They Were Divided (20 page)

‘And how is my mother-in-law?’ asked Adrienne, as she shook hands with the powerful old man. ‘Can she see people? When would be the best time?’

His answer was slow and ponderous, ‘As your Ladyship will see there has been no visible change, but then that is only to be expected in cases of mental illness. I think …’ He hesitated before going on to say, ‘… perhaps it would be best to do it as soon as your Ladyship arrives at the house.’

It was a wonderful day, and the autumn sun was as hot as if it were already spring. The snow-covered mountain-tops seemed far closer than the row after row of foothills from which they sprang. It was as if they had somehow floated free of the ravines and pine forests below, and the great peaks of the Ortler range hung weightlessly like vaporous clouds in the azure purity of the Italian sky. Adrienne walked slowly up the hill behind the town’s old fortress and all around her were orchards and vineyards and groups of dark evergreens like laurels and cedars that were
interspersed
with jasmine and camellia. Below her path the valley spread out, rich and fertile, and was dotted with small castles, churches and convents crowning each hilltop. A river threaded its leisurely way through velvet meadows. The whole landscape seemed to smile with peace and happiness.

Countess Uzdy’s villa stood a little to the right of the road. Its entrance was on the north side but the main façade looked over the valley to the south west. Like so many Italian houses built on a hillside it had been set in the centre of a large square stone
terrace
like an iced cake upon a tray, and from it steps led
downwards
to other terraces and gardens below but from the entrance all the visitor could see of this was the tops of the trees planted at a lower level.

It was only as Adrienne passed through the entrance gates that she realized how apprehensive she was. On her way to the house all she had thought was that this was a routine call and that it was her duty. It was her first visit to Meran and as she strolled up from the station she had been thinking only of how beautiful everything was. Now, as she stood on the threshold of her mother-in-law’s house, she was suddenly aware how much she dreaded meeting the old woman again. It was not simply that in a few moments she would once again be face to face with the
person
with whom, despite Countess Uzdy’s never concealed hatred of her, she had had to spend so many years in the same house; it
was also that this confrontation would entail explaining why she had come and giving her news of Pal Uzdy and of her little grand-daughter. She would once again have to put up with the old woman’s icy stare and her probably offensive and
unwelcoming
remarks. Of course Maier had told her in several letters that nowadays the old woman sometimes did not utter a word for days on end, that she was usually listless and would sit quite still for hours without apparently noticing anything that went on around her; and that they even had to remind her to get up to go and wash, or take her meals, or go to bed. She had become, it seemed, little more than an automaton and had to be urged and
encouraged
to go through the ordinary motions of everyday life. Though Adrienne did not for a moment disbelieve any of this, she still wondered if it would be the same when they actually met or whether, at the sight of her, the old woman’s venomous nature would overcome her depression and bring her back to life.

And this was not the only thing that made Adrienne suddenly afraid: she wondered too if she herself could muster enough
self-control
to appear natural and friendly and to talk as lightly and calmly as if that old hatred had never existed. She was
desperately
worried lest all those years of resentment would rise up and betray her into anger.

As these troubling thoughts flashed through her mind, she turned to Maier and said, ‘I think it would be best to prepare her, and so, my good Maier, I should be grateful if you would go ahead and see her first. I will just stay here quietly for about a quarter of an hour. Then you can come and take me in. I’ll be
sitting
on that stone bench.’

The old man said nothing, either in agreement or
contradiction
, but just looked at Adrienne with understanding. Then he nodded and disappeared into the house. The door closed
noiselessly
behind him.

When Adrienne found herself alone she sat down in the shade on the stone bench by the door and waited deep in thought. However she only stayed there for a moment or two. Perhaps because it was cool in the shade she began to shiver slightly and so got up and walked round to the front of the house which was in full sun. She went very slowly, assailed by old and disturbing memories, memories that went right back to the first days of her engagement to Pal Uzdy when she had met his mother for the first time. She thought, too, of more recent times at Almasko when, after that dreadful moment when Uzdy had rounded on
his mother and attacked her viciously, she had, out of pity for Countess Clémence, gone to be with her in her room only to be screamed at and greeted with the awful and wholly unjustified accusation ‘It is you that turned my son against me! You poisoned him! You!’

Adrienne was thinking of this as she turned the angle of the house. Then, still very slowly, she started to walk along the broad terrace that stretched the full length of the south front of the house. On this side there were five long windows overlooking the town. The shutters of four of them were closed and the bright
sunlight
painted lilac blue shadows below each of the louvred wooden slats. One window was open and when Adrienne reached it she found herself face to face with her mother-in-law who was sitting, barely five paces away, just inside the room. The low
window
-sill barely reached the level of her knees and she sat there, bolt upright, dressed entirely in black, like a statue of mourning. One shrivelled mummy-like hand lay in her lap. That, and the narrow lace collar at her throat, were the only touches of light to relieve the darkness of her figure. Even her thin face seemed almost as dark as her dress despite the sunlight which lit up her uplifted chin and prominent cheekbones. It was like light on dull bronze, and in some frightening way she had an ancient Egyptian look, calm, mysterious and menacing. She could have been an icon carved from granite so black that it absorbed any light that fell on it.

Adrienne stood in front of her as if petrified; but the old woman’s Tartar-like eyes never moved and never showed any glint or sign that she even noticed that anyone was there.

Adrienne did not know how long she stood there, but it felt like an eternity during every minute of which she expected to hear a sharp reprimand, evil malignant words that would be
followed
by the old woman’s leaping to her feet uttering a curse. But Countess Uzdy remained as mute and motionless as if carved from stone.

Gradually Adrienne realized that her mother-in-law was not looking at her and probably had not even seen her. Her eyes were fixed on something infinitely far away, beyond the far horizon and, like a stone idol, saw nothing that was in front of her. Even so Adrienne did not move. She stood there mesmerized as if bewitched by those sightless pebble-like eyes.

Someone touched her shoulder. It was Maier; and only then did Adrienne come back to reality. Silently she backed away and
only when the old woman was hidden by the window frame could she bring herself to turn round and follow the old servant back round the corner of the house. Then she turned to him and said, ‘Let us go inside where we can sit down and talk over what is to be done … I must leave again this evening.’

They went indoors to the room which Maier used as an office. Here the old maid came to pay her respects to Adrienne who then went over all the accounts, checking the bills and receipts more as a matter of form than necessity, for Adrienne knew how
trustworthy
both these old retainers were. It was a welcome relief to have to think about such humdrum matters for, as she did so, all the accumulated tension slowly left her so that she was able to
discuss
in a matter-of-fact way everything that concerned the future running of the house, the expenses, the sending of the necessary funds, in fact everything that was needed for Countess Clémence’s continued residence at Meran. Finally they discussed her medical needs, the nursing, the doctors’ visits and how they diagnosed the old woman’s condition. Now Adrienne was at last able to ask Maier what the outlook was and whether there was any likelihood of recovery.

Maier, who was sitting on the other side of the table tidying away the papers he had just been showing his mistress, looked up sadly and in a slow ponderous manner explained that the
specialist
who had been attending the noble Countess had said that when old people developed this sort of melancholia there was rarely any hope of improvement. The patient could live on to an advanced age, for the body needed very little nourishment when it was not called upon to make any effort. With proper nursing the noble Countess would continue in the same state for many years to come. Of course it was always possible that some sort of crisis might occur and then they would have to be very watchful and careful because in such cases patients sometimes became suicidal.

‘We are always on our guard,’ said Maier, ‘though up until now there has never been any sign of anything of the sort. It seems that even if there should be some sort of nervous crisis the patient usually soon reverts to apathy … so she would once again be as your Ladyship saw her today, to all intents and purposes unconscious of her surroundings. This can last for years until such time … such time as the body just wears out and starts slowly to … to … crumble away.’

Once alone again in the darkened sleeper Adrienne had thought about everything that had happened during the two weeks she had been away from home; about Lausanne and Clemmie and the talks with the head-mistress, and, of course, about that
sombre
visit to Meran. She had been thinking of nothing else since she had got into the train long before night fell.

But, though Adrienne had gone over and over it all in her mind, repetition had not had the effect of making her memory of what had happened any clearer or more vivid. On the contrary, the closer she came to Kolozsvar, to home, so all the depressing events of the whole trip paled into insignificance compared with the sense of joyful expectation she felt arising her.

When the train emitted a long whistle and for a few minutes all other sounds were drowned by a deep thundering
reverberating
rumble, Adrienne smiled happily to herself. They were
passing
through the Sztana tunnel, the last before she reached her destination. Home! Home! In an hour she would be home! In just an hour she would be lying back on her great white carpet
covered
with red cushions in front of a roaring fire.

There she would wait, gazing into the flames, until about
midnight
she would hear a little sound from the latch of the French window that gave onto the garden and her lover would come to her. Then, and only then, as she lay in Balint’s arms, would she really feel at home. Then she would forget all her cares, her
sorrows
and worries, and the memories of the cruel days that were now past. Everything would vanish in their triumphant reunion. And this was the only reality … only this.

A
FEW
DAYS
AFTER
Adrienne’s return to Kolozsvar there took place one of the season’s most elegant balls. It was a Bal des Têtes at which all the women were required to wear elaborate head-dresses.

The idea had come from Elemer Garazda, the young man from the district of Tolna in Western Hungary who was in his third year studying law at the university. In Transylvania he was known to everyone as ‘the Garazda Boy’, or just ‘Boy’ for short, for one could hardly see his light-blonde moustache on his
youthful
pink and white face and also because it seemed amusing to
address such a tall robust young man as ‘Boy.’ He had been
chosen
as leading dancer and organizer (
elotancos
)
of all the dances and balls; and this in itself was a tribute to his popularity and
efficiency
as well as being an unusual compliment to someone who was not born in Transylvania. In recognition of this he had been doing his best to show his gratitude for the honour done to him, and so he had put forward the idea of the Bal des Têtes so as to show that he was full of energy and enterprise and capable of organizing something new and beautiful and amusing. He wanted to justify the confidence they had put in him.

The Garazda Boy had seen similar balls at the exclusive Park Club in Budapest where they had recently been introduced and had become very popular. The Kolozsvar Bal des Têtes was a charity ball given in aid of some Szekler villages that had been devastated by fire. It was the first ball to be organized in the new ballroom of the Central Hotel rather than in the old Redut Room where all the balls had previously been held.

The occasion had been eagerly awaited by all those who would attend; by the men because they would not have to make themselves ridiculous in some idiotic costume, and by their womenfolk because they could go in a classic ball-gown and not spend a fortune on some elaborate fancy dress; and also because they would be able to dazzle their friends, and hopefully outdo them, with some amazingly original and magnificent and
hitherto
undreamed-of ornamental head-dress.

For weeks before there had been to-ing and fro-ing and thought and planning and much pleasurable secrecy as to what all the fashionable ladies would wear. While everyone tried hard to find out what the others had chosen each was determined to keep their own ideas secret lest anyone should try to imitate what they had planned, thus leading to that social disaster when two or more women were dressed alike.

Nevertheless, in spite of, or perhaps because of, all this manic secrecy several women found themselves in just the situation they had most dreaded. There were eight Turkish turbans, five Dutch bonnets, three Andalusian head-dresses complete with high tortoiseshell combs and lace shawls, six country maidens from the Kalotaszeg district, two Cleopatras and four Little Red Riding Hoods. Not a few extremely cross society ladies had to console themselves with the thought that they had been first in the field with their wonderfully original idea and that somehow and with low cunning the others had stolen the idea from them.
The one to be blamed was always their closest friend – that
two-faced
snake in the grass!

At one end of the ballroom there was a platform on which were the chairs reserved for the Lady Patronesses. There they sat in a half circle beneath a bower of potted palms brought in from
elsewhere
. Here was to be found the wife of Kolozsvar’s mayor, the wife of Stanislo Gyeroffy who had been Laszlo’s guardian, Countess Kamuthy, Countess Jeno Laczok and the young wife of Dr Korosi who had recently been appointed Rector of the University, a position which conferred a new distinction on his pretty wife so that, whether she liked it or not, she was stuck with this distinguished group of older women. In the middle of them all was Countess Sarmasaghy, who was almost everyone’s Aunt Lizinka, and who had been given the place of honour because all the others were terrified of the old woman’s evil tongue and
mischief
-making ways.

All of these wore head-dresses made of old lace, white or black, with the sole exception of Countess Laczok who had brought out a family heirloom, a cap of pearls stitched with other precious stones, which had once belonged to the wife of a former ruling prince of Transylvania, Mihaly Apaffy, and which had passed to the Laczoks by inheritance through the Bornemiszas. It was a unique object and in it Countess Ida, who was liked by everyone, looked like an ancient portrait brought to life.

On the platform with this group were the ball’s official
sponsors
, a mixed group of local aristocrats and middle-class
businessmen
such as the mayor himself, two chairmen of local banks, the ex-doyen of the court pleaders, and some others. Old Carrots Gyeroffy was there sporting his famous orange wig, as was Crookface Kendy with his eagle’s beak nose, the elder Count Adam Alvinczy and the inevitable Major Bogacsy. There were some others too, like Uncle Ambrus, who decided that the official platform was the best place from which to ogle all the pretty women as they entered the hall and so boldly walked the length of the room, and mounted with the official party as if he had merely come to pay his respects to the Patronesses.

Joska Kendy also managed to get himself on the platform, but he did this not to ogle the women but to get as close as possible to pretty young Mrs Korosi, find a chair beside her and whisper sweet nothings into her receptive ear. Mrs Korosi, for her part, did not mind at all the opportunity to tell Joska her woes, which
principally consisted of feeling neglected by her husband, the Rector, who in addition to his political activities as leader of the town’s opposition was constantly occupied with attending
meetings
, making speeches and lecturing and administering to the point that his poor little wife was left quite disconsolate. All this she poured out to Joska in a soft voice so that he, moved by her sorrows, from time to time took his pipe from his pocket, jammed it between his teeth, then stuffed it angrily away again.

Many people arrived early and so the long-legged Garazda Boy was fully occupied from the start in showing people to their places, running constantly from the head of the stairs to the
official
platform and back again. He was very conscientious and felt it important, if he was to make a success of the evening, that each lady as she arrived should be seen to be escorted the full length of the hall down the double line of the other assembled guests. His assistant was the young Dezso Laczok, who was only in his second year at the university and hero-worshipped his superior; these two young men hurried alternately up and down the room anxiously trying to keep order and see that everyone was in their proper place before darting back again when a new head-dress swam into view at the head of the stairs. The Boy, with his long legs, managed it at a run, while Dezso, who was smaller, practically skated across the polished floor. Then, with the new arrival in tow, they would bow ceremoniously as they made the necessary presentation to the Patronesses. All in all they managed it very well. It was not an easy task to keep order with such a throng, but they carried it off with only one mishap. This was due, not to any female guest, but to Isti Kamuthy.

Plump little Isti, when in London the previous summer, had had made a pink hunting jacket by one of the most fashionable tailors in Savile Row. It was a marvellous coat made out of some material that was as hard and stiff as zinc. He had been anxious to have it generally admired and had thought of wearing it at Zsuk for the St Hubertus Day meet. Then someone had told him that in England pink coats were not worn when hunting with
harriers
and so, after repeatedly telling this to all his friends, he had had to be content with wearing an old green coat when out with the hounds as he realized he could not himself now break with such a hallowed tradition. It was a painful decision for young Isti, but the marvellous pink coat – which had cost all of eight and a half guineas – had had to stay unused hanging in his wardrobe. Then the opportunity came. He heard of the Bal des Têtes and
decided that if he could not wear the coat in the hunting field he would wear it to the ball, regardless of the fact that all the other men would be in classical black evening dress. If challenged he would say he thought it was a costume ball and so, that evening, he pulled on his white breeches, a pair of riding boots, and donned the pink masterpiece. He himself knew that he would outdo everyone by the splendour of his coat and that all the girls would admire him. And he would cut such a dash that one or two of them might even fall in love with him.

When Isti first set foot in the hall everyone’s amazement was everything he could have wished. There was a sudden hush, and then a clamour of joy broke out and he found himself surrounded by a bevy of young girls who crowded round him to touch and admire and giggle … and make fun of him. Everyone talked at once, all demanding to know why he had thought to come dressed like that. For some moments Isti thought that he had all the
success
he had hoped for – but not for long. In an instant the great cluster of girls fell back with an expression of disgust; and then his dreadful outspoken little niece, Malvinka, said out loud what everyone else was thinking.

‘Isti! You stink of the stables!’

This was something that he had never thought about; but the moment it had been said he knew how true it was. The
much-used
leather-patched breeches and the boots which had been impregnated with horse-sweat passed without notice in the
hunting
field; but in the scented ballroom they reeked of horse; and for Isti the effect was awful. Wherever he went everyone fled from him, and it was the same the whole evening. No girl would let him come near her, or dance with her; and most of the men, in true Transylvanian fashion, started to tease and mock him,
making
elaborate gestures of disgust while muttering ‘stink of the stables, stink of the stables, stink of the stables’. For as long as he could bear it poor Isti wandered about alone, chased away from every corner, feeling lonely and persecuted, as indeed he was. Finally, after a long battle with himself, he admitted defeat, renounced all effort at cutting a dash at the ball and took refuge in the card-room where the clouds of cigar-smoke that hung over the gaming-tables obliterated all lesser odours. Here, at last unnoticed and unsmelt, Isti collapsed into a chair, and nobody bothered him any more.

As soon as poor Isti had fled, order returned to the ballroom.
More pretty women kept on arriving, their heads covered with odalisques’ veils or bull-fighters’ hats. If they had come escorted by husbands, brothers or fathers these last went to stand with the other men at the side of the room while the lady, all self-
congratulatory
smiles, paraded the length of the room so as to show off her miraculous and completely original head-dress. Sometimes it would happen, as she glided down the centre of the room, that an ironic whisper, none too discreet, would be heard. ‘Do look! That’s the third tulip!’ or, when a white-powdered wig went
bobbing
by, ‘Just like a poodle!’. More rarely there was heard a soft murmur of pleasure and approval. This happened when Dodo entered bearing the towering feather crown of an Indian chief, and when the pretty little Mrs Fischer arrived with a complete circus carousel on her head on which the little wooden horses went round and round whenever she gave them a touch with her fingers. It was the same when Margit appeared. She still looked as girlish as always even though at the end of January she had given birth to a fat healthy boy, the first grandchild for old Count Adam Alvinczy. In her simple white dress covered in tiny
embroidered
flowers she looked like a girl at her first ball. On her head she wore a plain red kerchief completely covering her hair and tied just as young peasant girls did in the country. It could not have cost more than twenty cents, but it was tied so skilfully, with two corners erect at the back of her head, and it was so well-suited to her calm brown face, lifted chin and proud dignified walk, that when she went up to the Patronesses and sank into a deep curtsy, everyone was captivated by her charm and grace and applauded loudly. Margit herself blushed with pleasure and stepped modestly aside.