aordinary had been one inevitable aspect of great art, just as much as the audience’s ‘unreadiness’ and ‘unpredictability’ in the face of revolutionary artistic change, and how the exceptional nature of theatrical production (he nodded as he spoke to the lieutenant who was again trying to interrupt him) was bound to confront the ignorance of the public, from which it clearly does not follow that, as some earlier witnesses had appeared to insist, the creator who strives to enrich the world with ever newer inventions should make any allowance for this ignorance, for the reason that — and here the director referred to his long years of experience, for if he could say anything at all with confidence it was this — that, beside its own ignorance, the public prized nothing so much as novelty, the greater the novelty the better, and the thing they treated in such a whimsical fashion was the very thing they most voraciously demanded. He said that he felt he was among people to whom he could speak his mind freely, so, while sticking closely to the lieutenant’s question, he just needed to say something, a single sentence, no more, that might seem unrelated: however difficult it was for him to do so, he had to admit, that in the aforementioned conflict between the liberating artist and the lack of preparedness of those at whom his work was directed, and he didn’t want to sound alarmist about this, there wasn’t very much hope of a satisfactory resolution, for it was ‘as if the Creator had set them in amber for ever’, the general public were frozen in their attitude of unreadiness, and so whoever put his faith in the power of an extraordinary spectacle was bound to come to a sad end. A sad end, repeated the director in ringing tones, and if the lieutenant — and here he dipped his cigar respectfully in the direction of the officer — were asking him whether he regarded the work of his humble, but highly committed, colleagues, as well as himself, as heroic or ridiculous in the circumstances, he would prefer, and no doubt they would understand this, not to express an opinion, or at any rate he believed that in the light of the tensions he had revealed and the supplementary point he had just made there was really not much more to explain, being certain that the clear innocence of his company in the matter of the regrettable incidents of the previous night was something he had concisely but firmly, even loudly, to state — if only because of the testimony of the local population, whose accusations demonstrated their narrow outlook — though he knew that he was wasting his breath because as soon as he opened his mouth he would be told to shut up. Perhaps he might begin — he lit what remained of his cigar — by saying that his production was concerned with the art of the circus, nothing else, so the first part of the accusation, that every attraction, every item on the bill, was merely a front, was patently false, and that he, the director of their common creative endeavour and their spiritual father, never had, nor ever would have, any ambition beyond confronting the ever growing audience with ‘the phenomenon of an extraordinary being’, and as concerned himself — if they would allow him a bitter if amusing turn of phrase — this was quite enough to be getting on with. And if this first charge was so lacking in logic, how much more was it the case with the second, according to which, as he understood from the words of hysterical local people at the outset of the interrogations, the member of his company known as ‘The Prince’—he blew out smoke and waved it away before the lieutenant’s face — was supposed to be the chief agitator behind the recent riots, which was not only impossible but, if he might be permitted to say so, perfectly ridiculous, if only because the accusation was directed precisely against the one figure who, because he had wholly identified with his controversial role even within the company itself, had most to fear from such violent developments, and who, once he saw that the director’s anxiety was justified, that the public was mistaking his stage role for reality and was therefore becoming susceptible to inflammatory rhetoric, was so terrified that, contrary to all reasonable argument, far from assuming leadership, he feared the passions of the crowd might be turned on him, and so contrived, with the assistance of his colleagues, to escape as soon as the violence began. After all this, the director said, as he put his hand behind his back, obliged to flick his ash on the floor again, the conductors of these interrogations, whom he deeply respected, might very well think that the subject was closed, it being clear as daylight that the accusations levelled against the circus were false; the over-excited performers should try to calm down and go back to what they knew best, their craft, and as concerned the rest, the investigation of the events and the apportioning of guilt, these were best left to those people best equipped to carry it out — to whose authority he naturally bowed and who he would in all respects obey, though, at the same time, his conscience obliged him to reveal everything and so, deeply affected as he was by all that had happened, he would like, by way of farewell, to make a decisive contribution to the undoubted success of the enquiry. He wanted to say something about those twenty or thirty hardened hooligans, one of whom, to the astonishment of them all, they had just been able to observe from close quarters; no more than twenty or thirty desperate scoundrels who, ever since the start of their tour of the southern lowlands, had insinuated themselves into the audience at every step, from village to village, from performance to performance, and tried their uttermost to invest each and every appearance of the company with danger. These people exploited the up to now reasonable travelling support of the company, a reasonable support which yesterday night lost all vestiges of control because their imaginations had been inflamed, their susceptibilities and credulity stretched beyond all measure, by the rumours then put about — indeed, still being put about — that ‘our excellent colleague’ was not acting the role of a prince but really was one, a kind of ‘prince of darkness’—the director smiled piteously at the expression — who strode about the world like an avenging judge and accepted the offer of his recruits to act as executives of his justice, as if that man, said he, raising his arms heavenward in indignation, blessed with all the gifts of his profession and yet, and here he slowly lowered his arms, subtly shifting the nature of his indignation, ‘stricken as he was with terrible physical handicaps, wholly dependent on others to provide him with the bare necessities of life and utterly helpless otherwise’ might have been capable of such a thing! This will be enough to convince you, said he, giving the lieutenant a hard stare, how base, how cynical, how hideously depraved this gang is, who, as we have heard said before, really do hold ‘nothing sacred’, a fact with which he, as director, had been all too familiar from the beginning of the tour, for every place they performed he had been careful to request the local authorities for assistance in order to ensure that the evening should pass without incident. And everywhere they went they had been granted this, so, naturally, he requested it here too; his first stop, as always, had been the police station, but at the time the authorization guaranteeing the security of his artistes — indeed of art itself — was granted him by the chief officer, he had no idea he was facing a man incapable of discharging his duties. He was deeply disappointed by this, he said, quite astonished, since there were only twenty or thirty rogues to manage, and here he stood now, his company broken up, his terrified colleagues ‘scattered about the world’, and he had no idea who would compensate him for the material, but, above all, psychological, losses he had had to suffer as a result. Of course, he protested, he understood that this was not the moment for the addressing of personal grievances, nevertheless, until his turn came round, as, he was sure, it quickly would, he would like to remain in town if they would grant him the permission, and in the meantime he simply asked that the investigating officers should deal ruthlessly with the offenders, and, in that hope, he would now take his leave, passing the officer the copy of the official authorization should he have any use for it, willing to offer any feeble assistance he could in order to help them clear up the matter and uncover the truly guilty men. His speech really finished at last, the director produced a piece of paper from an inner pocket of his fur coat, and handed the ‘performance permit’ over to the helpless officer, who could barely stand on his feet for exhaustion, then, holding the freshly extinguished cigar at some distance from him, he gave a curt nod to the far end of the hall and the assembled witnesses and marched through the door, briefly turning round in the doorway to add, ‘I am staying at the Komló Hotel’, and left interrogators and interrogatees equally dumb and looking like a defeated army in the wake of an all-conquering horde. Harrer, Volent, everyone was in the same condition — not so much convinced as flattened by the sheer weight of the director’s rolling, irresistible cadences, by the combined force of something that comprised statements, arguments, pleas and revelations, in fact so utterly buried were they under it they needed someone to come along and dig them out, and it was not surprising that it took them some time before they recovered all their faculties and the numbness slowly drained from them; before the lieutenant, wounded and furious, set out to pursue the orator who had taken charge of his own fate, but glanced at the document in his hand and stopped again while Mrs Eszter and Harrer merely stared at one another; before Volent and his companions, who seemed to have turned into living statues while listening to the protestations, pulled incredulous faces, waved their arms and started speaking all together at once. Eszter remained aloof from the general hubbub which did at least reveal the state of everyone’s mind, for it was far from him to pass any judgement on anything, he was merely learning, taking things in, as if the speech and the reaction to it were of equal importance, nevertheless it seemed advisable to tender his request in a manner appropriate to the mood of the investigation committee and, especially, to try to judge the state of mind of the man who seemed most likely to make the decision regarding Valuska in the light of the director’s statement and the passions aroused by it. But this was easier said than done, for when the lieutenant, clearly undecided, went over to his chief, clicked his heels and asked, ‘Should I have him brought back, sir?’ the latter responded merely with a regretful wave of his hand which signified either utter indifference or bitter resignation; then, after a long silence, in a voice that, this time, sounded unmistakably bitter, added, ‘Tell me, Géza, my boy, have you had a really good look at this picture?’ in response to which the officer, to cover up his confusion, replied in ringing tones, ‘Beg to report, no, sir!’ ‘Then be so good as to observe,’ the wistful voice continued, ‘the order of battle at the top, there in the right-hand corner. Artillery, cavalry, infantry. This,’ he cried suddenly, ‘is not a rout led by impudent hoodlums, but the art of war!’ ‘Yessir!’ ‘Look at the hussars there in the middle, and there, you see them? The regiment of dragoons splits into two in a pincer movement and surrounds them! Note the general, there on the hill, and the troops there, on the field, and you will observe the difference between a filthy little sty and a war!’ ‘Yessir! I will conclude the interrogations at once.’ ‘Please don’t bother, lieutenant! I can’t bring myself to listen to any more screeching, to any more ridiculous nonsense, in this filthy hole! How many are left?’ ‘I shall be quick, sir!’ ‘Do hurry, Géza, my boy,’ the other excused him in the most melancholy manner, ‘Do get on with it!’ Even now only his hand was visible, but by this time Eszter was quite certain what he was doing: as the highest-ranking officer present, he was obliged to sit through the entire interrogation, and being impatient, Eszter decided, he was clearly finding consolation by surveying the nobly painted scene in a half-light that soothed him, while remaining keenly aware that the turn of events that had brought him here was somehow unfair, in which case, thought Eszter, it would be better if his own request were framed concisely, condensed into two or three sentences, and that if it were so framed it would find favour. It wasn’t his fault that things didn’t work out like this, that no amount of circumspection would have elicited a sympathetic hearing, for the three men before him quickly destroyed any hopes he might have harboured by obeying the lieutenant’s invitation and launching into speeches of their own. The very first words they spoke about how they would like ‘to shed new light on the matter’ brought a twitch to the officer’s face as he glanced towards the presidential chair, and so they continued by ‘refuting utterly the slanderous allegations against a town in mourning, allegations made by the man who had himself been responsible for the shameful events’. There was no question but that the circus and its claque comprised an indivisible whole and there wasn’t enough water in the world (screamed Mr Mádai) to wash this filthy band and its crew of bandits clean; it was wicked and pointless trying to fill people’s heads with the ‘whaler’s’ protestations of innocence because there was no fooling these old grey heads, they’d been around a bit, they were made of sterner stuff and could see through ‘a threadbare tissue of lies’. It was a lie, they clamoured over the lieutenant’s forlorn orders (the lieutenant suspected the worst), that they should rely wholly on the facts, a lie, they cut across each other, that this terrible catastrophe was caused by a few disruptive elements in the crowd, since it was clearer than daylight who had launched this infernal attack in the name of the last judgement. Because, in the final analysis, they protested more mysteriously, it was the most awful hogwash to assert that the ‘wicked sorcerer’ played no part in all this (though in the vehemence of their protestations they failed to notice that the occupant of the presidential chair had abandoned his earlier invisibility, stood up and started to stride menacingly towards them) for, in the final analysis, they continued, everyone knew that it wasn’t ‘twenty or thirty hooligans’ but the devil’s own chosen who had stormed the defenceless town, and that there had been countless signs and portents of this in the preceding months. As to details, why, they had plenty of details ‘of water-towers brought down by distant influence, of church clocks that had been stopped for centuries suddenly and spontaneously starting to move again, of trees uprooted all over the district’, announcing in the meantime that they, at least, ‘were ready to do battle with satanic powers’ and offering ‘the support of their weak arms to the regular forces of law and order’. But at this point they ran out of time for the leader of the aforementioned regular forces reached them and bellowed at them with a clarity that even Mr Mádai could understand: ‘Enough of this, you blasted fools! How long, do you think,’ he bent over the retreating and terrified figure of Mr Nadabán, ‘can I bear to put up with this claptrap! Who are you to play havoc with my patience! Ever since dawn I have had to listen to nothing but retarded babble, and you think you can carry on like this with impunity?! To me, who the day before yesterday in Telekgerendas locked every shithead fool up in the asylum?! You think I’ll make an exception of you?! Don’t delude yourselves, I’ll have the whole stinking place behind bars, this filthy hole where every godforsaken idiot behaves as if he were the centre and keeper of the universe, God blast him! Catastrophe! Of course! Last judgement! Horseshit! It’s you that are the catastrophe, you’re the bloody last judgement, your feet don’t even touch the ground, you bunch of sleepwalkers. I wish you were dead, the lot of you. Let’s make