Miklos Banffy - They Were Divided

From time to time they reined in the horses and stopped to listen. All around them they could sense an unrest that seemed almost to vibrate. It was a feeling rather than anything they could hear. Sometimes there was a faint sound as of a dry twig being snapped underfoot, though they might have imagined it. And sometimes they heard again that deep rumbling call, though they could not tell from which direction it came. Was it in front of them — or behind — or was that too only in their imagination?

The horses too were fully alert, their nostrils flaring wide and their ears pointing now in one direction and now in another, as if they were also aware that they were close to something wonderful and mysterious.

After a little while they found themselves on the bank of a former riverbed. Kadacsay was a little behind and stopped while Balint went slowly ahead. The riverbed itself was filled with reeds and tall grass and sharp smacking noises seemed to come from its muddy bed. Hardly had Gazsi turned his mare’s head towards the noise and started to lean forward in the saddle to peer at whatever was there than a full grown fallow buck jumped out of the thick reeds and for an instant stood there without moving, only some ten paces away from horse and rider. His widespread shovel-shaped antlers sprung proudly from between the eye-horns on his forehead and his red-brown coat had a line of clear white spots. He was not a big animal — only the size of a yearling colt — but his defiant stance made him formidable enough. Honeydew gave a start and backed a pace or two and the two animals gazed at each other, each as surprised and impressed as the other. No doubt the stag was as startled by the sight of this strange golden-yellow animal as the mare was by him. He pushed forward his muzzle that shone like patent leather and hesitantly made one or two steps forward. Then, no doubt catching the scent of a human somewhere near, he quickly recoiled and vanished back among the reeds.

Gazsi trotted forward until he had caught up with Balint.

‘My dear-r-r fellow! Something mar-r-rvellous! A stag comes out in fr-r-ront of us, and Honeydew is fr-r-rightened. Honeydew! For the fir-r-rst time in her life the beast has had a shock! I could feel it thr-r-rough my leg muscles. Her hear-r-rt was r-r-racing! I never thought I’d live to see something impr-r-ress her!’

Later they saw some does and their young, but only from a distance, and a few minutes later they heard some loud clashing sounds which were almost certainly caused by two stags fighting. Then Balint and Gazsi turned their horses and rode slowly home.

Throughout the morning’s ride Gazsi had seemed his usual cheerful self but Balint soon realized that this had probably only been because he had been cheered up by their adventures. When he asked when Gazsi would be going to Zsuk all the answer he got was, ‘Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll go … it’s too bor-r-ring. Nothing but hor-r-rses, hor-r-rses, hor-r-rses! Always hor-r-rses! What for, I ask you? I’ve had quite enough. They bor-r-re me…’ and that tight little frown had appeared again on his forehead.

‘But the hunt is unthinkable without you!’

‘Then they’ll have to get used to it, won’t they?’ replied Gazsi gloomily.

They returned to find Countess Roza cutting flowers in front of the house. She wore thick buckskin gloves and had already cut a large quantity from the beds that lined the inner court and were thus protected from the early frosts. She walked gaily towards the two young men, giving the impression that she was preparing for some very special occasion. As well as this exceptionally festive manner they noticed that she wore the smart bonnet she normally put on only when she went to church. The wide satin bow was tied coquettishly under her chin and she had put on some new clothes that were noticeably smarter than those she usually wore, even to the extent of sporting a new white lace collar and frills at her wrists. She seemed years younger than when they had last seen her.

‘Take these flowers,’ she said to one of the footmen who was just passing, ‘and tell them to put them in the guest-rooms.’ With a spring in her step she came towards her son and Gazsi.

‘Now tell me all about it,’ she said. ‘What did you see on your ride? Let’s sit here in front of the house; I love it here when the autumn sun is out.’

She led them to a stone bench from where one could see into the horseshoe court and listened with glee to Gazsi’s story — which he made the most of — about how idiotic he’d been allowing the mare to throw him, and about the meeting with the stag and how he had felt Honeydew’s racing heartbeats when it was her turn to be frightened. And of course he praised the young horses raised at Denestornya until Countess Roza’s eyes gleamed with pleasure. And all the time she was listening she kept on turning her eyes towards the great entrance gates beyond the outer court.

At one moment she said, apropos of nothing, that Aron Kozma was arriving that morning on the eleven-thirty train, and then turned back to listen to Gazsi once more.

Later on, when they went in to lunch, she made the visitor sit at the place of honour on her right, for even though he was not of their class he was a visitor and a stranger while Gazsi, as a distant cousin, was treated as family. She talked mainly to Kozma, asking after all his family, his father and uncles, but especially after his father, of whom she spoke with great warmth and much sympathy.

No one could have told from her manner to the son how angry she had been, year after year, with the father. It had only been once a year and why this was no one knew but she. The truth was that, starting on her fiftieth birthday, Aron Kozma’s father, Boldizsar, had sent her birthday greetings on a postcard and that every year he had mentioned her age for all to see. Before her fiftieth birthday he had never even written a letter of congratulation — nothing until the open postcards when she was fifty — and even she had no idea why he did it. She supposed that it must be revenge for some — by her — forgotten childhood slight but remembered by him for forty-odd years. She had only been thirteen years old when Aron’s grandfather had stopped being the Abadys’ estate superintendent and had moved away from Denestornya. Since then she had never again met Boldizsar or any of his brothers, all her former childhood playmates, and however hard she tried she could not recall any possible occasion when she might have offended one of them. On the contrary she had loved them all, particularly Boldizsar, who was the same age as she and who was her very special friend. It was very annoying not to know the reason why he should so obviously set out to provoke her and yet he did, year after year, and each time it happened it spoilt her day and made her angry. But now there was no sign of all this: today Countess Roza was all smiles.

It was her form of revenge. If the father was malicious she was determined to charm the son so that when he returned home he would recount how charming and gracious she had been, how affectionately she had spoken of his father, and how gay and happy she seemed to be. She had carefully planned her reception of the son so as to show the father how ineffectual his malice had been. When Boldizsar got to hear of how sprightly and youthful she was, despite her age which he never failed to mention so gratuitously, she would have had her revenge; for she was sure it would be a real punishment for him to believe that she hadn’t even noticed his impertinence.