AN ITALIAN BALL.
The next day was exquisitely bright and warm--we seemed to have leapt
at a bound into the very heart of spring--and when I came out of my
room I was greeted with the news that Andrea and the ladies had gone to
drive in the Cascine. Annunziata was my informant. She had stayed at
home, and, freed from the rigid eye of her mother-in-law, was sitting
very much at her ease, ready to gossip with the first comer.
The Marchesina could rise to an occasion as well as any one else;
could, when duty called, confine her stout form in the stiffest of
stays, and build up her hair into the neatest of bandolined pyramids.
But I think she was never so happy as when, the bow unbent, she could
expand into a loose morning-jacket and twist up her hair into a vague,
unbecoming knot behind.
"Dear little signorina," she cried, beckoning me to a seat with her
embroidery scissors, "have you heard the good news? Andrea returns no
more to America."
"He has arranged matters with Costanza pretty quickly," was my
reflection; and at the thought of that easy capitulation, he fell
distinctly in my esteem.
"He has accepted a post in England," went on Annunziata. "We shall see
him every year, if not oftener. Every one is overjoyed. It is a step in
the right direction. Who knows but one day he may settle in Italy?" And
she smiled meaningly, nodding her head as she spoke.
The ladies came back at lunch-time without their cavalier, who had
stayed to _collazione_ with some relatives in the town.
The afternoon was spent upstairs talking over the dance which was to
take place that evening, discussing every detail of costume and every
expected guest. Costanza was as cross as two sticks, and hadn't a
good word for anybody. We dined an hour earlier than usual, but none
of the gentlemen put in an appearance at the meal. With a sigh of
inexpressible relief I rose from the table, and escaped to the welcome
shelter of my room.
"I thought I was glad that Andrea had come," was my reflection; "but
to-day has been worse than any other day."
Then, rather discontentedly, I began the preparations for my toilet.
The little black net dress, with the half-low bodice, the tan gloves,
the black satin shoes, were already lying on the bed.
It is all very well to be Cinderella, if you happen to have a
fairy-godmother. Without this convenient relative the situation is
far less pleasant, and so common as to be not even picturesque. There
are lots of Cinderellas who never went to the ball, or, if they did
go, were taken no notice of by the prince, and were completely cut
out by the proud sisters. Musing thus, with a pessimism which, to do
me justice, was new to me, I proceeded to make myself as fine as the
circumstances of the case permitted.
"At least my hair is nice," I thought, as I stood before the glass and
fastened a knot of daffodils into my bodice; "Jenny always admired it,
and the shape of my head as well. I've been pale and ugly, too, for the
last few weeks, but my cheeks are red enough to-night. They are only
red from crossness, and the same cause has made my eyes so bright, but
how is any one to know that?"
"Why, Elsie Meredith," said a voice suddenly from some inner region of
my being, "what on earth is the matter with you? You, who could never
be persuaded to take enough interest in your personal appearance!
Surely you have caught the infection from that middle-aged Costanza."
With which rather spiteful reflection I blew out the candles, threw a
shawl over my shoulders, and ran downstairs into the ball-room.
I was the first arrival. The room stood empty, and I halted a moment on
the threshold, struck by the beauty of the scene.
The walls of the vast chamber were hung from top to bottom with faded
tapestry, of good design and soft dim colour. From the painted, vaulted
ceiling, which rose to mysterious height, hung a chandelier in antique
silver, ablaze with innumerable wax lights. Other lights in silver
sconces were placed at intervals along the walls, and narrow sofas in
faded gilt and damask bordered the wide space of the floor.
At one end of the room was a musician's gallery, whence sounds of
tuning were already to be heard.
Two other rooms led out from the main apartment, both of smaller size,
indeed, but large withal, and characterized by the same severe beauty.
There was no attempt at decoration, nor was any needed.
Having made a general survey of the premises, I advanced to the middle
of the ball-room, and began to feel the floor, across which a faded
drugget had been stretched, critically with my foot.
Then I circled round on the tips of my toes under the chandelier,
humming the air of "Dream Faces" very softly to myself.
So absorbed was I in this occupation that I did not notice the entrance
of another person, till suddenly a voice sounded quite close to my ear,
"Well, is it a good floor?"
I stopped, blushing deeply. There before me stood Andrea, looking very
nice in his evening clothes.
"Not very good, but quite fair," I answered, recovering my
self-possession before his complete coolness.
He smiled quietly.
"I guess you are a person of experience in such matters, Miss Meredith."
"I haven't been to many balls, but we are fond of dancing at home."
"We?" said Andrea, interrogatively.
"My sisters----"
"And brothers?"
"I haven't any brothers."
"And friends?"
"Yes, and friends." I could not help laughing; then thinking that he
looked rather offended, I added by way of general conversation--
"How beautiful this room looks. It seems quite desecration to dance in
it."
He looked round, and up and down.
"Yes, I suppose it is elegant. I think it very gloomy."
Again I found myself smiling. There was something so absurd in this
mixture of the soft, sweet Italian tones and the very pronounced
American accent, not to speak of the occasional flowers of American
idiom.
This time, however, Andrea did not appear offended, but smiled back
at me most charmingly, then turned to greet his mother, who, the two
girls in her wake, came sweeping across the room in violet velvet and
diamonds.
"You are down early, Miss Meredith," she said to me without moving a
muscle of her face, but making me feel that I had committed a breach of
propriety in venturing alone downstairs.
"You look so nice," cried Bianca, who, in blue-striped silk and a high
tortoiseshell comb, had made the very worst of herself.
Costanza, shrugging her shoulders, turned and rustled across the room.
I was surprised to see how handsome she looked. With her gown of
richest brocade, made with a long train and Elizabethan collar, with
the rubies gleaming in her dark hair and in the folds of her bodice,
she seemed a figure well in harmony with the stately beauty of her
surroundings. As though conscious of her effect, she moved over to
the entrance of the inner room, and stood there framed in the arched
doorway with its hangings of faded damask. Andrea went at once to her
side.
"It's a long time since we have had a dance together, Contessima."
"A long, long time, Marchesino."
Then their voices fell, and there was nothing to be heard but a
twittering exchange of whispers.
Bianca put her arm about my waist and whirled me round and round.
"We don't dance the same way," she said, releasing me after a brief but
breathless interval.
Annunziata in apple-green brocade and a pearl stomacher was the next
arrival, laughing heartily, and flourishing her lace handkerchief as
she came. Behind her strolled her husband, handsome, indolent, and
grave as a judge. The old Marchese brought up the rear.
The guests began now to arrive; smart, dignified, voluble matrons;
smart, expectant girls; slight, serious young civilians, dandling their
hats as they came; pretty little officers in uniform, with an air of
being very much at home in a ball-room. Romeo brought me a programme,
and wrote his name down for the lancers.
Then I stood there rather forlornly while the musicians struck up the
first waltz.
At the first notes of the music Andrea left Costanza's side and came
towards me.
"He is going to ask me to dance," was my involuntary reflection; "how
nice! I am sure he dances well."
"Let me introduce il signor capitano," said Romeo's voice in my ear;
and there stood a trim little person in uniform before me, bowing and
requesting the honour of the first dance.
"One moment," said Andrea, quietly, as, rather disappointed, I began to
move away with my partner; "Miss Meredith, may I see your card?"
I handed him the little bit of gilt pasteboard, virgin, save for his
brother's name.
"Will you give me six and ten?"
"Yes."
He returned to Costanza, his partner for the dance, and I and my
officer plunged into the throng.
It was not a success. There were no points of agreement in our practice
of waltzing, and after a few turns we subsided on to one of the damask
sofas, exchanging commonplaces and watching the dancers, whose rapid
twists and bounding action filled my heart with despair.
"I shall never be able to dance like that," I reflected. It was by
no means an ungraceful performance. They leapt high, it is true, but
in no vulgar fashion of mere jumping; rather they rose into the air
with something of the ease and elasticity of an indiarubber ball,
maintaining throughout an appearance of great seriousness and dignity.
At the end of the dance, my partner bowed himself away, and I withdrew
rather forlornly to a corner, hoping to escape unnoticed. Here,
however, Romeo again espied me, and led up to me a rather despondent
young gentleman--a student at the University of Pisa, I afterwards
learned--whom I had observed nursing his tall silk hat in solitude
throughout the previous dance.
I explained earnestly that I could not dance Italian fashion; that I
preferred, indeed, to be a spectator, and settled down into my corner
with some philosophy.
"I dare say Andrea can waltz my way," I thought, looking down at my
programme, where the initials A.B. stood out clearly on two of the gilt
lines. "It is rather disappointing to have to sit still and look on
while other people dance to this delightful music, but it is amusing
enough, in its way, and I must keep my eyes open and remember things to
tell the girls."
It annoyed me, I confess, a little to meet Costanza's glance of
contemptuous pity as she whirled by with a tall officer, and a
mean-spirited desire came over me to explain to her that I was sitting
out from choice, and not from necessity. The flood of dancers rushed
on--those many-coloured ephemera, on which the old, dim walls looked
down so gravely--and still I sat there patiently enough, though my eyes
were beginning to ache and my brain to whirl.
Annunziata's apple-green skirts, Bianca's blue and white stripes, the
Contessima's brocade and rubies, were growing familiar to weariness, so
often did they flash before my sight. It was with genuine relief that
I welcomed Romeo, who came up to claim the fifth dance, the lancers,
for which he had engaged me at the beginning of the evening.
But alas! the word "lancers" printed in French on the programme proved
a mere will-o'-the-wisp, and I found myself drawn into the intricacies
of a quite unknown and elaborate dance.
Romeo, gravely piloting me through the confusing maze, was all courtesy
and patience; but Andrea, who with Costanza was our _vis-à-vis_, seemed
entirely absorbed in observing my stupidity.
"And I am really getting through with it very well," was my reflection;
"it is all that Costanza who makes him notice the mistakes."
The next dance-was Andrea's--a waltz.
"Have you been having a good time, Miss Meredith?" he asked, as we
stood awaiting the music. "I lost sight of you till the lancers, just
now."
"I have been sitting in a corner, looking on," I answered dismally, but
with a smile.
"What!" he drew his brows together.
"It is no one's fault but my own. I can't waltz Italian fashion.
Perhaps we had better not attempt it."
For answer Andrea put his arm scientifically round my waist, piloting
me into the middle of the room, where a few couples were already
revolving.
"I have yet to find the young lady with whom I could not waltz," he
observed, quietly, as we glided smoothly and rapidly across the floor.
Oh, the delights of that waltz! It was one of the intensely good
things of life which cannot happen often even in the happiest careers;
one of the little bits of perfection which start up now and then to
astonish us, plants of such delicate growth that only by an unforeseen
succession of accidents are they ever brought to birth. With what ease
my partner skimmed about that crowded hall! How skilfully he steered
among the bounding complex! Was ever such music heard out of heaven;
and was ever such a kind, comfortable, reassuring presence as that of
Andrea?
A moment ago I had been bored, wistful, tired; now I had nothing left
to wish for.
"Well," he said, as, the music coming to an end, we paused for the
first time; "that was not so bad for an Italian, was it?"
I was so happy that I could only smile, and my partner, apparently not
disconcerted by my stupidity, led me into the inner room, installed me
in a chair, and seated himself in another opposite.
At the same moment Romeo came sauntering up to us, throwing a remark in
rapid Italian to his brother.
The latter, with a slight frown, rose reluctantly, and the two men went
over to the doorway, where they stood talking.
I fell to observing them with considerable interest, these handsome,
dark-eyed gentlemen, with their grace and air of breeding, who were at
the same time so curiously alike and so curiously different.
In both the same simplicity and ease was felt to cover a certain
inscrutability, the frankness a considerable depth of reserve; and in
neither was seen a person to be thwarted with impunity. But whereas in
Romeo's case the quiet manner was the unmistakable mark of a genuine
indolence and indifference, in Andrea's it only served to bring out
more clearly the keen vitality, the alertness, the purpose with which
his whole personality was instinct.
I had not much time for my observations. In the course of a few minutes
Annunziata rustled smilingly past them, and threw herself and her green
skirts into the chair just vacated by her brother-in-law.
The latter shot a quick glance at her, shrugged his shoulders slightly,
resumed his conversation with Romeo, and made no attempt to rejoin me.
As for me, my little cup of pleasure was dashed to the ground.
Annunziata, fanning herself and talking volubly, made but a poor
substitute for Andrea, and I began to be dimly aware of a certain
hostility towards myself in the atmosphere.
The next dance was played, and the next, and still Annunziata sat there
smiling. The two gentlemen had long disappeared into the ball-room, and
we had the smaller apartment to ourselves.
"I can't stand it any longer," I thought, "even with another waltz with
Andrea in prospect." And making an apology to the Marchesina, I stole
through a side door upstairs to bed.
Sounds of revelry reached me faint through the thick walls for many
succeeding hours; and I lay awake on my great bed till the dawn crept
in through the shutters.
"I have been a wallflower," I reflected, "a wallflower, to do me
justice, for the first time in my life. And I'm not so sure that, in
some respects, it wasn't the nicest dance I ever was at."