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diff --git a/21259-h/21259-h.htm b/21259-h/21259-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5e0978a --- /dev/null +++ b/21259-h/21259-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12620 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Black Cross +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 5%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: medium; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.salutation {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.closing {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.footnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.transnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.index {font-size: small ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.intro {font-size: medium ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.dedication {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 15%; + text-align: justify } + +P.published {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 15% } + +P.quote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.report {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.report2 {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 4% ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.finis { text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +H3.h3left { margin-left: 0%; + margin-right: 1%; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: left ; + clear: left ; + text-align: center } + +H3.h3right { margin-left: 1%; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: right ; + clear: right ; + text-align: center } + +H3.h3center { margin-left: 0; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: none ; + clear: both ; + text-align: center } + +H4.h4left { margin-left: 0%; + margin-right: 1%; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: left ; + clear: left ; + text-align: center } + +H4.h4right { margin-left: 1%; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: right ; + clear: right ; + text-align: center } + +H4.h4center { margin-left: 0; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: none ; + clear: both ; + text-align: center } + +H5.h5left { margin-left: 0%; + margin-right: 1%; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: left ; + clear: left ; + text-align: center } + +H5.h5right { margin-left: 1%; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: right ; + clear: right ; + text-align: center } + +H5.h5center { margin-left: 0; + margin-right: 0 ; + margin-bottom: .5% ; + margin-top: 0; + float: none ; + clear: both ; + text-align: center } + +IMG.imgleft { float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-top: 1%; + margin-right: 1%; + padding: 0; + text-align: center } + +IMG.imgright {float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1%; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-top: 1%; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center } + +IMG.imgcenter { margin-left: auto; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-top: 1%; + margin-right: auto; } + +.pagenum { position: absolute; + left: 1%; + font-size: 95%; + text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; } + + + + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Black Cross, by Olive M. Briggs + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Black Cross + +Author: Olive M. Briggs + +Release Date: April 30, 2007 [EBook #21259] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLACK CROSS *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + +</pre> + + +<A NAME="img-front"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-front.jpg" ALT=""Ah, mein Gott!" he cried, "It is Kaya!"" BORDER="2" WIDTH="430" HEIGHT="685"> +<H3 CLASS="h3center" STYLE="width: 430px"> +"Ah, mein Gott!" he cried, "It is Kaya!" +</H3> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE BLACK CROSS +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +OLIVE M. BRIGGS +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Frontispiece by</I> +<BR> +SIGISMOND DE IVANOWSKI +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +NEW YORK +<BR> +MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY +<BR> +1909 +</H5> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +Copyright, 1909, by +<BR> +MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY +<BR> +NEW YORK +<BR><BR> +Published, February, 1909 +</H5> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +to +<BR> +YAPHAH +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<BR> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="100%"> +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="center" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="50%" COLSPAN="2"> +<B>PART I</B> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="center" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="50%" COLSPAN="2"> +<B>PART II</B> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap01">CHAPTER I</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap20">CHAPTER XX</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap02">CHAPTER II</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap09">CHAPTER IX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap15">CHAPTER XV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap03">CHAPTER III</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap10">CHAPTER X</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap04">CHAPTER IV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">CHAPTER XI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap05">CHAPTER V</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">CHAPTER XII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap06">CHAPTER VI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap07">CHAPTER VII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE BLACK CROSS +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +PART I +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<P> +It was night in St. Petersburg. The moon was high in the heavens, and +the domes, crowned with a fresh diadem of snow, glittered with a +dazzling whiteness. In the side streets the shadows were heavy, the +façades of the great palaces casting strange and dark reflections upon +the pavement; but the main thoroughfares were streaked as with silver, +while along the quay all was bright and luminous as at noontide, the +Neva asleep like a frozen Princess under a breast-plate of shimmering +ice. +</P> + +<P> +The wind was cold, the air frosty and gay with tinkling sleigh-bells. +A constant stream of people in sledges and on foot filled the Morskaïa, +hurrying in the one direction. The great Square of the Mariínski was +alive with a moving, jostling throng, surging backwards and forwards +before the steps of the Theatre like waves on a rock; a gay, +well-dressed, chattering multitude, eager to present their tickets, or +buy them as the case might be, and enter the gaping doors into the +brilliantly lighted foyer beyond. +</P> + +<P> +It was ballet night, but for the first time in the memory of the +Theatre no ballet was to be given. Instead of the "Première Danseuse," +the idol of Russian society, a new star had appeared, suddenly, +miraculously almost, dropped from a Polish Province, and had played +himself into the innermost heart of St. Petersburg. +</P> + +<P> +The four strings of his Stradivarius, so fragile, so delicate and slim, +were as four chains to bind the people to him; four living wires over +which the sound of his fame sped from city to city, from province to +province, until there was no musician in all the Russias who could play +as Velasco, no instrument like his with the gift of tears and of +laughter as well, all the range of human emotions hidden within its +slender, resinous body. +</P> + +<P> +So the people said as they gossiped together on the steps: "The great +Velasco! The wonderful Velasco!" And now he was on his way to +Germany. It was his last concert, his "farewell." +</P> + +<P> +The announcement had been blazoned about on red and yellow handbills +for weeks. One Salle after the other had offered itself, each more +commodious than the last; but they were as nothing to the demands of +the box-office. The list grew longer, the clamourings louder; and at +last the unprecedented happened. At the request of a titled committee +under the signature of the Grand-Duke Stepan himself, the Mariínski, +largest and most beautiful of theatres, had opened its doors to the +young god; and the price of tickets went up in leaps like a barometer +after a storm;—fifteen roubles for a seat, twenty—twenty-five—and +finally no seat at all, not even standing-room. +</P> + +<P> +The crowd melted away gradually; the doors of the foyer closed; the +harsh cries of the speculators died in the distance. Behind the +Theatre the ice on the canal glimmered and sparkled. The moon climbed +higher and the bells of the Nikolski Church rang out clearly, +resonantly above the tree-tops. +</P> + +<P> +Scarcely had the last stroke sounded when a black sleigh, drawn by a +pair of splendid bays, dashed out of a side street and crossed the +Pozeluïef bridge at a gallop. At the same moment a troïka, with three +horses abreast, turned sharply into the Glinki and the two collided +with a crash, the occupants flung out on the snow, the frightened +animals plunging and rearing in a tangled, inextricable heap. +</P> + +<P> +The drivers rushed to the horses' heads. +</P> + +<P> +"A pest on you, son of a goat!" screamed the one, "Have you eyes in the +back of your head that you can't see a yard in front of you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Viper!" retorted the other furiously, "Damnation on you and your bad +driving! Call the police! Arrest the shark of an anarchist!" +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile the master of the black sleigh, a heavily built, elderly man, +had picked himself out of a drift with the assistance of his lackey and +was brushing the snow from his long fur cloak. A fur cap, pulled down +over his eyes, hid his face, but his gestures were angry, and his voice +was high and rasping. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is the fellow?" he snarled, "Let me see him; let me see his +face. Away, Pierre, I tell you, go to the horses! A mercy indeed if +their legs are not broken. A pretty pass this, that one can't drive +through the streets of the capital, not even incognito!—Call the +police!" +</P> + +<P> +The other gentleman, who seemed little more than a boy, stood by the +overturned troïka wringing his hands: +</P> + +<P> +"Is it hurt, my little one, my treasure, is it scratched? Keep their +hoofs away, Bobo, hold them still a moment while I raise one end." +</P> + +<P> +He knelt in the snow and peered eagerly beneath the sleigh. +</P> + +<P> +"Sacre—ment!" cried the older man, "What is he after? Quick, on him, +Pierre! Don't let him escape." +</P> + +<P> +The lackey moved cautiously forward, and then gave a sudden leap back +as the boyish figure sprang to his feet, clasping a dark, oblong object +in his arms. +</P> + +<P> +"A bomb, a bomb! In the name of all the saints! If he should drop it +they were doomed, they were dead men!" +</P> + +<P> +The eyes of the lackey were bulging with terror and he stood riveted to +the spot. In the meantime the young man had snatched out his watch and +was holding it up into a patch of moonlight. +</P> + +<P> +"Twenty past the hour!" he exclaimed, "and old Galitsin fuming, I'll be +bound! I'll have to make a run for it. Hey, Bobo!" +</P> + +<P> +As he spoke, an iron hand came down on his shoulder and he looked up +amazed into a pair of eyes, small and black and crossed, flashing with +fury. +</P> + +<P> +"Drop it," hissed a voice, "and I'll throttle you as you stand! +Traitor! Assassin! Your driver obeyed orders, did he? You knew? +Vermin, you ran us down! How did you know? Who betrayed me?—Who?" +</P> + +<P> +The youth stood motionless for a moment in astonishment. He was +helpless as a girl in that vicious grasp that was bearing him under +slowly, relentlessly. "For the love of heaven," he cried, "Let go my +arm, you brute, you'll sprain a muscle! Be careful!" +</P> + +<P> +"Drop it, and I swear by all that is holy—" +</P> + +<P> +"You old fool, you curmudgeon, you coward of an old blatherskite!" +cried the boy, "I wouldn't drop it for all the world, not if you went +on your bended knees. Bobo, yell for the police! Don't you touch my +wrist! Look out now! Of all unpleasant things—! +</P> + +<P> +"Bobo, come here. Never mind the horses. I tell you he is ruining my +arm!—Hey! Help! You're an anarchist yourself, you fool! Shout, +Bobo, shout!" +</P> + +<P> +In the struggle the two had passed from the shadow into the moonlight +and they now confronted one another. The master of the black sleigh +was still enveloped in his cloak, only the gleam of his eyes, small and +black and crossed, was visible under the cap, his beaked nose and the +upward twist of his grey mustache. +</P> + +<P> +The youth stood erect and angry; his head was bare, thrown back as a +young lion at bay, his dark hair falling like a mane, clustered in +waves about his broad, overhanging brows; strange brows and strange +eyes underneath. The mouth was sensitive, the chin short and rather +full, the whole aspect as of some one distinguished and out of the +ordinary. +</P> + +<P> +They stared at one another for a moment and then the hand of the older +man dropped to his side. "I beg your pardon," he said, with some show +of apology in his tone, "Surely I must have made a mistake. Where have +I seen you before? You are no anarchist; pray, pardon me." +</P> + +<P> +The young man was feeling his arm ruefully: "Good gracious, sir," he +said, "but you are hasty!—I never felt such a grip. The muscles are +quite sore already, but luckily it is the left arm, otherwise, Bózhe +moi[1], I vow I'd sue you!—If it were the fingers now, or the wrist—" +</P> + +<P> +He took off his fur gloves and examined both hands carefully, one after +the other. A scornful look came over the older man's face: +</P> + +<P> +"There was no excuse, my friend, for the way your troïka rounded that +corner. Such driving is criminal in a public street. It's a mercy we +weren't all killed! Still, you really must pardon me, these anarchist +devils are everywhere nowadays and one has to take precautions. I was +hurrying to the Mariínski." +</P> + +<P> +Hardly were the words out of his mouth, when there came the snapping of +two watch lids almost simultaneously, and both gentlemen gave a cry of +consternation. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, the deuce!" exclaimed the boy, "so was I, and look at the time if +you please; the House will be in an uproar!" +</P> + +<P> +The older man hurried towards the already righted sleigh: "Most +unfortunate," he fumed, "and to-night of all nights! The entire +concert will be at a standstill. The rug, Pierre, quick the rug! Are +the horses ready? Hurry, you great lumbering son of an ox!" +</P> + +<P> +The boy had already leaped into the troïka and was wrapping the fur +robes about his knees. "We shall put in an appearance about the same +time, sir," he called back carelessly over his shoulder. "You won't +miss anything, not a note, if that will comfort you. Hey, Bobo, go +ahead! The concert can't begin without me." +</P> + +<P> +"Without you," interrupted the other, "eh, what—you? Tısyacha +chertéi[2]! What do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +The master of the black sleigh stood up suddenly and threw back his +cloak with a haughty gesture. He was in uniform and his breast +glittered with orders. His cap fell back from his face, and his eyes, +small and black and crossed, his beaked nose, his grey upturned +mustache, showed distinctly in the moonlight. The face was known to +every Russian, young and old, rich and poor—the Grand-Duke Stepan. +</P> + +<P> +The youth made a low obeisance; then he tossed the hair away from his +brows and laughed: "True, your highness," he said with mock humility, +"I should have said—'until we both get there,' of course. Your +pardon, sire." +</P> + +<P> +The Duke leaned forward: "Stop—!" he exclaimed, "Your face—certainly +somewhere I have seen it—Wait!" +</P> + +<P> +The driver of the troïka reined in the panting horses three abreast. +They pawed the snow, still prancing a little and trembling, their bits +flecked with foam. The youth saluted with one hand carelessly, while +with the other he grasped the dark, oblong object that was not a bomb. +</P> + +<P> +"Au revoir, your Grace," he cried, "You have seen me before and you +will see me again, to-night, if this arm of mine recovers—" He +laughed:—"I am Velasco." +</P> + +<P> +As he spoke the horses leaped forward and the troïka, darting across +the moonlight of the Square, disappeared into the shadows behind the +Mariínski. +</P> + +<P> +The Duke gazed after it petrified: "Velasco!" he said, "And I all but +twisted his wrist!—Ye gods! +</P> + +<P> +"Go on, Pierre, go on!" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The Theatre was superbly lighted, crowded from the pit to the gallery, +from the orchestra chairs to the Bel-Etage with the cream of St. +Petersburg aristocracy. +</P> + +<P> +It was like a vast garden of colour. +</P> + +<P> +The brilliant uniforms of the officers mingled with the more delicate +hues of ecru and rose, sky-blue and palest heliotrope of the loggias. +Fans waved here and there over the house, fluttering, flashing like +myriads of butterfly wings. The stage was filled with the black and +white of the orchestra and the musicians sat waiting, the conductor +gnawing his long mustache in an agony of doubt and bewilderment. +</P> + +<P> +Gradually a hush stole over the House. The fans waved less regularly; +the uniforms and the more delicate hues whispered together, glancing +first at a box on the first tier, which was still empty, and then at +the stage door and back again. +</P> + +<P> +Where was the Grand-Duke Stepan, and where was the star, the idol, the +young god, who was to charm their hearts with his four strings?—for +whom they had paid fifteen roubles, twenty—twenty-five until there +wasn't a seat left, not even standing room; only the crimson-curtained +Imperial Loggia in the centre, solitary, significant. +</P> + +<P> +The time passed; the minutes dragged slowly. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly the curtains moved. An usher appeared and placed a chair. +Another moment of silence; then a tall, grey-haired, military figure +stepped to the front of the loggia and bowed to right and to left; his +eyes, small and black and crossed, glancing haughtily over the throng. +"At last!"—The applause was mechanical, in strict accordance with +etiquette, but there was a relieved note in it and the thousands of +straining eyes leaped back to the stage, eager and watchful. +</P> + +<P> +All at once a small door in the wings opened slightly and a slim boyish +figure strode across the boards, a mane of dark hair falling over his +brows. +</P> + +<P> +"Velasco!" A roar went up from the House—"Velasco! +Ah—h—viva—Velas—co!" +</P> + +<P> +Instantly, with a tap of his baton, the conductor motioned for silence, +and then, with the first downward beat, the orchestra began the +introduction to the concerto. +</P> + +<P> +The young Violinist stood languidly, his Stradivarius tucked under his +arm, the bow held in a slim and graceful hand. His dark eyes roamed +over the brilliant spectacle before him, from tier to tier, from top to +bottom. He had seen it all before many times; but never so beautiful, +so vast an audience, such a glory of colour, such closeness of +attention. Raising his violin, with a strange, dreamy swaying of his +young body, Velasco drew the bow over the quivering strings in the +first solo passage of the Vieuxtemps. +</P> + +<P> +The tones rose and fell above the volume of the orchestra. The depth +of them, the sweetness seemed to penetrate to the uttermost corner. A +curious tenseness came over the listening audience. Not a soul +stirred. The Grand-Duke sat motionless with his head in his hands. +The strings vibrated to each individual heart-beat; the bow sighed over +them, and with the last note a murmur and then a roar went up. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco stirred slightly, dropped his bow and bowed, without raising +his eyes. Then, hardly waiting for the applause to subside, the second +movement began, slow and passionate. The notes became fuller and more +sensuous. The hush deepened. The silence grew more intense; a strain +of listening, a fixed eagerness of watching. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly, in the midst, the Violinist raised his head from his +instrument, drawing the bow with a slow, downward, caressing pressure +over the E string. His eyes, half veiled and dreamy, looked straight +across the House into a loggia next to the Imperial Box, impelled +thereto by some force outside of his own consciousness. +</P> + +<P> +A girl with an exquisite flower-like face was leaning over the crimson +rail, her gaze on his, fixed and intent. The gold of her hair +glistened in the light. Her lips were parted, the bosom of her dress +rising and falling; her small hands clasped. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco gazed steadily for a moment; then he dropped his head again, +and swaying slightly played on. +</P> + +<P> +The bow seemed fairly to rend the strings. He toyed with the +difficulties; his scales, his arpeggios were as a flash, a ripple of +notes tumbling over one another, each one a pearl. His lion's mane +caressed the violin; his cheek pressed it like a living thing, closely, +passionately, and it answered like a creature possessed. +</P> + +<P> +As the strings vibrated to the last dying note, the beauty of it, the +virtuosity, the abandon, drove the House mad with enthusiasm. They +rose to him; they shouted his name eagerly, impetuously. +</P> + +<P> +"Velasco! Viva!—Velasco! Bravo—bravissimo!" +</P> + +<P> +Over the packed Theatre the handkerchiefs waved like a myriad of white +banners. The bravos redoubled. The women tore the flowers from their +girdles to fling on the stage; they lay piled on the white boards about +him, broken and sweet, their perfume filling the air. +</P> + +<P> +The young Violinist bowed, his hand on his heart, smiled and bowed +again. He went out by the little door, and then came back and bowed +and bowed. +</P> + +<P> +The House rose as one man. +</P> + +<P> +"Velasco! Velas—co!" It was deafening. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly out of the uproar, out of the crowd and the din, from someone, +from somewhere, a bunch of violets fell at his feet. He raised them to +his lips with a smile. "Viva—Velas—co—o!" The clapping redoubled. +</P> + +<P> +About the stems of the violets, twined and intertwined again, was a +twist of paper. His eyes fell for an instant on the blotted words and +then the stage door closed behind him. They were few and almost +illegible. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Will you help me—life or death—tonight? Kaya.</I>" The rest was a +blot. He scanned them again more closely and shook the hair from his +eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Velasco! Velasco—Viva!" +</P> + +<P> +When the young Violinist came forward for the third time, his dark eyes +flashed to the eyes of the girl like steel to a magnet. They seemed to +plead, to wrestle with him. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Will you help me—life or death—tonight? Kaya.</I>" +</P> + +<P> +Did her lips move; was it a signal? Her hands seemed to beckon him. +He bowed low to the loggia, like one in a trance, once, twice, their +eyes still together. And then, suddenly, he wrenched himself away +remembering the House, the shouting, cheering, waving House. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah—h Velasco—o!" +</P> + +<P> +Lifting his violin he began to play again slowly, dreamily, hardly +knowing how or why, a weird, chanting Polish improvisation like a love +song, a song without words. His eyes opened and closed again. Always +that gaze, pleading, wrestling, that flower-like face, those clasped +hands beckoning. +</P> + +<P> +Who was she—Kaya? His heart beat and throbbed; he was suffocating. +With a last wild and passionate note Velasco tore the bow from the +strings; it was as though the earth had opened and swallowed him up; he +was gone. +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="footnote"> +[1] My God. +</P> + +<P CLASS="footnote"> +[2] A thousand devils! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + +<P> +In one of the poorer quarters of St. Petersburg there is a street on a +back canal, and over the street an arch. To the right of the arch is a +flight of steps, ancient and worm-eaten, difficult of climbing by day +by reason of a hole here, a worn place there, and the perilous tilting +of the boards; at night well nigh impassable without a lantern. The +steps wind and end in a tenement, once a palace, spanning the water. +</P> + +<P> +It was midnight. +</P> + +<P> +A cloud had come over the moon, light and fleecy at first, but +gradually growing blacker and spreading until finally it hung like a +huge drop-curtain screening the stars. +</P> + +<P> +The street lay in darkness. From a window in the top of the arch a +single light was visible, pale and flickering as the ray from a candle; +otherwise the grey bulk of the building seemed lost in the shadows, +lifeless and silent. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly the light went out. +</P> + +<P> +"Hist—st!" As if at a signal something moved on the staircase, +creeping forward, and then from the shadow of the tenement, from under +the archway, emerged other shadows, moving slowly like wraiths, +hesitating, stopping, losing themselves in the general blackness, and +then stirring again; shadows within shadows creeping. +</P> + +<P> +Presently a door at the top of the steps opened and shut. Every time +it opened, a shadow passed through and another crept forward. No word +was spoken, no sound; not a step creaked, not a board stirred. It was +a procession of ghosts. +</P> + +<P> +Behind the door was a long stone passage, narrow and dark like a cave. +The shadows felt the walls with their hands softly, gropingly, but the +hands were silent like the feet. Except for a hurried breathing in the +darkness the passage seemed empty. +</P> + +<P> +Beyond were more steps leading down, and another passage, and then a +second door locked and barred. Before this door the shadows halted, +huddled together. "Hist—st!" Instantly the floor under them began to +quiver and drop, inch by inch, foot by foot, down a well of continued +blackness. The minutes passed. They still dropped lower and lower, so +low that they were now below the level of the canal; down, down into +the very foundations of the tenement, once a palace. All of a sudden +the darkness ceased. +</P> + +<P> +The room into which the elevator entered was large, low-raftered and +lighted by a group of candles at the far end. In the centre was a +black table, and about the table thirteen chairs also black. The one +at the head was occupied by a figure garbed in a cloak and hood, with a +black mask drawn down to the lips. The other chairs were empty. +</P> + +<P> +By the light of the candles the shadows now took shape, the one from +the other, and twelve black-cloaked and hooded figures stole forward, +also masked to the lips. They passed one by one before the seated +mask, touching his hand lightly, fleetingly, as one dipping the fingers +into holy water, and then around the table to their seats, each in +turn, until all were placed. +</P> + +<P> +Some of the figures were tall, broad-shouldered and heavy, others small +and slight. From the height, the strength or delicacy of the chin, the +shape and size of the hand, was it alone possible to distinguish the +sex; the rest was shrouded in a mystery absolute and unfathomable. +</P> + +<P> +As the last and thirteenth chair was filled, the mask at the head +leaned forward and pointed silently to a dark object at the far end of +the room about which the candles flickered and sparkled. It was a huge +Black Cross suspended as above an altar. Below it lay an open bier, +roughly hewn out of the stone, and across it a name in scarlet +lettering. The bier was empty. +</P> + +<P> +The twelve other masks turned towards the Cross, reading the name, and +they made a sign with the hands in unison, a rapid crisscross motion +over the breast, the forehead, the eyes, ending in the low murmur of a +word, unintelligible, like a pledge. Then the first mask to the left +rose and bowed to the Head. +</P> + +<P> +"Speak," he said, "the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the +truth. Of what is this man accused?" +</P> + +<P> +There was a moment of silence, intense and charged with significance; +then the mask spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"In the province of Pskof there is a Commune. One night, last winter, +the peasants rose without warning. They shot, they maimed, they +hacked, they burned alive every Jew in the village, men, women and +children; not one escaped. The police were behind them. The +instigator of the police was—" +</P> + +<P> +The Head raised his hand: "Do you know this for a fact, from personal +information?" +</P> + +<P> +"I know it for a fact, from personal information." +</P> + +<P> +The first mask took his seat and the second rose, a gaunt figure, the +shoulders bowed and crippled under the cloak. His voice was deep and +full, with tones plaintive and penetrating. +</P> + +<P> +"A month ago there were seven men arrested. They were taken to 'Peter +and Paul' and thrust into dungeons unspeakable. They received no +trial; they were convicted of no crime; they never saw their families +again. Three of these men are now in the mines. Two are still in the +cells. Two are dead." +</P> + +<P> +"Why were they arrested and by whose order?" +</P> + +<P> +"They were workmen who had attended a meeting of the Social Democrats +and had helped to circulate Liberal papers. It was done by the order +of—" +</P> + +<P> +The third mask sprang to his feet. His fists were clenched, and he was +breathing hard like one who has been running. +</P> + +<P> +"It is my turn," he cried, "Let me—speak! You know—you haven't +forgotten!—On the Tsar's birthday, a band of students marched to the +steps of the Winter Palace. They went peacefully, with trust in their +hearts, no weapon in their hands. They were surrounded by Cossacks, +who beat them with knouts, riding them down. They were boys, some of +them hardly out of the Gymnasium, the flower of our youth, brave sons +of Russia ready to fight for her and die." He hesitated and his voice +broke. "At the foot of the Alexander Column, they were mown down like +grass without warning, or mercy; their blood still sprinkles the +stones. Many were killed, hundreds arrested, few escaped. At the head +of the Cossacks rode—" +</P> + +<P> +A sigh stirred the room deepening into a groan, and then came a hush. +Some buried their faces in their hands, weeping silently behind the +masks. After a while the Head raised his hand and the fourth rose, +slowly, reluctantly, speaking in a woman's voice so faint and low it +could scarcely make itself heard. The masks bent forward listening. +</P> + +<P> +"Last week," it murmured, "the Countess Petrushka was suspected. She +was torn from her home, imprisoned"—The voice grew lower and lower. +"She was beaten—tortured by the guards; she never returned,—yesterday +she was—buried." The voice broke into sobs. "The man who signed the +paper was—" +</P> + +<P> +So the trial went on amid the stillness, more and more solemn, more and +more impressive, as one accusation followed the other in swift +succession; the candles dropping low in their sockets, the light +growing dimmer, the room larger and lower and more ghostly, the night +waning. +</P> + +<P> +In every case the name was left a blank; but in that strange pause, as +if for judgment, the eyes of the masks sought the bier, resting with +slow fascination on the words across it, gleaming scarlet beneath the +flickering candles, vivid and red like blood. +</P> + +<P> +The final accusation had been made. The twelfth and last mask had sunk +back in his chair and the leader rose. The silence was like a pall +over the table. When his voice broke through, it was sharp and stern, +as the voice of a judge admonishing a court. +</P> + +<P> +"You have all heard," he said, "You are aware of what this man has +done, is now doing, will continue to do. Does he merit to live?—Has +he deserved to die? For the sake of our country, our people, +ourselves, deliberate and determine.—His fate rests in the hands of +the <I>Black Cross</I>." +</P> + +<P> +He bowed his head on his breast and waited. No one moved or spoke. At +the far end of the room, the candles dripped one by one on the bier, +falling lower and lower. Occasionally the wax flared up, lighting the +darkness; then all was dim. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly, as from some mysterious impulse, the thirteen sprang to their +feet, and again their hands flashed out in that curious crisscross +motion over the breast, the forehead, the eyes, and a murmur went from +mouth to mouth like a hiss. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Cmeptb</I>—Death!" rising into a sound so intense, so terrifying, so +muffled and suppressed and menacing, it was as the cry of an animal +wounded, dying, about to spring. Falling on their knees, they remained +motionless for a moment; then, following the leader, each stepped +forward in turn and took their places about the bier. +</P> + +<P> +The ceremony that followed was strange and solemn; one that no outside +eye has ever gazed on, no lips have ever dared to breathe. They stood +in the shadow of death, their own and another's. Their heads were +bowed. Their bodies shook and trembled. With hands raised they took +the oath, terrible, relentless, overpowering, gripping them from now on +as in a vice; both sexes alike, with voices spent and faint with +emotion. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>In the name of the Black Cross I do now pledge myself, an instrument +in the service of Justice and Retribution. On whomsoever the choice of +Fate shall fall, I vow the sentence of Death shall be fulfilled, by +mine own hands if needs be, without weakness, or hesitation, or mercy. +And if by any untoward chance this hand should fail, I swear—I swear, +before the third day shall have passed, to die instead—to +die—instead.</I>" +</P> + +<P> +The words ended in a whisper, low, intense, prescient of a woe not to +be borne. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>I swear—I pledge myself—by mine own hands if needs be.</I>" +</P> + +<P> +A sigh broke the stillness. The masks stirred, recovered themselves +and bent over the bier, drawing out, one after the other, a slip of +paper folded. There were thirteen slips. Twelve were blank; on one +was a Black Cross graven. +</P> + +<P> +They drew in silence; no start, no movement, no trembling of the +muscles betrayed the one fated. Twelve drew blanks. Which of them had +the Cross; which? They stared dumbly, questioningly, fearfully from +one to the other. One was the assassin. Which? The answer was +shrouded behind the masks. +</P> + +<P> +Lower and lower the candles burned in their sockets, flickering +fitfully. The room grew darker and the figures, cloaked and hooded, +seemed to melt back into the shadows from whence they had emerged, less +and less distinct, until finally the shadow was one, more and more +vapoury, filling the darkness. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly, a scream cut the silence, like a knife rough and jagged. In +a twinkling the lights went out. There was a scuffling, a struggling +in the corridor, cries and shouting, the sound of wood splintering, the +blows of an axe,—a rushing forward of heavy bodies and the trampling +of feet. The doors burst open, and a cordon of police dashed over the +wreckage, cursing, shouting—and then stopped on the threshold, staring +in amazement and panting with mouths wide open. +</P> + +<P> +"Oï!—Oï! Tısyacha chertéi!" +</P> + +<P> +The room was empty, dark, deserted save for an old woman, half-witted, +who was crouching on the floor before the sacred Icon, rocking herself +and mumbling. They questioned her, but she was deaf and answered at +random: +</P> + +<P> +"Eh, gracious sirs—my lords—eh? So old—so poor, so wretched! See, +there is nothing!—A copeck, for the love of heaven—half a copeck—a +quarter, only a little quarter! Ah! Rioumka vodki[1]—rioumka—vodki!" +</P> + +<P> +The police brushed her aside and searched the room. In the corner was +a low cot, hanging on a nail was an old cloak; on the table the remains +of a black loaf and an empty cup. They searched and searched in vain; +tapping the walls, tearing at the stone foundations, peering up at the +rafters, tumbling over one another in their eagerness. +</P> + +<P> +"Chórt vozmí[2]—!" shouted the captain, "We are on the wrong track. +The scream came from the other side. Head them off! Run, men, run! +Here, this passage, and then straight ahead! Devil take the old +beggar! Shut up, you hag, or I'll strangle you!—Head them off!" +</P> + +<P> +Gradually the hurrying footsteps died away in the distance. The +shouting ceased on the stairs. It was still as the grave, silent, +deserted. The old woman glanced over her shoulder. She was still +crouching before the Icon, rocking herself backwards and forwards; the +beads of the rosary slipping through her fingers one by one; mumbling +to herself. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly she stopped and listened. The rosary fell to the floor. Her +eyes watched the wreckage of the doorway closely, suspiciously, like an +animal before a trap. The shadows encircled her, they were here, +there, everywhere; but none moved, none crept. +</P> + +<P> +Snatching a slip of paper from her bosom, she bent over it, her eyes +dilated, her mouth twisted with agony. In the centre of the paper, +clearly graven against the white, was a Black Cross. +</P> + +<P> +She moaned aloud, wringing her hands. Her teeth gnawed her lips. She +clung to the foot of the Icon, sobbing, struggling with herself, +glancing around fearfully into the shadows. A gleam from the candle +fell on her hood; it had slipped slightly and a strand of her hair hung +from under the cowl. It sparkled like gold. +</P> + +<P> +She staggered to her feet, still sobbing and trembling, catching her +breath. Then she went to the nail on the wall and took down the cloak. +The woman stood alone in the midst of the shadows; they were heavy, +motionless. Glancing to right and left, behind her, to the wreckage of +the door, to the furthermost corner, back to the Icon again, her eyes +roved, darting from side to side like a creature hunted. Clasping the +cloak to her quivering bosom she approached the candle slowly, +stealthily. Her steps faltered. She hesitated. She stooped +forward—another glance over her shoulder, and blowing with feeble +breath, the spark went out. +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="footnote"> +[1] A small glass of brandy. +</P> + +<P CLASS="footnote"> +[2] "The devil take you!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + +<P> +Velasco sat in his Studio before the great tiled fire-place, dreaming, +with his violin across his knees. His servant had gone to bed and he +was alone. +</P> + +<P> +The coals burned brightly, and the lamp cast a golden, radiant light on +the rug at his feet, rich-hued and jewel tinted as the stained rose +windows of Notre Dame. Tapestries hung from the walls, a painting here +and there, a few engravings. In the centre stood an Erard, a +magnificent concert-grand, open, with music strewn on its polished lid +in a confusion of sheets; some piled, some fluttering loose, still +others flung to the floor where a chance breeze, or a careless hand, +may have scattered them. Near it was the exquisite bronze figure of a +young satyr playing the flute, the childish arms and limbs, round and +molded, glowing rosy and warm in the lamp light. In one corner was a +violin stand, a bow tossed heedlessly across it; and all about were +boxes, half packed and disordered. The curtains were drawn. The +malachite clock on the mantel-piece was striking two. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco stirred suddenly and his dark head turned from the fire light, +moving restlessly against the cushions. He was weary. The applause, +the uproar of the Mariínski was still in his ears; before his eyes +danced innumerable notes, tiny and black, the sound of them boring into +his brain. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye gods—ye gods!" +</P> + +<P> +The young Violinist sprang up and began pacing the room, pressing his +hands to his eyes to drive away the notes, humming to himself to get +rid of the sound, the theme, the one haunting, irrepressible motive. +He walked up and down, lighting one cigarette after the other, puffing +once, twice, and then hurling it half-smoked into the coals. +</P> + +<P> +Every little while he stopped and seemed to be listening. Then he went +back to his seat before the fire-place and flinging himself down began +to play, a few bars at a time, stopping and listening, then playing +again. As he played, his eyes grew dreamy and heavy, the brows seemed +to press upon them until they drooped under the lids, and his dark hair +fell like a screen. +</P> + +<P> +When he stopped, a strange, moody look came over his face and he +frowned, tapping the rug nervously with his foot. Sometimes he held +the violin between his knees, playing on it as on a cello; then he +caught it to his breast again in a sudden fury of improvisation—an +arpeggio, light and running, his fingers barely touching the +strings—the snatch of a theme—a trill, low and passionate—the rush +of a scale. He toyed with the Stradivarius mocking it, clasping it, +listening. +</P> + +<P> +His overwrought nerves were as pinpoints pricking his body. His brain +was like a church, the organ of music filling it, thundering, +reverberating, dying away; and then, as he lay back exhausted, low, +subtle, insinuating ran the theme in his ears, the maddening motive. +</P> + +<P> +Beside him was a stand, with a decanter of red wine and a glass. The +wine was lustrous and sparkling. He drank of it, and lit another +cigarette and threw it away. Presently Velasco took from his pocket a +twist of paper blotted, and studied it, with his head in his hands. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Will you help me—life or death—tonight? Kaya.</I>" +</P> + +<P> +He listened again. +</P> + +<P> +The theme was still running, the black notes dancing; but between them +intertwined was a face, upturned, exquisite, the eyes pleading, the +lips parted, hands clasped and beckoning. That night at the +Mariínski—ah! +</P> + +<P> +He had searched for her everywhere. Ushers had flown from loggia to +loggia, ransacking the Theatre. Next to the Imperial Box, or was it +the second? To the right?—no, the left! Below, or perhaps on the +Bel-Etage?—All in vain. Was it only a dream? He stared down at the +twist of paper blotted "<I>Kaya—to-night.</I>" +</P> + +<P> +Her name came to his lips and he repeated it aloud, smiling to himself, +musing. His eyes gazed into the coals, dreamy, heavy, half open, +gleaming like dark slits under the brows. They closed gradually and +his head fell lower. His hands relaxed. The violin lay on his breast, +his pale cheek resting against the arch. +</P> + +<P> +He was asleep. +</P> + +<P> +All of a sudden there came a light tap on the door. A pause, a tap, +still lighter; then another pause. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco raised his head and tossed back his hair restlessly; his eyes +drooped again. +</P> + +<P> +"Tap—tap." +</P> + +<P> +He started and listened. +</P> + +<P> +Some one was at the Studio door—something. It was like the flutter of +a bird's wing against the oak, softly, persistently. +</P> + +<P> +"Tap—tap." +</P> + +<P> +He rose slowly, reluctantly to his feet and went to the door. It was +strange, inexplicable. After two, and the moon was gone, the night was +dark—unless—An eager look came into his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is there?" he cried, "Who are you? What do you want?" +</P> + +<P> +A silence followed, as if the bird had poised suddenly with wings +outstretched, hovering. Then it came again against the oak: "Tap—tap." +</P> + +<P> +Velasco threw open the door: "Bózhe moi!" +</P> + +<P> +As he did so, a woman's figure, slim and small, hooded and wrapped in a +long, black cloak, darted inside, and snatching the door from his hand, +closed it behind her rapidly, fearfully, glancing back into the +darkness. The woman was panting under the hood. She braced herself +against the door, still clasping the bolt as though a weapon. Her back +was crooked beneath the cloak and she seemed to be crippled. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco drew back. His eagerness vanished and the light died out of +his face. "Who in the name of—" He hesitated: "What in the world—" +Then he hesitated again, his dark eyes blinking under his brows. +</P> + +<P> +The woman stretched her hands from under the cloak, clasping them. She +was fighting hard for her breath. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me, Monsieur," she whispered, "Tell me quickly—are you married? +Are you going alone to Germany?" Her voice shook and trembled: "Oh, +tell me,—quickly." +</P> + +<P> +"Married, my good woman!" exclaimed Velasco. His eyes opened wide and +he drew back a little further: "Why really, Madame—Of course I am +going alone to Germany. What do you mean? How extraordinary!" +</P> + +<P> +"Quite alone?" repeated the woman, "no friend, no manager? Oh then, +sir, do me the little favour, the kindness—it will cost you nothing—I +shall never forget it—I shall bless you all the days of my life." +</P> + +<P> +She took a step forward, limping. Velasco recovered himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Sit down, Madame," he said, "and explain. You are trembling so. Let +me give you some wine.—Wait a minute. There,—is it money you want? +Tell me." +</P> + +<P> +His manner was that of a prince to a beggar, lofty, authoritative, +kindly, indifferent. "Sit down, Madame." +</P> + +<P> +The woman shrank back against the door and her hand fled to the bolt as +if seeking support. "No—no!" she murmured. "You don't understand. +It's not for—not money! I'm in trouble, danger. Don't you see? I +must flee from Russia—now, at once. You are going to Germany alone, +to-morrow night. Take me with you—take me with—you!" +</P> + +<P> +An irritated look came over Velasco's face. Was the creature mad? +"That is nonsense," he said, "I can't take any one with me, and I +wouldn't if I could. Besides there is only one passport." +</P> + +<P> +The woman put her hand to her breast. It was throbbing madly under the +cloak. "You could take—your—wife," she whispered, "Your wife. No +one would suspect." +</P> + +<P> +"Really, my dear Madame!" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco yawned behind his palm. "What you say is simply absurd. I +tell you I have no wife." +</P> + +<P> +She stretched out her hands to him: "You are a Pole, a Pole!" Her +voice rose passionately. "Surely you have suffered; you hate Russia, +this cruel, wicked, tyrannous government. Your sympathy is with us, +the people, the Liberals, who are trying—oh, I tell you—I must go, at +once! After tomorrow it is death, don't you understand,—death? What +is it to you, the matter of another passport? You are Velasco?—Every +one knows that name, every one. Your wife goes with you to Germany. +Oh, take me—take me—I beseech you." +</P> + +<P> +The Violinist stared down at the hooded face. Her voice was tense and +vibrating like the tones of an instrument. It moved him strangely. He +felt a curious numbness in his throat and a wave passed over him like a +chill. She went on, her hands wrung together under the cloak: +</P> + +<P> +"It isn't much I ask. The journey together—at the frontier we +part—part forever. The marriage, oh listen—that is nothing, a +ceremony, a farce, just a certificate to show the police—the police—" +</P> + +<P> +Her voice died away in a whisper, broken, panting. She fell back +against the door, bracing herself against it, gazing up into his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco stood motionless for a moment; then he turned on his heel and +strode over to the fire-place, staring down into the coals. The sight +of that bent and shrinking figure, a woman, old and feeble, trembling +like a creature hunted, unmanned him. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't do it," he said slowly, "Don't ask me. I am a musician. I +have no interest in politics. There is too much risk. I can't, +Madame, I can't." +</P> + +<P> +He felt her coming towards him. The flutter of her cloak, it touched +him, and her step was light, like a bird limping. +</P> + +<P> +"You read it?" she whispered, "I saw you at the Mariínski; and +there—there are the violets on the table, by the violin. Have you +forgotten?" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco started: "Who are you?" he exclaimed. "Not Kaya!" He wheeled +around and faced her savagely: "You Kaya, never! Was it you who threw +the violets—you?" +</P> + +<P> +His dark eyes measured the shrinking form, bent and crippled, shrouded; +and he cried out in his disappointment like a peevish boy: "I thought +it was she—she! Kaya was young, fair, her face was like a flower; her +hair was like gold; her lips were parted, arched and sweet; her +eyes—You, you are not Kaya!—Never!" +</P> + +<P> +His voice was angry and full of scorn: "It was all a dream, a mistake. +Go—out of my sight; begone! I'll have nothing to do with anarchists." +</P> + +<P> +He snatched the violets from the table and flung them on the hearth: +"Begone, or I'll call the police." He was in a tempest of rage. His +disappointment rose in his throat and choked him. +</P> + +<P> +The old woman shrank back from him step by step. He followed +threateningly: +</P> + +<P> +"Begone, you beggar." +</P> + +<P> +His heart beat unpleasantly. Devil take the old woman! Impostor! She +was old and ugly as sin. He was sleepy and weary. Why had he taken +the violets; why had he read the note? If the girl were not Kaya, then +who—who? +</P> + +<P> +"Come," he cried sharply, "Be off!" +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly the woman buried her head in her hands. She began to sob in +long drawn breaths; they shook her form. She fell back against the +Erard, trembling and sobbing. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco stared down at her. His anger left him like a flash and his +heart softened. Poor thing, poor creature! She was old and feeble, +and crippled. He had forgotten. He had only thought of her, Kaya, the +girl with the flower-like face. He shook himself, as if out of a +dream, and his hand patted the woman's shoulder soothingly. His voice +lost its sharpness. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't," he said, "Don't cry like that, my dear Madame—no, don't! It +will be all right. I was hasty. Don't mind what I said,—don't—no!" +</P> + +<P> +She dashed his hand from her shoulder and broke into passionate +weeping: "You play like a god," she cried, "but you are not; you are a +brute. You have no heart. It is your violin that has the heart. +Don't touch me—let me go! It was so little I asked, so little!" +</P> + +<P> +She struggled away from him, but Velasco pursued her. His heart +misgave him. He grasped her cloak with one hand, the hood with the +other, trying to raise it; "Stop!" he said, "I can't stand a woman +crying, young or old. I can't stand it; it makes me sick. Stop, I +tell you! I'll do anything. I'll—I'll marry you—You shall go to +Germany with me. Only stop for heaven's sake. Don't cry like +that—don't!" +</P> + +<P> +He stooped over the shrinking figure still lower; his arm pressed her +shoulder. She struggled with him blindly, still sobbing. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, by heaven," cried Velasco, "If you are to be my wife, I'll see +your face at least. Be still, Madame, be still!" +</P> + +<P> +The woman cowered away from him, holding out her hands, pressing him +back. "I beg of you—I beseech you," she said, "Not my face! No—no, +Monsieur!" +</P> + +<P> +She gazed at him in terror, and as she gazed, the hood slipped back +from her hair; it fell in a golden flood to her shoulders, curling in +little rings and waves about her forehead, her neck; veiling her face. +She gave a cry. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco stood for a moment petrified, staring down into the frightened +eyes that were like twin wells of blue fixed on his own. Then he +leaped forward, snatched at the cloak, flung out his arms,—he had +clasped the air. She was gone. The door slammed back in his face and +the sound of her hurrying footsteps, light as a bird's, fled in the +distance. +</P> + +<P> +He was all alone in the room. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco rubbed his eyes with his hand and stared about him, strangely, +mechanically, like a sleep-walker. "What a dream! Ye gods, what a +dream!" He stretched his limbs yawning and laughed aloud; then he +paled suddenly. Was it a dream; or no—impossible. On the sleeve of +his black velvet jacket something glistened and sparkled, a thread as +of gold, fine and slender like silk, invisible almost as the fibrous +strings of his bow. +</P> + +<P> +He raised it between his fingers. Then slowly, heavily, he went back +to his seat before the fire-place and flung himself down. +</P> + +<P> +The lamp-light fell on the Persian rug dimly, flickeringly, the colours +were soft as an ancient fresco; the jewels were gone, and the coals +burned lower, dying. He lit a cigarette and began to smoke. The +violin was in his arms. He played low to himself, dreamily, fitfully, +his eyes half closed, dark slits beneath the brows. +</P> + +<P> +At his feet lay the violets crushed and strewn; a twist of paper +creased, blotted. +</P> + +<P> +The light of the lamp grew dimmer. The malachite clock struck again +and again. The night passed. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + +<P> +Below the Nicholai Bridge, on the right quay of the Neva, stands the +palace of the Grand-Duke Stepan, a huge, granite structure, massive in +form and splendid in architecture. +</P> + +<P> +The palace was ablaze with light. In the famous ball-room thousands of +electric bulbs twinkled and sparkled, star-shaped and dazzling. Its +lofty, dome-like vault, resting on marble columns, was encircled by a +balcony, narrow and sculptured, from which the music of the band rose +and fell, soft, entrancing, invisible, as from the clouds. The walls +were of reddish marble rounded at the corners. The floor, shining, +polished as a mirror, reflected the swaying forms of the dancers as +they whirled to and fro. +</P> + +<P> +Beyond, on the grand stair-case, the guests ascended slowly in groups +of twos and threes, flecking the marble with splashes of colour, +radiant, vivid, like clusters of rose leaves strewn on the steps. The +perfume was intoxicating, languorous. Light trills as of laughter and +snatches of talk, gay and fleeting, mingled with the rhythm of the +violins. +</P> + +<P> +The ball was at its height. +</P> + +<P> +In an arch of the stair-case stood a young officer. He was leaning +nonchalantly against the carved balustrade; the scarlet and gold of his +uniform shone against a green background of palms, distinguishing his +broad shoulders from among the rest. The palms screened him as in a +niche. +</P> + +<P> +The officer was swarthy of complexion with a short, black mustache, and +his eyes, small and near together, roamed carelessly over the throng. +As the groups approached the head of the stair-case, one after the +other, he saluted smiling, half heeding, and his eyes roved on still +more carelessly; sometimes they crossed. +</P> + +<P> +Whenever they crossed, his eyes would remain fixed, intent, for a +moment, on some one advancing to the foot of the stair-case, eagerly +watching as the form came nearer and nearer. Then the muscles relaxed. +He frowned impatiently, tapping his sword against the carvings. +</P> + +<P> +"Hiss-s-t—Prince Michel!" +</P> + +<P> +The whisper came from behind the leaves of the palms and they swayed +slightly, trembling as from a movement, or a breath. +</P> + +<P> +The officer started, turning his black eyes swiftly, fiercely on the +green, and then looked away again. +</P> + +<P> +"Ha, Boris!" he muttered, hardly moving his lips, "How you come +creeping behind one!—What is it, a message?" +</P> + +<P> +"Hist-st! Speak low." +</P> + +<P> +The voice was like the faint murmur of crickets on a hot summer's day. +"The Duke has gone." +</P> + +<P> +"Gone? What! The devil he has!" +</P> + +<P> +"Sh-h!—not five minutes ago! A message came from the Tsar himself. +He has just slipped away." +</P> + +<P> +The officer gazed straight ahead of him smiling, and bowed to a couple +ascending the stair-case. His lips parted as if in greeting. "Did he +send you to tell me?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, the Duchess. She has made some excuse and is receiving alone. No +one suspects, not yet; but the guests must be diverted, or else—" +</P> + +<P> +"Be still, Boris, be still, you shake the leaves like a bull. When +will he return?" +</P> + +<P> +"By midnight, Prince. Could you start the mazurka at once?" +</P> + +<P> +"Presently, Boris. Go and tell my mother I will—presently. The +Countess is late, unaccountably late! Is the snow heavy to-night on +the quay; are the sledges blocked? Hiss-st!—There she comes!" +</P> + +<P> +The trembling of the leaves ceased suddenly and the young officer +leaned forward, his sword clanking, his eyes crossed and fixed on a +vague white spot in the distant foyer. +</P> + +<P> +"She is coming! How slowly she moves! What a throng!—There, she +comes, white and sweet like a lily, a flower!" The Prince waved his +hand; his sword clanked again. "No, she doesn't see me; her eyes are +on the ground—and her hair, it gleams like a crown." +</P> + +<P> +The two figures climbing the grand marble stair-case moved forward +slowly, step by step, mingling with the flash and colour of the crowd, +lost for a moment at the bend, then reappearing again. The man, +evidently a general, was magnificent in his uniform; his breast regal +with orders and medals, his grey head held high and his form stiff and +straight. On his arm was the Countess, his daughter. +</P> + +<P> +She clung to him, her lips were smiling and her white robes trailed the +marble behind her. She was like a young queen, charming and gracious, +bowing to right and to left. As the groups drew aside to let her pass, +they whispered together, looking up at the carved balustrade; then the +crowd closed again. +</P> + +<P> +At the top of the stair-case the Prince sprang forward. He greeted the +General hastily, saluting. Then the watchers behind saw how the +Countess paused, hesitated, and then, at a few whispered words from the +Prince, placed her hand on his arm and the two young figures, the white +and the scarlet, disappeared within the doorway. +</P> + +<P> +The violins rose and fell in a dreamy measure. From the sculptured +gallery the sound came mysterious, enchanting, swaying the feet with +the force of its rhythm. +</P> + +<P> +"Not to-night," said the Countess, "No!" She drew herself away from +the arm of the Prince and her lashes drooped over her eyes. "I am +tired—later perhaps, Prince." +</P> + +<P> +Her voice, low and remonstrating, was lost in the swing of the waltz. +With a sudden, swift movement the scarlet and white seemed welded +together, whirling into the vortex of light and of motion. +</P> + +<P> +No word was exchanged. They whirled, gliding, twisting in and out +among the dancers; and suddenly, swiftly, as at a signal, the music +broke into the measure of the mazurka. A cry went up from the throng. +In a twinkling the floor was cleared, the crowd pressed back against +the columns; under the reddish marble of the dome four couples +gathered, poised hand in hand. +</P> + +<P> +The uniforms of the officers glowed in the light, rich and scarlet, +faced with silver and gold. The gowns of their partners were brocade +and velvet, purple and crimson, lilac and pearl. Then from the +balcony, high up, unseen, the rhythm changed again like a flash, and +with it the national dance began. +</P> + +<P> +At first the movements were slow, the steps graceful; the feet seemed +scarcely to move, barely gliding over the floor. One by one the +couples retreated, the last left alone; and then interchanging. The +music grew faster. In that moment, when they were left alone, the +Prince bent his head to the slim, swaying whiteness by his side: +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you come so late?" he whispered, "Where were you?" +</P> + +<P> +The Countess' hand was cold like ice. She drew it away and danced on; +then she whispered back: +</P> + +<P> +"The Duke! Where is he to-night? He is not here! Why is the mazurka +so early, tell me." +</P> + +<P> +They interchanged again. +</P> + +<P> +"Hush," said the Prince, "You noticed?—Don't speak. He has gone to +the Tsar.—What is it? Are you ill?" +</P> + +<P> +"He has—gone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Dance, Countess, dance. Don't stop; are you mad? Come nearer. +Hush!—The Tsar sent for him, but he will be back at midnight. No one +must know." +</P> + +<P> +The figure of the mazurka grew stranger and more complicated. When +they were thrown together again, the Countess lifted her blue eyes to +the eyes of the Prince. They seemed to look at her and yet to look +past her; they were crossed. She shivered slightly and turned her +head. Her white figure, slender and light as thistledown, floated away +from him, and then in a moment she was back, their hands had touched; +they were whirling together faster and faster, the tips of her slippers +scarcely touching the floor. She closed her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"You won't tell, not a soul, I can trust you?" whispered the Prince. +"Come closer, closer. There is a plot to-night. Boris told me. The +Secret Service men are everywhere, watching. Don't be frightened, +Countess—your hand is so cold. Can you hear me? Bend your head—so! +They hope to make arrests before he returns." +</P> + +<P> +"When—when does he return?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sh—h! At midnight. Dance faster, faster—Let yourself go!" +</P> + +<P> +The music broke into a mad riot of rhythm; the violins seemed to run +races with one another in an intoxication of sound, pulsing, +penetrating, overpowering. The white figure twirled in the Prince's +arms, her gold hair a blot against the scarlet of his sleeve, faster +and faster. Her head drooped; her eyes closed again. +</P> + +<P> +The rhythm was alive, tempting, subtle, like a madness in the veins; +and as they whirled, the rubato, dreamy, sudden, caught them as in a +leash; the steps faltered, slower, more lingering; slower, still slower +until the music stopped, dying away into the dome of the vault in a +last faint echo of sound. +</P> + +<P> +The Countess swayed suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +Her face was white as the lace on her bosom, and her eyes grew dark and +big, with black shadows sweeping her cheeks. Others stepped forward to +the dance; their places were filled and the music commenced again. +</P> + +<P> +"Lean on me," whispered the Prince, "Are you ill? Countess, lean on my +arm—so." +</P> + +<P> +His voice was hoarse and excited. He was swaying a little himself from +the intoxication of the dance. +</P> + +<P> +"Take me away somewhere, some quiet place," she whispered back. "Let +me rest—I am faint." +</P> + +<P> +He drew her after him and the two figures, the scarlet and the white, +passed under the archway into a salon beyond. The Prince raised a +curtain: "This is the Duke's own room," he said in her ear, "Go +under—be quick!" +</P> + +<P> +The curtain fell heavily behind them and the two stood alone in the +Grand-Duke's room. There was a desk in the corner littered with +papers, a lamp stood beside, heavily shaded, and back in the shadowy +recesses was a couch. +</P> + +<P> +"Help me there," whispered the Countess, "And then go—go, Prince, +leave me. My head is on fire! See, my cheeks, my hands, how they +burn? Help me to the couch." +</P> + +<P> +She staggered and almost fell as they approached it, burying her face +in her hands. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't leave you," said the Prince. He was on his knees beside her, +kissing her hands, trying to draw them down from her face. "Kaya, what +is the matter? Don't hide your eyes—look at me. Shall I call some +one? Are you ill?" +</P> + +<P> +The Countess drew back against the cushions, shuddering, pushing him +from her: "Don't call any one," she said, "Give me that water on the +table there." Her eyes were wide open now and dilated; the hair fell +disordered in golden rings and waves about the oval of her face. She +drew her breath heavily; her bosom rising and falling like waves after +a storm. One hand pressed her lace as if to clutch the pulsing and +steady it; the other held the glass to her trembling lips. +</P> + +<P> +The Prince hovered over the couch. He was pale and the crossing of his +eyes was more pronounced than ever. "Drink now," he whispered +soothingly as if to a child in trouble, "Drink it slowly. It is wine, +not water, and will bring back your strength. It was the dance; ah, it +was so fast, so mad. You were wonderful! The blood beats in my veins +still; I can feel the rhythm throbbing, can you? Speak to me, +Countess—are you better?" +</P> + +<P> +"Is any one here," said the girl faintly, "Are we alone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes, we are alone." +</P> + +<P> +"Will the Duke come in?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not yet. Put your head back against the cushions and rest. The +colour is gone from your cheeks and you are pale like a broken flower. +Listen—do you hear the violins in the distance? Your feet move like +mine; every pulse in your body is tingling and throbbing. Rest; don't +speak, and in a moment—Kaya—" +</P> + +<P> +Again the Countess pushed him back, her blue eyes sparkling, flashing +on his: "Prince, hush! Don't speak to me like that. You don't know, +how can you! Poor boy—poor boy! Don't look at me; I tell you, don't +look at me. In the dusk it might be the Duke himself, his very self! +Go—Leave me a little. If he were good like you—but you will be bad +too when you are older, wicked, cruel—the blood is there in your +veins. You will be like the rest. Keep away from me, Michel. Don't +kiss my hands, not—my—hands!" +</P> + +<P> +The Countess tore them away and gazed at the young officer, her eyes +wild and dilated. She gave a little cry as of pain. +</P> + +<P> +"No—no! I can bear all the rest, but not this—not this! Get up off +your knees Prince. Leave me—leave me for a little while—I must +think; I must be alone and think." +</P> + +<P> +Her hair sparkled and gleamed against the cushions. One hand was still +clasped to her breast. He stooped over her, panting. +</P> + +<P> +"Come and dance with me, Kaya—dearest. You are well now; your cheeks +are like roses. The wine is so strong when one is giddy. Let me put +my arms about you—come! I love you. Ah, your hair is like a halo; +your lips are trembling. The tears in your eyes are like dew, Kaya." +</P> + +<P> +The Countess rose slowly to her feet. "Yes, you are like your father +already," she cried, "Already you are cowardly. You are strong and you +think I am weak." Her head was thrown back; she measured him +scornfully, "Go and dance, sir. Leave me, I tell you." +</P> + +<P> +The Prince held out his hands. "Leave you!" he cried, "No, Kaya, no. +Come and dance." +</P> + +<P> +"Leave me—leave me." +</P> + +<P> +He came nearer: "Are you still faint? Will you rest and let me come +back? When? How soon?" +</P> + +<P> +"Leave me." +</P> + +<P> +He took out his watch: "Nearly midnight," he cried, "then the Duke will +return. When the clock strikes, Kaya, it will be our dance. You will +waltz with me then—once more? As soon as the clock strikes?" +</P> + +<P> +"Leave me." +</P> + +<P> +"A quarter of an hour, Kaya, no more? I will send word to Boris. He +will guard the curtain so no one will enter, unless it is the Duke +himself. As soon as the clock strikes, you promise, we will waltz +together?" +</P> + +<P> +"Go, Michel, go—I promise." +</P> + +<P> +The Prince made a step forward as though to gather the shrinking figure +in his arms. He hesitated; then he moved towards the curtain; +hesitated again and looked behind him. Then the heavy folds fell and +the girl was alone. +</P> + +<P> +She stood for a moment, watching the folds, then she put her hands to +her eyes and swayed as though she were falling. +</P> + +<P> +"God!" she cried, "Must I do it? Is there no other—no other +instrument?" She sobbed to herself in little broken words, catching +her breath: "<I>I vow—I vow—without weakness, or hesitation, or +mercy—with mine own hands if—needs be.</I>" +</P> + +<P> +She staggered forward, still sobbing, and bent over the desk. +Something white fluttered and fell from her lace; she smoothed it with +her fingers; gazed at it. +</P> + +<P> +"God!" she cried, "Oh, God!" +</P> + +<P> +Then she clasped her breast again and drew something out, something +dark and hard. She gave a startled glance about the room, covering it +with her arms; her form shivering as though in a chill. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>In the name of the Black Cross I swear—I swear—</I>" +</P> + +<P> +Then she crept back to the couch and sank on the floor behind it, +covering her face with her hands. As she did so, the door on the +corridor opened a crack, then wider, slowly wider, and some one came +in. The form was that of a man. He looked about him. The room was +still, deserted, and he gave a sigh of relief, hurrying over to the +desk. When he turned up the lamp, the light revealed a bundle of +papers which he laid on the desk, examining them one after the other, +putting his face close to the lamp, studying, absorbed. +</P> + +<P> +The face was that of the Grand-Duke Stepan; his beaked nose, his grey, +upturned mustache, his eyes small and crossed. They were fixed on the +sheets. All of a sudden he started violently. +</P> + +<P> +Beside him on the desk, just under the lamp, was a slip of paper. +There was nothing on the paper but a Black Cross graven, above it: +<I>Cmeptb</I>. +</P> + +<P> +As the Duke gazed at it, his face grew ashen, his mouth twitched, his +eyes seemed fairly to start from his head; his knees knocked together. +He glanced fearfully around, trying vainly to steady his hands. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Without weakness, without hesitation, or mercy, by mine own hands if +needs be, I swear—</I>" +</P> + +<P> +Was it a voice shrieking in his ears? He cowered backwards, huddled +together, shivering. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>I swear—</I>" +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly there came the click of a revolver. A shot rang out; a moan. +The Duke stood motionless for a second; then he faltered, twisted and +fell on his face with his arms outstretched. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + +<P> +It was snowing steadily. The drops came so thick and so fast that the +city was shrouded as in a great white veil, falling from the sky to the +earth. Drifts were piled in the streets; they were frozen and padded +as with a carpet, and the sound of sleigh-bells rang muffled in the +distance. It was night and dark, with a bitter wind that came +shrieking about the corners, blowing the snow, as it fell, into a riot +of feathery flakes; sudden gusts that raided the drifts, driving the +white maze hither and thither, flinging it up and away in a very fury +of madness. The cold was intense. +</P> + +<P> +Before the door of a house on the little Morskaïa stood a karéta. It +was large and covered. Behind and on top several boxes were strapped, +protected from the snow by wrappings of oil-cloth, and on the driver's +seat was a valise. +</P> + +<P> +The horses pawed the snow impatiently, tossing their heads and snorting +whenever the icy blast struck them. The wind was sharp like a whip. +Occasionally the karéta made a sudden lurch forward; then, with +guttural oaths and exclamations, the animals were reined back on their +haunches, slipping and sliding on the ice, plunging and foaming. The +foam turned to ice as it fell, flecking their bits. The breath from +their nostrils floated out like a vapour, slender and hoary. +</P> + +<P> +The driver, muffled in furs, swung his arms against his breast, biting +his fingers, stamping his feet to keep them from freezing. The karéta, +the driver and the horses were covered with snow, lashed by it, blinded +with it. They waited wearily. From time to time the driver glanced up +at the door of the house and then back at the carriage, shaking his +head and muttering fiercely: +</P> + +<P> +"Stand still, you sons of the devil, stand still! You prance and shy +as if Satan himself had stuck a dart in you! Hey, there!—Back, back, +you limb! Will the Bárin never come?" +</P> + +<P> +He swore vigorously to himself under his beard, and the flakes fell +from him in a shower. After a while the door of the house opened; some +one appeared on the steps and a voice called out: +</P> + +<P> +"Bobo, eh Bobo! Is that you, are you ready? Heavens, what a night!" +</P> + +<P> +"All ready, Monsieur Velasco, all ready." +</P> + +<P> +"The boxes on?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Bárin." +</P> + +<P> +"You took my valise, did you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Bárin." +</P> + +<P> +The figure disappeared for an instant within the doorway and the light +went out; then he reappeared, carrying a violin-case under his arm, +which he screened from the wet with the folds of his cloak, carefully, +as a mother would cover the face of her child. He leaped to the +carriage. +</P> + +<P> +"All right, Bobo, go ahead. Wait a moment until I get the latch open. +Ye gods! I never felt such cold. My fingers are like frozen sticks. +There! Now, the Station: Warchávski Voksál—as fast as you can! Ugh, +what a storm!" +</P> + +<P> +The Violinist flung himself back in the corner of the karéta, huddling +himself in the furs; the windows were shut and his breath made a steam +against the panes. The carriage was black as a cave. +</P> + +<P> +"There ought to be another fur!" he said angrily to himself. His teeth +were chattering and his whole body shivered against the cushions. "I +told Bobo to put in an extra fur. The devil now, where can it be?" +</P> + +<P> +He groped with his hands, feeling the seat beside him, when all of a +sudden he gave an exclamation, alarmed, half suppressed, his eyes +staring into the darkness, trying vainly to penetrate. +</P> + +<P> +What was it? Something was there, moving, breathing, alive, on the +seat close beside him. Gracious heaven! He wasn't alone! Velasco +crouched back instinctively, putting out both hands as if to ward off a +blow. He listened, peering. Surely something breathed—there, in the +corner! He could make out a shadow, an outline.—No, nothing—it was +nothing at all. +</P> + +<P> +His pulses beat rapidly; he groped again with his hands, slowly, +fearfully, hesitating and then groping again. It was as though +something, someone were trying to elude him in the darkness. His +breath came fast; he listened again. +</P> + +<P> +Something cowered and breathed—"Bózhe moi!" He gripped his lip with +his teeth and hurled himself forward, grappling into the furthermost +recesses of the karéta. His hands grasped a cloak, a human shoulder, a +body. It dragged away from him. He clutched it and something shrank +back into the shadows. His eyes were blind; he could see nothing, he +could hear nothing; he could only feel. It was breathing. +</P> + +<P> +His hand moved cautiously over the cloak, the shoulder. It resisted +him, trying vainly to escape; and then, as the carriage dashed on +through the darkness, he dragged the thing forward, nearer—nearer, +struggling. The breath was on his cheeks. He felt it distinctly—the +rustle of something alive. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco clenched his teeth together, clutching the thing, and held it +under the window-pane, close, close, straining forward. As he did so +the rays of a street lamp fell through the glass, a faint, pale light +through the steam on the panes; a flash and it was over. Velasco gave +a cry. +</P> + +<P> +Beside him was a woman, slight and veiled, and she was crouching away +from him, holding her hands before her face, panting, frightened, even +as he was. +</P> + +<P> +"Who are you?" cried Velasco, "What are you? Speak, for the love of +heaven! I feel as if I were going mad. Speak!" +</P> + +<P> +He shook the cloak in his trembling grasp and, as he did so, a hand +pressed into his own. It was bare, and soft like the leaf of a rose. +He grasped it. The fingers clung to him, alive and warm. Velasco +hesitated. Then he dropped the hand and from his pocket he snatched a +match, striking it against the side of the carriage. It sputtered and +went out. He struck another. It flickered for a moment and he held it +between his hands, coaxing it. It burned and he held it out, gazing +into the corner, coming nearer and nearer. The eyes gleamed at him +from behind the veil; nearer—He could see the oval of the face, the +lips. Then the match went out. +</P> + +<P> +"Kaya—Kaya!" +</P> + +<P> +He snatched at her hand again in the darkness and held it under the +fur. "You came after all," he whispered hoarsely, "I thought I had +dreamed it. Speak to me; let me hear your voice." +</P> + +<P> +He felt her bending towards him; her shoulder touched his. "You +promised—I hold you to your promise." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; yes!" +</P> + +<P> +"Have you changed your mind?" +</P> + +<P> +"No.—Don't take your hand away. No! It is horrible, the storm and +the blackness. Hear the wind shriek! The hoofs of the horses are +padded with snow; they are galloping. How the carriage lurches and +sways! Are you afraid, Kaya? Don't—don't take your hand away." +</P> + +<P> +Velasco's voice was husky and forced like a string out of tune. It was +strange, extraordinary to be sitting there in that dark, black cave, +his hand clasping the hand of a woman, a stranger. The two sat silent. +The horses plunged forward. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly they stopped. Velasco started as out of a dream and sprang to +the window, wiping the steam from the panes with his sleeve. +</P> + +<P> +"Bobo!" he cried, "Madman! This is not the Station. Where are you +going, idiot—fool!" +</P> + +<P> +His voice was smothered suddenly by a hand across his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Hush, Monsieur, have you forgotten? The driver knows, he is one of +us. Come with me; and I pray you, I beseech you, don't speak, don't +make a sound; step softly and follow." +</P> + +<P> +In a moment the girl was out of the carriage and Velasco behind. Her +veil fluttered back; her cloak brushed his shoulder. The storm and the +wind beat against them. He ran blindly forward, battling with the +gale; but fast as he went she went faster. He could scarcely keep up. +In the distance behind them, the carriage and horses were lost in a +white mist, a whirl. +</P> + +<P> +"Here," she cried, "Bow your head, quick, the arch—and then through +the gate—run! Take my hand in the court—let me lead you. I know +every step. Run—run! You waited so long; we shall be late. There is +barely time before the train. Ah, run, Monsieur—run!" +</P> + +<P> +The two figures dashed through the alley and into an open cloister, +running with their heads bowed against the wind, struggling with the +snow in their eyes, in their throats; blinded, panting. +</P> + +<P> +"Stop!" gasped Velasco, "I can't run like this. Stop! You mad thing, +you witch! Where, where are you going? Stop, I tell you!" +</P> + +<P> +She dragged at his hand. "Come—a moment further. Come, Monsieur. +Ah, it is death—don't falter. Run!" +</P> + +<P> +She caught at a little door under the wall and pushed it madly. It +yielded. He sprang in behind her; and then he stood blinking, amazed. +</P> + +<P> +They were alone in the dark, ghostly nave of a huge Church. The long +rows of columns stretched out in the distance, tall and stately like +pines in a forest; the aisles were broad and shadowy, leading far off +in a distant perspective to the outline of an altar and a high cross +suspended. They were dim, barely visible. +</P> + +<P> +"Where are we?" he murmured, faltering. "Kaya, speak—tell me." +</P> + +<P> +She put up her face close to his and he saw that her lips were +quivering, her eyes blurred with tears. Her veil was white with the +snow, like a bride's. She dragged at his hand, and he followed her +dumbly, their footsteps echoing, a soft patter across the marble of the +church. +</P> + +<P> +It was absolutely dark; only on the far distant altar three candles +were lighted, three sparks, red and restless, like fireflies gleaming. +Otherwise the nave, the chancel, the transepts were as one vast +blackness stretching before them. They fled on in silence; their goal +was the candles. +</P> + +<P> +At first the space before the altar seemed empty, deserted, like the +rest of the Church; but as they approached, nearer and nearer, three +forms seemed to melt from the back of the choir and stood on the steps; +two were figures in cloaks; the third was a priest. His surplice shone +in the shadows against the outline of the columns. He mounted the +steps of the altar and stood with his face to the cross. They seemed +to be waiting. +</P> + +<P> +To Velasco the sound of his footsteps echoed and reverberated on the +marble, filling the darkness. The noise of them was terrible. He +would have covered his ears with his hands, but the girl urged him +forward. The soft fingers crept about his own like a vine, clinging, +irresistible. +</P> + +<P> +"Come," she breathed, "ah, come, Monsieur—come!" +</P> + +<P> +Then he followed, moving forward hurriedly, blindly, like one +hypnotized. His senses were dulled; his will was inert. When he came +to himself he was kneeling beside her on the marble, and he heard the +voice of the priest, chanting slowly in Slavonic: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Blessed is our God always, and ever, and unto ages of ages. +</P> + +<P> +"In peace let us pray to the Lord for the servant of God, Velasco, and +for the hand-maid of God, Kaya, who now plight each other their troth, +and for their salvation.… That he will send down upon them +perfect and peaceful love.… That he will preserve them in oneness +of mind and in steadfastness of faith.… That he will bless them +with a blameless life.… That he will deliver us from all +tribulation, wrath, peril and necessity.… Lord have mercy! +</P> + +<P> +"Lord have mercy!" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +He listened in bewilderment; was it himself, or his ghost, his shadow. +He tried to think, but everything melted before him in a mist. The +girl by his side was a wraith; they were dead, and this was some +strange unaccountable happening in another world. The marble felt cold +to his knees. Velasco tried to move, to rise, but the hand of the +priest held him down. The voice chanted on: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Hast thou, Velasco, a good, free and unconstrained will and a firm +intention to take unto thyself to wife this woman, Kaya, whom thou +seest here before thee?" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +And in the pause, he heard himself answering, strangely, dreamily, in a +voice that was not his own: +</P> + +<P> +"I have, reverend Father." +</P> + +<P> +"Thou hast not promised thyself to any other bride?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have not promised myself, reverend Father." +</P> + +<P> +Then he felt the hand of the priest, pressing the crown down on his +forehead; it weighed on his brow, and when he tried to shake it off he +could not. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"The servant of God, Velasco, is crowned unto the hand-maid of God, +Kaya. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy +Spirit. Amen." +</P> + +<P> +"The servant of God, Kaya, is crowned unto the servant of God, Velasco. +In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. +Amen." +</P> + +<P> +"O Lord our God, crown them with glory and honour. +</P> + +<P> +"O Lord our God, crown them with glory and honour. +</P> + +<P> +"O Lord our God, crown them with glory and honour!" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Velasco passed his hand over his face; he was breathing heavily. The +crown glittered in the darkness. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"And so may the Father and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, the all-holy, +consubstantial and life-giving Trinity, one God-head, and one Kingdom, +bless you, and grant you length of days, … prosperity of life and +faith: and fill you with all abundance of earthly good things, and make +you worthy to obtain the blessings of the promise: through the prayers +of the holy Birth-giver of God, and of all the saints. Amen." +</P> + +<P> +"Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit now, and +ever, and unto ages and ages." +</P> + +<P> +"Amen." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The chanting ceased suddenly, and there was silence. Then he felt +something falling against him, and he staggered to his feet, dragging +the girl up with him. She trembled and shook, pushing him back with +her hands; her eyes were full of terror, staring up into his, the eyes +of her husband. Again everything grew misty and swayed. +</P> + +<P> +He was signing a paper; how his fingers quivered; he could scarcely +hold the pen! The priest drew nearer, and the two cloaked figures. +They all signed; and then he felt the paper crackling in the bosom of +his coat, where he had thrust it. They were hurrying back through the +dark, ghostly nave. +</P> + +<P> +They were running, and the sound of their footsteps seemed louder and +noisier than before; they ran side by side, through the door in the +wall, the cloisters, the arch, bowing their heads; and there was the +carriage, a great blot of whiteness, the horses like spectres. The +snow came whirling through the air in sharp, icy flakes, cutting the +skin. The wind grew fiercer, more violent. +</P> + +<P> +With a last desperate effort Velasco dashed forward, pursuing the veil, +the fluttering cloak—and the door of the carriage closed behind them. +In that moment, as it closed, the horses leaped together, as twin +bullets from the mouth of a cannon; galloping, lashed and terrified +through the night. It was still inside the karéta. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly Velasco was conscious of a voice at his elbow, whispering to +him out of the silence: "Thank you, Monsieur, ah, I thank you! We +shall be at the station directly; then a few hours more and it will +be—over! You will never see—me—again! I thank you—I thank you +with all my heart." +</P> + +<P> +The voice was soft and low, like a violin when the mute is on the +strings. He could scarcely hear it for the lurching of the carriage. +The horses gave a final plunge forward, and then fell back suddenly, +reined in by an iron hand, and the karéta came to a standstill. +</P> + +<P> +The station was all light and confusion; porters were rushing about, +truckmen and officials, workmen carrying coloured lanterns. "Not a +second to spare!" cried Velasco, "Send the trunks after me, +Bobo—Here—my valise!" +</P> + +<P> +He snatched up his violin-case, and the slim, dark-veiled figure darted +beside him. "If we miss it!" he heard her crying in his ear, "I shall +never forgive myself! I shall—never—forgive myself!" +</P> + +<P> +"We shan't miss it!" cried Velasco, "I have the tickets, the passports +for you and for me! Here—to the left! The doors are still open!" +</P> + +<P> +An official rushed forward and took the valise from Velasco's hand: +"Here, sir—here! First class compartment!" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco nodded breathlessly, and the two sank down on the crimson +cushions; the door slammed. "Ye gods!" They were alone in the +compartment; they were saved! Velasco gave a little laugh of triumph. +He was hugging his violin close in his arms, and opposite him sat the +slim veiled figure. She was looking at him from behind the veil—and +she was his wife. "Ye gods!" he laughed again. +</P> + +<P> +"Why are you trembling?" he said, "We are safe now. I told you I had +the passports. Are you cold, or afraid?—You shake like a leaf!" +</P> + +<P> +The girl put out her hand, touching his. "Did you see?" she breathed, +"There—on the platform—Boris, the Chief of the Third Section!—He was +watching!" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco laughed again aloud, happily, like a boy: "What of it? Let him +watch! Put up your veil, Kaya. Great heavens, what a night it has +been! My heart is going still like a hammer—is yours? Lean back on +the cushions—put up your veil. Let me see you once,—let me see you! +Look at me as you did in the Theatre—Kaya! Don't tremble." +</P> + +<P> +"He is there," breathed the girl, "I see him behind the curtain! He is +talking to the official—The train is late and it doesn't start. Why +doesn't it start?" +</P> + +<P> +She gave a little moan and peered out through the veil: "Something has +happened, Monsieur! The officials are clustered together, +talking—there is some excitement! They are gesticulating and several +are pointing to the train! What is it—what is it?" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco laughed again; but the laugh died in his throat. The two +turned and gazed at one another with wide, frightened eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"The Chief of the Third Section—see! He is going from compartment to +compartment—He is looking at the passports! He is coming here—here!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + +<P> +"Your passports, Monsieur—Madame?" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco thrust his hand slowly into the breast pocket of his coat and +drew out the precious papers. His manner was cold and indifferent, and +his eyes had narrowed into sleepy slits again beneath the heaviness of +his brows. +</P> + +<P> +Kaya was leaning back on the cushions with the veil drawn closely over +her face. She was tapping the panels of the door with a dainty, +nervous foot. Neither glanced at the official. +</P> + +<P> +The Chief of the Third Section was in evening dress with a fur cloak +thrown hastily over his shoulders. He would have passed for an +ordinary citizen on his way to a ball if it had not been for the +strangeness of such an attire in a railway station, and the cluster of +anxious, humble officials bowing and gesticulating about him. The +Chief examined the passports closely and at some length; then he tossed +an order over his shoulder in a quick, sharp tone to the group of +officials, and one hurried away. +</P> + +<P> +"This lady, Monsieur, she is your wife?" +</P> + +<P> +The voice of the Chief, as he turned to Velasco, was like the passing +of a brush over wool. The Violinist shuddered. +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly sir, she is my wife," he returned curtly. "It is so stated +on the paper, I believe." +</P> + +<P> +"It is," said the Chief, "The writing is plain, quite clear. Will you +be good enough to raise your veil, Madame?" +</P> + +<P> +Kaya shrank back. "My veil!" she stammered. She half rose from her +seat, supporting herself, with her hands pressed down on the cushions, +gazing up at the waiting official. "No—my veil!—What do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry to trouble you," said the Chief sharply, "but I said: 'your +veil.' Kindly raise it at once. Ha!—Why shouldn't you show your +face, Madame?" +</P> + +<P> +His burly form filled the doorway and the white of his shirt front, +half screened by the fur, gleamed under the electric light. He seemed +enormous. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco's brows lifted suddenly until his eyes were wide open and +blazing: "Stand back, you impudent scoundrel!" he cried, "Stand away +from my wife! How dare you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Come!" said the Chief. His voice was still sharper. "No nonsense, +Monsieur. The veil must be raised and immediately; you are keeping the +whole train back. What do you suppose I am here for?" There was +menace in his tone as he took a step forward. "Now, Madame, will you +raise it, or shall I?" +</P> + +<P> +Kaya retreated slowly to the farther side of the compartment. "Stop," +she whispered to Velasco. "Don't get angry; don't do anything, it is +useless. Come back in the shadow." +</P> + +<P> +Then she turned and faced the official defiantly, throwing up the veil. +Her face was very pale, her eyes were blue and dark, like two pools +without a bottom, and her lips pressed together, quivering slightly. +Velasco stared at her for a moment and drew a step nearer, laying his +hand on her shoulder. He was trembling with rage. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you satisfied now, you cur?" he cried, "Look at her then. You +will never see another face as beautiful, not in the whole length and +breadth of your cursed country. Look—while you have the chance! By +heaven, whoever you are, chief of the devil himself, I'll report you +for this—I'll—" +</P> + +<P> +A shrill whistle cut through the torrent of words, and in another +moment the Chief had stepped back, and the under officials came +crowding through the door of the compartment. +</P> + +<P> +"Arrest them both," cried the Chief shortly, "Get them away at once and +don't let them out of your hands. 'Peter and Paul,' quick! The woman +is—" He whispered something hoarsely. +</P> + +<P> +In a second the two were surrounded, their hands were chained; they +were bound like sheep and dragged, first one, then the other, to a +covered sleigh at the rear of the station. +</P> + +<P> +"Put them in—hurry!" cried the Chief, "Gag the fellow; don't let him +speak! Is the woman secure, so she can't scream, or moan? Take them +off!" +</P> + +<P> +The sleigh started, and the two lay side by side on the floor, jostled +by the lurching of the runners, their flesh cut and bruised by the +ropes, their mouths parched and panting behind the gags. They could +not stir, or moan, or make a sign. They were helpless. +</P> + +<P> +When the sleigh stopped in the grim inner court of the fortress, they +were carried out into the darkness, and borne like animals through +long, damp passages, down innumerable steps and dim windings until +finally a door clicked and opened. They were thrust inside, their +bindings were cut, and the door clicked again, slamming in its socket +with the sickening crash of steel against steel; the sound +reverberating hard and metallic like a blow against the eardrum, +finally dying away in the distance, echo upon echo until all was silent. +</P> + +<P> +The girl lay still on the floor where they had left her. She had +swooned, and as she returned to consciousness slowly, gradually, her +breath came in little gasps through her parted lips and she moaned as +she lay. Velasco had dragged himself to his knees and was peering +about him, feeling with his hands in the dim waning light. He was +muttering to himself in little outbursts of anger and rebellion, +rocking his arms to and fro. +</P> + +<P> +"What a hole! What a beastly place! The floor is wet; ugh!—The walls +are dank and shiny—things are crawling! Good heavens, something ran +over my foot!—It must be a rat, scurrying—scampering! Sapristi! +There's another! What a scrape to be in—what a scrape!" +</P> + +<P> +The girl lifted her head and looked at him, straining her eyes for the +outline of his shoulders, the mass of his dark curls. He had turned +half away and was wringing his hands, feeling them and exclaiming to +himself. She crept towards him and stretched out her hand, touching +his shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Monsieur—Ah, Monsieur Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +He shuddered away from her: "You, is it you! Are you alive? I thought +you were dead! Mon Dieu, I thought I was shut in with a corpse! It is +frightful, horrible! I have suffered! God, how I have suffered—the +torture of the damned!" +</P> + +<P> +"Monsieur!" +</P> + +<P> +"My hands are cut; I know they are cut! Look, can you see,—are they +covered with blood? I am sure I feel it trickling!—Look!" +</P> + +<P> +"No—no, Monsieur, there is no blood." +</P> + +<P> +"I tell you I feel it—and my shoulder, my arm—I shall never be able +to play again! I am ruined—ruined—and for what? Why did you come to +me? Why didn't you go to someone else—anybody?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah forgive me, forgive me." The girl crept closer and laid her hand +on his shoulder, pathetically as if half afraid. "I shouldn't have +gone to you, but—listen, Monsieur—let me tell you—let me explain! I +thought there was no danger, not for you, otherwise—Oh, do believe me, +not for the world would I have done it! I knew you were an artist; +Bobo told us you were going to Germany—I thought—Can you ever forgive +me?" +</P> + +<P> +Her voice broke a little and she was silent. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco went on rocking himself, feeling his arms, his hands, his +fingers at intervals. "Don't talk," he said, "You make me nervous. +You did very wrong; you ought never to have come to me. I hate +anarchists; I never could bear them; and now they take me for one! I +shall live here all my days—and my Stradivarius, my treasure—Heaven +knows where they have put it—lying on the platform of the station, or +perhaps broken, or stolen! I shall never see it again, never! Ah, it +is cruel—it is not to be borne! Don't speak, I tell you, I can't bear +it! You shouldn't have coaxed me!—Ugh! these rats—brr—did you feel +it?" +</P> + +<P> +The girl gave a muffled cry. She had shrunk away in the corner, but +now she crouched forward, her eyes dilated, staring into the darkness. +</P> + +<P> +"A rat, Monsieur? Ah, it is so dark—I feel things, +crawling—crawling; and the damp oozes down from the walls. I am +frightened—frightened!" +</P> + +<P> +The last words were a whisper; her throat swelled and she was choked, +trembling with terror. She put out her hand and touched something +soft—it slid from her and ran. She cried out faintly. +</P> + +<P> +"Come here," said Velasco, "Come nearer! The rats won't hurt you. +Rest on my cloak, poor child, are you cold? Where are you?—Let me +touch you!" +</P> + +<P> +"Here," said the girl, "I can feel the edge of your cloak; don't put it +around me—no! I deserve to suffer, but you—no wonder you hate me! +Don't put it around me." +</P> + +<P> +"Come nearer," said Velasco, "I can't see you in this devilish +darkness. Are you crying?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, Monsieur, no, let me tell you—it was your playing, your playing +that night. I saw you, and then the thought came to me—I will go to +him, he will help me; and then—I came." +</P> + +<P> +"Your teeth click together like a castanet rattling," said Velasco, +"You tremble like a string under the bow. Come closer. There—one ran +over my sleeve, curse the creature! Did you feel him, the vermin? Put +my cloak close around you." +</P> + +<P> +"No—no—not your cloak! You are shivering yourself, you need it. +Don't—I pray you!" +</P> + +<P> +There was a moment of silent struggle between them. +</P> + +<P> +"Keep still," said Velasco, "My hands are cut, but they are strong +still, and yours are like wax, soft as rose leaves. Hold it around +you; don't push it away. Now, lean against me; they won't touch you." +</P> + +<P> +The struggle continued for a moment; then the form of the girl relaxed, +her head drooped and he felt the light rings of her hair brushing his +cheek. She started and then sank back again. +</P> + +<P> +"Can you hear me?" said Velasco, "Perhaps there are spies, people +listening; no one can tell. Put your lips to my ear. Why were we +arrested, do you know? What have you done?—Ah, these rats! Make a +noise with your feet; scuffle as I do, that will drive them away.—" +</P> + +<P> +"I—I can't tell you," whispered the girl, "No—it was nothing, don't +ask me. You will know in the morning." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me now," said Velasco, "When we talk, the darkness seems less, +not so terrible. I like to feel you breathing against me; your form is +so little and light. Don't move! Put your fingers in mine now and +tell me.—Why won't you tell me?—Speak louder." +</P> + +<P> +The girl trembled and he put his arm closer about her. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you afraid of me?" he said, "My tempers are nothing; they are like +a gust and it is over. I didn't mean what I said. When I think of my +violin, that it is lost, gone forever perhaps, that my hands are so +numb and so stiff, it makes me frantic. I feel as if I should go mad +for a moment, locked in here; and I never could bear the dark, never; +not when I was a child. I see things; sounds ring in my ears. I want +to cry out, and storm, and fling myself against the walls; do you? It +is my nature, my temperament, I was always like that. My nerves are on +fire. Stay by me. When I feel your hand—Kaya, your hair is like +silk. Don't move. What was it you did?" +</P> + +<P> +"Only what was just," breathed the girl, "and right. I could not help +myself, I could not. I had taken the oath. I was only the instrument." +</P> + +<P> +"The what—?" said Velasco. "If you were an instrument I should take +you in my arms and play on you. The strings would be the strands of +your hair and my bow would caress them. The tones would be thrilling +and soft like your voice; your cheek would be the arch on which my +cheek rests. I would shut my eyes and play on you, and you would +answer me, and we would sway together, your heart on my breast.—Ah! +Where am I? Forgive me, I thought for a moment—Don't be frightened, I +thought you were my Stradivarius. I was dreaming.—What were you +saying? An instrument—I don't understand." +</P> + +<P> +"Let me go," cried the girl, "don't hold me! Take your cloak from my +shoulders. You wouldn't understand if I did tell you. You are an +artist and understand nothing but your art. What do you know of the +conditions we are struggling against, the suffering, the horrible +suffering of our country?" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be angry," said Velasco, "I talk to my violin sometimes like +that. There was nothing to flare up about; I was dreaming, I tell you! +What do you know of such things yourself? Ugh! Leave them alone, +child; leave all ugly things alone! Come back, or the rats will run +over you." +</P> + +<P> +"It is terrible the things that happen," whispered the girl. She was +on her knees and she was pushing him away with her hands. "I never +knew until lately, but now—now I have met the Revolutionists; they +have talked to me, they have told me. They are splendid men. Some of +them are extreme, so am I. I hate the Tsar. I loathe him; I loathe +them all! I would kill them all if I could." +</P> + +<P> +She was trembling violently: "It is true that I have—" And then she +began sobbing, struggling with Velasco as he drew her to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Be still," he said, "Hush! Your voice was like a trumpet then. You +are not like a girl at all; you are like a soldier fighting for his +flag. What are you talking about? Hush! Let me wrap you again. The +rats are getting worse! Creep closer and rest on my arm. The Tsar is +the little Father; we must respect him and speak low about him always." +</P> + +<P> +The girl caught her breath, sinking back on his shoulder, wrapped in +his fur. She tried to resist him, but his arm was strong and encircled +her, his hand clasped her own; it was supple and the wrist was like a +hinge. There was a power, an electric force in his touch, a +magnetism—she shut her eyes, yielding to it. She was like a violin +after all; if he chose to play on her with his bow! Ah—she quivered. +</P> + +<P> +"Monsieur," she said low, "You don't understand. You are a Pole and +you care nothing for Poland; how could you understand? And yet you +play—my God, how you play, as if you had cared and suffered more than +any one in the whole wide world. Have you ever suffered?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Velasco, "What should there be to make me suffer? Not until +to-night!—Ugh, this is torture, horrible!" +</P> + +<P> +"Have you ever twisted and writhed in an agony of mind that was like +madness because—" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," said Velasco, "After my concerts I am always like that. +It is—" He shuddered. "A black depression creeps over one. Bózhe +moi! It is awful! Is that what you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," she said, "that is not what I meant. Tell me, Monsieur, have you +ever cared for any one?" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco stretched his cramped limbs and yawned. "Never, any one +particularly," he said, "that I can think of. I used to like my old +master in Warsaw; and I have friends; good gracious! All over Russia +and Germany I have friends. You don't mean that?" +</P> + +<P> +The girl stirred uneasily against his arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Was that another rat?" she said, "I felt something run over my dress." +</P> + +<P> +"Draw the cloak to your chin," whispered Velasco, "Huddle yourself in +it. There, are you warm? Put your head down again. One moment you +are like a boy ready to fight the universe, the next you shake at the +sound of a rat.—Kaya!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Monsieur?" +</P> + +<P> +She shivered, clinging to him. +</P> + +<P> +"What did you say? Say it again; don't tremble like that." +</P> + +<P> +"I would die," she whispered, "A thousand times I would die rather than +have brought this on you. If I had known—if I had guessed!" +</P> + +<P> +"Your hair is like down," said Velasco, "a soft, golden fluff. I can't +see it, or you; are you there? I shouldn't know if I didn't feel you +breathing, and the touch of your head and your hand. Go to sleep; I +will watch." +</P> + +<P> +She murmured and stirred in his arms. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes, I forgive you. I never was angry. If only they haven't +hurt my violin, my Stradivarius! If they do, I shall drown +myself!—But don't think of it; don't speak of it. Be still and sleep." +</P> + +<P> +She murmured again. He laid his cheek to her hair and they sat silent, +the girl half unconscious, Velasco staring out into the darkness, his +face white and set. +</P> + +<P> +There was a stirring of something within him impossible to fathom; +something apart from himself, strange and different, like the birth of +a soul; a second personality, unknown, unrevealed. His heavy eyes +gleamed through the slits. The round of his chin stiffened; his mouth +took new lines. The luxurious artist personality of the musician was +dormant for the first time in his life; his virile and masculine side +had begun to awaken. The muscles of his arm swelled suddenly and he +felt a strange beating in his heart. +</P> + +<P> +This girl, this stranger! She was helpless, dependent on him and his +strength. He would guard her and protect her with his life. His arms +were around her and no one should take her from him—no one! Not the +Tsar himself! She was breathing, she was there; she was a woman and he +was a man, and his strength was as the strength of a lion. What harm +could befall her? +</P> + +<P> +He bent his head on his breast and his lips touched her hair. Across +the sodden floor of the prison, suddenly, came the first rays of dawn +falling aslant, touching the shadows, the two figures crouching, the +rats as they fled. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco drew the cloak closer about the sleeping form of the girl, with +a tender, protecting gesture. His eyes were alert. He had forgotten +himself; he had forgotten his violin; he had forgotten his art. He was +facing the sunlight grim and determined. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + +<P> +The office of the Polkovnik was small and narrow, low, with ceiling and +walls hewn out of the rock. At one end was a window barred, looking +out upon a court; at the opposite end the door. On either side of the +door stood a soldier in Cossack uniform, huge fellows, sabred, with +their helmets belted under their chins, and their fierce, black eyes +staring straight ahead, scarcely blinking. +</P> + +<P> +In the centre of the room was a table, and before the table an officer +seated, also in uniform, but his head was bare and his helmet lay on +the litter of papers at his elbow. He had a long, ugly face with a +swarthy complexion, and eyes that were sharp and cold like steel, +piercing as the point of a rapier and cruel. He was tossing the litter +of papers impatiently, examining one after another at intervals, then +pushing them back. He was evidently waiting, and as he waited he swore +to himself under his breath, glancing from time to time at the +Cossacks; but they stood stiff and immovable like marble, looking +neither to right nor to left. Presently the officer leaned forward and +touched a bell on the table. +</P> + +<P> +"There is no use waiting any longer," he said curtly, "Bring them in." +</P> + +<P> +The hammer of the bell was still tinkling when the door swung back +suddenly on its hinges and two people, a man and a woman, were half +led, half dragged into the room; the Cossacks prodding them on with the +blunt edge of their sabres. +</P> + +<P> +"Brr—" said the officer sharply. +</P> + +<P> +In a flash the Cossacks had leaped to their niches, their forms rigid +and motionless, only the tassels on their helmets quivering slightly to +show that they had stirred. The man and the woman were left beside the +table. +</P> + +<P> +"Your names?" demanded the officer, "The woman first." +</P> + +<P> +The girl drew herself up wearily; her face was wan in the morning +light, and her hair fell about her shoulders, dishevelled, a bright +golden mass, curling about her forehead and ears in little rings and +spirals like the tendrils of a vine. Her eyes were proud and she +looked the officer full in the face, her hands clenched. Her voice +rang full and scornful. +</P> + +<P> +"My name is the Countess Kaya and I am the daughter of General +Mezkarpin. What have you to say to me?" +</P> + +<P> +"We have a good deal to say to you, Madame," retorted the Cossack, "if +it is true that you are the Countess. I never saw her myself, but the +Chief will be here presently. He knows her very eye-lashes, and if you +have lied—" +</P> + +<P> +"I have not lied," cried the girl, "How dare you speak to me like that! +Send for my father, do you hear me? At once! The General Mezkarpin." +She repeated the name distinctly and her shoulders stiffened, her blue +eyes flashed. "A friend of the Tsar as you are aware. Be careful! +What you do, what you say, every act, every word shall be reported to +him." +</P> + +<P> +"If you have not lied," continued the Cossack smoothly, "it will be +still worse for you, far worse!" He began smiling to himself and +twirling his mustache. "If it is true, this report, I doubt if you +leave here alive, Madame, unless it is for the Mines. You have an ugly +crime at your door. How you ever escaped is a wonder! The Chief has +been on your track for some time, but he was late as usual; he is +always slow about arresting the women, especially if they are—" +</P> + +<P> +The Cossack showed his teeth suddenly in a loud laugh, leering at the +slim, young figure before him. The girl blanched to the lips. +</P> + +<P> +"A crime!" she said, "What crime?" +</P> + +<P> +Then she put out her hand slowly, shrinkingly, and touched the figure +beside her as if to make sure that he was there. +</P> + +<P> +The man was standing dazed, staring from the girl to the Cossack and +back again. Mezkarpin's daughter, the great Mezkarpin, the friend of +Nicholas! And accused of—what? It was a mistake—nothing! He passed +his hand over his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Is this woman your wife?" said the officer shortly, "Answer." +</P> + +<P> +"She is my wife." +</P> + +<P> +"Where are the papers?" +</P> + +<P> +The man unbuttoned his coat and felt in his breast pocket, the left, +the right; then the pockets of his vest. +</P> + +<P> +"I have them here, somewhere," he stammered, "Where in the devil! They +were here last night!" +</P> + +<P> +He felt again desperately. "They seem to be gone! What can have +become of them? I put them here—here!" He searched again. +</P> + +<P> +"Curious!" said the official, "Ha ha!" +</P> + +<P> +The prisoner stared at him for a moment blinking. "You impudent +scoundrel!" he cried, "She is my wife, papers or no papers. Ask +her!—Kaya!" +</P> + +<P> +The girl held herself straight and aloof. She was gazing down at the +litter of papers on the table; her face was white and her lips were +clenched in her teeth. +</P> + +<P> +"Kaya—tell him! The papers are lost! God, they are gone somehow! +Tell him—" +</P> + +<P> +The girl released her lip and her voice came out suddenly, ringing, +clear as if the room had been large and the Cossack deaf; it seemed to +burst from her throat. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not his wife," she said, "He is mistaken. He is telling you that +out of kindness. Monsieur is a stranger to me, until last night a +perfect stranger. I don't know him at all. Don't believe what he +says. You see for yourself there are no papers. Is it likely?" +</P> + +<P> +The tones of her voice seemed to die away suddenly and a drop of blood +oozed from her lip. She wiped it away and clinched her teeth again, +fiercely, as if hedging her words. +</P> + +<P> +"Kaya!" cried the man. "She is my wife, I tell you, she is my wife! +The priest married us. I can prove it." +</P> + +<P> +"Silence," cried the Cossack. "What do we care if you are married or +not. You will be imprisoned anyway for meddling in a matter that does +not concern you. Silence, I tell you. Answer my questions. What is +your name?" +</P> + +<P> +"My name is Velasco." +</P> + +<P> +"Ha—the musician?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Very good! Try again. There is only one Velasco in Russia, as every +one knows, and he isn't here. Your name? Tell the truth if you can." +</P> + +<P> +"My name is Velasco." +</P> + +<P> +"The devil it is!" cried the Cossack, "Ha ha!—You two make a pair +between you. Velasco! The Wizard of the bow! The one all Russia is +mad over! Ye saints! I would give my old cavalry boots to have heard +him. Bah—you anarchist dog! Now, damn you, answer me straight or +I'll make you. Your name?" +</P> + +<P> +The Cossack leaned over the desk, his eyes blazing fiercely, shaking +his fist. "No nonsense now; do you think we can't prove it? +Quick—your name?" +</P> + +<P> +The prisoner folded his arms and stared up at the cross-barred window, +half closing his eyes. The brows seemed to swell, to weigh down the +lids. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you answer or not?" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco swayed a little and a dark gleam shot out between the slits: +"If I had been brought up a soldier," he said, "instead of a musician, +I should take pleasure in knocking you down; as it is, my muscles were +trained to much better purpose. This interview, sir, is becoming +unpleasant. I will trouble you to send for my Stradivarius at once. +Some of your men stole it, I fancy, last night. It is worth its weight +twice over in gold. There is not another like it in the country, +perhaps in the world. The next time his majesty, the Tsar, requests my +presence, I shall inform him that the violin is here in his fortress, +stolen by a slovenly, insolent official, who doesn't know a violin from +a block of wood, or a note from a pin head." His eyes drooped again. +The Cossack examined him narrowly. +</P> + +<P> +"If you are Velasco," he said after a little, "Khoroshó[1]! then prove +it. There was a case brought in last night, it might have been a +fiddle. Brr—Ivanovitch, go for it. No. 17,369, in the third +compartment, by the wall. That isn't a bad idea!" He rubbed his hands +together and laughed, showing his teeth like a wolf: "There is only the +one Velasco and I know a thing or two about music in spite of your +impudence. You can't cheat me." He laughed loud and long. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco stood imperturbable, his arms folded; he seemed to be dreaming, +his mind far away. The words fell on his ear like drops of water on a +roof, rolling off, leaving no sign. +</P> + +<P> +The girl looked up at him and her lips quivered slightly. She pressed +them with her handkerchief and again a drop of blood blotted the white; +then she drew them in with her teeth and drooped her head wearily, the +confusion of her hair encircling it like a framing of gold, veiling her +brow and her cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, here is Ivanovitch," cried the Cossack, "and here is the fiddle. +Now, for a lark! Brr—Milikai, go for the Colonel, he is musical—ha +ha! No, stop! I will keep the fun to myself. Shut the door. Is the +Chief here yet?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, Gospodin." +</P> + +<P> +"Sapristi! Never mind, shut the door—shut the door!" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco roused suddenly. He looked about him, dazed for a moment; then +he sprang forward, attacking the Cossack and tearing the case from his +hands. His eyes were bright and eager; his voice coming in little +leaps from his throat, full of joy and relief. +</P> + +<P> +"My violin, my treasure! My beloved, give it to me! You brute, you +great hulking savage, if it is damaged or broken, I'll kill you! Out +of my way! Let it go—or I'll strike you!—Let go!" +</P> + +<P> +He snatched the case to his breast and carried it over to the table, +opening it, unfolding the wrappings. They were silken and heavy. The +violin lay swathed in them, the glossy arch of its body glistening +yellow, golden and resinous. He touched it tenderly, lifting it, +examining it, absorbed, engrossed, like a mother a child that has been +bruised. +</P> + +<P> +The official stared at him in amazement; the Cossacks gaped under their +helmets. The girl watched him with wistful eyes. She understood. It +was the artist-temperament in full command. The man had vanished, the +musician was in possession. He was rocked by it, swayed, overpowered, +a slave. His eyes saw nothing; his ears heard nothing; his mind was a +whirl, a wonderful chaos of sound, of colour, of notes dancing, leaping. +</P> + +<P> +The bow was in his hand, the violin was on his breast. He closed his +eyes, swaying, pressing it to his cheek. The eyes of the girl filled +with tears. It was just as he had said. He was talking to it and it +was answering him, softly at first, faint and low, his fingers scarcely +touching the strings; then the tones burst out, full, radiant, like a +bud into bloom, rushing, soaring, echoing up to the walls of the room, +striking the stone, bounding back, dying away. He was drunk, he was +mad; he was clasping the thing, forcing it, pressing it, swaying it, +and the strings leaped after his will. +</P> + +<P> +She fell back against the wall, steadying herself, and her eyes drank +in the sight of him as her ears the sound—the slight, swaying figure, +the dark head bowed with his hair like a mane, the arm with the bow, +the abandon of the wrist, the white, flashing fingers. She drew a +quick breath. +</P> + +<P> +The official sat open-mouthed. The cruelty had gone from his face, the +sharp, steely look from his eyes. He was grasping the desk with both +hands, leaning forward, staring as one who is benumbed, hypnotized. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco played as he had never played before. He was playing for his +life, his identity, his freedom; and suddenly into the tones crept +another consciousness, subtle at first, scarcely heard, something +fragile and weak, new born as if struggling for breath. He stopped and +passed his hand over his eyes, dropping the bow. Where was he! What +had happened! Was it his life, or hers, he was playing to save?—Oh +God! +</P> + +<P> +He gazed at her across the room, into the two deep wells of her eyes, +and again his muscles swelled, his chin stiffened. He stood there +gazing, struggling with himself; his one personality against the other; +the hair falling over his brows, the violin clasped in his arms. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly there came a knock at the door. +</P> + +<P> +The Cossack gave a long sigh. He went up to Velasco slowly and took +his hand, the hand with the bow. +</P> + +<P> +"Great heaven!" he cried, "I am exhausted, I am limp as a rag! There +is not another soul in Russia, in the world, who can play like that! +You are marvellous, wonderful! All they said was too little. +Monsieur—there is no further doubt in my mind, I ask your forgiveness. +You are, you can be no other than he—Velasco." +</P> + +<P> +The knock was repeated. +</P> + +<P> +"Come in!" cried the Cossack. His voice was hoarse and he cleared his +throat: "Come in!" +</P> + +<P> +The door opened and General Mezkarpin strode into the room, followed by +the Chief of the Third Section. The Cossacks saluted with their hands +stiffly laid to their helmets; the officer stepped forward to meet +them, bowing. All the assurance was gone from his manner; he was now +the servant, the soldier in the presence of his superior. The General +waved him aside. His face was florid and red; he was a large man, +heavy, with prominent features, and his sword clanked against the stone +of the floor as he moved. The girl was still leaning against the wall. +</P> + +<P> +When she saw him she gave a little cry and sprang forward, stretching +out her hands: "Father!" she cried, "Father!" And then she stopped +suddenly and clasped her hands to her breast. +</P> + +<P> +"Is this the woman you meant?" said the General, turning to Boris. He +spoke as if he were on the parade-ground, every word sharp, caustic, +staccato. +</P> + +<P> +"Right, left, shoulder arms, march!"—"Is this the woman?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is, General." +</P> + +<P> +"She was in the Duke's room?" +</P> + +<P> +"She was." +</P> + +<P> +"You found her in the train?" +</P> + +<P> +"In the train, last night, with this man." +</P> + +<P> +"You say she is an anarchist?" +</P> + +<P> +"We have known it for some time, sir." +</P> + +<P> +The face of the General turned purple suddenly and the rims of his eyes +were red like blood. He approached the girl and stood over her, his +fists clenched, as if he would have struck her, controlling himself +with a difficult effort. +</P> + +<P> +"You heard?" he said, still more sharply, every word rolling out apart, +detached. "Is it true? Are you mixed up with this infernal +Revolutionary business? My daughter! An anarchist against the Tsar? +Look me in the eyes and answer. May all the curses of heaven strike +you if it is true." +</P> + +<P> +The girl looked him in the eyes, her blue ones veiled and dark, gazing +straight into the blood-rimmed ones above her. "It is true," she said, +"I am an anarchist." +</P> + +<P> +The purple tint spread over the face of the General, turning crimson in +blotches. His limbs seemed to tremble under his weight; his fist came +nearer. +</P> + +<P> +"You fired the shot?" he cried, "You! Answer me, on your soul—the +truth. It was you who murdered the Grand-Duke Stepan? You?" +</P> + +<P> +The girl's face grew slowly whiter and whiter; the gold of her hair +fell about her, her lips were parted and quivering. Still she looked +at him and signed an assent. +</P> + +<P> +"You—you shot the Grand-Duke?" +</P> + +<P> +Her lips moved and she bowed her head. +</P> + +<P> +The General stood paralyzed with horror. He was like one on the verge +of apoplexy; his tongue stammered, his limbs refused to move. Then he +drew back slowly, inch by inch, and stared at the girl with the anger +and passion growing in his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"You are no daughter of mine!" he cried stammering, "You are a +murderess, a criminal! You have killed the Grand-Duke—in his own +house you have killed him!" +</P> + +<P> +"Father!—Father!" +</P> + +<P> +He gasped and put his hand to his throat. "Be still! I am not your +father. You are no child of mine. I curse you—with my last breath I +curse you.—Do with her as you like." +</P> + +<P> +He turned to the Chief, staggering like a drunken man, panting. "Take +her away—Take her out of my sight. Send her to Siberia, to the +Mines—anywhere! Let her pay the uttermost penalty! Let her die! She +is nothing to me!—Curse her!—Curse her!—Curse her!" +</P> + +<P> +The Chief made a sign to the Cossacks and they sprang forward, one on +either side of the girl. She shrank back. +</P> + +<P> +"Father!" she cried. +</P> + +<P> +"Chórt vozmí, I am not your father! Take her away, I tell you." With +a stifled oath the General flung his hands to his head and rushed from +the room. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco still stood dazed, clasping his violin. He was shivering as +though he had a chill, and the roughness, the brutality of the words, +the slamming of the door, went through him like a knife. He dropped +his violin on the litter of papers. +</P> + +<P> +"By heaven!" he cried, "What a terrible thing! What brutes you all +are! She is my wife—mine! No matter what she has done, she is my +wife. Let go of her you savages!—Kaya! Help her, some of you—don't +let them take her! They are dragging her away!—Kaya! Stop them—stop +them!" +</P> + +<P> +He was struggling like a madman in the arms of the official, fighting +with all his strength; but the muscles of the Cossack were like iron, +they held him in a vice. The Chief sprang forward. They held him, and +the girl was dragged from the room, brutally, roughly with blows. +</P> + +<P> +She looked back over her shoulder and her eyes, with a strange, tense +look, gazed deep into Velasco's. They were dark and blue, full of +anguish. Her whole soul was in them; they were beseeching him, they +were thanking him, they were saying goodbye. He struggled towards her. +A moment—and she was gone. +</P> + +<P> +The great door swung back on its hinges, the latch clicked. +</P> + +<P> +A faint, low cry came back from the distance. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco's arms dropped to his side and he stared fiercely from one +official to the other. He tried to speak and could not. The cry came +back to him, and as he heard it, his throat throbbed, his heart seemed +to stop beating. +</P> + +<P> +"You can go now," said the official. "We know who you are, and there +is nothing against you." +</P> + +<P> +He whispered something to the Chief. They handed him his violin and +his case with its wrappings, and led him to the door. He followed them +out, up the winding steps, through the passages, out into the court, +stumbling blindly. +</P> + +<P> +"You can go—there is nothing against you." +</P> + +<P> +He walked straight on with his head bent forward, his eyes on the +ground. He clasped the violin in one hand, the case with the other. +He was shivering. +</P> + +<P> +The cry followed him out into the street. It rang in his ears. Her +eyes were gazing into his with a strange tenseness. He could feel +them. He was dumb, he was helpless. +</P> + +<P> +Oh God—the cry again! It was low, it was faint, it was broken with +pain. He stumbled on. +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="footnote"> +[1] Very well. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + +<P> +"Is Monsieur Velasco in?" +</P> + +<P> +"He is, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell him his manager, Galitsin, is here and must speak to him at once." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, Bárin, but—he is composing. He has been composing for +days—Monsieur knows?" +</P> + +<P> +"I know," said the Manager. +</P> + +<P> +He was a short, thick-set man with crisp, curly hair, a wide mouth, a +blunt nose, and eyes that twinkled perpetually as though at some inward +joke that he did not share with the rest of the world; they twinkled +now and he snapped his fingers. +</P> + +<P> +"Go ahead, Bobo, you coward. If he insists on hurling a boot at your +head, why dodge it—dodge it! Or wait, stay where you are. I will +announce myself." +</P> + +<P> +The old servant retreated with alacrity down the hallway, stepping +lightly as if on eggs with his finger on his lips, while the Manager +opened the Studio door softly, without knocking, and closed it behind +him. +</P> + +<P> +Before the fire-place, with his back to the door, sat Velasco. His +shoulders were bent, his head was in his hands; he was motionless. The +Manager cleared his throat slowly with emphasis: +</P> + +<P> +"Eh, Velasco, is that you?" +</P> + +<P> +The young Musician leaped to his feet as if struck by a blow, and faced +the intruder angrily, tossing the hair away from his brows. His face +was pale, as of one who has watched instead of sleeping, and his eyes +were haggard and bloodshot. +</P> + +<P> +"A hundred devils take you!" he cried, "What are you doing here? I +told Bobo to keep people out, the treacherous rascal! For heavens sake +go and leave me in peace; I tell you Galitsin, go! Don't come near me." +</P> + +<P> +The Manager laughed: "Composing, Velasco?" +</P> + +<P> +"Can't you see it? Of course I am composing. Go!" He waved his hand +towards the door. "Don't talk." +</P> + +<P> +"You must talk with me," exclaimed the Manager briskly, "Now Velasco, +there's no use, you will have to listen to reason. The way you are +behaving is outrageous, abominable! All your German engagements have +gone to the wall. My desk is piled high with letters; the agents are +furious. In Leipzig the Gewandhaus was entirely sold out a fortnight +ago. In Dresden there isn't a seat left. Why the money loss is +something tremendous! I had a telegram this morning; they are nearly +crazy. You must keep your engagements; you will ruin your career +utterly, absolutely. You will never dare show your face in Germany +again. And here you sit composing—composing! Good heavens, you look +like it! You look as if you had been on a bat for a week! You look +drunk, Velasco, drunk! I never saw such a change in a man! Come—wake +up! Rouse yourself! Take the train tonight." +</P> + +<P> +The Manager laid his arm on the young Musician's shoulder and patted it +soothingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Take the night train, Velasco. You ought to be playing, not +composing! You know that as well as I do. If you go tonight, you will +reach Leipzig in time. It makes a difference of thousands of roubles +to me as well as to you; remember that. You musicians have no +conscience. Come, Velasco—are you listening?" +</P> + +<P> +The Musician stood listless, his hands in his pockets, staring down at +the bricks of the chimney piece. +</P> + +<P> +"What is that?" he exclaimed, "Were you speaking?—Oh, damn you, +Galitsin, why don't you go? I'm not a slave! I won't stir one step in +Germany if I don't feel like it; I swear I won't! Cancel everything, +everything. Heavens! I couldn't play if I tried! You managers are +like the old man of the mountain; you want to sit on my neck and lash +me on as if I were Sinbad. All for the sake of a few dirty roubles to +put in your pocket! What do I care? I won't do it, I tell you. Go +and manage somebody else; get another slave. Petrokoff over there in +Moscow! He will be like a little lamb and eat out of your hand. Now +be off—be off! Your voice is like a bee buzzing." +</P> + +<P> +Velasco threw himself back in his chair again and blinked defiantly up +at the Manager through his bloodshot eyes. They were heavy and weary, +he could scarcely keep them open; his fingers strummed against the arm +of the chair and he began to whistle to himself softly, a quaint little +Polish air like a folk-song. Galitsin shook his head frowning: +</P> + +<P> +"You are a perfect child, Velasco, when this mood gets hold of you. +There is no doing anything with you. Very well then, I wash my hands +of the whole business. Answer your own letters and satisfy the agents, +if you can. Tell them you are ill, dying, dead—anything you please." +</P> + +<P> +"Bah!" said Velasco, "Don't answer them at all." He shut his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +The Manager gave a hasty glance about the Studio and then he bent his +head to the chair, whispering: +</P> + +<P> +"You have acted badly enough before, heaven knows, but never like this. +It is not the composing. Where is the score?—Not a note!" He +breathed a few words in Velasco's ear and the Musician started up. +</P> + +<P> +"How did you know; who told you? The devil take you, Galitsin!" +</P> + +<P> +The Manager smiled, running his hands through his short, crisp curls. +"Everyone knows; all St. Petersburg is talking about it. When a man of +your fame, Velasco, insists on befriending a Countess, and one who is +the daughter of Mezkarpin, and an anarchist to boot—" +</P> + +<P> +He spread out his hands: "Ah, she is beautiful, I know. I saw her at +the Mariínski. She stared at you as if she were bewitched. You had +every excuse; but get down on your knees, Velasco, and give thanks. It +is no fault of yours that you are not tramping through the snow to +Siberia now, just as she is. A lesser man, one whose career was less +marked! By heaven, Velasco, what is it?—You are choking me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Say it again!" cried the Musician, "You know where she is? Tell me! +By God, will you tell me, or not?—I'll force it out of you!" +</P> + +<P> +"Let go of my throat!" gasped the Manager. "Sit down, Velasco! Don't +be so excitable, so violent! No wonder you play with such passion; but +I am not a violin, if you please. Take your hands off my throat and +sit down." +</P> + +<P> +"Where is she?" +</P> + +<P> +Galitsin straightened his collar and necktie before the mirror of the +mantel-piece. "What is the matter with you, Velasco? Any one would +suppose you were in love with her! Better not; she is doomed—she is +practically dead." +</P> + +<P> +"Dead!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't fly up like that!—Sit down! I saw the Chief of Police +yesterday, and he gave me some advice to hand on to you." +</P> + +<P> +"Is she dead, Galitsin?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, but she will be. She is sent with a gang to the Ékaterinski +Zavad. They are gone already, chained together, and marching through +the snow and the cold. It is thousands of miles. A Countess, who has +undoubtedly never taken a step in her life without a maid—who knows! +She is frail, she won't live to get there." +</P> + +<P> +The room was still for a moment and suddenly a coal fell from the fire +to the hearth with a thud, flaring up. Then it broke into ashes. +Presently the Manager continued: +</P> + +<P> +"She shot the Grand-Duke Stepan, they say. I don't know. The thing +has been hushed up for the sake of Mezkarpin, poor man! The Chief told +me he had had a stroke in the prison and may not recover. The girl +must be a tigress!—Velasco! Are you asleep?—Wake up!—Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +"What mines did you say, Galitsin?" +</P> + +<P> +"The Ékaterinski Zavad." +</P> + +<P> +"They have started already?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yesterday." +</P> + +<P> +"The Chief told you that?" +</P> + +<P> +"The Chief himself told me." +</P> + +<P> +"Did he mention the route?" +</P> + +<P> +"By the old road through Tobolsk, I dare say, the usual one. Come, +Velasco, don't brood over it!" +</P> + +<P> +"Were they chained?" +</P> + +<P> +The Musician shuddered and moved his limbs uneasily. "Chains, +Galitsin? Fancy, how horrible! How they must clank! It must be +maddening—jingling, rattling with every step—Ah!" +</P> + +<P> +The Manager shrugged his shoulders. "When a woman undertakes to murder +the Grand-Duke Stepan, what else can she expect? Mezkarpin is a friend +of the Tsar, otherwise she would have been hung, or shot!—Why of +course! The Chief said she was utterly brazen about it. She asked +over and over if he were dead, and then said she was glad. Lucky for +you, Velasco, they recognized you, they didn't take you for an +accomplice; you would never have touched a violin again. All the +same—" +</P> + +<P> +He glanced around the Studio again and his voice grew lower: "The Chief +gave warning. You are to leave Russia, he said. Velasco—listen to +me! He said you must leave Russia at once, to-night—do you hear?" +</P> + +<P> +The Manager leaned forward and shook the Musician's shoulder angrily. +"Velasco, do you hear?—If you won't go for your Art, you must go for +your safety.—Do you hear me? You must!" +</P> + +<P> +"I hear you," said Velasco, "You needn't bellow in my ear like a bull! +If I must, I suppose I must. Go and write your letters and leave me in +peace." +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I tell the agents you are coming?" +</P> + +<P> +"Tell them anything you like. Pull me about on wires like a little tin +puppet, and set me down anywhere in Europe, just as you please. I feel +like an automaton! You will be winding up my Stradivarius next with a +key. Now go, or I won't stir a step!" +</P> + +<P> +The Manager took up his gloves and cane; he seemed uneasy. "You swear +you will start to-night, Velasco?" +</P> + +<P> +"Be off!" +</P> + +<P> +"By the night train? I shall meet you at the station." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. Good-bye." +</P> + +<P> +"The Night Express?" +</P> + +<P> +The Musician closed his eyes and nodded. "You cackle like an old +woman, Galitsin; you would talk a cricket dumb. Send me up Bobo, if +you see him, will you?—Good-bye." +</P> + +<P> +Galitsin took out his watch. "In three hours then," he said, "Au +revoir! You have plenty of time to pack. Eleven thirty, Velasco." +</P> + +<P> +The door closed behind the short, thick-set figure with the crisp, +curling hair, and the Musician waited in his chair. Presently the door +opened again. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that you, Bobo,—eh? Come in. I sent for you. Didn't you tell me +your wife was ill?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Bárin." +</P> + +<P> +"You would like to go to her to-night?—Well, go. I shan't need you. +Don't jabber, you make my head spin. Go at once and stay until +morning; leave the cigarettes on the tray and the wine on the +table—that is all. Just take yourself off and quietly." +</P> + +<P> +After a moment or two the door closed, and the sound of footsteps, +scuffling in list slippers, died slowly away in the corridor. Velasco +leaned forward with his head in his hands, his bloodshot eyes staring +into the coals. +</P> + +<P> +"He may be one of them," he murmured, "or he may not. You can't trust +people. He is better out of the way." +</P> + +<P> +The haggard look had deepened on his face; then he rose suddenly from +his chair and went into the next room, dropping the curtain behind him. +There were sounds in the room as of the pulling out of drawers, the +creaking of keys in a rusty lock, steps hurrying from one spot to +another, the fall of a heavy boot. Then presently the curtain was +drawn aside and he reappeared. +</P> + +<P> +No, it was not Velasco; it was some one else, a gypsey in a rakish +costume. The mane of black hair was clipped close to his head; he wore +a scarf about his waist, a shabby jacket of velveteen on his back; his +trousers were short to the knees, old and spotted; his boots were worn +at the heel and patched. It wasn't Velasco—it was a gypsey, a +tattered, beggarly ragamuffin, with dark, brooding eyes and a laugh on +his lips, a laugh that was like a twist of the muscles. +</P> + +<P> +He crossed the room stealthily on his tiptoes, glancing about him, and +stood before the mirror examining himself. At the first glance he +laughed out loud; then he clapped his hand over his mouth, listening +again. But he was alone, and the form reflected in the mirror was his +own, no shadow behind. He snatched up the lamp and held it close to +the glass, peering at himself from the crown of his close-cropped head +to the patch on his boot. He gazed at the scarf admiringly; it was red +with tassels, and he patted it with his free hand. +</P> + +<P> +"That is how they do it!" he cried softly, laughing. "It is perfect. +I don't know myself! Ha ha!—I would cheat my own shadow. If the door +should open now, and Galitsin should come in—the ox! How he would +stare! And Bobo, poor devil, he would take me for a thief in my own +Studio.—God, what is that?—a step on the stairs! The police! They +come preying like beasts and seize one at night. She told me!" +</P> + +<P> +The gypsey's hand trembled and shook, and the wick of the lamp flared +up. Great heaven! The step crept nearer—it was at the door—the door +moved! It was opening! +</P> + +<P> +He dropped the lamp with a crash; the light went out and he staggered +back against the wall, clutching his scarf, straining his ears to hear +in the darkness. +</P> + +<P> +The door opened wider. +</P> + +<P> +Some one slipped through it and closed it again, and the step came +nearer, creaking on the boards. He heard the soft patter of hands +feeling their way, the faint sound of a breath. It was worse than in +the carriage, because the room was so large and the matches were on the +table, far off. There was no way of seeing, or feeling. The step came +nearer. +</P> + +<P> +If it was a spy, he could grapple with him and throw him. The gypsey +took a step forward towards the other step, and all of a sudden two +bodies came together, grappling, wrestling. Two cries went up, the one +loud, the other faint like an echo. +</P> + +<P> +"Hush, it is I, Velasco! You are soft like a woman! Your hair—It is +you, Kaya! It is you! I know your voice—your touch! Did you hear +the lamp crash? Wait! Let me light a candle." +</P> + +<P> +He stumbled over to the table, feeling his way, clutching the soft +thing by the arm, the shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"It is you, Kaya, tell me, it is you! Damn the match, it is damp, how +it sputters!—Put your face close, let me see it. Kaya! Is it you, +yourself?" +</P> + +<P> +The two faces stared at one another in the flickering light, almost +touching; then the other sprang back with a cry of dismay. +</P> + +<P> +"You are a gypsey, you are not Velasco! The voice is his,—Dieu! And +the eyes—they are his, and the brows! Let me go! Don't laugh—let me +go!" +</P> + +<P> +"No—no, Kaya, come back! It is I. They told me you were chained with +a gang; and were walking through the snow and the cold to the mines. +How did you escape; how could you escape?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—it is you," said the girl, "I see now. It was the costume, and +your hair is all cut. I thought you had gone in the train to Germany." +She shuddered and clung to his hand. "Why do you wear that? Why +aren't you gone? The Studio was vacant, I thought—deserted, or I +shouldn't have come!" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco gazed at her, chafing the cold, soft fingers between his own. +"Oh God, how I have suffered! I tried to reach you, I did everything, +and then I shut myself up here waiting—I was nearly mad. Kaya—you +escaped from the fortress alone, by yourself? Did they hurt you? You +cried out; it rings in my ears—that cry! It has never left me! I +shut myself up and paced the floor. Did they hurt you?" +</P> + +<P> +The girl looked over her shoulder: "It was horrible, alone," she +breathed, "Some of the guards, the sentinels, belong to us. Hush—no +one knows; it must never be guessed. To-night, after dark, someone +whistled—one was waiting for me in the corridor with the keys; the +others were drugged. They handed me on to someone outside; I was +dropped like a pebble over the wall. Then I ran—straight here I ran." +</P> + +<P> +She put her hand to her breast. "Why aren't you gone? Go now, +to-night. Leave me here. As soon as it is light I shall be missed, +and then—" She shuddered and her hand trembled in his, like a bird +that is caught, soft and quivering. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco looked at her again and then he looked away at the candle: "I +won't leave you," he said, "and the railroad is useless. They would +track us at once. When I put this on—" He began smoothing the scarf. +"I meant to follow you through the snow and the cold to the mines, like +a beggar musician." +</P> + +<P> +He laughed: "You didn't know me yourself, you see? I was safe." +</P> + +<P> +"Monsieur Velasco, you were coming to me? Ah, but they told you a lie! +I—" She breathed a few words to him softly. +</P> + +<P> +"They would have—" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"When?" +</P> + +<P> +"To-morrow at daybreak." +</P> + +<P> +"In spite of Mezkarpin?" +</P> + +<P> +She broke down and buried her face in her hands. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco began to pace the room slowly. "If you had a costume like +mine," he said, "If your hair were cut—" Then he brightened suddenly +and ran forward to the girl, snatching her hands from her eyes, +dragging her to her feet. +</P> + +<P> +"What a fool I was!" he cried, "What an idiot! Quick, Kaya! My chum +is an artist; he is off now in Sicily, painting the rocks, and the sea, +and the peasants; but his things are all there in his room next to +mine, just duds for his models you know. Go—go! Put on one like +mine. You shall be a boy. We will be boys together, gypsies, and play +for our living. We will walk to the frontier, Kaya, together." +</P> + +<P> +The two stared at one another for a moment. He was pushing her gently +towards the curtain. "Quick!" he whispered, "Be quick!" They both +listened for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +Then he pushed her inside and dragged down the curtain: "Now, I must +pack," he cried, "Now I must prepare to meet Galitsin, the round-eyed +ox! Ha ha!—He will wait until he is stiff, and then he will fly back +here in a rage. Good God, we must hurry!" He began opening and +shutting the drawers, taking out money and jewels from one, articles of +apparel from another. +</P> + +<P> +"No collars, no neck-ties!" he said to himself, "How simple to be a +gypsey! A knapsack will hold all for her and for me.—Kaya!—Bózhe +moi!" +</P> + +<P> +The curtain was drawn back and in the doorway stood a boy. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +</H3> + +<P> +The two gypsies gazed at one another in silence. +</P> + +<P> +The small, picturesque figure in the doorway wore velveteen trousers of +green, old and faded, a black jacket rusty, with the sleeves patched, +and a scarlet sash tied loosely about the waist. On the back of her +cropped yellow curls was a velveteen cap, rakishly tipped, and she +stood debonair beneath the folds of the curtain with a laugh on her +lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Mon Dieu!" she cried, "How you stare, Monsieur! Will I do? What sort +of a boy do I make; all right? Are you satisfied, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +She made a little rush forward, eluding Velasco, and stopped before the +mirror with her hands boyishly deep in her pockets, glancing back over +her shoulder and pirouetting slowly backwards and forwards. +</P> + +<P> +"The hair looks a little rough!" she exclaimed, "I cut it with a pair +of shears, or perhaps it was a razor, who knows! Ma foi! It is not +like a girl's at all, so short! What my maid would say! You would +never take me for a Countess now, would you—would you?" She patted +her curls and pulled down her jacket in front, turning first to one +side, then to the other. "What a nice pair of gypsies we make, sir, +eh? Come and look at yourself. You are taller than I, and bigger, and +you have such shoulders, heavens! Mine are not half the size. You +mustn't bully me, you know, not if I am a boy. You took the best +jacket, the biggest, and look what I have—such a little one, only +patches and rags! And see what boots!" +</P> + +<P> +She held out one slim, small foot in a peasant's boot and inspected it, +pointing to the sole with little exclamations of horror. "I took the +only ones I could find, and see—" Then she looked at him coaxingly +with her eyes half veiled by her lashes, sideways, as if afraid of his +gaze. +</P> + +<P> +"Do I make a nice boy, Monsieur, tell me? Am I just like a gypsey, the +real ones? Is it right, do you think?" She faltered. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco took a step forward and looked down at the reflection in the +mirror, the profile averted, the flush on her cheek, the curls on her +brow, the boyish swagger and the hands in the pockets, the cap on the +back of the tilted head, the laughing eyes, half veiled. He towered +above her, gazing. And presently her eyes crept up to his under the +lashes and they met in the mirror. She drew slowly away. +</P> + +<P> +"How little you are!" he cried, "You never seemed so little before; in +a cloak, in a veil, you were tall. And now, stand still, let me +measure. Your cap just reaches my shoulder. Kaya—" +</P> + +<P> +She gave a gay little laugh and held her back against his. "How you +cheat!" she cried, "No—your heels on the floor, sir—there, now! Back +to back, can you see in the mirror? Where do I come?" +</P> + +<P> +The two stood motionless for a moment, their shoulders touching, +peering eagerly sideways into the glass. +</P> + +<P> +"Kaya, you are standing on tiptoe!" +</P> + +<P> +"No—it is you." +</P> + +<P> +"Kaya! You rogue!" +</P> + +<P> +She gave a little cry, laughing out like a child caught in mischief, +springing away. "I must practise being a boy," she exclaimed, "What is +it you do? It is so different from being a Countess. One feels so +free. No heels, no train, no veil! When one is used to the boots it +must be heaven. If my cap would only stay on!" +</P> + +<P> +She began to roam over the room, taking boyish strides, puckering her +lips in a whistle; her thumbs in her vest and her head thrown back. +"There, now, that is it; I feel better already, quite like a man. It +is charming, Monsieur; a little more practice—" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco was following her about with the cap in his hands. "Step +softly, Kaya, step softly," he said, "Stand still. Let me put it on +for you." +</P> + +<P> +"No—no, toss it over." +</P> + +<P> +With a little spring the girl swung herself on the table edge, +balancing and swinging her feet; looking up at him from under her +lashes and laughing. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I make a good comrade, Monsieur Velasco? What do you think?" +</P> + +<P> +He leaned over the table towards her. His eyes were bright and eager, +searching her face, the dimples that came and went in her cheeks, her +soft, white throat, bare under the collarless jacket; the lips parted, +and red, and arched; the rings of her hair, shining like gold. +</P> + +<P> +"Kaya," he whispered hoarsely, "I never saw you like this before. My +little comrade, my friend, my— We will tramp together, you and I—all +the way to the frontier. They will never suspect us, never! The +Stradivarius shall earn our bread, and if you are ill, or weary, I will +carry you in my arms. In the market-places I will play for the +peasants to dance, and you—you, Kaya—ah, what will you do?" +</P> + +<P> +He laughed softly to himself and began teasing her, half gayly, half +tenderly, with his face close to hers, the sleeve of his jacket +brushing her arm. +</P> + +<P> +"What will you do, Kaya? Look at me! Your cheek is red like a rose; +your eyes are like stars. Don't turn them away. Lift the fringe of +those lashes and look at me, Kaya. Will you pass the cap for the +pennies?—You will have to doff it because you are a boy; and you must +do something because you are a gypsey. Will you pass the cap for the +peasants to pay?" +</P> + +<P> +He held the velveteen cap in his hands, playing with it, caressing it, +watching her. "Look at me, Kaya!" +</P> + +<P> +She flushed and drew back, her heart beating in little throbs under the +vest. Suddenly she turned and looked at him squarely. It was strange, +whenever their eyes met, like a thrill, a shock, an ecstasy; and then a +slow returning to consciousness as after a blow. +</P> + +<P> +All at once, she drooped her lashes and began to trill, softly, +faintly, like a bird, the tones clear, and sweet, and high; and as she +sang, she glanced at him under her lashes, with her head on one side. +The voice pulsed and grew in her throat, swelling out; then she +softened it quickly with a look over her shoulder, half fearfully, and +again it soared to a high note, trilling, lingering and dropping at +last. +</P> + +<P> +Her mouth scarcely opened. The sound seemed to come through the arch +of her lips, every note pure, and sweet, and soft like a breath. +Velasco bent over entranced. +</P> + +<P> +"How you sing!" he cried, "Like some beautiful bird! In Italy, on the +shores of the lakes, I have heard the nightingales sing like that; but +never a woman. The timbre is crystal and pure, like clear, running +water. When you soar to the heights, it is like a lark flying; and +when you drop into alt, it is a tone that forces the tears to one's +eyes, so pathetic and strange. Who taught you, Kaya? Who taught you +to sing like that? Or were you born so with a voice alive in your +throat; you had only to open it and let it come out?" +</P> + +<P> +She shook her head, swinging her feet, trying to laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"It is so small," she said wistfully. "You are a musician, Monsieur +Velasco, and I—I know nothing of music. No—I will pass the cap for +pennies. Give it to me. Is it getting late, must we go?" +</P> + +<P> +She took the cap and put it on her head, on the back of her curls, +avoiding his eyes. "Will that do for a gypsey? Is it +straight—Velasco?" She said the name quite low and breathed +hurriedly, with a flush on her cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +He was still staring at her, but he said nothing; he made no motion and +she drew away from him a little frightened. +</P> + +<P> +"You are like a violin," he murmured, "I told you you were like a +violin. You are all music, as I am music. We will make music +together—Kaya. Sing for me again, just open your lips and +breathe—once more! Let me hear you trill?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't," said the girl. "I am faint, Velasco. When I look at you +now there is a mist before my eyes. The room sways." She put out her +hands suddenly, as if to steady herself. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco started back: "Good heavens, Kaya, what is the matter? The +colour has gone from your cheeks; there are shadows under your eyes, +deep and heavy as though they were painted. Don't faint, will you? +Don't! I shouldn't know what under heaven to do!" +</P> + +<P> +The girl slipped down from the table and, staggering a little, threw +herself into the chair by the fire-place. "Get me some food, Velasco; +some bread, some wine. In a moment it will pass!" She began laughing +again immediately. "Don't be frightened. It is you who are pale, not +I. Just a morsel to eat—Velasco. Since last night I have eaten +nothing. You forget how hungry a boy can be! Is there time?" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco had snatched the red wine from the table and was pouring it out +in a glass, holding it to her lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Drink, Kaya, drink—and here are biscuits, shall I break them for you? +Don't speak. Shut your eyes, and drink, and eat. I will feed you." +</P> + +<P> +He hovered over her with little exclamations of pity and self-reproach. +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't I see at once you were starving! Poor child, poor little +one! You seemed so gay, dancing about; your cheeks were so red and +now—Ah no, it is better—the colour is coming back slowly. The wine +brings a flush." +</P> + +<P> +The girl lay back with her eyes closed, sipping the wine from the glass +as he held it. "Is there plenty of time, Velasco?" she said faintly. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at the hands of the malachite clock on the mantel. They +pointed to ten and presently it began to strike. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—yes." he whispered, "Lie still. Let me feed you. We will go +presently." +</P> + +<P> +"What was that on the stairway?" she said, "Was it a noise?—I thought +I heard something." +</P> + +<P> +She opened her eyes and started up; and with the sudden movement, the +glass in her hand tipped and spilled over. "It is nothing," she said, +"It fell on my hand. I will wipe it away." +</P> + +<P> +Velasco laughed. "Your hand!" he cried, "Your hand is a rose leaf, so +soft and so white. The wine has stained it with a blotch. How +strange! It is red, it is crimson—a spot like blood." +</P> + +<P> +The girl blanched suddenly and fell back with a cry. +</P> + +<P> +"Not blood, Velasco! Wipe it off! Take it away! Not blood! Oh, take +it away!" +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes stared down at the blotch on her hand. They were frightened, +dilated, and her whole body quivered in the chair. "Velasco—take it +away!" +</P> + +<P> +He put down the glass and took the small, white hand in his own, +brushing it gently with the sleeve of his jacket. "There now," he +said, "it is gone. It was only a drop of wine. Hush—hush! See, +there is no blood, Kaya, I never meant there was blood. Don't scream +again!" +</P> + +<P> +"It's the Cross!" she cried, "the curse of the Black Cross! Ah, +go—leave me! I am a murderess! I shot him, Velasco, I shot him! I +fulfilled the vow, the oath of the order. But now—oh God! I am +cursed! Not blood—not blood!" +</P> + +<P> +She was struggling to her feet. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Without weakness, without hesitation, or mercy</I>. I did it! +Velasco—I did it!" +</P> + +<P> +She fell back into the chair again, sobbing, murmuring to herself. +"Not blood—no—not blood!" +</P> + +<P> +"That is over and past," said Velasco, "Don't think of it, Kaya. Be a +boy, a man, not weak like a woman. Eat the rest of the bread." +</P> + +<P> +The girl took the bread from his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Finish the wine." +</P> + +<P> +He held the glass to her lips until she had drained it; and then she +began to laugh a little unsteadily. +</P> + +<P> +"You are right," she said, "a boy doesn't—weep. I must be strong, a +good comrade." She dashed the tears from her eyes and looked up at him +pathetically, smiling with lips that still quivered. "It is over," she +said, "I am—I have—you know; but it is over! I will forget it. +Sometimes I can forget it if I try; then I shut my eyes at night and I +see him before me, on his face with his arms outstretched—still and +strange. The blood is trickling a stream on the floor! I hear the +shot—I—" +</P> + +<P> +"Be still, Kaya, hush! Don't speak of it; forget it! Hush!" +</P> + +<P> +She began to laugh again: "See, I am your comrade, light-hearted and +gay as a gypsey should be. Already—I have forgotten! What a couple +of tramps we are, you and I! Just look at your boots!" +</P> + +<P> +"And your faded old jacket!" +</P> + +<P> +"And your scarf, Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +"And your velveteen cap!" +</P> + +<P> +They laughed out together, and then they stopped suddenly and listened. +"Was it anything?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I think not." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you sure?" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco leaned towards her and their fingers touched for a moment. She +drew them away. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall we go; is it time?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not yet," said Velasco, "not yet! Your lips are so sweet, they are +arched like a bow; they quiver like a string when one plays on it. +Kiss me, Kaya." +</P> + +<P> +She pressed him back with her hands outstretched, her palms against his +coat. "We must go," she whispered, "They will track us, Monsieur. I +am frightened." +</P> + +<P> +"Kaya, kiss me." +</P> + +<P> +Their eyes met and drew closer, gazing intently, the dark and the blue. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't touch me," she said faintly. "We are two boys together. You +must forget that I am a girl. Can you forget?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Velasco. "You were charming before, but you are +irresistible now, in that velveteen jacket and scarf, with the curls on +your brow. When you look at me so, with your head on one side, and +your eyes half veiled, and the flush on your cheeks, you are sweet—I +love you! Kiss me." +</P> + +<P> +He pressed forward closely, his eyes still on hers; but she held him +back with her hands, trembling a little. +</P> + +<P> +"Velasco," she whispered, "Listen! I trust you. You are stronger than +I; your wrists are like steel, but—I trust you. See—I trust you." +</P> + +<P> +She took down her hands from his shoulders and folded them proudly over +her breast, gazing up at him. +</P> + +<P> +"How strange your eyes are," said Velasco, "like two pools in the +twilight; one could drown in their depths. You are there behind the +blue, Kaya. Your spirit looks out at me, brave and dauntless. When +you sob, you are like a child; when you look at me under the veil of +your lashes and your heart beats fast, you are a woman. And now—you +are—what are you, Kaya? A young knight watching beside his shield!" +</P> + +<P> +He hesitated, and passed his hand over his brows, and looked at her +again; then he moved away slowly and began to lay the things in his +knapsack. "They are all boys' things," he said, "but you are a boy; +they will do for you too." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said. +</P> + +<P> +He laughed a little unsteadily. "There is money in my belt; now the +knapsack is ready, my violin—and that is all. It is nearly eleven. +Come—Kaya." +</P> + +<P> +He turned his head away without looking at her; he approached the door +slowly. The girl sat still in the chair. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you coming?" +</P> + +<P> +There was silence; then he turned on his heel, and went back to her, +and laid his hand on her shoulder. "Kaya," he said, whispering as if +someone could hear, "Are you afraid? Why are you afraid to come with +me, dear brother musician, dear comrade?" His voice broke. "I will +take care of you. You said you would trust me, Kaya." +</P> + +<P> +The girl clasped his arm with a cry: "I am not afraid for myself," she +said, "but for you—you, Velasco. Leave me before it is too late. +There is time for the train, just time. I implore you to go!" +</P> + +<P> +She trembled and raised her eyes to his. "If anything should happen, +and you suffered for me, I couldn't bear it. Leave me—Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +He put out his hand and took hers, crushing it in his own strength. He +did not speak but he drew her forward, and she followed him dumbly, +quietly, without resistance; her head drooping, the cap on the back of +her yellow curls; the lashes hiding her eyes, fringing her cheek. +</P> + +<P> +He took the Stradivarius under his arm. The door closed and they +started out, hesitating, looking back over their shoulders; stealing +down the stairs like two frightened children hand in hand. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +</H3> + +<P> +The first pale streaks of dawn were creeping slowly up from the horizon, +piercing the darkness of night with faint, far-away shafts of light, like +arrows silver-tipped, shot from an unseen quiver. In the distance, the +snow fields stretched limitless and vast, and between them the road wound +in and out, narrow and dark, like a coiled serpent amid the whiteness. +</P> + +<P> +Here and there an occasional black-roofed farm house reared its head; +across the snow came the sudden gleam of an ice covered pond; while afar +off, to the left, the domes of Bélaïa rose dark and mysterious in their +roundness, like a patch of giant toadstools, shadowy and strange. The +air was damp and a cold wind blew over the snow drifts. Along the road, +in the full teeth of the blast, trudged two boys, the one a little behind +the other, and the taller of the two shielding the younger with his body. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it far now, Velasco?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not far, if you peep through the folds of your cloak you will see the +domes over yonder. Are you weary, Kaya?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—Velasco." +</P> + +<P> +The voice came in little gasps, as if blown by the gale, fluttering like +a leaf that is tossed hither and thither. The older boy bent his head, +struggling forward. +</P> + +<P> +"The wind is like a dagger," he stammered, "it cuts through the cloak +like an edge of fine steel, like a poignard piercing the heart. Come +closer, Kaya, and let me put my arm around you. Your body sways like a +frail stem, a flower. You are stumbling and your breath freezes, even as +it comes through your lips. Come closer, or you will fall, Kaya. Let me +put my arm around you." +</P> + +<P> +"It is nothing, Velasco; only the snow that whirls before my eyes and +blinds them. Is that the dawn, those faint, grey streaks in the +distance?" +</P> + +<P> +"You are stumbling again, Kaya! It is wonderful the way you have tramped +the whole night through. We are almost there." +</P> + +<P> +"It is only my feet, Velasco; they are frozen a little by the snow, and +numb. That is nothing for a boy. Let us run a race together. Come!" +</P> + +<P> +"The wind mocks at you, little one. Run in such a blast—fight rather! +Put your head down and battle with it. The demon! Keep behind me a +little; use my cloak and my arm as a shield. It is not far now." +</P> + +<P> +"Shall we stop at the inn, Velasco; is it safe, do you think? There is +one on the market-place." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was there once before, Velasco, with my—with my maid!" The girl +laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"You pant, Kaya, and your breath comes in jerks. Are you frightened?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, Velasco—no!" +</P> + +<P> +"They will look for us in the trains and the boats, but never in the +snow-fields and the market-places. Kaya, we will tramp as long as you +are able to bear it, and then—" +</P> + +<P> +"Then—Velasco?" +</P> + +<P> +"We will take the train at some smaller station—Dvisk, Vilna—wherever +we can." +</P> + +<P> +"You, Velasco, but not I." +</P> + +<P> +"Both of us. I will never leave you again. In my pocket are passports, +blank; I bribed the official. We will fill them in together: two +gypsies, one dark and one fair. Ha, Kaya—keep up—a little further! +See, the domes are bigger now and nearer, and the road goes straight +without winding." +</P> + +<P> +"Velasco—I cannot walk! I cannot see! Everything whirls before me in a +mist Go! Leave me—I am falling—" +</P> + +<P> +The older gypsey gave a despairing look over the snow-fields; they were +bare, and white, and glistening. The golden ball of the sun had begun to +climb slowly and the shafts had grown suddenly yellow. Across the icy +surface of the pond the wind whistled, lashing him in the face as with a +whip. The road was narrow and deserted. They were alone, and the form +of the younger boy lay against him unconscious, inert, half sunk in the +snow. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco bent over his companion, chafing the hands, the cheeks; they were +cold like ice. He gave another despairing glance around; then he lifted +the form in his stiffening arms and carried it slowly, laboriously +forward, plodding each step; his head bent, his teeth grit together, +fighting his way. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The shafts lengthened across the sky; the domes grew larger and began to +glitter in the rays of the sunlight; by the side of the road houses +appeared, straggling at first, then nearer together. Suddenly, behind +them, came the tinkle of sleigh-bells, and the crunching of snow beaten +in by the weight of hoofs. +</P> + +<P> +"Oï—Oï!" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco stepped aside with his burden and stared at the sleigh as it +approached. It was a cart, roughly set on runners, drawn by a pair of +long-haired ponies; while fastened behind was a mare, and two wild-eyed +colts following. +</P> + +<P> +The peasant in the seat was wrapped in sheep-skin and smoking a short, +thick pipe held between his teeth. +</P> + +<P> +"Oï—Oï! Is that a corpse you hold there, Bradjaga?" he cried. His +voice was hardly distinguishable above the roaring of the gale. +</P> + +<P> +"For the love of heaven," shouted Velasco, "Moujik, if you have a heart +under your sheep-skin, let me lay my comrade in the cart! He is faint +with the cold, benumbed. We have tramped all night in the snow. Are you +bound for the market at Bélaïa? Hey, stop! Moujik—stop!" +</P> + +<P> +"Get in," said the peasant, "The ponies rear and dance as if Satan were +on their backs, and the mare is like one possessed! It is good to see +the sun. Get in, Bradjaga, and if the burden in your arms is no corpse +it will soon become one! The night has been hell. Bózhe moi! At the +first crossing to the left is a tea-house—Get along you brutes!—Pour +the vodka into his throat; it will sting him to life!" +</P> + +<P> +The ponies dashed forward, the mare and the foals running behind. +Velasco sat huddled on the floor of the cart, his violin and the knapsack +slung from his shoulders; his arms still clasping the slight, dark form, +protecting it from the jolting of the runners. He was muttering to it +under his breath: +</P> + +<P> +"Kaya—poor little one! Your curls are damp against my cheek; your +forehead is ice! Courage, little comrade. Now—your heart beats +faster—your eye-lids are flickering! Another moment and you will be +warm and safe. The lights of the tea-house are ahead. Moujik—faster! +We will drink a glass of vodka together, all three! Faster—faster!" +</P> + +<P> +As the sleigh dashed into the court-yard, the great red ball of the sun +rose above the distant tree-tops; and behind the stables a cock began to +crow, slowly, feebly at first, as if just awake and stretching his wings. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +When Kaya came to consciousness again, she was lying on a pile of straw +in a low raftered room. She had dreamt that she was chained and in +prison, and that something was choking her and weighing on her breast; +but when she tried to move her limbs, she found that it was the blankets, +wrapping her closely; and when she opened her eyes, she saw the face of +Velasco bending over her, and he was trying to force some wine through +her clenched lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Where am I?" said Kaya faintly, "You are choking me, Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +She struggled to a sitting posture, leaning on one elbow, and peered up +into his face. "What has happened?" she said again, "Where are we? I +thought we were tramping through the snow and my feet were frozen! You +are pale, Velasco, and your eyes are heavy!—Have I slept?" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco glanced over his shoulder, and then brought his lips close to her +face and whispered: "You fainted and I carried you in my arms; the Moujik +brought us here in his cart. You opened your eyes once, and then when we +laid you on the straw you fell asleep. You slept so long I was +frightened, Kaya—if it had not been for your jacket moving under the +blankets, rising and falling softly with the beat of your heart, you +might have been dead; you were so still! Poor little one, you were +exhausted. Drink a little and eat!" +</P> + +<P> +"What time is it, Velasco?" +</P> + +<P> +"The sun was rising when we drove into the court and now, in another hour +or two, it will be setting." +</P> + +<P> +Kaya put her hand to her cropped yellow curls, and then she looked at him +and a dimple came in her cheek: +</P> + +<P> +"I forgot about being a boy," she murmured, "Is this what you call an +inn, Velasco? It looks like a stable!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is a stable." +</P> + +<P> +Kaya looked at him again and began to laugh softly: "I forgot about being +a gypsey," she said, "Your clothes are ragged and torn, Velasco; they are +worse than they were that night in your Studio. And I—tell me—how do I +look?" +</P> + +<P> +"Like a little Bradjaga, sweet, and disreputable, and boyish!" +</P> + +<P> +Kaya drew herself slowly to her knees and then to her feet, brushing the +straw from her velveteen trousers and the sleeves of her jacket. "They +wouldn't let us in the inn because we were gypsies, was that it? They +were afraid we would steal?" +</P> + +<P> +The dimples came back in her face and she picked up her cap from the +floor, dusting it with her elbow and cramming it down on the back of her +curls. "Steal me a little bread, Velasco, I am hungry." +</P> + +<P> +"Come back to your nest in the straw, Kaya; put your fingers in my pocket +and steal for yourself. I bought a loaf with a couple of copecks, and +some honey-cake. At sun-down, when the peasants come for their vodka, +there will be a dance. They have never danced to a Stradivarius before; +but they won't know the difference, Kaya, not they! We will pay for the +straw with a rollicking waltz—Ha ha!" +</P> + +<P> +The gypsey musician caught his comrade by the arm and pulled her down on +the straw beside him. +</P> + +<P> +"Which pocket, Velasco? Oh, I feel the honey-cake bulging! Give it to +me." +</P> + +<P> +"No—take it yourself!" +</P> + +<P> +"Your pocket is so deep; it is like diving into a pool." +</P> + +<P> +"Not so deep as your eyes, Kaya. You thief! Ah, take your fingers away +and pay for your bread." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you fooling, Velasco? You look at me so strangely! Sometimes your +eyes are slits and disappear under your brows, and now—Velasco, turn +your head away—I am hungry. You make my heart beat!—Velasco—give me +the bread." +</P> + +<P> +"Pay first and then you shall have it." +</P> + +<P> +She stared at him a moment, drawing back into the straw. "I am a boy," +she said softly, panting, "Remember I am a boy! Don't—tease me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Just once, Kaya." +</P> + +<P> +"No—Velasco." +</P> + +<P> +The older gypsey glanced again about the low raftered loft. The window +in the rafters was hung with cob-webs; the light came through it dimly, a +shaft of sun-beams dancing on the floor; they fell on her hair beneath +the cap and the curls glistened like gold. Her eyes were watching him. +</P> + +<P> +"No—no—Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +He came nearer to her, and the straw crackled as he moved, stretching out +his arms: "When you were weary, Kaya, I carried you. When you fell +asleep I watched over you. It is not your heart that is beating so fast; +it is mine! The colour has come back to your cheeks and the light to +your eyes. You slept while I guarded you. My eyes were heavy, but I +dared not shut them; I watched the folds of your jacket rising and +falling, the breath as it came through the arch of your lips; the gold of +your curls against the straw; the oval of your cheek and your lashes. My +eyes never closed.—I have given up everything for you, Kaya, my life and +my art." +</P> + +<P> +He stretched out his arms to her again, and his dark eyes gazed into her +blue ones, passionate and eager. +</P> + +<P> +"—Kaya!" +</P> + +<P> +She put out her hand and touched his: +</P> + +<P> +"Sleep, Velasco. Your life is safe and your art. You have given them to +me, but I will give them back again. Break off a piece of the bread, +Velasco, and we will talk a little together while we eat. We have been +such good comrades, you and I, and we care for one another—as comrades +do. If you should die or—or leave me, it would break my heart—you know +that." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, kiss me—Kaya! Let me take you in my arms! Come to me and let me +kiss you on your lips!" +</P> + +<P> +"You hurt me, Velasco, your hands are so strong! Not on the +lips—Velasco—not on the—lips! I beseech you, dear friend,—I—" +</P> + +<P> +The gypsey held her close to him for a moment, his heart beating against +hers, and then he turned away his head. "I love you, Kaya; I love you! +Kiss me of your own will. I can't force you—how can I? Your hands are +struggling in mine, but they are soft like the down on a bird's breast! +Some day you will come to me, Kaya, some day—when you love me too. +When—ah! The touch of your hands, your hair against my cheek sets my +blood on fire! Feel my pulse how it throbs! It is like a storm under +the skin! I suffer, little Bradjaga—little comrade!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't suffer!" cried the girl, "Let me go, Velasco, let me go! We will +sit here together, side by side; be my comrade again, my big brother! +Laugh, Velasco! Smile at me! When you look like that and come so close, +I am frightened! Don't tease me any more! The bread is hard like a nut; +see, I will crack it between my teeth. Where is the honey-cake, Velasco? +Give me a piece." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you care for me, Kaya? Look me in the eyes and tell me." +</P> + +<P> +The girl pushed him away from her slowly and turned away her head with a +flush: "Is that your violin over there in the straw, lying in a little +nest all by itself,—cradled so snug and so warm? It is charming to be a +gypsey, Velasco. Are you glad I came to you, or are you sorry? That +night, do you remember the violets? I flung them straight at your feet! +I wasn't a boy then, but I threw straight. Velasco, listen—I—I care +for you—but don't—kiss me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Kaya—Kaya!" +</P> + +<P> +"Hush! Shut your eyes! Put your head back in the straw and go to sleep. +When it is time for the dance I will wake you. I will sit here close +beside you and watch, as you watched over me. Shut your eyes, Velasco." +</P> + +<P> +"Won't you—Kaya?" +</P> + +<P> +"Go to sleep, Velasco—hush!" +</P> + +<P> +"If I shut my eyes—will you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Hush!" +</P> + +<P> +The sun-beams danced on the dusty floor and the light came dimly through +the cobwebs. Velasco lay with his arm under his head, his young limbs +stretched in the straw, asleep. He murmured and tossed uneasily. There +was a flush on his face; his dark hair fell over his brows and teased +him, and he flung it back, half unconscious. +</P> + +<P> +Kaya covered him with the blanket, kneeling beside him in the straw. She +moved without rustling, drawing it in softly, and smoothing the straw +with her fingers. +</P> + +<P> +"It is my fault that he is lying here in a loft," she whispered low to +herself, "He does it for me! His hands have been frozen—for me! They +were so white, and firm, and supple; and now—they are scratched and +swollen!" +</P> + +<P> +She gave a frightened glance about the loft, and then bent over him, +holding back a fold of the blanket. +</P> + +<P> +"He is asleep!" she breathed, "He will never know!" +</P> + +<P> +She stooped low with her golden head and kissed his hands one after the +other, lightly, swiftly, pressing her lips to the scratches. He murmured +again, tossing uneasily; and she fell backwards in the straw, gazing at +him, with her arms locked over her breast and her heart throbbing madly. +</P> + +<P> +"No—he is asleep!" she said, "He is fast asleep! Another hour, and then +in the dusk I will wake him. He will play for the dancing—Velasco! The +greatest violinist in all Russia—he will play for the peasants to dance!" +</P> + +<P> +She gave a little sob, half smothered. "It was wicked," she said, +"unpardonable! I didn't know then—how could I know? If I had +known!—God, save him! Give him back his life and his art that he has +given to me. Give it all back to him, and let me suffer alone the curse +of the Cross—the curse of the—Cross! Make me strong to resist him! +Ah, Velasco—!" +</P> + +<P> +She was sobbing through her clenched teeth; staring at him, stretching +out her arms to him. +</P> + +<P> +—"Velasco!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI +</H3> + +<P> +The room was long, and low, and bare, lighted in the four corners by +lamps, small and ill-smelling. The ceiling was blackened by the smoke +from them, and the air was heavy, clouding the window-panes. At one +end of the room was a raised platform, and on the platform sat two +gypseys; the one was dark, in a picturesque, tattered costume, with a +scarf about his waist, and a violin; the other was slight, with golden +curls clipped short, and a ragged jacket of velveteen, worn at the +elbows. +</P> + +<P> +The floor of the room was crowded with dancers; sturdy, square-faced +moujiks in high boots; and their sweethearts in kerchiefs and short +skirts. The moujiks perspired, stamping the boards with their boots +until the lamps rattled and shook, and the smoke rolled out of the +chimneys; embracing the heavy forms of the women with hands worn and +still grimy with toil. The tones of the violin filled the room. "One, +two—one, two—one, two, three—curtsey and turn—one, two, three." +</P> + +<P> +The dark haired gypsey sat limply in his chair, playing, his back half +turned to the room. There was no music before him. He improvised as +he played, snatches of themes once forgotten, woven and bound with +notes of his own. His eyes were closed; he swayed a little in his +chair, holding the violin close to his cheek. +</P> + +<P> +"One, two—one, two—one, two, three." +</P> + +<P> +The younger gypsey sat cross-legged on the floor, gazing down at the +whirling crowd, blurred by the smoke. In his hands he held a +tambourine, which he shook occasionally in rhythm with the waltz, +glancing over his shoulder at his companion and laughing. Occasionally +they whispered together. +</P> + +<P> +"You play too well, Velasco! Hist—scratch with the bow!" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't, Kaya, it is maddening!" +</P> + +<P> +"Just a little, Velasco." +</P> + +<P> +"Is that better? Tısyacha chertéi, how it rasps one's ears!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but your technique, Velasco! No gypsey could play like that! +Leave out the double stops and the trills!" +</P> + +<P> +"I forget, little one, I forget! The Stradivarius plays itself. Keep +the castanet rattling and then I will remember." +</P> + +<P> +"Velasco, hist—st! There are strangers standing by the door; they +have just come in! Scratch a little more, just a little. Your tone is +so deep and so pure. When you rubato, and then quicken suddenly, and +the notes come in a rush like that, I can hardly keep still. My pulses +are leaping, dancing! One, two—one, two, three!" +</P> + +<P> +"Is that right? Don't ask me to scratch, Kaya! I can't bear it so +close to my ear. The din of their stamping is frightful, the swine! +No one will notice." +</P> + +<P> +The whispering ceased. The gypsey bent his dark head again and the +violin played on. "One, two—one, two, three!" +</P> + +<P> +All of a sudden, voices began to call out from the floor, here and +there among the dancers, irritated and angry; then an oath or two: +"Keep time, Bradjaga, keep time!" Their heels beat against the floor. +</P> + +<P> +The landlord crossed the room hastily, edging in and out among the +dancers; he was frowning and rubbing his hands one over the other. +When he reached the platform, he leaned on it with his elbows and +beckoned to the gypsies. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't play badly," he called, "not badly at all; but Dimitri, the +old man, he suited them better. He always came strong on the beat. +Play the old tunes, Bradjaga; something they know with a crash on the +first, like this." +</P> + +<P> +He clapped his hands: "<I>One</I>, two, three! <I>One</I>, two, three! And +fast—just so, all the time!" +</P> + +<P> +"Chórt vozmí[1]!" cried Velasco, "They don't like my playing! Don't +clap your hands again—don't! The racket is enough to split one's +ear-drums!" +</P> + +<P> +He dropped his violin on his knees and stared blinking at the landlord, +who was still gesticulating and taking little skipping steps by way of +illustration. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>One</I>, two, three—<I>one</I>, two, three! So, loud and strong! Just try +it, Bradjaga!" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco blinked again and a flush came slowly in his cheeks: "My poor +Stradivarius," he said slowly in Polish, "They don't like you; they +prefer a common fiddler with a crash on the beat! Bózhe moi! Kaya, do +you hear?" +</P> + +<P> +The younger gypsey made a sound half startled, half laughing, drawing +nearer to him on the platform. "Hist, Velasco! They are peasants; +they don't know! Ah, be careful—the strangers are crossing the floor. +They are looking at you and talking together! I knew it, I feared it!" +</P> + +<P> +The dancing had stopped, and threading their way through the groups +came several ladies and a gentleman. +</P> + +<P> +"Bradjaga," said the landlord, "This is Ivan Petrokoff, the famous +musician of Moscow, who has deigned to honour my humble house with his +presence. He wishes to examine your instrument." +</P> + +<P> +The gentleman nodded brusquely and stretched out a fat hand. He was +short and quite bald, and he stuttered as he spoke. "Quite a d-decent +fiddle for a gypsey," he said, "Let me s-see it!" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco bowed with his hand on his heart: "It is mine," he said in a +humble voice, "A thousand pardons, Bárin! Impossible!" +</P> + +<P> +"I will p-pay you for it!" said the gentleman angrily, "How much do you +w-want?" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco smiled and put his hand to his heart again, shrugging his +shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"Not that it is of any p-particular value," continued Petrokoff, "but I +like the t-tone. I will give you—hm—s-sixty-five roubles!" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco drew the bow softly over the strings; he was still smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"Seventy! That is exorbitant for a g-gypsey's fiddle! You could buy +a d-dozen other instruments for that, just as good! Come—will you +t-take it?" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco began to trill softly on the G string, and then swept over the +arch with an arpeggio pianissimo. +</P> + +<P> +"You are like a J-Jew!" exclaimed the musician. "You want to bargain! +One hundred r-roubles then! There!" He turned to the landlord, +stretching out his fat hands, palms upwards. "Absurd isn't it? The +f-fellow must be mad!" +</P> + +<P> +"Mad indeed," echoed the landlord, "A miserable, tattered bradjaga, who +can't even keep time. You heard yourself, Professor, how he changed +the beat and threw the dancers out, every moment or so. They are +nothing but tramps; but if you want a fiddle, Bárin, old Dimitri, who +is sick in bed with the rheumatism in his legs, he will sell you his +for a quarter the price and be thankful. A nice little instrument, +fine and well polished, not old and yellow with the back worn!" +</P> + +<P> +He twiddled his fingers in contempt. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco ran lightly a scale over the strings. His hair fell over his +brows and he half closed his eyes, gazing at the musician through the +slits mockingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you really the great Petrokoff?" he said, "The Professor of the +Violin known through all Russia! From Moscow? Even the gypsies have +heard of you!" +</P> + +<P> +The Professor lifted his fingers to his lips and blew on them as if to +warm the ends, which were flat and stubbed from much playing on the +strings: "Humph!" he said, "You are only a boy! You are talented, it +is true; but what do you know of violinists? You ought to be studying." +</P> + +<P> +"That is true, Bárin," said Velasco humbly. "I am only a poor gypsey; +I know nothing!" +</P> + +<P> +"Let me see your hand and your arm," said Petrokoff, "Yes, the shape is +excellent; the muscles are good. You need training of course. If you +come to the Conservatory at Moscow, I may be able to procure for you a +scholarship for one of my classes." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Bárin—your Excellence, how kind you are!" murmured the gypsey. +"I should like it above all things! Would the Bárin teach me himself?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly," said Petrokoff loftily, "Certainly; but you would have to +pass an examination. Your bowing, for instance, is bad! You should +hold your arm so, and your wrist like this." +</P> + +<P> +"Like this?" murmured Velasco, curving his wrist first in one way, then +in another. "That is indeed difficult, Bárin." +</P> + +<P> +"Give the bow to me," said Petrokoff, "Now, let me show you! I am very +particular about that with all my pupils. There—that is better." +</P> + +<P> +The gypsey brushed a lock from his eyes and took up the bow carefully, +as if he were handling an egg with the shell broken. "Ah—so?" he +said, "Of course! And can you play with your wrist like that, Bárin?" +</P> + +<P> +Petrokoff stretched out his hand and took the violin from the gypsey's +arms: "Give it to me," he said, "You notice how limpid, how rich the +tone! That comes from the method. You will learn it in time; the +secret lies in the bowing, the way the wrist is held—so!" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco opened his eyes wide: "Oh, how clumsy I am in comparison!" he +said wistfully. "Your scale, Bárin! I never heard such a scale." He +gave a swift glance over his shoulder at his companion with a low +whistle of astonishment. +</P> + +<P> +"Your comrade seems to be choking," said one of the ladies, "I never +heard any one cough so. Is he consumptive?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—no!" said the gypsey. "It is probably a crumb of bread gone the +wrong way; or the dust blown about by the dancing. He will recover. +Bárin—now tell me, do I hold the elbow right?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all. The arm must be—so!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah—so?" +</P> + +<P> +"That is better." +</P> + +<P> +The gypsey ran his fingers over the strings in exact imitation of +Petrokoff. The tone was thin, and his fingers moved stiffly as if +weighted. His face wore an anxious expression. "Dear me!" he +exclaimed, "It is more difficult than I imagined. Does every violinist +hold his bow like that?" +</P> + +<P> +Petrokoff cleared his throat and his chest swelled a little under his +coat. "Bradjaga, I have taught the violin for twenty-five years—there +is no other way." +</P> + +<P> +The gypsey sighed. "My own way is so much simpler," he said, "Look!" +His fingers flew over the neck of the Stradivarius in harmonics, swift +and sure as the flight of a hawk; his bow seemed to leap in his hand, +and when he reached the top note of all, high, clear and sweet, he +trilled on it softly, swelling out into a tone pure and strange like +the sighing of wind in the tree-tops. The hair fell over his brows, +and for a moment there was silence in the room. +</P> + +<P> +Kaya had stopped coughing; she had clapped one hand over her mouth to +still the sound, and her blue eyes were fixed on one of the ladies, who +was staring hard at the gypsey. They were listening intently. +Petrokoff stood with his hands clasped over his waistcoat, his head a +little to one side, nodding gently from time to time, as if listening +to a pupil in his class room. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he began, "as I said before, you have talent. I think I could +make something of you; but your bowing is bad, very bad; your method is +abominable! It would never be allowed in the Conservatory; and your +harmonics—bah!" +</P> + +<P> +He shrugged his shoulders, spreading his fat fingers in disgust. "Give +me the violin again; it is too good an instrument for a boy. If you +come to Moscow, I will give you two hundred roubles, just out of +charity. The instrument isn't worth the half, as you know. But I have +a good heart, I am interested in your progress. With the two hundred +roubles you can pay for your lodging and food. The harmonics—listen! +They should sound like this." +</P> + +<P> +He played a few notes on the top of the instrument, shrill and sharp. +The gypsey stretched out his arms eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me try, Bárin!" he cried, "So—so?" +</P> + +<P> +The harmonics seemed to squeak in derision; they flatted, and the sound +was like the wheels of a cart unoiled. +</P> + +<P> +"Stop!" cried Petrokoff, "It is horrible! For the love of heaven, +Bradjaga, stop!" +</P> + +<P> +The gypsey drew the bow slowly and lingeringly over the flatted notes. +It was like the wail of a soul in inferno; a shriek like a devil +laughing. +</P> + +<P> +"Ha-ha!" cried Velasco. "Now I understand! That is what you were +after, Bárin?" +</P> + +<P> +Petrokoff eyed him sharply. +</P> + +<P> +The boy's face was the picture of innocence; the mouth was slightly +puckered as if with concentrated effort; his eyes were open and frank; +he was smiling a little triumphantly like a child that is sure of +pleasing and waiting for praise. +</P> + +<P> +"You play atrociously," said Petrokoff severely. "I shall keep you six +months on finger exercises alone. You play false!" +</P> + +<P> +The light died out of the boy's face: +</P> + +<P> +"Bárin," he said humbly, "In Moscow you will teach me to play like +yourself. I am nothing but an ignorant bradjaga as you see." +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he put his hand to his mouth and began to cough: "The dust!" +he said, "It has gone to my throat all at once. Eh—what? Excuse me a +moment, Bárin." +</P> + +<P> +Kaya's yellow curls were close to his ear and she whispered something. +She was standing behind his chair and, as she stooped to him, her hand +rested on his shoulder and trembled slightly: "Velasco," she said, in a +voice like a breath, "Come, I beseech you! You are playing with +danger, with death! They will surely suspect; ah, come!" +</P> + +<P> +The gypsey tossed his head, like a young horse when some one is trying +to force the bit between his teeth; his chin stiffened and an obstinate +look came into his eyes. He brushed her aside: "No," he murmured, "Go +away, Kaya! He is a stupid fool, can't you see? I am not half +through; it is heavenly to hear him! Go—go! I want to tease him some +more; I tell you I will." +</P> + +<P> +The younger gypsey sank back on the floor cross-legged, half hidden by +the chair and the form of Velasco. Her hands were still trembling and +she put them in the pockets of her jacket, trying to force her red lips +to a whistle; but no sound came through the arch. She heard the voice +of Velasco smooth, and wicked, and humble, just above her. +</P> + +<P> +"There is a musician," he was saying, "Perhaps you have heard of him? +His name is Velasco." +</P> + +<P> +"Bosh!" said Petrokoff in an angry tone, and then he blew his nose +loudly. "Velasco—bosh! He is only a trickster! There is a fad +nowadays among the ladies to run after him." He bowed to the three +ladies in turn mockingly, "My friends here tried to get tickets last +week in St. Petersburg, but the house was sold out. Bosh—I tell you! +I wouldn't cross the street to hear a virtuoso like that!" +</P> + +<P> +The gypsey gave a queer sound like a chuckle: "He does not play as you +do, of course, Bárin!" +</P> + +<P> +"I!" cried Petrokoff. He twirled his mustache fiercely. "The Russians +are like children, they run after every new plaything. The Pole is a +new plaything, a toy—bah! I have been before the public twenty-five +years. I am an artist; I am one of the old School. I—" +</P> + +<P> +"Go away, Kaya!" whispered Velasco, "This is grand! I haven't enjoyed +myself so much for an age. Go away, little one; don't be frightened. +It is all right, only don't cough too much, or the ladies will see you +are laughing. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Velasco, come—come!" +</P> + +<P> +"Go away, child! He is opening his mouth again, the fat monster! +Watch the 'I' leap out! If he plays again I shall die in a fit; he +handles the bow like the fin of a shark. Be still, Kaya—go!" +</P> + +<P> +"Velasco—listen, won't you listen? The ladies—ah, don't turn your +head away—the one with the grey bonnet is the Countess Galli. I have +seen her often at my father's house, Velasco; and she stares first at +me, then at you. She suspects." +</P> + +<P> +"The fright, with the long nose?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and the pince-nez." +</P> + +<P> +"She is staring now. Make up a face at her, Kaya; that will scare her +away. She has never seen you in boy's clothes before, I warrant, with +your hands in your pockets, and your curls clipped short, and a cap on +the back of your head—ha ha!" +</P> + +<P> +"Velasco, don't laugh. Don't you see she is whispering to Petrokoff +now and looking at us through her pince-nez?" +</P> + +<P> +"So she is, the vixen, the miserable gossip! Slip out towards the door +quietly, Kaya, while they are talking. I will follow directly. Wait +at the back of the stable by the hay loft." +</P> + +<P> +The gypsey stood up suddenly and approached the little group of ladies, +bowing to them and to Petrokoff. He was wrapping the violin in its +cover and laying it away in its case as he moved. "Pardon, Bárin," he +said softly, "If you will wait for me here, I shall return presently. +My supper is waiting. Perhaps after an hour you will still like to +purchase the violin. See, it is really not a bad instrument—if you +are in earnest about the two hundred roubles?" +</P> + +<P> +Petrokoff stepped eagerly forward. "Now," he said, "Give it to me now. +I will hand you the money at once in notes." +</P> + +<P> +"Presently, Bárin," said Velasco still softly, "I will return directly. +If your Excellency will permit—" +</P> + +<P> +He slipped past the outstretched arm of the musician; bowed again to +the lady in the grey bonnet, staring straight into the gold-rimmed +lorgnette; and the door closed behind him. Running like a grey-hound, +Velasco darted through the corridor and around by the side of the inn +to the stable. It was dark there, deserted, and beyond, the snow +glittered on the meadows. +</P> + +<P> +"Kaya—are you there?" +</P> + +<P> +"Here, Velasco." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you the knapsack?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—yes, here it is." +</P> + +<P> +"Take my hand then and run—run, Kaya, for the Countess has told +Petrokoff; she has told him by now. They'll be hot on our tracks! +This way—to the left of the road! Hold fast to my hand and run, +Kaya—run!" +</P> + +<P> +"I will, Velasco, I will!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't fall—don't stumble!" +</P> + +<P> +"I won't! Which way? I can't see the road." +</P> + +<P> +"Ahead, straight ahead! Hold me faster! Leap as I leap—and if you +hear hoofs, sink down in the shadow." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—yes, Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, run, dearest—run, for the fiends are behind us! I hear hoofs and +bells. Run—run!" +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="footnote"> +[1] The devil take you. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII +</H3> + +<P> +"Who is in the sleigh, Kaya, can you see? Keep low in the shadow and +don't move your head." +</P> + +<P> +"The Countess, Velasco, and Petrokoff and two other men." +</P> + +<P> +"Gendarmes?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think they are gendarmes, Velasco. They look from side to side of +the road as they pass and urge the driver forward." +</P> + +<P> +"Bózhe moi, little one! Keep close to me and hold your breath; in +another moment they will be past." +</P> + +<P> +"Now—Velasco! Now they are out of sight; the last tinkle of the bells +sounds in the distance. Shall we lie here, or follow?" +</P> + +<P> +The gypsey took a long breath and rose to his feet, brushing the snow +from his trousers and coat. The girl still sat crouching behind the +drift, peering ahead into the dark windings of the road and listening. +</P> + +<P> +"Come, little one!" said Velasco, "The fields are covered deep with the +snow; there are no paths and we cannot go back. Give me your hand. +You will freeze if you linger." +</P> + +<P> +The girl put her hand in his, springing up, and they darted into the +dark windings together, making little rushes forward, hand in hand; +then poising on one foot and listening. +</P> + +<P> +"They might turn back you know, Velasco." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you hear the bells?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not yet." +</P> + +<P> +Then they ran on. +</P> + +<P> +The night grew darker and darker; the sky was heavy and black with +clouds, and between them a faint light flitted occasionally like the +ghost of a moon, but feeble and wan. It struggled with the clouds, +piercing them for an instant; and then it was gone and the sky grew +blacker, like a great inky; surface, reflecting shadows on the +snowfields, gigantic and strange. The wind had died down, but the cold +was intense, bitter, and the chill of the ice crept into the bones. +</P> + +<P> +"What is that dark thing ahead on the road, can you see, Velasco?" +</P> + +<P> +"Hist—Kaya, I see! It is big and black. It seems to be a house, or +an inn, for look—there are lights like stars just appearing." +</P> + +<P> +"Not that, Velasco, look closer, in front of the house; does it look +like a sleigh?" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco's grip tightened on the woolen glove of the girl and they +halted together, half hesitating. +</P> + +<P> +"A sleigh, Kaya? Stay here in the shadow—I will steal ahead and look." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't leave me; let me go with you!" +</P> + +<P> +The woolen glove clung to him and they went forward again, a step at a +time, with eyes straining through the snow. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it the sleigh of the Countess, big and black with three horses +abreast?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—it looks so." +</P> + +<P> +"Is there some one inside?" +</P> + +<P> +"The driver perhaps! No, there is no one. Velasco, they have gone +into the inn to drink something warm and ask questions perhaps—'Have +you seen two gypsies, one dark and one fair?'—Ah, Velasco, what shall +we do? Shall we creep past on tiptoe?" +</P> + +<P> +The girl drew close to him and looked up in his face. "What shall we +do, Velasco—speak! You stand there with your eyes half shut, in a +dream. Shall we run, Velasco? Shall we run on ahead?" +</P> + +<P> +The gypsey put his finger to his lips and crept forward. "This is a +God-forsaken hole, Kaya!" he whispered, "No telegraph—and perhaps no +horses; they could only get oxen or mules. It will take several +minutes to drink their hot tea—and the brutes are quite fresh!" +</P> + +<P> +He moved cautiously, swiftly, to the hitching post, fumbling with the +straps. The horses whinnied a little, nosing one another and pawing +the earth. +</P> + +<P> +"What are you doing, Velasco?" +</P> + +<P> +"Jump in, Kaya, jump in—quick, or the driver will hear! Take the +fiddle! Ah, the deuce with this knot!" +</P> + +<P> +With a last tug the knot yielded. Velasco dashed to the step and +sprang on it; then his knees gave beneath him, and he fell in the snow +as the horses leaped forward. +</P> + +<P> +"Oï—oï! Tısyacha chertéi! A pest!" +</P> + +<P> +With oaths and shrieks of rage the driver rushed from the kitchen of +the inn, wiping the vodka from his beard with his sleeve. From the +tea-room three other men rushed forward, also shouting, and behind them +the Countess. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" she screamed, "Have the horses run away? Where is the +sleigh and my buffalo robe? Are they stolen? Catch the thieves—catch +them!" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco still lay in the snow, stunned by his fall, a dark patch like a +shadow. The sleigh had turned suddenly and veered around, not half a +rod distant. Kaya stood with the reins uplifted, dragging back on the +bits; and the horses were rearing, plunging, back on their haunches, +slipping on the ice. +</P> + +<P> +"Velasco!" she cried, "Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +Her voice rang out like a trumpet, echoing over the snow; and as she +cried, she swept the horses about and lashed them with the whip, until +they came leaping and trembling close to the patch on the snow, which +had begun to stir slowly, awaking from the swoon. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, if I were a man!" she cried, "If I were only a man and could lift +you!" She clinched her teeth, swinging the whip, reining back the +struggling animals with her slim, white hands from which she had torn +the gloves. +</P> + +<P> +As the figure moved again uneasily, half sitting up in the snow, the +men rushed forward. +</P> + +<P> +"Here they are—the gypsies! We have them! They were stealing the +sleigh, the rascals!" +</P> + +<P> +As they sprang at Velasco, surrounding him, there came suddenly a swift +whizz through the air, a singing as of a hornet, and the heavy lash +struck them, across the face, the eyes, the shoulders, stinging and +sharp, leaving cruel welts as it struck. The driver screamed out, half +blinded. The gendarmes started back. Petrokoff fell on his knees and +cowered behind a bush, his fat body trembling and his hands +outstretched as if praying: +</P> + +<P> +"For the love of the saints!" he cried, "Don't strike!" +</P> + +<P> +The lash flashed through the air, blinding and terrible in its +rapidity. The gypsey leaned over the dash-board, her face white, her +eyes dark with rage, her cap on the back of her yellow curls; and the +whip seemed to leap between her fingers like something alive. +</P> + +<P> +"Velasco!" she screamed, "Get up! Come—ah, come, while I beat them, +the fiends!" +</P> + +<P> +The cry seemed to pierce the benumbed brain of her companion, as the +lash the skin. The dark patch moved again and Velasco struggled to his +feet; he ran towards the sleigh. The girl leaned forward once more and +as the gendarmes sprang towards them again, swearing at her and +shouting, she lashed them fiercely across the face and the eyes, +mercilessly, with little cries of rage. Velasco tumbled in beside her +on the seat. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you there?" she cried, "Are you safe?" +</P> + +<P> +Then she turned, and loosening the reins the lash fell on the horses, +cutting them sharply; and they dashed forward, the foam dripping from +their bits and their hoofs striking sparks from the ice as they fled, +galloping madly, swiftly, through the snow. +</P> + +<P> +In a moment the inn was left behind, the shouting and swearing died +away in the distance, and there was silence, broken only by the panting +of the horses and the sound of their hoofs galloping. Kaya still urged +them forward, shaking the reins in her left hand and lashing with the +whip. +</P> + +<P> +"You are safe!" she cried, "You are there, Velasco?" +</P> + +<P> +And then as the silence continued, a great fear came over her; her +heart seemed to leap in her throat and her pulses stopped beating. She +stooped over him, unheeding the horses. They were in the midst of the +forest now, and the next town was several versts distant. It was dark +and she put her face close to his, crying out: "Velasco! Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +Then she saw that he had fainted again; from his forehead a dark stream +was gushing slowly; and when she touched it, it was warm and wet. She +gave a little cry. +</P> + +<P> +The horses galloped on, but the sleigh moved more smoothly and slid +over the icy surface of the snow. Kaya wound the reins about the +dash-board. They were quiet now, let them gallop! She bent again over +her companion and, taking the snow that lay on the side of the sleigh, +she bathed the wound with it, staunching the flow with her +handkerchief, holding his head against her breast. +</P> + +<P> +"Velasco!" she whispered low, as if afraid he might waken and hear: "It +is better now. The wound has stopped bleeding—only a drop or two +comes on my handkerchief! You struck it on the runners as you fell; I +will bind it now with my scarf. Velasco—dear Velasco! Open your eyes +and look at me—smile at me! We are safe. We are alone in the forest +and the horses are galloping. Soon we shall be at the station—in the +train! A few hours from the frontier—only a few hours—Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +He stirred in her arms and moaned, and his eye-lids quivered as if +trying to open. Kaya took the scarf from her waist and began to wind +it slowly about the wound on his forehead. Her breath came in little +gasps through her parted lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Have I your blood too on my hands, Velasco? Ah, waken and look at me! +We have only a few hours more together—a few hours! Then you will +never see me again. Never—never!" +</P> + +<P> +She clasped him closer to her breast and bent over him in terror. +"Don't die, Velasco! The wound has stopped bleeding. Why don't you +open your eyes? Don't die! If you die I shall die too. I love you, +Velasco! I love you—I love you!" +</P> + +<P> +She laid her cheek to his cold one and tried to warm it. She covered +him with her cloak. It grew darker and colder, and the horses galloped +on. Presently he stirred again in her arms and opened his eyes, and +they looked at one another. +</P> + +<P> +"Kaya" he said, "I heard you—I heard you!" +</P> + +<P> +She shrank back away from him: "You heard—me?" she stammered. +</P> + +<P> +Then he fainted again. +</P> + +<P> +The horses galloped on. The fields of snow stretched in the distance, +the frost on the surface glittering like myriads of tiny dew-drops. +Through the inky blackness of the clouds the moon shone out fitfully, +Streaking the road with flashes of light, pale and shadowy. Ahead +gleamed the lamps of the station. The hoofs rang on the frozen snow. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly Velasco lifted his head from the breast of Kaya. He steadied +himself and sat upright in the seat. The wound was bound about by the +red scarf and his face looked white in the faint moon-beams. There was +blood on his jacket and the folds of his vest, and the scarf was +spotted with crimson blotches. +</P> + +<P> +He stared straight ahead at the tossing manes of the horses, their +galloping bodies, three abreast, plunging and straining in the harness; +the reins knotted to the dash-board; the dark, winding road bordered by +snow-drifts; the lights in the distance looming nearer, and the bulk of +the station. His eyes were shining under the bandage, wide-open +beneath the brows. +</P> + +<P> +Kaya drew away from him slowly, burying herself in the corner of the +sleigh, drawing the buffalo robe close about her and trembling. The +cold was bitter. +</P> + +<P> +He drank in the icy air in long breaths, and it seemed to give him +strength, to clear the fumes of the brain. He was like one who has +been drowning and is coming to life again gradually. Suddenly he +turned and they faced one another. The hoofs rang against the ice, +pounding forward; the sleigh was lurching, and the runners slipped and +slid in the snow. +</P> + +<P> +"Kaya!" +</P> + +<P> +"Velasco." +</P> + +<P> +He put his arms out and they closed around her; he drew her nearer and +nearer with all the strength in his body, and she yielded slowly, +resisting and weak. She yielded until his lips were on hers, and then +she flung out her arms with a little cry and they clung together, +closely, silently. +</P> + +<P> +The horses galloped on and the sleigh lurched faster—and faster. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII +</H3> + +<P> +The night train steamed swiftly through the darkness, the cars swaying +from side to side of the track, and the couplings clanging and jolting. +It was warm inside the compartments and the air made a thick steam on +the windows, hiding the snowfields and the station as the train rushed +thundering past. In one of the third-class compartments two gypsies +sat together with their heads close to the window, peering out. +</P> + +<P> +"Half an hour now, Velasco." +</P> + +<P> +"Twenty-two minutes, Kaya." +</P> + +<P> +"Now, only twelve." +</P> + +<P> +"Are the passports ready, Velasco?" +</P> + +<P> +"They are here, little one. There is Virballen now in the distance; +can you see the roofs and the eagle floating? In another moment, +another second—!" +</P> + +<P> +The two gypsies sat quiet, straining their eyes through the steam; then +the dark one rose suddenly and adjusted the strap of his knapsack, +taking his violin in his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"The train is slowing up now, Kaya, come! Follow me close, and look +neither to the right nor the left." +</P> + +<P> +The two sprang from the train, and hurrying into the customs-room of +the station were soon lost in the crowd. The minutes dragged slowly. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you see that paling, Kaya? The other side of it is Germany—is +freedom." +</P> + +<P> +"I know, Velasco—I know!" +</P> + +<P> +"Your heart is beating and throbbing, Kaya; your jacket tosses like a +ship in a storm. Fold your arms over its fluttering, little one, that +the guards may not see. They are coming now." +</P> + +<P> +"Pray—Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +"To whom should I pray? The Tsar perhaps—or the Icon over yonder?" +The gypsey laughed, holding out the passports. He was swaggering with +his hands in his pockets, and when the official spoke to him, he +shrugged his shoulders and answered in dialect. +</P> + +<P> +"Bohemian!" he said, "Yes—gypsies! We earn our living on the road, my +comrade and I—eh, Bradjaga?" With that, he clapped Kaya on the +shoulder, showing his white teeth and laughing: "No baggage, Bárin, +no—no, only this—and that!" +</P> + +<P> +He pointed to the knapsack swung from his shoulder and the violin in +his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"What does this ragamuffin do?" demanded the official, looking narrowly +at Kaya, "He is fair for a gypsey." +</P> + +<P> +The girl started back for a moment, her shoulder brushing the shoulder +of Velasco; then she lifted her blue eyes to the official, and her +heart seemed to leap and bound like a wild thing caged. She began to +stammer, shrinking back against her companion. A bell sounded suddenly +in the office behind them and the official started: +</P> + +<P> +"A telegraph despatch!" he said, "Ha—I must go!" +</P> + +<P> +The girl sprang forward and clutched his sleeve: "Don't go!" she said, +"You ask what I can do—I can dance! We will show you, my comrade and +I. In a moment the doors will be unlocked; wait until the doors are +unlocked! We will give you a performance now, a special performance +such as the Tsar himself has heard and seen—Play!" +</P> + +<P> +She waved Her hand to Velasco, and in a moment the violin was out of +its wrappings and held to his cheek. He was playing a wild, strange +rhythm and Kaya was dancing. The crowd made a circle about them, and +the official stood in the centre transfixed, open-mouthed. +</P> + +<P> +The violin was like a creature alive, it sobbed and laughed; and when +it sobbed, the little figure of the dancer swayed slowly, languidly, +like a flower blown to and fro by the breeze; and when it laughed, the +rhythm quickened suddenly in a rush like an avalanche falling, and the +figure sprang out into the air, turning, twisting, pirouetting; every +movement graceful, intense, full of feeling and passion. +</P> + +<P> +The crowd about the gypsies stood spell-bound; the official never +stirred. The bell rang again and again. Every time it rang, a new +impetus seemed to seize the dancer. Her feet in the heavy boots seemed +scarcely to touch the ground; the green of the velveteen was like the +colour of a kaleidoscope, and the gold of her curls glittered and +sparkled under the cap. The crowd swayed with the rhythm; they grew +drunk with it and their bodies quivered as they watched. The minutes +passed like a flash. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly there came a creak in the lock; the key turned and the great +doors opened, the doors towards Germany. Beyond was the long line of +paling; the flag with the eagle floating; the sentinels with their +muskets over their shoulders. A step and then— +</P> + +<P> +The dancer made a little rush forward, gave a spring in the air and +then bowed, snatching off the cap. +</P> + +<P> +"Messieurs—Mesdames!" +</P> + +<P> +She held the cap in her two hands, eagerly, pleadingly, and the silver +fell into it. Copecks—ten—twenty—hundreds of them, and roubles, +round and heavy; they clinked as they fell. +</P> + +<P> +"I thank you!" cried the gypsey, "Good-bye, Messieurs—Mesdames! Au +revoir!" +</P> + +<P> +She bowed again, backing towards the door, the cap still held between +her hands, the Violinist following. +</P> + +<P> +"Adieu! Au revoir!" +</P> + +<P> +The crowd clapped noisily, cheering until the great, bare station of +the customs rang and re-echoed. +</P> + +<P> +"Au revoir! Adieu!" +</P> + +<P> +The gypsies backed together, smiling, bowing; they passed through the +door. They reached the paling—the sentinels; the flag with the eagle +floated over their heads; then a click, and the gate closed behind them. +</P> + +<P> +They were on German soil. They were free—they were free. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Kaya!" said Velasco. +</P> + +<P> +The room at the inn was small and very still. The shades were down, +and over in the corner, beyond the couch, a single candle was burning. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you awake, Kaya?" said Velasco softly, bending over the couch +until his curls brushed hers, and his lips were close to her rosy cheek. +</P> + +<P> +"I have watched so long for your eyes to open, Kaya! My—wife." +</P> + +<P> +The girl moved uneasily on the pillow. +</P> + +<P> +"My wife—Kaya!" +</P> + +<P> +He put his arms about her and she lay still for a moment, scarcely +breathing. Then she spoke: +</P> + +<P> +"I am not your wife, Velasco. Take your arms away." +</P> + +<P> +"Your cheek is so soft, Kaya; the centre is like a red rose blushing. +Let me rest my cheek against it." +</P> + +<P> +"Take your cheek away—Velasco." +</P> + +<P> +"Your lips are arched like a bow, so red, so sweet! When I press +them—I press—them!" +</P> + +<P> +"Velasco—Velasco! Take your lips—away!" +</P> + +<P> +The girl half rose on her pillow, pushing him back; striking at him +feebly with her bare hands; "Go—don't touch me! I have been asleep—I +am mad! I am not your wife—Velasco! We must part at once—I tell +you, we must part!" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco laughed: "Part!" he said, "You and I, Kaya?—Part? Have you +forgotten the church, the priest in his surplice, the dark nave and the +candles? We knelt side by side. You are my wife and I am your +husband. Kaya, we can never part in life or in death." +</P> + +<P> +The girl put her hand to her breast: "It was only a 'Nihilistic +marriage,' Velasco, you know what that means! A mere form for the sake +of the certificate, the papers—just to show for the passport that we +might go together." Her voice came through her throat roughly as if it +hurt her. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco laughed again shortly: "What is that to me?" he said, "We were +married; you are my wife. Put your hands down, Kaya—let me take you +in my arms. You know—throughout the journey, when we were tramping +through the snow and the cold, I treated you as a comrade, for your +sake. You asked it. You know—Kaya? And now—now we are in Germany; +we are gypsies no longer. You are the Countess and I am Velasco—your +husband, Kaya, your—husband." +</P> + +<P> +He stretched out his arms to her, and his eyes were like sparks of +light under his brows, gleaming. His hands trembled: "Look at me, +Kaya, look at me. Why do you torment me?" +</P> + +<P> +The girl thrust her hand slowly into the breast of her jacket and drew +out a paper. "You lost it," she said, "in the prison. I found it on +the floor. The—the certificate of our marriage. I swore that +night—if we reached the frontier I would—Velasco, don't touch me!—I +would destroy it!" +</P> + +<P> +She held it away from him and her eyes gazed into his. +</P> + +<P> +"You would never destroy it, Kaya!" He looked at her and then he gave a +cry: "Stop—Kaya!" +</P> + +<P> +She had torn the paper across into strips and was flinging the pieces +from her; she was laughing. "You, my husband, Velasco? Are you mad? +The daughter of General Mezkarpin marry a musician! Our family is one +of the oldest in Russia and yours—!" She laughed again wildly, +clasping her hands to her throat. "You are mad—Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her steadily. "Tell me the truth," he said, "Do you love +me, or do you not love me? Yes, or no." +</P> + +<P> +"No, Velasco. You were kind to me—you saved my life; I am grateful. +If it had not been for you—" Then she laughed again, staggering to +her feet. "Love you? No—no! A thousand times—no!" +</P> + +<P> +"That is a lie," said Velasco. "You are trembling all over like a +leaf. Your cheeks are ashy. The tears are welling up in your eyes +like a veil over the blue. You are breathless—you are sobbing." +</P> + +<P> +He flung his arms around her and pressed her head to his breast, +kissing the curls. "Lie still, Kaya, lie still in my arms! The gods +only know why you said it, but it isn't the truth! You love me—say +you love me! You said it in the sleigh when I was stunned, half +conscious! Say it again—Kaya! The certificate is nothing. Does love +need a certificate?" He laughed aloud. "Say it, Kaya—let me hear +you, my beloved!" +</P> + +<P> +She was silent, clinging to him; she had stopped struggling. Her eyes +were closed and he kissed her fiercely on the lips again and again. +Presently he was frightened, and a chill of terror and foreboding stole +over him. +</P> + +<P> +"Look at me, Kaya—open your eyes! Have I hurt you—was I too rough? +Are you angry? I love you so! The whole world is nothing; art is +nothing; fame is nothing. I would sell my Stradivarius for the touch +of your fingers in mine, Kaya! I would give my soul for a look in your +eyes! Ah, open them—dearest!" +</P> + +<P> +His voice shook and was hoarse, and he held her away from him, gazing +down at her face and the panting of her breast. "Tell me you love +me—Kaya!" +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly she stiffened until her body was straight and unbending as +steel, and the strength came back to her slowly. She opened her eyes +and the veil was gone; they were flashing and hard. "You use your +strength like a coward, Velasco," she said. "Can you force love? I +told you the truth." +</P> + +<P> +She pointed to the fragments of paper on the floor with her finger, +scornfully: "There lies the bond between us," she said, "See—it is +shattered; it lies at our feet. You will go on your way from here +alone, to fill your engagements, and I—" She hesitated and stopped +again, as one who is afraid of stumbling. +</P> + +<P> +Her arms stiffened, and her hands, and her whole body; and she drew +away from him, avoiding his eyes, and looking only at the fragments of +paper on the floor. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-bye now—Velasco," she said. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her, and he was trembling and shaking from head to foot, +like one in a chill. His teeth were clenched and his eyes were +bloodshot; the pulses beat in his temples. +</P> + +<P> +"My God!" he cried, "If it is true—if you don't love me! If—" +</P> + +<P> +Kaya stretched out her hand to him, catching her breath. "Good-bye, +Velasco—" +</P> + +<P> +He turned on her fiercely, and raised his arm as if he would have +struck her: "You are cruel!" he said, crying out, "You are not a +woman!" He caught her by the shoulders and held her, looking down into +her eyes, with his face close to hers. +</P> + +<P> +"Swear it!" he cried, "Swear it if you can—if you dare! Swear you +don't love—me." +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him and her lips trembled. +</P> + +<P> +"Swear it!" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded. +</P> + +<P> +A cry burst from his throat, like that of an animal, wounded, at bay. +His blood-shot eyes stared at her for a moment, and then he flung her +from him with all his strength and turning, dashed from the room. +</P> + +<P> +The door slammed. +</P> + +<P> +The girl reeled backward, putting her hands to her face. Then, as the +echo of his footsteps died away on the stairs, she fell on her knees, +crouching and sobbing. +</P> + +<P> +"He is gone!" she cried out, the words coming in little moans through +her clenched teeth. "He is gone! Velasco is gone!" +</P> + +<P> +Her form shook in a torrent of weeping, and she took her hands from her +face and wrung them together. "I love him!" she said, "I love him! If +he had stayed! No—no, I am mad! I am cursed—cursed by the Black +Cross. There is blood on my hands!" +</P> + +<P> +She held them out before her, and they trembled and shook. "Blood!" +she cried, "I see it—red—dripping! It fell from his wound on my hand +and nothing will wash it away! Nothing!" Her voice died away to a +whisper and she knelt, staring at her hands with eyes wild and dilated: +</P> + +<P> +"Not even his love," she said, "not even his love could wash it away. +It would spread—he too would be cursed. He—too!" Then she flung +herself on the floor and buried her head against the side of the couch, +clinging to it, with her body convulsed: +</P> + +<P> +"Come back, Velasco!" she stammered, "I am weak—come back! Put your +arms around me—kiss me again! Don't be angry. Don't look at me like +that! Velasco—I won't leave you! I—I love you! Come back!" +</P> + +<P> +She lay still, shuddering. +</P> + +<P> +Outside, in the street, came the clatter of wheels passing and the +cries of a street vendor; far off came the whistle of a locomotive. +Kaya dragged herself to her feet slowly, stumbling a little. She +passed her hands over her eyes once or twice, as if blinded; then +feebly, like one who has just recovered from a long illness, she +tottered towards the door and opened it. +</P> + +<P> +Her head was bare and her curls covered it in a tangle of gold; her +jacket and trousers were old and faded, patched at the elbows, torn at +the knees. The tears had dried on her cheeks. She gazed ahead +steadily without looking back; and the blue of her eyes was like the +blue of the sky at night-fall, darkened and shadowy. +</P> + +<P> +At the bend of the stairway she stumbled, half falling; then she +steadied herself, clinging to the balustrade with her hands—and went +on. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +It was day-light, and the cocks were all crowing when Velasco returned. +When he opened the door the candle burned low in its socket, and the +sun-rays came filtering in through the windows. The room was deserted. +He was muddy and footsore; his face looked haggard and old, and it was +lined with deep furrows. His dark eyes were listless and weary, and +his cheeks colourless. +</P> + +<P> +"Kaya," he said, "are you here? Kaya!" +</P> + +<P> +He looked on the couch, but it was empty; behind the curtains, but +there was nothing; out of the windows, but there was only the street +below. His eyes had a dazed look. +</P> + +<P> +"Kaya!" he cried. +</P> + +<P> +On the floor lay a boy's cap, torn, rakish, faded with the sun and the +snow of their wanderings—a little, green cap. Velasco stared at it +for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +Then suddenly he snatched it to his lips with a sob, and buried his +head in his arms. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE BLACK CROSS +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +PART II +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV +</H3> + +<P> +Ehrestadt lies in a plain. +</P> + +<P> +The walls of the old city have been leveled into broad promenades, +shaded with nut-trees, encircling the town as with a girdle of green. +Beyond, a new city has sprung up, spreading like a mushroom; but within +the girdle the streets are narrow and crooked, and the houses gabled; +leaning to one another as if seeking support for their ancient +foundations, with only a line of sky in between. +</P> + +<P> +At the corner of the promenade, just where the old city and the new +city meet, is a tumble-down mill. It is called the Nonnen-Mühle, and +it has been there ever since Ehrestadt first came into existence, as is +evident from the bulging of the walls, and the wood of the casements, +rotten and worm-eaten. The river winds underneath it, and the great +spoked wheel turns slowly, tossing the water into a cloud of yellow +foam, flinging the spray afar into the dark, flowing stream, catching +it again; playing with it, half sportive, half fierce, like some +monster alive. +</P> + +<P> +As the wheel turns, the sound of its teeth grinding is steady and +rhythmical, like a theme in the bass; and the river splashes the +accompaniment, gurgling and sighing in a minor key, as if in complaint. +</P> + +<P> +It was Johannestag.[1] +</P> + +<P> +The citizens of Ehrestadt were walking on the promenade, dressed in +their best; the men strutting, the women hanging on their arms, the +children toddling behind. In the square a band was playing; the nut +trees were in full leaf, and the air was warm and sweet with the scent +of the rose buds. The wheel of the mill had stopped. +</P> + +<P> +Just under the peak of the roof was a small window gabled, with a broad +sill, and casements that opened outwards, overlooking the promenade. +The sill was scarlet with geraniums, and the window itself was grown +partly over and half smothered in a veiling of ivy. Behind the window +was a garret, small like a cell; the roof sloping to the eaves. +</P> + +<P> +There was nothing in the garret excepting a pallet-bed in the corner, +under the eaves, and in the opposite corner a box on which stood a +pitcher and basin; the basin was cracked; the pitcher was without a +handle. On the wall hung a few articles of clothing on pegs; and the +slope of the roof was grey and misty with cob-webs. Otherwise the +garret was bare. +</P> + +<P> +Sitting by the window with her elbows on the sill, framed by the ivy +and the geraniums, was a girl. Her head was propped in her hands, and +her hair glittered gold in the warm sun-light against the green and the +scarlet. She was gazing eagerly over the throngs on the promenade, and +her blue eyes were alert as if searching for some one. +</P> + +<P> +She was young and slim, and her gown was shabby, turned back at the +throat as if she suffered from the heat; and her hair was cropped, +lying in little tendrils of gold on her neck, curling thickly about her +ears and her brow. Her cheeks were quite pale, and there was a pinched +look about the lips, dark shadows under the eyes. She gazed steadily. +</P> + +<P> +"If I could only see him," she murmured to herself, half aloud, "just +once—if I could see him!" Her lip trembled a little and she caught it +between her teeth: "It is seventeen weeks—a hundred and nineteen +days—since we parted," she said, "At daybreak on Thursday it will be a +third of a year—a third of a year!" +</P> + +<P> +She moved her head uneasily on her hands, and hid her eyes for a moment +against the leaves of the ivy, as if blinded by the sun-beams; "Sooner +or later he was sure to come here," she murmured, "All musicians come +here; but when I saw his face on the bill-board to-day—and his +name—!" She crouched closer against the sill, and the leaves of the +ivy fluttered from the hurried breath that came through her lips, +shaking them as with a storm. +</P> + +<P> +"If he were there on the promenade," she said, "and I saw him walking, +with his violin, his head thrown back and his eyes dreaming—Ah!" She +drew in her breath quickly and a little twist came in her throat, like +a screw turned. She half closed her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah—Velasco! My arms would go out to you in spite of my will; my lips +would cry to you! I would clinch my teeth—I would pinion my arms to +my side. I would hide here behind the casement and gaze at you between +the leaves of the geraniums—and you would never know! You would +never—know!" +</P> + +<P> +She put both hands to her bare throat as if to tear something away that +was suffocating, compelling; then she laughed: "He is an artist," she +said, "a great musician, fêted, adored; he is rich and happy. He will +forget. Perhaps he has forgotten already. It would be better if he +had forgotten—already." She laughed again strangely, glancing about +the garret with its low eaves, and the cob-webs hanging; at the pallet, +and the cracked basin, and the pitcher with its handle missing. +</P> + +<P> +The doves came flying about the mill, twittering and chirping as if +seeking for food on the sill; clinging to the ivy with their tiny, pink +claws, looking at her expectantly out of their bright, roving eyes, +pruning their feathers. The girl shook her head: +</P> + +<P> +"I have nothing for you," she said, "No—not a crumb. The last went +yesterday. Poor birds! It is terrible to be hungry, to have your head +swim, and your limbs tremble, and the world grow blind and dim before +your eyes. Is it so with you, dear doves?" +</P> + +<P> +She rose slowly and a little unsteadily, crossing the garret to the +pegs where the clothes hung. +</P> + +<P> +"There may be a few Pfennigs left," she said, "without touching that. +No—no, there is nothing!" +</P> + +<P> +She felt in the pockets of the cloak, pressing deep into the corners +with the tips of her fingers, searching. "No," she repeated +helplessly, "there is—nothing; still I can't touch the other—not +to-day! I will go out and try again." +</P> + +<P> +She took down the cloak from the peg and wrapped it about her, in spite +of the heat, covering her throat. There was a hat also on the peg; she +put it on, hiding her yellow curls, and drew the veil over her face. +</P> + +<P> +"If I could only get a hearing!" she said to herself, "There must be +someone in Ehrestadt, who would listen to my voice and give me an +opening. I will try once more, and then—" +</P> + +<P> +She buttoned the cloak with her fingers trembling, and went out. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Is the Herr Kapellmeister in?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Madame." +</P> + +<P> +The rosy cheeked maid hesitated a little, and her eyes wandered +doubtfully from the veil to the cloak and the shabby skirt. +</P> + +<P> +"Kapellmeister Felix Ritter, I mean." +</P> + +<P> +"He is in, Madame, but he is engaged." +</P> + +<P> +"May I come in and wait?" +</P> + +<P> +The maid hesitated again: "What name shall I say, Madame?" +</P> + +<P> +"My name," said Kaya, "is Mademoiselle de—de Poussin." +</P> + +<P> +The German words came stumbling from her lips. She crossed the +threshold and entered a large salon, divided by curtains from a room +beyond. There was a grand piano in the corner of the salon, and about +the walls were shelves piled high with music; propped against the piano +stood a cello. +</P> + +<P> +Kaya looked at the instrument; then she sank down on the divan close to +the piano, and put out her fingers, touching it caressingly. From the +next room, beyond the curtain, came the sound of cups rattling, and a +sweet, rich aroma as of coffee, mingling with the fragrance of cigars +freshly lighted. +</P> + +<P> +The girl threw back her veil, scenting it as a doe the breeze when it +is thirsty and cannot drink. She smiled a little, still caressing the +keys with her fingers. "It is strange to be hungry," she said, "The +Countess Mezkarpin was never hungry!" Then suddenly she started and +turned white to the lips, swaying forward with her eyes dilated. +</P> + +<P> +From behind the curtain came voices talking together; one was harsh and +rather loud, and the other— Kaya's eyes were fixed on the curtain; +she rose slowly from the divan and crept forward on tip-toe, a step at +a time. The other!—She listened. No, it was the harsh voice talking +rapidly, loudly in German, and what he was saying she could not +understand; then came the clatter of cups again, and silence, and a +fresh whiff of cigar smoke floating, wafted through the curtain. +</P> + +<P> +She crept closer, still listening, her hands clasped together, the +cloak flung back from her shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"The other—there!" +</P> + +<P> +She put out her hand and touched the curtain, pulling it aside +slightly, timidly, and pressing her face, her eyes to the opening. She +was faint for a moment and could see nothing; there was a mist before +her eyes and the smoke filled the room; then gradually, out of the +mist, she saw a grey-haired man with his back to the curtain, and he +was bending forward with a coffee cup to his lips. Beside him, facing +her, leaning far back in his chair, with his cigar poised and his eyes +half closed, his dark head pressing restlessly against the cushion was— +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, my God!" she breathed, "My God, it is Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +For a moment she thought she had screamed; and she covered her eyes +waiting, sick, frightened, her heart throbbing. Then she forgot where +she was and thought only of him, and a strange little thrill went over +her; she shivered slightly, and it seemed to her as if already she was +in his arms; and when she heard his voice, it was calling to her, +crying her name. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—yes, it is Kaya!—I am here!" she was saying, "Come to +me—Velasco! Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +Already she was stumbling into his arms; she was clinging to him—and +then she awoke. Her brain cleared suddenly and she knew that she had +not moved; no sound had come from her lips. She was standing like a +statue, dumb, with her hands clasped, gazing; and Velasco lay back in +his chair with his eyes half closed, blowing a wreath from his cigar, +watching it idly as it floated away, listening as the harsh voice of +his host talked on—not five feet away! If she stretched out her hand, +if she sighed—or moved the curtain—Ah! +</P> + +<P> +She struggled with herself. She was faint; she was weak with hunger; +she was alone and desolate—and he loved her. She fought madly, +desperately. It was as if two creatures were within her fighting for +life; and they both loved him. +</P> + +<P> +When the one grew stronger, her eyes brightened and her pulses +quickened; it was as if she would leap through the curtain, and her +heart was sick for the touch of his hand. Then she beat down the +longing and stifled it, and the other self came to the front and +gripped her scornfully, pointing to her hands with the blood on them, +her soul with its curse. Was her life to mingle with his and ruin it, +and bring it to shame? +</P> + +<P> +"Never," she breathed, "Never! So long as I live!" And the self of +her that loved him the most crushed the other self and smothered +it—strangled it. +</P> + +<P> +She gazed at him through the curtain, and it seemed to her that +something within her was gasping and dying. And suddenly she turned +and ran from the curtain, clasping her cloak to her bosom and running, +stumbling, out of the room, the house, the street. +</P> + +<P> +The promenades were gay with people and crowded. The men strutting +along in their Sunday clothes, the women hanging on their arms, the +children toddling behind. The band was playing on the square. It was +warm and the sun was shining; the air was sweet with the scent of the +rose buds. +</P> + +<P> +Kaya fled past them all like a wraith. They turned and stared after +her, but she was gone. She climbed the stairs of the mill to the roof, +and opened the door, and shut it again, and fell on her knees before +the box. The pitcher was there without a handle, and the basin +cracked. She lifted them away and opened the box. +</P> + +<P> +In it lay a velveteen jacket folded, a scarf, scarlet and spotted. +Inside the scarf lay a mass of coins, copecks, ten, twenty—hundreds of +them, and roubles round and heavy. She fingered them tenderly, one +after the other, then thrust them aside. +</P> + +<P> +"To-morrow—" she said, "I have come to that—to live on a gypsey's +wages! I can sing no longer; I can only dance and pass the cap—and +give the copecks for bread—for bread! I thought some day when I was +old,—when we were both old, I would show them to—Velasco, and he +would remember and laugh: 'Ah, that was long ago,' he would say, 'when +I was a boy, and you were a boy, and we tramped together through the +cold and the snow—and I loved you, and you—loved me! Ah—it was +sweet, Kaya! I have lived a long life since then, with plenty of fame, +and success, and happiness—and the years have been full; but nothing +quite so sweet as that! Nothing—quite so sweet—as that!'" +</P> + +<P> +She was sobbing now and staring into the box: "To-morrow," she said, "I +will buy some bread and feed the doves—and soon it will be gone!" She +began to count the coins rapidly, dropping them through her fingers +into the scarf; and as she counted she smiled through her tears. +</P> + +<P> +"We earned it together—he and I!" she said, "He played and I danced. +He would like me to live on it as long as I can, and then—after +that—he will not—blame me!" +</P> + +<P> +Her body swayed slightly and she fell forward against the box. The sun +shone on the geraniums; and on the sill, the doves pecked at the +worm-eaten casement, clinging to the ivy with their tiny claws, gazing +about with their bright, roving eyes and cooing. +</P> + +<P> +Below, the water splashed against the wheel; but it was silent. +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="footnote"> +[1] St. John's day. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV. +</H3> + +<P> +The stage of the Opera House was crowded with the chorus. It was ten +o'clock in the morning, but the day was rainy and the light that came +from the windows at the back of the proscenium was feeble and dim, and +the House itself was quite dark. The seats stretched out bare and +ghostly, row after row; and beyond a dark cavern seemed yawning, +mysterious and empty, the sound of the voices echoing and resounding +through spaces of silence. +</P> + +<P> +In the centre of the stage stood the Conductor, mounted on a small +platform with his desk before him; and around him were the chorus, +huddled and watchful as sheep about a shepherd. He was tapping the +desk with his baton and calling out to them, and the voices had ceased. +</P> + +<P> +"Meine Herren—meine Damen!" he cried, "How you sing! It is like the +squealing of guinea-pigs—and the tenors are false! Mein Gott! Stick +to the notes, gentlemen, and sing in the middle of the tone. There +now, once more. Begin on the D." +</P> + +<P> +Kapellmeister Ritter glanced over his chorus with a fierce, compelling +motion of his baton. He was like a general, compact and trim of figure +with a short, pointed beard, and hair also short that was swiftly +turning to grey. The only thing that suggested the musician was the +heaviness and swelling of his brows, and the delicacy of his hands and +wrists, which were white, like a woman's, of an extraordinary +suppleness and full of power; hands that were watched instinctively and +obeyed. The eyes of the entire chorus were fixed on them now, gazing +as if hypnotized, and hanging on every movement of his beat. +</P> + +<P> +"Na—na!" he cried, "Was that F, I ask you? You bellow like bulls! +Again—again, I tell you! On the D and approach the note softly. +</P> + +<P> +"Hist-st!—Pianissimo!" +</P> + +<P> +He stamped his foot in vexation and the baton struck the desk sharply: +"Again—the sopranos alone! Hist! Piano—piano I say! Potztausend!" +</P> + +<P> +The chorus glanced at one another sheepishly and a flush crept over the +faces of the sopranos. The Kapellmeister was in a bad mood to-day; +nothing suited him, and he beat the desk as if he would have liked to +strike them all and fling the baton at their heads. +</P> + +<P> +"Sheep!" he said, "Oxen—cows! You have no temperament, no +feeling—nothing—nothing! Where are your souls? Haven't you any +souls? Don't you hear what I say? Piano! P-i-a-n-o! When I say +piano, do I mean forte?" +</P> + +<P> +He shrugged his shoulders, and his eyes flashed scornfully over the +stage and the singers. "Now ladies, attention if you please! Look at +me—keep your eyes on my baton! Now—piano!" +</P> + +<P> +The voices of the sopranos rose softly. +</P> + +<P> +"Crescendo!" They increased. +</P> + +<P> +"Donnerwetter! May the devil take you! Crescendo, I say! Crescendo! +Do you need all day to make crescendo?" He shrieked at them; and then, +in a tempest of rage, he flung the baton down and leaped from the +platform. +</P> + +<P> +"Enough!" he said, "My teeth are on edge; my ears burn! Sit down.—Is +Fraulein Neumann here?" +</P> + +<P> +A stout woman in a red blouse stepped timidly forward. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you are, are you? Well, Madame, you haven't distinguished +yourself so far; perhaps you will do better alone. Have you the score?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Herr Kapellmeister." +</P> + +<P> +"Begin then." +</P> + +<P> +The soprano took a long breath and her cheeks grew red like her blouse. +She watched the eyes of the leader, and there was a light in them that +she mistrusted, a reddish glimmer that boded evil to any who crossed +him. +</P> + +<P> +She began tremulously. +</P> + +<P> +"Stop." +</P> + +<P> +She started again. +</P> + +<P> +"Your voice quavers like a jews'-harp. What's the matter with you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know, Herr Kapellmeister, it was all right when I tried it +this morning." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it's all wrong now." +</P> + +<P> +The soprano bit her lips: "I am doing my best, Herr Kapellmeister," she +said, "It is very difficult to take that high A without the orchestra." +Her tone was slightly defiant, but she dropped her eyes when he stared +at her. +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" he said, "Very difficult! You expect the orchestra to cover +your shake I suppose. Go home and study it, Madame. Siegfried would +listen in vain for a bird if you were in the flies. He would never +recognize that—pah!" He waved his hand: +</P> + +<P> +"Where is the Fraulein who wanted her voice tried?" he said curtly, "If +she is present she may come forward." He took out his watch and +glanced at it. "The chorus may wait," he said, "Look at your scores +meanwhile, meine Herren, meine Damen—and notice the marks! +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Madame." +</P> + +<P> +A slim figure with a cloak about her shoulders, bareheaded, approached +from the wings; her curls, cut short like a boy's, sparkled and +gleamed. The Kapellmeister surveyed her coldly as she drew nearer, and +then he turned and seated himself at the piano. +</P> + +<P> +"Your voice," he said shortly, "Hm—what?" +</P> + +<P> +"Soprano, Monsieur." +</P> + +<P> +"We have enough sopranos—too many now! We don't know what to do with +them all." +</P> + +<P> +The girl shivered a little under the cloak. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" she faltered, "Then you won't hear me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I never said I wouldn't hear you, Madame; I simply warned you. If you +were alto now—but for a soprano there is one chance in a thousand, +unless—" He struck a chord on the piano. +</P> + +<P> +The chorus sat very still. The trying of a new voice was always a +diversion; it was more amusing to watch the grilling of a victim than +to be scorched themselves; and the Kapellmeister in that mood—oh Je! +They smiled warily at one another behind their scores, and stared at +the slight, girlish figure beside the pianoforte. +</P> + +<P> +She was stooping a little as if near-sighted, looking over the shoulder +of the Conductor at the music on the piano rack. +</P> + +<P> +"Can you read at sight, Madame?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Kaya. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you ever seen this before?" +</P> + +<P> +"I studied it—once." +</P> + +<P> +"This?" +</P> + +<P> +"I studied that too." +</P> + +<P> +"So," he said, "Then you either have a voice, or you haven't, one or +the other. Where did you study?" +</P> + +<P> +The girl hesitated a moment; then she bent lower and whispered to him: +"St. Petersburg, Monsieur, with Helmanoff." +</P> + +<P> +"The great Helmanoff?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Monsieur." +</P> + +<P> +"You are not French then, you are Russian? They told me Mademoiselle +Pou—Pou—" +</P> + +<P> +"That is not my real name." +</P> + +<P> +"No?" +</P> + +<P> +Kaya quivered a moment: "I am—Russian," she said, "I am an exile. +Don't ask, Monsieur—not here! I am—I am afraid." +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister went on improvising arpeggios on the piano as if he +had not heard. He seemed to be pondering. "That name—" he said, +"Pou—Poussin! Someone called on me the other day of that name. I +remember it, because when I came in she was gone. Was it you?" +</P> + +<P> +The girl stood silent. +</P> + +<P> +He turned suddenly and looked at her: "You are young," he said, "and +too slim to have a voice. Na—child! You are trembling as if you had +a chill, and the House is like an oven. Come—don't be frightened. +The chorus are owls; they can stare and screech, but they know nothing. +Sit down here by me and sing what you choose. Let your voice out." +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I sing a Russian song, Monsieur?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very well." +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister leaned back in his chair with his arms folded. He +gave one fierce glance at the chorus over his shoulder. "Hush!" he +cried, "No noise if you please. Attend to your scores, or go out. +Now, Fraulein—sing." +</P> + +<P> +Kaya pushed the chair to one side and moved closer to the piano, +leaning on it and gazing out into the darkened House, at the rows of +seats, ghostly and empty, and the black cave beyond. A Volkslied came +to her mind, one she had heard as a child and been rocked to, a peasant +song, simple and touching. Her lips parted slightly. +</P> + +<P> +For a moment there was silence; then the tones came like a breath, soft +and pianissimo, clear as the trill of a bird in the forest wooing its +mate. It rose and fell, swelling out, filling the spaces, echoing +through the vault. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"On the mountain-top were two little doves;<BR> +Their wings were soft, they shimmered and shone.<BR> +Dear little doves, pray a prayer—a prayer<BR> +For the son of Fedotjen, Michäel—Michäel,<BR> +For he is alone—alone."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +With the last word, repeated, half whispered, the voice died away +again; and she stood there, still leaning against the piano and +clasping her hands, looking at the Kapellmeister with her blue eyes +dark and pleading, like two wells. "Will it do?" she said with her +voice faltering, "Will you take me, Herr Director—in the chorus?" +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister shrugged his shoulders: "You have no voice for a +chorus," he said roughly, "Try this." +</P> + +<P> +"I know," said Kaya, "My voice is not as it was. Helmanoff—" she +laughed unsteadily, "He would be so angry if he heard me, and tell me +to study, just as you told the Mademoiselle who went out; but I will do +better, Monsieur, believe me. I will work so hard, and my voice will +come back in time after—" She gazed at him and a mist came over her +eyes. "Do take me," she said, "I beg you to take me—I beg you." +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister passed his hand over his face: "Tschut, child!" he +said, "What are you talking about? Be quiet now and sing this as I +tell you. You have heard it before?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I have heard it." +</P> + +<P> +"And sung it perhaps with Helmanoff?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—Monsieur." +</P> + +<P> +He handed her the score, running his fingers over the bird motive of +'Siegfried,' giving her the key. Then he leaned back again and folded +his arms. +</P> + +<P> +Kaya gave her head a little backward movement as if to free her throat, +and threw off the cloak, standing straight. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-274"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-274.jpg" ALT="Fragment of "Siegfried"" BORDER="0" WIDTH="338" HEIGHT="113"> +<H3 CLASS="h3center" STYLE="width: 338px"> +Fragment of "Siegfried" +</H3> +</CENTER> + +<P> +The tones came out like the sound of a flute, high and pure; they rose +in her throat, swelling it out as she sang, pouring through the arch of +her lips without effort or strain. +</P> + +<P> +"Bravo!" cried the Director, "Um Himmel's Willen, child, you have a +voice like a lark rising in the meadows, and you sing—Bravo! Bravo!" +</P> + +<P> +He put out his hands and took the girl's trembling ones into his own. +</P> + +<P> +"You will take me?" she said, "You see, when I am not so nervous it +will go better." +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister laughed and took a card out of his pocket: "Write +your name here," he said, "Your real one. I won't tell—and your +address." +</P> + +<P> +Kaya drew back suddenly: "I live in the mill," she said, "You know, the +Nonnen-Mühle by the promenade? You won't let any one know, will you, +Monsieur, because—" +</P> + +<P> +"Are you afraid of spies, child? Tut, the chorus can't hear. I won't +tell a soul." +</P> + +<P> +"No one?" +</P> + +<P> +"On my honour—no one. Now, your name?" +</P> + +<P> +She looked away from him a moment; then she took the pencil and wrote +on the card in small, running letters: "Marya Pulitsin." +</P> + +<P> +"So that's your real name, is it?" +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes were clear and blue like a child's. "No," she said, "—no." +And she glanced back over her shoulder with her finger to her lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind," said the Kapellmeister. "You are white, child, what are +you afraid of? There are no spies here! Give me the card. That is a +strange place to live in—the Nonnen-Mühle! I didn't know anyone lived +there, excepting the old man who takes charge of the mill. Well, in a +day or so—perhaps towards the end of the week you will hear from me." +He waved to the chorus. +</P> + +<P> +"Stand up, meine Herren, meine Damen!" he said, "Get your scores ready. +Good-bye now, Fraulein.—Donnerwetter! What ails you?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you want to try my voice again," said Kaya timidly, "Would you +mind, sir, trying it to-day?—This afternoon, or even this evening?" +</P> + +<P> +"Now by all that is holy, why, pray? I have the solos to-night, and +this afternoon a rehearsal for 'Siegfried.'" The Kapellmeister +frowned: "Do you think I have nothing on earth to do, child, but run +after voices?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" cried Kaya, "I didn't mean that! I beg your pardon. It doesn't +matter—I do beg your pardon, Herr Director." She flushed suddenly, +and started away from him, as if to put the piano between them and flee +towards the door. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her narrowly, and the harsh lines came back to his face. +"A pest on these singers!" he muttered under his breath, "They are all +alike—they want coddling. She thinks perhaps she is a Patti and is +planning for her salary already. Potztausend! Bewahre!" He turned on +his heel curtly and mounted the platform, taking up the baton. +</P> + +<P> +"Now," he cried, "The D again—all together! Pia—no!" +</P> + +<P> +Kaya stole across the stage swiftly on tiptoe, threading her way +through the scenery that was standing in rows, one behind the other, in +readiness for the performance that night, and disappeared into the +wings. It was dusty there and deserted. An occasional stage-hand +hurried by in the distance bent on some errand, and from the back came +the sound of hammering. The chorus was singing forte now, and the +sound filled the uttermost corner, drowning the noise of the hammer. +Kaya stood still for a moment, clinching her hands: "My God," she +said, "I have tried the last and it has failed! The end of the week!" +she laughed to herself bitterly. "I know what that means. Helmanoff +used to get rid of new pupils that way: 'You will hear,' he would say; +but they never heard." +</P> + +<P> +She took a coin out of her dress and looked at it. "The gypsies' wages +are gone," she said, "Only this left to pay for my roof and my bed!" +She laughed again and glanced about her stealthily as if fearful of +being seen, or tracked. Then she began to breathe quickly: +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Without weakness</I>," she said, "<I>without hesitation, or mercy, by mine +own hands if needs be</I>. I have done it to another: I will do it +again—to myself. Atone, atone—wipe out the stain! A life for a +life! That is right." She swayed and caught one of the scenes for +support. "That is—just! God, how my throat burns, and my head, it is +dizzy—and my eyes have gone blind! Ah, it is passing—passing! Now I +can see. I can—walk!" +</P> + +<P> +She clung to the scenery for another second, and then pushed it away +and moved to the door, staggering a little like one who is drugged. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +It was evening. The rain had ceased, and the moon rose full and pale +with a halo about it. In the distance clouds were gathering, and the +waters under the mill were speckled with light. +</P> + +<P> +Kaya sat by the window, leaning on the sill with her arms and gazing +down at the wheel: "It is deep there," she said, "A moment of falling +through the air—a splash, and it will be over. I am not—afraid." +</P> + +<P> +She shuddered a little, and her eyes were fixed on the flashes of +silver as if fascinated. She could not tear them away. "How black it +is under the wheel!" she murmured, "If I fell on the spokes—" Then +she shuddered again. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps I shall not die," she said, "Perhaps I shall live and be +crippled, with my body broken. Oh, God—to live like that! I must—I +must aim for the pool beyond, where the water lies deep and the +moonlight freckles the—surface." +</P> + +<P> +Then she dropped her head on her arms and the words came again: "I have +tried my best, Velasco, but the heart is gone out of me. Don't be +angry and call me a coward. I tried—but I am weak now and I am +afraid. My voice is gone, and there is so little for a woman to do. I +tried everything, Velasco, but my strength—is—failing. If I could +walk, I would go to you and say good-bye; but I don't know where you +are. They say you have gone and I don't know where." +</P> + +<P> +She leaned a little further forward on the sill, still hiding her eyes. +"He won't know," she whispered under her breath, "He will never know. +Velasco! Velasco—good-bye." +</P> + +<P> +Her body lay across the sill now, and she opened her heavy lids and +gazed downwards, half eagerly, half fearfully. The water was dark and +the moon-light on the surface glittered. The wheel was below, huge and +gaunt like a spectre; silent, with its spokes dipping into the pool. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI +</H3> + +<P> +"Fräulein, Fräulein—open the door! There is a gentleman here who +would speak with you!—Fräulein!" +</P> + +<P> +The blows redoubled on the stout oak, growing louder and more +persistent. "Fräulein! It is very strange, Herr Kapellmeister. I saw +her go in with my own eyes, some two hours back, and she has not come +out, for I was below in the mill with my pipe and my beer, sitting in +the very doorway itself, and no flutter of petticoats passed me, or I +should have heard." +</P> + +<P> +The old miller rubbed his wizen cheeks and smoothed the wisps of hair +on his chin, nervously as a young man does his mustache. +</P> + +<P> +"Na—!" said the Kapellmeister. "It is late and she may be asleep. I +came after rehearsal and it must be nine, or past. Knock louder!" +</P> + +<P> +The miller struck the oak again with his fist, calling out; and then +they both listened. "There is no light through the key-hole," said the +miller, peeping, "only the moon-rays which lie on the floor, and when I +hark with my hand to my ear, I hear no sound but the water splashing." +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister paced the narrow corridor impatiently. +"Donnerwetter!" he exclaimed, "The matter is important, or I shouldn't +have come. I must have an answer to-night. Try the door, and if it is +unlocked, open it and shout. You have a voice like a saw; it would +raise the dead." +</P> + +<P> +The miller put his hand to the latch and it yielded: "Fräulein—!" The +garret was in shadow, and across the floor lay the moonbeams +glittering; the casement was open, and the geraniums were outlined dark +against the sky, their colour dimmed. +</P> + +<P> +"There is something in the window!" said the miller, peering; and the +door opened wider. "There is something black across the sill; it is +lying over the geraniums and crushing them, and it looks like a woman! +Jesus—Maria!" +</P> + +<P> +He took a step forward, staring: "It is the Fräulein, and she is—" +</P> + +<P> +"Get out of the way, you fool!" cried the Kapellmeister sharply, and he +pushed the man back and strode forward: "The child has fainted! She +lies here with her head on her arms, and her cheek is white as the moon +itself." +</P> + +<P> +He lifted her gently and put his arm under her shoulders, supporting +her: "Get some Kirsch at once," he cried to the miller, "Stop gaping, +man! She's not dead I tell you—her heart flutters and the pulse in +her wrist is throbbing!" He slipped his hand in his pocket, and tossed +the miller a gulden. "Now run," he said, "run as if the devil were +after you. The Rathskeller is only a square away! Brandy and +food—food, do you hear?" +</P> + +<P> +The old man caught the gulden greedily between his fingers, and +examined it for a moment, weighing it. "I will go," he mumbled, +"certainly I will go. Kirsch—you say, sir, and bread perhaps?" +</P> + +<P> +"Be off, you fool!" +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister watched the door grimly as it shut behind the miller, +and then he glanced about the garret. "Poor," he said, "Humph! A +place for a beggar!" His eyes roved from the pallet in the corner to +the pitcher and the basin, the clothes on the pegs, the cobwebs +hanging, the geraniums crushed on the sill. +</P> + +<P> +Then he lifted the girl's head and held it between his hands, looking +down at her face, supporting her in his arms. The lashes lay heavy on +her cheeks and the tendrils of hair, curly and golden, lay on her neck +and her forehead. Her throat was bare; it was white and full. The +Kapellmeister held her gently and a film came over his eyes as he gazed: +</P> + +<P> +"How young she is!" he murmured, "like some beautiful boy. Her chin is +firm—there is will power there. Her brows are intelligent; her whole +personality is one of feeling and temperament. It is a face in a +thousand. What is her name, her history? How has she suffered? Why +is she alone? There are lines of pain about the mouth—the eyes!" +</P> + +<P> +He raised her suddenly in his arms and started to his feet; and as he +did so, she opened her lids slowly and gazed at him. "Velasco—" she +murmured. +</P> + +<P> +Her voice was low and feeble, and the Kapellmeister bent his head +lower: "What is it, child?" he said, "I can't hear you. In a moment +you will have some brandy in your throat and that will rouse you. I +will carry you now to that pallet over yonder, a poor place, no doubt, +and hard as a board." +</P> + +<P> +He strode across the floor and laid the girl gently on the bed, +smoothing the pillow, and covering her lightly with the blanket. Kaya +opened her eyes again, and put out her hands as if seeking someone. +</P> + +<P> +"I was falling," she said, "Why did you bring me back?" +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister sat down by the edge of the bed and began to whistle +softly; he whistled a theme once, and then he repeated it a semi-tone +higher. "I suspected as much," he said, "Was it because you had no +money?" +</P> + +<P> +Kaya turned her face away. +</P> + +<P> +"Were you starving?—Tschut! You needn't answer. Your eyes show it. +I might have seen for myself this morning, if I had not been in a +temper with the chorus, and my mind absorbed in other matters. Be +still now, here is the miller—the dotard!" +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister went over to the door, and took from the old man a +small flask and a newspaper wrapping some rolls. "So," he said grimly, +"Now go, and keep the rest of the gulden for yourself. No thanks! +Pischt—be off! Go back to your doorway and finish your beer, do you +hear me? I will look after the Fräulein; she is conscious now, and I +have business with her." He motioned the old man back from the door +and closed it behind him; then he returned to the pallet. "I'm not +much of a nurse," he said, "You will have to put up with some +awkwardness, child; but there—raise your head a little, so—and lean +on my shoulder! Now drink!" +</P> + +<P> +Kaya swallowed a few drops of the brandy. "That is enough," she said +faintly. +</P> + +<P> +"No.—Drink!" +</P> + +<P> +He held the glass to her lips, and she obeyed him, for his hands were +strong and his eyes compelled her. Then he broke the roll, and dipped +it into the brandy, and fed her piece by piece. When she tried to +resist him, he said "Eat, child—eat! Do as I tell you—eat!" and held +it to her mouth until she yielded. +</P> + +<P> +She thought of Velasco and how he had fed her in the studio, and the +pulse in her wrist beat quicker. When she had finished the roll, he +put down the glass and the newspaper, and she felt his eyes searching +hers, keen and sharp, two daggers, as if they would pierce through her +secret. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't speak," he said curtly, "Listen to me and answer my questions: +Why were you discouraged? I told you this morning you would hear from +me; why didn't you wait?" +</P> + +<P> +The tears rose slowly into Kaya's eyes, and she hid her face in the +pillow. +</P> + +<P> +"You didn't believe me," said the Kapellmeister, "but you see I was +better than my word—I have come myself. Why do you suppose I have +come?" +</P> + +<P> +She lay silent. +</P> + +<P> +"If I hadn't come," he said grimly, "You would be lying in that pool +yonder, by now, broken to pieces against the wheel; and I should have +sought for my bird in vain." He saw how the pillow rose and fell with +her breath, and how she listened. +</P> + +<P> +"I wanted a bird for my Siegfried on Saturday," he went on, "Some one +to sit far aloft in the flies and sing, as you sang this morning, high +and pure, in the middle of the tone. Helmanoff has trained you well, +child, you take the notes as if nature herself had been your teacher. +Neumann is gone; she screeches like an owl! Elle a son congé!" He +continued to look at the pillow and the gold curls spread across it. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you come and be my bird, child? I suppose you can't act as yet; +but up in the flies you will be hidden, and only your prototype will +flutter across the stage on its wires. When I heard you this morning, +I said to myself: 'Ha—my bird at last! Siegfried's bird!'" +</P> + +<P> +He laughed softly, and bent over and stroked the curls: "I came +to-night because the Neumann went off in a huff. She made a scene at +rehearsal, or rather I did. I told her to go and darn stockings for a +living, and she seemed to resent it!" He paused for a moment. +"Saturday is only day after to-morrow—and we have no bird!" +</P> + +<P> +The girl lay motionless, and the Kapellmeister went on stroking her +curls. "If you sing, you will be paid, you know!" he said, "and then +you need not try to kill the poor bird for lack of a crumb. Why didn't +you tell me this morning, little one?" +</P> + +<P> +Kaya raised her head feebly and gazed at him: "My voice is gone!" she +said, "My voice is—gone!" +</P> + +<P> +"Bah!" said the Kapellmeister, "With a throat like that! It is only +beginning to come. The Lehmann's voice was as yours in her youth, +light at first and colorature; and it grew! Mein Gott, how it grew and +deepened, and swelled, and soared!—Get strong, child, and your voice +will ripen like fruit in the sun." +</P> + +<P> +He stooped over the pillow and looked into her eyes: "Come, child," he +said, "Will you be my bird? Promise me! You won't think of that +again—I can trust you? If I leave you now—" +</P> + +<P> +Kaya put out her hands and clung to him suddenly, clasping his arm with +her fingers. "I won't," she said, "I will live, and study, and do my +best—and some day you think I shall be a singer? Oh, tell me truly! +That is just what Helmanoff said, but when I asked them to hear me—I +went to so many, so many!—they were always engaged, or—" She caught +her breath a little, stumbling over the words: "You think so—truly?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think so truly," said the Kapellmeister, "You must come to see me at +the Opera-House to-morrow and rehearse your part, and I will teach you. +You shall have your honorarium to-night in advance; and you must eat +and grow strong." +</P> + +<P> +"I will," said Kaya. +</P> + +<P> +There was a new resolve in her tone, fresh hope, and she put her hand +to her throat instinctively, as if to imprison the voice inside and +keep it from escaping. +</P> + +<P> +"Has the miller gone?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Ritter, "He is gone and the door is closed; we are alone." +</P> + +<P> +"Then put your head lower," whispered the girl, "and I will tell you. +Perhaps, when you—know!" +</P> + +<P> +"Go on," said the Kapellmeister, "I am here, child, close to you, and +no one shall hurt you. Don't tremble." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you see my hands?" said the girl, "Look at them. They are stained +with blood—stained with— Ah, you draw away!" +</P> + +<P> +"Go on," said Ritter, "You drew away yourself, child. What do you +mean? What could you do with a hand like that, a rose leaf? Ha!" He +laughed and clasped it with his own to give her courage: "Go on." +</P> + +<P> +"You are not Russian," said the girl, "so you can't understand. When +one is not Russian—to be an anarchist, to kill—that is terrible, +unpardonable! But with us—My father is Mezkarpin," she whispered, +"You have heard of him—yes? The great General, the friend of the +Tsar! And I am the Countess Kaya, his—his daughter!" +</P> + +<P> +Her voice broke, and she was silent for a moment, leaning against the +pillow. Then she went on: +</P> + +<P> +"There is a society," she whispered, "in St. Petersburg. It is called +'The Black Cross'; and whosoever is a member of that order must obey +the will of the order; and when they pass judgment, the sentence must +be fulfilled. They are just and fair. When a man, an official, has +sinned only once, they pass him by; but when he has committed crime +after crime, they take up his case and deliberate together, and he is +judged and condemned. Sometimes it is the sentence of death, and +then—" she hesitated, "and then we draw lots. The lot fell to—me." +</P> + +<P> +She shut her eyes, and as the Kapellmeister watched her face, he saw +that it was convulsed in agony, and the boyish look was gone. +</P> + +<P> +"He was warned," she whispered, "three times he was warned, according +to rule, and I—I killed him." The lines deepened in her face, and she +half rose, leaning on her elbow, staring straight ahead of her as +though at a vision, her lips moving: +</P> + +<P> +"<I>In the name of the Black Cross I do now pledge myself an instrument +in the service of Justice and Retribution. On whomsoever the choice of +Fate shall fall, I vow the sentence of death shall be fulfilled, by +mine own hands if needs be, without weakness, or hesitation, or mercy; +and if by any untoward chance this hand should fall, I swear—I swear, +before the third night shall have passed, to die instead—to +die—instead.</I>" +</P> + +<P> +She struggled up on the bed, kneeling. +</P> + +<P> +"I killed him!" she cried in a whisper, "I killed him! I see him lying +on the floor there—on his face! There—there! Look! With his arms +outstretched—and the blood in a pool!" +</P> + +<P> +She was leaning forward over the edge of the bed, staring with her eyes +dilated, pointing into the shadows and shuddering: +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you see him—there?" +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister was white and his hands shook. He took her strongly +by the shoulders. "Lie down," he said, "You are dreaming. There is +nothing there. Look me in the eyes! I tell you there is nothing +there, and your hands are not stained. Lie down." +</P> + +<P> +Kaya gazed at him for a moment in bewilderment: "Where am I?" she said, +passing her hand over her eyes. "Who are you? I thought you were— +Why no, I must have been dreaming as you say." +</P> + +<P> +"The hunger has made you delirious," said the Kapellmeister: "Look me +in the eyes as I tell you, and I will smooth away those lines from your +forehead. Sleep now—sleep!" +</P> + +<P> +The girl sank reluctantly back on the pillows and the Kapellmeister sat +beside her, his gaze fixed on hers with a strained attention, +unblinking. He was passing his hand over her forehead slowly and +lightly, scarcely touching her: "Sleep—" he said, "Sleep." +</P> + +<P> +Her lids wavered and drooped slowly, and she sighed and stirred against +the pillows, turning on her side. +</P> + +<P> +"Sleep—" he said. +</P> + +<P> +The garret was still, and only the moonbeams danced on the floor. The +doves in the eaves slept with their heads tucked under their wings, and +the spiders were motionless in the midst of the webs; only the water +was splashing below. +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister watched the girl on the pallet. He sat leaning back +with his arms folded, his head in the shadow, and his face was grim. +"She will sleep now," he said to himself, "sleep until I wake her. She +is young and strong, and there is no harm done; but she has had some +fearful shock, and it has shaken her like a slender birch struck by a +storm. I will send my old Marta, and she will look after her—poor +little bird!" +</P> + +<P> +Kaya lay on her side with her face half turned to the pillow; her cheek +was flushed and her breath came gently through the arch of her lips. +Her curls were like a halo about her, and her right hand lay on the +blanket limp, small and white with the fingers relaxed. +</P> + +<P> +"I am getting to be an old man," said the Kapellmeister to himself, +"and my heart is seared; but if I had a daughter, and she looked like +that—I would throw over the Tsar and all his kingdom. The great +Juggernaut of Autocracy has gone over her, and her wings are bruised. +It is only her voice that can save her now." +</P> + +<P> +He rose to his feet slowly, and in the dim light of the moon his hair +was silvered, and he seemed weary and worn. He stood by the pallet, +looking down at the slim, still figure for a moment; and his hand stole +out and touched a strand of her hair. Then he covered her gently. +"Sleep," he said, "Sleep!" And he turned and went out, closing the +door. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVII +</H3> + +<P> +"Is it only a week that I have been ill, Marta? It seems like a month." +</P> + +<P> +"A week and a day, Fräulein; but you are better now, and to-morrow, the +Doctor says you shall go out on the promenade and smell of the rose +buds." +</P> + +<P> +Kaya was half lying, half seated on the pallet, with her hands clasped +behind her head; she was dressed in a blue gown, worn and shabby but +spotlessly neat, and her throat and her arms were bare. "But how soon +can I sing, Marta? Did he say when? Did you hear him?" +</P> + +<P> +The old nurse sat by the bed-side, knitting and counting her stitches +aloud to herself from time to time. +</P> + +<P> +"One—two—four—seven!" she mumbled, "Sing, Fräulein? Ah, who can +tell! You are weak yet." +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Kaya, "I am strong; see my arms. I can stand up quite well +and walk about the room with the help of your shoulder; you know I can, +Marta." +</P> + +<P> +The old woman gave her a glance over her spectacles: "Seven—ten!" she +repeated, "If it were your spirit, Fräulein, you would be Samson +himself; but your body—" She shook her head: "Na, when the master +comes, ask him yourself. It is he who has talked with the Doctor, not +I." +</P> + +<P> +"He is coming now," said Kaya. "I hear his step on the stairs, quick +and firm like his beat. Don't you hear it, Marta?—Now he has stopped +and is talking with the miller." She leaned back on the pillows and +her eyes watched the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Eh, Fräulein! Nein, I hear nothing! What an ear you have—keen as a +doe's when the wind is towards her! At home, in the forest, where the +deer run wild and they come in the dawn to the Schneide to +graze—whischt! The crackle of a leaf and they are off flying, with +their muzzles high and their eyes wild. Na! I hear nothing but the +wheel below grinding and squeaking, and the splash of the water." +</P> + +<P> +"He is coming up the stairs," cried Kaya, "Open the door for him, +Marta, and let the Kapellmeister in." +</P> + +<P> +The old woman rolled up her knitting slowly: "It was just at the turn +of the chain," she grumbled, "and I have lost a stitch in the counting. +The master can come in by himself." +</P> + +<P> +Kaya gave a gleeful laugh like a child, and slipped her feet to the +floor: "Oh, you cross Marta, you dear humbug!" she cried, "As if you +wouldn't let the master walk over you and never complain! Go on with +that wonderful muffler of his, and I will let him in myself. No, don't +touch me! Let me go alone and surprise him." +</P> + +<P> +She steadied herself with her hand to the bed-post, then caught at the +chair: "Don't touch me—Marta! I am quite strong—now, and able +to—walk!" +</P> + +<P> +A knock came on the door, and she made a little run forward and opened +it, clinging to the handle. +</P> + +<P> +"Du himmlische Güte!" exclaimed the Kapellmeister, "If the bird isn't +trying its wings! Behüte, child!" He put a strong arm about her, +looking down at her sternly and shaking his head: "Do you call this +obedience?" he said grimly, "I thought I told you not to leave that +couch alone—eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't scold me," said Kaya, "I feel so well to-day, and there is +something leaping in my throat. Herr Kapellmeister—it is begging to +come out; let me try to sing, won't you?" She clung to his arm and her +eyes plead with him: "Don't scold me. You have put 'Siegfried' off +twice now because you had no bird. Let me try to-day." +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister frowned. Her form was like a lily swaying against +the trunk of an oak. +</P> + +<P> +"Tschut—" he said, "Bewahre! Marta, go down and bring up her soup. +When your cheeks are red, child, and the shadows are gone from under +your eyes, then we will see." +</P> + +<P> +Kaya pushed away his arm gently, and there was a firmness about her +chin as of a purpose new-born. "You have paid for my lodging and my +food, Herr Kapellmeister," she said proudly, "You have sent me your own +servant, and she has been to me like a foster mother. You have cared +for me, and the Doctor and the medicines are all at your cost." She +steadied herself, still rejecting his hand, "And I—" she said, "I have +earned nothing; I have been like a beggar. If you will not let me +sing, Herr Kapellmeister, then—" +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her for a moment in a wounded way and his brow darkened: +"Well—?" he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you must take away your servant and the Doctor, and—and your +kindness," said Kaya bravely, "and let me starve again." +</P> + +<P> +"You are proud—eh? You remember that you are a Countess?" The +Kapellmeister laughed harshly. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not a Countess any more," said Kaya, "but I am proud. Will you +let me sing?" +</P> + +<P> +"When you are strong again and your voice has come back," he returned +dryly, "you can sing, and not before. As for paying your debts— +There is time enough for that. Now will you have the goodness to +return to the couch, Fräulein, or do you prefer to faint on the floor?" +</P> + +<P> +Kaya glanced at the stern face above her, and her lip quivered: "You +are angry," she said, "I have hurt you. I didn't mean to hurt you." +</P> + +<P> +"The Doctor will be in presently," continued Ritter coldly, "I daresay +he can restore you, if you faint, better than I. Perhaps you will obey +his orders as you reject mine." There was something brutal in the tone +of his voice that stung the girl like a lash. She turned and tottered +back to the couch, the Kapellmeister following, his arms half extended +as if to catch her if she fell; but she did not fall. He was still +frowning, and he seemed moody, distraught. "Shall I cover you?" he +said. +</P> + +<P> +Kaya put out her hand timidly and touched his: "You have been so kind +to me," she whispered, "Every day you have come, and when I was +delirious I heard your voice; and Marta told me afterwards how you sat +by the bed and quieted me, and put me to sleep.—Don't be angry." All +of a sudden she stooped and put her lips to his sleeve. +</P> + +<P> +He snatched his hand away roughly. "You have nothing to be grateful +for," he cried, "Pah! If a man picks up a bird with a broken wing and +nurses it to life again for the sake of its voice, is that cause for +gratitude? I do it for my own ends, child. Tschut!" He turned his +back on her and went over to the window. "If you want to know when you +can sing, ask the Doctor. If he says you may—" +</P> + +<P> +"You are still angry," said Kaya, "Don't be angry. If you don't want +me to sing, I will lie here as you tell me and—try to get stronger." +She moved her head restlessly on the pillow, "Yes—I will!" +</P> + +<P> +Ritter began to strum on the window-panes with his strong fingers: "The +Doctor is here," he said, "ask him. I don't want you breaking down and +spoiling the opera, that is all. The rest is nothing to me. Come in!" +There was a certain savageness in his tone, and he went on strumming +the motive on the panes. "Come in, Doctor." +</P> + +<P> +The door opened and a young man came forward. He was short of stature, +and slight, with spectacles, and he stooped as if from much bending +over folios. +</P> + +<P> +"My patient is up?" he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Walking about the room!" interrupted the Kapellmeister curtly. +</P> + +<P> +The Doctor sat down by the pallet and took the girl's wrist between his +fingers: "Why does it throb like this?" he said, "What is troubling +you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I want to sing," persisted Kaya defiantly, "If I sit in the flies with +cushions behind me, and only a small, small part—couldn't I do it, +Doctor?" +</P> + +<P> +The young man glanced at the Kapellmeister's rugged shoulders, and +shrugged his own: "Why should it hurt you?" he said, "You have a throat +like a tunnel, and a sounding board like the arch of a bridge. Your +voice should come tumbling through it like a stream, without effort. +Don't tire yourself and let the part be short; it may do you good." +</P> + +<P> +Kaya's eyes began to glisten and sparkle: "It is only the bird's part!" +she cried, "and I am hidden in the flies, so no one can see me. Ah—I +am happy! I am well, Doctor—you have made me well!" +</P> + +<P> +Presently the old woman brought in the soup and the Doctor rose: "Will +you come with me, Herr Kapellmeister?" he said, "We can smoke below in +the mill, while the Fräulein eats. I have still a few minutes." +</P> + +<P> +Then the Kapellmeister left the window, and the two men went out +together. +</P> + +<P> +"Marta!" cried the girl, "I can sing! Did you hear him say it? Give +me the soup quickly, while it is hot. I feel so strong—so well!" +</P> + +<P> +She began taking the soup with one hand, and rubbing her cheek with the +other: "Now, isn't it red, Marta? Look—tell me! Nurse, while you +knit, tell me—did you see how angry he was, and how he went out +without a word? It is he himself who asked me to sing, so why should +he be angry now?" +</P> + +<P> +The old woman clicked her knitting needles: "How do I know!" she said, +"He lives alone so much, and he is crusty and crabbed, they say. I +nursed him when he was a child, just as I nurse you now. He has a +temper—Jesus-Maria—the master! But his heart is of gold. His +wife—" she hesitated, "She was a singer, and she ran away and left +him. They say she ran away with the famous tenor, Brondi, who used to +sing Tristan. Since then the master has been soured-like!" +</P> + +<P> +"That is strange," said Kaya dreamily, "to run away from some one you +love, when you can be with him night and day and never leave him! +Sometimes there is a curse, and you are torn by your love, whether to +go or stay. But if you love him enough, you go—and that is the best +love—to save him from the curse and suffer yourself alone. Perhaps +there was a curse." +</P> + +<P> +"What are you saying?" cried the old woman, "When you were delirious, +it was always a curse you raved of, and stains on your hands. Mein +Gott! My blood ran cold just to hear you, and the Kapellmeister used +to come—" +</P> + +<P> +Kaya turned white: "He came?" she said, "and he heard me? What did I +say, Marta, tell me! Tell me quickly!" She caught the old woman's +hands and wrung them between her own. +</P> + +<P> +"Jesus-Maria! My knitting!—What you said, Fräulein? How do I +remember! Stuff and nonsense mostly! You were crazy with fever, and +your eyes used to shine so, it made me afraid. Then the Kapellmeister +would come and put you to sleep with his eyes.—Let go of my hands, +Fräulein, you are crushing the wool! Is it the fever come back?— Oh +Je!" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Kaya, "No. You don't remember, Marta, whether I said any +name—any particular name? I didn't—did I?" +</P> + +<P> +The nurse pondered for a moment, then she went on knitting: "I can't +remember," she said, "There was something you used to repeat, over and +over, a single word—it might have been a name. Won't you finish your +soup, Fräulein?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Kaya, "I am tired. Will you go down, Marta, and ask the +Kapellmeister if he will come for a moment? I have something to ask +him." +</P> + +<P> +The nurse rose: "They are smoking still," she said, "Yes, I smell +their cigars! If you have finished the soup, I will take the tray. +Jesus-Maria! You are flushed, Fräulein, and before you were so white! +You are sure it is not the fever come back?" +</P> + +<P> +"Feel my hands," said Kaya, "Is that fever?" Then she shut her eyes. +She heard clumsy footsteps descending the stairs, and then a pause; and +after a moment or two steps coming back, but they were firm and quick, +and her heart kept time to them. +</P> + +<P> +"What did I say in my ravings?" she cried to herself, "What did he +hear?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nun?" said the Kapellmeister. +</P> + +<P> +"I see now what hurt you," said Kaya, without raising her eyes, "You +thought I wanted to repay your kindness that can never be repaid; that +I was narrow and little, and was too proud to take from your hands what +you gave me. Forgive me." +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister crossed the room and sat down on the chair that the +nurse had left. He said nothing, and Kaya felt through her closed lids +that he was looking at her. "How shall I ask him?" she was saying to +herself, "How shall I put it into words when perhaps he understood +nothing after all?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you think your voice is there," said the Kapellmeister, "fresh, and +not too strained for the high notes, why you can try it now. If it +goes all right, I daresay we could announce 'Siegfried' for the end of +the week." +</P> + +<P> +"Will you give me the note?" said Kaya, "Is it F#, or G, I forget?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will hum you the preceding bars where Siegfried first hears the +bird." Ritter began softly, half speaking, half singing the words in +his deep voice, taking the tenor notes falsetto. "Now—on the F#. The +bird must be heard far away in the branches, and you must move your +head so—as it flutters from leaf to leaf." +</P> + +<P> +Kaya lifted herself from the pillows until she sat upright, supporting +herself with one hand. She began to sing, and then she stopped and +gave a cry. "It is there!" she said pitifully, "I feel it, but it +won't come!—I can't make it come! It is as if there were a gate in my +throat and it was barred!" +</P> + +<P> +Tears sprang to her eyes. She opened her lips farther, but the sound +that came was strange and muffled; and she listened to it as if it were +some changeling given to her by a mischievous demon in exchange for her +own. +</P> + +<P> +"That isn't my voice," she said, "You know as well as I—it never +sounded like that before! What is it? Tell me—" +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister laughed a little, mockingly: "I told you, child," he +said, "I warned you. Don't look like that! When you are stronger, it +will come with a burst, and be bigger and fresher than ever before. +Siegfried must wait for his bird, that is all." +</P> + +<P> +Kaya clasped her throat with both hands as if to tear away the +obstruction: "I will sing—I will!" she cried, "It is there—I feel it! +Why won't it come out?" She gave a little moan, and threw herself back +on the pillows. +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister stooped suddenly; a look half fierce, half pitying +came in his face. He bent over her until his eyes were close to hers, +and he forced her to look at him: +</P> + +<P> +"What is that word you say? When you were raving, you repeated it +again and again: 'Velasco—Velasco.' There is a violinist by that +name, a musician." +</P> + +<P> +"A—musician!" stammered Kaya. She was staring at him with eyes +wide-open and frightened. +</P> + +<P> +"His name is Velasco." +</P> + +<P> +"Ve—las—co?" +</P> + +<P> +The syllables came through her lips like a breath. "No—no!" she cried +suddenly, hoarsely, "I don't know him! I—I never saw him!" +</P> + +<P> +She struggled with the lie bravely, turning white to the lips and +gazing. "It was some one I knew in Russia; some one I—I loved." She +sat up suddenly and wrung her hands together: "You don't believe me?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said the Kapellmeister, "You can't lie with eyes like that." +</P> + +<P> +Kaya gazed at him desperately: "Don't tell him," she breathed, +"Ah—don't let him know—I implore you!" +</P> + +<P> +Ritter gave a sharp exclamation and caught the little figure in his +arms. "She has fainted!" he cried, "Potztausend, what a brute I was!" +He laid her back on the pillow and stood staring down at her, breathing +heavily and clenching his hands. +</P> + +<P> +"If I were Velasco!" he muttered, "Ah Gott—I am mad! Marta—Marta!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVIII +</H3> + +<P> +The day was very warm and sultry, and the visitors, who flocked to +Ehrestadt for the opera season, fanned themselves resignedly as they +sat in the shaded gardens, drinking beer and liqueurs, and gossiping +about the singers. The performance of 'Siegfried' was to be given that +night for the second time, and they discussed it together. +</P> + +<P> +"The tenor—ah, what a voice he had, and what acting, but +Brünnhilde—bah!" They shook their heads. "The Schultz was growing +old, and her voice was thin in the upper register; it struck against +the roof of her mouth when she forced it, and sounded like tin. In the +love-scene, when Brünnhilde wakes from her sleep—Tschut! What a pity +a singer should ever grow old; and a still greater pity—a Jammerschade +that she should go on singing!" +</P> + +<P> +"The Conductor was in despair, and so were the Directors; but the +contract was signed, it was too late. Ach bewahre, poor Ritter! He +was in such a pique," they said, "der Arme! The bird—that was poor +too, shrill and cheap! Die Neumann, who was she? Someone out of the +chorus perhaps. But the Mime was splendid." +</P> + +<P> +And then they went back to the great Siegfried again and praised +him—"Perron! He was worth the rest of the performance together, he +and the orchestra; but when he had sung it with the Lehmann last year, +ach—that was a different matter. He had gone through the part like a +Siegfried inspired, and she—ah divine! There was no Brünnhilde to +compare with her now. What a night it had been! Do you recall it?" +they said—"Do you remember it?" And then the opera-goers closed their +eyes ecstatically. +</P> + +<P> +"The season before was better, far better!—Tschut!" And then they +went on drinking their beer and liqueurs, and fanning themselves +resignedly. "If the heat did not break before night-fall there would +be a thunder-storm." The clouds were gathering far in the West, and +the insects were humming. The air was heavy with the scent of +blossoms; and the waitresses ran to and fro, dressed in Tyrolese +costume; the prettier they were the more they ran. +</P> + +<P> +"One beer!—Three liqueurs!" "Sogleich, meine Herren!" The garden was +shady, and the glasses clinked; the tongues wagged. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"You are not afraid; you are comfortable, child, swung up there in the +tree-tops?" +</P> + +<P> +Kaya's eyes shone like two stars down from the green. "My heart +beats," she said, "but it is only stage fright; it will pass. Is the +House full?" +</P> + +<P> +"Packed to the roof!" +</P> + +<P> +"I am only a bird," said Kaya softly, "They won't think of me. It is +Siegfried they have come to hear, and Brünnhilde. How glorious to be a +Brünnhilde!" +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister took out his watch: "I must go," he said, "Good-bye, +little one; remember what I told you, and let your voice come out +without effort; not too loud, or too soft! When your part is over, one +of the stage-hands will let you down again." +</P> + +<P> +Kaya nodded, swinging herself childishly. "It is sweet to be a bird," +she said, "I think I shall stay here always, and Siegfried will never +find me." +</P> + +<P> +"No—he shall never find you!" said the Kapellmeister suddenly and +sharply. Their eyes met for a moment. "Are you all right?" he +repeated, "You are pale." +</P> + +<P> +Kaya shrank back into the leaves that were painted, and they trembled +slightly as if a breeze had passed; and the great drop-curtain blew +out, bulging. +</P> + +<P> +"Keep the windows shut," called the voice of the stage manager, +"Quick—before the curtain goes up. A storm is coming, and the +draughts—oh Je!" He went hurrying past. +</P> + +<P> +Ritter glanced at his watch again mechanically; then he crossed the +stage to the left, and hurried down a small, winding stair-case to the +pit, where the orchestra waited. A sharp tap of the baton—a glance +over his men—then the second Act began. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Kaya sat very still under the leaves with the painted branches about +her. She was perched on a swing, high aloft in the flies; and when she +looked up, she saw nothing but ropes, and machinery, and darkness; and +when she looked down, there was Mime below her, crouched by a stone; +the sun was rising, the shadows were breaking, and Siegfried lay +stretched at the foot of the Linden. He had long, light hair and fur +about his shoulders, and he was big and splendid to look at in his +youth and his wrath. He was threatening Mime, and the dwarf was +muttering and cursing. Beyond was the pit with the orchestra, the +footlights, the House. +</P> + +<P> +Kaya listened, and her thoughts went back to St. Petersburg and the +class of Helmanoff. She was singing to him, and when she had finished, +he had taken her hands. "If you were not a Countess," he said, "you +could be a Lehmann in time, another Lehmann." Kaya leaned her curls +against the rope of the swing dreamily. "How long ago that seems," she +said to herself, "before—before I—" +</P> + +<P> +Then she thought of the weeks since her illness, and how her voice had +come back suddenly, over night as it were, only bigger and fuller; and +how she had worked and studied, day after day, rehearsing with Ritter. +</P> + +<P> +Her brow clouded a little as she remembered. He had been severe, the +Kapellmeister, caustic, even irritable. How hard he was to satisfy! +When she sang her best, he shrugged his shoulders; when she sang badly, +he was furious. Occasionally he was kind as to-day, but not +often.… Siegfried was alone now, carving his reed, trying to +mimic the song of the wood birds.… The Kapellmeister had said +nothing of Lehmann; perhaps she had lost her voice after all. Her +thoughts rambled on as she waited for her cue.… +</P> + +<P> +Siegfried's horn was to his lips and he was blowing it; a splendid +figure, eager, expectant.… Kaya stretched her throat like a bird: +"If it should be barred," she said to herself, "as it was before, and +the orchestra began with the theme, and I couldn't sing!" She trembled +a little. +</P> + +<P> +So the first scene passed; and the second. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The Dragon was on the stage now, and Siegfried was fighting him. The +hot breath poured from the great, red nostrils; the sword flashed. The +battle grew fiercer.… Kaya leaned over, stooping in the swing, +and gazing. "Siegfried has wounded him," she whispered,—"in a moment +the sword will have reached his heart.… Ah, now—it has struck +him—he is dying! As soon as he is dead! As soon as he is—dead." +</P> + +<P> +The orchestra was playing passionately, and she knew every note; the +bird motive came nearer and nearer. Already her prototype was being +prepared in the flies, and the wires made ready. She clung to the +rope, swinging.… Ah, how good the Kapellmeister had been to her; +how good! It was his very interest in her that had made him severe, +she knew that. She must sing her best, and not wound him by failure. +</P> + +<P> +The motive came nearer. +</P> + +<P> +Siegfried was standing just below her now. She took a deep breath and +her lips parted. He was peering up at her, searching through the +leaves, and the bird on its wire fluttered across the stage.… She +was singing. The notes, high and pure, poured out of her throat. The +bird fluttered past. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-326"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-326.jpg" ALT="Fragment of "Siegfried"" BORDER="0" WIDTH="338" HEIGHT="152"> +<H3 CLASS="h3center" STYLE="width: 338px"> +Fragment of "Siegfried" +</H3> +</CENTER> + +<P> +She swayed, with her head leaning back against the ropes, and sang—and +sang. Her throat was like a tunnel and her voice was like a stream +running through it, clear and glorious. Siegfried looked up and +started. The orchestra played on. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Has the Fräulein gone home?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Marta, yawning, "She is in one of the dressing-rooms. I +begged her to come, but she wouldn't." +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister laid his hand on her shoulder carelessly: "If you are +sleepy," he said, "go back to the mill; I will bring her myself +presently. The House is dark now, and the people are going." He gave +a curt nod, dismissing the old woman, and strode on through the wings. +</P> + +<P> +One person after another stopped him: "Ha, Kapellmeister, where did +that nightingale hail from?" +</P> + +<P> +"I snared it for you, Siegfried; were you satisfied?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ach, mein Gott! I thought I was back on the Riviera, and it was +moon-light.— Snare me another Brünnhilde, can't you?" The great +tenor laughed and put his finger to his lips: "Singing with the Lehmann +spoils one," he said, "Bah—! It was frightful to-night! She grows +always worse. Would the bird were a goddess instead." He waved his +hand: "Good-night!" +</P> + +<P> +"Good-night," said the Kapellmeister, hurrying on. +</P> + +<P> +"Ritter—hey! Stop a moment! What has come over the Neumann?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing, Jacobs—nothing! She is dead." +</P> + +<P> +Mime straightened his back that was stiff from much crouching: +"Ausgeworfen?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ja wohl." +</P> + +<P> +"Then who is the lark?" +</P> + +<P> +"An improvement you think—eh?" +</P> + +<P> +The singer laughed: "The way Perron jumped! Did you see him? With the +first note he gaped open-mouthed into the branches, and came within an +ace of dropping his sword. I chuckled aloud in the wings. Who is she, +Kapellmeister?" +</P> + +<P> +"Good-night—good-night!" cried Ritter, "excuse me, but I am late and +in a hurry. This opera conducting is frightfully wearing; I am limp as +a rag. Good-night!" he ran on. +</P> + +<P> +The doors of the dressing-rooms stood open, and he peered into them, +one after the other. In some the electric light was still on, and the +costumes were scattered about on the open trunks. The principals were +gone already, and most of the chorus; and the men of the orchestra went +hurrying by like shadows, with their instruments under their arms. In +the House itself, behind the asbestos curtain, which was lowering +slowly, came the sound of seats swinging back, and the voices of the +ushers as they rushed to and fro. +</P> + +<P> +"Kaya!" called the Kapellmeister softly, "Where are you?" He hurried +from room to room. +</P> + +<P> +The dressing-room of Madame Schultz was on the second floor, up a +short, winding stair-case, and the lights were turned low. Ritter +paused in the doorway. +</P> + +<P> +The prima-donna was standing before the pier-glass, still in costume; +her soft, white robes trailed over the floor, and her red-blonde hair +hung to her waist. The helmet glittered on her head, and she held her +spear aloft as if about to utter the Walküre cry. The figure was +superb, magnificent; a goddess at bay. And as the Kapellmeister stared +at her in astonishment, he saw that she was tense with emotion. +</P> + +<P> +"Madame," he stammered, "You! You—still here?" +</P> + +<P> +Her face was to the glass, her back to the door; she wheeled about +quickly and faced him: "Yes, I am here!" she cried, "Brünnhilde is +here! The House was cold to me to-night—they clapped Perron. It was +all Siegfried. They would have hissed me if they had dared." The +spear shook in her trembling hand. +</P> + +<P> +"When my voice broke in the top notes, you could hear them whispering +in the loggias; didn't you hear them? 'She is old,' they said, 'she +can't sing any more, or act! She has no business to be here. Get us +another Brünnhilde!' And the stage hands looked at me pityingly. I +saw! Do you think I am blind and deaf as well as old? Look at me as I +stand here! I am Brünnhilde!" +</P> + +<P> +The form of the singer was rigid, drawn to its height; the head thrown +back and the helmet glittering on her red-blonde hair. Her eyes were +proud and scornful. +</P> + +<P> +"Am I not—Brünnhilde?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—yes!" cried Ritter, drawing back in a dazed way: "You are +magnificent, Madame. If you had acted like that tonight, you would +have had the House at your feet." +</P> + +<P> +The singer took a step forward. "It is not I," she cried, "It is +Brünnhilde herself! Come, let her sing to you! The scene is still +there on the stage, the rocks and the fir-tree—and Brünnhilde's couch. +The fire motive seethes in my brain, and the flames are springing. +Come—and waken me!" +</P> + +<P> +She grasped his sleeve with her fingers, and drew him: "You are not the +Kapellmeister!" she cried, "You are Siegfried, and you must sing the +part in falsetto. Come!" +</P> + +<P> +Ritter gave a quick glance about. The stage hands were gone, and the +singers. The stage was in semi-darkness, half lighted, and the scene +was unchanged. He could see it from the top of the balustrade. There +was no one in the House behind, or in front, and the foot-lights were +out; only the porter watched below, half asleep and waiting. He was +alone with a mad woman; Brünnhilde gone crazy and frantic with grief +because she was old and her voice was gone. She was dragging at his +hand, and pulling him towards the stair-case. He followed her dumbly. +</P> + +<P> +"Come—come!" she panted, "You think the Schultz has gone mad! No—no! +It is only her youth come back, and her voice is leaping in her throat. +She must sing—must sing! There is the couch. See, I fling myself on +it! I am covered with the shield, and the spear lies beside me. You +have wakened me, Siegfried, with your kiss; and now I raise myself +slowly. I am dazed—I stare blindly about! Hark, how the fire is +leaping and crackling!" +</P> + +<P> +The singer was seated upright now on the couch, and Ritter was standing +helpless beside her. As she acted, the blood ran cold in his veins. +It was true what she had said. She was no longer the Schultz: she was +Brünnhilde herself, the goddess, and the kiss of Siegfried was on her +lips. +</P> + +<P> +She was singing now; she had sprung to her feet with the spear in her +hand, and the music poured from her throat. It was not the voice of +Schultz; it was richer and fuller, and the tones were deep and strong, +and pure and high; and it rang out and filled the empty stage like a +clarion trumpet, silver-toned. She held her hands high above her head, +waving the spear; coming nearer to him and nearer. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"O Siegfried, Herrliche Hort der Welt!<BR> +Leben der Erde, lachender Held!"<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Her red-blonde hair shone in the light and the helmet glittered: +"Siegfried! Siegfried!" +</P> + +<P> +It was the Lehmann come back! Ah, no—it was more than the Lehmann! +Ritter gazed and listened, and his heart gave a leap. It was +Brünnhilde herself, the goddess come to life; and the stage was no +longer there: it was night on the mountain-top; they were surrounded by +fires crackling and leaping; the flash of flames curling, and light and +smoke. The violins were playing. +</P> + +<P> +Instinctively his fingers clutched the air as if grasping the baton. +"Siegfried!" +</P> + +<P> +The cry came big and passionate as from the throat of a Walküre, +without limit or strain. The Kapellmeister staggered and covered his +eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Gott!" he cried, "Am I dreaming? Where am I? Madame—stop! Are you +the Schultz, or are you—? I thought you were mad, stark mad; but it +is I—I! When I looked at you now, you were Brünnhilde alive—your +voice is the voice of the goddess herself!" +</P> + +<P> +He sank down on the couch and covered his face with his hands. The +blood rushed to his ears and seethed there, and the music beat against +his brain. Then the faintness passed, and he looked up. +</P> + +<P> +Brünnhilde stood a little apart, still grasping the spear. The light +fell on her helmet, and it shone; her lips were arched as if the tones +were still in her throat, dying away. She was gazing at him and her +breast was panting. The light fell full on her face. +</P> + +<P> +"Ach—mein Gott!" he cried, "It is Kaya!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIX +</H3> + +<P> +"Yes, it is I," said Kaya. +</P> + +<P> +She put up both hands, lifting the helmet from her head, and the +red-blonde hair fell back from her short, gold curls. The spear +dropped with a clang to the stage and lay extended between them, +glittering. +</P> + +<P> +"My voice was there," she said softly, "in my throat, leaping and +bounding, and the gate was unbarred." She seemed half afraid, and drew +back in the shadow. +</P> + +<P> +Ritter still sat on the edge of the couch, where Brünnhilde had lain, +and where Siegfried had kissed her. His face had a dazed look, and he +passed his hand over his eyes several times, as if the dusk were too +dim for his sight. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you were the Schultz gone mad!" he murmured. "Gott! What +an actress you are!" +</P> + +<P> +A laugh came to him out of the darkness. +</P> + +<P> +"You are no bird," said Ritter, "You are a Walküre born. Take the +helmet again and the spear. As you stood in the shadow, gazing +downward, you were like a young warrior watching his shield." He +sprang to his feet and came toward her, placing the spear in her hand, +the helmet again on her head. +</P> + +<P> +"Sing," he said, "Let me hear it again. Your voice is a marvel! The +timbre is silver and the tones are of bronze. Let me look at your +throat! Gott—but the roof of your mouth is arched like a dome and the +passage is as the nave of a cathedral, wide and deep!" +</P> + +<P> +His hand grasped her shoulder, trembling: "Did Helmanoff know you had a +voice like that?" he cried, "Tell me, child, did he train you? The +part is most difficult to act and to sing. Tell me—or am I dreaming +still?" +</P> + +<P> +Kaya fingered the spear dreamily: "My voice is bigger and fuller," she +said; "it came so all of a sudden, but he taught me the part, and he +told me, some day, if I were not a Countess I could become the +Brünnhilde." Her form stiffened suddenly and she threw off his grasp, +springing forward and crouching: +</P> + +<P> +"You are Wotan and you are angry," she whispered, "The Brünnhilde is +your child and she has sinned. You have threatened her, and now she is +pleading: 'Wotan—Father!'" Her voice rose, and her form shook as +though with sobs. She crept closer, still crouching, and lay at his +feet, and her voice was like something crying and wrestling. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Hier bin ich Vater: Gebiete die Strafe…<BR> +Du verstösest mich? Versteh' ich den Sinn?<BR> +Nimmst du mir alles was einst du gabst?"<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Her voice sobbed, dying away into a tone pure, soft, heart-breaking, +like a breath; yet it penetrated and filled the stage, the wings, and +came echoing back. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Hier bin ich Vater; Gebiete die Strafe…<BR> +Du verstösest mich?"<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +For a moment she lay as if exhausted; then she covered her head with +her hands as if fearing and trembling: "Now curse me," she whispered, +"Curse me! I hear the flames now beginning to crackle!" +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister put out his hand and took hers, and lifted her: "If +the House were full," he said, "and you acted like that, they would go +stark mad; they would shower bouquets at your feet and carry you on +their shoulders. The Lehmann was the great Brünnhilde, but you are +greater, Kaya. Your voice has the gift of tears. When you let it out, +one is thrilled and shaken, and there is no end to the glory and power; +it encircles one as with a wreath of tones. But when you lower it +suddenly and breathe out the sound—child—little one, what have you +suffered to sing like that? You are young. What must you have +suffered!" +</P> + +<P> +He clasped her hands tenderly between his own, and stared down into her +eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't touch me," she said brokenly, "I told you—there is blood on +them! I am cursed like Brünnhilde. The curse is in my voice and you +hear it, and it is that that makes you tremble and shudder—just as I +tremble and shudder—at night—when I dream, and I see the body beside +me on the floor—and the red pool—widening. Helmanoff used to tell me +my voice was cold and pure like snow; there was no feeling, no warmth, +no abandon. You see—if I have learned it, it is not Helmanoff who has +taught me—but suffering." +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes were like two fires burning, and she put her hand to her +throat. "To have the gift of tears you must have shed them," she +whispered, looking at him strangely: "You must have—shed them." +</P> + +<P> +"Is it the curse alone," said the Kapellmeister, "that keeps you and +Velasco apart, little one? Forgive me! Don't start like that! +Don't—don't tremble." +</P> + +<P> +Kaya backed away from him, snatching away her hands. Her lips were +quivering and her eyes half closed. "Ah—" she breathed, "You are +cruel. Take the spear and strike me, but don't prod a wound that is +open and will not—heal! Have you no wound of your own hidden that you +must needs bare mine?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is love that has taught you," said the Kapellmeister, "You love +him—Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +She gave a low moan and flung her arms up, covering her face. +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister stared at her for a moment. The stage was dark, and +only a bulb of light, here and there, gleamed in the distance. Below, +the watchman was pacing the corridor, waiting, and the smell of his +pipe came up through the wings. The scenery looked grim and ghostly; +the couch of Brünnhilde lay bare. Above were ropes and machinery +dangling, and darkness. +</P> + +<P> +He clinched his teeth suddenly and a sound escaped him, half a cry, +half a groan; but smothered, as though seized and choked back. "Come," +he said. He went to her roughly and took the helmet from her head, and +the shield, and the spear; she standing there heedless with her arms +across her face. They fell to the floor with a crash, first one, then +the other, and the sound was like a blow, repeating itself in loud +echoes. +</P> + +<P> +"Go and take off your things," he said hurriedly, "It is +midnight—past, and the watchman is waiting to lock the stage door. +Rouse yourself—go! I will wait for you here." +</P> + +<P> +He heard the sound of her footsteps crossing the stage, ascending the +stair-case; and he walked backwards and forwards, forwards and +backwards, in and out among the rocks and the trees. His forehead was +scarred with lines, and his shoulders were bent. The look of the +victorious General about him had changed into the look of one who has +met the enemy face to face, and has fought with his strength and his +might, and been beaten, with his forces slain and a bullet in his +breast. +</P> + +<P> +His eyes were fierce and his face set, his feet stumbled; he was white +as death and weary. He heard her coming back and he walked on, +backwards and forwards, without looking or heeding. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you your cloak?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"An umbrella?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"It is raining. Don't you hear it, and the thunder in the distance? +The storm has broken. Come, we will take a cab." He strode across the +stage and down the staircase; she following. He nodded to the watchman: +</P> + +<P> +"Still rehearsing," he said shortly, "Sorry to keep you up. Whistle, +will you, for a Droschke? Gott! The rain is terrific; hear it! Come." +</P> + +<P> +There was the sound of wheels, of horses' hoofs. +</P> + +<P> +He went forward and opened the door of the Droschke, and Kaya crept in. +</P> + +<P> +She was no longer the Brünnhilde; she was a little figure, slight and +pale, and wrapped in a cloak; and she sat in the corner against the +cushions, staring out at the rain, quivering at the thunder crashes. +</P> + +<P> +Ritter stepped in behind her and closed the door. "Nonnen-Mühle!" he +cried, "and drive fast. We are chilled to the bone! The storm grows +worse; it is devilish late!" He flung himself back in the opposite +corner, and the Droschke rolled on. +</P> + +<P> +It was still in the carriage. From outside came the sound of the rain +falling, and the hoofs of the horses trotting. Kaya shut her eyes. +The rhythmical sound caught her senses. She was in St. Petersburg +again, and driving in the darkness through the night and the storm; and +Velasco was beside her—Velasco! They were driving to the church to +be—married. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't do that again," cried the Kapellmeister fiercely, "I can't bear +it." +</P> + +<P> +"W—what?" +</P> + +<P> +"You moaned." +</P> + +<P> +Kaya crept closer into the corner, and clasped the cloak to her breast +and throat. +</P> + +<P> +"It is like seeing a bird with a shot in its breast—in torture," he +said, "And when you sing, it is like a swan song. Your soul is on your +lips, crying out, imploring.—Kaya!" +</P> + +<P> +He bent over the shrinking form in the corner: "I was brutal to you; my +heart was sore, seeing you suffer. The words came out like a lash; +they cut you. I saw how they hurt you. Little one—if I bare the +wound to the air again, forgive me—forgive me! No—don't shrink away. +If you love him like that, my God—I know him! He comes to my house! +Only a few weeks ago he was there, and he's coming again; soon, I tell +you, soon. I swear I will bring him to you! If he won't come, I will +force him; with my hands I will drag him if he refuses." +</P> + +<P> +The girl gave a cry: "Drag him!" she cried, "Force him! Ah, he'd fly +at a word—he'd fly to me!" She caught her breath: "Bózhe moi!" she +said suddenly, and laughed: "What are you talking about, dear Master? +Velasco—he's nothing to me! A musician, you said—a violinist! You +forget I am Brünnhilde to-night. We talked of a curse—not love. +Siegfried is still behind the flames and cannot get past." +</P> + +<P> +She laughed again, a sound like a trill: "You forget, don't you?" she +said, "I was acting a part! It wasn't real; I was only +playing—pretending. How the Schultz cheated you! Ah, dear +Master—you thought she had lost her wits and her size all at once. +You never noticed how she had shrunken; and that was because I stood on +tip-toe, and held myself straight with the helmet. If the light hadn't +fallen full on my face, you would never have guessed! I laughed to +myself; how I laughed! I—laughed!" +</P> + +<P> +"Child," said the Kapellmeister suddenly. "You are sobbing!" +</P> + +<P> +"I am not—I am laughing, dear Master. Look at me! There is the mill +across the promenade. How gaunt the wheel looks, and strange, with its +spokes dripping, and the rain lashing down! And there is a light in my +window—a candle, see? Old Marta is waiting, and how she will scold. +Tell me, Master—dear Master, before we get there, tell me—some day +may I act Brünnhilde and sing, when the curtain is up, and the House is +full, and Siegfried is there, and you at the baton—and the orchestra +playing? Tell me!" +</P> + +<P> +She drew closer to him, and the last words came out in a whisper, +breathless and eager. "Put those other thoughts out of your mind, dear +Kapellmeister. Ve—Velasco is only a name—nothing more! +</P> + +<P> +"If I can sing I will be happy; I promise you. The sting of the curse +will—pass. You are silent and cold!" she cried, "You won't tell me, +and we are almost there—at the mill! Master!" +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister started: "The mill?" he stammered, "What were you +saying, Kaya? How cold your hand is, little one! Of course you shall +sing. You shall be our great Brünnhilde and the visitors will flock to +Ehrestadt, and you will be famous and beloved." +</P> + +<P> +He hesitated: "I can't see you, only your eyes gleaming, Kaya. How +bright they are, little one, like live coals! Where did you get that +name—'Master'? Did Marta teach you? My pupils say that, the chorus, +the orchestra, and the singers; but you never used it before. It is +because I am old now and my hair is grey, and you are a child. I must +seem to you like your father, Kaya." +</P> + +<P> +"No," said the girl quickly, "not my father! He was hard and cruel; he +was a friend of the Tsar. I—I never loved him." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor me," cried the Kapellmeister hoarsely, "Nor me!" +</P> + +<P> +The words sprang to his lips in spite of himself; they were low, and he +thought she did not hear; but her ear was keen. She bent forward +taking his hand, and kissed it swiftly, holding it between her own. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear Kapellmeister! Dear Master!" she cried, half laughing, half with +a sob: "You know I love you. When I was ill and alone, and desperate, +and helpless, longing to die, you came to me. You saved me and helped +me; and I was nothing to you but a stranger. You were father and +mother to me; and now, you are my master, and teacher, and friend." +She lifted his hand again to her lips and caressed it: "I love you," +she cried, "dear Master, I love you with all my heart!" +</P> + +<P> +Ritter stirred against the cushions; his hand lay limp in her clasp. +"Yes, little one," he said, "Yes. Your heart is like your voice, +fathomless and pure. The carriage has stopped now, and there is the +candle, burning up yonder under the eaves. Can you find your way +alone, without help? I am strangely weary." +</P> + +<P> +His voice was low, and the words came slowly, with an effort. He +passed his hand over his face: +</P> + +<P> +"Good-night—Brünnhild'!" +</P> + +<P> +He held her hands and drew her towards him: "Good-night, little one. +There are shadows under your eyes, and your lip quivers; you are +pale.—Good-night." He held her for a moment in a strong grasp, +staring down into her face; then she was gone and the door closed +behind her. His hands were empty, and the horses had turned, and were +galloping back through the rain and the night. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XX +</H3> + +<P> +It was dusk, and the lights of the Rathskeller began to twinkle out one +by one. The Keller was long and rambling, divided into innumerable +small alcoves and corners, partitioned by strange and antique carvings. +</P> + +<P> +The ceiling was low, with octagonal vaults like a cloister. On the +smoke-grimed walls, here and there, were mural paintings of knights in +armour, and fat peasants drinking, dimmed and half obliterated. +Beneath were legends and proverbs, printed in quaint, old-German +characters; while across one end, like a frieze, ran a ledge carven +with gargoyles, rude and misshapen. On the ledge were beer mugs of +every size and description, with queer tops and crooked handles. +Above, suspended from the ceiling by chains, hung a huge Fass; and from +the throats of the gargoyles, dragon and devil alike, dripped the beer, +turned on by small taps hidden. +</P> + +<P> +In and out, among the tables, sped the waitresses in their Tyrolese +costume with its picturesque head-dress; and beyond lay the garden, +innumerable bulbs of light gleaming like fire-flies among the trees. +</P> + +<P> +"Bitte um zwei Münchener!" +</P> + +<P> +"Sogleich, meine Herren." +</P> + +<P> +"Ein Chartreuse und ein Pilsener!" +</P> + +<P> +"Jawohl! Sofort!" +</P> + +<P> +And the waitresses sped, vying with one another, coquetting with their +patrons, smiling gayly with sharp retorts; their eyes bright, their +trays laden with foaming beer mugs. +</P> + +<P> +In one of the alcoves, far back in the shadow, sat two gentlemen. The +younger had removed his hat, and was pushing the hair impatiently back +from his brows. His eyes were dark and sleepy, half covered by the +brows, weighed down by the lids. +</P> + +<P> +He was leaning on one elbow and responded languidly to his companion, +half heeding, toying with his hands, and strumming on the table with +his fingers, which were white, and supple, and full of magnetism. +</P> + +<P> +Beside him lay a violin. +</P> + +<P> +"You are nervous to-night, Velasco?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am always nervous." +</P> + +<P> +"What shall we eat and drink?" +</P> + +<P> +"Donnerwetter—what you please! If I eat, I cannot play. Bring me +some of that Rhine wine, Fräulein, the white in the slanting bottles, +and a plate of Pretzeln. No beer—bewahre!" +</P> + +<P> +The Musician raised his hands with a shrug of his shoulders, and then +sank back in his former listless attitude. +</P> + +<P> +"That is your Polish taste, Velasco. Try a bit of Schinken with me, or +a Stückchen of Cervelat with cheese—eh? If you eat, you will be less +nervous, and your fingers will become warm. When you play, you are +abstinent as a priest before the mass." +</P> + +<P> +The older man smoothed his beard, which was fast turning grey, and +lifted the beer mug to his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Ich danke!" said Velasco with irony: "My dear Kapellmeister, I am not +as those who would serve Art with a bottle of champagne under each arm. +I want no fumes in my brain and no clod between my fingers when I meet +the Muse face to face." +</P> + +<P> +"You are right there," said Ritter thoughtfully, lowering his glass: +"It is like a pearl coming out of the throat of a swine to hear the +tones from Bauermann's fingers, when he can scarce keep himself at the +pianoforte, and his head rocks between his shoulders like a top +falling. His sense of beauty is all that is left of him, and that +seems over ripe, like a fruit left too long in the sun. Materialism is +the artist's curse. Their heads are in the clouds and their feet are +in the slough.—Pah!" +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister tapped his glass sharply with the edge of his knife, +and called without turning: "Hey—a Münchener, Fräulein!" +</P> + +<P> +He scanned the face of his companion curiously. The Violinist seemed +to be dreaming; he held the Rhine wine in his hand, gazing down into +its liquid gold as if a vision lay at the bottom of the glass. +</P> + +<P> +"Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +The Musician half raised his lids and then lowered them again. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you asleep, Velasco?" +</P> + +<P> +"Potztausend—no! I hear what you say! You speak of musicians and +swine in the same breath. It is true. You ought to know, who wave the +baton over them year in and year out. They rise like a balloon and +then they fall—!" +</P> + +<P> +He dropped his hands on the table with an expressive gesture. "They +give out through the senses; they take in the same way." He lifted the +glass, staring into it again: "But it is not through pleasure, not +pleasure, Ritter, never pleasure, that their senses are developed, and +they learn to feel, and give back what they have felt. They think it +is pleasure, and they fall into the error, and their art dies within +them sooner or later. It is like some fell thing clutching at their +feet, and when they try to rise, it seizes them and drags them back, +and they sink finally—they sink!" +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister leaned forward on the table, scanning the young face +opposite him: "A year ago, Velasco, your chin was round and full; from +the look of your mouth one could tell that you had lived and enjoyed. +You were like the Faun, happy and careless, and your art was to you +like a plaything. You cared only for your Stradivarius, and when you +were not playing, you were nothing, not even a man. All your genius +was concentrated there in your brows where the music lies hidden. Your +virility was in your tones, and your strength in your fingers. What +has come over you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Am I changed?" said Velasco. His throat contracted. He held the +glass to his lips, but he did not drink. +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister gazed at him strangely: "Yes, you are changed. +In one year you have grown ten. What it is I cannot tell, but the look +of your face is different. The mouth has grown rugged and harsh; there +are lines under your eyes, and your lips are firm, not full. It is as +if a storm had burst on a young birch, and torn it from its bank amid +the grass and the heather, and an oak had grown up in its place, +brought into life by the wind and the gale." +</P> + +<P> +Velasco tossed off the Moselle and laughed bitterly: "I have done with +pleasure," he said, "I have lived and I know life; that is all. There +is nothing in it but work and music." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me, Velasco," said the Kapellmeister slowly, "Don't be offended +if I ask, or think that I am trying to pry into your affairs. When you +were rehearsing this morning it occurred to me.—There was something +new in the quality of your tone. Before, you were a virtuoso; your +technique was something to gaze at and harken to, and there was no +technique like it in Europe; now—" +</P> + +<P> +"Well—now?" cried Velasco, "Was I clumsy this morning? Was anything +the matter? Potztausend!—why didn't you tell me?" +</P> + +<P> +His eyes gleamed suddenly under his brows and he twirled his fingers, +toying with them nervously. "Gott—Kapellmeister! Why didn't you tell +me at once?" +</P> + +<P> +"Now—" said the Kapellmeister: He looked up at the Bierfass, hanging +by its chains, and his gaze wandered slowly over the legends on the +wall, the gargoyles dripping; the mugs with their quaint tops and their +handles twisted, the roof in its octagonal vaults, smoky, begrimed; and +then back again to the table, and the flask before Velasco, yellow and +slanting. +</P> + +<P> +"Now—" he said, "you are no longer a virtuoso, you are an artist, and +that, as you know, is something infinitely greater and higher and more +difficult of attainment. All the great violins of my time I have +heard; most of them I have conducted." +</P> + +<P> +Ritter's voice lowered suddenly to a whisper, and he leaned forward, +touching the other's hand with his own: "I tell you, Velasco, and I +know what I say—you played to-day at rehearsal as none of them played, +not even Sarasati, king of virtuosi; or Joachim, prince of artists. +You played as if the violin were yourself, and your bow were tearing +your own heart strings.… Don't move! Don't get up! What is it, +Velasco? You are white as death and your eyes are staring! Listen to +my question and answer it, or not, as you please. This is not an age +of miracles. The birch was not torn from the bank without reason, or +the oak transplanted. Tell me—have you ever loved a woman?" +</P> + +<P> +There was a sudden silence in the Rathskeller. It was almost deserted, +and the waitresses were all in the garden, running forward and backward +under the trees. From outside came the sound of voices and glasses +clinking; and close by, from the ledge, the slow trickle of the beer +through the throats of the gargoyles. +</P> + +<P> +"Look at them!" said Velasco dreamily: "It is the Pilsener that runs +through the dragons' mouths, and the Münchener through the devils'; a +bizarre fancy that!" +</P> + +<P> +He stooped and struck a match against the table edge, lighting his +cigarette. "These are Russian, Kapellmeister, extra brand! Try one! +I prefer them to Turkish myself." He leaned his head against the +carvings of the partition, and drew the smoke in through his nostrils +slowly, his eyes half closed. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a quarter to eight now," said Ritter, "but there is plenty of +time.—I shouldn't have asked that question perhaps, Velasco. Forgive +me. My own affairs have turned my thoughts too much on that subject." +</P> + +<P> +"Was it several years ago?" said Velasco, "I don't remember." He +passed his hand over his forehead several times as if chafing his +memory. +</P> + +<P> +Ritter pushed away his plate, and leaned forward with his head on his +hands, staring down at the table, and tracing out the pattern of the +wood with his fingers. +</P> + +<P> +"Fourteen years to-night, Velasco. I have never spoken of it to any +one; but somehow to-night it would be a relief to talk. Brondi was +staying at my house; he was the Tristan. One night he gave out he was +ill, and some one else took the part. When I returned from the opera, +he was gone and she was gone, and the house was dark and deserted." +</P> + +<P> +Ritter was silent for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +"Fourteen years to-night, Velasco, and I feel as if it were yesterday." +</P> + +<P> +The Violinist shaded his eyes from the light as if it hurt him: "When +you came back," he said, "When you found out—what was it you felt, +love or hate?" +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister made a swift, repelling gesture as if some reptile +had touched him: "Love!" he cried, "Hate! Velasco—man, there is many +a sin at my door; I am far from a saint heaven knows; but to deceive +one who has trusted—to desert one who has loved and been loyal! God! +There is no worse crime than that, or more despicable! Can one love, +or hate, where there is only contempt?" +</P> + +<P> +He clenched his fist, and his eyes were like two sword points boring +into the face opposite. +</P> + +<P> +"Contempt—" he said, "It has eaten into my heart like a poisonous drug +and killed all else. There is nothing left." +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister took a long breath, then he continued hoarsely: "But +I am a man; with a woman it is different. Her heart is young and she +knows nothing of the world. It is like a stab in the dark from a hand +she loves, and her heart is torn. If she is brave, facing the world +with a smile on her lips, she bleeds inwardly. She is like a swan, +swooping in circles lower and lower, with a song in her throat, until +the great wings droop, and the eyes grow dim, and she falls finally, +and the song is stilled. But the last beat of her heart and the last +echo of her voice is for him—for him who fired the shot in her breast!" +</P> + +<P> +He half rose in his seat with his hands trembling, and then sank back +again. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you ever loved a woman and left her, Velasco? Tell me—have you +a deed like that on your conscience?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—?" The Musician laughed aloud and took his hand from his face: +"You are talking in riddles, Kapellmeister! The beer has gone to your +head, and you are drunk! Look at the clock over yonder!— What is +love? A will-o'-the-wisp! You chase it and it eludes you; you clasp +it and it melts into air! There is nothing in life, I tell you, but +music and work." +</P> + +<P> +He poured out another glass of the wine: "Here's to your health, +Kapellmeister! Prosit—my friend! Put those grim thoughts from your +mind, and women from your heart. We must be off." +</P> + +<P> +He was quaffing the liquor at a gulp. +</P> + +<P> +"Prosit, Kapellmeister!" +</P> + +<P> +Ritter made no answer. He sat staring moodily down at the table. "You +are young, Velasco, to be bitter. Is it music, or work, that has +carven those lines in your face?" +</P> + +<P> +There was a sting in his voice. +</P> + +<P> +The Violinist threw back his head like a horse at the touch of the +spur. His eyes blazed defiantly at the Kapellmeister for a moment, and +then the light went out of them as flame from a coal. The glass fell +from his hand and lay shattered in fragments on the floor. He stood +looking down at them wearily: +</P> + +<P> +"That is my life," he said, "It is broken like the glass; and the wine +is my love. There is nothing left of it but a stain. It has gone from +me and is dead. Come!" +</P> + +<P> +He lifted his violin, and the two men took their hats and went out, +side by side, silently, without speaking. +</P> + +<P> +The room was empty. Slowly from the throats of the gargoyles trickled +the beer; and the Fass was like a great shadow hung from the ceiling by +its chains. From outside came the clamour of voices and laughter, and +the waitresses sped to and fro. The lights twinkled gayly under the +spreading of the leaves, and the glasses clinked. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXI. +</H3> + +<P> +The Friedrichs-Halle was old and shabby and had originally been a +market. The entrance was under an arcade, and there was an underground +passage, connecting the green-room with the stage-door of the Opera +House; a passage narrow and ill-smelling, without windows or light; but +dear to the hearts of musicians by reason of its associations. +</P> + +<P> +Mendelssohn had walked there, and Schumann, and Brahms; and the air, as +it could not be changed, was the same. The very microbes were musical, +and the walls were smudged with snatches of motives, jotted down for +remembrance. +</P> + +<P> +"Is there a seat left in the top gallery—just one?" +</P> + +<P> +"Standing room only, Madame." +</P> + +<P> +The ticket-seller, who sat in a box-like room under the arcade, handed +out a slip of green paste-board, and then shut the window with a slam. +The gesture of his hand expressed the fact that his business was now +over. Standing room also had ceased, and the long line of people +waiting turned away with muttered exclamations. +</P> + +<P> +The foyer was like an ant-hill in commotion; people running forwards +and backwards, trying vainly to bribe an entrance, until the noise was +like hornets buzzing; while from behind came the sound of the orchestra +tuning, faint raspings of the cellos, and the wails of the wood-winds, +and above them the cry of a trumpet muffled. +</P> + +<P> +Kaya took the green paste-board hastily in her hand, clasping it, as if +afraid it might in some way be snatched from her, and sped up the +narrow stone stairway to the right, running fast until her breath +failed her. Still another turn, and another flight, and she stood in +the Concert Hall, high up under the roof, where the students go, and +the air is warm and heavy, and the stage looks far away. The gallery +was crowded. +</P> + +<P> +On the stage the orchestra were assembling, still tuning occasionally +here and there where an instrument was refractory. The scores lay open +and ready on the desks. A hum of excitement was over the House, and +one name was on every lip: "Velasco!"—the Polish violinist, the +virtuoso, the artist, whose fame had spread over all Europe. +</P> + +<P> +In Berlin he had had a furore; in Dresden the orchestra had carried him +on their shoulders, shouting and hurrahing; in Leipzig, even Leipzig, +where the critics are cold, and they have been fed music from their +cradles, the glory of him had taken them all by storm. +</P> + +<P> +"Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +The orchestra stood quietly now, expectant, each behind his desk. A +hush crept over the House. The people leaned forward watching. It was +past the hour. +</P> + +<P> +Kaya stood wrapped in her cloak, leaning against the wall. Her head +was bare, and her hair was like a boy's, curling in rings and shining +in the light. Her eyes were fixed on the little door at the end of the +stage. Every time it opened slightly she started, and her heart gave a +throb. The air grew heavier. +</P> + +<P> +When it finally opened, it was Ritter who came out. He strode hastily +across the Stage, nodding shortly as if aware that the ripple of +applause was not for him; then he took his place on the Conductor's +stand with his back to the House, and waited, the baton between his +fingers. The door opened again. +</P> + +<P> +Kaya covered her eyes for a moment, and a little thrill went through +her veins. She swayed and leaned heavily against the wall. +</P> + +<P> +God! It was seven months and a day since that night in the inn. She +was in his arms again, and he was bending over her, whispering +hoarsely, his voice full of repressed anger and emotion: +</P> + +<P> +"Lie still, Kaya, lie still in my arms! The gods only know why you +said it, but it isn't the truth! You love me—say you love me; say it, +Kaya! Let me hear you, my beloved!" +</P> + +<P> +He was pressing his lips to hers. +</P> + +<P> +"Take away your lips—Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +Then she recovered herself with a start, and took her hand from her +eyes. +</P> + +<P> +The door was ajar. Velasco was coming through it carelessly, +gracefully, with his violin under his arm; and as he came, he bowed +with a half smile on his lips, tossing his hair from his brow. +</P> + +<P> +The audience was nothing to him; they were mere puppets, and as they +shouted and clapped, welcoming him with their lips and their hands, he +bowed again, slightly, indifferently, and laid the Stradivarius to his +shoulder, caressing the bow with his fingers. +</P> + +<P> +Ritter struck the desk sharply with his baton and the orchestra began +to play, drowning the applause; and it ceased gradually, dying away +into silence. +</P> + +<P> +Then Velasco raised his bow. +</P> + +<P> +There was a hush, a stillness in the air, and he drew it over the +strings—one tone, deep and pure with a rainbow of colours, shading +from fortissimo, filling the House, to the faintest piano—pianissimo, +delicate, elusive; breathing it out, and pressing on the string with +his finger until it penetrated the air like an echo, and the bow was +still drawing slowly, quiveringly. +</P> + +<P> +He swayed as he played, laying his cheek to the violin; the waves of +dark hair falling over his brows. His fingers danced over the strings, +and his bow began to leap and sparkle. The audience listened +spellbound, without a whisper or movement. The orchestra accompanied, +but the sound of the violins in unison was as nothing to the single cry +of the Stradivarius. +</P> + +<P> +It sang and soared, it was deep and soft; it was like the sighing of +the wind through the forest, and the tones were like a voice. From his +instrument, his bow, his fingers, himself, went out a strange, mesmeric +influence that seemed to stretch over the House, the audience, bending +it, forcing it to his will; compelling it to his mood. +</P> + +<P> +As he played on and on, the influence grew stronger, more pervading, +until his personality was as a giant and the audience pigmies at his +feet, sobbing as his Stradivarius sobbed; laughing when it laughed; +crying out with joy, or with pain, with frenzy or delight, as his bow +rent the strings. He scarcely heeded them. His eyes were closed and +he rocked the violin in his arms, swaying as in a trance. +</P> + +<P> +Kaya crouched against the wall; and as she listened, she gazed until it +seemed as if her eyes were blinded, and she could no longer make out +the slim lines of his figure, the dark head, and the bow leaping. +</P> + +<P> +The tones struck against her brain with a thrill of concussion like +hail against a roof. It was as if he were calling to her, pleading +with her, embracing her. +</P> + +<P> +She stretched out her arms to him and the tears ran down her face. +"Velasco!" she murmured, "Velasco—come back! Put your arms around me! +Don't look at me like that! I love you—come back!" +</P> + +<P> +But no sound left her throat, and the cloak pinioned her arms. She was +crouching against the wall, and gazing and trembling: "Velasco—!" +</P> + +<P> +How different he was! When he had played at the Mariínski, and she had +tossed the violets from her loggia, he was a boy, a virtuoso. Life and +fame were before him; and he sprang out on the stage like a young +Apollo, eager and daring. And now— She searched his face. +</P> + +<P> +There were lines there; shadows under his eyes, and his cheeks were +thin. The lower part of his face was like a rock, firm and harsh; and +his brows were heavy and swollen. Before, he had played with his +fingers, and toyed with his art; now he played with his heart and his +soul. His youth was gone; he was a man. He had known life and +suffered. +</P> + +<P> +She stared at him, and her hands were convulsed, clasping one another +under the cloak. An impulse came over her to throw herself from the +gallery at his feet, as she had flung the violets; and she crouched +closer against the wall, clinging to it. +</P> + +<P> +"Velasco!—Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +A roar went up from the House. +</P> + +<P> +The sound of the clapping was like rain falling; a mighty volume of +sound, deafening, frightening. +</P> + +<P> +Kaya crouched still lower. He had taken the violin from his cheek and +was bowing; his eyes scanned the House with a nonchalant air. +</P> + +<P> +"Bravo—Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +The people were standing now and stamping, and screaming his name. +They hid him, and she could not see. Kaya leaned forward, her gold +hair gleaming in the light, her eyes fixed. +</P> + +<P> +"Velasco—Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he started. +</P> + +<P> +He looked up at the gallery and his bow slipped from his hand. He +stared motionless. The first violin stooped and picked up the bow. +</P> + +<P> +"Monsieur—" he whispered, "Monsieur Velasco, are you ill?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—no!" The Violinist passed his hand over his eyes. "No—I am not +ill! It was a vision—an illusion! A trick of the senses! It is gone +now!" +</P> + +<P> +He bowed again mechanically, taking the bow, lifting the violin again +to his cheek. "An illusion!" he muttered: "A trick of the senses! +God, how it haunts me!" He nodded to the Kapellmeister. +</P> + +<P> +They went on. +</P> + +<BR> +<HR WIDTH="60%" ALIGN="center"> +<BR> + +<P> +"Let me out!" said Kaya, "I am faint—let me out! Let me—out!" She +struggled to the door, through the crowd, pressing her way slowly, +painfully. Her cheeks were white and she was panting. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah—for God's sake! Let me out!" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Come this way, Velasco, this way through the passage. The din in the +House is terrific—you have driven them mad! Hark to your name, how +they shout it and stamp! They will be rushing to the stage door +presently, as soon as the ushers have turned out the lights and the +hope of your reappearance is gone. No wonder, man—you played like a +god! You were like one inspired! Shall you risk it; or will you come +through to my room in the Opera House, where we can wait and smoke +quietly until the clamour is past?" +</P> + +<P> +"Anywhere, Ritter, only to get away from that horrible noise!" The +Musician covered his ears with his hands and shuddered: "That is the +worst of being an artist—there is no peace, no privacy! The people +consider one a music-box to wind up at their pleasure! A pest on it +all!" +</P> + +<P> +The two men quickened their footsteps, hurrying down the long corridor, +and presently a door shut behind them. +</P> + +<P> +"There—thank heaven!" cried Ritter, "Around to the left now, Velasco, +and then at the top of the stairs is my den. Let me go first and open +the door." +</P> + +<P> +The room was a small one, half filled with the bulk of a grand piano. +About the walls ran shelf after shelf of music; opera scores and +presentation copies in manuscript. A bust of Wagner stood in the +corner, and on the wall behind the pianoforte was a large painting in +sepia, dim, with strong lights and shadows. +</P> + +<P> +The window was open, and below it lay the street, still in the +darkness; above, the heavens were clear and the stars were shining. +Ritter pulled forward an arm-chair and motioned the Musician towards it: +</P> + +<P> +"Sit down, Velasco. Will you have a pipe, or cigar? You look +exhausted, man! This fasting before is too much for you; you are pale +as death. Shall I send out the watchman for food, or shall we wait and +go to the Keller together?" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco nodded and sank back in the chair, covering his eyes with his +hand: +</P> + +<P> +"Is it usual for musicians to go mad?" he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Heavens!" exclaimed the Kapellmeister, "What are you talking about? +Usual? Of course not! Some do. What is the matter with you, Velasco? +You are overwrought to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"No," he said, "No. When you hear themes in your head, and rhythms +throbbing in your pulses—is that a sign?" +</P> + +<P> +"Behüte! We all have that. After an opera my head goes round like a +buzz-saw, and the motives spring about inside like demons. If that is +all, Velasco, you are not mad. Take a cigarette." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, Ritter. Tell me—when you conduct, is it as if force and +power were going from you, oozing away with the music; and you were in +a trance and someone else were wielding the baton, interpreting, +playing on the instruments, not yourself?" +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister shook his head grimly: "Sometimes, Velasco, but not +often; we are not all like you. That is Genius speaking through you." +</P> + +<P> +"Afterwards," continued the Violinist, "it is as if one had had an +illness. To-night I am weary—Bózhe moi! My body is numb, I can +scarcely lift my feet, or my hands; only my nerves are alive, and they +are like electric wires scintillating, jumping. The liquid runs +through my veins like fire! Is that a—?" +</P> + +<P> +"Bewahre—bewahre! You throw yourself into your playing headlong, body +and soul. It wrecks one mentally and physically to listen; how much +more then to play! If you were like others, Velasco, you would drink +yourself to drowsiness and drown those sensations; or else you would +seek pleasure, distraction. When Genius has been with you, guiding +your brain and your fingers, and you are left suddenly with an empty +void, what else can you expect but reaction, nausea of life and of art? +Bewahre, man! That is no madness! It is sanity—normal conditions +returning. You are mad when the Genius is with you, you are mad when +you play; but now—now you are sane; you are like other men, Velasco, +and you don't recognize yourself!" +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister laughed, drawing whiffs from his cigar. +</P> + +<P> +Velasco uncovered his eyes: "You don't understand," he said slowly: "I +see things—I have illusions! It is something that comes and dances +before me as I play, the same thing always. I saw it to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"What sort of thing?" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco stared suddenly at the opposite wall. "What is that painting +there, Ritter?" +</P> + +<P> +"The one over the piano? I bought it in St. Petersburg years ago, when +I was touring: a copy of the Rembrandt in the 'Hermitage.' Don't you +know it?" +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"The Knight with the Golden Helmet' I call it; but it is really a +'Pallas Athene.'" +</P> + +<P> +"The Knight—the Knight with the Golden Helmet! That is no knight—it +is the head of a woman, a girl; look at the oval of the cheek, the +lips, the eyes! That is no knight, nor is it a 'Pallas Athene'!— My +God! I am going mad, I tell you! Wherever I look, I see it before +me—an illusion, a trick of the senses! It is madness!" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco sprang to his feet with a cry. "I can't bear it," he cried, +"open the door! Damn you, Ritter, get out of the way!" +</P> + +<P> +Velasco sprang forward, struggling for a moment with the Kapellmeister, +and then Ritter fell back. The clutch on his shoulder was like iron. +He fell back, and the door slammed. +</P> + +<P> +"Potztausend!" he cried, "What is there in my painting to start him +like that? These musicians have nerves like live wires! It is true +what he said—he is mad!" +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister went over to the painting on the wall and looked at +it. "A girl's head," he murmured, "he is right. It is more like a +'Pallas Athene' than a knight; but if it were not for the helmet +glittering, and the spear—" +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly a remembrance came to him, and he struck his breast with his +hand, crying out: "It is no knight! It is Brünnhilde, young and fair, +with her eyes downcast! The light has fallen full on her face. She is +standing there, and the stage is dim; her voice is still in her throat, +dying away!" +</P> + +<P> +Memory caught him then and he came nearer, shading his eyes with his +hand, staring. "She has hung on my wall for years and I never knew it! +It is she—it is her living image—her eyes and her brow—her lips +arched and quivering! It is herself!" +</P> + +<P> +"Brünnhild'!" He lifted his arms: "Brünnhild'!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXII +</H3> + +<P> +The sun came shining in through the garret windows, dancing over the +floor in cones of light, caressing the geraniums until they gleamed a +rich scarlet against the green of the ivy; and the cobwebs glistened +like silk under the eaves. About the mill the doves flew in circles, +alighting on the sill, clinging to the ivy with their pink claws, +cooing gently, and pecking at the worm-eaten casement. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear doves," said Kaya, "You are hungry, and when you come to me for +bread you find nothing but the stone. Chrr-rp!" She whistled softly +and held her hands over the sill, dropping crumbs: "Chrr-rp! Come, +pretty doves, and eat!" +</P> + +<P> +The birds came nearer, eying her out of their bright eyes with little +runs forward, then circling and cooing again. +</P> + +<P> +"Chrr-rp!" she called,—"Chrr-rp! Come!" And she held out her hands +as if coaxing: "Come, my doves! Chrr-rp!" +</P> + +<P> +One with fawn-coloured wings came flying and lighted on her shoulder; +another followed. +</P> + +<P> +"Come—chrr-rp!" +</P> + +<P> +The soft little bodies huddled against one another on the sill, +pressing closer; some on her arm and some eating out of her hand. She +stroked their bright plumage, holding a crumb between her teeth. +</P> + +<P> +"Chrr-rp—chrr-rp!" +</P> + +<P> +The dove on her shoulder stretched his wings, pressing against her +cheek with his breast, tipping forward on his pink feet, until his beak +reached the crumb and he took it from her lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Chrr-rp—chrr-rp!" +</P> + +<P> +Kaya laughed softly, rubbing her cheek against the down of the bird; +whistling and coaxing with her hands. The doves flew about her, +lighting, struggling for footing on her shoulder and curls; and she +shook her head, laughing: +</P> + +<P> +"Chrr-rp—away with you! Would you pluck my hair and line your nests +with my curls! Pischt—away with you!" she flung out the crumbs again. +"There—eat, my pretty ones—eat!" +</P> + +<P> +Below, the great wheel turned and splashed in the water with a whirr, +buzzing. Kaya gazed down at it, and as she gazed she forgot the doves, +and a strange little shudder went over her, so that the one on her +shoulder lifted his wings in affright. +</P> + +<P> +The water was deep in the pool, and there were little ripples under the +spokes where the sun-beams were dancing. She dropped on her knees +before the window and began to sing, still gazing at the wheel, the +doves all about her, pianissimo—on the lower note of the scale, +singing up, and then in arpeggios; each note distinct and separate like +the link in a chain, pure, soft, hardly above a breath. +</P> + +<P> +As she sang, her voice rose gradually, deepening and increasing in +power. The doves pecked the crumbs on the sill, huddling against her +and eating from her hands. She began to trill from one note to +another, and in trilling, her thoughts ran hither and thither even as +her voice, and her eyes wandered from the wheel, resting dreamily on +the promenade, and the people walking under the trees. +</P> + +<P> +The rhythm of a mazurka was in her ears and she sang louder, trying to +drown it. She was in a great hall vaulted, dome-like with marble +columns; violins were playing and the sound rose and fell, invisible as +from the clouds. There was the perfume of flowers, heavy and +languorous, and snatches of laughter, and the gleaming of jewels. The +floor was shining and polished like a mirror, reflecting the forms of +the dancers as they whirled to and fro. The light was dazzling and the +colour. +</P> + +<P> +She was dancing. Her feet flew in time to the rhythm.… Now it +was dark and she was lying back on a divan, faint, helpless. The voice +of the Prince was in her ears and he was bending over her; his eyes +were crossed.… Ah, the clock was striking! It was midnight and +someone had opened the door! Someone was crossing the room and bending +over papers on the desk!… There was the sound of a shot! She was +holding the pistol in her hand … It was smoking and through the +vapoury wreathes she saw on the floor a body lying … a man on his +face with his arms outstretched! +</P> + +<P> +She shuddered again and the doves rose uneasily, circling about her, +and lighting with fluttering wings. +</P> + +<P> +"I have tried to atone," she whispered to the birds, "Come back! God +knows—I have tried to atone!" +</P> + +<P> +Then she went on trilling high up in the scale, her eyes gazing +dreamily and her hands amongst the doves, stroking them, playing with +them. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly the door opened. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it you, Marta?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, it is I." +</P> + +<P> +The voice was that of a man, deep and harsh, and the steps were firm. +They crossed the room and stopped behind the kneeling figure. +</P> + +<P> +"Hush!" said Kaya, "Not too near, dear Master! You will frighten the +doves! See, how they press against me with their breasts and their +wings—and how they flutter! They were hungry this morning, but they +have eaten now and are happy. Once they came to me and I had nothing +for them. If they knew better, poor doves, it is you they would fly +to, and your hands they would eat from; since it is you who have fed +them, not I." +</P> + +<P> +"You were practising," said the Kapellmeister, "That is well, Kaya. I +heard you from the promenade and I saw you. Your curls were like a +halo of gold in the sun, and the doves circled, cooing. One was on +your shoulder. Ah, it has gone now—I have startled it! It was close +to your cheek, and you were feeding it from your lips." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Kaya, "Yes. It is sweet to be able to feed them. You have +fed us both, dear Master." +</P> + +<P> +She turned her head slightly, smiling up at him. +</P> + +<P> +"Turn your head further, Kaya; let me see your face." +</P> + +<P> +"The dove has come back. How can I? There—move a little, my +dove—chrr-rp! Go away! No, he clings! See—I cannot! The down on +his breast is so soft and his feathers so warm. He presses so close." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me, little one, how is your voice today? The same—full and +strong as it was that night? Are you Kaya to-day, or Brünnhild'?" +</P> + +<P> +The girl smiled again. +</P> + +<P> +"Look at me, child. I have come to talk to you. There is a rehearsal +this morning for 'Siegfried.'" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah—yes!" +</P> + +<P> +"The performance is advertized for tomorrow." +</P> + +<P> +"—Yes?" +</P> + +<P> +"Are you listening, Kaya? Your voice has a dreamy sound. What are you +thinking about?" +</P> + +<P> +She started. "Nothing!" +</P> + +<P> +"What are you thinking about? Tell me." +</P> + +<P> +"Russia!" +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister gave a sharp exclamation: "That is why you would not +turn your head! It was not the dove, I knew. Are you still—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Kaya, "Yes, it never leaves me. The curse, the curse of +the—Cross!" +</P> + +<P> +She pressed her cheek against the dove, hiding her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"It must leave you!" said the Kapellmeister roughly, "There is work for +you to do! Rouse yourself, Kaya! Drive away the doves now or I will +do it myself. If you brood, you will ruin your voice—do you hear me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Pischt!" said Kaya, "Now they are gone—! I will not think any more +of Russia to-day." +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister went to the window and laid his hand where the dove +had been, pressing the slender shoulder and forcing her to turn. +</P> + +<P> +"I want you," he said, "Now—this morning! I have come for you!" +</P> + +<P> +Kaya rose to her feet slowly: "To sit aloft in the flies and sing while +Siegfried seeks me?" She smiled up at him; "You have come for your +bird?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes searched his. "No," she faltered, "did I sing badly? I—I +thought—" +</P> + +<P> +"Kaya, the Schultz is ill." +</P> + +<P> +The colour rushed to the girl's face and then fled away again, leaving +her pale. "Ill!" she stammered, "You look at me so strangely, dear +Master!" +</P> + +<P> +"The Directors have authorized me to wire to Dresden for another +soprano." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—?" +</P> + +<P> +"I refused." +</P> + +<P> +Kaya raised her blue eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"I told them I had a Brünnhilde here on the spot. Can you do it? I +have taken the risk. Can you do it? If you sing as you did that +night—!" +</P> + +<P> +"I will," cried Kaya, "I will!" She pressed against him like the +doves, clasping her hands together. "It is only the one scene, Master; +I know it so well, every note! Many times I rehearsed it with +Helmanoff, many times. Bring me the helmet and the spear—bring me +Siegfried!" Her eyes were shining. +</P> + +<P> +"Then come with me now," cried the Kapellmeister, "As you are! Is that +your hat on the nail? Put it on. The placards are out—and the +orchestra sits in the pit, waiting. I have promised them a Walküre +with a voice like a bell! Come, Kaya—come! You are not nervous, +little one, or afraid?" +</P> + +<P> +Kaya ran lightly to the peg and took down her hat. She was laughing, +and her face was alight as if the sun-beams had touched it; her lips +were parted and the dimples came and went in her cheeks: +</P> + +<P> +"Now—my cloak!" she cried, "Quick! Help me—the right sleeve, dear +master, can you find it? Yes—yes! And my gloves—here they are!" +</P> + +<P> +"Kaya, your face is like a rose and your feet are dancing." +</P> + +<P> +She blushed. "You don't know," she said, "I have dreamed all my life +of being Brünnhilde. When I feel the helmet and the shield on my +breast, and the touch of the spear—it is like wine!" She stopped +suddenly and passed her hand over her face. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it, Kaya?" +</P> + +<P> +"I forgot," she said, "I forgot—! Take my cloak; take my hat! I +cannot sing. I forgot!" +</P> + +<P> +Ritter stared at her: "What do you mean, child; what are you talking +about? Is it fright? Tschut! It will pass." He took the cloak again +and laid it about her shoulders: "Come now, the orchestra will be +growing impatient. It is ten o'clock past." +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot," said Kaya, and her lip trembled: "Telegraph to Dresden, +dear Master—quickly!" +</P> + +<P> +"Potztausend—and why?" +</P> + +<P> +She backed slowly away from him and the cloak fell to the ground. +</P> + +<P> +"Kaya, you shake as if you had a chill!" +</P> + +<P> +"Can Brünnhilde sit aloft in the flies?" she said, "She is there in +front of the footlights and everyone sees her. Oh—I forgot!" +</P> + +<P> +"Donnerwetter! Of course she is seen! Is it the sight of the audience +that will frighten you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," she said, "not the audience." +</P> + +<P> +Ritter made an impatient movement forward: "What then? Sacrement! You +were full of joy not a moment ago; there was no fear in your eyes, and +now—it is as if someone had struck you!" He followed her to the +corner where she had retreated step by step; and when she could go no +further, he laid his hands on her shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"Look at me," he said, "straight in the eyes, Kaya, straight in the +eyes. You must." +</P> + +<P> +"I—cannot!" +</P> + +<P> +"I tell you you must." +</P> + +<P> +He bent over her, and she felt his hands bearing heavily on her +shoulders; his eyes were flashing, insistent, determined: "You must." +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot." +</P> + +<P> +"Come." +</P> + +<P> +She shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"Kaya—! You have been like my child! I—I love you as my own +daughter! Your career, your success is dear to me. I have ventured +more than you know on this chance—that you might have it. The town is +crowded with strangers. The House will be full. They will hear you +and your fame may be made in a night! What is the matter with you, +little one?" +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot," said Kaya. +</P> + +<P> +His grasp grew heavier. "If you throw away this chance—listen to +me—it may be years before you have another. You are young, and +managers are hard to approach; you found that yourself. It is the +merest accident of fate that the Schultz should be ill just now, while +no other soprano is on hand, and you know the part. You sang it for +me, Kaya, that night, and your voice was Brünnhilde's own. Would you +be a coward now? Come, and let me cover you with the shield and the +helmet; when you feel the spear in your hand the fright will leave you. +It is not like you to be afraid, Kaya. Your eyes are like a doe's! +Don't be frightened, little one." +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him and tried to speak, but no words came. +</P> + +<P> +"If I yielded to you, Kaya, if I let you be conquered by the +stage-terror once, it would be a rock in your path forever. Come with +me! My will is strong, stronger than yours, and I swear you shall +come! If I have to carry you in my arms to the stage, you shall come; +and you will thank me for it afterwards when the terror has passed." +</P> + +<P> +"No—no!" The girl pressed closer against the wall, "Don't, dear +Master, take your hands from my shoulders. I cannot!" +</P> + +<P> +"Come." +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +He stared down into the blue eyes: "I tell you you shall come. You are +throwing away the chance of a lifetime; do you understand? If you have +no care for your own future, I shall care for it for you. Kaya!" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Come, I tell you!" +</P> + +<P> +His eyes were hard and cold, and her form was slight; it reeled in his +grasp. She gazed at him and her chin was set like his own. +</P> + +<P> +"If you care for me, Kaya, if you are grateful—" he hesitated, "Ah, +come with me, Kaya! It is not fear I see in your eyes; it is something +else. What is it? Tell me!" He put his arm about her shoulders +suddenly, and the harsh look left his face: "Confide in me, little one, +I won't try to force you. You are slight and frail, but your will is +like iron; it is useless. If I carried you it would be useless." +</P> + +<P> +Kaya took a quick breath. "Dear Master," she said, "It is not the +audience I fear, not the audience, but it is someone in the audience. +If that someone should see me and—and recognize me!" +</P> + +<P> +"You forget, Kaya; did I recognize you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, but the foot-lights were not in my face. When the House is +crowded and the curtain is up, and the glare is full in my eyes, then—" +</P> + +<P> +"You are disguised by the hair red-blonde, and the helmet covering. No +one could tell! At a distance you are not Kaya, you are Brünnhilde. +Brünnhilde is always the same. When your eyes are hidden, Kaya, and +your curls—the House is large—no one could tell!" He was drawing her +slowly toward the door. +</P> + +<P> +"You did not," said Kaya, "but—if he were there he would know." +</P> + +<P> +"Who?" +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him mutely, and he took his hand from her shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Whoever it is," exclaimed Ritter harshly, "from the House, I swear to +you, your own mother would not know you, unless she had seen you before +in the part. That is nonsense! From the orchestra perhaps, from the +conductor's stand—but not from the House. Kaya, you hurt me, child; +you hurt me sorely if you refuse!" +</P> + +<P> +He stood before her with his arms folded. "My heart is set on your +success," he said, "and if—" +</P> + +<P> +Kaya, looking up suddenly, saw that there were tears in his eyes. +"Master," she cried. And then her will broke suddenly like iron in a +furnace, red-hot under the stroke of the hammer. "You are sure?" she +cried, "From the House no one would know me? You are sure?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure." +</P> + +<P> +She hesitated, looking away from him. +</P> + +<P> +"No one?" she repeated, "not even—" +</P> + +<P> +Then she raised her eyes and came closer to the Kapellmeister, looking +up in his face. "He loves me," she stammered, "And I—I love him! But +the curse is between us—if he should find me again—! Ah, it is +myself I am afraid of—myself!" Her breath came in sobs and her face +quivered. +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister lifted the cloak from the floor and put it around her +shoulders. There was a strange light in his eyes. He gazed at her for +a moment; then he caught her by the hand and drew her toward the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Come!" he said, "Trust me, Kaya. I understand—at last I understand. +Come!" +</P> + +<P> +She yielded without a word. +</P> + +<P> +They were both trembling. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIII +</H3> + +<P> +The second Act was over. The curtain had descended slowly, hiding the +singers; the lights had flashed up, revealing the House. It was +crowded from the pit to the gallery. The double row of loggias was +ablaze with colour; and from them came a light ripple of talk and of +laughter, broken loose as the curtain fell, a sound like the running of +water over smooth pebbles. +</P> + +<P> +The Schultz was ill. So it was advertized all over the foyer on huge +yellow placards; and a new Brünnhilde was to take her place. The name +was unknown; a young singer doubtless, brought forward under the stress +of the dilemma. The audience whispered together and the ripple grew +louder. In the next Act, the final scene, she would appear. The +moments were passing. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly the door at the back of one of the loggias opened, and an +usher ran hurriedly in. He gave a hasty glance over the occupants, and +then bent and whispered to a gentleman in the rear. +</P> + +<P> +"Monsieur Velasco?" +</P> + +<P> +The gentleman nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Sir—the Kapellmeister has been seized with a sudden attack of +giddiness and is unable to continue with the performance. He begs +earnestly that you will conduct the last Act in his place." +</P> + +<P> +"I—?" said Velasco. +</P> + +<P> +"There is no other musician in the House, sir, who could do it. The +Kapellmeister is in great distress. The minutes are passing." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell him I will come," said Velasco, "I will come." He rose and +followed the usher from the loggia. +</P> + +<P> +When the curtain went up for the third Act, a young, slender figure +appeared in the orchestra pit, mounting the platform; only his head +with the dark hair falling, the arm raised, and the baton, were +visible. The House was in darkness; a hush had crept over it. +</P> + +<P> +The Act was progressing. +</P> + +<P> +Already the smoke was in wreaths about the couch of Brünnhilde, hiding +it, enveloping the stage in a grey, misty veil. Flames flashed up here +and there, licking in tongues of fire about the rocks and the trees. +As they rose and fell and the smoke grew denser, the music became more +vivid, intense, full of strange running melodies, until the violins +were to the ear as the flames to the eye. The stage was a billow of +smoke curling, and the sound of the orchestra was as fire, crackling, +leaping. +</P> + +<P> +The smoke grew denser like a thick, grey fog, rolling in wreaths. The +music was a riot of tones sparkling, and the hearts of the audience +beat fast to the rhythm. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly through the veil, dim, indistinct, showed the couch of +Brünnhilde, shrouded in the billows and puffs of the smoke; the goddess +herself stretched lifeless, asleep; and the form of Siegfried, breaking +through the ring of the fire, leaping forward, the sword in his hand. +He sprang to the couch, gazing down at the sleeping Walküre, straight +and still, covered with the shimmering steel of the buckler, the spear +by her side and the helmet on her head, motionless, glittering in the +flare of the flames. "Brünnhilde—Brünnhilde!" +</P> + +<P> +Siegfried lifted his voice and sang to her—he had taken the shield +from her now and was bending lower, clasping his hands as if in ecstasy. +</P> + +<P> +The House was like a black pit, silent, without movement or rustle, +hanging on the notes, watching the glittering, prostrate form and +Siegfried stooping.… Presently she stirred. The smoke had grown +lighter, more vapoury, translucent. Her form stirred slowly, dreamily, +raising itself from the couch. The magic was broken; the goddess was +aroused at last. +</P> + +<P> +Brünnhilde opened her eyes—and half kneeling, half reclining, she +stared about her, dazed, half conscious. Siegfried hung over her. The +flames, the smoke were dying away. She seemed in a trance; and then, +as she gazed at the sky and the sunlight, the rocks and the trees, her +lips parted suddenly; she raised her arms, half in bewilderment half in +ecstasy, stretching them upwards, and began to sing. +</P> + +<P> +It was like a lark, disturbed by the reapers, rising from its nest in +the meadows. The notes came softly, dreamily from her throat; and then +as she rose slowly to her feet, clasping the spear, it was as if a +floodgate had been opened and the sounds poured out, full, glorious, +irresistible, ringing through the darkness and the silence of the +House. Drawn to her height she stood, the helmet tipped back on her +red-blonde hair, the white robes trailing about her, the spear +uplifted. As she sang her throat swelled, her voice came like a +torrent: above the wood-winds and strings, the brass and the basses, +the single voice soared higher and higher, deeper and richer, full of +passion and pure. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Heil dir, Sonne!<BR> +Heil dir, Licht!<BR> +Heil dir, leuchtender Tag!"<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The "Heil" was like a clarion note ringing through space; like the +sound of an echo through mountain passes. The audience listened and +gazed as under a spell; the orchestra played as it had never played +before; the baton waved. Siegfried sang to her and she responded; +their voices rising and mingling together, every note a glory. +</P> + +<P> +On the stage, still dim with the smoke and the flames, the light grew +stronger, illuminating the helmet of Brünnhilde, the tip of her spear, +falling full on her face and her eyes. She drew nearer the +foot-lights, still singing, her sight half blinded, gazing +unconsciously into the pit of the House and the darkness. She was +clasping her spear, and her voice rose high above the violins. +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes sought the baton, the face of her Master; and then as she +stood, she trembled suddenly. Her voice died away in her throat; her +steps faltered. +</P> + +<P> +The Conductor leaned over the desk, the baton moving mechanically as if +the fingers were stiffened. The orchestra played on. A shudder ran +over the House. +</P> + +<P> +What had happened? Brünnhilde had stopped singing. Siegfried was +trying in vain to cover her part, singing his own. The Walküre stood +motionless, transfixed, her eyes riveted on the Conductor. A slight +murmur ran over the House: "Was she ill—struck with sudden paralysis? +Or was it the stage-terror, pitiless, irresistible, benumbing her +faculties?" +</P> + +<P> +She stood there; and then she stretched out her hands, trembling; her +voice came back. +</P> + +<P> +"Velasco!" she cried. +</P> + +<P> +"Kaya—Kaya!" +</P> + +<P> +But the audience thought she had called out to Siegfried, and to +encourage her they applauded, clapping and stamping with their feet and +their hands. The sound revived her suddenly like the dash of cold +water on the face of a sleep-walker. +</P> + +<P> +"I must go on!" she said to herself, "Whatever happens I must go on!" +Her eyes were still riveted. +</P> + +<P> +The face of Velasco was white as death; great drops stood out on his +brows, his fingers quivered over the baton. He moved it mechanically, +gazing, and he swayed in his seat as if faint and oppressed. The other +hand was stretched trembling toward her as if a vision had come in his +path suddenly and he was blinded. +</P> + +<P> +Her lips moved again, and his. For a moment it seemed as if he were +about to leap to the stage over the foot-lights. Brünnhilde fell back. +</P> + +<P> +"For God's sake!" whispered Siegfried, "What is it? Are you mad? +Sing—sing! Let out your voice—take up your cue! Go on!" +</P> + +<P> +Again she cried out; but this time her voice was in the tone, and the +emotion of it, the longing, rent the air as with passion unveiled and +bared. She shook the spear aloft in her hands, brandishing it, until +the gleam from the flames lit it up like a spark, and fell on her +helmet. +</P> + +<P> +Siegfried besought her and she answered, they sang together; but as she +answered, singing, her eyes were still fixed, and she sang as one out +of herself and inspired. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Siegfried!"<BR> +"Brünnhilde!"<BR> +"Siegfried! Siegfried! seliger Held!<BR> +Pu Wecker des Lebens, siegendes Licht!"<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The tempo quickened and the rhythm; and the tones grew higher and +richer, ringing, more passionate. Such acting—such singing! It was +as if the Walküre herself had come out of the trance back to life, and +the audience saw Brünnhilde in the flesh. The House reverberated to +the sound of her voice; it was a glory, a revelation. +</P> + +<P> +She sang on and on, and Siegfried answered; but the eyes of the Singer, +and her hands lifted, were toward the House, the orchestra pit, the +desk, the baton—the head with its dark hair falling and the arm +outstretched. +</P> + +<P> +The curtain fell slowly. +</P> + +<P> +"Brünnhilde! Brünnhilde!" +</P> + +<P> +With the flaring up of the lights the House was in an uproar. "Who was +she? What was she? Where did she come from? Ah—h! Brünnhilde!" +</P> + +<P> +They clapped and stamped, and shouted themselves hoarse, calling her +name: "Brünnhilde!" +</P> + +<BR> +<HR WIDTH="60%" ALIGN="center"> +<BR> + +<P> +"She is there!" cried the Kapellmeister, "Go to her, Velasco; go to her +quickly! Gott! I thought the Opera would have come to a standstill! +My heart was in my mouth!—Go!" +</P> + +<P> +He pushed the Violinist towards the door and closed it behind him; then +he fell back against the wall and listened. The noise in the House was +like a mob let loose. +</P> + +<P> +"Brünnhilde! Why doesn't she come? Bring her before the +curtain!… Brünnhilde!" +</P> + +<P> +"I must go," he said, "I must speak to them—tell them anything—she is +ill—she is exhausted! Something—it doesn't matter! I must go and +quiet the tumult!" +</P> + +<P> +The Kapellmeister leaned for a moment against the background of the +scenery; he looked at the door and listened. The House was going mad: +"Brünnhilde! Brünnhilde!" +</P> + +<P> +Then, staggering a little, with his hands to his face, he went out on +the stage. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIV. +</H3> + +<P> +"Kaya!" +</P> + +<P> +"Velasco! Ah, Velasco! Don't come—don't touch—me!" +</P> + +<P> +He sprang forward. +</P> + +<P> +She was still in the Brünnhilde dress with the helmet on her head and +the white robes trailing. The spear lay at her feet. He trampled on +it as he sprang, snatching her into his arms: "Kaya!" +</P> + +<P> +His grip was like a band of steel and he wound his arms about her, +pressing her to him: "Kaya, my beloved! Ah, my beloved—speak to me! +Open your eyes! Look at me!" He tore the helmet from her head and +flung it to the ground. The red-blonde hair fell back, and he kissed +her cheek and her curls. +</P> + +<P> +He was like a whirlwind wooing, and she like a lily blown by the gale. +She lay in his arms. Her lips quivered as he kissed them, but she lay +without motion or sign. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you faint?" he cried, "Have you swooned? Kaya! It is as if the +world had gone to pieces suddenly and this were chaos, and only you and +I—only you and I." +</P> + +<P> +He kissed her eyelids. +</P> + +<P> +"Open them, Kaya, they are blue as the sky." +</P> + +<P> +He kissed her throat. +</P> + +<P> +"It swells like a bird's when it trills, and the sound of it is as a +nightingale in the twilight." +</P> + +<P> +He kissed her lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, they are warm; they quiver and tremble!" +</P> + +<P> +His arms were so strong she was pinioned, and she panted as she +breathed. He kissed her again and again as one who is starving and +thirsty, and she stirred in his arms, lifting her face: +</P> + +<P> +"Velasco—my husband—my—self! To lie in your arms—it is heaven, and +to leave them is hell! Let me go—Velasco! I love you—I love you! +Let me—go!" +</P> + +<P> +"So long as the world lasts and there is strength in my body—never! +Say you love me again." +</P> + +<P> +"I love you." +</P> + +<P> +"You will never leave me? You will stay with me always while we live? +Say it, Kaya! Your cheeks are white like a sea-shell; they flush like +a rose when I press them with my lips! Say it, Kaya! You are +trembling—you are sobbing!" +</P> + +<P> +"I must leave you, Velasco—I cannot stay. It is like leaving one's +life and one's soul!" +</P> + +<P> +He laughed: "Leave me then! Can you stir from my arms? They are +strong. I will hold you forever." He laid his dark, curly head +against the gold of her curls, and she felt his breath against her +throat. +</P> + +<P> +She opened her eyes: "My hands, Velasco—they are stained with blood; +have you forgotten? How can I stay with you when there is—blood on +my—hands?" +</P> + +<P> +He pressed her closer: "Give them to me; let me kiss the stains!" +</P> + +<P> +"I am cursed, Velasco, I am cursed! I have taken the life of a man!" +</P> + +<P> +He held his breath suddenly, moving his face until he could see into +her eyes. "Ah," he said, "Is that why you left me, Kaya, because of +the curse?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—Velasco." +</P> + +<P> +"You loved me then! It was a lie? Kaya, tell me!" +</P> + +<P> +"I loved you, Velasco, I loved you!" +</P> + +<P> +"And now—?" +</P> + +<P> +She clung to him and his arms tightened. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he laughed again. "Hark!" he cried, "You hear the shouting? +They are shouting for you! They are stamping and clapping for you; +they are calling your name!" He threw back his head, laughing madly: +</P> + +<P> +"Come—Kaya! Let us go together and peep through the curtain. The +first time I saw you, you were there in the House, and I behind on the +stage alone, with your violets. Now we are together. You will leave +me, you say? Come, Kaya, and look at the House through the curtain. +You are trembling, little one; and when I put you down on your feet you +can scarcely stand. You are sorry to leave me? It is like tearing +one's heart from one's body while one still lives! Will you tear it, +beloved? Come—and look through the hole in the curtain." +</P> + +<P> +He put his arm about her, drawing her forward, looking down at her +curls. "You are weak, Kaya; your form sways like the stem of a flower. +Lean against me. Let me lead you. It is because your heart is so +loyal and true; to kill it will be killing yourself! Don't sob, Kaya! +Look through the curtain! Hark at the stamping! Look—dear +beloved—lean on my shoulder and look!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Velasco, it is like a great mob; the Kapellmeister is there before +the curtain. He tries to speak, but they will not listen! They are +calling: 'Brünnhilde—Brünnhilde!' Is that for me?" +</P> + +<P> +"For you." +</P> + +<P> +"Why should I look, Velasco—why should I listen? My heart is +breaking. I cannot bear it—Velasco!" +</P> + +<P> +"Lean on my shoulder; look again, Kaya, put your eyes to the hole. Do +you see a loggia above to the left, full of people standing, and in +front some one tall and in uniform?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, Velasco—I see nothing!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is the tears in your eyes, Kaya! Brush them away and look once +again. Don't you see him—in uniform, tall with a beaked nose, a grey +mustache and his eyes crossed?" +</P> + +<P> +"His eyes crossed—Velasco! Are you mad? He is dead! I tell you, +Velasco, he is—dead! The Grand-Duke Stepan!—I killed him!" +</P> + +<P> +"He is not dead." +</P> + +<P> +"The Grand-Duke Ste—" +</P> + +<P> +"He is not dead. He lives and he stands there before you—clapping and +shouting your name." +</P> + +<P> +She gazed up at him with trembling lips: "There is no curse, +Velasco—he lives? There is—no curse—no stain on my hands? Am I +mad? No curse of the Cross—the Black Cross?" +</P> + +<P> +"Kaya—my beloved!" +</P> + +<P> +She fell back slowly against his breast and his arms closed around her. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Black Cross, by Olive M. 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