by G A Dazio
The girl spoke now, not meaning to. “But a man could force you, couldn’t he?”
Marcelina’s eyes darkened. “That is rape, my dear. That is not sex, but violence, rather. The two have nothing to do with each other, despite the method in which it is carried out. And there is only one answer to that type of violence: he must be put to death.”
Her answer startled the girl in its simple precision. The two sat in silence as the Marquesa’s words echoed in Veronica’s mind, and it was several moments before the woman’s eyes lightened and she continued on down the path of her instruction.
“Yes, the men of this world will always decree that this inconceivable use of sex is something despicable and unforgivable. A sin, you will hear them call it. But you must always remember it’s this very ability that is God’s greatest gift to women. You must never shy away from using this gift or any other of the faculties He has instilled in you. If anything, it is the waste and disrespect of His gifts that are of the greatest offenses to Him.”
Veronica heard everything said to her, every syllable, and she was well aware that so little of it had had the slightest meaning in her life before today. What thrilled her about all of this was that her aunt made it sound like the greatest of all secrets, something that would be an invaluable defense in this new world she was still learning about. And though Veronica felt at times that the woman’s verbiage and purpose was a bit too calculated, she was certain that what was being learned could never have been shared by any other.
* * *
The next morning, Veronica rose early again to her surprise, considering the great many ordeals that had unfolded the previous night. But these odd events in her life seemed to have little bearing on her thoughts this morning, for she moved about her room in a most energetic fashion. She was also surprised that she did not feel embarrassed by the thought of seeing the Father again this morning. She was far more interested, rather, to see how the event had left him. She felt nothing of the slight pain that she had caused herself last night, and hurried about the room, summoning her dressing maid so that she might find herself out and about the house more quickly.
Veronica wanted more than anything to have the opportunity to sit and observe the world with the new knowledge she possessed, to see what differences, if any, would present themselves to her. The thrill of it, the anticipation of seeing the adults around her now, was almost too much for her, and Veronica concentrated to avoid devouring the crepes and sausages she chose in the dining room too quickly. When she walked into the room, the staff had just begun to lay out the table for the morning meal, apologizing for their lateness.
As if summoned by her very desire, Don de Flores and his wife appeared together for breakfast shortly after the girl had begun on her plate. They entered the room in slow stride and Doña de Flores’ smile shone on Veronica with a delightful morning salutation on her lips.
“We were delighted to hear that you rise so very early, my dear,” Doña de Flores smiled. “It is not a familiar sight under this roof. In town, we are usually up shortly after the sun, but here it seems that our hostess does not care for anyone to rise before the day is nearly half over, to say nothing of how her staff feel about the matter,” the woman remarked, smirking at the footmen who hurried to finish setting the breakfast. “I find myself having to dress my maid at times,” she added, narrowing her eyes in jest.
The two of them laughed congenially and Veronica was so happy they had both come down, feeling more comfortable around the couple.
“I recall being a bit taken by it at first, that the house couldn’t pull themselves out of bed before ten o’clock. I quickly decided to submit to the nocturnal lifestyle here,” the woman continued. “It is a rather easy habit to give in to, I must say. Still, it is nice to greet the morning with such a fresh face. And such a beautiful morning! This time of year seems to be dreadful anywhere else but the coast.”
Veronica felt much more at ease to hear the woman speaking so intimately with her, instead of over her, as was usually the case with most adults. Still, she felt a slight concern that the woman could seem so naturally content to sit at this man’s side, knowing of his infidelities. Veronica caught herself attempting to explain away all thoughts of scandal, realizing that she was unconsciously trying to deny the truth shared by her aunt. Indeed, the infidelity was no secret to Doña de Flores; she did know. She had orchestrated it, in fact. The new clarity still did nothing to prevent the fatigue from the stress that Veronica felt over the matter. In time, the girl resigned to simply be relieved, and focus on this welcome peace at the breakfast table.
His peace was still with her.
The Marquesa did not find her way to the dining room that morning, opting to take her meal in her room. And after the trio had welcomed Angelica and became a quartet, Veronica learned with some disappointment that Father Mateu had left for town that morning before the staff had even risen.
* * *
The week passed effortlessly, and Veronica found that Marcelina’s words brought peace with every breath. Hours passed unnoticed at the woman’s side and the world changed for Veronica. The knowledge of her blindness to the simple matters of life around her became all at once thrilling and provocative. The disturbance of only a few days ago had grown more than tolerable, and after four days of revelation, Veronica was so enrapt with the world her aunt had unwrapped for her that she could barely pull her thoughts away long enough to find her old anticipation for the ball. Indeed, it seemed like a passion she had clung to a million years ago.
Her aunt had seen to it that she would be the finest-dressed young lady of the evening. If anything about her presentation were not perfect, it would hardly be for lack of trying. Should Veronica feel the slightest hesitation for this new world, she needed only to distract herself with every beautiful object in sight. The numerous textures of this place acted as a shield, protecting her from self-doubt. The Marquesa’s was a world constructed so carefully, she thought, that any notion of having once lived in another culture became further obliterated by each door or window that opened for her.
And now at the week’s end, it seemed her former life, with all of its tedious conditions, was but the essence of a dim and hazy flash of memory, long since cast off.
Chapter Eleven
The servants were miserable. The pressures placed upon them this evening were outrageous. Parties in the Castell de Amontoní were hardly rare, but none went by without a horrendous amount of distress on the part of the staff. Tonight, however, they felt the pressure more acutely than ever. Tonight, they lived with the fear that their employment might very well rest upon the success of the evening, and they all knew what it would take to make the evening a victory. They must produce an overwhelming ovation of whispers from the families of Barcelona, this separated Catalonian society, and one name must be remembered afterward when all had gone home or retired to their beds.
Veronica entered her bedroom quietly, her two maids in tow. She had only just returned from the opera after having left halfway through the second act. She knew that scores would be leaving shortly after her, and that many would not stay for a whole performance if the opera was not famous, or rather, the performers were not infamous.
She now let the final promise of her predicament slowly wash over her as the maids bustled around her, ceaselessly attending to her headdress and gown, and the balance and shine of her jewelry. Her face was slightly smeared from the terrible heat in the opera house, which would undoubtedly mean the last performance in the city until the cool of autumn returned, and she now submitted to a torrent of white powder and paint touch-ups. She closed her eyes and let it all happen to her, submitting to a fate she knew to be quite beyond her control or manipulation.
In what seemed only a moment, another maid came with word that the halls had already begun to fill with guests who had left the sweltering heat of the opera house in favor of the Marquesa’s champagne. Any moment now, she would need to descend to the main flo
or and be formally presented.
With a hint of weariness, the Marquesa walked in to gaze down at the girl’s progress, her expression not displaying a great deal of interest. The Marquesa exuded an almost lifeless expression with her face, like a mannequin in a shop window who was posed to observe the passing traffic with no apparent consciousness.
Without the slightest movement, the woman’s voice finally spoke.
“We will wait another hour or so to present you. I don’t wish for you to be seen until the majority of my guests have arrived. It will be better to let them all simmer and find the comfort of drink or conversation.”
“Of course,” Veronica replied.
“I will take you down right before the singers and players from the conservatory begin their concert in the main hall. That way, the crowd will have only a brief moment to discuss you before they must silence themselves for the musicians.”
Seemingly satisfied with Veronica’s appearance, Marcelina dismissed the maids, waiting for the door to close behind them.
“What are you thinking?” Marcelina asked, as if she had only just noticed her, demonstrating that it was perfectly reasonable for the girl to be nervous.
“I am not letting myself think anything now. I’m simply hoping to let it all happen without my assistance. I don’t even really want to think on it anymore, I can’t. It’s all too large for me, I only have the strength to watch and smile. It’ll all happen to me as it will.”
Without the slightest sense of relief in her appearance, Marcelina slowly arranged a satisfied smile on her face. “Good,” she said.
The difference in her appearance put Veronica into a sweeter state of ease, not really having sensed just how nervous she had been.
“I’m not being honest with you,” the girl added shortly. “I simply have no answer for that question. I separated my thoughts from this anxiety hours ago. I fear if I were to think of something specific for even a moment, I would have no way to stop this nervousness. It’s consuming me.”
“I don’t want you to worry any longer,” Marcelina responded with love. “It doesn’t matter what happens tonight. It is inevitable that good will come from this evening. I am not interested in whether you receive offers tonight, but merely whether you are able to find someone who pleases us both.
“There are only a handful of names I will entertain, and I fear that most of them may not be well-suited for your demeanor. It is not your security that is of any concern to me, but rather your compatibility. I don’t wish for you to spend the next year acquainting yourself with someone who you will end up despising. But really, I know so little of the character of these men who I’m relying on to be your suitor. The truth is that I have judged them by the most unreliable of techniques.”
“I leave that all to you, Tia. It’s all I can do to not frown at the whole idea of it.”
Marcelina weighed the girl’s response privately, not allowing the words to affect her composure. She knew Veronica had already changed greatly in a week and that there would be nothing to stop the girl now if she could drum up the same passion she’d had for this evening when was first told of it.
The time passed slowly, much of it in silence. If there was anything either of them wanted to say to each other, it would have to wait. They were both far more interested in observing their predicament. Veronica observed her aunt’s grounding textures; Marcelina observed her niece, wondering how she would react to all the new opportunities opening up in her life. Neither of them truly believed they understood the outcome better than the other. They had faithfully made all the plans necessary to bring triumph to their door. Nothing was left but to simply sit back and watch those plans unfold.
An invitation to Castell de Amontoní was a symbol of irreproachable status, a doorway to the attentions of the elite Catalonian aristocracy. Centuries after the unification of Spain that had resulted in an official disfavor of the older Catalan language, these nobles in the northeast of the country continued to defiantly pronounce the language even louder to separate themselves in spirit from the stifling methods of modern Spanish rule. And the Marquesa’s walls provided the ideal shield. Though Marcelina Theresa Motas de Serra had been born Madrilenian, the young bride had deftly embraced her husband’s Catalonian heritage upon becoming the fourth Marquesa de Amontoní, creating a unique balance that saw her cherished by both cultures. Simply put, it was her uniqueness among the women of the noble houses that afforded the many irregularities in her house, including the old Catalonian opposition to the “new” establishment. Though such a peculiar abnormality would have been scoffed at, were it any other woman, the widow of the great naval general, Don Augustí Marc Serra i Martorell, the Third Marqués to the House of Amontoní, enjoyed every exception made for her to retain the irreproachable and majestic status of her regency.
Beyond this small band of ancient rebels, the Marquesa’s invitations went only to those persons in society whom she deemed worthy of her attentions, and the criteria for her approval was renowned for being eccentric, if not hedonistic. Only those who possessed a sparkling distinctiveness found themselves become one of her guests. Artists of every field: writers, poets, painters, dancers, actors, singers and their composers, the most scandalous and infamous of each sort. Foreigners from every nation in Europe journeyed to her house fully aware and sincerely expectant that under her roof they would be presented as gods to the best of society and displayed with an almost religious grandeur. Even those that were thought of as heretics anywhere else were given a nod of approval if placed at the Marquesa’s side. Whatever physical beauties the place held for the senses, they could never overshadow the pleasures guests would experience from the social prestige that an invitation guaranteed.
By eleven o’clock, the house was well beyond its comfortable capacity. Never a people to obey anyone’s laws of propriety, hundreds crashed the party, as the Marquesa had expected, the unknown entering on the arm or coattail of an invited friend. The people of Barcelona had made certain that they were at this party, if none other. But the woman’s philosophy toward her own events was that an invitation did not matter if the trespassers brought more life with them to the affair.
Absolutely no one who wasn’t a lady was seated any longer. The gentlemen had started to discover the pleasures of stealing away to the garden to be alone with the cool fresh air, clinging gratefully to their drink and smoke. Even some of the younger ladies were now finding themselves kicked out of their seats for the older women, who seemed to pour in endlessly from the night.
In the great hall, the stage had been set, and most guests had found their way here to watch the performance to be given by musicians and choir members who had been imported at great cost from the Conservatoire de Paris. All the greats had come from this school and others like it in Italy, Germany, and England. The significant composers and musicians, the famous choirs and opera singers, as well as the legendary castrati of her mother’s youth, with their otherworldly soprano voices that brought even the highest born to their knees—all came from the conservatories. And tonight, the brightest future stars were preparing to perform no less than five pieces of original work.
It was a different manner in which people prepared themselves to listen to these private concerts, for the guests understood that they were not at the opera. They did not have the opportunity to disapprove of anything they heard. The music performed in the Castell de Amontoní was by the decree and love of the Marquesa. To scoff at any performance under her roof was to outwardly insult her, so even the worst disaster imaginable would have to be met with at least a respectfully responsive applause.
Luckily this was not to be the case, for the conservatory made a point to prepare for this evening as they would prepare for the greatest of openings. Indeed, it was an opening, essentially; an opening for the society who would make or break any aspiring career. And though they might not hiss them off the stage, the players understood that tonight would be one of the more important performanc
es of their career. If the people liked what they heard, a performer’s future could be secured; at least in Barcelona, if not the world outside.
The crowd who would hear the performance was now almost completely assembled. And with a nod to her footmen, the Marquesa accompanied Veronica into the huge room.
Veronica fancied that she could somehow block out the reactions around her, but this was untrue. The smiles and glances of approval coming from all around were sincere and penetrated even the most coma-stricken parts of her mind. She could not help but smile honestly at all of them, delighting in the raucous ovation that erupted as Marcelina walked gracefully into the sea of faces, head held boldly in her larger-than-life manner, sending a wave of appreciation throughout the crowd.
It was better than Veronica had dreamed it could be; how often does that happen in one’s life? she wondered.
From all around her came the voices of women praising the Marquesa and bowing to her lovely niece, all at which Marcelina merely smiled with elegant composure and reasonable acknowledgement. Her role was played perfectly, the girl thought, and everything was working out as they had planned.
The two of them took their seats at the front of the room, and within moments, the Marquesa nodded to the maestro that he might begin the performance.
All around her, Marcelina was met with looks of happiness and envy and, perhaps, resentment. Veronica knew what they thought of her and marveled at how she could shape their impressions of her so effortlessly. To them, the Marquesa seemed flawless, in spite of her unconventionality, and the girl understood it all too well now.