Crimson and white flags, that swayed incessantly backwards and forwards in the draught created by the dancers as they whirled past, had been fixed to the bare wooden partitions, through which the wind whistled straight from the plain. The withered garlands, that had been there since the Sokol's[A] last entertainment, rustled softly as they hung from one flagstaff to the other. The boards on the floor were only loosely laid down, and moved up and down under the hopping and gliding of many feet. If a foot happened to stamp a little more than usual, or a couple to fall down with a crash, then clouds of dust would whirl up and obscure the light from the swinging paraffin lamp, round which twelve candles, fixed in a metal disc, were flickering. A stove roared in the corner. The wall behind it had been scorched by the heat, and in front a large iron-plated screen had been placed, in order to protect the women's dresses from the sparks that flew out of the open door.
[ A] A Polish gymnastic society.
The piano stood on a platform, which was now and then used as a stage; and there was a pianist from Gnesen, not at all a bad player, who was supported by a violin and a double-bass. The musicians played with a good deal of rhythm, a fiery rhythm that carried the dancers away. People danced well in Gradewitz. Schmielke's dancing was nothing special here, although it had been considered exceedingly good at home. The girls were as light as soap-bubbles; even stout Miss Trampel, the baker's daughter, and the stupid, snub-nosed Miss Musiëlak, the stationmaster's daughter, danced like feathers; still, they were not in very much request.
Little Jadwiga, the rich mill-owner's daughter, who was wearing a brand-new pale blue cashmere frock, cut square in front, which left her neck bare as far as the freckles went, did not meet with as much success as could be expected from her dress, which the Gradewitz dressmaker had declared to be her masterpiece. And even Mariechen Rózycki, whose very red arms and hands stuck out of a pink silk blouse, had to look on, while one man after another marched over to Mrs. Tiralla. It was a bitter blow.
The girls put their heads together in the intervals between the dances. All of them, whether fair or dark, brown or red, had had their hair done exactly in the same way. The Gradewitz hairdresser had waved their front hair and made it into an enormous roll over the forehead, with the help of some padding. And then she had made three puffs of the back hair, which she had placed at the top of the head. The only difference between them all was the greater or lesser quantity of hair they had, and the colour of the little bow placed coquettishly on the left side.
How awful these young girls looked. The one in bright pink, the other in bright blue, the third in almost orange, the fourth in the colour of arsenic. And then the women! Mrs. Rózycki, the butcher's wife, shone in a stiff silk--dark reddish brown, trimmed with yellow lace--not at all bad in itself, but how common her fat face looked over her tight silk bodice that seemed ready to burst. And then the others! Mrs. Jokisch, in black, trimmed with mauve and a white lace collar, looked exactly like her own grandmother. How a man's soul seems to show itself in his garments. Mr. Böhnke, the schoolmaster, stood in a corner of the ballroom criticizing the company. He had never laid so much weight on appearances before--his mother was a very unassuming woman, and his sisters, oh, dear!--but he had been spoiled since he had made Mrs. Tiralla's acquaintance. She was always beautiful, and especially so this evening. He almost devoured her with his eyes. How splendid she looked in that dainty white dress. She was harmony personified in this confused mass of gaudy colours. The only coloured thing about her was her smooth, silky dark hair, with the rosebuds in it, and the little bouquet at her bosom.
She was the only one who was wearing a low-necked dress. Such a thing had never been the fashion in Gradewitz, where it was only customary to expose the throat and shoulder-blades. It was really extremely indecent to be so uncovered; but none of the women would have dared say that aloud, and the young girls even less. Next time, however, that there was a ball in Gradewitz, all the dresses should be made like Mrs. Tiralla's. The men seemed to approve of it. Even the most innocent children noticed how their fathers' eyes glittered as they looked down at Mrs. Tiralla's shoulders.
Sophia Tiralla did not seem to notice all these looks. She gave herself up to the pleasures of the dance like a child--like a little innocent child. All her misery had been wiped away for this short hour. What did it matter to her that all these men stared at her in the same way as her husband always did? Her blood did not course more quickly on that account. Let them! She laughed at them, laughed! If they had known that she had almost killed a human being! Almost poisoned her! She was seized with a nervous inclination to laugh.
When Mr. Schmielke whispered to her, as he pressed her to his heart in the gliding waltz, "My beautiful one, the sweetest rose in Poland"--he thought that very fine, really poetical--"I'm dying of love for you," she laughed in his face.