Daughters of Men

by Hannah Lynch

It was a mystery to the Karapolos how Madame Jarovisky had discovered the existence of Andromache. It was customary for her to invite the glorious and elegant warrior, with whom she had formed pleasing relations at the Palace entertainments. Besides, Hadji Adam, the King’s aide-de-camp and the very particular friend of Captain Miltiades, generally stipulated that his heroic comrade should have the right of entrance into all the distinguished houses of Athens. But even Hadji Adam knew nothing about his family, and how did it come that the Desposine Andromache Karapolos received a card of invitation for Madame Jarovisky’s great ball given in honour of an English Cabinet Minister? Julia the elder was not invited, nor was little Themistocles, the bank clerk. Another remarkable circumstance was the lateness of the invitation. It came on the eve of the ball. Andromache’s mother and Julia were strongly of opinion that no notice should be taken of an attention conveyed with such strange discourtesy. They did not know Madame Jarovisky, and no chaperon had been invited to accompany the younger Miss Karapolos. But Andromache was wild with desire to go. She had often glanced in marvelling admiration at the Jarovisky palace of marble and statues and colonnades, though she was virtuous enough to lower her eyes before the undraped statues of the terrace which she regarded as scandalous. And now that the chance of entering its bronzed gates and seeing the glories of its interior was presented to her, she was passionately resolved to go. Miltiades was fond of Andromache, and was easily persuaded into seconding her resolution. The head of the house is chaperon enough for any girl, he explained to his weak mother, and it was probably through Mademoiselle Natzelhuber that Madame Jarovisky had learned of Andromache’s existence, which accounted for the lateness of the invitation.

So it was decided that Andromache should go. The excitement put Maria into a good humour, and she was heard to sing, while starching and ironing white petticoats, the Captain’s evening shirt and lace bodices. A little dressmaker was hired for the day, who at breakfast sat opposite the warlike Miltiades, and blushed when Themistocles filled her glass with wine. Everyone laughed and spoke together at table, except the dressmaker and Themistocles, who regarded it as a personal slight that he had not been included in the invitation, and this insult added to the thought of the forbidden paradise in the next street, more than ever convinced him that there was nothing for him but to emigrate to England. After breakfast, instead of showing himself upon Constitution Square, he retired into his own room, and his violin dismally expressed his dissatisfaction in asthmatic strains supposed to be Schubert’s.

Then what running about for the women, what screaming of reiterated explanations, hysterical adjurations, differences of opinion as to the looping of a flounce, the draping of a fold, the selection of a ribbon or a flower! Maria was, of course, president of the house-parliament; though her vision was frequently impeded by the tangled locks of hair she found it so difficult to keep out of her black eyes. But the warmest discussion has its end, and all longed-for hours eventually arrive. When Themistocles arrived for dinner, he found he was the only person insufficiently nourished upon the day’s excitement. Theodore ministered to his wants, while all the women were in the girls’ chamber robing Andromache.

Very pretty she looked when dressed in cream muslin striped with silk,—an exquisitely soft and dainty texture made at the Ergasterion of Athens—trimmed with bows of crimson ribbon and charming Greek lace. Her costume was inexpensive, and looked home-made, but its very guilelessness was an effective setting to her extreme youth and simplicity. A Greek girl, whatever her deficiencies, is never awkward or vulgar, and the only suggestion Miltiades could offer in the way of improvement, when he examined her critically, was the brushing off of some of the powder which marred the fine olive of her face. Miltiades himself was resplendent in his full-dress uniform, his grande tenue. More than ever did he resemble the mythical slaughterer of those five thousand wretched Turks; and such smiling and satisfied glory as his was calculated to depress and fill with alarm the breast of the Sultan himself.

Andromache was muffled in a woollen shawl, and taking the arm of her gallant escort, they went out into the cold blue air. They walked gingerly down the slanting and unpaved street, dreading to splash their evening shoes in the running streams over which they were obliged to jump every time a fresh street broke theirs horizontally. When they reached the even pavement of University Street, behind Hansen’s lovely marble Academy, outlined sharply against the pure dark sky above the perfumed patch of foliage and flowers between it and the University, their footsteps rang out with a loud echo, Andromache’s high heels tapping the stones aggressively. Already a line of carriages was drawn up outside the Jarovisky’s palace. It was the largest ball given at Athens for years. Every one who was not in mourning was there, and most people who were.

Dr. and Madame Jarovisky received their guests at the head of the chill and magnificent hall. When Miltiades appeared, Dr. Jarovisky shook his hand most cordially and asked after his wife and children, shook hands with Andromache, and remarked that he never saw her looking so well, and was delighted to renew his acquaintance with her. Miltiades telegraphed her a glance of warning against any expression of surprise, and explained to her afterwards that Dr. Jarovisky never remembered any of his guests. Madame Jarovisky feebly expressed the pleasure it gave her to see Miss Andromache Karapolos, and hoped she would enjoy herself.

The rooms were crowded, but in spite of heavy perfumes and laughter and light, they were freezingly cold, built as they were of marble, with porphyry pillars and mosaic floors. Andromache shivered a little, and looked anxiously around while her brother twirled his moustache, and beamed a fatuous smile upon the groups he swiftly scanned.

“See, Miltiades, there is Hadji Adam flirting with Madame von Hohenfels. How handsome he is! and how distinguished she.”

“Madame von Hohenfels is what the French call grande dame. I was introduced to her nephew yesterday. He is a very pretty fellow. I daresay he is somewhere about.”