The Black Cross Part 27

The girl hesitated a moment; then she bent lower and whispered to him: "St. Petersburg, Monsieur, with Helmanoff."

"The great Helmanoff?"

"Yes, Monsieur."

"You are not French then, you are Russian? They told me Mademoiselle Pou--Pou--"

"That is not my real name."

"No?"

Kaya quivered a moment: "I am--Russian," she said, "I am an exile.

Don't ask, Monsieur--not here! I am--I am afraid."

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?"

The girl stood silent.

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."

"Shall I sing a Russian song, Monsieur?"

"Very well."

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."

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.

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 s.p.a.ces, echoing through the vault.

"On the mountain-top were two little doves; Their wings were soft, they shimmered and shone.

Dear little doves, pray a prayer--a prayer For the son of Fedotjen, Michael--Michael, For he is alone--alone."

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?"

The Kapellmeister shrugged his shoulders: "You have no voice for a chorus," he said roughly, "Try this."

"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."

The Kapellmeister pa.s.sed 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?"

"Yes, I have heard it."

"And sung it perhaps with Helmanoff?"

"Yes--Monsieur."

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.

Kaya gave her head a little backward movement as if to free her throat, and threw off the cloak, standing straight.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fragment of "Siegfried"]

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.

"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!"

He put out his hands and took the girl's trembling ones into his own.

"You will take me?" she said, "You see, when I am not so nervous it will go better."

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."

Kaya drew back suddenly: "I live in the mill," she said, "You know, the Nonnen-Muhle by the promenade? You won't let any one know, will you, Monsieur, because--"

"Are you afraid of spies, child? Tut, the chorus can't hear. I won't tell a soul."

"No one?"

"On my honour--no one. Now, your name?"

She looked away from him a moment; then she took the pencil and wrote on the card in small, running letters: "Marya Pulitsin."

"So that's your real name, is it?"

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.

"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-Muhle! 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.

"Stand up, meine Herren, meine Damen!" he said, "Get your scores ready.

Good-bye now, Fraulein.--Donnerwetter! What ails you?"

"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?"

"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?"

"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.

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.

"Now," he cried, "The D again--all together! Pia--no!"