A FANCY DRESS BALL AT SARRIO
Cecilia would never do it again--she saw the wickedness of her conduct;
she was sorry to have given Gonzalo's enemies ground for insulting his
wife's honor, and she had given her word, and solemnly sworn, that those
nocturnal meetings would not occur again.
Such was the message that Ventura delivered that night to her husband.
During the succeeding days he showed neither anger nor even severity
against the delinquent. All his anger and ill-will were against the
duke, whom he accused of having iniquitously abused the confidence of
his father-in-law to arouse in poor Cecilia feelings that had hitherto
lain dormant. He treated her with kindness, even to indulgence, such as
he might have accorded a sick child in the desire to show her that she
had lost none of his affection.
But this kindness was so humiliating to her, showing as it did that the
man was quite contented in his conviction of her guilt, that she
repulsed it, and in spite of her strenuous efforts to do so she failed
to appear grateful for so much generosity.
She shut herself up in her room, without attending as before to the care
of the children, and at meal-times she looked so grave and was so quiet
that Don Rosendo's notice was attracted, absorbed as the great patrician
was in the higher sphere of the battle of thought which was now being
waged in Sarrio.
And with his peculiar perspicacity he saw that it was a question of
moral and physical weakness proceeding from the monotonous country life.
Youth has its own needs, and these must be attended to.
"You are ill, Cecilia. You look pale and sad. You must leave here and
live a freer life, in surroundings more befitting young people. We will
go to Madrid for a couple of months in the spring. In the country you
get asphyxiated like a bird under the bell of a pneumatic machine."
This great thinker occasionally used happy illustrations, drawn, like
the present one, from physical and natural science. From the brightness
with which the girl concurred with the suggestion he concluded that he
had as usual found the key to the matter.
Ventura looked as usual. The terrible scene that had been enacted, the
sacrifice of her sister, which she knew had incurred her righteous
contempt, had not affected her. She went on just the same as before,
just as careful of herself and careless of others as she had ever been.
Nevertheless, whenever she encountered the clear, penetrating eyes of
her sister she turned her own away. From the night of the affair she
avoided being alone with her, which was very easy, as Cecilia had no
wish to exchange a word with the treacherous girl.
Gonzalo feeling quite sure of his wife, reveled in his sense of
security, and a recrudescence of affection arose between the couple.
Ventura had made him promise he would never again sleep away from home,
and to this he agreed.
Thinking of his sister-in-law's sin, he frequently said to himself:
"The Lord preserve me from still waters, and I will take care of the
running ones."
And henceforth he not only pardoned the lightness and frivolity of his
wife's vain disposition, which had once so much disgusted him, but came
to regard these defects as a guarantee of her fidelity.
"There is nobody without some faults," he would say to himself, "and I
would prefer her to have those that are aboveboard."
Five or six days after the event related, "The Youth of Sarrio"
published a paragraph, insinuating the same idea as that which had led
Gonzalo to make the memorable nocturnal visit to Tejada. The young man
read it without emotion and with a smile on his lips, laughing to
himself at the mistake under which his enemies were laboring.
Nevertheless, as it was, after all, an insult to have such things
written, he determined to chastise its insolent authors, albeit in a
matter-of-fact fashion. Therefore at nightfall he abruptly entered the
office of "The Youth," when not more than three of the staff were
present, one of whom was the traitor Sinforoso Suarez. Without saying a
word Gonzalo fell upon them tooth and nail, with so much force and rage
that they utterly succumbed to the attack. When one of them did rise
from the ground a tremendous blow knocked him down again; and not only
were they leveled, but the tables and cupboards were also overthrown,
making more noise than an earthquake. When tired of administering this
corporal punishment, he quietly left the place, laughing. A few people
responded to the cries for help, but he said to them:
"It is nothing, senores; but the managers of 'The Youth' have had a
thrashing up there; and, I say, look here! go up and tell those fellows
that if they continue with these libels I shall be obliged to send them
to prison."
When the facts of the case were known the event caused some commotion.
The members of the Cabin were in a frenzy, but Gonzalo inspired such
deep respect, not so much from his position of mayor, but from the
terror of his fist, that they at last resigned themselves to overlooking
the drubbing administered to their confederates.
The Carnival went by without any great festivity, for Sarrio was no
longer the scene of the processions and cavalcades which had once been
the talk of the province while converting the town into a miniature
Venice. At one time all the inhabitants took part in the great burst of
gaiety. The rich not only decked themselves befittingly for the
occasion, but they started subscriptions for the importation of gorgeous
costumes from Madrid. The cavalcades were incessant and indefatigable in
directing showers of almonds, caramels, and aniseed at the windows. The
balls at the Lyceum, if not as brilliant, were as entertaining and as
bright as those in the most opulent palaces of the court. Oh, the
Carnival of Sarrio! Who in the south of the province, where these events
took place, will cease to have grateful, and tender recollections of it?
But all had changed with the Guelph and Ghibelline-like political strife
between the members of the Club and the Cabin. Every one remained in
seclusion at home, and the streets were only favored with the sight of
some bold mummer, who afforded delight to the crowd of boys in his wake.
The Titanic efforts of Don Mateo were powerless to awake any enthusiasm
about balls at the Lyceum. It was in vain that he conferred with the
marriageable girls of the place to get promises to help him, which
promises were easily gained, but when it came to interviewing papa, he
knitted his brows and gravely said:
"Well, we will see, Don Mateo; we will see." And this "we will see"
generally signified a prudent abstention. For there might be there Mr.
This or Mr. That, with whom the good papa was not on terms of
acquaintance.
The previous year Don Mateo had tried to revive the old Pinate ball of
glorious renown, known to all good Sarrio folks as the chief feature of
the first Sunday in Lent, but the mayor, who was then Maza, under cover
of religion and trying to curry favor with the clergy of the town, would
not give permission. This year the indefatigable old man returned to the
task with increased ardor. Gonzalo made no objection to granting his
permission. Then he stimulated the interest of the place to such an
extent, by laying stress upon the extraordinary wonders and surprises of
the famous globe, ordered from Bordeaux, that he ended by exciting a
universal wish to be present that evening at the Lyceum.
So for the first time in Sarrio for several years the salon of the
society promised a full attendance. During the days preceding the Sunday
the talk and preparations of the young people drowned the disagreeable
sounds of politics. It was like a moment's respite for the weary town.
Directly Venturita heard that a ball was really in preparation, she
ordered from her dressmaker a most magnificent dress to represent Queen
Elizabeth of England, and one for Cecilia as a lady of the time of Louis
XV. The latter at first declined to go to the ball, but Gonzalo made
such a point of it, doubtless to rouse her a little from the melancholy
to which she had lately fallen a prey, that she at last gave in, and
several afternoons were employed in going to Sarrio, trying on the
dresses and giving instructions to the dressmaker.
The longed-for Sunday at length arrived, and Gonzalo, who was very busy
all the morning, lunched in Sarrio and returned about dusk to Tejada to
dine with his family, and to escort his wife and sister-in-law to the
ball.
When he arrived the ladies were dressing themselves in their different
rooms, and a little after the usual hour they both appeared in the
corridor in their elegant attire.
Cecilia was bright and loquacious, as those of a serious temperament are
in moments of excitement; and she seemed to have shaken off the black
thoughts that had lately cast such a gloom over her face.
Before taking his seat at table Gonzalo tried some playful jokes with
her, as well as with his wife, and during the dinner he continued to
laugh at their expense in his own genial, hearty way.
"Will not your majesty take a little sausage?" he said, addressing his
wife. And then, delighted with his remark, he gave vent to a long, loud
roar of laughter, like those given by barbarous kings at their
festivities, while his enormous frame heaved convulsively.
His healthy, manly spirits were infectious, and no one could help
laughing when he started.
Ventura was very amiable that evening, and she tapped her husband on the
shoulder and begged him to be quiet, as she could not eat in peace.
When dinner was over and they were taking coffee, either through
laughing too much or from some other cause, the young wife complained of
indisposition; her dinner had disagreed with her. She expressed a wish
to withdraw, retired to her room, and shortly returned, saying that she
was not well, and that her head was aching. Tea was made for her, and
she lay on the sofa for some time, but the pain and distemper remained.
"Look here! you go to the ball, and I will go to bed," she said, raising
her head.
Cecilia, suddenly filled with a suspicion, replied: "No; I will stay,
too."
"How silly," exclaimed the invalid, "to deprive yourself of the only
entertainment Sarrio has given for some time on such a frivolous
pretext!"
"Yes," replied Cecilia with the same gravity; "I shall remain."
"But you know this indisposition hardly causes me any suffering. I am
rather bilious; four or five hours' sleep will quite restore me."
"Well, I shall remain."
"Then I shall be obliged to go, ill or not ill," she said impatiently,
as she rose from the sofa.
"Ventura is right, bag of bones," said Gonzalo, taking his sister-in-law
by the shoulders, and shaking her affectionately. "It is nothing. I have
had it a hundred times. Why should you give up going to the ball? Here,
here! get your mantilla. Ramon has already put the horses in; it is more
than half-past nine," he added, pushing her toward the door. Cecilia
could not resist him, but before leaving the room she cast a piercing
glance at her sister, who avoided meeting it by resuming her seat. Ramon
was, in truth, waiting for them with the family coach. The largest
carriage was used that evening, as Don Rosendo and Pablito, who were
dining in town, were to return with them in the small hours of the
morning. During the drive Gonzalo was still chatty and merry, trying to
amuse his sister-in-law, who had resumed her taciturn manner. The young
man thought that she was still tormented by the recollection of the
fatal scene already narrated, and so made every effort to distract her.
Arrived at the Lyceum, Gonzalo and Cecilia went in, arm in arm, and they
crossed a large anteroom, where a crowd of young men made way for them,
and greeted them with the familiarity usual in little towns. There were
several ladies in the salon, all in fancy dress, although the majority
of them, like Cecilia, wore no masks. This was an innovation in Sarrio.
For the last five years the balls at the Lyceum had been dreary affairs.
But, thanks to the perseverance of Mateo, the flame of pleasure burst
that night into a brightly burning bonfire. The youth of the town
entered the empty salon like an overflowing torrent, making the place
resound with the bright tones of their talk and laughter.
"Alvara, do you know me? do you know me? Why don't you marry? For you
are on the road to old age."
"Periquito, do you like me? Why do you wear a mask? You don't want one.
You are not taken with faces, and there you are right. Look here and
look there. Eh? Ta-ta, ta-ta, Periquito."
"Hollo, Delaunay! Hollo, monsieur! How goes the aerial tramway? What
will you have next? What a long head you have! It is a pity you are so
unfortunate. They say you are not a practical man, but you knew how to
settle the 'Rat's' daughter. Good-by. Good-by."
"And here's Sinforoso. When are they going to give you Cipriana's hand?
They treat you very badly. Why don't you threaten to go back to the
Club?"
It was a party of ladies in black dominoes who cut these jokes, which
were at times too strong. The majority of them were old, for the younger
ones liked to show their faces and the turn of their figures in some
historical costume. There were costumes of Venetian and Roman ladies,
costumes of the lower empire, costumes of the time of Louis XV, of the
Directory, of Philip II, and others, down to the most recent period.
There were also gitanas, necromancers, slaves, and many other fanciful
and romantic costumes not admitting classification. There was one
representing a starry night, another a tulip, and another a carrier
pigeon with a letter at her neck.
The men, as a rule, were not in costume. They wore the long, full frock
coat which only came out on such occasions. Nevertheless, some wore a
domino, which permitted them to talk to the girls they admired without
fear of being interrupted by the mama.
A party of young fellows belonging to the Cabin conceived the happy idea
of dressing up Don Jaime Morin as a bib-and-tucker young lady. When
dressed up like this they told him that he would be better disguised
with paint than with a mask, and he concurred with the suggestion. A
young fellow then took up a box of paints and a brush, and pretending to
dip it into several colors, he passed the brush several times over his
face, but it had only been dipped in water.
Morin asked to see himself in a looking-glass, but the mischievous
youths took good care not to give it to him. They all cried out: "But
how capital you are, Don Jaime! How grotesquely you are painted! Your
own mother would not know you!" Upon the strength of these words the
good Morin allowed himself to be carried off to the Lyceum, where his
young friends advised him to joke certain young ladies, to which he
replied that his jokes would prove a shock to their nerves. And in
effect, no sooner was he in the salon than he cried out to a young lady,
in a falsetto voice:
"Hollo, Rosarita! what have you done with Anselmo? We know that you
throw him a letter out of the window every night at ten o'clock."
"But, Don Jaime!" exclaimed the girl, looking at him in surprise, "how
did you find that get up?"
"The devil! She knew me," said the good Morin, withdrawing. He then
turned to another of the fair sex, with the same result. "It is
strange," he said at last, "they all know me at once. It must be the
voice, because although I am painted with a vengeance--"
He was full of these reflections when a bony hand seized him from
behind.
"Great ass! booby! idiot! Who got you up like that?"
It was his beloved spouse, the ingenious, severe, Dona Brigida.
"Get along, stupid! You're always the laughing-stock of every place!"
and she pushed the poor fellow out of the salon. The good lady, who was
dressed in a domino and mask, went with him as far as the anteroom,
where she left him, and returned to the ballroom to carry out her own
devices, as we shall see.
Surrounded by a group of dominoes stood the kind Don Feliciano Gomez,
whose shining, bald, pyramidical head overtopped the circle of ladies
around him as they cracked their insufferable jokes, which sometimes
bordered on insults.
"Feliciano, poor fellow! So your sisters let you come to the ball! At
what time will they send for you? They say that Dona Petra beats you
when you are late; is that a fact? Poor Feliciano! how strict your
sisters are! Well, as they did not let you marry, they ought to give you
a little more liberty."
The good merchant, without taking offense, gave kind, smiling replies to
the harpies, who at last grew tired of his patience, and left him in
peace.