Laszlo made no sign that he had heard. As the one-horse carriage moved slowly along the dark twisting streets of the Elisabeth district on its way back to the centre of the city, Fanny’s hand searched for Laszlo’s in the darkness and held it gently as if she shared his suffering. It was the very lightest of contact, a mere touch of the fingertips. She said nothing until much later, when they had almost arrived at Laszlo’s lodgings, when she murmured: ‘I’ll stay with you tonight.’
The night porter opened the door sleepily and together, side by side as if they had been strolling in the Korso, they went up the three flights together.
They entered the apartment without a word. They did not put any lights on for the glow of the street-lighting below was enough for them.
Laszlo still did not speak. He might have been alone. He sat down on the shabby divan near the wall and buried his face in his hands. Overcome by fatigue, he stayed there without moving for some time, his heart beating so slowly that he felt that at any moment it would stop — and how wonderful it would be if it did!
Laszlo noticed nothing of what was going on around him. Time went by; he had no idea how much, and all at once he felt two cool arms round his neck, a soft woman’s body pressed against his hot lips covering his neck with fluttering, comforting kisses. Then silky hands caressed his head and pulled it down to naked velvety shoulders, a mouth searched for his, a tiny tongue inserted itself between his lips, and scented breath perfumed his own breathing. Slowly the purple darkness of desire wiped out the pain, dulling his misery like that legendary potion which makes a man oblivious to everything but love and passion …
At the first light of dawn Fanny awoke to find herself kissing the hand of the young man beside her. Dazed with gratitude she kept her eyes closed, happy to feel that his other hand was gently caressing her relaxed body, moving with delicate care over the skin of her thighs, arms, breasts. After a while she looked up at him. He was half-lying, half-sitting on the bed beside her, the upper part of his body raised against the pillows and his head was held high and turned towards the window. Laszlo was gazing out into the dim grey of early morning, his eyes, filled with despair, were wide open and his mouth was contorted with pain. And though his hand was stroking Fanny’s body, his movements were automatic, unconscious. His spirit was not there. It was far, far away … at Simonvasar.
PART FIVE
Chapter One
Denestornya. Village. County of Torda-Aranyos. Gyeres District. Inhabitants: 1‚737: Prot. 1,730; Rom. Cath. 5: Jews 2. Castle and park of Counts Abady. District Post and Telegraph.
— This much is told us by the County Guide.
THE CASTLE STOOD on the edge of the Keresztes grasslands A which form the principal plateau of central Transylvania. It was sited on a small eminence seventy feet or so above the Aranyos plain, the first of a group of small hills which rise gradually to the south, eventually becoming the low mountain chain which runs from Torda to Kocsard. The original fortress must have been constructed about the time of Bela III, for the lowest vaults, like those of the church nearby, date from the twelfth century. Whoever chose this site chose well. The low rise on which the castle stood was made of smooth-surfaced clay soil enriched with layers of marl. The eastern face was steep, that to the north sloped gently downwards, as did the western side where the village had grown up under the protection of the fortress above it. When the castle was first built it must have been almost inaccessible due to the marshlands created by the flooding of the river below. Over the centuries, however, the flooding had receded, for now the land was covered in a rich layer of fertile soil. The top of the little hill was entirely covered by the castle. The only open approach was from the south but here there had been dug a deep moat which was once protected by palings and outer fortifications, the outline of whose foundations, since covered over, were now visible only when looked down on from the hills behind.
Over the years the original outer ramparts had all disappeared, leaving only the main building to which had been added, at different times and in different styles, a series of later wings. The long rectangle of the main building was closed at each corner by massive stone towers which presumably had been added as a defence against the first cannon. Where the outer walls had stood, later Abadys, freed from the threat of siege, had planted flower-beds and lawns.
The last of the medieval defensive outworks, the tower over the gatehouse, had stood as late as the eighteenth century when the father of that Abady who had become Governor of Transylvania, pulled it down because the arch and drawbridge below had not been wide enough to allow his imposing new coach to pass. At first they tried to widen the narrow gateway, but in so doing the structure was weakened, dangerous cracks appeared in its masonry and the whole structure had to be demolished, leaving an empty space where once the great gatehouse had marked the entrance from the moat to the castle’s defended outer courts.
Here Count Denes Abady built a horseshoe shaped forecourt, on the right of which he erected stables for thirty-two horses, while on the left there was a covered riding-school. In the apex of the horseshoe curve that joined these two buildings was an imposing gateway to the inner court through which could pass the largest carriages with all the parade of outriders and postillions. Over the doorway gigantic titans of carved stone lifted boulders menacingly as if they were always ready to hurl these down on anyone bold enough to venture that way; while towering above these giants was the figure of Atlas bearing the globe upon his back. On each side of the new great entrance were carriage-houses, tack-rooms, baking ovens to make enough bread for a hundred persons, a laundry furnished with a cauldron large enough to hold the dirty linen of a small town, and apartments for the equerries, footmen, coachmen, porters, grooms and huntsmen. The horseshoe court was built in rococo style between the years from 1748 and 1751, as an inscription over the door arch tells all those who pass below. The parapet, which half-hid the low curving roofs, was decorated on the outer side by large ornamental vases while on the inside, five metres apart, were placed statues of ancient gods and mythological figures, each with their traditional attributes and all writhing and twisting as if in ceaseless movement.
The Count Abady who created all this grandeur and fantasy had clearly been a great builder, for it was he who had also created the great stair with its stone treads, carved marble balustrade and stuccoed ceiling. And it was he who had also replaced the simple conical roofs of the four stone towers with elaborate double cupolas.
When the gatehouse had been removed the two long wings which had formed the side of the original inner court of the medieval castle had been left like legs attached to a seated body. Fifty odd years after the rococo court had been built these two wings were re-faced in the neo-classical style of the Empire period, while, even more recently, Balint Abady’s maternal grandfather had added a Gothic Revival veranda to the western side of the medieval walls from which he could enjoy the truly majestic view across the Keresztes grasslands, up to the big cleft above Torda and finally to where, high in the sky, hung the snow-clad peaks of the Carpathian Mountains.
So, with time, the great house grew and was transformed and spread itself with new shapes and new outlines that were swiftly clothed with the patina of years, so that when one looked at it from afar, from the valley of the Aranyos or from the hills even further away, the old castle with its long façades, cupola-capped towers and spreading wings and outbuildings, seemed to have sprung naturally from the promontory on which it stood, to have grown of itself from the clay below, unhelped by the touch of human hand. All around it, on the rising hills behind and in the spreading parkland in front, vast groves of trees, some standing on their own while others spread like great forests, seemed like soft green cushions on which the castle of Denestornya reclined at its ease, as if it had sat there for all eternity and could never have been otherwise.