A Hungarian Nabob Part 34

"Oh, f.a.n.n.y!" exclaimed Flora, in a gentle, tremulous voice. She really did pity the woman.

"Oh yes, yes! call me that!" cried f.a.n.n.y, 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 f.a.n.n.y'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 f.a.n.n.y 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 f.a.n.n.y!" 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 f.a.n.n.y 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 f.a.n.n.y 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 pa.s.sionate 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 f.a.n.n.y."

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 f.a.n.n.y 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, f.a.n.n.y 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 f.a.n.n.y 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.

CHAPTER XI.

THE FEMALE FRIEND.

Lady Szentirmay gained her object. Her week's residence at Karpathy Castle had completely changed f.a.n.n.y's position in the eyes of the great world. Even the most prejudiced became more favourably disposed towards the woman whom Lady Szentirmay freely admitted to her friends.h.i.+p. The proudest dowagers, who hitherto considered that they would be showing infinite condescension if they appeared at a festival where a _ci-devant_ shopkeeper's daughter would play the part of mistress of the house, now began to think that their condescension might bear a little paring down. Rigorously virtuous ladies, who had doubted within themselves whether it were befitting to bring their youthful daughters to thread the labyrinths full of Eleusianian mysteries at Karpathy Castle, now ordered their dresses from the dressmakers without the slightest apprehension. The appearance of Lady Szentirmay was the surest guarantee of virtue and propriety. The mere fact that f.a.n.n.y _had_ gained Flora's friends.h.i.+p made her own domestics regard her with quite different eyes, and even Squire John himself began to understand what sort of a wife he had won; and so the nimbus of gentility began to s.h.i.+ne around her.

The whole day the two ladies might have been seen together, engaged in their great and difficult labours. No smiling, please! The work was really great and difficult. It is easy enough for us men-folk to say, "I will give a great dinner-party to-morrow, or a month hence; and I will invite the whole country-side to it. I will invite not only those I know, but those I have never seen;" but it is our women-folk who have to take thought for it. It is they who have to bear in mind everything necessary to make it all adequate and splendid; it is they who have to take into consideration the thousand and one pretensions, partialities, and caprices of a whole army of guests. It would not have been surprising if the new housewife had not known where to begin first; but under Flora's direction everything went along as smoothly as possible.

She was used to such things. She remembered everything, and yet she always appealed so artfully to f.a.n.n.y as to how this or that ought to be done, that, had not f.a.n.n.y had the keenest appreciation of her friend's delicacy and tact, she might very easily have fancied that it was she herself who managed everything. At any rate Squire John henceforth lived in the conviction that his consort was as much at home in all these mighty matters as if she had lived all her life in the castles of countesses.

And when the evening came, and they were alone together, and had time to converse, how many sage and pleasant counsels f.a.n.n.y listened to from her friend! She did nothing but listen to, nothing but look upon those delicate, eloquent lips, and those still more eloquent, sparkling eyes, from which she was beginning to learn happiness. At such times they would send away their ladies' maids, and help each other with their evening toilets, and then they would talk freely and merrily of the great world and its follies.

First of all, the list of names, which had caused Mr. Varga so much sweat and anguish, would be brought forth, and then they would sit down together and talk scandal of their neighbours, and a delightful joke it was too.

For there's a difference between scandal and scandal. To circulate false reports of the people you know, to lay hold upon their most recondite faults and carefully pa.s.s them on from hand to hand, to undermine the good name of your acquaintances,--that is certainly not a nice occupation, I call it ungentlemanly scandal. But to be acquainted with the vices of the world, and communicate them to innocent souls liable to err; to warn and call the attention of the sensitive and the tottering to the thorns, the flints, the vermin, and the pitfalls which beset their path,--that is a proper thing to do in season, and I call it gentlemanly scandal--although many who read these lines will perhaps prefer to call it nonsense.

We will therefore confine ourselves to gentlemanly scandal, and let us take the men first. It is not I who do it, remember, but these two young women who have got hold of such an interesting list. If I had a hand in it, I should certainly begin with the ladies.

"Here's one right at the top," said Lady Szentirmay, "let us begin with him. If he were an ordinary man instead of a n.o.bleman, they would call him badly behaved. He thinks ill of every woman except his own wife, for of her he never thinks at all, and is violent and pa.s.sionate besides.

When he flies into a rage he does not pick his words, nor looks about to see whether women or only men are near. In the most mixed society, where two or three young girls at least must be present, he tells such queer stories that even the more sensitive of the men cannot but blush. Yet he is a great patriot, whose name is well known and admired; so he claims respect, and must not be blamed like other men. The respect in which he is held, however, is the best weapon to use against him. He will pay court to you impetuously, and you will not be able to avoid him; but all you have to do is to praise him for his political virtues. That always holds him in check. I have tried it, and never known it to fail."

"Let's tick him off," said f.a.n.n.y. "Count Imre Szepkiesdy: that's his name, is it?"--and she underscored him with her lead pencil, and wrote underneath, "A great and very estimable man!"

"Here comes another high and mighty gentleman," resumed the Countess.

"If he had not a t.i.tle, I don't know that the world would recognize him at all. _I_ have never been able to discover what qualities he possesses, though I have the privilege of meeting him once a month. One thing, however, I can label him with: he has a tremendous appet.i.te, and yet is always complaining that he cannot eat. He is a very amiable man: before dinner he complains that he has no appet.i.te, and after dinner that he has over-eaten himself, and if you don't offer him anything he sulks and starves. He doesn't give much trouble therefore."

"Let us write after his name then: 'Baron George Malnay, an amiable man.'"

"Here is a dear silly, Count Gregory Erdey. He is the most delightful fellow in the world, and can keep the whole company in convulsions with his quips and cranks. He can imitate the absurdities of costume of every nation, and can present you with an Englishman, a Spaniard, a Frenchman, and a Jew by a mere twist of his hat. The very simplicity of his absurdity makes him the most harmless of men. You cannot imagine him giving offence to any one. He would be incapable of deceiving a girl of sixteen. His whole ambition is to make people laugh, and all the lovers of laughter are on his side."

"Count Gregory Erdey," f.a.n.n.y noted down, "a dear silly."

"Let us proceed. Count Karvay Louis, a true man of the world _a la Talleyrand_. He observes every one, and is very particular that every one should observe him. He only puts a question to you in order to discover how far you are unable to answer him--it is a positive trap, the consequences of which you cannot possibly foresee. Then he has a trick of sulking for a whole year without saying why; the merest trifle, a letter to him misdirected, is sufficient to upset him till his dying day. If any one comes to see you when he is with you, and this somebody should be lower in rank than himself, and you should sin against the rules of etiquette by rising from your seat instead of merely bowing--Louis will lose his temper, and say that you have insulted him.

And yet he will never give any one a hint as to what is likely to offend him and what not."

"Well, let us write under his name, 'a p.r.i.c.kly gentleman.'"

"And now comes Count Sarosdy, the _foispan._ He is a worthy, good-natured man, but a frightful aristocrat. It delights him to do good to the peasants and the poor, but don't ask him to make the acquaintance of his fellow-men. No tenantry in the whole of Hungary is better off than his, but he will not have a non-n.o.ble person in his service even as a clerk. You will find he will be a little stiff towards you at first, but fortunately he has a good heart, and there are always keys wherewith to open a good heart. It will be no easy matter to win him over to more liberal sentiments, but if we both combine against him, victory will be a.s.sured.

"And now we come to the young originals."

"Oh," said f.a.n.n.y, "I shall understand that cla.s.s better than you do! I know more about them already than I like."

"Last of all come the fine gentlemen. I need not tell you about them either; so we can pa.s.s on to the ladies."

"Oh yes, let us discuss the ladies by all means!"

"First of all comes the wife of the aristocratic _foispan_. She is a c.o.c.kered, discontented dame, who has swooned as many times as other women have sighed. You might stand upon burning embers more comfortably than before her; for you may be sure that she will not approve of anything you may say, do, or even think. If any one crosses his legs in her presence, she faints; if a cat strays into the room, she will have convulsions; if a knife is put across a fork, she will not sit down to table; if there are roses outside in the garden, she will perceive the smell through double window-panes, and faint, so that no flowers can be kept in the room where she may happen to be. You must not let anybody in a blue dress sit down at the same table as herself, for that colour is horrible to her, and she has convulsions the moment she sees it.