Countess Roza guessed at once what this meant, for she knew that when her son was still at the university he had always used the ford when going to visit Dinora. She knew that he used to go at night, steeling out furtively in the vain hope that these visits were a secret shared only by the two lovers themselves. She had never said a word on the subject to her son, but, privately, she had rejoiced. Since the death of Count Tamas, her own life had been arid and joyless and so it was a special pleasure to her to know that her son had become a man.
The knowledge did nothing to change Countess Abady’s deep-rooted conviction that women were divided into two classes: there were decent women such as herself who never looked at any man except their husbands; and then there were … others. These she always referred to as ‘Those’; and among ‘Those’ Countess Roza placed all women regardless of class, background, or degree of licentiousness, who were not as chaste as herself. Quite indiscriminately she would include not only ladies who gave way from time to time to a mild flirtatiousness of manner, but also those who loved to tease men without satisfying them, women who fell deeply in love with men to whom they were not married and remained faithful to them; women who were fickle and promiscuous and often changed their lovers; famous courtesans who were kept by a great nobleman, and streetwalkers who plied their trade in the unlit alleys of the slums. To Countess Roza, whose whole life had been spent protected and infinitely remote from reality, all such persons fell equally into the category of ‘Those’. Not that this bleak and uncomprehending judgement affected her manners or behaviour. She never allowed her opinion of such matters to affect in any way her comportment to those ladies whose way of life was anathema to her. She was never critical, cold or impolite. She said nothing to show her disapproval; and if they were in the same rank of society they would be received in her house and they would not be gossiped about behind their backs. For the countess it was a fact of life that some women were made born like that and so couldn’t help being what they were. They were not guilty or criminal, they were just, well, different; and, as such, she accepted their existence uncritically, with good humour, if without understanding. And what she heard she kept to herself, acting always as if she knew nothing of such matters.
When Balint had first taken up with Dinora, Roza’s attitude underwent a subtle change and, when such things were discussed, to her previous amused but unconcerned smile was added another expression, one of pride. She took joy and a certain consolation in the knowledge of her son’s conquests. It was in some mysterious way a compensation for the loss of her own sex-life, non-existent since the death of her adored husband. It was as if her son were now vicariously taking revenge on life for her; and as if, in him, metamorphosed into the shape of a young man, she had at last been reborn. And since, for Countess Roza, all such women belonged to a quite separate race of beings, she worried no more about her son being involved with such a person than she would have been had he taken up racing or played in international polo matches; in a way it was for her just another form of sport, and so completely harmless.
Dinora had been the first but, naturally, during his years as a diplomat, there had been others. When Balint came home on leave to Denestornya, letters had come, written in women’s flowing hands, firstly from Vienna and later from abroad. Countess Roza always knew when such letters were delivered, for the morning’s mail was first brought to her, and great was her pleasure when, just occasionally, she managed to catch a glimpse of the addresses on Balint’s outgoing letters. Alas, it did not happen often!
Countess Roza did not admit even to herself that she yearned for this information or that when, apparently quite casually, she would say to the footman: ‘If Count Balint has some letters for the post, I’ll have some too,’ it was only a ruse to find out to whom he was writing. Usually, however, the man came to ask for her letters first or else the whole manoeuvre would be for nothing, for on that day Balint had written only business letters or to some male friend. On the few occasions when she managed to find out a name, however, she would do all she could to turn the conversation so that that name should appear to come up naturally, and then she could ask in the ordinary course of conversation for details of the lady’s age, looks, situation in life — all very discreetly, of course.
When she felt that she had enough to go on she would try to fit it all together, just as if she were making a mosaic or tackling a jigsaw puzzle, until, in her own mind, all the pieces were in their right places. Then she would store away the information with secret glee as if she were making a catalogue of Balint’s successes. She was innocently convinced that no one, especially not Balint, had noticed her preoccupation and her stratagems. As far as Balint was concerned she was right. It had never occurred to him that such information was important to her, or indeed that it was any of her business. The housekeepers Baczo and Tothy, on the other hand, were by no means deceived, for in front of them Countess Roza never minced her words or tried to hide her thoughts. Though the countess had never asked a direct question on such matters, they knew how much she loved all information of that sort. They sat with her daily, watched her closely, and knew better than anyone what sort of news their mistress craved.
Since the beginning of the Carnival season they had become aware that Balint had taken to visiting Adrienne, that he went there every afternoon and often stayed a long time, even well into the evening, that the lamps were not lit in Adrienne’s sitting-room until late (that is when Balint was there), and that they often sat alone in the dark. All this information they gleaned in various ways through the upper-servant network. Since Adrienne’s maid was faithful to her and did not gossip about her mistress, they had managed to insinuate themselves into the confidence of Count Uzdy’s cook by means of offering recipes for preserves or sharing secrets about the ingredients of the famous Denestornya pies.
What they heard in this way they would let drop, piecemeal, as they sat drinking coffee with Countess Roza after dinner. Having once or twice mentioned Count Balint’s visits to Countess Uzdy they never again spoke his name but concentrated only on telling tales about Adrienne. Dissembling their malice they would tell only of the ‘shocking’ things they had heard about Countess Uzdy: how she would go skating in the evening but never at midday as respectable ladies did; how she would never dance a respectable csardas, liked to go for walks in the cemetery and, when she was at home — oh, horror! — she would sit on the floor like a gypsy, yes, really, like a gypsy, a nomad gypsy. Oh dear, whatever next? It was of such things that they would talk, lamenting with gusto these depraved habits. And they took care never to involve Countess Roza in their discussions but merely gossiped in front of her, shaking their heads at each other in sad disapproval and, when they really wanted to underline a point that seemed especially depraved, they would take their knitting needles and stab their skeins of wool for all the world as if they were doing a wicked woman to death.
The picture of Adrienne that Countess Roza received in this way was most disquieting. She seemed to be amongst the most vicious and dissolute of ‘Those’ in Kolozsvar, indeed in the whole province; and for this reason Balint’s attachment to her became a constant source of worry and distress. The instinct of a mother had already told her that of all Balint’s affairs this was likely to become the most serious, which is why she had been so pleased to hear that Balint wanted the ford leading to Maros-Szilvas to be repaired. This could only mean that he was once again thinking of Dinora and, if that were so, she would no longer have to worry about Adrienne.