The Black Cross Part 32

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. . . .

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.

So the first scene pa.s.sed; and the second.

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."

The orchestra was playing pa.s.sionately, 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.

The motive came nearer.

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.

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

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.

"Has the Fraulein gone home?"

"No," said Marta, yawning, "She is in one of the dressing-rooms. I begged her to come, but she wouldn't."

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.

One person after another stopped him: "Ha, Kapellmeister, where did that nightingale hail from?"

"I snared it for you, Siegfried; were you satisfied?"

"Ach, mein Gott! I thought I was back on the Riviera, and it was moon-light.-- Snare me another Brunnhilde, 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 G.o.ddess instead." He waved his hand: "Good-night!"

"Good-night," said the Kapellmeister, hurrying on.

"Ritter--hey! Stop a moment! What has come over the Neumann?"

"Nothing, Jacobs--nothing! She is dead."

Mime straightened his back that was stiff from much crouching: "Ausgeworfen?"

"Ja wohl."

"Then who is the lark?"

"An improvement you think--eh?"

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?"

"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.

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 princ.i.p.als 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.

"Kaya!" called the Kapellmeister softly, "Where are you?" He hurried from room to room.

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.

The prima-donna was standing before the pier-gla.s.s, 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 Walkure cry. The figure was superb, magnificent; a G.o.ddess at bay. And as the Kapellmeister stared at her in astonishment, he saw that she was tense with emotion.

"Madame," he stammered, "You! You--still here?"

Her face was to the gla.s.s, her back to the door; she wheeled about quickly and faced him: "Yes, I am here!" she cried, "Brunnhilde 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.

"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 Brunnhilde!' 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 Brunnhilde!"

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.

"Am I not--Brunnhilde?"

"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."

The singer took a step forward. "It is not I," she cried, "It is Brunnhilde herself! Come, let her sing to you! The scene is still there on the stage, the rocks and the fir-tree--and Brunnhilde's couch.

The fire motive seethes in my brain, and the flames are springing.

Come--and waken me!"

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!"

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 bal.u.s.trade. 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; Brunnhilde 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.

"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!"

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 Brunnhilde herself, the G.o.ddess, and the kiss of Siegfried was on her lips.

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.

"O Siegfried, Herrliche Hort der Welt!

Leben der Erde, lachender Held!"

Her red-blonde hair shone in the light and the helmet glittered: "Siegfried! Siegfried!"

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 Brunnhilde herself, the G.o.ddess 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.

Instinctively his fingers clutched the air as if grasping the baton.

"Siegfried!"