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A Hungarian Nabob: A Romance, a novel by Maurus Jokai |
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Chapter 10. Poor Lady! |
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_ CHAPTER X. POOR LADY!
The poor lady I mean is Madame Karpathy. She had got a husband, and along with him enormous wealth and a monstrously grand name, both rather burdens than blessings as a rule. The day does not dawn twice for the richest man, and all the treasures in the world cannot give their possessor peace, joy, love, contentment, and a good conscience. And then that illustrious name; what was it after all? The whole world knew who had inherited that name--an old gentleman with the reputation of a fool, who, to spite his nephew, had married a girl belonging to a family of ill-repute. The old gentleman was either very magnanimous or very foolish. The girl must necessarily be frivolous and forward. Every one was ready to believe the worst of her beforehand. Poor lady! Fanny naturally felt miserable and lonely. There was nobody about her, no friend of her own age and sex in whom she could confide, and she knew not where to look for such a treasure. And yet one day she found a confidant where she least expected it. Her husband had resolved to have a house-warming in her honour, and had had a list made of the intended guests which he sent to her for her approval, by the hands of old Mr. Varga, the steward. This particular piece of attention showed, moreover, how polite and condescending Karpathy was towards his wife. Mr. Varga took the list, and, as was his wont on his passage through the house, continued knocking at every door he came to till he was told to come in. On perceiving his mistress, he stood on the threshold in an attitude of the deepest respect, and would very much have liked to have had there and then an arm long enough to have reached from the door to the sofa. Fanny was strangely attracted towards the old man. There are some persons whom Fortune endows with a cast of countenance which allows you to read right through their features into their pure and honest souls, so that you feel confidence in them at the very first glance. Fanny did not wait for Mr. Varga to come nearer to her, but arose and went to meet him, took his hand, and, despite the old man's strenuous efforts to bow low at every step he took, drew him forward, made him sit down in an armchair, and, in order that he might not get up again, threw her arms round him in childish fashion, which plunged the old fellow into the most unutterable confusion. Naturally, the moment Fanny let him go, and sat down herself, up he sprang again. "Nay, my dear Mr. Varga, do sit down, or else I must stand up." "I am not worthy of such an honour," stammered the old steward, very circumspectly letting himself down into the chair again, as if he were about to beg pardon for being so bold as to sit in it at all, and bending forward so that he might not lean upon it too heavily. "What have you brought me, my dear, good Mr. Varga?" asked Fanny, with a smile. "If you have brought nothing but yourself, I should be all the better pleased. Now you can see how pleased I am to see you." Varga murmured something to the effect that he did not know what he had done to deserve so much favour, and hastened to hand her the document, at the same time delivering Squire John's message; then he prepared to take his leave. But Fanny anticipated him. "Pray remain," said she. "I have a few questions to put to you." This was a command, so he felt bound to sit down again. He had never felt so bad before any other examination. What could her ladyship have to ask him? He devoutly wished that some other person was sitting there in his stead. Fanny took the list and ran her eye down it, and as she did so, her heart sank within her. There were so many strange names, and all she knew about them was that they were all the names of great and illustrious men in high positions, and unexceptionable women. She had not a single acquaintance among all these women, and had no idea which of them she would find attractive, or which of them she might have cause to fear. How was she to comport herself in the society of all these high and haughty dames? If she put on a bold and confident air, they would snub her; if she humbled herself before them, they would ridicule her. They would not credit her with any good qualities. Her very beauty would make them suspicious of her; a hidden meaning, a secret insinuation, would lurk behind all the friendly words they addressed to her. Woe to her if she did not realize this, and woe to her also if she realized it and did not keep her feelings to herself! Woe to her if she did not give back as good as she got, and woe to her if she did! Poor lady! So she ran her eyes down the long list of names before her from end to end. How she longed to find among them some good-natured, generous, tender-hearted woman whom she might look upon as a dear mother--not another Mrs. Meyer, but a dear ideal mother such as all good people imagine every mother to be! how she longed, too, to find among them many a gentle girl, many a young sympathetic damsel whom she might love like sisters--though not such sisters as hers! But how was she to recognize; how was she to approach them? how was she to win their hearts, their confidence? Again and again she read through the list of names aloud, as if she would have discovered from the _sound_ of the names the disposition of their bearers; then she laid it down before her with a sigh, and turned an inquiring look upon the steward. "My dear Mr. Varga, pardon me if I trouble you with a question." Mr. Varga hastened to assure her that he was her most humble servant, and only awaited her commands. "But this question is very, very important." Mr. Varga assured her that he was ready for anything in the world; even if her ladyship should require him to leap through the window, he was prepared to do so. "I am going to ask you a question, to which I require a perfectly sincere answer. You must be perfectly frank towards me. Fancy yourself for the moment my dear father, about to give to me, your daughter, good counsel on the eve of my entering into the world." She said these words with so much feeling, and in a voice that seemed to come so directly from the bottom of her heart, that Mr. Varga, for the life of him, could not help drawing from the inside pocket of his dolman a checkered cotton pocket-handkerchief, with which he dried his eyes. "What is it your ladyship deigns to command?" he inquired, in a voice that sounded as if every syllable he uttered were shod with as tight jackboots as the ones he was himself wearing. "I want you to be so good as to go through all the names written on this list, one by one, and tell me quite frankly, quite openly, what your opinion is of each one of them, what their dispositions are, how the world regards them, which of them are likely to love one, and which are likely to give one the cold shoulder." In all his life Mr. Varga had never had to face so rigorous an ordeal. If Lady Karpathy had charged him to call out five or six of the persons who were down on the list, or take a message to each one of them individually and to go on foot, or to work out the genealogy of every one of them in the shortest conceivable space of time, he would have considered all such commissions as mere trifles compared with what was required of him now. What! he, the humblest of retainers in his own estimation, who regarded with such boundless respect every member of the higher circles that he would have considered himself the most miserable of men had he failed, in addressing them, to give them every tittle of their proper titles and designations--he, forsooth, was now to sit in judgment on these great gentlemen and ladies who did him too much honour in allowing him to address them at all? In his despair Mr. Varga scoured the floor with his heel, and his forehead with the checkered handkerchief. Fanny, perceiving the confusion of the good old man, turned towards him with a look of tender encouragement. "My dear friend, look upon yourself as my father, as the one person whom I can ask for advice in this new and strange world, of which I know absolutely nothing. _I_ cannot help looking upon you as my father. Why are you so good and kind to me?" The good old man felt his heart fortified by the genuine and touching sincerity of these words, and, after coughing once more with uncommon vigour and resolution, by way of a parting adieu to the temptations of cowardice, and thereby steeling his mind the more, thus replied-- "My lady, you honour me far above my merits by your ladyship's boundless favour, and I feel myself inexpressibly happy and fortunate when I am able to do your ladyship any service, however small. And although it is a hateful thing for such an insignificant person as myself to give his judgment or opinion concerning such distinguished gentlemen and ladies as those whose names stand here before me, nevertheless the love--I beg pardon--the respect I bear towards your ladyship----" "I like the first word better; let it stand, please!" "And it is true. I only say what I feel. I also had a daughter once. It was long, very long ago. She was just of the same age as your ladyship; not so beautiful, but she was good, ah, so good! She died long ago, in her youth. And she loved me dearly. But I beg your pardon for making so bold as to speak of the poor thing. But to turn to the business in hand, your ladyship--before I proceed to answer the question before me, pray allow me to make one small remark, by way of advice, which proceeds, believe me, from the purest intention and the utmost good will. First of all, I do not consider it necessary that I should speak to your ladyship at all concerning those persons towards whom--how shall I put it?--towards whom your ladyship cannot feel the fullest confidence; for although God preserve me from taking any exception to anything in the lives of such distinguished gentlemen and ladies, yet, nevertheless, there may be reasons why it might not be quite desirable for your ladyship to have any intimate relations with them. On the other hand, I will pick out from this list such persons as will respond to your ladyship's goodness and tenderness of heart with equal tenderness of heart and goodness. Those, again, whom I shall humbly venture to pass over in silence--and I assume, of course, that they possess in their own honourable persons every recognized good quality--must be taken to be such persons as your ladyship would not care about knowing." "Excellent, excellent, my good friend! You shall make me acquainted with those only whom I should like, and say nothing about the rest. Ah, you know the world well. That is indeed good advice." Mr. Varga looked beseechingly at Fanny, as if to insist that she was not to praise him too much, or he should get confused again and forget what he wished to say. Then he took up the long list, and began to go through it, running his finger along it, but so as not to touch the names, lest he might offend their owners by such ignoble contact. Now and then the conducting finger would pause at a name, and Mr. Varga would look up as if about to speak; but in the very act of coughing to give the proper shade of respect to his voice, he would look again at the name singled out by his finger, think better of it, and tacitly schedule it among those who, though blessed with all recognized good qualities, he did not think suitable for his purpose. But as he drew near to the end of the list, he was horror-stricken to observe how many names he had been obliged to pass over in silence, and drops of honest sweat began to congregate on his forehead as the index finger left ever more and more names behind it--the names of people whom he always treated with the most awful reverence, but not one of whom he would have recommended to the confidence of his daughter, if he had had one. And he had now begun to regard Fanny as his own daughter. Ah! at last his long-drawn features grew round again with satisfaction, and his hand trembled on the paper when it reached a name that it had long been in search of. "Look, my lady!" said he, extending the list towards her. "This admirable lady is certainly one of those in whom your ladyship can repose your confidence without running the risk of being deceived." Fanny read the name indicated--"Flora Eszeky Szentirmay." "What is this lady like?" she inquired of the old man. "Verily, I should have need of very great eloquence to describe her to you worthily. She is rich in all the virtues one looks for in a woman. Gentleness and prudence go hand in hand with her. The oppressed and downtrodden find in her a secret protector; for she does her good deeds in secret, and forbids grateful tongues to talk about her. Not only is it the hungry, the naked, the sick, and the wretched among whom she distributes bread, garments, medicine, and kind words, who know what a good heart she has; not only is it those under legal sentence, for whom she pleads compassionately in high places: her benevolence goes much further than all that; for she takes the part of those who are spiritually poor and wretched, those whom the world condemns, poor betrayed girls who have tripped into endless misery, poor women bending beneath the crosses of a hard domestic life; and they all find in her a friend, a defender who can get to the bottom of their hearts. Pardon me for presuming so far. I know right well that there are many other exalted personages who also do a great deal of good to the poor; but they seem only to take thought for the bodily wants of the destitute, whereas this lady cares for their spiritual needs as well, and thus it comes about that she frequently finds poor sufferers in need of her assistance, not only in hovels, but in palaces. This lady brings a blessing into every house she enters, and scatters happiness and contentment all round about her. Indeed, I only know of one other lady who is worthy to stand beside her, and nothing would give me greater joy than to see them both at one with each other." The emotion written on Fanny's face showed that she appreciated the tender insinuation. "Is this lady young?" "About your ladyship's own age." "And is she happily married?" Fanny was rather speaking to herself than asking a question. "That she is," replied Varga; "indeed, it would not be possible to find on the whole face of the earth a couple so exactly suited to each other as she and His Excellency Count Rudolf Szentirmay. Oh, that is a great man if you like! Every one admires his intellect and his great qualities, and the whole kingdom praises and exalts him. They say that at one time he was a man disgusted with life, who troubled himself very little about his country; but from the moment when he met his future wife, Flora Eszeky, abroad, a great change came over him, and returning with her to Hungary, he became the benefactor not only of his country but of humanity. But even now God has rewarded him, for that greatest of blessings, domestic happiness, has fallen to his lot so lavishly that it has become a proverb, and anybody seeing them together would imagine that Paradise had already begun for them on this earth." An involuntary, an unconscious sigh arose from Fanny's breast at these words. At that moment the rumbling of a coach was audible in the courtyard; a chance guest had arrived. A great bustling about was heard outside, in the midst of which resounded Squire John's stentorian voice. He seemed to be joyfully welcoming some one, and immediately afterwards Martin entered and announced: "Her Excellency the Countess Flora Eszeky Szentirmay!" * * * * * Fanny, with the trepidation of joy and surprise, awaited the guest who had just been announced. She had tried to form an idea of her, but what would this imaginary figure be like in reality? How the young lady's heart did beat as footsteps drew nearer and nearer to the door and she heard Karpathy cheerfully conversing with some one! And now the door opened, and in there came--not that face, not that figure which Fanny had imagined, but a tall, dry lady of uncertain age, with a false complexion, false teeth, and false eyes, dressed according to the latest fashion. A monstrous hat covered with whole bouquets of flowers, quite shut out the prospect of everything that was behind her back. Her mantle was thrown back over her shoulders, which gave a martial, amazonic cast to her figure, and this impression was intensified by the low cut of her dress, which allowed one to catch a good glimpse of her scraggy shoulders and projecting breast-bone, an alarming spectacle. She had hands, moreover, of correspondingly extraordinary leanness, embellished, why I cannot tell, by monstrously big swanskin muffs, and as she was unable to move her arms without saying something at the same time, and as she could never speak without laughing, and as whenever she laughed she displayed not only the whole of her upper row of teeth (the best procurable at Dr. Legrieux's, No. 11, Rue Vivienne, Paris), but the whole of her gums as well, she continually kept the attention of whatever company she happened to be in riveted with a horrible fascination on her elbows, her gums, and her breast-bone. She had come with her niece as a sort of guard of honour, and Flora had sent her on in front while she lingered behind to rally Squire John a little. Karpathy hastened to make the ladies known to each other: "Dame Marion Countess Szentirmay--Countess Rudolf Szentirmay--my wife." Dame Marion Szentirmay made the lady of the house the most perfect and unexceptionable curtsy, regarding her all the time with an air that seemed to say, "I wonder if she knows how to return it, poor little ignoramus?" And, in fact, so confused and taken back was Fanny that she scarce knew what to say; moreover, she was so lost in the contemplation of Dame Marion's gums that she hardly had had time to observe Flora. But, indeed, there was no need for her or anybody else to try and find words; on the contrary, if anybody had had any to spare, he would have had to keep them to himself, for Dame Marion always brought with her sufficient conversation to keep a whole assembly going. "Pray be seated, ladies! You, Lady Flora, sit down here, by my wife. Dame Marion, a hundred thousand pardons!" A glance at the lady's face had suddenly convinced Squire John that she was quite well aware where she ought and meant to sit, without his telling her; and down she sat accordingly, in an armchair on the other side of the room. "I must ask your pardon, my dear neighbour," began Dame Marion, in an artificial sort of style, belonging to none of the recognized categories of rhetoric, and which continually suggested the suspicion that the speaker was rolling something about in her mouth which she was too lazy to spit out--"I must ask your pardon, _chere voisine_--we live, you know, close to the Karpathy estate in these parts" (_i.e._ It belongs neither to you nor to your husband, but to the Karpathy family)--"for making so bold as to interrupt you in your occupations" (_i.e._ I should like to know what _you_ can find to occupy yourself with, forsooth!), "for although, of course, we ought to have waited for Squire John Karpathy to have introduced us, in the first instance, to the wife so worthy of his love, which is the regular course" (_i.e._ Perhaps you don't know that: how could you?), "nevertheless, as we happened to be passing this way" (_i.e._ Don't imagine we came here on purpose!), "and I have a long-standing legal suit with Squire John Karpathy" (_i.e._ So, you see, you have to thank me and our suit, for our visit; not Countess Rudolf's kindness, as you may perhaps suppose)--"and a pretty old suit it is by this time! for I was young, a mere child, in fact, when it began, ha, ha!--By the way," she continued, flying off at a tangent, "they advised us to put an end to the suit by arranging a match between me and Karpathy. I was young then, as I have said--a mere child, ha, ha!--but I would not entertain the idea, ha, ha! I made a mistake, no doubt; for how rich should I not have been now, a good _partie_, eh!" (_i.e._ Squire John was already an old man when I was your age; but I did not sell myself for his wealth, as you have done!) "Well, you are a lucky fellow, Karpathy, _you_, at any rate, have nothing to complain of. A wife so worthy of your love as yours is, is a treasure you really do not deserve" (_i.e._ Don't give yourself airs, you little fool! Don't fancy people praise you for your beauty as if it were a merit! You ought to be ashamed that it is only your beauty that has made a lady of you!). Here Dame Marion lost for a moment the thread of her discourse, which gave Flora an opportunity of bending over Fanny and whispering in her ear, in a gentle, confidential voice-- "I have long wished to meet you, and have been on the point of coming over every day." Fanny gratefully pressed her hand. A beneficent attack of coughing here prevented Dame Marion from resuming her conversation. Karpathy inquired after his friend Rudolf, Lady Flora's husband, expressing the hope that he would not forget his promise to honour Karpatfalva with his presence on the occasion of the entertainment that was coming off there in honour of the young bride. "Oh, he must be here by then," replied Flora; "he gave me his word that he would be back home in time for it." Then turning towards Fanny, Flora continued, "I have been expecting to meet you everywhere. We country-folks about here are pretty lively, and are always delighted to see our circle increased; and now that we have met at last, we will conspire amiably together to make every one around us feel happy." Dame Marion, however, at once hastened to weaken any pleasant impression which these words might have produced. "Karpathy naturally makes a mystery of his wife's whereabouts. The sly rogue would hide her away, so that nobody may catch a glance of her but himself"--(_i.e._ the old fool is afraid to show her, and with good reason). "Oh, my husband is most kind and obliging," Fanny hastened to object; "but I must own to feeling a sort of hesitation--I might even call it fear--at the prospect of appearing in such lofty circles. I was brought up among quite simple folks, and I feel exceedingly obliged to your ladyships for giving me so much encouragement." "Naturally, naturally!" returned Dame Marion. "It is most natural, and could not very well be otherwise. A young wife is in the most difficult position conceivable when she first makes her entry into the great world; especially when, from the nature of the case, she is obliged to do without what is most necessary for her, what should be her surest support--a mother's advice, a mother's guidance. Oh, a mother's watchful providence is of inestimable importance to a young wife!" Fanny felt her eyes grow burning hot, and her face flushed purple; she could not help it. Alas! to speak of a mother before her was to cause her the most terrible torture, the most piercing shame! Flora convulsively pressed the young lady's hand in her own, and, as if simply continuing the conversation, she said-- "Yes, indeed; nothing makes up for the loss of a mother." Shortly afterwards old Karpathy and Dame Marion repaired to the family archives, where the family fiscal and Mr. Varga were awaiting them, in order to discuss their eternal lawsuit once again for the hundredth time or so, and the two young women were left alone. The door had scarce closed behind Dame Marion when Fanny, with the most passionate impetuosity, suddenly seized Flora's hand with both her own, and before the latter had had time to prevent her, pressed the pretty little hand to her lips and covered it with kisses--kisses that came straight from her burning heart. Again and again she heaped her kisses upon it, but could not utter a word. "Ah, my God! what are you doing?" said Flora; and thus, in order to prevent Fanny from repeating her action, she took her in her arms, kissed her face, and compelled her to do the same. "Oh!" sobbed Fanny, "I know that you are the ministering angel of the whole country-side. As soon as I had arrived here, I heard them talking of you, and from what they said I could well picture to myself what you were. You must have already guessed that in me you would find a poor creature, who was also in need of your charity; but the greatness of that benefit only I could know, only I could feel. Say not that it is not so! Permit me to remain in that happy belief! Permit me to go on loving you as I loved you from the first moment I beheld you. Oh, let me hold fast to the thought: here is a blessed being who thinks of me, pities me, and has made me happy!" "Oh, Fanny!" exclaimed Flora, in a gentle, tremulous voice. She really did pity the woman. "Oh yes, yes! call me that!" cried Fanny, full of rapture, as she impetuously pressed Flora's hand to her heart. She had never released it for an instant, as if she feared that the moment she let it go the blissful vision would vanish. By way of guarantee, Flora pressed her beautiful lips to Fanny's forehead, and gently bade her, from henceforth, call her Flora and nothing else. There was to be no more strangeness between them. They were now to be friends, firm friends. Only with the greatest difficulty did Lady Szentirmay succeed in preventing Fanny from flinging herself at her feet; the poor girl had to be content with hiding her head in Flora's breast and sobbing; and when she had wept there to her heart's content, then only did she feel happy, oh so happy! "Come, come, my dear Fanny!" said Flora at last, with a friendly smile; "don't you think we have had as much of this as will do us good? Listen to me! If you promise never to talk about this again, I will remain here with you a whole--a whole week." On hearing this it was as much as Fanny could do to prevent herself from shedding fresh tears, tears of joy. "And after that I will help you to make the necessary preparations for the coming housewarming which your husband has resolved to give. Oh, you would never imagine how much there is to be done, and how weary you would get over it; but if there are two of us, we shall be able to make quite a jest of it all, and how we shall both laugh at the many funny little mishaps which are sure to occur!" And then the pair of them fell a laughing. Why, of course it would be one of the funniest, merriest affairs in the world--of course it would. Meanwhile it afforded Fanny infinite delight to relieve Flora of her hat, mantle, and every other sort of impoundable article which it is the custom to deprive arriving guests of, as a greater security against their running away. Then they sat down together, and the conversation turned naturally upon women's dress, women's needlework, and other similar trifles which generally interest gentlewomen, so that by the time Dame Marion returned with old Karpathy from the family archives, there was no longer any trace of the passionate and touching scene that had taken place between the two ladies, but they were conversing with each other like old, like good old, acquaintances. "Ah, ha!" said Dame Marion, wagging her head when she observed Flora without hat or mantle. "You are making yourself quite at home, I must say." "Yes, aunt; I am going to stay here for a short time with Fanny." Dame Marion, with an air of astonishment, looked around her into every corner of the room, and then up at the ceiling, as if she could not make out who Fanny was. "Ah! mille pardons, madame. I recollect now, of course, of course--that is your Christian name. I am quite confused by all the family names with which Squire Karpathy's _director jurium_ has been filling my ears. Really this Karpathy family has quite a frightful lot of connexions. The female branch is united by marriage with all the most eminent families in the realm. I verily believe there's not a name in the calendar that it has not appropriated;" which meant, being interpreted, "_Your_ family is not very likely to add fresh glory to the Karpathy family tree!" But Flora only laughed good-naturedly, and said-- "Well, now, at any rate, Fanny is a very honourable name in the family records." Dame Marion, however, kept standing there in amazement, with her long-handled parasol in her hand--like Diana might have looked if she had shot one of her dogs instead of a hare. She could not understand from whence these people derived so much good humour when she was so bent upon aggravating them. "And how long, may I ask, will--this--short--time--be?" she inquired of Flora, with a biting, staccato sort of intonation, gazing vaguely into vacancy. "Oh, a mere bagatelle--only a week, aunty." "Only a week!" exclaimed Dame Marion, in horror; "only a week!" "If only I am not kicked out in the mean time," retorted Lady Szentirmay, jocosely; whereupon Fanny immediately embraced her affectionately, by way of signifying that she would like to keep her for ever. "Ah, indeed!" remarked Dame Marion, petulantly. "Well, well! young women soon make friends with each other. I am so delighted you have got to love each other so much all at once--that shows how much your natures are alike, at which I am charmed. I hope, however, my dear niece, that you will permit _me_ to return to Szentirma. I hope," continued she, "that I leave my niece in safe custody, though. I do not know whether Szentirmay is likely to trouble Karpathy Castle very much with his jealousy. Adieu, my dear neighbour, chere voisine! Adieu, chere niece, adieu!" This ambiguous farewell was capable of a double interpretation, each alternative of which was equally insulting, as it might be taken to mean, either that no sane person had any reason whatever to be jealous of old John Karpathy, or that Karpathy Castle had such a bad reputation that no woman's good name was likely to be improved by a residence within its walls. No sooner had the old wet blanket disappeared than the two young women, in the exuberance of their high spirits, took possession of Squire John, and, singing and dancing, marched him up the stone staircase again into the castle. Squire John himself was in the best of humours; his face beamed, he laughed aloud, and he thought to himself what a fine thing it would have been if both these young women were his daughters and called him father. The ancient rooms resounded with the hubbub and innocent frolics of these two merry young dames. It had been a long long time since those walls had rung with such a sound as that. _ |
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