Miklós Bánffy - They Were Found Wanting

Though today they laughed and joked and made light of it all, for Adrienne their mirth had a darker side to it. Now she could no longer bring herself to believe that Uzdy would ever agree to a divorce. Previously she had only half believed it, but last night’s experience had proved to her that, far from being complacent or indifferent, Uzdy had now become even more dangerous. That such a renowned shot had aimed above her — just in fact where he would have hit Balint had he been there an hour before — and that he had stopped shooting the moment she sat up, proved to her that it was not she but her lover who was in danger. Therefore if she were to raise the question of divorce it would be Balint rather than herself who would be in peril. Indifferent as she was to any danger to herself, she dared not do anything that put at risk the life of the man she loved. Though nothing in her manner revealed it Adrienne had spent all day in thinking this out and she had come to the conclusion that she must wait until Balint was not there — perhaps away in Budapest, or better still abroad — before trying to bring up the subject. Even then it would have to be in some devious, roundabout way and until then she must not, under any circumstances, give the smallest indication of what she intended. She would find a way, she had to; but in the meantime she would not even mention to Balint that there was any change in her plans. Accordingly she continued to talk as if she were preparing to discuss the matter with her husband because she knew that if she showed the slightest reluctance then Balint would take matters into his own hands.

And so they continued to talk as if their plans were certain. Though Adrienne was all too aware that she would do anything to avoid immediate action, she found it surprisingly easy to float along on the stream of the previous day’s dreams, talking of what would be, and how it would be, and of the child that would be born to them, of how he would look and what he would inherit from each of them.

And so she whispered these things in his ears and interspersed her words with kisses and created in the darkness of her room a fairy-tale world whose shining centre was that real yet unreal being, the unborn son, first as a baby, then as a growing boy and finally as the fully grown heir to Denestornya … and then again to the fantasy that was once more a tiny infant enchanting them with the wonders of its little pink body.

The child already had a name: it was to be called Adam as if to underline that with him their world was to be reborn and that humanity would take on a new and perfect form, as Goethe had imagined Euphorion in his Faust .

Again and again they returned to this theme so that all their nights together would be partly devoted to discussing their as yet unborn son as if he were already the living expression and fulfilment of their love.

‘COUNT BALINT is getting up now. He’s dressing and will soon be down,’ said Mrs Tothy as she entered Countess Roza’s big drawing-room where Mrs Baczo, knitting in hand, was sitting alone waiting for her return. It was half-past one, time for luncheon, and this information was meant as much for their mistress, who was at her desk just through the open door sorting out her letters in the little boudoir, as it was for the other housekeeper.

The two women in the big room remained silent for a moment or two before once more beginning to gossip together. They spoke softly, almost in a whisper, and yet loudly enough for everything to be overhead by the countess, should she so wish. And they knew well enough that their mistress would listen avidly to every word they said.

‘Well, all I can say is the young master deserves a good lie-in!’ said Mrs Tothy. ‘He came home very late this morning.’

‘Indeed he did!’ agreed Mrs Baczo. ‘And even then he wasn’t left in peace for long. Someone brought him a letter before eight had struck!’

‘So they told me,’ went on the other. ‘From the Monostor road! Cook was just returning from the market and saw the maid who brought it.’

At this point both women sighed deeply as if their hearts would break. Then Mrs Baczo started again, ‘And they even insisted on waking poor Count Balint! The woman insisted that it was urgent and she had to carry back a reply.’

‘Do you think the young master had been out drinking with the gypsies?’ suggested Mrs Tothy cunningly.

‘Hardly that!’ the other laughed scornfully. ‘He hasn’t been out doing that for many a year. Oh, no! He went somewhere quite different, I’ll be bound … and not where he was expected either or they wouldn’t have sent a messenger after him so early.’

‘Well, at least that’s something to be thankful for, if he’s going somewhere else for a change!’

The two women laughed together maliciously, but they did not pursue the subject for at this moment Balint came in fresh from his bath. It did not matter for they had already said quite enough.

Roza received her son’s morning hand-kiss more warmly than she had for some time. During lunch she listened to all that Balint had to tell her about the bazaar in high good humour, for she had been delighted to have, as she believed, overheard quite by chance that her son had returned home very late that morning and that apparently he had not, for once, been with that accursed woman! Maybe he had even broken with her, for why else would they have sent looking for him from the Uzdy villa if he had been there only an hour before? Countess Roza gloated over the thought of how humiliating it must have been for that Adrienne if she had expected Balint and then he had not come but gone to some other woman. The old lady did not care who that other woman might be for she had always been rather pleased by the idea of her son’s success with women, whether at home in Hungary or abroad. It had first come to her notice when Balint had been abroad as a diplomat. Then, when he had been home on leave, and for some time afterwards, letters would arrive from abroad in obviously feminine writing; but Roza would never ask any questions, she would just ponder and smile. It was the same when he used to ride over at night to visit Dinora Malhuysen at neighbouring Maros-Szilvas — which she always heard about from the servants — though again she never asked questions. Countess Roza did not judge such women for she only thought of them as being different, of another race, and would put them all in the same category whether they were professional cocottes or women of her own world who took lovers, or even a single lover, believing such beings to be merely playthings that the good Lord provided for men and who, in any case, would never arouse in them any truly deep feelings.

The first woman she had been afraid of had been Adrienne. She saw how much she meant to her son and she saw, too, how much he suffered when, a year and a half before, he had come back from Venice where they had been together. Recently Countess Roza had not failed to notice how her son seemed to arrange all his movements, and his work, according as to whether he would be able to see Adrienne; and she hated the younger woman for it.

Adrienne was the only person in the world that Countess Roza had ever hated, and her feelings were all the stronger, all the more unforgiving, all the fiercer and more unmerciful because she believed every word of the malicious gossip her housekeepers made sure she overheard. There was no one in the world that Countess Roza held in more contempt than that wicked heartless Adrienne; and it was for this reason that it was with a feeling of joy and triumph that she allowed herself to believe that Balint had now abandoned and so humiliated her.