An allegory about the complacency of mid-century Europe?

Still on the first portrait in Sandor Marai's "Portraits of a Marriage," and it seems to be a long and thoughtful and very accessible monologue in which jilted wife dishes on her insufferable husband - very European mid-century in tone and style, somehow reminds me of Svevo's great Confessions of Zeno, probably the confessional and informal style is what unites these books - they are both examples of high European modernism but, because of the colloquial and informal mode of address, both are more approachable and (in Svevo's case) more comical - not as intimidating as their near contemporaries Mann and Joyce. Marai's, from 1941 originally, in Hungarian, has been pretty obscure, and I'm glad it's now in print, and I have to get more aggressively into it, perhaps this afternoon - this far, he has established the strong tone and voice of the narrator, but there are not a lot of plot events - though I'm only 50 or so pages in. The story at this point: two or three years into their marriage, their child dies in near-infancy and this sends the husband even deeper into his cranky solitude, and the wife, the narrator this (section of the) portrait, feels deep guilt and depression, wants to win back her husband's love and attention, eventually goes to an unfamiliar church for a long confession, after which the kindly priest advises her simply to pray. Is this story allegorical? Is there some sense here in which this is about the church, or the powers that be in society, told people to sit back and pray, to not be involved, to not rock the boat, as Hitler took over Europe and, later, as the Soviets took over Hungary?