CHAPTER VII
This was what the post brought Grace the next morning:
"My dear Miss Ballinger,[1]—I hope to call on you to-morrow; but I wish first to explain who I am. My husband was well acquainted with Sir Henry Ballinger, and he was our guest while in the United States. I am now a widow, living almost entirely in Colorado with my son, though I have a house here. I do not go into New York society, and fear I can be of little use to you during my short stay, but if you and your brother have a spare evening and would dine quietly with me I would try and get one or two pleasant friends to meet you. Later on, if you are going West, it would give me real pleasure to offer you and Sir Mordaunt such hospitality as we can in our wild home in the Rocky Mountains. Should you not be at home to-morrow, perhaps you will kindly write and say if I am fortunate enough to find you both disengaged any evening. All are the same to me.Yours sincerely,"Joanna Caldwell."
"My dear Miss Ballinger,[1]—I hope to call on you to-morrow; but I wish first to explain who I am. My husband was well acquainted with Sir Henry Ballinger, and he was our guest while in the United States. I am now a widow, living almost entirely in Colorado with my son, though I have a house here. I do not go into New York society, and fear I can be of little use to you during my short stay, but if you and your brother have a spare evening and would dine quietly with me I would try and get one or two pleasant friends to meet you. Later on, if you are going West, it would give me real pleasure to offer you and Sir Mordaunt such hospitality as we can in our wild home in the Rocky Mountains. Should you not be at home to-morrow, perhaps you will kindly write and say if I am fortunate enough to find you both disengaged any evening. All are the same to me.
Yours sincerely,
"Joanna Caldwell."
"Jem" Gunning's party that night was a great success. He had done a good-natured thing by inviting Ferrars, whom he scarcely knew, but had interchanged a few words with on board ship, and had subsequently met at the Ballingers'. Ferrars was their friend; he had greatly admired Carmencita's public performances, and he had expressed a desire to see her in private, hence the invitation. Of course all the very "smartest" of New York society were there, including the Hurlstones and Mrs. Van Winkle, and besides these two or three artists justly supposed to be more in touch with the wayward, capricious dancer, who, it was said, required the enthusiasm of Bohemia to stimulate her efforts. Before a cold, fashionable circle she had been known to be a failure. They had arranged the beautiful picture-gallery added by the late Mr. Gunning to his fine mansion so that the dancer should have a little stage to herself at one end, backed by tall folding screens of Cordova leather. The electric light fell full upon this, while it was subdued in the rest of the gallery. The whole effect of the beautifully-dressed women, mostly young, not overcrowded, but seated in groups with their cavaliers, against the rich background of pictures, was, in itself, a littletableau.
Before Carmencita arrived the Hungarian band played, and people wandered about, some to look at the pictures (which were all modern French), some to the refreshment-room adjoining. Then, when it was announced that the dancer and her accompanying band of guitars had arrived, the guests were arranged in semicircles of chairs; and, there being plenty of room for all, the men were not relegated to doorways, or flattened upright against the wall, as is generally the case in London. The band of guitars seated themselves, and began thrumming abolerowith wonderful spirit and a body of sound that was surprising from such poor instruments. In the midst of this a young woman entered from a side door. She was dressed in white and gold, and wore a white lace mantilla over her head. She was neither pretty nor ugly, a common type of Spaniard, and her movement as she walked was swaggering. She was greeted by a great clapping of hands, which the artists led. She acknowledged this by an awkward and, as it seemed to Grace, a surly salute. Then she sat down, with her feet apart, a fan in one hand, the other lying in her lap, the palm upwards. Her eyes looked dead, her whole face dull and expressionless. Could this be Carmencita? Why, the woman was not even graceful! And the smart ladies who saw her for the first time whispered, "So badly dressed! Hair so blowzy, and frock gathered so fully over the hips that it makes them look ever so much too large!"
Ferrars had a chair immediately behind Grace.
"Is it possible that this is the dancer all the artist world rave about?" she asked.
"Wait."
"I can't fancy that any agility can compensate for the lack of grace and charm," she insisted.
"Wait," he again repeated. "If you are not a convert before ten minutes are over write me down an ass."
The guitars had ceased their little prelude. They were chattering to each other. The leader's head was turned away. He had not once glanced at Carmencita since she entered. Now, however, he revolved upon his stool, struck a chord, looking down as he screwed up one string; then raised his eyes. They met hers. It was like the falling of a spark upon some explosive substance. Her whole face was illuminated. She flung away her mantilla, and rose transformed, as the guitars struck up once more. The genius of her art had now hold of her, and went impatiently quivering through her frame. Her feet tapped the ground; her arms and hands—those apathetic hands—were lifted with a sort of exultant passion; she drew herself proudly up, and herbolerobegan.
Considered merely as dancing, probably many of the spectators had witnessed more wonderful performances. It was the dramatic force, the vivid intensity of every movement, that distinguished it from any ordinary Terpsichorean feat. Without being what is understood as pantomimic, the little dance told its story as no dance of the kind has ever done before. When she sprang forward with that defiant audacity, bent, swayed, flung her body back till it seemed as though her head would touch the floor, her eyes appeared to flash fire, her hands and wrists in their delicate and flexible intonations played through the whole gamut of passionate emotion; they spoke with an eloquence that was not to be resisted. It was no longer a woman dancing—it was a creature possessed by some demoniac influence, struggling, supplicating, conquered, swept like a leaf before the wind in a series of gyrations so rapid and astounding that, when she sank to the earth, the spectators gasped with almost a sense of relief, amid the storm of applause that arose.
She smiled for the first time; then the light faded from her eyes, and she swaggered back to her seat, the same awkward, lumpish-looking peasant she had been ere the flame had been ignited.
"Well? What do you say?" asked Ferrars, from behind Grace's shoulder.
"Nothing. She has taken away my breath."
The flood-gates were burst. "Tremendous! Astonishing! Immense! Did you ever see anything like that bend of body? There is no one can touch her!" and so on poured the tide of frothy admiration round the room.
"They see nothing but an exhibition of agility," said Ferrars. "You see something more than this, I am sure?"
"Yes." She waited a minute, then added, "It is a physical illustration of Owen Meredith's line, 'Genius does what it must. Talent does what it can.' She could no more help dancing as she does than a tornado can help blowing. I am not quite sure that Ilikea tornado. I think I prefer a gentler breeze. But one is carried away by the tempest while it lasts."
"And what do you want more? To be 'carried away,' even for a few minutes, and by a dancing-girl, is rare in life. I tell you that this creature has an individuality that is all her own. I have seen much more wonderful dancing in Spain, but never any that had this curious histrionic character."
"You have been in Spain much?"
"Yes, at one time. I hope Carmencita will sing some national airs presently. She never does so in public. I hear her singing and dancing together are extraordinary. Get our host to ask her."
There was a movement at the door at this moment, and a fat, fair woman, with a sweet smile, laden with jewels, entered. Gunning went forward with his mother, and then the magnificent George Ray strode down the room and greeted the new guest with effusion.
"Who is that? They are going to bring her up to you," said Ferrars.
"It is the Princess Lamperti. I dare say you have heard her story. She has just divorced her husband."
They approached, and the soft, cushiony-looking woman, with so complacent an expression that it was impossible to believe that her domestic sorrow had eaten deeply into her soul, was presented to Miss Ballinger. As the honored guest of the evening, whom every one was asked to meet, all presentations were made to her.
The princess began at once,
"I saw you last night at the opera, Miss Ballinger, and I was glad to think I was to meet you to-night. Your face was verysympathiqueto me; I am very susceptible to fresh impressions—too much so. And you?" But she ran on without waiting for an answer. "How do you like Carmencita? Wonderful, isn't she? But, for me, I like something more—moreondoyante—more—more—how shall I say—ethereal?"
The princess, though pure American, had many foreign terms of speech, and was much addicted to foreign words.
"Certainly she is not ethereal," smiled Grace. "And yet she seems a sort of double-natured creature—a stupid peasant and—"
"A Paphian priestess!" murmured Mrs. Van Winkle, who stood near, with her head dressed like a cockatoo. "It is like the frenzied orgies that used to wind up some of their interesting rites! That intoxicating twirl of hers at the end—it is realismin extremis."
This sounded to Grace very like nonsense, but she was quick enough to respond,
"TheextremisI suppose are her head and her toes? They were so mixed I could not quite tell for a moment which was which."
"You know," said the princess, "that the leader of the guitars is her husband? She adores him."
"Indeed? That is interesting. I saw that he lit her by a look, as some people, they say, light gas by the electricity in their fingers."
"I am one of the light-fingered gentry," laughed George Ray, fatuously. "In cold weather I can always do it, I am so strongly charged with electricity."
"You are such a large battery, such a mighty machine, that we are ablaze when you come near us," said Mrs. Van Winkle, with a satirical smile. Then she added, reflectively, as she opened and shut her fan, "Fancy being lit by your own husband! How curious! Though once, long ago, perhaps—" Then she broke off.
"Ah! They are so young—all is new!" sighed the princess. "One asks one's self, 'Will it continue?' Foreign natures are sovolages. They know not what fidelity means. And, more than all, Italians and Spaniards—ah! They are a dreadful people, as I have good reason to know!"
Grace, generally ready with her tongue, felt rather at a loss what to say. Mrs. Van Winkle saved her.
"It must be very unexciting, dancing to your own husband. Herodias's daughter would not have won the Baptist's head underthosecircumstances. I feel like Marguerite de Valois, when she was thirsty, and drank a cup of cold water, and exclaimed, 'Ah! If it were only a sin!' The legitimate thing is always so veryfade."
It was astonishing the pains this lady took to try and give a false impression of herself. But it was all thrown away on Grace.
"My aunt would have gratified Marguerite de Valois," she said. "She would have told her a cup of cold waterwasa sin—a deadly sin against hygienic laws. It is anidée fixewith her."
Then Mrs. Van Winkle moved on, bowing her cockatoo-like crest to right and left; and, as the princess had taken her seat, Grace turned to make some remark to Ferrars, but she saw to her surprise that he had left his chair, nor could she detect his head anywhere.
Carmencita now danced anaffondangodo, followed by asequidillo, with increasing energy, terminating by explosions similar to that which had roused such enthusiasm in her first dance.
Young Caldwell took the vacant chair behind Grace. After the usual questions, as to whether she cared for the dancing, he said,
"My mother was so delighted to get your note. She is glad that Sir Mordaunt and you can dine with us. Have you met Bagshot, our great lawyer and wit? We hope to get him and one or two others to meet you. But it will be quite a small party. You won't mind?"
"Oh! I shall like it so much better. Every one is most hospitable to us here, but I prefer small parties to large ones. Mr. Gunning," she called to her host, who was passing, "do ask Carmencita to sing while she dances. I am told that is the most charming thing she does."
"Why, yes! Michael Angelo Brown will get her. He speaks Spanish, you know, and understands how to tackle her."
He was going, when the princess stopped him.
"And after that, if you can induce her husband to dance with her—he is difficult to persuade, sometimes, but if you can only succeed—it is charming! soentrain! And there is something in their being husband and wife so—I don't know what! You understand? Ah!" She heaved a deep sigh.
The young man looked as though he did not in the least, but he hurried off to find the artist ambassador who should convey his request to both the performers. And, pleased with the fervor of her reception, the lady consented, so far as she and the song were concerned. It was a long story in couplets, threaded, so to speak, with dances. The precise meaning of each verse required some knowledge of Spanish to understand, but her marvellous play of countenance, and the variety of expression in that low, husky voice, which shetrodwith all the subtlety and delicacy of a great artist, told quite enough. This performance seemed to Grace to be even more remarkable, and certainly more pleasing, than the preceding ones. When it was finished, she looked round once more, with her bright enthusiasm, to try and catch Mr. Ferrars's eye, but he was nowhere in sight. All she discovered was Mordaunt and Miss Hurlstone in a distant corner, where she had seen them more than an hour ago, engrossed in each other's conversation. Well! Dear Mordaunt was an out-and-out flirt; of course, it meant nothing withhim. It was to be hoped the girl was equally case-hardened.
"Do you know, Miss Ballinger," said Caldwell. "I am afraid I like this singing better than the opera last night. I'm not worthy of that grand music. It's such an awful row."
"Which you tried to drown with the sound of your own voice, I dare say," laughed Grace. "Most people did. Now every one paid devout attention to Carmencita. That isn't fair to poor Wagner, is it?"
Here Gunning rushed up. "He has caved in at last! He has consented to dance with her—but only after a regular battle. It was that funny to watch 'em. Their goings on together were like a play, they were, but she has got round him. I say, Miss Ballinger, I want to know if you and your brother won't come out to Tuxedo on Saturday and stay till Monday, as my guests. It's an awfully jolly place, and I'll get up a nice party—just the right set, you know—no outsiders—if you'll come."
"You are very good; but it is impossible. We are engaged."
"What? both days? Couldn't you come for one?"
"No.I, at least, am engaged both days. I can't answer for my brother."
And so, after the little dramatic dance of coquetry and pursuit and capture between the Spanish husband and wife was gone through, the evening came to an end.