THE FEMALE FRIEND.
Lady Szentirmay gained her object. Her week's residence at Kárpáthy
Castle had completely changed Fanny'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 friendship. 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 Kárpáthy
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 Fanny _had_ gained
Flora's friendship 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 shine
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 Fanny as to how this or that ought to be
done, that, had not Fanny 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 Fanny 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 pass 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 nobleman, 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 passionate 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 Fanny. "Count Imre Szépkiesdy: 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 title, 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 appetite, and
yet is always complaining that he cannot eat. He is a very amiable man:
before dinner he complains that he has no appetite, 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 Málnay, 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," Fanny noted down, "a dear silly."
"Let us proceed. Count Karvay Louis, a true man of the world _à 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 prickly gentleman.'"
"And now comes Count Sárosdy, the _foispán._ 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-noble 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
assured.
"And now we come to the young originals."
"Oh," said Fanny, "I shall understand that class 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 pass on to the ladies."
"Oh yes, let us discuss the ladies by all means!"
"First of all comes the wife of the aristocratic _foispán_. She is a
cockered, 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.
Finally, you will do well to talk of nothing at all in her presence, for
the slightest thing is likely to upset her nerves.
"Ah! next comes the Countess Kereszty. She is an excellent woman. She
has a tall, muscular, masculine figure, with thick, broad eyebrows. She
never speaks in a voice lower than what is usually required for
commanding a regiment; while her gruffest voice is sufficient to utterly
embarrass a nervous man, especially as she has a trick of perpetually
interrupting the person talking to her with her 'How--why--wherefore's?'
and, when she begins to laugh, the whole room trembles. She dragoons
every assembly which she honours with her presence; and whomsoever she
is angry with had much better have been born blind. Our very young men
have a cold ague fit when they see her, for she inspires them with as
much terror as any professor, and, besides that, can speak fluent Latin,
has the code at her fingers' ends, can hold her own against the most
astute of advocates, drinks like a fish, and revels in tobacco. It is
true she does not drive her own horses; but, should the coachman drive
badly, she is quite capable of snatching the whip from his hand and
belabouring him with the handle. For the rest, she is the best-hearted
creature in the world, and readily makes friends. Kiss her hand, and
call her 'My lady sister,' and you need not have the slightest fear of
her; for she will love you, make herself your champion, and woe betide
whomsoever dares to disparage you behind your back when she is present,
for she will make them stampede in every direction.
"And now we come to Lady Szépkiesdy. She is a quiet, silent woman, whom
it is impossible to offend. Her husband has found out from experience
that nothing pains her; but, on the other hand, there is nothing that
can make her happy. And her whole face, her whole figure, seems to
express but one wish, but one desire--the longing to be under the sod as
soon as possible."
"Poor lady!"
"And she is also tormented by the knowledge that every pretty face she
sees will cause her misery involuntarily; for her husband pays his court
to every one of them in her presence. She was esteemed a great beauty
once upon a time; but care and sorrow have made her quite old within the
last two years."
"Poor lady!" sighed Fanny.
"And now let me introduce you to Madame George Málnay. Beware of her.
She will be eternally flattering you, in the hope that some secret, some
unguarded word may escape you. She is a veritable Mephistopheles in
female form. She is the enemy of every one she knows; but whenever she
meets you she will kiss and embrace you, till you fancy she is quite in
love with you. It is of no use quarrelling with her. The very next day
she will embrace, kiss, and traduce you, as if nothing had happened. The
best way is to keep clear of her. Receive her, therefore, with a cold,
forbidding countenance. She'll requite you, perhaps, by calling you
boorish and underbred behind your back; but that is the kindest thing
you can expect from her."
Fanny gratefully pressed Lady Szentirmay's hand. What blunders she must
have made but for her!
"And is there any one really worth mentioning among so many?" she asked.
"Yes; Dame Marion."
"Really!"
"She is just as you saw her; she is always like that. And it is no
affectation, but her natural character."
"Then what is her real character?"
"Well, she is--like the rest of them--a treacherous scandalmonger, with
an ill word for every one, who takes a delight in picking out people's
most secret faults; but you need not fear her, for she loves you
sincerely, and will never betray, disparage, or injure you behind your
back. Have you not found that out already?"
Fanny, half-laughing half-weeping, hid her head in her friend's bosom,
and embraced her tightly; and then they kissed each other, and laughed
at the facility with which they also had fallen into the scandalizing
ways of the world.