"These were things she came to know, and to take their measure,
When the play was played out so for one man's pleasure."
SWINBURNE.
A few days later, Arithelli was duly initiated, and given the badge of
the Cause, a massive buckle with a woman's figure, and on either side
the words _Honneur et Patrie_. At the suggestion of the leader Emile
had been made responsible for her behaviour. If she betrayed them in
any way his life was to pay forfeit. There was a fellow conspirator
working with her at the Hippodrome, a young Austrian of high rank named
Vardri. His father had turned him out of doors, penniless, because of
his political views; and he was now, half-starved, consumptive and
reckless, employed in harnessing the horses and attending to the
stables. There were two men under thirty, but the majority were
middle-aged. They all seemed to Arithelli to have the same wild,
restless eyes. They called her "_Camarade_," and "_Amigo_," and
treated her not unkindly, but with an utter indifference to her sex.
All their sayings showed the most absolute disregard for human life.
"If a vase is cracked, break it. If your glove is worn out, throw it
away."
If they heard that some member of the band had found his way to the
fortress of Montjuich there was callous laughter and a speculation as
to whose turn it would be next.
Their meetings were held in divers places. Sometimes they would engage
a room at the Hotel Catalonia and hold what were supposed to be classes
for astronomy. Sobrenski was the lecturer, the rest posing as
students. If anyone came in unexpectedly it all looked beautifully
innocent--the big telescope by the open window, the books and papers
and charts, and Arithelli at the desk at the end of the room taking
shorthand notes of the lecture.
There were seldom more than three or four _rendezvous_ held in the same
place, and more than once there were alarms and rumours of a visit from
the police.
As the days wore on Emile found new reason to congratulate himself upon
his discovery of "Fatalité," as he had nicknamed the girl. She had
shown herself possessed of a charming temper, a fine intelligence, and
a most complete understanding of the law of obedience.
She made no comments on anything she was asked to do, but delivered
messages and ran errands after the manner of a machine in good working
order. Even Sobrenski, who hated all women, was obliged to admit her
usefulness.
She was on pleasant terms with everybody down to the strappers,--the
men who harnessed the Hippodrome horses,--who adored her. Even the
cynical Manager was impressed by her pluck and skill, though he
considered it his privilege to regale her with comments on her personal
peculiarities.
The time arrived for her first performance at the Hippodrome. She made
her appearance in the ring in a turquoise blue habit, trimmed
hussar-fashion with much braid, and a plumed Cavalier hat, the dusky
shadows under her eyes accentuated, and her face powdered. The Manager
would not allow her to use rouge, so under the glaring electric lights
she appeared more than ever spiritual and unearthly.
Her type, he said, did not require colour; and the people preferred
anything morbid in the shape of looks.
Emile, who was among the audience on the first night, thought she
looked like a thorough-bred racer as she made a dignified entrance to a
clanging stately gavotte crashed out by the band. He had given her
dresser a couple of _pesetas_ to have her well turned out, and the
result was exceedingly satisfactory even to his critical eyes.
Her little head with its piled red hair was carried marvellously high,
and she swayed daintily on the back of the high-stepping Don Juan. She
bowed gravely to the various parts of the house, but she had no
stereotyped smile either for the boxes or for the lower seats. Her
slender figure gave the impression of great strength for a young girl.
"Steel in a velvet sheath, _ma foi_! Body and soul!" was Emile's
inward comment. "So much the better for the Cause."
A Spanish crowd usually gives but a languid reception unless roused by
something either horrible or sensational, but her bizarre appearance
had the effect which the Manager had foreseen.
In the second act she apparently changed her personality with her
clothes, and whirled in astride over two horses with neither saddle nor
bridle, guiding them and keeping them together by the pressure of her
feet. She had full skirts, to her knees, of white satin, and
pearl-coloured silk stockings. Her satin bodice was cut heart-shaped
and there was a high jewelled band round her long throat. Her hair
hung down in a thick plait, tied with a bow of blue velvet.
The horses tore round the ring at full gallop; she jumped over gates
and through hoops, and ended her performance by leaping off one of the
horses which was caught by a groom, and flinging herself on to the
other, face to the tail, for a final reckless canter round the arena.
The brilliance and nerve with which she carried through the trick,
roused the enthusiasm it deserved, and Arithelli passed out panting and
triumphant to the accompaniment of music and cheers, and showered roses
and carnations.
The part of her work that she most abhorred was the eight o'clock
compulsory visit to the stables. A circus life is not prone to
encourage the virtue of early rising, and she was by nature indolent in
a panther-like fashion, and was never in bed till half-past one or two
in the morning. If she had known a little more she could have
protested on the grounds that her position of leading lady did not
involve the feeding of her animals. She did it as she had done other
things without complaint, and presently Emile came to the rescue. He
knew as much about the habits and requirements of horses as he knew
about shop-keeping, being entirely ignorant of both.
"How much are the brutes to have?" he asked of the Manager. "And what
on earth do you give them?"
"Oh, I generally give 'em fish," was the sarcastic answer. "What are
you doing here, Poleski? This is the girl's business. I thought she
was keen on her horses."
"She is also keen on her bed," Emile answered. "She does her share of
work."
The Manager grumbled, but the new arrangement was allowed to stand.
Arithelli did not consort with the other female members of the
Hippodrome.
The one exception was Estelle the dancer, with whom Emile allowed her a
slight acquaintance. He neither approved of women in general nor of
their friendships. Estelle was the _bonne amie_ of the sardonic
Manager, who occasionally beat her, after which ceremony it was her
custom to drink _absinthe_. Sometimes, for this reason, she was unable
to appear on the stage. She would come into Arithelli's dressing room
and weep, and smoke innumerable cigarettes, and when things had been
going well, they made a _partie carrée_ at the Café Colomb.
By way of advertising herself and her performance Arithelli was given a
high, smartly painted carriage in which she drove in the fashionable
promenade of Barcelona, the Paséo de Gracia, with three of the
cream-coloured horses lightly harnessed and jingling with bells.
On these occasions Emile played the part of lady's maid and escort. He
selected her dress, fastened it, scolded her for putting her hat on
crooked, and laced up her preposterously high boots.
Then he adjusted the battered sombrero, lit a cigarette and drove
beside her, scowling as usual.
The appearance of both was sufficiently arresting. Arithelli drove as
she rode, recklessly, and yet with science. Her thin wrists and long
girlish arms were capable of controlling the most fiery animal.
She had made Emile her banker, and always handed over to him her weekly
salary, some of which went to the expenses of the Cause as well as a
certain portion in fines, for she had no idea of time and was never
ready for anything.
Nearly every night before she was half-way into her habit the call-boy
came screaming down the passage, calling with the free-and-easy manners
prevalent behind the scenes:
"Hurry up, Arithelli, or there'll be a row!"
The question of a disguise for her was discussed at one of the meetings
of the Brotherhood, and it was decided that she should appear as a boy.
Her height would be an advantage, and her long hands and feet would
also help the illusion in a country where every woman possesses small,
plump and highly arched extremities. Besides, when they had to ride
out to places at night, she would be less noticeable. One girl among a
crowd of men might attract suspicion, though in the daytime she was
more useful as a woman.
It naturally fell upon Emile to provide the details of her
transformation, and he presented himself at her lodgings one afternoon,
bearing an ungainly parcel which he deposited on the table.
"You'd better try these on," he said. "There is a complete suit of
boy's clothes, a wig and everything you'll want. You will have to put
your own hair out of the way somehow."
It was the drowsy hour of the _siesta_, when no one moved out if he
could help it, and all work and play were at a standstill. Arithelli
was sitting, as was her custom, absorbed in her own thoughts and
dreams. For a moment she stared with uncomprehending eyes. She felt
tired, she wanted to be alone, and she had not heard a single word.
Emile shrugged irritably and repeated his remarks.
"Oh, yes," said Arithelli. She rose slowly, took up the parcel and
retired into seclusion behind the curtains, with which she had screened
off the alcove and so made herself an improvised dressing room. The
rest of the apartment she had altered to look as much like a sitting
room as possible, with the exception of the obtrusive four-poster,
which could not be hidden and which upon entering appeared the most
salient feature visible. There was some tawdry jewellery lying about,
and several pairs of the pale-hued Parisian boots she invariably
affected. Emile made and lighted the inevitable cigarette, while he
fidgeted about, turning over the few French and English novels he could
find with an air of disapproval; for her taste in literature did not
commend itself to him any more than did her taste in finery.
At one period of his life he had steeped himself in books, knowing the
poetry and romance of nearly every nation. Now he disliked them. If
she wanted books he would choose them for her. She would read the
love-songs of the revolutionists to their goddess Liberty, the haunting
words of those who had suffered for a time, and escaped the Siberian
Ice-Hell. The fanaticism of his race and temperament flamed into his
cold eyes as he sat and brooded, and he hardly noticed that Arithelli
had slid into the room in her noiseless fashion, and was standing
before him.
Emile, though little given to being astonished, marvelled at the
unconcern with which she submitted to his critical inspection. She
stood and walked easily, and looked neither uncomfortable nor unnatural
in her boyish array, in which the perfect poise of her body showed
triumphantly.
The black wig, under which she had skilfully hidden her red hair, made
her look more pale than ever. The wide sombrero, tilted backwards,
made a picturesque framing to her oval face, and the _manta_ or heavy
cloak, worn by all Spaniards at night, hung, loosely draped over her
left shoulder. Emile promptly twisted it off.
"This won't do," he said. "The _manta_ is never worn like that.
Besides it's not enough of a disguise. Watch how I put it on." With a
few rough yet dexterous movements he arranged the dark folds so as to
hide her shoulders and the upper part of her body.
Then he stood back a few paces. "But your green eyes! A disguise for
_them_ will be impossible. One sees them always."
"_Les yeux verts.
Vont à l'enfer!_"
"Do you know that, _mon enfant_?"
"I've heard it before. They've already come as far as _l'entresol_,
according to you."
Emile grinned. He enjoyed skirmishing, and felt that he had met his
match in words. Before he could think of another retort she added:
"I can see in the dark with my green eyes, so they're useful at all
events."
"Then you'll find plenty of use for them when you're working for
us--and the Cause. When you have to ride upon the hills at night you
will find them of great service. You'll have to ride astride too, so
it is better for you in every way to be dressed like this."
Presently he left her with a few words of praise for her successful
appearance. His first feeling of surprise at her coolness still
lingered. He had expected a scene in a quiet way, a refusal, at least
expostulation. All his first impressions of her were being verified.
Well, he hoped she would continue in her present ways. Undoubtedly she
was an original, certainly she gave no trouble.
When she heard the street door shut Arithelli sat down, hiding her face
in her hands. Once she shivered involuntarily. Directly she found
herself alone the mask of her assumed nonchalance had fallen suddenly.
As long as there was an audience she had worn a disguise on her soul as
well as her body. She had been feeling moody and depressed all day,
and this last episode was the climax. Everything she had was to be her
own no longer. It was all to be for the Cause--even her green eyes!
What power it possessed over these men. They admitted it to be a
losing Cause, yet it was all they thought about, the sole thing for
which they lived--and died. She had not thought it would be like this
at first.
She remembered how gaily she had discoursed of Tolstoi and Prince
Kropotkin, and of their writings which had revealed to her a new world.
Her first interview with Sobrenski had shown the relentlessness of the
man she was to serve. She felt that he would sacrifice all alike, men
and women, to his idol, and would never stop to care whether the victim
were willing or unwilling. The fact of her sex would gain her no
consideration at his hands. Lately she had been impressed with the
sensation of being surrounded by an impassable barrier drawn round her,
a circle that was gradually becoming narrowed. She had begun to know
that she was being incessantly watched. If Emile were occupied with
the business of the Society, and could not fetch her from the
Hippodrome himself, he never failed to send an understudy in the shape
of one of his allies, generally one of the older men. When she emerged
from the performers' entrance a silent figure would come forward to
meet her. Often they exchanged no words throughout the walk home, but
she was never left till her own door was reached.
If she went anywhere to please herself, to a shop, or to see Estelle,
she was expected to give a full account of her doings. It was an
understood thing that she should not go to the _cafés_ or public
gardens alone, nor speak to anyone not already known and approved by
Emile. With all these conditions she had complied. Already one
illusion had vanished. She had thought to find freedom in Barcelona.
She had indeed found "_La Liberté_."
But the Fates had chosen to be in an ironical mood, and while making
the discovery she had herself become a slave. In all her day there was
no hour that she could call her own.