They Were Found Wanting (Writing on the Wall: The Transylvania Trilogy)

by Bánffy, Miklós

  Countess Roza remained firmly in her place. With no sign of doubt she sat there completely motionless. If Balint had risen to go at this point it would have caused a scandal. He paused, not knowing what to do.

  The priest was reading out the awe-inspiring text that defined so clearly every individual’s own responsibility: ‘… therefore if any of you be a blasphemer of God, an adulterer, or be in envy or malice, come not to that holy Table; lest after the taking of the holy Sacrament, the Devil enter into you and bring you to destruction of body and soul.’

  He listened to the ancient words, standing completely still; and, as he did so, he searched his own soul as he never had before, candidly, clearly and in total humility. He thought about his whole life; and that he was guilty in his actions there could be no doubt. But in his thoughts? Ah, that was different. With every nerve, every act of will, every thought he had sought the way to find the right, decent solution to his relationship with Adrienne. Their intentions had never been sinful or base; and never, in their new-found love for each other, had they ceased to seek a solution to their problems which would conform with the law. Both of them fervently desired that their offspring should be worthy successors of their race and creed. As Balint was so ruthlessly examining his own actions and intentions, he had the strongest feeling that his failings would be understood and pardoned by Him who sat down to eat with publicans and sinners and who saved the woman taken in adultery.

  Now came his turn to be handed the chalice, and, bending over it, he made a secret vow. With all his strength and all the will-power he could muster, though he knew he would never be strong enough to deny his love, he would strive to overcome every obstacle that stood between him and marriage with Adrienne. The priest’s words seemed to be an unexpected reply to his prayers to be sent a son and heir.

  ‘Ask, and it shall be given unto you …’

  Chapter Three

  THAT AFTERNOON BALINT went into the tower that stood at the south-east corner of the castle of Denestornya. This was the oldest part of the great house. It had been there before the Tartar invasions, and from it came the name that had lasted for so many later generations. Once it had stood alone, guarding the slopes below and, unlike the later parts of the castle, it was constructed largely from undressed stone. Its walls, too, were exceptionally thick – more than three metres at their base – and there were neither arrow-slits nor windows on the ground floor. On the first floor of this tower had been placed the castle archives, collected in chests of bleached pine that were placed in alcoves formed by the stone arches which encircled the interior walls. Every chest was labelled alphabetically and in these had been placed all the documents. In the centre of the room was a vast oak-topped table, on which there was a map of the castle domains, and under it were drawers containing the old plans of the building itself, including all the elaborate alterations of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

  It was amongst these plans that Balint made his search. He wanted to find out how the rooms in the west wing had originally been arranged. They had been altered many years ago for one of his great-great-uncles and had not been used since his death. It was here, he thought, that he would live after his marriage; but he guessed that many changes would have to be made, including, of course, installing those modern comforts that had formerly been unknown.

  After poring over the plans Balint was just about to go himself to look once more at these rooms when he heard the sound of a car horn which seemed to come from the horseshoe-shaped entrance court. He looked out through the deep embrasure of one of the few windows.

  A car entered the court at speed and stopped in front of the main doorway. It was obviously brand-new, and was bright red in colour. To Balint’s considerable surprise Dinora Malhuysen and Dr Zsigmond Boros descended and started to mount the steps to the door. Dinora, thought Balint; what could Dinora be doing here? Since the great scandal two years before Dinora had gone nowhere since, through no fault of her own, no one would now receive her. All she had done had been to sign, without realizing the implications of what she was doing, bank drafts for the benefit of her lover, the Austrian lieutenant of hussars, Egon von Wickwitz. When his frauds had been discovered – and he had fled the country rather than kill himself as his colonel had suggested – the publicity that the scandal aroused had left Dinora’s husband, Tihamer Abonyi, no choice but to divorce her. Since then all doors had been barred to her, and she had been treated everywhere as a pariah. She also found herself greatly in debt. It was rumoured that she was rarely to be seen on her estate in neighbouring Maros-Szilvas, and apparently spent most of her time in Budapest or elsewhere.

  And now she had come to call on Countess Roza, stepping up to the castle entrance with all the assurance of someone whose arrival was expected!

  Whatever it may have been for Balint, Dinora’s visit came as no surprise to his mother, who had written to the young woman who was shunned by everyone else, and asked her to call, saying how she would welcome such a visit. Countess Abady always followed her own instincts and had never been swayed by the opinion of others. And her own instincts were always highly individual and owed nothing to convention. A woman who had been widowed when still young and who had ever afterwards remained faithful to the memory of her beloved husband, Countess Roza had never been even interested in another man. If she ever thought at all about what other women might do she dismissed those who had lovers merely as different, almost as if they belonged to a third sex. She did not judge them as she would have judged herself. She did not condemn them either. They were different, that was all. And with this lofty, indeed almost regal disdain for the opinions of the vulgar, it never occurred to her to follow the lead of those who now decided to cold-shoulder the poor little Countess Abonyi.

  This alone, however, would not have been enough to justify suddenly inviting her to come to Denestornya.

  Countess Roza had her own plans and her own reasons. Since that day in March when Balint had received Adrienne’s letter, she believed her son had finally broken with the only woman that Countess Roza had ever hated or wanted her son to avoid. Recently, however, there had arrived three letters in quick succession, and Countess Roza, to whom the mail was always brought first and who knew well what Adrienne’s handwriting looked like, realized that all was not as she had hoped; and the thought gave her a good scare. Of course, she thought, that wicked woman is so full of evil that she will somehow worm her way back into Balint’s heart; and she wondered what she could do to stop it. It was then that the idea of sending for Dinora came to her, for Dinora’s property was not too far away and it seemed that she had recently come back to live at home. In the past Balint, when still a student at Kolozsvar University, used – secretly, as he thought – to ride over to see the little Countess Abonyi, always going at night and taking the shortcut by the ford over the Aranyos river. It had been a nice distraction for him then; and it could be again. After all, her son needed amusement and surely, like most other men, the best amusement for him would be a pretty woman. Countess Roza never marshalled her thoughts with such cynical precision. They merely hovered uncertainly over what seemed a likely possibility. Nevertheless she had an unusually sly smile on her plump face when on the previous day she had sent a groom riding over to Maros-Szilvas with a letter of invitation.

  Balint found the guests on the lower terrace where his mother liked to have tea in the summer. From there a magnificent vista stretched out over more than a mile of well-mown parkland flanked by tall stands of poplar.

  His mother was already there and the butler was just laying the table.

  ‘I do hope you’ll forgive me,’ Dinora was saying, ‘for bringing Zsigmond Boros with me. I haven’t kept a carriage since Tihamer and I separated. We had such beautiful Russian trotters, do you remember? But Zsiga – Dr Boros – said that it was a luxury I couldn’t afford. And indeed what need have I of a carriage now? And then he had just come to pay me a visit, and he has a car, so I thought, I hope indeed,
that you wouldn’t mind,’

  Just a trifle coldly Countess Roza replied, ‘On the contrary, I am very pleased.’

  Then Balint came up and as soon as she saw him Dinora jumped up, saying, ‘AB! How marvellous! I am glad to see you. Of course you know Zsiga Boros; isn’t he your colleague in Parliament? When did you get here? How are you?’

  When everyone had finished greeting each other they sat down to tea. As was the custom in Transylvania this was an enormous meal of cold meats, hot scones and cakes brought out in relays by the two old housekeepers, butter, honey, fresh strawberries, tea, and iced coffee served with mountains of whipped cream.

  Boros swiftly brought into play his beautiful baritone voice and in carefully modulated tones started to praise the layout of the park and its trees, the splendour of the view from the terrace, the grandeur of the horseshoe-shaped entrance court and of the great hall through which they had just passed. In this way he managed, bit by bit, to melt Countess Roza’s stony little heart.

  At first she had been extremely suspicious of him. She found his clothes too well-cut for a country lawyer who was, when all was said and done, barely a gentleman. His spade-shaped beard was obviously no stranger to the curling tongs; there were too many rings on his fingers, and he reeked of scent. The old lady felt instinctively that there was something not quite right about this exaggeratedly elegant appearance. However, when Boros roundly declared that Denestornya reminded him of no less a place than Chambord, the French royal castle on the Loire, Countess Roza finally gave in and allowed herself to thaw. This was because, apart from her son, the only thing in the world that she truly loved was the huge beautiful house in which she had lived all her life.

  When tea was over she herself suggested that Dr Boros might like her to show him the state rooms. Balint and Dinora could go for a walk!

  A little later, when they reached the lime-tree avenue, Balint said, ‘And how is sweet little Dinora? I’ve often thought of coming over to see you, but they said you were away.’

  ‘That was a nice thought, AB. But you know it isn’t all that fun to be alone in the country. Besides, nasty little writs kept on being served and they tried to effect a seizure; so I thought it better not to be there so that they couldn’t find me. It’s all right now, of course. Everything has changed since Zsiga – Dr Boros, I mean …’

  ‘You can call him Zsiga to me, you know,’ said Balint reassuringly.

  Dinora smiled and gave a little shrug of the shoulders. ‘Well,’ and she paused before going on, ‘and after all why not? He’s a most agreeable companion. And do you know,’ she said, putting her hand on Balint’s arm, ‘he’s taught me no end of things, things I never dreamed of … He’s quite a surprise, I can tell you!’

  ‘Legal things, of course!’ said Balint with a laugh.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Dinora with a sensuous little giggle. Then she stopped speaking for a moment as if she were pondering over some secret. ‘Perhaps he learned it all from some famous cocotte, for it seems he goes every year to Trouville or Ostend.’

  ‘Is he as rich as all that?’ Abady asked, somewhat taken by surprise. ‘That sort of trip costs a lot of money!’

  ‘Oh, yes, plenty! And now he’s got even more, quite a large sum, I believe. He’s taken a very nice flat for me in Budapest. It’s not in my name, of course, so no one will bother me with those tiresome writs!’

  ‘But they can always put Maros-Szilvas up to auction if you don’t settle your debts!’

  Dinora laughed gaily. ‘Oh no, they can’t! We’ve put the property in Zsiga’s name! On paper I don’t own anything … so they can’t catch me!’

  Balint was dismayed at her folly. ‘But my darling Dinora, do you mean everything you own is now in his name? This is madness! You’ve put yourself entirely in his hands.’

  ‘Oh, he’s really a complete gentleman and … well, he’s crazy about me!’

  ‘But he can’t marry you. He’s got a wife and children already!’

  ‘I don’t care! I wouldn’t marry him anyway! What on earth for? Oh, for heaven’s sake, let’s talk about something else. Life is so beautiful, and I am glad to see you again, Little Boy! Do you remember? That’s what I used to call you … Little Boy!’ And she brushed against him just as cats do. Then she went on, with great charm and warmth: ‘Do you remember how awkward you used to be? But you were very sweet … and you could talk, how you could talk! I said then that one day you would become a great man.’

  And she brought back the past to him so vividly he could not return to more serious subjects. Anyway, he reflected, she wouldn’t have listened and anything he said would have been wasted. Sweet little bird-brained creatures like Dinora must just be allowed to go on chirruping.

  Balint waited for a few days before telling his mother about his plans. That she had gone so far as to receive the ostracized Dinora seemed to augur well for her relenting towards Adrienne. In the end it was Countess Roza herself who gave him the opportunity to raise the subject. Mrs Tothy and Mrs Baczo, ever vigilant and used to telling everything they saw or heard to their mistress, told her that Master Balint had taken to repeatedly visiting the unused rooms in the castle’s west wing. They had even discovered that he had made careful measurements and noted down everything that he had done.

  ‘Are you planning to do something with Uncle Pali’s rooms?’ asked Countess Roza one day after dinner.

  Mother and son were together in her small sitting-room. Here the countess’s sofa was placed in the corner rather than in the centre of the room as it was in the house in Kolozsvar. Otherwise everything was arranged in just the same manner. The countess sat in the middle of the sofa, Balint in an armchair on her right; while the two housekeepers had their places opposite her, sitting busily crocheting at the table placed in front of the sofa.

  ‘Possibly. I do have something in mind and I wanted to speak to you about it, but …’ Balint, looking at Mrs Baczo and Mrs Tothy, let his voice die away without finishing the sentence.

  Without even waiting for the dismissive wave of the hand that Countess Roza always used to send them out of the room, the old housekeepers gathered up their work and bustled away.

  ‘I was thinking,’ he said, ‘that if I were to get married I might think of living there, if it would be all right with you, Mama. Those rooms would really be everything we needed. The west wing is quite separate from the rest of the house and hasn’t been used for ages. It only needs very little alteration, and it wouldn’t affect any other part of the house.’

  ‘You are thinking of getting married?’ cried Countess Roza. ‘Now what would be the greatest joy I have ever known. Oh, tell me, tell me! I’ve waited so long for this, but didn’t dare to worry you about it, to try and push you …’ She stared hard at him with her slightly protuberant eyes and grabbed at his hand with her chubby little fingers.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ he said. ‘I’ve thought about it for a long time. I can’t go on like this … and for many years I have loved a woman …’

  ‘A woman!’ cried Countess Roza, startled, and withdrew her hand from Balint’s as abruptly as if she had just touched fire.

  ‘Yes! You’ve probably already guessed. It’s Adrienne Miloth; we’ve been in love for years.’

  Countess Roza, for a moment, was speechless. Her joy was so suddenly turned to grief that she could hardly find words adequate to express her fury.

  ‘That – that – that person! No! No! Never!’ and she went on repeating the same words: ‘No! No! Never!’, spluttering them out as if she were choking from suffocation.

  ‘But, Mama, darling Mama, I love her! I love her deeply and I’ve never loved anyone else. I never could love anyone else, not ever, I swear it. And she loves me!’

  The old lady drew herself up and said scornfully, ‘Loves you? That’s absurd – wicked. And she’s made you believe it? How can you be so blind, so stupid? What a donkey you are, my son!’ she said, as all the lies and slanders about Adrienne that had been
repeated to her by Aunt Lizinka and the housekeepers rushed through her mind, and she thought of all the tales about affairs with Uncle Ambrus, with Adam Alvinczy and Pityu and a dozen others which those pitiless ladies had fed her for so long.

  Balint felt the blood rushing to his head. With a great effort he tried to control himself and speak calmly. But when he spoke the anger within him could not be entirely suppressed.

  ‘I alone can know what she feels for me. It is after all my business and no one else’s!’

  For a moment mother and son confronted each other without speaking.

  Then Balint, speaking very slowly and with unmistakable emphasis, said, ‘I have decided to marry her as soon as she can obtain a divorce!’

  Countess Roza then did something she had never done before: she lost her temper. Jumping up suddenly, she beat the table with clenched fists.

  ‘I will never agree! Never! Never! Never!’

  Then, as if ashamed of this extraordinary outburst, she went over to the window and sat down at her desk staring blindly in front of her. She did not speak but her eyes glistened with rage.

  Balint tried to reason with her. Again he repeated what he had said before, trying always to speak in a quiet restrained, almost humble, manner, for he well knew his mother’s tyrannical nature.