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.