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

by Bánffy, Miklós

  Adrienne Miloth’s stand was not far away, a little nearer to the Patronesses’ platform where the dowagers sat enthroned.

  With her was the attractive young wife of Dr Bela Korosi, the elderly university professor who was a prominent member of the Opposition in Transylvania and a power at the provincial assembly, where he led the Independence Party. Mrs Korosi was a pretty dark-haired woman with large eyes and a sweet slightly plaintive expression which seemed to say, ‘Oh dear! Politics and public affairs! There seems to be so much of it! My husband’s entirely wrapped up in such things, and in his teaching …why, he hardly has time to notice poor little me!’

  Their stand had been made to look like a toy shop that specialized in dolls of every sort. There were giant ones from Italy, the size of a six-month-old child, and tiny ones made from a single little cotton tassel, many of them hanging in rows along the front and the sides of the stand, all sorts of Punchinello dolls, comic dolls and baby-dolls; and the largest sat on the counter staring up at the customers with their huge glass eyes.

  From a distance it was hardly possible to see what Adrienne’s stall held for the crush of buyers crowding around. The pretty little Mrs Korosi was a general favourite and all the young men from the Miloths’ circle of friends, the Alvinczys, Pityu Kendy, Kadacsay and many others, kept on coming back even if from time to time they strayed briefly to other stalls or to the bar. Only Uncle Ambrus never moved. He brought up a chair, placed it beside Adrienne and never ceased, in his noisiest manner, to pay court to her across the bonnets and silken hair of the dolls and puppets. He was trying to show by this proprietorial manner that he had some sort of prior right to Adrienne’s attention and so he played the part of a sort of host. He interfered when customers were bargaining, shouting at the young men who clustered round, ‘Don’t be so stubborn, you ass, let’s see the colour of your money!’ or else, ‘Don’t fool around, young fella-me-lad, do as I do! For this lovely lady I’d let them skin me alive!’ And so he thundered on; and he was as good as his word, himself buying the largest doll on display for many times its proper price. He kept the thing on his lap, rocking it in his arms and crying, ‘What a lovely baby! But I could make a better one!’ leering at Adrienne as he spoke. For Ambrus the opportunity was worth every penny he had spent, especially as Adrienne was so busy that she could not answer back.

  Business was good, but there was a problem. As soon as a sale had been made someone had to take the sold doll down and wrap it for the purchaser. This was the job of the two young girls on the stand, Liszka Laczok and Adrienne’s own youngest sister, Margit. Liszka was rushed off her feet, unable to cope with the rush as for most of the time Margit was nowhere to be seen. Each time she was wanted they had to call and call, often as many as eight or ten times, and a few moments after she had reappeared she was gone again.

  In fact she was not very far away, only a few feet in fact, hiding in the little space between the stand and the wall.

  In that little narrow space she was sitting, not alone but with Adam Alvinczy, and it was from there that she reappeared when the calls became too insistent. ‘Why! Here I am!’ she would say, wide-eyed and innocent; but she wasn’t there for long. Margit had something on hand that was for her far more important than merely wrapping parcels at a charity bazaar; she had to cheer up poor love-sick Adam.

  Adam was more forlorn than ever, parading his sorrow at length and finding beautiful love-sick words with which to do so. It was, of course, the old story of his yearning for Adrienne who now would not even look at him let alone speak to him. Why, she even seemed to favour old Uncle Ambrus while hardly noticing Adam’s existence; it was truly depressing.

  This was a familiar subject between Adam and young Margit, and, as far as Margit at least was concerned, it was well worth talking about, as would have been anything that kept them together. And together they certainly were, huddled closely on a narrow chest where there was hardly any room, the long-legged Adam and the little round Margit. In such a constricted space they were obliged to sit closely together, their arms linked, not, of course, in an embrace, but simply because otherwise one or other would have fallen to the floor. And if they were whispering into each other’s ears, so closely that the mouth of one might have been caressing the ear of the other – that, too, was not kissing, not at all, for it was merely by chance that their nearness entailed such intimacy. Merely one of life’s little hazards for which no one could be blamed.

  The main subject between them, either in conversation or in their letters, was Adrienne’s heartlessness. But more and more there was another aspect of the matter which had come to the fore: this was Margit’s great capacity for understanding. And this was what they were discussing at the bazaar. Margit, they agreed between them, after she had first rather shyly made the suggestion, was quite different from her sister. She was warm-hearted, understanding, compassionate, even merciful, and she could so well understand what Adam was suffering. She was, unlike the other, sympathetic … so sympathetic indeed that it was increasingly in vain that Adrienne and Mrs Korosi called for her, for how could she leave poor Adam alone with his great heart and his great sorrow? And this, no doubt, is what she would have replied if anyone had taken her to task for neglecting her duties.

  Roza Abady sat on the Patronesses’ platform among the other dowagers, not because she liked it or had wanted to be there, but because on this occasion she felt it was her duty. Countess Abady’s presence was important and conferred an honour upon the other ladies because it was well-known that she never went out and only saw her friends in her own home. As it happened Countess Roza was already beginning to regret that she had come because she had been forced to have Aunt Lizinka sitting next to her and Aunt Lizinka, as always, let out a stream of poisonous gossip without drawing breath for an instant. Today it was worse than ever, especially for Countess Roza, because Aunt Lizinka had chosen Adrienne for her special target, to which she added pretty little Mrs Korosi, simply because their stall seemed particularly popular with the men. This hurt all the more because it was only that morning that Balint had returned from Budapest, having only now, it appeared, finished his business there; and the old lady found it hard to believe that Adrienne’s move to Kolozsvar had nothing to do with it. Of course, she thought, he had come only because of that woman – and here she was, flirting with all the world in front of the man who thought only of her. If only Roza could believe that Adrienne really loved her son; but no, there she was, leading everyone on, even that terrible old peasant Ambrus Kendy just as if she were in love with him! Of course she must have had an affair with Ambrus – or rather shouldn’t she say ‘with him too!’ These were the thoughts which were upsetting Countess Roza so much that her tired old heart constricted with pain and hatred. Meanwhile Lizinka did not let up. Now she was whispering.

  ‘You see, my dear Roza, that is how such women are today. One man isn’t enough! Oh no! They want a dozen of them, all at once. Look over there, I beg you, just look! You see how Adrienne Uzdy is bending over my nephew Ambrus! Shameless! Why, she might just as well be sitting in his lap before our very eyes!’

  It was true that Adrienne was making it obvious to everybody that she was flirting with Uncle Ambrus. She was doing it on purpose because she knew that Balint had returned and would no doubt come to the bazaar to search her out and it was important that this at least should attract no notice and, therefore, no gossip. It was particularly important because Uzdy was strolling about the hall and every now and again looking over towards her, staring from his great height over the heads of everyone else to check on what she was doing. If only, Adrienne thought, he would notice what she was up to with Ambrus for then he would be less likely to take any notice of Balint.

  Countess Roza sat stiffly upright in her chair, her eyes constantly on the main entrance watching for her son’s arrival. She made no reply to what old Lizinka Sarmasaghy was saying. She merely prayed that the old gossip-monger would start attacking someone else and drop a
subject that she found infinitely distressing.

  But nothing deterred Lizinka.

  ‘What I’d like to know,’ she was saying, ‘is how she manages to keep them all? No one used to be more of a womanizer than Ambrus, running after a different woman every day – but she’s kept him at her skirts for more than a year. Maybe she has some hidden secret, like the witches of old; but what it is, my dear, we’ll never know!’

  Seven o’clock had come and gone and now the crowd was beginning to thin out. There were still plenty of men, however, who were staying on so as to take out to dinner the ladies who had worked so hard at the stands; and there was plenty of time before that, for there was still the theatrical performance to come; and for this all sorts of new people would arrive.

  It was at this point that Balint came in. He did not go straight to Adrienne’s stand but went first to several others before mounting the Lady Patronesses’ platform and greeting his mother and the other ladies, most of whom were now profoundly bored, especially as they had been joined by old Sandor Kendy and the retired Major Bogacsy who was telling them for the umpteenth time all the details of some long forgotten duel. Balint first of all kissed his mother’s hand, then he greeted all the others in the same way, suffering a wet kiss on his forehead from Lizinka, and then sat down beside Countess Gyalakuthy and pretended to listen politely to what Bogacsy was saying.

  The presence of Balint on the platform which was normally used only by the older people soon prompted two of the other young men to come up too. These were Farkas Alvinczy and Isti Kamuthy who, since their election to Parliament, had become imbued with a sense of their own importance and thought it only right to show it by separating themselves from the noisy laughing crowd that was milling about below them.

  Since Farkas had become an elected legislator he had totally changed from the happy-go-lucky young man, who was kind to everyone, danced beautifully and who laughed and joked and went on light-hearted drinking bouts with the others, to a pompous and conceited young politician anxious only to show how important he had become – though in reality his only political function was to attend the House and meetings of the Independence Party and vote in the way he was told to do by the party leaders. Farkas himself barely realized that in Budapest he was merely one of a faceless crowd, and back at home in Transylvania he was anxious to cut a dash in front of all his relations. Nowadays his handsome Grecian face —all the Alvinczy brothers looked alike – rarely wore a smile; and he refused to discuss anything but politics.

  Budapest had had an even worse effect on Kamuthy, who had become a slave to what he thought was fashion. Some enterprising tailor had taken advantage of his vanity and convinced this essentially provincial young man that he had a naturally English appearance. This statement had had the effect of a revelation upon young Kamuthy, especially as he already had a natural lisp which he hoped sounded like the English ‘th’ and which he now used relentlessly even when it did not come naturally. Isti also started dressing in what he fondly believed to be an English manner, but it was more that of the Englishman in a French farce, with a hound’s-tooth check grey morning coat, grey tie, top hat and white spats. To top it all he had taken to sporting a monocle and side whiskers to frame his pink baby face.

  The two politicians came straight over to Balint and at once embarked on their favourite topic: ‘What have you to thay about the thituation in Parliament?’ asked Kamuthy. Then, without waiting for an answer, he went on, ‘Perthonally I find it motht alarming. I told Gyula Juthth that hith Houth Rulth reformth are motht untimely!’

  ‘And why?’ interrupted Alvinczy. ‘Kossuth is perfectly right! It’s the only way to maintain any sort of order. The country needs something different from what we’ve got.’

  ‘The Anglith conthtitution,’ said Kamuthy, making the ‘e’ in English sound like a flat ‘a’, ‘doethn’t allow for Houth Rulth. At Wethtminthter only tradition counth.’

  Old Crookface growled his disgust at the young men’s foolishness, but as he could hardly use his habitual filthy language in front of the dowagers he rose noisily from his seat and fled.

  The bored and long-suffering Lady Patronesses also found the intrusion more than they could bear and gradually melted away. So did Balint; and eventually the only two left on the platform were the tall Alvinczy and the short Kamuthy, who continued their argument for all to see – which both of them no doubt thought was an impressive and improving sight.

  At length one of the organizers came up and asked them to move elsewhere as the platform was now needed for the entertainment.

  As it turned out the entertainment ended sooner than had been planned because one of the star attractions had to be cancelled: this was Laszlo Gyeroffy playing the violin. Laszlo, like old Daniel, had become so dazed with drink that both had had to be helped out of the hall before disaster struck. When the entertainment came to an end the public melted away and the bazaar was over. Now the great hall looked quite different. Whereas at the beginning it had had all the air of an oriental market-place, now it looked like a gypsy encampment after a pogrom. The stalls had all been stripped of their wares; for not only had everything been sold but many of the decorations had been sold too. Some stands were lacking parts of their decoration and were now showing the bare wooden laths of which they had been constructed.

  Now all the organizing ladies handed over their takings to the honorary secretary of the charity and at last everyone could relax and have supper.

  The original plan had been that everyone should now retire to the Redut’s restaurant, where a cold buffet had been laid out for them, but as no one seemed to want to move the men went to the buffet and brought back plates and glasses, dishes of food, napkins and knives and forks and spread the supper over the empty shelves of the stands and even on the floor.

  Many of them formed little groups, sitting down on carpets or cushions robbed from the stands with, in front of them, great dishes of cold roast turkey or galantine or a ham garnished with all sorts of delicious savoury specialities. In a few moments Laji Pongracz and his gypsy musicians appeared, grouped themselves a little way off from the diners and in an instant the violins began to play.

  Adrienne and her friends took possession of the Lady Patronesses’ platform with its wide steps where, as theirs was the largest group, there was room for them all. They were joined by the two other Laczok girls, the young Countess Szentpali, by Dodo Gyalakuthy, and finally by young Margit, who by now was somewhat dishevelled, and Adam Alvinczy whose right jacket shoulder was covered with greenish whitewash from the walls of the hall, not that anyone seemed to notice. Mrs Korosi and some of her women friends occupied the other side of the platform along with some young men who had come with them from Budapest for the occasion. This group was joined by Joska Kendy, the new Prefect of Kukullo, who, in his silent manner, was paying court to the professor’s pretty young wife.

  The effect was bizarre enough; the women in their elaborate silk dresses reclining like Turkish houris on the floor and close to them their equally elegantly dressed escorts all sporting the objects that they had bought from the ladies they courted, whether this courtship was serious or merely in fun. Most of the men were carrying dolls and though Uncle Ambrus had already taken his leave, there were still plenty of others carrying their symbols of gallantry. The smallest was a tiny tassel doll which Joska Kendy had attached to the stem of that pipe which was never out of his mouth. Others peeped from Adam Alvinczy’s pockets, a giant Mr Punch was suspended from around Pityu Kendy’s neck and Abady had sat his Pierrot doll on the ground beside him. In the other group on the platform a further multitude of dolls advertised the success of Adrienne’s stall. Ugo von der Maultasch, on the other hand, had somehow pinned a large gingerbread heart on his waistcoat. Odd though all this looked, no one was quite as ludicrous as young Kamuthy.

  In the course of strolling elegantly up and down the aisles of the bazaar Kamuthy had found himself at one point in front of the Stamp Collectors’
stand and there the ladies greeted him with cries of joy as if he had been a visiting Englishman.

  ‘But we were sure you were English!’ they screamed, and made him repeat ‘Anglish! Anglish! Anglish!’ over and over until he was so overcome with joy and flattery that he allowed them to stick a whole sheet of 10-cent stamps on his forehead. All Transylvanians, be they men or women, never cease to take pleasure in making fun of themselves and of other people – and so it was now with young Kamuthy. By the time the stamps had dried to his skin he had entirely forgotten they were there.

  Laji’s musicians played on, but not so loudly as to drown the conversation or prevent the exchange of anecdotes.

  Much of the talk was being led by young Akos Alvinczy, who had become a sort of honorary aide-de-camp to the new Prefect of Kukullo, Joska Kendy. Despite the fact that Joska was sitting only a few feet away making sheep’s eyes at Mrs Korosi, nothing would deter Akos from telling a series of stories which all had Joska as their hero. Ad majorem Joskam gloriam – to the greater glory of Joska – might have been the motto of Akos’s tales.

  In Joska’s office, Akos related, there was a young trainee who did not turn up for work for several days. The Prefect had a notice printed which he distributed round the town. It read ‘A TRAINEE HAS GONE ASTRAY – TEN CROWNS REWARD TO THE HONEST FINDER’ exactly as if the youth had been a stray animal. Within minutes the young man had reappeared at the Town Hall from which he hadn’t budged since.

  Not far away, he went on, there lived a retired Austrian army officer, who owned some land and who had bought a threshing machine from the government agricultural store. It had the Hungarian national crest fixed to the side. The Austrian somehow laid his hands on a little metal double-headed eagle and pinned this over the Hungarian emblem. So what did Joska do? He asked the man if he had obtained permission from the Emperor to sport the Habsburg crest? If he had, then all was well; but if he didn’t then he’d first be prosecuted for usurping a foreign emblem, then he’d find that his water-pail was too far – or too close – to the engine and, whatever fault had been established, woe to him as all threshing would be prohibited for three months!