantic!" exclaimed Sybil.
Eva nodded enthusiastically.
"Yes. Very! La ville d'amour. A suite at the Georges V no less! Dinner at Maxim's. Of course, these days, it's frightfully difficult to get a table but fortunately Manfred is acquainted with M. Vaudable, so that did the trick. Then shows ... at the Moulin Rouge and the Bal Tabarin. And there's a divine little place too ... in Montparnasse which Manfred knows, where they dance the ... " In deference to the presence and youthfulness of the two girls seated one on either side of her, Eva paused before mouthing the word Beguine. "He really does spoil me, you know!" she added gaily; looking up to find that, sparkling with mirth, her husband's eyes were upon her.
"And you're worth every penny, my darling!" laughed Manfred, knowing only too well that when she had a mind to do so, Eva could charm the birds right out of the trees.
"The hotel you mentioned ... is that the same as the George V?" asked Sybil.
"Yes, indeed".
"We stayed there last summer on our way home from Italy, didn't we Edith?"
"Hm? Yes," replied Edith, clearly distrait, glancing once again towards the steps leading down to the garden. The boys should have been back here by now. All manner of scenarios continued to flit through her mind; none of them at all pleasant. Where on earth were they?
"Mary was very taken with the separate dining room for the children, weren't you darling?" Sybil laughed.
Her elder sister nodded; said nothing by way of reply, appearing to be lost in a world of her own.
"Weren't you, Mary?" repeated Sybil.
"Darling, I'm ever so sorry. What did you just say?"
"I said the hotel to which Manfred is taking Eva for their honeymoon is the George V. The same one where we all stayed last year; where there was a separate dining room for the children".
"Yes, that's right, we did," offered Mary airily.
Sybil shook her head in disbelief.
What on earth was the matter? She could understand Edith worrying over young Max but what had Mary to be concerned about?
Seated beside Eva, Saiorse looked down at the flagstones. For her, Ma's casual mention of that children's dining room in the hotel in Paris had evoked a particularly unpleasant memory.
Hotel Georges V, Paris, France, August 1932.
"No, Miss Saiorse, not in there". Nanny Bridges indicated the sign pointing the opposite way, to the dining room reserved especially for nannies and their young charges.
"I'm not sitting in there with the babies!" Saiorse pulled a disagreeable face.
Here, in the pilastered galerie of the magnificently appointed hotel, among a swirling milieu of well dressed, wealthy guests, young Saiorse Branson stood her ground. Legs akimbo, feet planted squarely on the ground, which in here took the form of a deep piled carpet, she now folded her arms; assuming an expression of open defiance Saiorse glowered first at Nanny Bridges and then more pointedly at Robert.
Unfortunately for Saiorse, Nanny Bridges could be just as intransigent. Mimicking the stance assumed by the most difficult of her young charges, Nanny too folded her arms; stared fixedly at the young Irish girl standing before her.
"Well, Miss Saiorse, either you do as I've just told you, or else it's back upstairs for you and no supper! So, which is it to be?"
At which point, unfortunately for Saiorse, her tummy rumbled.
Robert sniggered.
"Oh, very well!" Saiorse unfolded her arms.
"And you can take that look off your face too, young lady!"
Saiorse flushed.
"Now, if we're all quite ready?"
Save for that of Saiorse, the heads of the other six children nodded mutely in unison.
"Then, Master Danny, you can lead the way".
Whereupon, Nanny pointed in the direction of the children's dining room, and under her ever watchful eyes, a moment later they set off together, trooping across the crowded room, with Danny in front and, still smarting from being rebuked in public, Saiorse bringing up the rear.
Behind Nanny's back, feeling decidedly humiliated by having been shown up in front of all the others, Saiorse glared and continued to scowl. When Robert turned his head in her direction, she stuck out her tongue.
Nor had she forgotten that snigger.
Rosenberg, Lower Austria, summer 1933.
"In fact, why don't the two of you stay the night. That is unless, of course, you've made other plans ..." asked Edith brightly, still playing the part of the perfect hostess.
"No not at all. Thank you. That would be lovely". Eva smiled knowingly at Manfred. Earlier in the motor, he had told her that if, as might well be expected, and they were invited to stay at Rosenberg, that they should accept the invitation.
"Then I'll tell Kleist to have two extra places laid at dinner and to ask Frau Lehner to see that the Habsburg Room is made ready for you".
"The Habsburg Room? My, my! We are moving in exalted circles!" laughed Eva.
Edith smiled.
"No delusions of grandeur, please!"
"But why the Habsburg Room?"
"Because, at least according to Friedrich, years ago, some archduke is said to have slept in it".
Eva nodded.
Was it just a fortuitous coincidence or ... maybe a premonition?
Friedrich smiled to himself; this was starting to become rather tiresome. First Matthew who, shortly after the Bransons and the Crawleys had arrived here at Rosenberg, had quietly taken him aside at the foot of the main staircase, saying he had something to discuss. Then had promptly clammed up faster than the proverbial mollusc when quite unexpectedly, Mary had hove into view at the head of the stairs. Now, out here on the terrace, much the same from Manfred.
"My dear fellow, a quiet word, if you please". Manfred lowered his voice. "There's something we need to discuss".
"Indeed?"
"But not here".
"Where then?"
"At Rózsafa, where else?"
"What are you two talking about?" asked Edith coming to stand beside them.
"The weather! What else?" laughed Manfred now linking arms with her; said within Friedrich's hearing and clearly for his benefit:
"Now, if you remember, you promised, the next time we were here, that you would give me some advice about roses ..."
Watching Edith and Manfred as they strolled away across the terrace, Friedrich sighed. He was still none the wiser what it was that Matthew or Manfred had wanted. Why on earth did life have to be so damned complicated?
To Mary's chagrin, despite sitting here quietly in her chair, the slight feeling of nausea she had experienced earlier had persisted. That decided it. Whether or not she offended Edith in doing so, she would definitely ask for the cook to prepare a light meal for her this evening.
"Another glass?" enquired Friedrich of her with a smile.
"Thank you, but no". Mary shook her head and closed her eyes. If the others assumed she was merely enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sunshine, they were sorely mistaken.
"Ah, grand!"
"Tom! Do you really think you should?"
The Irishman winked broadly at his wife.
"For sure!"
"So, is this better than your ... Guinness?" asked Manfred, lofting an enquiring brow.
"You've heard of it, for sure?" Tom sounded slightly incredulous.
"But of course! Contrary to what you may have heard about Hungary, Herr Branson, we Magyars are not entirely savages!"
Tom laughed, twirled his glass of champagne, then ruefully shook his head.
"Tom, please. A close run thing, but no. After all, they were brewing Guinness in Ireland before the snakes left; long, long before this was ever thought of for sure!"
Now, while Herr Branson continued to flirt light heartedly with his pretty wife, Manfred considered the possibilities presented thus far.
Of course, he had heard all about the earl of Grantham from Friedrich and so far, the man had proved to be everything Friedrich had said he was: charming, erudite, intelligent, and well-informed. Above all, if only because of a fortuitous marriage, he was also a member of the British aristocracy and so therefore a pillar of the British Establishment with important political connections. And with his involvement with the League of Nations was doubtless well aware of the inequities of the Treaty of Trianon. All of which could well prove ... useful.
So too, Herr Branson, who as Deputy Editor of an influential Irish newspaper would himself have other contacts, this time within the Press; not only in Britain but doubtless here in Europe and which could, at the appropriate juncture, also be exploited.
"So, what's Hungary like?" asked Sybil, who herself had now succumbed to the offer of a second glass of champagne.
"It's beautiful. Although, with Eva being Hungarian, and I myself having spent most of my leaves during the war at Rózsafa, on the Alföld, that's where we live, you'll say that I'm prejudiced!"
"No, not at all! The Alföld?"
"The Great Hungarian Plain and which makes up most of the country. Out there, why, even the very sky seems limitless. And beneath it, dotted with villages and farms, the country stretches away in all directions, as far as the eye can see, on and on into the distance, an endless vista of clumps of trees, rolling fields of corn, wheat, and grasslands, the last peppered with grazing flocks of long horned sheep, herds of silver grey cattle, black water buffaloes, and wild horses. And everywhere, the constant creak of the gémeskút; the sweep wells".
"Sweep wells?"
"The way we raise water and irrigate the land. The Arabs call them shadoofs. A T-shaped wooden structure with a bucket on one end and a weight on the other". Manfred made a rocking motion with his hands to indicate how a sweep wheel worked.
Sybil nodded.
"As for Budapest, it's really two towns: Buda up on the hill, and Pest down on the plain. In many respects, what with the trams and the Underground, it's very similar to any other capital city whether it be London, Paris, or even Dublin. There are wide boulevards like Nagykörút or Andrássy út - we've a villa there; Váci utca with all its shops, and Zrínyi utca with St. Stephen's Basilica at one end. There are squares, Hősök with its column and the figure of the Archangel Gabriel and all the other statues really is quite splendid. There are hotels - the Astoria, the St. Gellért, and the Grand Hotel Royal; the restaurants - we've dined at Gundel's and the food they serve there is divine. And the coffee houses like Ruszwurm near the Matthias Church, or Gerbeaud's in Pest - we bought pastries from there for young Max when last he was indisposed.
There's the Királyi Vár, that's the Royal Castle where the Regent now lives, perched high above the right bank of the Danube; the magnificent Parliament building fronting the river, much like the Houses of Parliament in London; the Chain Bridge, designed, I very much regret having to say, by an Englishman! And not far from our villa, is the Royal Opera House. There's the Magyar Nemzeti Múzeum - the National Museum, the the Szépművészeti Múzeum and the Kunsthalle both on Hősök tere, the Zeneakadémia the Music Academy, the Vigadó Concert Hall, and all the spas like the Gellért and the Széchenyi baths. Oh, yes, we're very sophisticated in Budapest - but I fear I must be boring you!"
"No, no, of course not. Please, do go on!" laughed Sybil.
"At Rózsafa, our estate, why, there you can ride for miles and miles without ever leaving it. Of course, it was once very much larger but over a third of the land formerly owned by Eva's family was lost when the area concerned was ceded to the Kingdom of Roumania at the end of the war".
Although none of this meant anything at all to Sybil, she saw Tom nod his head in understanding. But it was to Matthew to whom Manfred turned his attention and to whom his next question was directed.
"You, I presume, will have heard of the terms of that iniquitous treaty?"
Matthew inclined his head.
"Indeed. Who has not?" he said softly.
Matthew shot a brief glance at Tom but, diplomatically made no comment as to whether he himself thought the Treaty of Trianon which, in the aftermath of the end of the Great War, had brought about the dismemberment of the Kingdom of Hungary, leaving in its place but a rump of a landlocked state, to be iniquitous, as Manfred clearly thought it was.
If Manfred had expected a somewhat more robust response from Matthew, when it became evident that the earl of Grantham had no intention whatsoever of being drawn further on the matter of the treaty, good manners dictated that, at least for the present, Manfred did not pursue things further. Adept at concealing his disappointment, he simply shrugged his shoulders, seemingly without rancour adroitly changed tack and, with consummate ease, moved the conversation on to something far less contentious.
Manfred smiled.
"Of course, all of that is now in the past. I am given to understand from Edith, that you, Mary, are an an excellent horsewoman?"
Mary demurred.
"Yes, she is". This from Sybil.
"Well, at Rózsafa, we have stables - no Hungarian estate worthy of the name is without them - our horses are Mezőhegyes English full bloods, descended from the Austrian Imperial and Hungarian Royal Apostolic Stud".
At the mention of stables and then horses, whether or not she was feeling indisposed, Mary's ears pricked up. Riding was one of her passions.
"Indeed?" Mary forced a smile.
"I would deem it a singular honour to show them to you".
"Thank you. You're being very kind".
"Not at all. While you're here in Austria, you really must come and visit with us".
"Yes why don't you?" asked Eva.
A short time earlier Manfred had been the observer but although he did not know it, the tables had been turned for, as he continued to wax lyrical about the delights of Rózsafa, of horses, of riding, and a host of other inconsequential matters, he himself was now under scrutiny ... by none other than Tom.
Manfred had said the Trianon treaty was in the past but why raise it? And, why too, the insistence that they all visit Rózsafa? Maybe the invitation was nothing more than what it appeared to be; however, Tom could not shake off the suspicion that something else lay behind it.
In and out of reformatories since they were both boys, a spot of poaching came easily to Frau Eder's nephew Hans, the black sheep of the family, and his pal Dieter Gruber.
From where they had been fishing, well out of sight, hidden among the bull rushes and the tall reeds on the far side of the pond, on seeing what had happened, the two young men rushed to help pull the three boys from out of the water; aided in their endeavours, to some degree, by Bobby and Simon, while little Fritz barked encouragement for all his worth.
Back on dry land, save for being filthy and soaked to the skin, having thanked their rescuers, all seemed to be well, until that was Danny and Rob saw the cut on Max's knee; in itself, the wound wasn't that deep but from it blood had begun to trickle.
"Your knee!" Danny gasped.
Max nodded.
"I know," he said and grimaced.
Hans guffawed.
"Why, it ain't no more than a scratch but here ..." Hans knelt down on the grass, pulled out from his pocket a none too clean handkerchief and tied it tightly around Max's injured knee. "There now, that will have to do, least until you get home".
"Thank you". Max smiled wanly.
"Where you from?"
"Rosenberg".
Hans and Dieter exchanged knowing glances. They had no business being here, but times were hard, and surely the Graf up at the schloss would not begrudge them a few fish.
"You've not far to go then".
"No".
"What about this?" asked Dieter. In his upturned hands, he now held out a large trout; along with other debris, the deluge caused by the bank collapsing into the pond had thrown the fish clear out of the water and onto the grass, where it had promptly expired.
"Take it home for your supper?" laughed Hans.
"In what?"
"First promise you'll say nothing about having seen us here".
"I promise," said Max solemnly.
Hans smiled
"Well, then ..."
"And dear young Max is such a credit to the two of you. So well mannered and always so neatly turned out ..." Eva paused, open mouthed with incredulity.
The brown dachshund now trotting across the terrace she recognised as being Fritz, while behind the little dog, at the top of the flight of steps leading down to the gardens, there appeared a group of five boys, one of whom was clutching a teddy bear. Surprisingly, the dachshund was by far the cleanest member of the ensemble; three of his young companions being flecked with pond weed, spattered with mud, and soaked to the skin, while one of the trio had a sodden, makeshift bandage tied around his knee, through which blood was oozing and trickling down his leg.
"Oh my God! Max!" In a trice, Edith was up and out of her chair, scurrying across the terrace, and kneeling beside her son.
"Mama! I caught a trout!"
Despite Danny having offered to carry it back from the pond - an offer which he had politely spurned - with some difficulty Max now set down the poachers' wicker basket and undid the lid. Curious to ascertain what it was the basket contained, Fritz trotted over to inspect the contents. There, on a bed of reeds, lay a large rainbow trout.
"Uncle Manfred! Aunt Eva! These are my cousins: Danny and Rob. And this is Simon and Bobby," Max announced proudly. Embarrassed, the other boys simply smiled; remained standing where they were, and nervously shuffled their feet. Realising that some account was now called for regarding their bedraggled state, Max proceeded to explain what had happened at the pond.
"A pike nearly bit my fingers! It was huge, Mama!" Max spread his arms and hands wide. "Then the bank gave way and we - well, Danny, Rob and I - fell into the water. We ... got a bit wet!" Completely unconcerned either by his own appearance or, at least for the moment, by the injury to his knee. Max grinned at his mother. Far from being amused, stony faced, Edith looked up, first at Max, and then across at Danny and Rob, before giving full rein to a very rare and public display of anger.
"A bit wet! Is that all you can say? Just look at the state of you! And as for you two, why, you're older than he is! How on earth could you have let this happen? Either of you; when you promised to look after him!"
"We're very sorry, Aunt Edith. We didn't mean to ..." began Danny contritely, clearly upset; once again his voice conspiring to embarrass him, growing deeper, before resuming its normal pitch.
"No of course you didn't mean to but why on earth did you let him ..."
"It wasn't their fault, Mama ..."
Edith rounded angrily on her son.
"As for you, young man, you of all people should know better than to behave like this!" At the same time she was searching Max's face for some flicker of contrition on his part. At last beneath the flecks of mud and the cheeky grin which always melted her heart, Edith found what she was looking for. Max's next words confirmed that she had not been mistaken.
"I'm awfully sorry, Mama. Really, I am". Beneath his mask of mud, Max blushed furiously unused as he was to being rebuked in public. He winced; the blood draining from his face. His knee was beginning to throb most painfully. Seeing his distress, heedless of her clothes, Edith hugged him tightly to her.
"I know darling, I know".
Friedrich, who had come to stand beside the boys, now rallied to their defence.
"Liebling, you can hardly blame Danny and Rob for this. Any of it. Jungen sind nun mal so," he said softly. "As for the fish, why, it's quite splendid!"
"No, of course not. I'm sorry, boys". Blinking back her tears, Edith looked at Danny and Rob, then back at Friedrich, and finally inside the basket. "Why, so it is".
His face now chalk white, Max crumpled forward against his mother.
"Mama, I think I'm going to ..."
"Max!"
"Here, let me ..." Gently, Friedrich cradled his young son in his arms and, followed but a whisper away by Edith, now carried Max slowly into the house.
Aghast at what had happened, witnessing Friedrich and Edith's own private Calvary, here on the terrace no-one else either moved or spoke.
Author's Note:
M. Vaudable - Octave Vaudable, who bought Maxim's in 1932 and who "started selecting his clients, favouring the regulars, preferably famous or rich". The Vaudable family continued to own Maxim's until 1981 when the restaurant was sold to Pierre Cardin.
Everyone has heard of the Moulin Rouge; the Bal Tabarin was yet another famous Parisian night club, in business between 1904 and 1953.
The Beguine - a Creole folk dance promoted by musicians from the Antilles and made famous by the American-born French entertainer, dancer, and French Resistance agent, Josephine Baker (1906-1975).
When it opened in 1928, the Georges V Hotel did indeed have a separate dining room for children - as well as over 70 "maids' rooms" for servants such as nannies, valets and so forth.
Sweep wells are very much a feature of the Alföld.
While Budapest was badly damaged during WWII, the buildings referred to are still there. The only real casualty was the Royal Palace which, although wrecked in the war, could have been restored but which for political reasons was then gutted by the Communists. There are grandiose plans, as yet unrealised, to restore some of the State Rooms to their original appearance. As for the spa baths, there are many in Budapest which in 1934 was officially given status as a "City of Spas".
The Treaty of Versailles (1919) ended the Great War between the Allied Powers and Germany; other treaties dealt with Germany's former allies - principally the Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman Empires. The Treaty of Trianon (1920) ended the war between the Allies and the Kingdom of Hungary, one of the successor states to the former Austro-Hungarian Empire. The harsh terms of this treaty caused considerable bitterness in Hungary, the state being reduced to but 28% of its pre-war territorial extent.
Jungen sind nun mal so - boys will be boys.