All the social life of San Salvador centred in the Star-house, or
assembly rooms, in the Square. This was open at all times to all
classes, with certain restrictions. No one should go there in a working
dress, nor except by appointment to meet some one, nor when any other
convenient rendezvous was available, and no one should enter a room
already occupied. It was on no account to be used as a lounging place.
The result of these regulations was that all but the library and
reading-room were usually deserted by day.
The lower floor was the music and dance-room, and was so constructed,
the floor being supported entirely from beneath, and detached from the
walls, that no jar was communicated to the rooms above. The only
vestibule to this room, entered directly from the Square, was that
formed by the pillars supporting the protruding angle of the story
above. Inside, the corner opposite the door was railed off and raised
for an orchestra. The angle at the right was curtained off for a
dressing-room, and the third, entered from the outside, contained the
stairway. The two upper floors were divided in nearly the same way; a
large, hexagonal room with a supporting cluster of columns in the
centre, and three small rooms walled or curtained off in the angles, one
containing a staircase.
The salon on the second floor was reserved for conversation, the third
floor was a library and reading-room, and there was a terrace on the
roof.
The structure was solidly built, and, for the greater part, very plainly
finished. There was a cluster of columns in the centre of the two upper
rooms inclosing a slender fountain jet in a high basin. The lights were
all placed around these columns, and from each of them an arch vaulted
to a pilaster in each of the six angles of the room. In the upper floor
the walls were covered with book-cases, in the lower they were tinted a
dark red with a fresco in each side of a Muse or dancer.
The partitioned angles were draped with curtains colored like the walls.
The second floor, the salon _par excellence_, was more brilliant. The
walls were lined with small faceted blocks of white glass set in an
amber-colored cement, the curtains of the angles were of amber-colored
silk, the chairs, divans, sofas, and _amorini_ were covered with an
amber-colored linen that looked like satin, the floor was of small
alternating amber and dark green tiles, the heavy rugs were amber
colored. It was a room all light, except the dark green divan that
surrounded the cluster of pillars.
These rooms were lighted till ten o’clock every evening but Sunday, and
were free to all; but the inevitable law of selection had made it a
tacit custom for certain persons to go on certain evenings. To meet a
stranger, it was considered proper to give place to those who had been
outside.
Elena brought out a beautiful lace dress that Tacita’s mother had left
behind her on going out into the world. It was of pillow lace woven in
stripes, and made over a soft silk in broad stripes of rose and
cream-color. Dressed in it, Tacita looked like a blush rose.
They set out for her first assembly at early twilight. Lights in the
houses showed them the way, there was a sound of violins in the dewy
air, and figures flitting in the dance-room, and outside a number of
persons were dancing gayly in the light that shone from the building.
“Our people are much given to dancing,” Elena said. “And we have the
most beautiful and complex fancy dances in the world.”
They went up a winding stair, that started in a lower angle and ended in
a terrace, from which a wide arched door opened into the salon, showing
the glittering walls, the full light, the tossing fountain in its
lightly shadowed seclusion, the silken curtain of the opposite boudoir,
and a company almost filling the room.
The music came softened from below, allowing the voices to be heard.
Dylar and Iona met the two as they entered, and Tacita found herself in
the midst of the most cultivated and charming company she had ever seen.
But for their costume, they would not at first have seemed different
from any other gathering of well-bred people who meet with pleasure a
welcome guest; but the stranger soon felt in their greeting the
difference between mere courtesy and sincere affection. It was a
repetition of the heart-warming phrase that told her she was “in her
father’s house.”
The costumes gave an air of romance and unreality to the scene. As
Tacita looked about with a pleased wonder, these figures suggested
Arcadian groves, Olympian slopes, or some old palace garden shut in by
high walls, with fragrant hedges of laurel and myrtle over-showered by
roses, with a blush of oleanders against a mossy fountain, the dim stars
of a passion-vine hung over a sequestered arbor, and crumbling forms of
nymphs, lichen-spotted in the sunshine. These figures would have
harmonized with such scenes perfectly.
On the green velvet divan sat several old men and women who wore long
white robes of fine wool with silken girdles. All the younger ladies
wore the same straight robe, made in various colors, with silken fringed
sashes, and fine lace at the neck and wrists. Some wore lace robes like
Tacita’s. A few had strings of pearls; but no other jewels were visible.
The gentlemen, on the contrary, seemed much more gayly dressed than in
any other modern society. Their costumes were all rather dark in color
and without ornament; but the silver buckles on their shoes and the
silver badge on the turban cap which each one carried in his hand, or
under his arm, brightened the effect, and they all wore lace ruffles at
the wrists and laced cravats. Dylar wore violet color, and a silver
fillet round his cap.
Of the more than a hundred persons present, all but the youngest had
been outside, and spoke other languages than their own. Some were
natives of San Salvador living outside, and returned but for a time.
Tacita found herself charmingly at home with them.
After a while Dylar drew her apart, and they seated themselves in a
boudoir.
“You will observe the absence of jewels in our dress,” he said. “This is
only our ordinary way of meeting; but there is no occasion on which gems
are worn here as elsewhere. With us they have a meaning. Diamonds are
consecrated to the Basilica. Other stones are used as decorations for
some distinguished act or acquirement. The ruby is for an act of heroic
courage, the topaz for discovery, the emerald for invention. Pearls are
worn only by young girls and by brides at their wedding. When you marry,
we will hang pearls on you in a snow-drift.”
He bent a little and smiled into her face.
Tacita blushed, but made no reply immediately. A feeling of melancholy
settled upon her. Could it be that she would be expected to marry?—and
that he would wish to select a husband for her?
“Elena does not marry, and Iona is not yet married,” she said after a
silence.
“Oh, there is perfect freedom,” said Dylar. “But Iona is only twenty-six
and Elena scarcely over forty years of age. Both may marry yet. Now
there is a gentleman coming in who wishes very much to see you. He has
just come from England, and will return in a few days. Shall I call
him?”
She consented cordially, and Dylar beckoned the young man to them, and
having presented him, retired and left the two together. A moment later
she saw him go out with Iona by the way leading upstairs. They were
going either to the library or terrace.
How well they looked together, though Iona was almost as tall as Dylar.
She wore amber-color that evening, which became her, and her cheeks were
crimson, her eyes brilliant. For a little while Tacita had some
difficulty in attending to what her new companion was saying, and in
making the proper replies. Then something in his manner pleased her, and
drew her from her abstraction.
He was simply a well-bred young Englishman in a sort of masquerade,
which, however, became him wonderfully. He had hair as golden as her
own, and he wore dark blue. While talking with him, Tacita, woman-like,
looked at the wide lace ruffle that fell back on his sleeve. It had a
ground of fairy lightness, a _vrai reseau_ as strong as it was light,
with little wide-winged swallows all over it in a fine close _tela_,
with a few open stitches in the head and wings. She wondered where she
had read of swallows that
—“hawked the bright flies in the hollows
Of delicate air.”
“You are admiring my ruffles,” the young man said with the greatest
frankness. “They were made here, and belonged to my father. I have
refused a good deal of money for them. Of course you have learned that
they make beautiful lace here. I think it the finest lace made in the
world, taking it all in all. Look at that dress of yours, now. How firm
and clear it is! That’s pillow lace, though, and this is point. There’s
a kind of cobweb ground to some rare Alençon point that is wonderful as
work; but you don’t dare to touch it. I’ve seen a fine _jabot_ belonging
to one of the Bonaparte princes, and worn by him at a royal marriage.
You’ll sometimes see as good a border of medallions as that had, but not
such a centre, lighter than blonde. It was scattered over with bees that
had only alighted. Each wing was a little buttonhole-stitched loop with
a tiny open star inside. As a _jabot_ it could be worn; but as ruffles,
you would have to keep your hands clasped together over the top of your
head.”
The young man proposed after a while that they should go up and see the
library, and Tacita somewhat shrinkingly consented.
“If Dylar should be there, I hope he will not believe that I followed
him!” she thought.
He was not there. The large room was quiet and deserted. Shaded lamps
burned on the green-covered tables, folds of green silk were drawn back
from two lofty windows closed only with casements of wire gauze. Globes,
stands of maps, movable book-rests, and cases of books of reference were
all about. From the stairway and through the open windows the hum of
conversation came softened to a hum of bees, the sound of viols from the
dance-room was a quivering web of silver, and the feet of the dancers
did not make the least tremor in the firmly set walls.
“The library is not a very large one, you see,” said Tacita’s guide. “It
is nearly as much weeded as added to. It is surprising how much
literature thought to be original is found out to be only a turn of the
kaleidoscope. I won’t quote Solomon to you.”
“My grandfather,” Tacita said, “used to say that one folio would contain
all the thoughts of mankind that are worth preserving, and ten all the
commentaries worth making on them.”
“This is the way they condense here,” said her companion. “For
necessarily San Salvador must be a city of abridgments. Say that ten
authors write on some one subject worthy of attention. The best one is
selected and then interleaved with extracts from the others. To this is
added a brief notice of the authors quoted. It’s a good deal of work for
one person to do; but it saves the time of everybody else who has to
read on the subject.”
Returning to the Salon they found that Dylar and Iona had come down from
the terrace, and some boys were carrying about cups of a pleasant drink
that seemed to be milk boiled, sweetened, and delicately spiced.
“Iona must take you up to-morrow night to look at Venus,” Dylar said.
“It is very beautiful now.”
The bells rang ten o’clock, the signal for going home, and they went
down stairs. Dylar took leave at the door; but the young Englishman
asked permission to accompany Tacita and Elena to their door. The music
had ceased in the dance-room, and the lights were half extinguished; but
the last couples came out still dancing, humming a tune, and, hand in
hand, danced homeward.
“You will like to see our fancy dances,” Elena said. “Some of them are
very dramatic. There is a good deal of grace and precision in them, but
no parade of agility. I know nothing more disgusting than the flesh and
muscle exhibition of the ordinary _ballet_. Some of our dances require
quite as much command of muscle, but there must be no effect of effort.
To see a woman gracefully draped float like a cloud is quite as
wonderful as to see her half naked and leaping like a frog. We have a
Sun-dance, with the whole solar system; and I assure you the moons have
to be as nimble-footed as the _chulos_ of a bull-fight. The Zodiac dance
is more like a minuet in time. There are twelve groups which keep always
the same position with regard to each other; but the whole circle slowly
revolves, having two motions, one progressive. It is a science, and
requires a good deal of practice. Iona used to be the lost Pleiad, and
wandered about veiled, threading the whole maze, but never finding her
place. Of course all are in costume; and it is an out-door dance,
occupying the whole Square. Her part was like some little thing of
Chopin’s, plaintive, searching, and unanswered.”
When the two had gone up stairs, Elena said: “Do you think that you
would ever be willing to marry the young man who came home with us
to-night?”
“Oh, no!” Tacita exclaimed. “What should put it into your mind?”
“He wished me to ask you. I thought that it was vain; but I promised to
ask. If there is the least chance, he will stay longer. If not, he will
go to-morrow. He has long known you by reputation, and he admired you at
sight.”
“There is not the least chance,” Tacita said decidedly, and wondered why
she should feel so angry and pained.