by Adele B.
Edward was the first to start; he had no illusions about being a great heart-breaker, he had never yet met any woman worth learning these strategies and skills for – but he had learned one thing from his unwilling frequentation of Viennese salons. Forced by his young friend Karl to accompany him on his numerous visits to these familiar places, he had noted women were bound to be more sensitive to the charms of music than to those of poetry or painting.
He had seen young girls' faces transformed by the sublime harmonies of precious, delicate Robert Schumann or poetic Franz Schubert; he had seen young women's eyes fill with happiness as they floated in waltz rhythms.
So he asked Livia, with a mild gaze;
“What is your favourite music? Schumann? Schubert? Or perhaps Liszt?”
“None of them ”answered Livia, fully aware just as the words left her lips that they might be to her disadvantage. She could decipher and play perfectly any music sheet written by these composers, but it remained totally foreign to her soul, a strange creation from far-away countries. She was more readily impressed by the Gypsy bands playing at weddings; their music was much less sophisticated but much more evocative, sometimes despairing, sometimes happy- as savage and as free as the place she had been born in.
“I am not a great music admirer, but I like painting” she quickly went on, afraid he would believe her to be devoid of any interest in the fine arts. Painting, yes, she considered it to be above any other form of art – she really appreciated its power to capture and forever fix on canvas a fleeting instant of time, a face, a landscape. It was a talent she did not have, alas. She would have liked their image, as they strolled hand in hand through the dark green foliage, to be caught in a painting too, by some trick or magic. But no painter was around; so she had to be contented with trying to fix this scene in her mind, for all eternity.
“I enjoy painting very much myself'' he answered, taken aback by Livia's abrupt answer. If only he hadn't left his easel in Vienna, he mused – he could have painted her portrait, a semblance of her beautiful face that he would then carry next to his heart, wherever he went. And even if the image would have been less than perfect, he smiled to himself, his thoughts and his love would have filled in the gaps.
“I wasn't expecting this” she said, turning towards him. She had never before seen such a handsome young man, with his clear eyes as blue as the skies of this endless spring day, with golden, shoulder-length hair, and especially with such a fine-chiselled adolescent face, seeming to come straight from one of Michelangelo's paintings. He was wearing civilian clothes, a blue shirt and black trousers, and without his uniform nothing would have led one to believe he was a man of arms.
The impatient neighing of the horse waiting for his master abruptly reminded her that this was an officer, that he lived in Vienna – two problems which suddenly seemed insurmountable- so she decided to ignore them for the time being.
“It is called Eagle” said Edward, slowly walking towards the tethered horse, which neighed happily while at the same time shaking its mane in a futile attempt to free itself.
“It has been my companion in adventure for many years, we travelled many roads together and now it's not too happy at being tied up to this tree” he went on, taking a piece of sugar candy from his pocket.
“A handsome animal” answered Livia, not drawing any closer.
She studied the unruly horse trying to loosen the chain round its neck. Imposing and independent, it added to both the admiration and the fear she felt whenever she was near a horse. Then she looked at Edward. Under his apparent delicacy real force was hidden, as he effortlessly held the savage horse at bay.
“I have to go now, Livia, they are waiting for me at the castle. I'll be back tomorrow, though. You will be here too , won't you?”
“I'll be here for sure “she answered with no hesitation, looking straight at him as he jumped into saddle and disappeared between the trees.
There was no other course of action available for her. Her heart was ordering her to act thus.
Edward was slowly climbing the steep road leading to the castle. As he drew near he could see it in all its majesty, with massive, grey stone walls sloping over each other as if hastily put together by long-forgotten giants. The rounded battlements and their richly ornamented windows softened the rigid aspect of time-blackened grey stones. Here and there, small clumps of lavender or fresh grass hung on precariously to crags in the stones.
It all had an abandoned air from afar- but as he drew nearer he could hear different sounds showing the massive structure was alive, filled with fervour; neighing horses, confusedly mixed voices, the rhythmic noise of a blacksmith mending a blade, happy laughter of children running in the streets, and the church bell whose deafening clang drowned everything else now.
Leading his horse Edward entered the castle gates just as the last bell-sound was heard. From the kitchens enticing smells of dinner filled the streets; goulash and golden roasts, apple pie and freshly-baked bread, just out of the oven. As he was making his way towards the central plaza, saluting the old women who knitted in front of their jasmine-perfumed gates, he saw his aide coming towards him.
“Good evening, Officer” this one said, taking the horse's reins from his hand and stroking its mane.
“Good evening, Achim. Take good care of my horse, give it a cleaning, food and water” Edward replied.
“Never fear, Sir, I will treat it just right”
“Thank you” smiled Edward. He had no doubts, Eagle couldn't be left in better care than that of his old and faithful aide.
While Achim was heading towards the stables, Edward glanced at his pocket clock. Only twenty minutes left until seven o'clock, when he had to be present at the official dinner!
Anyway, all the noise in the square made him feel out of place there, so he retreated towards a rampart from which one could easily see the whole valley,
the slowly rolling hills and the faraway mountains.
The fields and the villages were slowly being engulfed by evening, smoke rose from the chimneys as the housewives prepared dinner. Edward's eyes strained in the direction of Livia's village; in one of those small houses a charming being was living, a being he could hardly wait to meet again.
“Salve, dear friend!” a voice behind him said suddenly. Surprised, he turned to see his old friend Karl who was approaching with open arms.
“Salve, Karl!” he gladly answered, affectionately embracing him. It was the Archduke who had introduced them to each other, all those years ago- and a strange friendship was born between two totally different persons.
He, an orphan, timid, reserved and with no living relatives; Karl, the son of a rich businessman, with contacts in high places, surrounded by the unhealthy affection of his doting parents and his innumerable aunts. Each of them envied the other what he could never have. Edward would have liked a home, Karl dreamed of independence and seized any opportunity to travel to Transylvania, far from his kin.
“How was the voyage? Long, tiring and uncomfortable, isn't it?” Edward ironically asked. Karl was crazy about bear-hunting, but too spoiled to enjoy riding on horseback for any distance. In order not to miss the event, he had travelled to Arad by train and thence in a luxury carriage.
“Leave that; better tell me where are you coming from at this hour?” He had just arrived at the castle, but a few kind souls had already informed him about Edward's gallant adventure with a young woman from the valley.
“I certainly wasn't ready for it, but yes, I've fallen in love. You were absolutely right when you warned me that Transylvania was going to steal my heart; that is exactly what happened.” Edward answered, with a serious look on his face.
“Good God, Edward, I thought it was just a simple adventure, and here you are talking about love!” retorted Karl in a disapproving manner. He often travelled to Transylvania to enjoy the noble Magyar women, beautiful, passionate and deliciously trying to imitate their aristocratic counterparts from Buda an
d Vienna. He adored the way they strove to seem much more than provincial ladies. Sometimes proud, sometimes timid, most of the time filled with suspicion- not exactly easy prey – that was the reason he enjoyed courting them so much. He couldn't understand how Edward had fallen for a Romanian- it was well known Romanians were just primitives who hated Austrians.
“Don't make a hasty judgement, Karl. You don't know her, have never set eyes on her, so wait before saying anything bad about her! She is very important to me, I felt this from the first moment I saw her!” replied Edward in a meek tone. He was fond of his long-time friend Karl, but at the same time wouldn't have been able to accept any insults this latter might direct at Livia.
“But look around you, Edward- beyond this mountain is another castle, then another, then another. In each of them there is a Grof's daughter only too ready to marry a Scottish Count, even one without lands or fortune, as you are. The title, my dear friend, the title of Count alone would bring you a life of leisure beyond your dreams!” said Karl, trying to make him see the right way. That is, the way he himself adored- that way made of mornings spent riding through the verdant, dew-covered fields, of afternoons dedicated to lazy siestas, of evenings filled with parties drawing long into the night with Gypsies playing their soulful violin tunes. He was in love with one or two Grofs' daughters, and, as yet undecided which one he should propose to, he was commuting between their castles and country estates, while his bank accounts in Vienna were getting bigger and bigger thanks to the skilled administration of his family lawyers. He had always hoped Edward would choose this kind of life too- and now that his friend had given him the news, he was taken aback.
“You well know I spent my time in military schools, there is no other life for me except the military career, and I owe this to the Austrian Empire which has become like a sort of second family to me!” answered Edward, a little amused by the zeal his friend was deploying in order to make him change his mind.
“Like hell you did, Edward! You were forced to do it and now all this military discipline has got in your blood – but it can as easily get out of it too; it's just a matter of letting the tides of life carry you! As for the Austrian Empire, never fear, someone else will immediately take your place, and mine too, when I'll give up the army career! And I hope to do this as soon as possible” continued Karl, in a determined voice. He hated the Army, he had chosen this path on a whim and was fully aware he was going to abandon it at some point, with little regret. He just hoped Edward would do the same, and settle down in some mansion or another with a docile and passionate Magyar noblewoman. He hated the possibility of people hunting each other, leaving their bodies on muddy battlefields. He favoured fox and bear hunting over fighting men of another race for unclear reasons.
“Dinner is served, Officer” said the old aide who had approached, interrupting the friend's conversation.
“Thank you Achim” Edward answered, as the old soldier ceremoniously saluted Karl.
“We'll talk about all this later, Edward” Karl answered. “I can smell a delicious aroma of baked apples and my stomach is starting to riot! After a whole day of commuting between coaches, all I want is a Magyar dinner” he continued, his mind on the goulash he liked so much.
As he entered the long hall and took in the walls adorned with hunting trophies and the long oaken table filled with all kinds of dishes, Edward understood their hosts had been informed both about their arrival and about the thickness of Karl's bank account. Karl was an eligible bachelor, much sought after in the higher circles of society; young ladies talked about him in college, letters in which his name appeared travelled regularly between manors and castles, mothers dreamt of catching him and then showing him off like a prize trophy, a way of getting away from provincial tedium and on to Vienna.
The table was even richer than the previous night, there were more serving wenches festively dressed, the Magyar Grof, imposing and moustached, was even more jovial. He had never before entertained such important guests, coming all the way from Vienna.
The blood-drowned 1848 Revolution, when the Hungarians had fought for emancipation from the Austrians, seemed all but forgotten now. After eighteen years of diplomatic scheming, the Austrians seemed to start looking with favour upon some Hungarian claims- amongst them, Transylvania's annexation. By his warm welcome, the Grof clearly wanted to make clear his appreciation for the newly-born friendship between the Austrians and the Hungarians.
The host ceremoniously showed them to their places. The Archduke was seated at the head of the table, with Edward and Karl at his sides.
Other important guests - notaries, judges, rich merchants- filled the rest of the table.
“My family and I wish you good appetite!” said the host, glass in hand, solemnly toasting the Archduke. Then his gaze strained towards the hearth, where his wife and two daughters were silently doing some embroidery. His look clearly stated the pride he took in his family.
The two girls were in the likeness of their mother's slightly faded good looks; their youthful freshness and the sly eyes inherited from their father marked them as much-sought-after parties for the young noblemen of the county. They eyed the young guests on the sly, especially Ilona with her thick braids sitting as a crown atop her head.
Although the atmosphere was pleasant, Edward left the party early, while the other guests were still enjoying the ruby-red wine and the animated conversation.
The room allotted to him was simple, sparsely furnished with quality, preciously crafted Italian pieces. Thick rugs, meant to keep out the stinging winter cold, covered the walls – for everything about Transylvania's seasons seemed excessive. He clearly remembered the fear with which one of his aides, a native of these parts, talked about Transylvanian winter. It was a rough time, with snowstorms and blizzards running over vale and hill, from one mountaintop to the next, making the frozen trees sing like so many dissonant harps. Often the sounds were so strange as to curdle the blood in your veins – they seemed to include wails and groans, screams and peals of hysterical laughter. It was as if, all of a sudden, the innumerable dead of all the battles ever fought in this land had risen and were having a devilish party on the frozen plains. Villagers were crossing themselves and hiding in their little houses whose small windows and doors seemed barely able to withstand the onslaught of furious winds. They huddled next to each other in their cold beds, listening to the howling of hungry wolves and watching the mad winds trace crazed dance patterns over the hilltops. And the strangest thing of all was that next day not one trace remained – all was calm and sunny, the snowdrifts the only reminder of the night's terrors.
But tonight was calm and fragrant, perhaps a little too chilly for a spring evening.
# # #
After a peaceful sleep, Edward was awoken by an unusual commotion.
It was still very early, and women servants seemed to run every which way carrying torches, while grumbling menservants dragged sleepy neighing horses from the stables. Big food sacks were stacked near the thick wall of the fountain, in the centre of the square.
Edward dressed with no great enthusiasm – unfortunately he could not miss the great hunt, not after travelling all the way from Vienna for it. He was fed up with so many forests and coves, he had travelled too much lately and would have appreciated a little rest, but he could not spoil Karl's pleasure. He had to be present at this damned hunt. He smiled while drawing on his boots; the day was not completely wasted, for in the evening his prize was waiting for him in the secret meadow- Livia.
They hurriedly left the castle, came down the steep hill and continued at brisk trot past rows of houses with darkened windows. They enjoyed the cool air of the dawn, then entered the woods, branches still covered with dew.
Hiding in wooden cabins, completely still and barely breathing, they waited for the bear to draw into gun-range, attracted by a meaty bait.
The hours seemed to drag on forever, the undecided bear crept closer and then ran away again, fore
seeing the danger but unable to resist his own greed.
A sharp sound and the bear was down, a large handsome specimen which would offer Karl many hours of conversation in the Viennese salons.
# # #
Livia ate sparsely, half-listening to her parents' talk. About so-and-so from the village, about newborn babies and harvests, about the orchards and the fields. They had supper early, it was just five in the afternoon but they planned to return the fields and work in the coolness of the evening. The rains had made weeds spring up all over the fields, and it was hard work just trying to get rid of them.
Livia was contented, as this suited her plans just fine. Edward was waiting for her in the meadow, and she wanted to be able to go there without having to offer endless explanations.
As soon as her parents finished their meal, she hurried to clean up the table and wash the plates. After making sure they had left for the fields, she dressed carefully, cast an eye in the mirror and hurried towards the secret meadow.
As she was drawing closer she could see him through the trees; her heart started beating madly in her chest.
“Good evening, my forest nymph!” he said, handing her a bunch of flowers he had gathered while waiting. Seeing her like that, with her white gauze blouse gathered at the waist by a thick belt, with a long floating skirt and her black hair down to her waist, seeming to dance as she approached through the trees, this image had come unbidden in his mind.
“Good evening, wandering horseman!” she amusedly retorted while accepting the flowers. She had only seen him three times so far, for her he was just a wandering horseman, but she abandoned her hand in his and listened to her heart's mad flutters as she tried to control her voice.
They walked slowly, with no apparent purpose, but Livia was heading towards the river at the edge of the village. It was one of her favourite places, especially in the early evening.
