Chapter 16. Light Without And Night Within

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_ CHAPTER XVI. LIGHT WITHOUT AND NIGHT WITHIN

Yet it had to be.

Madame Karpathy had promised her friend to share her labours as hostess on the occasion of the feast in honour of her husband's installation as Lord-Lieutenant, just as Lady Szentirmay had shared hers before the fox-hunt. She had vainly tortured her brain for a whole fortnight in order that she might find an excuse to release her from her promise, and not one could she find. Unfortunately, she was so well that she could not even complain on that score. What she feared above all happened. Flora did not forget the promise that had been made, and when the great day was only a week off, she wrote to her friend that she should rely upon her at the end of that time. And so for a whole week Fanny, resigned to her fate, but with the torment of her secret passion in her bosom, suffered in silence at the thought of going to the house of him whom she loved as her soul's ideal, but who would not have been too far away from her, so she thought, if he had lived in another planet.

Flora welcomed her friend with great joy, her satisfaction was unmistakably visible on her honest, lovely face as she pressed Fanny between her arms. Rudolf's manner was kindly and courtly, but nothing more. He was glad to see his pretty neighbour in his house and anxious to make her comfortable, but she did not interest him in the very least.

And indeed Fanny herself found the situation much less dangerous than she had imagined. Ideals, especially ideals of the masculine gender, in their domestic circles lose very much of the nimbus which they carry about with them elsewhere. At home you hear them whistle and shout, and bully their servants and domestics, and see them immersed in everyday household affairs. You see them eat and drink and look bored. You see them with imperfect or unaccomplished toilets, and often with muddy boots, especially when they look after their own horses. You begin to realize that ideals also are as much subject to the petty necessities of life as ordinary men, and do not always preserve the precise postures you are wont to see them in when their portraits adorn the picture-galleries. With women it is quite different. Woman is born to beautify the domestic circle, woman is always fascinating whether she be dressed up or domestically dowdy, but man is least of all fascinating at home.

In a word, Fanny felt the danger to be much less when it was actually before her than it had seemed to be when seen from afar, and she looked at Rudolf much more calmly with her bodily eyes than she had been wont to do with the eyes of her imagination.

Thus the first week which Fanny spent at Szentirmay Castle was by no means so very painful, and after that Rudolf had to go to the capital from whence he was only to return on the day before the installation.

Meanwhile the two ladies, with the utmost forethought, were arranging everything for the approaching festivities, and whatever one of them forgot was sure to occur to the other. Fanny began to find her position more and more natural; every day she began to gain a greater command over her tender emotions, and indeed life, practical life, makes possible and comprehensible much which poetical logic and the imagination label--absurd.

On the day of the installation, Lady Szentirmay and Madame Karpathy drove over to the county town where lodgings had been provided for the former's husband as Governor-General, at the town-hall.

Szentirmay wished his installation to be conducted with as little pomp and ceremony as possible. The most eminent ladies of the county watched the procession from the balcony, and Madame Karpathy also was among them. It was difficult to recognize any one in particular among all those holiday faces, such a different aspect did their Oriental gravity and splendid Oriental _Koentoeses_ give them. Several of the younger cavaliers saluted the ladies with their swords.

At length the carriage of the _Foispan_ came in sight with a clattering escort of twelve knightly horsemen. He himself was sitting bareheaded in the open carriage, and something like emotion was visible on his handsome noble face. Loud cries of "Eljen! eljen!" announced his approach. Every one knew of him by hearsay as the noblest of men, and every one rejoiced that the best of patriots and the most excellent of citizens should have attained the highest dignity in the county. Madame Karpathy looked at him tremblingly, better for her if she had never seen him like this.

The procession passed across the square to the gate of the town-hall, and half an hour later Rudolf was standing in the large assembly-room filling it with his sublime impassioned words, till all who heard felt their hearts leap towards him. Madame Karpathy also heard him, she was in the gallery. Ah, it would have been better had she neither seen nor heard him there. Now she not merely loved, she adored him.

All at once she began to notice that somebody in the assembly-hall below was making frantic signs to her with hands and head, and using every available limb to attract her attention; nay, he even got upon a chair in order to be able to see her better. At first she did not recognize the man, but presently the disagreeable recollection thrilled through her that she had seen him before somewhere, and she regarded him more closely with a look of aversion--it was Mr. Kecskerey.

Why, what could have brought that worthy man thither, for it was not his way to put himself to any inconvenience without very good reason.

The sight of this man made a very disagreeable impression upon Fanny, and jarred upon her nerves. Every time she looked at him she perceived, much to her indignation, that his eyes were fixed constantly upon her.

The official ceremonies were generally terminated by a magnificent banquet during which the assembly-room with magical rapidity was converted into a dancing-room, to which the guests then returned.

The best and bonniest of the whole country-side were together, the most illustrious of the men and the loveliest of the women.

Rudolf opened the ball with the Princess * * * who was considered the most important personage present amongst the ladies, and then danced with all the other women in turn, according to rank. How Fanny trembled, and how her heart began to beat, when she saw him approaching her. Lady Szentirmay had just been carried off by some young cavalier for a waltz, and she was sitting there alone.

Rudolf politely walked up to her, and with a deep bow invited her to dance. Oh, how beautiful he was! Fanny durst not regard him at that moment. Rudolf bending half over her, offered her his arm.

Poor lady, she was scarce able to utter these few words: "I am not allowed to dance, my lord. I have been very ill."

He could not but believe what she said, as she was as pale at that moment as if she were about to descend into the tomb.

Rudolf expressed his regret in a few courtly words, and then retired.

For some time afterwards Fanny durst not raise her eyes, as if she fancied he was still standing before her. At last, however, she did look up, and the eyes that met her gaze were--Mr. Kecskerey's.

"The Madonna of Mount Carmel, for all the world!" said that worthy cavalier, saluting her _chapeau-bas_, and confidently drawing still nearer.

Fanny hastily pulled herself together. She had the foreboding that she must hide her very soul from the scrutiny of this man; so she accepted his salutation with a cold smile, and made as if she were not afraid of him.

"What a loss it is to the company that your ladyship does not dance, but what a gain to me who, also, do not dance," said the hero, with impertinent familiarity. And he sat down beside Lady Karpathy as if he were an intimate friend, throwing back his dress-coat on both sides, and nursing one of his legs in both hands. "Will it bore your ladyship if we have a little talk together?"

"I am a good listener."

"During the last few days a joyous rumour has flashed through our capital which has made every one happy who has heard it."

"What rumour is that?"

"That your ladyship intends to spend the coming winter in the capital."

"It is not yet certain."

"You drive me to despair. Surely, my friend Karpathy is not such an ungallant husband? Why, he should fly to execute his wife's wishes!"

"I have never told anybody that I wanted to reside at Pest."

"The lady is secretive," thought Kecskerey. "I know that they are making their palace at Pest habitable. We shall get to the bottom of it presently."

"Yet the Pest saloons will be very attractive this winter, and we shall form some very elegant sets. The Szepkiesdys are coming up, and we may also expect to see there Count Gergely with his mother, young Eugene Darvay, the handsome Rezsoe Csendey, and that genial prince of buffoons, Mike Kis."

Fanny toyed indifferently with her fan; not one of all these persons interested her in the least.

"And I know it as a fact, that our feted friend Rudolf is also going to spend the winter there, with his handsome wife."

Hah! what impression will that make? Will she be able to conceal the smarting pain she felt at that moment? But no, she did not betray herself; she merely said, "I don't fancy we shall go to Pest."

With that she rose from her seat. The dance was over, and Flora, hastening to her friend, passed her arm round her waist, and they took a turn together round the room.

Mr. Kecskerey began to rock himself gently to and fro on the sofa and draw conclusions.

"Why did she sigh so deeply when she said, 'I don't fancy we shall go to Pest'?"

Just then Rudolf drew near, and Mr. Kecskerey seizing his opportunity, put his arm through Rudolf's, and paced with him up and down the splendid saloon, as if they had been the very best friends in the world. And here we should do well to remember that Mr. Kecskerey was a personage of remarkable consideration in the highest circles, and enjoyed a position of distinction there peculiarly his own.

The worthy cavalier--I mean Mr. Kecskerey--had just drawn Rudolf underneath a chandelier, whether that people might see them together there, or whether he himself might see Rudolf better, I cannot say. The two young belles, the queens of the ball, were walking in front of them, arm-in-arm. How beautiful they both were!

"What a pair!" cried Kecskerey, rapturously. "To which of them would that wretched mythological Paris have given the apple of Eris, if he had had to choose between two such goddesses? And how they walk, arm-in-arm. A true _belle alliance_! Nay, I express myself badly, I ought to say _affreuse alliance_! Why, separately they are capable of subjugating the world! Why need they combine their charms? My friend, beware of this dangerous alliance; Madame Karpathy is a splendid woman."

"My wife is the prettier," replied Rudolf, with mild self-satisfaction.

"I honour you for that word, Rudolf. You are indeed a tender husband! But your wife really is an angel. Madame Karpathy pales before her. Hers is not the beauty which can interest men of genius, she is too sensitive."

"Nay, nay; I will not have you depreciate her in order to cry up my wife. On the contrary, I admit that Madame Karpathy is a very beautiful woman; indeed to some person's tastes, she might appear the ideal of loveliness."

"Yes, true; poor Abellino, for instance, at one time, would scarce allow that a more beautiful woman had been born into the world since Helen of Troy or Ninon d'Enclos. He was quite mad about her; ruined himself, in fact, because of her. He spent sixty thousand florins upon her."

"What do you mean by that?" inquired Rudolf, much offended.

Kecskerey laughed good-humouredly. "Ma foi! that is a vain question from you, Rudolf. As if you did not know that it is usual to spend something on young women."

"But I know exactly what happened to Abellino when he forced six hundred florins into the girl's hand, and the manner in which she flung them back in his face was equivalent, among friends, to at least three boxes on the ears. I remember it well, because it led to a duel, and I was one of the seconds of Abellino's opponent."

"Ah ca, that's true! But you know how often it happens that when one has flung back a paltry five or six hundred florins between the eyes of the giver, one does not do the same with sixty thousand florins, when offered afterwards. I do not say this from any wish to injure Madame Karpathy, for, of course, nothing happened between them. But it is true, nevertheless, that she accepted the offer, and promised her dear mother, worthy Mrs. Meyer, that she would listen to Abellino's words, or to his sixty thousand florins, which is the same thing; and when luck unexpectedly suggested to old Jock that he should sue for her hand, in order to spite his nephew, the girl had sense enough to choose the better of two good offers, and accepted him. But not for all the world would I say anything ill of her. She is a lady of position and altogether blameless; but, for that very reason, I do not see why one or other of us might not have tried his luck with her."

At that moment several other acquaintances came up to Rudolf, and claimed him; so he parted from Kecskerey. But henceforward an unusual air of disquietude was visible on his face, and as often as he encountered his wife, who never left Madame Karpathy for an instant, an unpleasant feeling took possession of him, and he thought to himself, "That is a woman who might have been won with sixty thousand florins."

And then he reflected that, in the course of the evening, Kecskerey would tell the same pretty story to a dozen or more other men; so that within an hour's time the whole company would know all about it, and at the same time see his wife walking about with this woman, and talking and whispering to her familiarly. What cared he for Madame Karpathy? She might be as beautiful again as she really was, for aught that he cared; but he reflected that she might cast a shadow on his own wife, his adored, his idolized wife, and this reflection disturbed him. Why had he ever allowed her to make this woman's acquaintance? Flora was so kind-hearted that she would have raised this woman up to her own level; but she never reflected that this woman had a shady past, and that her own good name might be soiled by contact with her.

Of course he knew that it was Kecskerey's habit to run down every one unmercifully, but he also knew that he vouched for everything he said. Whatever he said of anybody was never actually false. He did not circulate downright libels, but he had the knack of probing down into the deepest hidden secret shame of every one he knew.

As soon as the ball was over, Rudolf hastened to seek out his wife. His servants told him that she had already retired to her bedroom. He knocked at the door, and, hearing her voice, entered.

Flora was still in full ball-dress; her maid was doing up her hair.

"May I have a word with you?" inquired Rudolf, peeping through the door.

Flora, with a smile, dismissed the maid; and Rudolf embraced his wife, and impressed a burning, a lover's kiss on her radiant face.

"Ah, stop!" cried Flora, hastily, disengaging herself from the encircling arms. "Are you not aware that I am very angry with you?"

Well, at any rate, it was very amiable of the dear wife to allow herself to be kissed first, and then only to recollect that she was angry.

"May I know how I have offended?"

"You have been very discourteous to me to-day. The whole evening you have not deigned to speak to me. Ten times, at least, I have purposely passed by where Rudolf was standing, and Rudolf took not the slightest notice of me."

While she was saying these words Rudolf succeeded in securing one of the threatening little hands, and, placing it first to his lips and then to his breast, compelled his beloved wife to sit down beside him again on the sofa.

"Let me make good my fault," said he. "For three hours I have not been near you, therefore for three days I will not quit your side, although I know that in that case it will be the innocent party who bears the punishment."

"Ah, Rudolf, that was but a poor jest, I don't like such witticisms. I want you to give an account of yourself. Why are you in such a bad humour?"

"There was something unpleasant in the installation speeches."

"Ah, my friend, that won't do; you don't deceive me. You would tell me a falsehood, eh? You would lie in despite of that honest open face of yours, in spite of those transparent eyes? And you would lie to me, who exchanged souls with you? It cannot be so; tell me the truth!"

Rudolf's face grew serious, he fell a-thinking, but presently he replied--

"Don't let us talk about it now."

"Why not?"

"It would take too long."

"Ah, Rudolf is sleepy! Poor Rudolf is afraid the conversation would go on for ever. Well, good night, dear Rudolf. If you want to go and sleep, send in my maid again!"

At these words Rudolf arose, bowed, and prepared to go in real earnest.

Then, naturally, it was the wife's turn to give way.

"Well, remain then, I was only joking," said she. "Even now, you see, you are inclined to be ill-tempered--one may not even jest with you. Come here now, and we will play at guessing riddles. Let us lay a wager that I find out what is the matter with you?"

"Let us see," replied Rudolf, making himself comfortable on the sofa, while Flora leaned her head on his breast, and began counting off her guesses on her fingers.

"You have been listening to gossip?"

"Something of the sort."

"About whom?"

"Oh, if I were to tell, the riddle would be at an end. You must guess."

"About me?"

"Anybody who would circulate gossip about you would have to be endowed with a very lively imagination."

"About whom then?"

"Don't worry me. I will tell you. I came here, indeed, resolved to tell you; but then I thought it might disturb you, and I take you to witness that I only come out with it after the most rigorous inquisition on your part. It does not please me, nay--more than that, it disquiets me to see you so very friendly with Madame Karpathy."

"Ah!" So astounded was Flora, that that was all she could say. It was the last thing in the world she had expected to hear. "This really is surprising!" she exclaimed at last. "Another husband would only have been afraid of his wife's intercourse with men: you present the very first example of a husband who is afraid of his wife's women-friends likewise."

"It is because I love you so. My love of you is so devoted, so idolatrous, that I would have every one who sees and knows you approach you with a reverence, a homage equal to mine own. Not even in thought must any one dare to sin against you."

"And do I give cause to the contrary?"

"You do not, but your surroundings do; and this Karpathy woman has a very equivocal reputation."

"Rudolf, my good Rudolf, why are you so incensed against this poor woman? If you only knew her, you would say there was not a more honourable woman in the whole world."

"I know all about her; and you, from sheer compassion, have made her a present of your heart. Your sympathy does you honour, but the world has an opinion of this woman very different from yours: in the world's opinion she is frivolous enough."

"The world is unjust."

"Not altogether, perhaps. This woman has a past, and there is much in that past which justifies the world's judgment."

"But in her present there is much which contradicts that judgment. This woman's present conduct is worthy of all respect."

Rudolf tenderly stroked the head of his consort.

"My dear Flora, you are a child; there is much you do not understand, and will not understand. In the world there are ideas, ugly, extraordinary ideas, of which your pure, childlike mind can form no notion."

"Oh, don't suppose me so simple! I know everything. I know that Fanny's sisters were very bad, unprincipled women, and that only the energy of good kinsfolk saved Fanny herself from being betrayed and ruined. I know that in the eyes of the world hers is a very dubious record; but I also know that, so long as I hold that woman's hand in mine, the world will not dare to reproach, will not dare to condemn her; and the thought of it makes me proud and well pleased."

"And suppose you are attacked?"

"I don't understand."

"Suppose they say of you what they say of her, that you are a frivolous, flighty woman?"

"Without cause?"

"Not without cause. She lives in the midst of a band of empty-headed men, who certainly have no particular regard for a woman's reputation. And you, in consequence of your intimacy with Madame Karpathy, rub shoulders every day with her acquaintances, and will also be taken for a light, frivolous, frail sort of woman."

"I a light, frail, frivolous woman!" cried Flora, visibly wounded; but the moment afterwards she shrugged her shoulders. "It matters not. Rather let the whole world be unjust to me, than that I should be unjust to any one. And, after all, why should I care about the world, when you are the whole world to me? Let everybody regard me as a light woman for Madame Karpathy's sake; so long as you do not, I care nothing about the others."

"And if I, also, considered you as much?"

Flora sprang up from Rudolf's side in amazement.

"Rudolf! think what you are saying. Are you serious?"

"Yes, I am serious."

Flora reflected for an instant, then she said decidedly--

"Very well, Rudolf, I assure you that I am neither frivolous nor weak--weak not even in respect to you." And with that she sprang to the bell-rope and pulled it violently three times.

The maid entered.

"Netti, you will sleep in here with me to-night."

Rudolf looked at his wife with the greatest surprise.

"This is a sentence of banishment, eh?"

"It is."

"For how long?"

"Until you withdraw your words."

Rudolf smilingly kissed her hand and quitted the room; but he lay down in a very bad humour, and it was a long time before he could go to sleep. Often he was on the point of starting up, hastening to her room, begging her pardon, and giving her a written assurance under his hand and seal that women are the strongest, the most determined creatures in the world, and that there never was and never will be such a thing as a frivolous, frail young woman--but the self-respect of a husband always restrained him. It was not right that he should surrender so soon. He must show that if his wife had strength of mind enough to dismiss him, his strength of mind was not less than hers. On the morrow she would certainly be the first to plead guilty of contumacy; and with thoughts like these he went to sleep. _

Read next: Chapter 17. A Dangerous Experiment

Read previous: Chapter 15. The Spy

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