Part 4 (1/2)
SWINBURNE.
A few days later, Arith.e.l.li was duly initiated, and given the badge of the Cause, a ma.s.sive 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 Arith.e.l.li 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 s.e.x.
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 cla.s.ses 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 Arith.e.l.li 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 ”Fatalite,” 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-fas.h.i.+on 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 Arith.e.l.li pa.s.sed 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 p.r.o.ne to encourage the virtue of early rising, and she was by nature indolent in a panther-like fas.h.i.+on, 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.
Arith.e.l.li 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 friends.h.i.+ps. 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 Arith.e.l.li's dressing room and weep, and smoke innumerable cigarettes, and when things had been going well, they made a _partie carree_ at the Cafe Colomb.
By way of advertising herself and her performance Arith.e.l.li was given a high, smartly painted carriage in which she drove in the fas.h.i.+onable promenade of Barcelona, the Paseo de Gracia, with three of the cream-coloured horses lightly harnessed and jingling with bells.