László Darvasi
Wulfenia Carinthiaca
Excerpt from the novel Petal Gobblers
[...]
It was a rebellion, that is perfectly clear, said Vogel softly; he stood up, the
floorboards creaked beneath his feet. Your lot has forfeited its rights, Schön.
The Hungarian aristocracy has degenerated, it fears and hates Vienna, your
Catholic priests have sided with the rebels, your gentry is resourceless, your
bourgeoisie pathetic. That is what I am talking about, Schön. And what are you
talking about?
Flowers, he said, nodding, I am talking about flowers.
And why are you talking to me about flowers? asked Vogel.
I…you see…flowers are all I know. Forgive my impertinence, but would you
tell me, which is your favourite flower?
Tulips, said Vogel, in a voice scarcely above a whisper, and he did up a
button on his jacket.
Tulips, said Imre, smoothing his brow, tulips.
Are you mocking me? Vogel asked.
Imre was silent, scrutinizing the officer's face.
My name is Vogel, the inspector said.
I understand, Herr Vogel, he nodded. And, as if the officer's introduction had
been intended as encouragement, he continued with his explanation.
The first tulip to flower in Europe opened in burgher Jan Herwart's garden in
Augsburg in 1559. Merchants from Cappadocia had brought Jan Herwart the
bulbs in hand-sewn leather pouches stuffed with dampened cloths. Or should
we accept the assumption that the great Busbecq himself had sent them to him?
Do you know who the great Busbecq was, Herr Vogel? The bust of Ambassador
Augier Ghislain de Busbecq, who according to some sources first brought tulip
bulbs to Europe from the court at Stamboul, was set up in the botanical gardens
of Ghent in the twenties of this century. I saw this work of art in the course of
my travels. And imagine, instead of tulips, they had roses and carnations
planted in the flower bed surrounding the bust. What do you make of that?
Vogel was silent.
In his mind's eye Imre now saw windy Ghent. Was it just his memory playing
tricks, or had he really smelled the salty tang of the sea in the main square of
the city? One thing is for sure, he'd caught a really bad cold in Ghent, and had
walked the winding, twisting streets of the city coughing and sneezing, unable
to smell anything. He rubbed his forehead, and continued.
But it is absolutely untrue that tulips had become widespread throughout
the Netherlands by 1570, as Clisius attests.
Imre's eyes glistened serenely.
A wealthy merchant from Antwerp, upon receiving a large consignment of
crimson silk that he had ordered for his wife, found that the package from
Constantinople included a number of tulip bulbs intended as a present. The
merchant had no idea that the bulbs he had been sent were in any way special,
so he fried them in spicy oil and vinegar as if they were ordinary onions and
ate them, offering some to his wife. Is that not a funny story, Herr Vogel?!
The inspector roused himself, finally managing to speak.
Your lot forfeited any rights you ever had with the Wesselényi conspiracy. It
is an old story, but the wound inflicted on our empire is still smarting, still
unhealed. We Austrians respect tradition, we draw strength from our traditions,
you are quite the opposite. Hungarians, like all the other peoples of the
empire, were once the beloved children of the Emperor—until you turned
against those who nurtured you! You issued a declaration of independence,
proclaimed the deposition of the House of Habsburg in the most shameful,
outrageous manner, yes, just at the time tulips and lilacs began to flower. Am
I saying this prettily enough for you, Herr Schön? You have forfeited your
historical rights. You took up arms against your ruler, and why should rebels
deserve clemency? Did not our Emperor ensure all the peoples of the empire
peace, civil rights, equality? Did he not free the serfs?
Imre pondered.
Once I dreamt that a clever woman planted a flower garden in a remote,
distant place, somewhere in the back of beyond. But one day the dairy herd—
because the dairy herd was driven past the manor house every morning and
evening—yes, the cows returning home ate all her flowers.
What kind of flowers? asked Vogel.
The cows were coming in from pasture, their stomachs were full, and yet they
still ate all the tulips, the daffodils, even the prickly roses, said Imre, nodding.
Vogel sighed, circled the room a couple of times.
Are you afraid? he asked later.
Yes, Imre replied.
You know I can have you hanged?
Yes, nodded Imre.
Revolt, treason, insurrection, armed rebellion, Vogel enumerated the
charges, shall we begin from the beginning?
Imre Szép nodded. If I remember correctly, we were talking about tulips.
Tulips, yes, smiled Vogel, feeling better.
Imre smiled too, his gums were bleeding.
[...]
László Darvasi
has published short story collections, children's books and two novels, as well as several
volumes of feuilletons, the latter under the name of Ernő Szív. Six of his books have been
translated into German and published under the imprint of Suhrkamp and Rowohlt.
The above excerpt is taken from his latest novel, Virágzabálók (Petal Gobblers, 2009),
to be published in German by Suhrkamp. It is reviewed on pp. 146–52 of this issue.
