They Were Found Wanting (4 page)

Ever since they had left the Uzdy villa Laszlo had been
thinking
of ordering a serenade himself, regardless of the fact, which never even occurred to him, that he only had some twenty crowns in his pocket. Now he felt himself to be a
grand
seigneur
, high above everyone else, and this was his chance to set them an
example
and show them all how these things should be done. The
problem
was to decide where, and to whom. It was not as if he were paying court to anyone in the town, either to a young
marriageable
girl or to a married woman. On the days that he happened to come to town from his home at Szamos-Kozard, with a few coins in his pocket from the sale of some cucumbers or lettuce, he would put in an appearance at whatever festivity was going on, dance if it were a ball or pay calls and drink coffee and whipped cream at a house where there were young girls on the market, play the piano if anyone asked him; but he would do all this mechanically, hardly noticing where he was or what he was doing. Although he was still so good-looking that more than one girl would try to make eyes at him, he took no notice and indeed was barely aware that he had made a conquest and had an
opportunity
for flirtation. It was all the same to him whether he sat next to one girl or another. When invited to sit down and talk he would do so partly because good manners demanded it but mainly out of torpor. Now he had no idea to whom he should offer a serenade.

As they happened to be in front of the small town
palais
of the Gyalakuthys, which stood just across from the road from the Laczok house where they had been earlier, he decided on impulse that this must be the place.

Dodo Gyalakuthy was a nice little thing, a good girl who loved music and who, when he called at the house, always asked him to play. Now, as he tried to collect his thoughts and
concentrate
, he remembered that she always talked to him very nicely, asking him all sorts of questions about many things, about music, for instance, and his life in the country. Why not Dodo? Yes, he would play his serenade for her!

It was about five o’clock when Dodo was awakened for the second time that night. How odd! she thought. The Laczok girls are
getting
two serenades on the same night. They
are
lucky!

Dodo never thought the music might be for her, for the simple reason that it never was. None of the young men would dare to be thought to be courting her as she was known to be so rich that no one wanted to be branded as a fortune hunter by paying the slightest attention to her. In Transylvania such a thing – God preserve us! – would have been thought very bad form, indeed dishonourable.

Knowing this, she automatically thought it was for one of the Laczoks that the gypsies were tuning up again.

Dodo turned over, trying to get back to sleep. There would be no reason to get up again, as she had before, tiptoeing to the
window
and peering down from behind the curtains. She was sure it must be the same band, the two Alvinczys, Pityu Kendy, Gazsi and Uncle Ambrus … and Laszlo Gyeroffy.

Yes, he had been with them. Well, in a sense with them, though he never seemed to be much with anybody. He just tagged along. Poor Gyeroffy! How hurt and bitter he had been when he came back from Budapest! Of course it was all the fault of that cousin of his, Klara Kollonich. What pain she must have inflicted to poison the heart of such a sweet dear boy! How could she have done such a thing? How could she? Oh! thought Dodo, I could kill her for it! And she tried to get to sleep.

Somehow the music seemed to get louder … and nearer? She listened hard, sitting up in bed. Indeed the music came from under her window; it was not on the other side of the street at all! And the music? Why, it was that fast csardas that Laszlo had played to her the last time he had come to tea. It was that music,
his
music.

Dodo jumped out of bed and ran bare-foot to the window. Through the closed shutters she could see that it was already light outside. A table stood on the broad pavement outside the house with the men sitting round it. On the table stood champagne and glasses, and on each side there was a policeman who shooed away any early passers-by. And under her window the band of Laji Pongracz played, and by the side of the band-leader stood Gyeroffy! The serenade really was for her, for the girl whom no one came to court.

And it was him, Laszlo!

Dodo stood quite still beside the window, too mesmerized to move. She pressed her hands to her round little breasts as if by so doing she could still the excited beating of her heart and control the joy which throbbed in her throat. Then she remembered that she had forgotten to light a candle and that if he didn’t see an answering light he might think his offering was not accepted. She had to be quick as the second song was already coming to an end.

Quickly she ran to the bed and returned with a lighted candle to the double windows. Opening the inner panes as hurriedly as she could she placed the candle behind the curtains. Then she
realized
how foolish this was, for as it was daylight outside such a tiny flame would hardly be seen. Pulling the outer lace curtains aside she put the candlestick on the sill between the inner linen drapes and the outer window. There it was sure to be seen, and what did it matter if someone had had a glimpse of her round bare arm? Anyhow, what else could she have done? And it wasn’t as if everyone outside had not seen her naked arms when they danced with her at a ball. Surely no one would find fault with that and think her immodest? Feeling chilly, she went to find her feather-trimmed wrap which would keep her warm, as by now she certainly did not feel like going back to bed. What she really wanted to do was to go to the other window and there peep
discreetly
out to gaze and gaze upon the young man who serenaded her, that young man who at long last had noticed her, who had, perhaps, seen how interested she was in him … and who, maybe, even returned her love. Oh, even a little, little bit of it would be enough! How wonderful that would be!

Around her waist Dodo tied the sash of her silken wrap which fitted closely to her slightly chubby but well-formed body and, leaning against the inside of the window, let her dreams float with the memories the music conjured for her. Some of these memories were quite old, going back to the day, a year and a half ago, when she saw Laszlo at the Laczoks’ ball. That had been the first time they had exchanged more than a few polite phrases. The
following
two seasons had been filled with vain longings, for she had only seen him occasionally and by chance. Still she had always had news of him: the news that he was courting Klara Kollonich and that he had become a tremendous gambler and then, almost a year ago, that he had resigned his membership of the Casino Club. ‘And it was only because of his grand relations that he escaped being thrown out!’ Dodo was told, with mocking laughter, by several people who never knew how much they hurt her. But it was not only hurt, because this last news also gave her a tiny secret joy as she realized that it would mean that Laszlo would be forced to leave that cursed Budapest and come home to Transylvania … and when that happened, when he was near at hand, she would somehow contrive to see him, be near him, perhaps even console him, and then … maybe then?

There were also newer memories, souvenirs of this last season when Laszlo occasionally was to be seen in Kolozsvar. When Dodo had heard that he was in town she had got her mother to ask him to tea and to dinner, always of course when other young people were present. She had thus been able to see a little more of him, even though Laszlo never stayed in town for more than a few days at a time.

Always they had talked of music and, with the instinct of a woman in love, she had found just that form of expression and manner that echoed the young man’s artistic yearnings.

During their talks she had also come to learn many other things about him. From a word dropped here and there – which she carefully pieced together afterwards – she had gradually learned all about Laszlo’s financial problems. She discovered that he had leased his property to Azbej, who acted as agent for Countess Abady’s estates, and that ten years’ rent had been paid in advance. ‘It was really very good of Azbej,’ Laszlo had said. ‘I owe him a great debt of gratitude’, and Dodo realized that this meant that he had to live on what his gardener could raise from the sale of apples or vegetables from the garden. Of course he no longer had any credit, only debts, and for this he was grateful to that trusted steward! Naturally Laszlo did not tell her these things all at once. He did not even notice that he had told her anything. Dodo knew because she had listened assiduously to what he would say – a fact here, a fact there, some little hint – and later she would carefully put it all together until these little fragments of information, as in a jigsaw puzzle, formed a
complete
picture. Already she had thought that somehow she must come to his aid and now, as he stood under her window and serenaded her, now that at last he showed some signs of being interested in her, what had only been a vague intention
crystallized
into a firm resolve.

Looking down from the other window, through a discreet gap between the curtain and the window-frame, Dodo had a clear view of the group on the pavement below. Ambrus, Pityu, Kadacsay and the two Alvinczys sat sleepily around the table while a waiter who could hardly suppress his yawns continued to fill their glasses with champagne. The cymbal-player leaned
dozily
against a rubbish bin. It was now full daylight, an hour when all carousers are overcome by sleepiness. The two policemen were still making passers-by cross to the other side of the road. These were mostly peasants from the village at Monostor
bringing
their produce to the market – a few chickens, onion-chains or other vegetables. Some of them stopped for a moment to listen to the music and then went on their way.

But Laszlo played on. A little while before he had taken over Laji’s violin and started to play himself. From his bow flowed a rich stream of impassioned melody. He seemed to have forgotten everything, time, place and occasion, and was conscious only of the music he created. He stood very tall and straight, his hat tilted on the back of his head. His eyes were shut even when, as now, he turned to the musicians and started a new song –
‘They
put
new
tiles
on
the
soldiers
’
barracks
…’

Dodo could not take her eyes off him.

In the middle of the song everyone round the table suddenly jumped up. Uncle Ambrus shouted something, the music stopped, and everybody, even the passers-by on the other side of the road, stared up at the window where Dodo had placed her candle just inside the outer glass and in front of the fine linen
curtains
. The material had caught alight and long flames were
curling
up to the eaves. Smoke was already filling the room. There was a sharp crack as one of the window-panes split in two and fragments of glass fell tinkling to the street below.

Dodo swiftly pulled the bell-cord and then, regardless of
herself
, grabbed both sides of the burning curtains and tore them down. Then she ran to the washstand and seized the water jug.

By the time the frightened maidservant rushed into the room, Dodo was already pouring water over the smoking remains of the curtains on the floor and in her light slippers was stamping out the little flames that still occasionally burst forth.

It was lucky that she had acted so swiftly for if the fire had reached the voluminous lace curtains that hung inside the room it might have been much more serious. As it was the only signs of the near-disaster were some black marks on the parquet floor. That was all; and the soles of her slippers were almost burned through. There was no other material damage.

While her maid, and two others who had run to help, were swabbing up the water from the floor and removing the charred remains of the curtains, Dodo took another look at what was
happening
outside.

Only the two policemen were still there and she called down to them that the damage was only slight and that they could go home. For a while she stood silently by the broken window.

Now Dodo felt sad and heavy-hearted, feeling it to be an evil omen that, just when she was feeling so happy, the serenade should end in disaster. Then she shook her head vigorously as if thereby to dispel such foolish thoughts and turned back to the room.

You silly! she said to herself. There are no such things as evil omens. Sheer foolishness!

And she jumped back into bed, noticing only now how cold the room had suddenly become.

I
T
WAS COUNTESS
Roza Abady’s birthday, a day she liked to celebrate and when nothing pleased her more than for a succession of callers to visit her little
palais
in Farkas Street.

Only one thing was forbidden – nobody was supposed to
mention
which birthday it was.

No one ever did, of course, although they all knew that she had been born on April 12th, 1854. One there was who was bold enough to break the rule, and he had lately taken to annoying the countess by sending her a card on which he wrote ‘My
congratulation
s to the Gracious Countess on her fiftieth birthday’ (or whichever it happened to be).

This bold fellow was Boldizsar Kozma, the son of her father’s former estate manager.

The elder Kozma had five sons; Dezso and Aron were the
oldest
, Geza and Jeno came last and the middle son, Boldizsar, was the same age as Countess Roza. When she was a little girl all five boys had been her playmates until they left Denestornya when old Kozma decided to set up on his own as a farmer, left Count Abady’s service, and rented a substantial property near Teke. Since then the Kozma family had prospered and become rich. They had bought up estate after estate until today they were the owners of the entire districts of Ormenyes and Teke in the Kolozs county. These they had acquired from the former
landowners
who could not compete with five such hard-working, knowledgeable and unpretentious young farmers.

Countess Roza had not seen any of them since her thirteenth birthday. She would hear, for example, that one of them had been to Denestornya to buy the yearling colts, or the lambs or fatted pigs; but though it was always one of the sons who made their purchases and never the father, not one of her former
playmates
ever came up to the castle but remained instead below in the farm buildings with the estate manager. Only Boldizsar used to write to her every year on her birthday from somewhere in the meadow country. Since she had celebrated her fiftieth
anniversary
he had sent cards never failing to mention which birthday it was.

Why he did this Countess Roza never discovered. She was sure that it was done to tease her, perhaps as a belated revenge for some forgotten offence, and it caused her great annoyance. This was now the third birthday on which the arrival of Kozma’s card had put her in a bad mood.

In the morning her son Balint had arrived from Budapest and until after lunch she was happy and gay. In the afternoon,
however
, the fateful card arrived and for Countess Roza the
brightness
faded from the day. As a result she, who was usually too good-natured to permit malicious gossip in her presence, said nothing when her two housekeepers, Mrs Tothy and Mrs Baczo, who always took their lunch with her, started to spice the coffee with ill-natured tales about the Abadys’ friends and neighbours.

Never stopping their knitting the two elderly women sat at each end of a long table, perched on chairs disproportionately small for their short fat bodies, and kept up an unending stream of malevolent calumny. Although they were in the countess’s
presence
they knitted away and chatted rapidly as if they were talking only to each other. And when they related some exceptionally shocking tale they would stab their needles into their half-finished work as if despatching the culprit in self-righteous virtue. This went on for a long time. Balint listened in silence.

At last it was half-past three and the first callers arrived to offer their congratulations. The two housekeepers rose and
discreetly
disappeared.

As the afternoon progressed more and more visitors were announced until both the large and small drawing-rooms were filled with people. In the larger room the hostess sat in the usual place in the centre of the sofa. In front of her, grouped around the tea-table, sat the older ladies; the mothers, countesses Gyalakuthy, Kamuthy and Laczok, and with them was the ancient Countess Sarmasaghy, Aunt Lizinka to almost everybody in Transylvania, tiny, shrivelled, amusing and malicious, who talked unceasingly both of politics and of the failings of all her friends and relations, and who was never afraid to use a coarse word, though in a most refined way, if she felt her stories needed emphasis.

Deploring the general wickedness of the world she covered much the same ground as had the two housekeepers an hour or so before. The chief target that afternoon was Adrienne Miloth, wife of Pali Uzdy, who, declared Aunt Lizinka, was an
incorrigible
flirt who had set her cap at every man in their circle ever since she had come to town for the carnival season.

‘… and she’s not content – oh, dear me, no! – to turn the head of my poor nephew, Pityu Kendy, as she did last year, or of that great dumb Adam Alvinczy – and they are just two among a whole throng of others,’ croaked Aunt Lizinka in her guinea-fowl voice, ‘… so she’s now seduced my other nephew, Ambrus. Of course I haven’t seen it with my own eyes but Ambrus isn’t the sort of man to be satisfied by sweet talk alone. Oh no! I’m sure she’s put more in his mouth than honey-covered words. No doubt of it. Maybe they’re careful but it’s well-known that a stallion like Ambrus doesn’t stop at neighing. And what’s more – and I know it for a fact as my cook told me – that when poor Uzdy’s away Ambrus is always hanging about the house even if no one sees him.’

The other ladies just listened, hardly uttering a word. Even Countess Laczok, whose sister was Adrienne’s mother, did not dare defend her niece since she too had marriageable daughters and was afraid of what Lizinka might start saying about them if she appeared to disagree. Eventually it was Countess Gyalakuthy who tried to put a stop to it.

‘All that’s as it may be,’ she said, ‘but it’s surely over, especially now that Akos Miloth’s wife has got so much worse in that clinic in Vienna. I hear her daughters have all gone to be with her.’

‘They left last week,’ Countess Laczok hastened to reply. ‘I’m afraid it’s bad news.’

Countess Abady’s bulging grey eyes looked round the group from Aunt Lizinka to her son, who was sitting silently among the old ladies. There her glance lingered for a moment before she turned and spoke to the kindly, plump Countess Laczok.

‘I had heard that the poor thing’s not been well for some time.’

‘That’s for sure. And this time it’ll be the end!’ interrupted Aunt Lizinka who was dying to get back to her favourite theme. ‘And what’ll become of poor little Margit Miloth without a mother one can only imagine! Then she’ll only have Adrienne’s example to guide her!’

A new visitor was announced. It was old Daniel Kendy who, in his old-fashioned and slightly worn morning coat, was still an impressive figure. Only his red nose showed how partial he was to the bottle.

He bowed over Countess Abady’s hand.

Balint seized the opportunity to offer Daniel his chair and walked swiftly into the adjoining room, his mouth set in a bitter line from all the innuendo and gossip he had been forced to listen to since lunch.

In the smaller drawing-room were gathered all the girls and young men. The butler and a footman were serving coffee and whipped cream and handing round cakes on crystal plates. Every now and again the Countess’s two housekeepers would bring in more delicacies – Viennese
Kuglhopf
cake, éclairs and almond pastries – and would put on hurt expressions if everyone did not sample each new dish at least twice. Even so an obsequious, ingratiating smile never left their fat faces.

Balint exchanged a few polite words with each of the guests in turn and was just answering someone’s question when Dodo Gyalakuthy came up to him and touched his arm.

‘AB!’ she said, for Balint was known to everyone in Kolozsvar by his initials. ‘I want to tell you something.’ She spoke urgently and quite loudly for the others were making a lot of noise. ‘Let’s sit somewhere in a corner where we won’t be disturbed.’

Balint led her to two empty armchairs that were at the far end of the room and looked enquiringly at her as they sat down. Now Dodo seemed to hesitate before starting to speak in broken, disjointed phrases.

‘I know it really isn’t any of my business, but still, I think I must tell you … I think it’s my duty to tell you … he, he
is
your cousin …’ She paused and then, suddenly determined, she turned to face Abady. ‘It’s about Laszlo Gyeroffy!’ Now she spoke
fluently
and in a down-to-earth manner. She was quite specific and related succinctly what she had picked up from Laszlo during the last few months, and which she had cleverly reconstructed to form a true estimate of the situation. She explained how
advantage
had been taken of Gyeroffy’s lack of interest and apathy and of his total indifference to worldly matters, and that he had been persuaded to lease his entire property for an absurdly low sum that had been paid in advance and how, as a result, he now had practically nothing to live on. Advantage had been taken of his need and it was absolutely vile, what had been done to him. It was a wretched matter which shouldn’t be tolerated. No! It
simply
shouldn’t be tolerated!

‘But this is very serious,’ said Balint when Dodo had told her tale. ‘I suspected something of the sort but I didn’t know what was going on as for some time Laszlo has taken care to avoid me. However, if it’s all been done legally and Laszlo accepts it, I don’t see how it can be put right.’

‘But it can!’ interrupted Dodo triumphantly. ‘Don’t you see? The one who’s done all this to Laszlo is
your
agent. He’s called Azbej, or some such name. That’s why I’ve come to you. If
you
intervene, if
you
threaten him … why, he could go to prison for such villainy!’

‘Kristof Azbej? You really mean him, my mother’s lawyer? There are lots of people of that name?’

‘Oh, yes, it’s quite certain! They met at your place, at Denestornya.’ Dodo laughed: ‘…and that stupid Laszlo has even been led to believe that Azbej has made a great sacrifice to help him. Look, I’ve written down all the details as Gyeroffy related them to me. I think I’ve got them right!’

She handed him a folded sheet of writing paper.

‘Something will be done about this. You can be sure of that,’ said Balint as soon as he had read Dodo’s notes, all his natural instinct to help others, that instinct that had caused him so much trouble in the past, now fully awakened. ‘I’ll send for the fellow at once. It’s unheard-of – and to one of our own relations on top of it all. I’m deeply grateful, Countess Dodo, that you’ve told me all this.’

‘It’s I who will thank you, if you do something!’ replied Dodo, blushing deeply as if she had inadvertently said something
indecent
. Then she got up abruptly and hurried into the big
drawing-room
.

The young man remained for a moment standing in the centre of the room. Through the wide-open double doors he watched the girl go up to her mother and put her hand on her shoulder. The old lady got up at once and the two of them said their
farewells
and left.

‘That Dodo is a nice, clever girl,’ thought Balint. ‘How good she would be for Laszlo! She’d keep him in order all right!’ Then he turned his thoughts to Azbej, deciding that he would send a telegram summoning the man to come and see him. Then he would question him and if he discovered that what he had been told was true, then, and only then, would he tell his mother. It was unthinkable that one of her trusted employees should do such a monstrous thing. The man should be thrown out at once.

The same afternoon he sent a wire to Azbej at Denestornya: ‘
COME IMMEDIATELY
’.

In the morning there was no sign of the man but after lunch Countess Roza asked her son, ‘You have sent for Azbej? May I ask why?’

Balint was somewhat surprised by the question, wondering if someone was spying on him by reading his telegrams. His tone in replying was therefore rather more short than was called for. ‘Yes, I have something to ask him.’