They Were Divided Read Online Free
and his old mother. And now there always would only be the two of them. There was no one else, there never would be anyone else. There was no future and no young life to follow.
Had he proposed to Lili at Jablanka then at least he mighthave had that hope. What madness had prevented him?
It had been quite clear that the Szent-Gyorgyis, in their typically unobtrusive way, had made sure that there would have been no obstacles in the path of such a marriage. They had even thought about the difference of religion and, with a tactfulness that amounted almost to an art, had taken pains to let him know that his being a Protestant would create no difficulties
The memory came back to him with sudden clarity, perhaps because it had all been so surprising.
On the afternoon of the second day of the shooting party Balint had just changed and was on his way to join the others in the drawing-room when he met Pfaffulus in the passage. He had the impression that the priest had been waiting for him.
‘I was just on my way to the chapel,’ said Canon Czibulka in his slight Slovakian accent. ‘If you’ve never seen it perhaps you’d like to come with me? It’s really very fine, well worth seeing.’
They walked together to that part of the former monastery that formed the rear part of the cloister-court and faced the main entrance over which was the refectory now transformed into the main drawing-room. In the centre of the first floor gallery which encircled the court was a massive stone doorway, whose carved and ornamented architraves framed the door-posts which bordered a pair of huge doors inlaid with many different kinds of precious woods in the full opulence of ecclesiastical baroque.
Pfaffulus pushed open the doors which swung back noiselessly. They went in.
The chapel was the size of a church and the semi-circle of windows behind the altar must, Balint had realized, have projected out towards the mountainside. Although darkness had nearly fallen there was enough evening light to cast a soft mystical radiance in front of which the lines of the baldaquin over the altar stood out as if etched in black on grey. Then Pfaffulus had switched on the electric chandeliers and the chapel blazed with light. It was indeed beautiful.
Along each side wall stood the carved wooden stalls where the monks had sat for worship, the panelling divided by columns which supported a carved rococo veil that seemed to swirl with an almost musical rhythm towards the altar. All along its border were placed winged angels’ heads and surmounting all this splendour was the monastic order’s symbolic bird, a raven carryingbread in its beak, huge and gilded, like an emphatic exclamation mark floating above the mellow brown woodwork of the canopy itself. Over the tabernacle the baldaquin, fringed with golden tassels and supported by twisted columns, supported a picture of the Virgin surrounded by a golden sun-burst. On each side angels dressed identically in blue and gold, with gilded wings, knelt in the exaggerated attitudes so beloved in the baroque era.
A thick floral carpet covered the stone flags on the floor.
‘It is beautiful, isn’t it?’ Pfaffulus had said; and he took Balint round showing him the carvings on the stalls and explaining the reliefs, all of which commemorated some miracle or incident in the life of the holy Saint Paul the Hermit, founder of the order.
Then he crossed in front of the altar, genuflecting swiftly as he did so, to show Balint the Abbot’s stall and a series of holy pictures by well-known artists. They had almost returned to the chapel doors when the priest stopped and sat down, a thoughtful look on his fine expressive face. It was as if he had just remembered something.
After nodding appreciation at Balint’s words of thanks he looked up at the younger man and, seemingly unable to keep to himself what had come so strongly to his mind, grasped Balint’s arm and pulled him down to sit beside him. As he did so he
Had he proposed to Lili at Jablanka then at least he mighthave had that hope. What madness had prevented him?
It had been quite clear that the Szent-Gyorgyis, in their typically unobtrusive way, had made sure that there would have been no obstacles in the path of such a marriage. They had even thought about the difference of religion and, with a tactfulness that amounted almost to an art, had taken pains to let him know that his being a Protestant would create no difficulties
The memory came back to him with sudden clarity, perhaps because it had all been so surprising.
On the afternoon of the second day of the shooting party Balint had just changed and was on his way to join the others in the drawing-room when he met Pfaffulus in the passage. He had the impression that the priest had been waiting for him.
‘I was just on my way to the chapel,’ said Canon Czibulka in his slight Slovakian accent. ‘If you’ve never seen it perhaps you’d like to come with me? It’s really very fine, well worth seeing.’
They walked together to that part of the former monastery that formed the rear part of the cloister-court and faced the main entrance over which was the refectory now transformed into the main drawing-room. In the centre of the first floor gallery which encircled the court was a massive stone doorway, whose carved and ornamented architraves framed the door-posts which bordered a pair of huge doors inlaid with many different kinds of precious woods in the full opulence of ecclesiastical baroque.
Pfaffulus pushed open the doors which swung back noiselessly. They went in.
The chapel was the size of a church and the semi-circle of windows behind the altar must, Balint had realized, have projected out towards the mountainside. Although darkness had nearly fallen there was enough evening light to cast a soft mystical radiance in front of which the lines of the baldaquin over the altar stood out as if etched in black on grey. Then Pfaffulus had switched on the electric chandeliers and the chapel blazed with light. It was indeed beautiful.
Along each side wall stood the carved wooden stalls where the monks had sat for worship, the panelling divided by columns which supported a carved rococo veil that seemed to swirl with an almost musical rhythm towards the altar. All along its border were placed winged angels’ heads and surmounting all this splendour was the monastic order’s symbolic bird, a raven carryingbread in its beak, huge and gilded, like an emphatic exclamation mark floating above the mellow brown woodwork of the canopy itself. Over the tabernacle the baldaquin, fringed with golden tassels and supported by twisted columns, supported a picture of the Virgin surrounded by a golden sun-burst. On each side angels dressed identically in blue and gold, with gilded wings, knelt in the exaggerated attitudes so beloved in the baroque era.
A thick floral carpet covered the stone flags on the floor.
‘It is beautiful, isn’t it?’ Pfaffulus had said; and he took Balint round showing him the carvings on the stalls and explaining the reliefs, all of which commemorated some miracle or incident in the life of the holy Saint Paul the Hermit, founder of the order.
Then he crossed in front of the altar, genuflecting swiftly as he did so, to show Balint the Abbot’s stall and a series of holy pictures by well-known artists. They had almost returned to the chapel doors when the priest stopped and sat down, a thoughtful look on his fine expressive face. It was as if he had just remembered something.
After nodding appreciation at Balint’s words of thanks he looked up at the younger man and, seemingly unable to keep to himself what had come so strongly to his mind, grasped Balint’s arm and pulled him down to sit beside him. As he did so he
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