They Were Divided Read online

  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.

  Chapter Four

  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 way
s.

  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.

  When almost everyone was there and the Garazda Boy was standing by the Patronesses, looking at his watch and wondering if he ought to get the first csardas started, there was a stir at the head of the stairs and Adrienne swept into the room.

  There
was such a mob of people round the entrance that until she arrived in the central aisle she could hardly be seen. Then the dense phalanx of men in their black evening dress parted in the centre and Adrienne stood in full view. For a moment she stood there without moving and then slowly with long strides started to walk down the hall.

  Adrienne’s dress was black and very long. It was made of some smooth material covered with tiny shiny metallic paillettes which shimmered and rustled with every movement she made. It was as if she were covered from neck to floor with some magic snake’s armour. Her head was held high and on it she wore a wide oriental golden crown as seen in pictures of the Manchu empresses. It was made up of branches of golden flowers bent upwards in wide arcs the tips of which had been decorated with hanging fringes of tiny gem stones. The hearts of all the flowers were sewn with rubies which might have been drops of blood upon the shining golden petals.

  Her eyebrows and lashes had been darkened and made longer as Chinese women did and indeed Adrienne, with her black hair, ivory skin and pale face which held no trace of colour apart from her vivid red lips, seemed a true evocation of the Far East. She was like the statue of some legendary goddess who had for once stepped out of her pagoda, and her head and shoulders rose triumphantly from the lowest possible décolletage.

  Adrienne’s skin glowed with a myriad tiny reflections from the bright lighting of the hall, so that her shoulders, neck and breasts gleamed like highly polished marble. In the proud fullness of her beauty there was no sign of the unformed, skinny schoolgirl she had still resembled long after the birth of her child; and no sign either of the prudish virginal air which for so many years she had adopted whenever some man looked at her with desire in his eyes. All this had vanished some six months before when she had become reunited with her lover and in his arms had been able freely to live the life of a truly fulfilled woman. Her beauty was so sublime that when she entered the room she was greeted by a sudden hush of awe which continued as she started to walk down the hall proudly conscious of the effect she was making.