They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [71]
The occasion had been eagerly awaited by all those who would attend; by the men because they would not have to make themselves ridiculous in some idiotic costume, and by their womenfolk because they could go in a classic ball-gown and not spend a fortune on some elaborate fancy dress; and also because they would be able to dazzle their friends, and hopefully outdo them, with some amazingly original and magnificent and hitherto undreamed-of ornamental head-dress.
For weeks before there had been to-ing and fro-ing and thought and planning and much pleasurable secrecy as to what all the fashionable ladies would wear. While everyone tried hard to find out what the others had chosen each was determined to keep their own ideas secret lest anyone should try to imitate what they had planned, thus leading to that social disaster when two or more women were dressed alike.
Nevertheless, in spite of, or perhaps because of, all this manic secrecy several women found themselves in just the situation they had most dreaded. There were eight Turkish turbans, five Dutch bonnets, three Andalusian head-dresses complete with high tortoiseshell combs and lace shawls, six country maidens from the Kalotaszeg district, two Cleopatras and four Little Red Riding Hoods. Not a few extremely cross society ladies had to console themselves with the thought that they had been first in the field with their wonderfully original idea and that somehow and with low cunning the others had stolen the idea from them. The one to be blamed was always their closest friend – that two-faced snake in the grass!
At one end of the ballroom there was a platform on which were the chairs reserved for the Lady Patronesses. There they sat in a half circle beneath a bower of potted palms brought in from elsewhere. Here was to be found the wife of Kolozsvar’s mayor, the wife of Stanislo Gyeroffy who had been Laszlo’s guardian, Countess Kamuthy, Countess Jeno Laczok and the young wife of Dr Korosi who had recently been appointed Rector of the University, a position which conferred a new distinction on his pretty wife so that, whether she liked it or not, she was stuck with this distinguished group of older women. In the middle of them all was Countess Sarmasaghy, who was almost everyone’s Aunt Lizinka, and who had been given the place of honour because all the others were terrified of the old woman’s evil tongue and mischief-making ways.
All of these wore head-dresses made of old lace, white or black, with the sole exception of Countess Laczok who had brought out a family heirloom, a cap of pearls stitched with other precious stones, which had once belonged to the wife of a former ruling prince of Transylvania, Mihaly Apaffy, and which had passed to the Laczoks by inheritance through the Bornemiszas. It was a unique object and in it Countess Ida, who was liked by everyone, looked like an ancient portrait brought to life.
On the platform with this group were the ball’s official sponsors, a mixed group of local aristocrats and middle-class businessmen such as the mayor himself, two chairmen of local banks, the ex-doyen of the court pleaders, and some others. Old Carrots Gyeroffy was there sporting his famous orange wig, as was Crookface Kendy with his eagle’s beak nose, the elder Count Adam Alvinczy and the inevitable Major Bogacsy. There were some others too, like Uncle Ambrus, who decided that the official platform was the best place from which to ogle all the pretty women as they entered the hall and so boldly walked the length of the room, and mounted with the official party as if he had merely come to pay his respects to the Patronesses.
Joska Kendy also managed to get himself on the platform, but he did this not to ogle the women but to get as close as possible to pretty young Mrs Korosi, find a chair beside her and whisper sweet nothings into her receptive ear. Mrs