Note : When I was started studying the 19th American music to illustrate the fashion show, (it's been a long time now), I discovered a song. I had no idea when I was going to use it - the location was definitely Atlanta - but I knew it would be their song. Finally here it is. ! At the end of the next chapter, Scarlett will eventually arrive at the Atlanta train station. But... in which mood ? Duncan has to wait for chapter 48 to make his reappearance. It'll be worth it. J
To try to shorten my reference notes on the site, I will publish the details on my blog in the corresponding chapter, accompanied by many other audio versions of the music titles of the ball. Feel free to visit it.
Thank you for your patience! I look forward to reading your comments...
Chapter 46 - The Ring of Claddagh
Wednesday, July 7, 1876, around midnight, Washington
Coming from Pennsylvania Avenue, they had seen it in the distance. In the thickness of the night, a gray-green halo lit up the sky and the roadway. Even at midnight, 14th Street was well-lit with its brand new cast iron streetlights.
The echo of music grew louder as they went along.
After they returned from the National Theater, Scarlett had insisted on dropping by their suite to perfect her bun. They had only a few yards to walk along the Willard Hotel extension to reach the end of the block crossing F Street.
He took a deep breath, hoping to banish the tension he had built up since leaving their hotel earlier in the evening. Disaster had been nearby! He breathed a big sigh of relief.
This brief nocturnal stroll in the open air was welcome. For Scarlett too, who remained silent, looking around her at the sleeping foreign city. Or perhaps she was still captivated by the fairy-tale atmosphere of the Black Crook.
Under the pretext of facilitating her walk along this uneven ground, he tightened her more than necessary by blocking the back of her hand against his chest. A gesture of possessiveness that he used to privilege at the time of their marriage.
Their footsteps echoed as they encountered a few passers-by at this late hour.
The closer they got, the more the green color intensified, splashing the facades of the buildings around it, swallowing the yellow glow of the streetlights, and spitting it out in a myriad of golden and green glitter.
This aura, a few dozen meters away, seemed almost unreal. Unreal like the thirty hours that had passed.
Since they left the Atlanta train station, he had been sailing on sight in a gale. A hurricane named "Scarlett". The names Scarlett and hurricane are obviously a tautology. Rhett was amused by this idea as he admired his companion out of the corner of his eye.
After years of abstinence from her like an opium smoker in need, he was smelling her throbbing perfume with greed, not missing an opportunity to brush against her, as if to make up for the lost time.
Every discussion between them, heated or superficial, invigorated him as quickly as the cool spray on the deck. Watching her go about her ordinary business was a balm to the three years of disconnection. Hearing her give directions to the maid, playing a coquettish behavior while spending endless time selecting her new outfits, enjoying a pastry, or simply lazing in the Pullman's comfortable armchair while skimming through a frivolous magazine reminded him of the tranquility of calm water under a cloudless sky.
The calm before the tempest.
How to describe his exaltation to have succeeded in making her vibrate against him and to have felt her nipples hardening under his fingers whereas her half-naked body arched voluptuously?
The images he could compare with were those of the monumental waves which he had faced in full storms. While the hull of the boat was rocking at the peak of the whirling rollers, he was drunk with the frenzy of having succeeded in gaining the heights against all reason. He was at the summit of his sensations as a ship's captain. This feeling was multiplied with Scarlett... My God! Scarlett, the night before... And just a few hours ago, on top of the Capitol, her lips that he was about to crush under his... Without realizing it, he violently squeezed her hand to the point of crushing it.
She immediately reacted with a small cry of pain, took offense but did not withdraw her arm when he apologized with a light kiss on the knuckle of her bruised fingers.
They only had about twenty meters to go.
Yes, the ride on the Piedmont Air Line Route had expected to be bright. The arrival would be the haven for his new proposal.
Of course, this morning when he woke up, he had thought he was sinking into the abyss when she had informed him, without emotion, that she wanted them to become friends again. Only friends.
But very quickly, this temporary dejection had been swept away by the constancy of his passion, always as burning despite the years. Nothing and no one, not even his former wife's stubbornness in ignoring her body's reactions, could stand in the way of his ultimate goal: to win her back and his family back. The pride of making this museum official with her as a tribute to their beloved Bonnie was the most vibrant symbol of their indestructible union. Despite what he had done.
Everything was almost perfect until she decided to go see The Black Crook.
His blood had turned cold.
Everything was going to be ruined. One of his many former affairs was about to blow up in his face. And with it a new proof of his cowardly turpitudes of the unfaithful husband.
Fortunately, he had this too long and detestable habit of disguising his lewd activities from his wife by pirouettes not to fall back on his feet.
He was so happy to witness the wonder of the one who would forever remain in his heart the very young woman of Tara! It made him even more ashamed that he had preferred to indulge in debauchery with a chorus girl. How he regretted not having made the effort to convince his wife to drag her away from her cursed sawmill and her no less cursed Wilkes to go see a show or any other distraction they might have enjoyed together! Instead, he had given up and abandoned her in their cold house. Cuckolding her without remorse.
The appearance of the "demoness" and her flashy wink in his direction had embarrassed him. That word was very weak so he panicked that Scarlett noticed the shady exchange. Of course, he had been obliged to answer her sign unless he was a boor. Well, he was not completely...
She did not react. Therefore, he breathed more calmly throughout the show, reveling in the joy splashing in her emerald eyes.
No wonder the actors fell under her charm in Antonio's artist room! A little too much for his taste concerning this sex maniac Robertson. If the panegyric to his new best enemy irritated him, he took revenge and exulted in pride to state that Scarlett owed her multiple professional successes only to herself. Helped only by her courage, her intelligence, and her tenacity... As he spoke, he realized that he had not congratulated her enough in the past, that she would have deserved much better than assent always tinged with a touch of sarcasm.
But he was going to make amends. He was going to tell her how much he had always admired the young girl, and then the young woman she had become. This very night he was going to...
Then Clementina had pushed open the door, unabashedly displaying his name in her mouth!
His blood ran cold. Not everything could fall apart, not now that he was unspeakably close to his goal! He clutched his wife to him, afraid that she would escape him - knowingly using her as a shield to make the poor girl understand that she was nothing, but really nothing, compared to his dazzling wife.
The girl was not born yesterday! She understood the situation and made herself discreet. Of course, Scarlett expressed her annoyance at discovering a new female face hanging around her former husband. If he had not been so terrified that she found out, he would have applauded her for playing the great Southern Lady to an insignificant day player.
Phew! The red alarm was over. He could not wait to hug her - under the guise of an artistic performance! And then...
They stopped at the foot of Willard Hall.
"What a magnificent festival hall!" The building indeed looked great, in the Greco-Roman style with its triangular pediment and high bay windows partially hidden by four Doric pillars.
He decided to tease her, knowing in advance, what her reaction would be. "Are you tempted to visit a Presbyterian temple at midnight?"
"Have you lost your mind, Rhett Butler? I, an Irish Catholic, the daughter of Gerald O'Hara? And besides, what trap had you led me into?"
His eyes sparkling with mischief, he reassured her: "Do not be afraid! You will not have the opportunity to confess your sins to a priest. This church was purchased by the Willard Hotel to be used as a conference room - and ballroom! - On weekdays. On Sundays, the Lord and his lambs meet for a more mystical celebration (*1)
"Really? As I know you, the symbolism of the place will inspire you to try to make me commit more sins..."
"Me? Never…" He burst out laughing.
"What original lighting! Green-tinted torches. Or maybe... Those are indeed enameled trifles on the glass. That's why in the distance those clusters of light looked phantasmagorical."
From the open windows, laughter and bits of conversation could not mask the joyful music that spread like a ribbon of merriment through the night.
She read the framed poster announcing the event: Tuesday, July 6, 9 p.m. - Ball in honor of the Irish community in Washington."
"Rhett! An Irish ball?" Excitement immediately overtook her.
"It was my little secret, but you almost blew it by preferring the Black Crook. As soon as we arrived at the hotel, I had seen the sign. I pointed out that my wife was Irish. The manager of the Willard, Joseph, kindly reserved two seats for us. I wanted to surprise you. That is why I told you about a ball in honor of the Fourth of July organizers. I knew it would appeal to Gerald O'Hara's daughter."
"Let's get inside fast!" She was the one who dragged him along.
ooooOOoooo
The room was monumental. Except for the suspended galleries along the three sides and their lateral staircase, the height of the ceiling merged with the arches of the roof. The style, stripped of all unnecessary and pompous embellishments, added to the solemnity of the place, magnified by a profusion of chandeliers, wall lights, and candelabras lining the tables.
They passed some elderly couples who were going out, smiles on their lips, obviously delighted with their evening.
After an employee checked their tickets, a butler greeted them, "Welcome Mr. and Mrs. Butler!"
He preceded them to show them to their reserved table. Rhett had insisted to Joseph Willard to seat the back. It was perfect.
"A field of shamrocks! What better reminder to Ireland than these fully embroidered tablecloths! Of the finest finish, at that!" As a connoisseur, Scarlett ran her finger over the green petals delicately hemmed onto the white linen.
He gestured to the approaching sommelier, "You need to get your strength back before you hit the track. Will you honor the Irish stout? The question was purely formal, as he knew in advance her choice.
"I will betray my ancestors, but I prefer to continue with Champagne. In moderation, because I want to be able to count my dance steps." Without noticing it, she was impatiently beating out the rhythm with her tiny shoes.
Rhett's whiskers quivered, "I shall gladly accompany you - as always," he added with a naughty grin. However, um... do not let that hold you back. I'll be happy to carry you when necessary..."
"In your dreams, Rhett Butler!" The sommelier's irruption prevented her from taking the sarcasm any further.
Just for contradicting him, Scarlett ordered iced tea. Rhett insisted to get the best brand of Champagne. "I'll try your Irish whiskey. A Bushmills, preferably."
Couples who waltz enthusiastically to the dynamic music invaded the dance floor. The musicians had moved into the choir originally occupied by the priest.
A Leprechaun dressed in green from head to toe, straight out of the Irish medieval tale, was leaning against one side of the stage. (*2) Overlooking a flaming red beard that ate its pasteboard head, its sulfide glass eyes seemed to scrutinize the dancers, ready to play a trick on them and make them fall deviously at the first opportunity.
Scarlett was restless to get to the track. She started beating the pace.
"Your feet are itching, my Pet?
"My Pet... You are not going back to your deplorable ways, I hope!"
He imperceptibly moistened his lower lip: "You must admit that some of our old habits were quite pleasant..."
"One of them surely, that of dancing. Are you going to invite me or shall I solicit the arm of a handsome Irishman?"
They moved to get up but the first notes of music recognized by the whole assembly cut them off. The women returned to their tables. Only the vigorous and athletic men, whose Irish roots were not in doubt, remained.
In tune with the musicians, who dexterously played weird traditional instruments, such as the bodhran and the Uilleann pipes, the dancers placed themselves side by side in several lines (*3).
The conductor gave the signal for departure: "Gentlemen, join the hornpipe! (*4)
Adjusting to the feverish rhythm, the young Americans, sons, and grandsons of their Irish ancestors, resurrected the century-old technique of the famous folk dance. Keeping the body straight and the arms stationary at the side with the fists clenched, the contrast with the rapid movements of the legs and feet was even more spectacular.
The spectators - and especially the female admirers who appreciated the physical performance requiring a good breath and a sense of balance - clapped their hands to mark the rhythm.
Scarlett asked sarcastically, "Will you join them?"
The Charlestonian did not hold back his disdainful pout. "Sometimes my sailors try such an exercise when they celebrate a port of call. It is funny to think that the gesticulations that the Irish are so fond of were born... on British liners in the 16th century! As for me, I reserve myself for other physical performances..." he finished by making his mustache quiver.
Gerald O'Hara's daughter pretended not to have heard the last sentence. "I am not sure Father would have appreciated that anecdote. On the other hand, if he could have been here, he would have demanded that the orchestra play The Rising of the Moon and would have sung, for the umpteenth time: At the rising of the moon, at the rising of the moon, for the pikes must be together at the rising of the moon." (*5)
She hummed in a low voice, fully aware that this was not the place or the time to evoke the famous rebel song of the Irish migrants who fought with the Confederacy. She did not add that he would have sung Peg in a low-backed car so loudly for irritating his throat. No, it was not appropriate in this festive place to think of the circumstances in which her father had broken his neck by blowing up a fence on his horse, while he was in a furious race and trumpeting his favorite Irish song as a weapon of war.
"Images come back to me. I remember that when he was entertaining his friends, he would - after many pints of beer - engage in this risky act. At least he would try because neither he nor his fellow guests had a firm footing at the end of their binge drinking sessions. It ended in falls and laughter. Thank God, Mother had long since returned to her room.
"What about you?"
"Attracted by the home's violin that some Irish was playing, trying to avoid squeaky chords, I hid at the top of the stairs." She could not hold a chuckle. "I was dying to join them because I was sure - and I still am - that I could have done the hornpipe a thousand times better than those pure Irishmen."
He stretched like a feline while smoking his cigar: "I don't doubt it. How I would have loved to have witnessed the show - knowing that you would have had to pull up your petticoats to reveal your delicate calves, then your knees, and then..."
"Pfff... Always making fun of my O'Hara roots! I really wonder why you selected an Irish ball. I have not forgotten, you know..."
Her sudden silence was heavy with innuendo.
"Forgot what?"
"What a snob you have always been! I remember your pompous statement: "the Irish can blend in and try to become like us, Southerners." Your exact words - strange that I remind them clearly... - "Whatever his success, your father was nothing but a smart Mick on the make". You added with your ordinary kindness: "And you are no better!"
The bitterness of his former wife transpired in this memory. Why had he spent all these years devaluing her, without realizing it - sometimes - but often consciously?
He did not have time to try to excuse himself because a man came to greet them.
Scarlett noted with curiosity his thick curly hair, his muttonchops eating into his cheeks. He looked elegant, but his kindly features could hardly conceal his melancholy.
"Mr. Butler, Madam!" He bowed ceremoniously to Scarlett. "Joseph Willard, owner of the Willard. I am glad you are with us tonight. Our hotel is much honored to welcome you, Mrs. Butler."
Scarlett hastened to dig her dimples in front of this quality prey.
"I stopped by to make sure that this ball we have organized in honor of the respectful descendants of the Irish community was going as well as it could. I am entirely reassured that their most elegant ambassador is here. Your husband was kind enough to point out your rich ancestry roots to me when I mentioned the entertainments offered by our establishment. I hope you enjoy the music to the fullest. I would like to reassure you that the traditional orchestra will soon give way to more contemporary tunes in keeping with your tender age. Have a good time. It is time for me to go home, like all the participants of this ball who have white hair. Make way for youth! Make way for you, Mrs. Butler!"
He bowed gracefully and headed for the exit.
"Charming old gentleman!"
Rhett tensed. He was only a few years older. Of course, compared to that young dandy Vayton...
Vexed, he replied somewhat curtly, "I advise you to beware of 'old gentlemen' and sleeping water."
She raised her eyebrows in incomprehension.
"This harmless "old man" shook the walls of the White House in the middle of the Civil War! Let me tell you that..." He lowered his voice, out of discretion, and because Scarlett had to move even closer to him to listen to his gossip: "Stationed with his battalion in Virginia, the Yankee officer had commandeered the home of a Southern family, where the beautiful Antonia Ford lived. Batting her eyelashes with the candor of which I know only one young woman capable, this Belle was a Confederate rebel. She was taking advantage of the opportunity to gather information about future Yankee army operations. Disguised as a soldier, she braved the storm in the middle of the night to pass on to General Stuart important information about a battle. Eventually, the Union's army discovered her game and she was thrown in jail. But Major Willard - who, by the way, was married - had fallen madly in love with the beautiful spy. He bent over backward to free her after a few months. She had to take the oath of allegiance to the Union. Brave Joseph divorced and was able to marry her, eighteen years younger." Rhett paused, irritated because Scarlett had just ostentatiously scratched her throat. An unkind way of reminding him that they had about the same age difference... "Unfortunately, the abuse in prison had weakened her. I heard she died five years ago. Since then, he has been living in a mausoleum, surrounded by his memories, her embroideries, her dried flowers... The poor fool... All this is a mawkishness..." (*6)
Rhett himself did not understand why he spoiled the fall of this love story with his mean sarcasm towards the grieving widower. Perhaps because he was too much in tune with his fellow mad lover and was ashamed of his own weakness towards the object of his desires...
Scarlett was spellbound by the romance of this fearless Southern rebel. She almost jumped when Rhett said, "We have been here ten minutes and you have not done a single dance step yet. Come on!"
oooOOooo
At first, he thought it was a quadrille. On which he had always excelled, but the "exotic" cadence surprised him. The orchestra, master of traditional instruments, was now playing the concertina, a kind of small bellows accordion, accompanied by the Irish flute. The figures began to form in groups of four couples.
Scarlett was ecstatic: "Great! The set dancing!"
Rhett was about to take on these new steps knowing that the seasoned dancer he was would have adapted. However, he could not compete with the pure Irish males, and he had accustomed Scarlett to being the master in any matter.
A slender young man with curly red hair probably saved him from the mockery of the cruel beauty by politely asking his permission to invite whom he thought to be his wife. "Aïdan O'Tool." He inclined while blushing. "It would be an infinite honor to guide you in this set dancing."
To the obvious pleasure of the latter... Always the latent jealousy that did not leave him, even if on this topic it was completely stupid...
Wearily, he gave up the game.
Delighted at the prospect to embrace this superb unknown woman, the Irishman took her arm to involve her in an unbridled dance.
Rhett watched her from their table.
She was beating the beat as a true Irishwoman escaped from her moor. How he loved to see her released from her inhibitions! Was she aware that all the men around her were watching her? Yes, of course! She showed such joy in living, laughing aloud when a figure was a little too difficult. What a contrast between her so Parisian haute couture dress and the almost wildness that emanated from her in all freedom!
Freedom... Soon she would no longer be free. Soon someone else would imprison her in a gilded cage. It was already Wednesday. Tomorrow afternoon the train would stop in Atlanta. Then it would be too late to be his again. Minutes counted to convince her. What if he didn't succeed? Doubt seeped in like poison. He wrinkled his brow in pain to chase away a painful sour feeling in his stomach.
The man called Aïdan accompanied her back to their table, his eyes clouded with emotion, and probably with sadness to have to leave her.
She laughed again at Rhett's ineptitude for Irish dancing. Thirsty, she took a large sip of iced tea and caught her breath, "I have not had this much fun in a long time. Father would have been thrilled to see me do the set dancing. Rhett, isn't it strange that you, the staunch Charlestonian, has thrown into this Irish den?"
The latter looked mysterious: "Strange, indeed. But what wouldn't I do with..."
Fortunately - or unfortunately -, his formulation of the taboo word love was cut off by the intervention of the ball leader.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, without disregarding our respectable traditions, it is time for our youth gathered here to listen to contemporary music, of Irish inspiration certainly, but with a more modern register. Make way for the latest hits of the year 1876" (*7)
The young participants cheered him as the venerable representatives of the Irish Community in Washington had deemed it time to return home.
A new orchestra was set up in record time. The piano slid on its wheels, and the Celtic harp took pride of place in the middle of the stage, surrounded by two fiddles.
Rhett breathed a big sigh of relief: "Finally! You have kept me waiting for hours and hours. To hell with this peasant music!"
Immediately he realized his blunder because she had frowned with annoyance. A cat ready to scratch, he admired in petto.
With a falsely contrite look, he said: "I beg your pardon. I meant to say folk music. Come on, Scarlett! The night has just begun. We will see which of us will be the most exhausted when the last note fades." He embraced her in a proprietary way toward the center of the room.
The singer announced in a velvety voice: "Ladies and Gentlemen, here is a little gem created by our prolific composer John Thomas, released a month ago: Rose of Killarney!
The announcement was acclaimed, as everyone was eager to discover a new song suitable for hugging.
ooooOoooo
"Rhett!" Her offended cry, modulated enough so that the other couples around them did not hear it, was eloquent. Enough to earn him a satisfied mimicry in return.
"Are you crazy to squeeze me like that? This is unseemly!"
He had put his left hand around her waist. Placed was not the word. His palm seemed even more gigantic than usual, plastered at the bottom of her back, just at the birth of the black tip of her bustier. His grip was so firm that their bodies were forced to touch each other to evolve in the step of the slow waltz.
Of course, it was not the first time he had used dance as an opportunity for indecent behavior in public. When they were married - and even before that, she could not prevent it. In addition, to be honest, it was quite pleasant. But circumstances had changed... The last time he had dared to grab her while dancing as if he were about to drag her into bed, it had been at the fashion show - in front of all of Charleston's good society, and Duncan, furthermore. Once again, she could not reasonably make a move of rejection unless she drew all eyes to them. On the other hand, all the guests here had to believe they were married. But... what a cad!
She thought so hard that his dark eyes sparkled with mischief. "Finally!"
"Finally?" She was annoyed, knowing that he had tricked her again.
"Finally you are in my arms."
"To dance! Make no mistake about it." She challenged him by lifting her chin.
"We will see about that, Scarlett." A sibylline assertion, full of impudence. No surprise…
The singer whispered: "Oh, promise to meet me when twilight is falling".
Carried away by the sweet words, dazzled by the light of the chandeliers and flickering candles that made silks and taffeta shimmer in a rainbow of colors, and far more intoxicated by her guide who was dragging her in a whirlwind, she forgot everything.
Nothing mattered more than dancing. With a frenzy similar to that of her sixteen years.
oooOOooo
The orchestra made another announcement: "Here is another song by that composer. You all danced to this tune that has become famous since its premiere three years ago: Eileen Allana!" (*9)
Through the harp and the two violins, the room was magically transposed to the Irish moor.
From the first words, the bodies came as close as the rules of decency would allow.
Eyes as black as ebony searched her until they hypnotized her when they heard:
"Light of my soul and its Queen evermore. It seems years have lingered since last we did part."
She looked away.
Then, in a detached manner, he asked, "For some obvious reason, we did not get to dance to that music. Would it be indiscreet to ask you which lucky man hugged you and whispered "Mavourneen" into the hollow of your graceful nape? You must have found this nickname irresistibly romantic pronounced in your native tongue. May I point out that it is the equivalent of My Pet, the sweet word you love, don't you, when it comes out of my mouth? Confess, Scarlett! Is it Vayton? Or is it Wilkes?"
A blush crossed her forehead. She looked down. Too late. Of course, he had found his old bone to gnaw. "Ah! Then, the honorable Ashley Wilkes did coo in your hair "Eileen Allana"
Scarlett pursed her lips not to let out a cry of pain, so much his big fingers intertwined in hers pushed so fiercely where the skin was so thin, at the risk of tearing it. It is unthinkable to imagine that he would still be jealous of Ashley.
She held back from asking him whose girl he had rubbed shoulders with during this melody. Too many for him to remember their names...
"Of course, he had time for three years..." It was an almost indiscernible whisper under the clamor of the violins. He sighed.
For the first time since the ball began, he loosened his grip to the point where Dolly Merryweather could have congratulated them on their decent behavior.
A silence weighed between them, broken by the outraged rustlings of the ribbons of her dress so much he made her turn with violence.
All of a sudden, the colors around became duller to Scarlett.
oooOOooo
The applause marked the last note. Delighted with his success, the artist continued to comment on his repertoire: "I promised you the freshly printed songs. This score is much older, but I'm sure the young people here tonight know it. It is exactly thirty years since it praises the beauty of our Irish girls, personified by the Rose of Tralee! (*10)
The opportunity was too good to break the discomfort that weighed on her, even if she did not understand why.
"I would not be able to count the number of times you have led me around on that ballad."
This had the desired effect: his embrace tightened around her waist. Like a snake that slides to suffocate you. This comparison gave her shivers.
She got the same feeling of hypnotic hold when he fixed his eyes on hers.
"With a few units to spare, I could list the circumstances where I whispered to you: She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer.
Oh, how she loved it when he modulated his tone until it purred - like a big cat getting ready to cuddle you.
The singer concluded his lament:
"The moon through the valley her pale rays was shedding
When I won the heart of the Rose of Tralee. "
She felt his lips on her hair. She barely heard him whisper sadly, "But I never got to say the last line."
The melodies followed one another.
She was hot. My cheeks must be as scarlet as my dress.
It did not matter to her because all she wanted to do was dance, dance... with Rhett. Since they had met again, they had had the opportunity once, with "When this cruel war is over". The memory of faraway times. Since then, the context had changed. Since then, she had become engaged to Duncan. Since then, he had pressed her half-naked against him. Since then, her body had woken up. No, it was no good to think about it. It was a ball. Only a ball.
To contradict it, in this same moment, her body quivered, irradiated by the heat of his strong chest. So tempting that she had only one desire, to bury herself there...
His arm against her waist encircled her like the talons of an eagle. With his right hand intertwined with hers, he directed their movements by giving an inflection to their raised arms. She was no more than a consenting puppet that he manipulated with mastery.
She was going to fly away. She felt light, light...
She knew every inflection he was going to take. What a wonderful dancer! For a brief moment, she thought of Duncan. Duncan's handsome face, his wide, hazy eyes at the sound of Lorena in the lighted garden on Battery Street. In the moonlight...
Rhett must have felt her mind slip away because he tightened his grip even more and spun her around.
She was giddy. "Rhett! You are going too fast. I am going to fall!"
He did not slow down the pace. "Do not worry. I've got you and I shall never let go again."
I hope he is only talking about this dance...
Then, in all confidence, knowing she was safe in his arms, she let herself be swallowed by drunkenness. Drunk to twirl freely. She congratulated herself on having abandoned Champagne for iced tea.
ooo00ooo
The singer's new announcement allowed her to catch her breath.
"You've never heard this beautiful song, but I'm sure you'll be singing it along in a few minutes, and its popularity will grow through the years. I discovered it through a friend who is a professor at Carmina College in Boston. Ladies and gentlemen! For the first time before you, this is the story of Molly Malone, a young Dublin fishmonger whose rallying cry is Cockles and Mussels! (*11)
From the first line, the stage was set.
"In Dublin's fair city, Where the girls are so pretty,
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone,
As she wheeled her wheel-barrow, Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"
Intrigued at first, the audience enthusiastically embarked on a journey to Dublin with the talented harpist and violinists.
The tempo was catchy, the refrain easy to remember, so much so that very soon, breaking with the academicism of the dance, the Irish descendants joined their arms in cadence to joyfully resume :
"Alive, alive, oh, Alive, alive, oh!"
Crying Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"
The simplicity of the text coupled with the vivid, induced images of Dublin harbor transfigured the faces. A pure joy, as refreshing as the spray of the Irish Sea, radiated from the four corners of Willard Hall, infecting men and women with a cloud of happiness. The latter naturally abandoned the good manners of ladies in society, to vocalize the incongruous words of shells and mussels almost as loudly as their companions.
Scarlett was enjoying herself like a child, singing the rallying words with delight. With even more enthusiasm because Rhett's gaze was devouring her expressions of pleasure. He was swinging in rhythm their two arms, inciting her, with his baritone voice, to repeat over and over again these simple but oh so beneficial words.
The singer judged that it was time, despite the general euphoria, to pass to another piece because one approached the end of the festivities. Everyone returned to his more moderate behavior, more in adequacy with good social rules.
"Can we sit down for a bit?"
His eyebrows drew together in feigned surprise, "So Clayton County's queen is giving up the fight! Have you lost some of your petulance, Miss O'Hara?"
"Give up the fight? Never! This respite is to better exhaust you afterwards. But... I am dying of thirst!"
Laughing, he guided her to their table.
ooo00ooo
While they were away, the butler had taken care of replacing the fresh water and iced tea and loading the champagne bucket with new ice.
Rhett might have been very generous to him to supply us with such care... She drank her glass of cool water like a thirsty woman in the desert.
"Easy! You are going to drown!" he warned, exaggerating the closeness of his eyebrows. "Will you kindly consent to enjoy this excellent Champagne, now that you have proven to me that you are capable of performing the most sophisticated tricks?"
She did not take offense at his facetious tone and breathed in contentment.
"Happy Mrs. Butler?"
She did not flinch. Was it because she was tired?
"Be honest, Scarlett! Admit that you are thrilled with our Washington getaway."
"Your vanity is unstoppable, even at two in the morning. I shall concede, however, that it has been quite entertaining since we left Atlanta - mostly because I had the timely idea of watching the Black Crook."
"This confirms what I thought a long time ago: you and I are the best team ever, equal to none." Tenderly, he tucked back a strand of hair that had escaped from her sophisticated hairstyle. "Wouldn't it be nice to get it back together and repeat this experience as we please? I still have so many fun places to show you." Then, in a tone below, he added, "and so many... things to teach you..."
She perceived his hesitation to formulate the last words, and preferred not to notice that he implied the possibility of a future together. Her heart beat faster. An "after" with Rhett, sharing their joy of life again, and so many other things like intimate moments...
No! It was too late!
To put some distance between them, while savoring with delight the little bubbles of the sparkling wine, she passed her finger over the water glass. "What a delicate attention to detail! I do not know if I should congratulate Mister Joseph Willard or the organizer of Willard Hall, but everything is perfect. Even the water glasses are adorned with an enameled gold harp!"
Proud to be replicating Gerald O'Hara's teaching, she specified, "the harp of good King Brian Boru."
"Bravo for that historical accuracy, my beautiful Irishwoman. From the mythical hilltop of Tara, the Great King of Ancient Ireland must have had an ode played in honor of your charms."
In the old days, when he had wanted to make her suffer, - often - he had not ceased to mock the meaning of the name Tara applied to that "farm" in Georgia.
Nevertheless, she did not spoil her pleasure at having been able to teach Rhett Butler something. On her way, she listed: "The tasteful decoration here brings together the main symbols of our immortal island: the shamrock, the Leprechaun of my childhood, the harp, and the other Celtic instruments. One is missing, however." She took on a thoughtful look.
"Oh? Which one?"
"The Claddagh's Ring."
"Tell me about it." He took her hand in encouragement.
"When I was little and my father told me the legends of County of Meath, he told me about this ring. It was forged with two hands that represent friendship, the crown for loyalty and the heart for love. A jeweler created it in the 17th century. For all the young girls there, it consecrates everlasting and timeless love. I could not wait to wear it, first on my right hand as a sign of a romantic relationship. Then on the left ring finger, with the point of the heart towards the fingers to signify engagement. Until the day when, finally, I would have turned the heart's point towards the wrist to advertise my marriage."
She paused, her eyes unfocused. She saw herself on the hill of her Tara, dreaming of the handsome rider who would spring from Twelve Oaks to give her the Claddagh ring.
Her eyes had taken on a pale green hue, a sign of calm waters and reverie.
She took no notice of Rhett who was scanning her, guessing where her mind had gone. To another time. With somebody else.
He let go so abruptly her hand that she came out of her reverie and became aware that he had resumed the façade of the bad days. When he was jealous of Ashley. Jealous of Ashley, still today? No! He was in bad mood only because of this old unhealthy competition between two males.
He poured himself a new glass of Champagne and angrily crushed his barely started cigar in the ashtray.
Jaws clenched, he worked to break her childhood illusions with an air of disdain: "This ring is just a piece of junk fiction."
He clutched her wrist encircled by the bracelet more than one thousand eight hundred years old. A sign of the timelessness of love, he had assured her the day before. Which love? Of a pharaoh under sarcophagus for his empress? And her, Scarlett? Of course, he had no reason to mention her. It is for the Museum's performance, he had declared flatly when offering it to her.
He held it so tightly that the outlines of the golden lions penetrated her flesh.
"Ouch! Have you lost your mind? You are hurting me!" Then she raged, "Junk ring, my childhood memory? We were having a good time, and you had to ruin it. You are really enjoying destroying everything, aren't you? So what do you have to say about this one?" With rage, she lifted her left ring finger a few inches from Rhett's eyes. "Is this jewel that belonged to the Empress of Russia also junk?" The petals of the camellia cut into the emerald cabochon cameo were gorged with hundreds of tiny sparks caused by the diamond trim glinting under the candelabra's trembling flame. As if the flower wanted to reveal a secret message.
She felt like clapping with wicked joy when he looked away from the engagement ring and plastered himself against the back of the chair. She had rarely caught him so unsettled. To her astonishment, she saw that his hand was trembling as he brought the wine glass to his lips.
An embarrassment mixed with regret made her swallow hard. Why were they obliged to quarrel when their relationship had seemed idyllic a few minutes before? She was ashamed of her pettiness. Suddenly she longed for the warmth of his chest against her.
She put her hand lightly on his arm: "Please excuse me, I need to freshen up". She left the table while he kept his head down.
oooOOooo
When she sat down again, he was talking to the singer. He strangely shook his hand with insistence. Scarlett understood immediately why when the artist thanked him eagerly by bending down several times. A bundle of dollars exchanged... Maybe to play "When this cruel war is over", as a sign of truce? Then the orchestra started playing a new tune.
Her former husband came back to the table. As if nothing had happened, he had put back on his mask of nonchalant seducer that nothing affects. "Would you accept the last dance with your old friend?"
A small air of contrition was poorly hiding under his relaxed demeanor.
Even if she defended herself, she had to admit that he was devilishly seductive, hand on heart, offering his invitation as if it had been the first. It was too tempting to slip into his arms again. One last time before returning to Atlanta.
To prevent new hot flashes that the dance - or Rhett - would not fail to provoke, Scarlett took her fan.
They were only able to do a few convolutions. Already the orchestra stopped and the recipient of Rhett's generosity spoke again:
"Ladies and Gentlemen! Or should I say, Young Ladies and Young Gentlemen? You who have honored us with your presence at this late hour are the children and grandchildren of the Irish emigrants. The ones who came to build our nation. In the first part of the evening, talented musicians played on traditional instruments the unforgettable folk songs of your ancestral land. My orchestra has had the pleasure of sharing with you contemporary music inspired by this beautiful land of Ireland, with an emphasis on the vigor of the newly published lyrics. We are coming to the end of this happy celebration. I will have the pleasure, with these great musicians accompanying me, to conclude with a beautiful love song."
There was a lot of "Which one?" and "Could it be…?" among the curious young people who did not want the party to end.
"No impatience, my friends. As all of you are first and foremost young Americans, representing the elite of the city of Washington accustomed to traveling and proud of the cosmopolitan cultures that have forged our country, you will be curious, I am sure, to discover a new dance, the Habanera. Its roots, the European contradanza, are familiar to you. It has been enriched by the exoticism and warmth of Cuba. I'm taking the initiative to propose it to a select audience, so eager for polymorphous culture, to conclude the musical celebration of 1876. Some of the gentlemen present have already discovered it in their travels, I made sure of that while chatting with them earlier."
A young man interjected, "Yes - pointing to two other couples - an unforgettable experience in New Orleans at the Variety Club in 1872." (*12)
"This is perfect. This way you can show other young people the first steps. No worry, though, for those who prefer the slow waltz to celebrate La Paloma, a song written specifically for this Cuban dance. I predict that it will be imprinted in your memory for a long time. You may wonder why we are introducing a tune created by a Spaniard in Havana into our ball theme. Simply because the American version, The Dove, has just been published! (*13) Ladies and Gentlemen! Let's hear the novelty of the year 1876, La Paloma! Please take your places!"
The three traveling couples formed two lines, the men facing the women. Those in the vanguard of artistic novelties followed them.
With a small smile, Rhett led her to complete the line, while the less courageous would limit themselves to a slow waltz - envying the valiant habanera pioneers.
Scarlett had a startled reflex. "Rhett! No! I shall make a fool of myself. I have no idea what it looks like. Why do you insist that we join them?"
He looked at her, biting his lower lip to keep from laughing. Happy with the good trick he was playing. I understand! It is obvious he knows the dance and the music. New Orleans, Havana, all the dens of vice he adores...
"Would Georgia's most talented dancer be afraid to jump a small hurdle? Fear not! The basics are simple: the rhythm is slow and swaying. The tempo is typical, two slow moves followed immediately by two faster ones. All you have to do is balance as gracefully as usual and hide behind your fan to seduce. In short, child's play for you. Provided, of course, that you obey me to the finger and the eye... "
The folds of his face radiated malice, satisfied to have trapped her.
"Your lifelong fantasy, in short... So be it, I accept the challenge!"
The violin set the tempo. Light, almost muffled, but methodical and regular, like a metronome. The harp, playing the same scale and enriching the effect, immediately helped it. Two notes later, the piano overtook them to take off, like the boat leaving the pretty Nina of La Paloma and the shore for the ocean.
Spying Rhett's slightest bend in his leg, Scarlett understood right away that it was not about taking long strides and filling the space. Instead, to match the highly syncopated music, it was necessary to keep the same cadence. The originality was to move very little but to swing from one foot to the other. All she had to do was use Rhett as her mirror with a slight shift to copy him.
At the first notes, women and men turned back to back, and then by a sudden rotation faced each other. The men bent down, the women opened their fans. Then, respecting the lateral direction, the couples resumed the swinging movement.
Without taking his eyes off her, Rhett folded his arms in front of him, putting his right arm over his left. Scarlett did the same, holding them right on a level with her chest. This balancing from one foot to the other was of the most gracious effect. The monotony was shortly broken by a quick and surprising rotation, concomitant with the accented upbeat in the middle of the bar. The latter died out a second later to align itself with the sounds of the harp and progress in line. Scarlett's fan proved to be a sophisticated visual complement to complete this graceful tableau.
Fortunately, she had judiciously raised her train and the bottom of her skirt to allow these dazzling transformations of figures.
The music of the Paloma quickly won the approval of all, novices of the Cuban dance as well as faithful to the waltz. The tune was soft, with surprising wraps materialized on amazing figures upheavals, like the one to move sideways, the arm raised, the young women spreading their fans. A reminiscent gesture of the ebb and flow of the waves.
At the thrashing of a stanza, her partner broke the slow undulation with a sudden beat, his shoulders and body in unison to a quick advance of alternating feet, as if he wanted to mark the ground with his passage.
Her discerning eyes had needed only a few seconds to admit that the other habanera candidates were not playing in the same field as Rhett Butler. She managed to hide her admiration with a smile, which he answered with a waggle of his whiskers. Inwardly, her vanity rejoiced once again to be the partner of the best dancer in the audience.
One thing surprised Scarlett, however. She was almost certain that Rhett was the one who pushed the orchestra to try this unusual exercise. Only... he will have great difficulty in verging on indecency with this play. Even when the man was raising the woman's hand, he always kept his left arm elegantly behind his back. In addition, when the couple turned back to back while keeping this swaying back and forth rhythmic by the two string instruments, they were only brushing against each other.
This contradanza has all the makings of polite ballroom dance. I have the feeling that our young visitors from New Orleans have censored the spicy influence of the Caribbean... Of course, I do not need to be glued to him to enjoy this new experience, the young divorcee reasoned. She was hypnotized by the regular plucking of the strings of the harp. As if these were the breathing of the waiting. The waiting of two bodies seeking to touch.
By what mysterious intuition did he understand his former wife's unacknowledged frustration? Or did he premeditate everything?
In any case, as soon as the new rhythmic acceleration sequence began, he decided that it was time to take things in hand and show the youngsters what the real habanera was in its raw state, stripped of the glaze of Western respectability.
The former king of the Ball of Charity turned into a haughty Hidalgo, Scarlett comparing him to an engraving that had fascinated her in her teens.
Under the envious look of the young males present, he alternated again the feet striking the ground, the body in symbiosis. A feral reflex. Like a wild beast marking its territory.
That was the signal. Instead of imitating his peers by keeping his left arm wisely behind his back, he pulled her towards him with harshness and embraced her so brutally that she blushed for having stuck her belly against his – well, not his belly since she was much shorter than he...
With his magical wand, the talented former blockade breaker moved the romantic Paloma and its too-timorous setting into a scandalously syncopated rhythm. As scandalous as his virility sweating through each of his movements.
Not losing the thread of the tempo, he broke brutally the contact to make her turn at once before starting again to undulate. Of a graceful gesture, Scarlett seized the two edges of her skirt to raise it a few centimeters, mimicking the balancing of Rhett who, the right bust imperceptibly arched backward, had rested his hands on his hips.
With the following figure, their two raised arms bound before he made her twirl to find themselves back to back. Scarlett opened of a sharp blow her ivory fan to close it again at once when she realized that, this time, he did not restrain himself to graze lightly against her back.
Whoops daisies! He is rubbing against me like a bear tickling a tree trunk!
To her shame, shivers ran down her spine from her toes to her neck. She dared to look around to make sure no one had detected her emotion. She opened her eyes wide: the habanera lovers had abandoned them, as had the waltzers. They were alone on the track!
However, the tempo of the music had not changed. The violin and harp kept their metronome function while the piano developed a romantic flight like the dove of La Paloma.
But the former bride and groom had become the sole attraction of the Willard Hotel ball. All in awe - or envy in front of such an artistic attraction. For one could not legitimately find their movements outrageous, their "connection" being short, as soon as transformed into another figure.
Rhett sharply hit the floor with his right foot, then with his left one, to form a circle on the front before making his partner fly away.
What was fascinating the people around them, to the point of preferring to "see the show", rather than be actors themselves, was the mutation of each swaying movement into a sensual slide.
A male sensuality to which the gorgeous lady with the scarlet dress answered naturally. Almost without realizing it. Simply because their bodies were destined, at a sequence or another of the music, to find themselves in symbiosis.
Behind their fans, the young women and girls began to dream. Many thought that the Washington stranger was lucky to be married to such an attractive gentleman. The more discerning young women stored up enough disturbing images to fantasize at night about this...lusty man.
Stuck once more brutally against Rhett, Scarlett forgot the strangeness of this public exhibition. Only counted the physical contact of their bodies in fire, intersected by this syncopated distance which fanned the rise of the desire. It was a love parade. Assumed, without shame. Conscious of the eroticism that transpired.
His eyes found hers and did not let them go. They were so intense that she thought he was going to devour her whole, body, mind, and soul.
The singer had reached the end of his score, but the musicians agreed to repeat a few bars, wanting to prolong this sulfurous episode within a ball that had been meant to be folkloric.
When the violin stopped breathing steadily, Scarlett and Rhett stood still for a moment, afraid to move and break the magic. They barely heard the applause of the young Washingtonians.
oooOOooo
The host of the festivities had to conclude: "On behalf of the honorable Sirs Henry and Joseph Willard, I thank you warmly for your presence this evening. These shared hours will mark one of the most beautiful events of this year. My orchestra and I look forward to seeing you at the next ball in Willard Hall. But before we leave, I have promised you a love song. It is true to the theme of the day, as it is about a young Irish woman whose lover is patiently waiting for her to return. It was released just a few months ago and has become a success. Some of you are already humming it. Others will love it. This is I'll take you home again, Kathleen" (*14)
The clamor of applause was interrupted by the sound of the couples moving on stage. Everyone was in a hurry to enjoy the last dance.
Rhett's charcoal eyes kept the green irises imprisoned, like a hypnotizing magician.
After the Habanera, Scarlett was left with shivers and wobbly legs. She did not understand what had just happened. The only thing that was obvious was that she wanted to continue to be led by Rhett.
This time, the piano was abandoned, replaced by the harp and the violins. The first stanza reasoned:
"I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen,
Across the ocean wild and wide,
To where your heart has ever been
Since first you were my Bonnie bride. "
An old habit, such a pleasant habit of waltzing together, Scarlett guessing in advance what would be the next inflection of Rhett's body that would propel her two meters further, as if the whole room belonged to them.
No more mocking malice under his eyelids lowered on her. Only sweetness. A sweetness that transfigured his face, and rejuvenated it. A sweetness so unexpected from the one who had been so cruel in the past that she felt a twinge of sadness.
"The roses all have left your cheek.
I've watched them fade away and die. "
"No!" His husky voice snapped her out of her reverie
"No?"
"No! The roses have not left your cheeks. They have the same freshness as the flower awakened by the morning dew. So smooth. So tempting to caress..." With his thumb, he traced their outlines, like a blind man detecting his familiar landmarks.
She said nothing, batted her eyelashes, and moved her head a little closer to his chest. Those scents of tobacco, alcohol, and... Rhett... It was intoxicating.
He became silent again, leading her on an elegant and exhilarating journey.
In two days I shall be back home. With my children, my store, and soon with Duncan. This is the last time we are dancing together. Does he realize that? She increased the pressure of her fingers intertwined with his. Everything was swirling around her, carried away by the feline savagery of the robust man who dominated her. The light became more diffuse. Unless her wet eyelashes were obscuring the sight?
Just one more verse, and it will be over.
Rhett had slid her insensitively towards the stage. She caught his exchange of glances with the singer.
The latter changed his tone as he resumed: "I'll take you home again, Scarlett!"
She frowned. Obviously, it was time for the ball to end. She was so exhausted that she was misunderstanding everything. And now Rhett is staring at me like he is going to eat me!
But the singer repeated the title phrase in the same way, almost covered by many "Oh!" of surprise.
She looked around. Why did the smiles of understanding turn in her direction? As well as the musicians?
She wanted to question Rhett, but it was a waste of time: his cheeks were hollowed out with pleasure, his healthy teeth shining under his whiskers. He did not show any surprise.
"Did his tongue stick out, or am I dreaming?" She did not have time to finish her question.
The singer was really talking to her. Only to her:
"Oh I'll take you home again, Scarlett,
To where your heart will feel no pain.
And when the fields are fresh and green,
I'll take you to our home again, Scarlett! "
I have not become insane. He did change the name...
A flare of emotion made her tremble. Her fingers crumpled Rhett's fancy vest for fear of flinching.
Searching feverishly through her memory, she could not identify another occasion when Rhett had shown such romanticism. No other man, for that matter. Not Ashley. Blue eyes popped out of a conservatory dome. But their evocation was not powerful enough to fight the sentimentality that melted her.
For, as he tenderly stroked her hair, Rhett repeated the same lines in a low voice, concluding, "Yes, I will take you home, Scarlett!"
oooOOooo
By what mystery had she managed to return to their suite? She still did not understand it. The last half hour faded into a fog. She vaguely remembered responding to the congratulations of the young Washingtonians who probably thought they had been the privileged witnesses of a marriage proposal or an anniversary of the couple. One or two young girls even marveled on her back "How lucky she is to have such a loving husband!"
Rhett showed a happy face. He has enjoyed fooling them all into thinking I am his property.
But she has no energy to disown him.
Held firmly, her arm imprisoned against his chest, she had the sensation of floating to walk to the entrance of the Willard. So much her body and her spirit seemed to her as diaphanous as the fine stole in down of ostrich feathers which quivered with the least breath.
He had just taken off his vest, silk jacket, and tie, and placed them on an armchair in the drawing room, in all familiarity. As if he were in his old house on Peachtree Street.
"Can you ring for the maid, please?"
"Scarlett! It is after three in the morning. We are not going to disturb her at this hour. I am going to help you."
"No!" An inexplicable panic seized her. Her sensibilities had been stretched too thin in the last few hours. She doubted her strength to fight against such a close danger.
"Come on... it won't be the first time. It is not like I have never seen you in your tiny chemise..."
With that little bit of irony, he made a point. Of course, he did. He even made me a child. So it is not a big deal to unfasten my dress.
"So be it!"
He followed her into her room. The mirror on the dressing table reflected the one in the mirror cabinet... The imposing shadow of Rhett, replicated from several angles, was even more redoubtable.
He stood behind her.
When his fingers touched her bustier, she could not prevent herself from arching. He unbuttoned with dexterity the delicate piece of black satin and deposited it on the chair, mixing it with his clothes.
Once again she wondered how his hands could be so hot. Or was it her skin that was inflamed by his touch? I am ridiculous to react like a frightened virgin when he was my husband and my lover for a year! One year only...
The silence had settled. Neither of them intended to break it.
She did not even notice that he had untied the dress' train. He had some trouble though with the interlacing of ribbons drowned in her taffeta skirt. But the scarlet petticoat and the turn vanished in a turn of a hand. Worthy of a magician. Or rather of a womanizer used to strip whores. Her jealous resentment was sufficiently awakened to forge a protective shell against these fingers which were moving forward, making progress...
In her haste, she had only lit a spare lamp. Anything to make the atmosphere even more intimate. If that were possible!
Her world turned polarized around the irregular and hurried breath of the massive shadow that spread out behind her and in the wardrobe's silvering. Then it would inexplicably stop; would resume with a sigh. A sound that would become the master of her inner ear and would couple with her heartbeat, adjusting to its rhythm - like an entity.
Of the impeccable Vayton Ready-to-Wear clothes, only the organza bodice remained. With a feminine delicacy that contradicted his thick fingers, he slid it slowly down her arms, taking care not to damage the lace armholes.
Scarlett breathed a sigh of relief. As soon as he removed her corset, her excitement would disappear along with Rhett.
But Rhett seemed to forget his last task and continued to slide his hands against her bare arms as if he had forgotten that the bodice was no longer there but thrown on the seat. Abandoned, the blood-red camellias had mixed with the clothes of the fierce hidalgo.
His breath was spreading over her neck, invading her body at the speed of a sandstorm covering the smallest interstices of her pores.
She was nothing but shivers. From top to bottom. It is because the room is fresh and I am almost naked, she wanted to reassure herself. But this only observation contributed to increasing her tremors. This is enough. Stop being silly! she told herself.
"My robe, please."
He pretended he did not hear.
In a cavernous voice, he ordered: "sit down. I am going to undo your bun." Two weights settled on her and forced her to sit down in front of the vanity table.
The ceremony resumed like the night before on the train. Like hundreds of times. Had time stopped since last night? The ritual was the same. Each hairpin removed in a precise order; their dry noise when they fell into the glass tray; his expert fingers massaging her hair under the pretext of not missing a single pin…
Finally satisfied with his inspection, he made fall one by one the long locks until covering her shoulders with a staging equal to that of the curtain of the National Theater. To hide the brightness of her creamy skin from prying eyes.
He bent over her, sticking his crotch against her back, his arms imprisoning her head to grab the brush. The famous brush. But... wouldn't it have been easier to move a few inches to get at it rather than knock me off with his weight? She was looking for any excuse to be annoyed. To forget that Rhett's body was betraying him. No! He was not as impassive as the automatism of his gestures could make him believe. The proof of his desire was obvious. And, as a few hours ago still, Scarlett had only one desire, to rub against it to amplify it.
She could not tell if it was his hands or the bristles of the brush smoothing her hair. Was it an impression, or did his gestures seem to have slowed down? Unless it was her fatigue that was fooling her perception. What time was it? My God, it is morning already! She was in a fog. Exhausted from their activities of the day, the Foundation for Bonnie, the emotions felt at the Black Crook, the excitement of the ball, other emotions...
To break the anesthesia of her brain, she took the pretext that he had insisted a little too much on a lock while untangling it, to exclaim: "You hurt me!" What bad faith! He was only doing her good. Too much good. But her recrimination brought him out of his lethargy and he resumed his task with a gentle decoupling.
At one point, he took her head and bent it toward him to better smooth the fine hair at her temples. I am as passive as an Ella doll. She closed her eyes so as not to feel even more exposed to his gaze. Hypocritical like the cat that hides his face thinking that the predator will not notice the obviousness of his presence.
After having been rewarded with the multiple sizzling sounds of the perfectly smooth silk threads in contact with the brush, he placed tender kisses on the top of her head.
Then he moved away from her.
Deprived of his warmth, she felt cold.
Not for long. For he surprised her by lifting her from her chair to her feet. "To the corset now!"
She held back her laughter as she watched Captain Butler, saber in the air, uttering an "Attack!" - A wartime incantation to stimulate him.
Obviously, he did not need any, from what she had witnessed a few minutes before.
To free her from her bonds, he played with the agile fingers of a musician on the keyboard he knew by heart. It seems that he is in a hurry to get to the end of the score... But how many hands does he have?
He finished his task by having untied the laces of the two edges of the expensive underclothing. As every time she departed herself from these oppressing strings, she briefly breathed relief. Even if, this time, it was rather a way to mark a respite whereas all churned in her head.
"That's it, it is over!" This clinical observation marking the end of the undressing session was uttered in a voice so hoarse that she did not recognize the tone.
Yes, it was over. He was going to leave her bedroom, and very soon her life. A panic of fear ravaged her suddenly. Her heart was racing.
The two hands were upon to slide the corset. Then they stopped. As if they had been petrified.
A moan similar to the complaint of a wounded animal echoed between the walls of the room.
"No! I will never let you go!" And he angrily ripped off the corset Duncan had created.
This violence, coming out of nowhere, reminded the young woman of another, similar to the combustion that had swept everything away in its path during that famous night.
Her rib cage was about to explode. She was holding her breath. Waiting...
She felt his hands freeze on the collar of her light chemise; hesitating.
"Oh; Scarlett!" Those two basic words spoken almost reluctantly freed him. He had made his decision.
There was no need to hurry anymore. Time was theirs.
His palms raised, centimeter by centimeter, the delicate organdy. A very poor armor to counter his rapacious touch.
But she might as well be honest with herself - finally. She had no desire for a barrier between their two bodies anymore. Even if she had found the will to order him to stop, to pull him away violently and kick him out, neither her legs nor her lips would have obeyed.
The knuckles of her fingers gripped the table. Meager support to keep her from collapsing. The scratches made with her nails would probably remain in the rosewood veneer.
Rhett's hands crumpled the thin fabric, and his lips immediately came to land on her skin, like a bee having detected the pollen paradise. In the bubble where he had locked her up with him, she heard vaguely: "My Soft, so soft Scarlett..."
She even thought she could distinguish other words, what could look like "My love, my life..." But no, his lips so fleshy on her skin burned her so much that they ended up annihilating all understanding.
Her crumpled clothe had been pulled up over her chest to let Rhett's big hands take hold of it.
She moaned as he began to knead her breasts while his mouth was beginning its journey down her spine.
White circles were spinning before her eyes. Butterflies inflamed her lower abdomen. She repressed the primal urge to touch herself to calm the fever, a symptom of an illness that had only one cause. And there was only one cure: Rhett!
To her horror, she saw him, through the mirror, falling on one knee behind her. It reminded her of the day he made his proposal just after Frank's death. But today was different. There were alone in an unknown hotel room. Just a man and a woman. There was no proposal in his mind, just wild desire, she told herself. And, instead of teasing her for one single kiss, he was undressing her without refrain. Like he had undressed hundreds of women. Like he would do to numerous young girls after they leave Washington.
The worst part was that, at this precise minute, she was helpless to take offense to it!
His hands abandoned her breasts to wander lower, tracing the contours of her belly, then ventured further south, millimeter by millimeter, as if their owner was expecting to be interrupted at any moment.
Disregarding Helen's education and her inhibitions, the young woman who had been so deprived of caresses let escape voluptuous moans of approval.
Had the walls of the living room of the Abraham Lincoln Suite of the Willard Hotel often witnessed such an erotic scene where soft whispered words alternated with gasps of pleasure?
"Yes, more, my Love! I want to hear you scream with pleasure." His expert hands accentuated their intrusive wanderings drawing circles on her skin to drive her crazy.
Rhett's mouth reached the last vertebra. With avidity, he then began to trace the rebounded curve of her buttocks through the fabric.
Scarlett thought she was going to pass out. And that everything would stop. She did not want it to end.
All of a sudden, he groaned in frustration. It was not enough! That damned petticoat was worse than a shield.
He made her turn around brusquely, remaining in the same kneeling position, his mouth a few centimeters from her breasts.
With a remainder of reason, she tried to analyze the situation, fascinated to have become the consenting captive of his hands and his lips.
With trembling fingers, he started struggling to open the knot of the thin belt that maintained her lace petticoat.
He had his head bent over, nervously tangling his fingers to loosen this too tight damned knot. And he let it be known with grunts of frustration.
It was heart-moving to observe him being clumsy, he who was so skillful usually.
She admired his shiny black hair strewn with silver threads. Why did she have the mad desire to plunge her hand in it to tousle them, and make them shaggy, in conformity with his threatening savagery...
He was becoming more and more upset and obsessed with this torn knot as if it represented the symbol of his frustrations, the frontier which would not give in to his desires.
Scarlett held her breath. He was not going to...
She looked around as if seeking help. On the floor, she noticed the delicate corset trampled at their feet. Embroidered with the flowers Duncan had designed for her with love...
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOO oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Notes on chapter 46 :
(*1) Willard Hall: source The Willard Hotel, The White House history Association, the-willard-hotel
(*2) Traditional Irish symbols: the shamrock, the Celtic harp, The Claddagh Ring, and the Leprechaun - source: Over in Ireland, 19 fascinating Celtic Symbols and Their Strange And wonderful Meanings – overinireland - /celtic-symbols/ . Leprechaun character: wikipedia / wiki - wiki/Leprechaun
(*3) Traditional Irish musical instruments: Concertina: a small accordion with a bellows; the Irish flute; the Bodhrán, a large drum covered with a stretched animal skin and struck with a stick. The Uilleann pipe is an old bagpipe, with bellows which are activated by pumping it.
(*4) Irish dances: the Hornpipe (the Riverdance show troupe performs it with tap shoes), and the Sets Dancing (inspired by the quadrille) - Source: afeao canada, annexe danse ethnoculturelle Irlande, danse irlandaise pdf /afeaoDoc/IRLANDE_DANSE_
Hornpipe in video : youtube, Traditional Hornpipe performed by World Champion Irish Dancing brothers - shorts/kKej1kujKn4
Set dancing in video : youtube, scor glenflesk all ireland scor set dancing 2009 - clip/Ugkx3qvz8tSWzx-esw9RVrd6rPc0SCgfVTJN
(*5) "The Rising of the Moon", a Rebel song popular among the Irish Confederates. They were more than 40,000 Confederate soldiers of Irish origin. - Youtube, Risin' of the moon, by 97th Regimental String Band - watch?v=7oJw-JBX44M
(*6) Joseph Willard and the spy - Joseph (1820-1897), owner with his brother Henry of the Willard Hotel. Source : Antonia Ford, the spy and Joseph Willard: the white house historical association - the-willard-hotel
(*7) Release date of songs cited in this chapter: source Library of Congress lyrics - Variety Music Cavalcade, A Chronology of Vocal and Instrumental Music Popular in the United States, where the following "Greatest Hits" were originally listed - .gov/collections/american-sheet-music-1870-to-1885/articles-and-essays/greatest-hits-1870-85-variety-music-cavalcade/
For the audio versions on youtube : I only show one per song on tarchive on line) The other versions are available on my blog The Boutique Robillard,
The Robillard Boutique, /2022/09/chap.
(*8) "Rose of Killarney", published in 1876, by John Rogers Thomas (American composer with Welsh roots) and George Cooper - Lyrics and score on the Library of Congress website - .gov/item/sm1876.02996/ - No audio file of this original version. The "Rose of Killarney" sung on youtube is a much more recent title. The lyrics are different. I have no information on the composer of the music, which may be the same?
(*9) "Eileen Allana," published in 1873. By John Rogers Thomas, lyrics by E.S. Marble.
Score and Lyrics: John Hopkins Sheridan Libraries and University Museums - . /collection/134/088
One of the interpretations : youtube, Dick Haymes, a collection of irish songs, watch?v=uH1wa0OETMw
(*10) The Rose of Tralee, 1846 : words Edward Mordaunt Spencer (from a poem of William Pembroke Mulchinock 1820 - 1864 ), music by Charles William Glover.
Lyrics : Ireland , irish lyrics -
One of the videos : Youtube, Bing Crosby - watch?v=mCW4z5eMSPQ
(*11) "Molly Malone", 1876 - First published in Boston in 1876 as "Cockles and Mussels" in a set of school songs, publisher Carmina Collegensia, Boston, Massachusetts, no author credit - source: Irish Historical Mysteries, Molly Malone, .ie/~ - The 1884 London version lists authors as James Yorkston of Edinburgh, music by Edmund Forman.
It has become the unofficial anthem of Ireland. It is the story of a young fishmonger in the streets of Dublin who dies young of fever. Lyrics wiki/Molly_Malone
One of the videos : Youtube, Molly Malone - Patty Gurdy, Irish Traditional / epic Hurdy-Gurdy Music - watch?v=YCjXkV1aaC8
(*12) Habanera dance: the movements described here do not correspond exactly to the real habanera: I have no knowledge of the matter, but I was inspired by the video closest to the way it must have been danced in the European or American salons. But... I added some Cuban "spices" to it, matched by Rhett... Youtube, Sebastian Iradier: La Paloma (Habanera Dance), ahang1001, watch?v=A47TwlZz9ec&list=LL&index=26
The steps of the Habadera as described on this site: Sonny Watson's .
First performances in America, 1872 New Orleans under the title of danza cubana, with the song La Paloma - source: Sounds of Spain in the Nineteenth Century USA, An Introduction - .edu/75465829/Sounds_of_Spain_in_the_Nineteenth_Century_USA_An_Introduction
(*13) La Paloma by Sebastián Iradier (or Yradier) (1809-1865) Created during a tour in New York and Cuba in 1859, under the tempo of the contradanza habanera. Published in Spain in 1859.
It was the French opera singer Marie Aimée who decided to introduce the song in the third act of Offenbach's comic opera La Périchole, at the California Theatre in San Francisco in 1874 and later that same year at the Lyceum Theatre in New York. Source Musica Oral del Sur 2015, Sounds of Spain in the Nineteenth Century USA, An Introduction.
I admit to having "cheated" on the year of publication of the printed English version of The Dove, lyrics by G. Schirmer: on the Library of Congress page, it says "1877". Well... One year is not a huge difference for the veracity of my accountJ It had been published in Paris well before by Editions Au Menestrel Henri Heugel, and performed many times, as early as 1874 at the Lyceum Theater in New York and at Gilmore Garden's in San Francisco, introduced inside an Offenbach opera. source : Sounds of Spain in the Nineteenth Century USA, An Introduction - .edu/75465829/Sounds_of_Spain_in_the_Nineteenth_Century_USA_An_Introduction.
It is therefore plausible that Rhett - as well adept at parties in Paris or the Caribbean islands, and theaters in New York - knew La Paloma and contradanza habanera perfectly.
Three of several videos on the blog:
English versions: none of the lyrics correspond to the version published in 1877: English score, Library of Congress, .gov/item/sm1877.08529/
Youtube, Dean Martin, La Paloma - watch?v=rqEneXf3lx8
Youtube, Elvis Presley, No more - watch?v=wFblWV40AkA
Spanish version:
Original score: La Paloma Euskera Sebastián Iradier, alfredo ibisate ordax, watch?v=tLLeTSTkdsQ&list=LL&index=15
(*14) "I'll take you home again, Kathleen", published in 1876 - song created by Thomas Paine Westendorf (1848-1923). The music vaguely refers to Felix Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto. Instead of the commonly accepted Irish origin, it is rather German-American. wiki/I%27ll_Take_You_Home_Again,_Kathleen
One of the videos : youtube, Johnny Cash watch?v=aK1OZZ-TOuM