A Betrothal

"A Betrothal" is a novella by Charles Dickens that explores themes of love, social class, and the complexities of human relationships. The story revolves around the romantic entanglements and societal expectations faced by its characters, showcasing Dickens' signature blend of humor and social commentary. Through witty dialogue and vivid characterization, the narrative delves into the contrasts between genuine affection and the constraints of societal norms, ultimately reflecting Dickens' critique of Victorian notions of marriage and engagement.

• Essay

								
“We have been to a ball, of which I must give you a description.  Last
Tuesday we had just done dinner at about seven, and stepped out into the
balcony to look at the remains of the sunset behind the mountains, when
we heard very distinctly a band of music, which rather excited my
astonishment, as a solitary organ is the utmost that toils up here.  I
went out of the room for a few minutes, and, on my returning, Emily said,
‘Oh!  That band is playing at the farmer’s near here.  The daughter is
fiancée to-day, and they have a ball.’  I said, ‘I wish I was going!’
‘Well,’ replied she, ‘the farmer’s wife did call to invite us.’  ‘Then I
shall certainly go,’ I exclaimed.  I applied to Madame B., who said she
would like it very much, and we had better go, children and all.  Some of
the servants were already gone.  We rushed away to put on some shawls,
and put off any shred of black we might have about us (as the people
would have been quite annoyed if we had appeared on such an occasion with
any black), and we started.  When we reached the farmer’s, which is a
stone’s throw above our house, we were received with great enthusiasm;
the only drawback being, that no one spoke French, and we did not yet
speak Piedmontese.  We were placed on a bench against the wall, and the
people went on dancing.  The room was a large whitewashed kitchen (I
suppose), with several large pictures in black frames, and very smoky.  I
distinguished the Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian, and the others appeared
equally lively and appropriate subjects.  Whether they were Old Masters
or not, and if so, by whom, I could not ascertain.  The band were seated
opposite us.  Five men, with wind instruments, part of the band of the
National Guard, to which the farmer’s sons belong.  They played really
admirably, and I began to be afraid that some idea of our dignity would
prevent me getting a partner; so, by Madame B.’s advice, I went up to the
bride, and offered to dance with her.  Such a handsome young woman!  Like
one of Uwins’s pictures.  Very dark, with a quantity of black hair, and
on an immense scale.  The children were already dancing, as well as the
maids.  After we came to an end of our dance, which was what they called
a Polka-Mazourka, I saw the bride trying to screw up the courage of her
fiancé to ask me to dance, which after a little hesitation he did.  And
admirably he danced, as indeed they all did—in excellent time, and with a
little more spirit than one sees in a ball-room.  In fact, they were very
like one’s ordinary partners, except that they wore earrings and were in
their shirt-sleeves, and truth compels me to state that they decidedly
smelt of garlic.  Some of them had been smoking, but threw away their
cigars when we came in.  The only thing that did not look cheerful was,
that the room was only lighted by two or three oil-lamps, and that there
seemed to be no preparation for refreshments.  Madame B., seeing this,
whispered to her maid, who disengaged herself from her partner, and ran
off to the house; she and the kitchenmaid presently returning with a
large tray covered with all kinds of cakes (of which we are great
consumers and always have a stock), and a large hamper full of bottles of
wine, with coffee and sugar.  This seemed all very acceptable.  The
fiancée was requested to distribute the eatables, and a bucket of water
being produced to wash the glasses in, the wine disappeared very
quickly—as fast as they could open the bottles.  But, elated, I suppose,
by this, the floor was sprinkled with water, and the musicians played a
Monferrino, which is a Piedmontese dance.  Madame B. danced with the
farmer’s son, and Emily with another distinguished member of the company.
It was very fatiguing—something like a Scotch reel.  My partner was a
little man, like Perrot, and very proud of his dancing.  He cut in the
air and twisted about, until I was out of breath, though my attempts to
imitate him were feeble in the extreme.  At last, after seven or eight
dances, I was obliged to sit down.  We stayed till nine, and I was so
dead beat with the heat that I could hardly crawl about the house, and in
an agony with the cramp, it is so long since I have danced.”
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