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Part 16

Do not think, reader, that the ball we were attending is already over. The small digression we made outside of it in the preceding chapter seemed to us necessary to explain by what combination of fateful circumstances our heroine, being a slave, was driven to take the audacious resolution of presenting herself at a splendid and aristocratic soiree—a weakness of heart, or timidity of character, which may be excused, but not fully justified in a person of such delicate conscience and such enlightened understanding.

The ball continues, but no longer so lively and festive as at the beginning. The frenetic applause, the general admiration, of which Isaura had become the object on the part of the gentlemen, had produced a complete cooling among the most beautiful and witty ladies of the gathering. Sullen with their favorite gentlemen, because of the enthusiastic homage they were frankly rendering at the feet of her whom they were implicitly proclaiming the queen of the salon, they no longer even wished to dance, and instead of merry laughter and frank and jovial conversation, one heard only in the corners among various groups, mysteriously whispered outbursts, and secrets murmured between yellow and sarcastic little laughs.

A kind of general whisper of discontent was spreading among the young women. It was like those dull and deep rumblings that resound far off through space, preceding a great storm. One would say they were already guessing that that woman, who by her charms and incomparable gifts was supplanting them all, was nothing more than—a slave. Many even were withdrawing, and notably those who cherished some hope, or judged themselves to have some right over the heart of Alvaro. Annihilated under the weight of Isaura's crushing triumphs, not finding in themselves the courage to remain any longer in the lists, they took the prudent course of going to hide in the mysterious recess of their chambers the spite and shame of such a cruel and solemn defeat.

We will not say, however, that among so many and such noble ladies, distinguished by the charms of spirit and body, there were not many who, with all detachment and without the slightest shadow of envy, admired Isaura's beauty, and applauded with heart and sincere pleasure her triumphs, and it was these who managed to give some life to the soiree, which without them would have faded entirely. Nevertheless it is no less certain that of the fair sex, without distinction of classes, at least half is the dupe of these petty envies, jealousies and rivalries.

We left Isaura going to take part in a quadrille, with Alvaro as her partner. While they dance, let us enter a small room, where there are gaming tables, and sideboards furnished with liqueur stands, bottles of beer and champagne. This small room communicates directly with the ballroom where they dance, through a wide open door. There are found there half a dozen young men, for the most part students, of those with pretensions to being rakes and eccentrics à la Byron, and who, already weary of society, of pleasures and of women, are accustomed to say they would not exchange a puff of a cigar, or a glass of champagne, for the most flattering smile of the most beautiful maiden; of those disbelievers, who live proclaiming in prose and verse that at the dawn of life they already have their heart withered by the breath of skepticism, or scorched by the fire of passions, or frozen by satiety; of those misanthropes in short, full of spleen, who are always found in the midst of all balls and gatherings of every kind, flaunting their aloofness and disdain for the pleasures of society and the frivolities of life.

Among them is one on whom we must dwell a little longer, since he is to take a somewhat active part in the events of this story. This one has nothing of the spleenetic nor of the Byronic; on the contrary, his whole being breathes the most flat and ignoble prosaism. He shows himself to be older than his companions, a good ten years. He has a large head, a broad face, and coarse features. The forehead is disproportionately ample, and stuffed with enormous protuberances, which, in the opinion of Lavater, is an indication of a slow and narrow spirit, bordering on stupidity. The whole of the rough and almost grotesque physiognomy reveals ignoble instincts, much egoism and baseness of character. What however most characterizes him is a certain spirit of covetousness, and of sordid greed, which transpires from him in all his words, in all his acts, and principally in the depths of his small, grayish eyes, where a gleam of roguery constantly shines. He is a student, but by the disorder of his dress, without the slightest care and not a shadow of elegance, he looks more like a peddler. He had been studying for fifteen years at his own expense, maintaining himself from the income of a tavern, of which he was a capitalist partner. His name is Martinho.

--Lads,--said one of the young men,--let us have a game of lansquenet here, while those simpletons over there are dragging their feet and making bows.

--Right!--exclaimed another, sitting down at a table and taking up decks.--Since we have nothing better to do, let us go to the cards. Besides, in the deck is life. The sight of a single card sometimes makes my heart tremble with livelier emotions than Romeo would feel at a glance from Juliet... Affonso, Alberto, Martinho, come over here; let us go to lansquenet ... just two or three rounds only...

--I would gladly accept the invitation,--replied Martinho,--if I were not busy with another game, which from one moment to the next, and without risking anything, can put into my pocket no less than five contos of reis, clean.

--What the devil kind of game are you talking about there?... will you never stop being a madman?... leave off your nonsense, and let us go to lansquenet.

--Would anyone who has a sure game like mine go throw himself into the hazards of lansquenet, which has already swallowed some good coin of mine?... I am not such a fool.

--By a thousand devils, Martinho!... so you will not explain yourself?... what cursed game is that?...

--Well, guess it then... You are not capable. It is a tremendous trick. If you guess it, I will give you a splendid supper at the best hotel in this city; understood, if my trick pays off.

--From that supper we are quite safe, poor eater of burnt codfish, and because it is not possible for anyone to guess the nonsense that passes through those extravagant brains of yours. What we want is your money here on the lansquenet table.

--Oh, leave me in peace,--said Martinho, with his eyes attentively directed toward the ballroom.--I am calculating my game ... suppose it is chess, and that I am going to give checkmate to the queen ... no sooner said than done, and the five contos are mine...

--No doubt, the fellow is raving mad... Come on, Martinho; reveal your game, or go away, and do not be wearing out our patience with your craziness.

--The madmen are you. My game is this ... but how much will you give me to reveal it? look, it is a curious thing.

--You want to whet our curiosity to squeeze a few coppers out of us, is that not so?... well this time I assure you on my part, that you will get nothing. Go to the devils with your game, and leave us here with ours. To the cards, my friends, and let us leave Martinho with his craziness.

--With his rogueries, you mean ... you will not catch me.

--Ah! fools!--exclaimed Martinho,--you are still with the lips you suckled with.

Come here, come here, and you will see whether it is craziness, or roguery. In short I want to show you my game, because I wish to see whether your opinion will or will not agree with mine.

Here is my trick.--concluded Martinho showing a paper, which he drew from his pocket;--it is nothing more than an advertisement for a runaway slave.

--Ha! ha! ha! this one is not bad!...

--What nonsense!... decidedly you are mad, my Martinho.

--What purpose does an advertisement for a runaway slave serve now?...

--Were you perhaps appointed an officer of justice or a slave hunter?

These and other phrases escaped the young men mingled together, in a chorus of interminable guffaws, which competed with the orchestra of the ball.

--I do not know why you are so astonished,--replied Martinho coolly;--what is surprising is that you have not yet seen this great advertisement in a separate sheet, which came from Rio de Janeiro, and was distributed throughout the whole city with the Jornal do Commercio.

--Are we by chance bailiffs or officers of justice, to trouble ourselves with such advertisements?

--But look, the business is one of the most curious, and the reward is not to be despised.

--Poor Martinho! how much the greed for gold can do in your spirit, which makes you go hunting for runaway slaves in a ballroom!--for is it here that you could find such people?...

--Hey!... who knows?!... I have my reasons for suspecting that right here I shall find her, as well as the five little contos, which, here among us, is now just around the corner, since my partner's store has yielded very little in these last times.

Martinho called a store the small tavern of which he was a partner. Having said those words he went to station himself beside the door that gave onto the ballroom, and there he remained for a long time looking, now at those who were dancing, now at the advertisement, which he had unfolded in his hand, like one who verifies and compares the signs.

--What the devil is Martinho doing there?--exclaimed one of the young men, who, entertained by Martinho's antics, taking them for clowning, had forgotten to play.

--He is mad, there remains not the least doubt.--observed another.--Looking for a runaway slave in a ballroom!... Well, that was all that was missing! If he were hunting for some princess, he would certainly go looking for her in the quilombos.

--But perhaps it is some page, or some maid, who is going about there.

--I am not aware that there is any page or maid dancing there, and he does not take his eyes off those who are dancing.

--Leave him; this fellow, besides being a vile trafficker, was always a first-rate maniac.

--It is her!--said Martinho, leaving the door, and turning to his companions;--it is her; I no longer have the least doubt; it is her, and she is secure.

--Her who, Martinho?...

--Well! who else could it be?...

--The runaway slave?!...

--The runaway slave, yes, gentlemen!... and she is there dancing.

--Ha! ha! ha! now let's see this latest one, Martinho!... how far do you want to take your farce? the ending must be amusing. This is priceless, and worth more than all the balls in the world.

--If all of them had an episode like this, I wouldn't miss a single one.--Thus shouted the young men amid thunderous laughter.

--Are you mocking?--mind you, the farce smells a bit of tragedy.

--Better! Better!--let's have it, Martinho!

--You don't believe it?... then listen here, and afterward you'll tell me what you think of the farce.

Saying this, Martinho sat down on a chair, and unfolding the announcement, he put himself in the attitude of reading it. The others gathered curiously around him.

--Listen well,--Martinho continued--Five contos!--such is the pompous title, which in eloquent and large numerals is found on the frontispiece of this immortal work, which is worth more than the Iliad of Camões...

--And than the Lusiads of Homer, isn't that so, Martinho? stop with your asinine preambles, and let's get to the announcement.

--I'll satisfy you right away,--said Martinho, and he continued reading:

--Fled from the estate of Mr. Leoncio Gomes da Fonseca, in the municipality of Campos, province of Rio de Janeiro, a slave by the name of Isaura, whose distinguishing marks are the following:

Domínio Público

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