Part 11 (1/2)
She leaned back upon the pillows and breathed audibly, exhausted by her wild pa.s.sion. The king looked at her with wonder. She was to him a rare and precious work of art, something to be studied and wors.h.i.+pped. Her alluring beauty, her impetuous, uncontrolled pa.s.sions, her bold sincerity, were all attractions, and he felt himself under the spell of her enchantments. Let her rail and swear to be revenged on the barbarian. The king heard her not; a simple gentleman stood before her; a man who felt that Barbarina was right, and who confessed to himself that the king had forgotten, in her rude seizure, that this Barbarina was a woman--forgotten that he, in all his relations with women, should be only a cavalier.
”Yes, yes,” said Barbarina, and an expression of triumph was painted on her lips--”yes, my little feet will be my avengers. The king will never more see them dance--never more; they have cost him thousands of gold; because of them he is at variance with the n.o.ble Republic of Venice. Well, he has seen them for the last time. Ah! it is a light thing to subdue a province, but impossible to conquer a woman and an artiste who is resolved not to surrender.”
Frederick smiled at these proud words.
”So you will not dance before the king, and yet you have danced for him this evening?”
”Yes,” said she, raising her head proudly. ”I have proved to him that I am an artiste; only when he feels that, will it pain him never again to see me exercise my art.”
”That is, indeed, refined reasoning,” said the king. ”You danced, then, in order to make the king thirst anew for this intoxicating draught, and then deny him? Truly, one must be an Italian to conceive this plan.”
”I am an Italian, and woe to me that I am!” A storm of tears gushed from her eyes, but in a moment, as if scorning her own weakness, she drove them back into her heart. ”Poor Italian,” she said, in a soft, low tone--”poor child of the South, what are you doing in this cold North, amongst these frosty hearts whose icy smiles petrify art and beauty? Ah! to think that even the Barbarina could not melt the ice- rind from their pitiful souls; to think that she displayed before them all the power and grace of her art, and they looked on with motionless hands and silent lips! Ah! this humiliation would have killed me in Italy, because I love my people, and they understand and appreciate all that is rare and beautiful. My heart burns with scorn and contempt for these torpid Berliners.”
”I understand you now,” said the king; ”you heard no bravos, you were not applauded; therefore you are angry?”
”I laugh at it!” said she, looking fiercely at the king. ”Do you not know, sir, that this applause, these bravos, are to the artiste as the sound of a trumpet to the gallant war-horse, they invigorate and inspire, and swell the heart with strength and courage? When the artiste stands upon the stage, the saloon before him is his heaven, and there his judges sit, to bestow eternal happiness or eternal condemnation; to crown him with immortal fame, or cover him with shame and confusion. Now, sir, that I have explained to you that the stage saloon is our heaven, and the spectators are our judges, you will understand that these bravos are to us as the music of the spheres.”
”Yes, I comprehend,” said the king, smiling; ”but you must be indulgent; in this theatre etiquette forbids applause. You have danced to-day before an invited audience, who pay nothing, and therefore have not the right to blame or praise; no one dare applaud--no one but the king.”
”Ha! and this rude man did not applaud!” cried she, showing her small teeth, and raising her hand threateningly toward heaven.
”Perhaps he was motionless and drunk from rapture,” said the king, bowing gracefully; ”when he sees you dance again, he will have more control over himself, and will, perhaps, applaud you heartily.”
”Perhaps?” cried she. ”I shall not expose myself to this 'perhaps.'
I will dance no more. My foot is sore, and your king cannot force me to dance.”
”No, he cannot force you, but you will do it willingly; you will dance for him again this evening, of your own free will.”
Barbarina answered by one burst of wild, demoniac laughter, expressive of her scorn and her resentment.
”You will dance again this evening,” repeated Frederick, and his keen eye gazed steadily into that of Barbarina, who, though weeping bitterly, shook her lovely head, and gave him back bravely glance for glance. ”You will dance, Barbarina, because, if you do not, you are lost. I do not mean by this that you are lost because the king will punish you for your obstinacy. The king is no Bluebeard; he neither murders women nor confines them in underground prisons; he has no torture chambers ready for you; for the King of Prussia, whom you hate so fiercely, has abolished the torture throughout his kingdom--the torture, which still flourishes luxuriantly by the side of oranges and myrtles in your beautiful Italy. No, signora, the king will not punish you if you persist in your obstinacy; he will only send you away, that is all.”
”And that is my only wish, all that I ask of Fate.”
”You do not know yourself. You, who are an artiste, who are a lovely woman, who are ambitious, and look upon fame as worth striving for, you would not lose your power, trample under foot your ambition, see your rare beauty slighted, and your enchanting grace despised?”
”I cannot see why all these terrible things will come to pa.s.s if I refuse to dance again before your king?”
”I will explain to you, signora--listen. The king (however contemptuously you may think and speak of him) is still a man, upon whom the eyes of all Europe are turned--that is to say,” he added, with a gay smile and a graceful bow, ”when his bold eye is not exactly fixed upon them, signora. The voice of this king has some weight in your world, though, as yet, he has only stolen provinces and women. It is well known that the king has so irresistible a desire to see you and to admire you, that he forgot his knightly gallantry, or set it aside, and, relying only upon his right, he exacted the fulfilment of the contract signed by your own lovely hand. That was, perhaps, not worthy of a cavalier, but it was not unjust. You were forced to obey. You came to Berlin unwillingly, that I confess; but you have this evening danced before the king of your own free will. This, from your stand-point, was a great mistake. You can no longer say, 'I will not dance before the king, because I wish to revenge myself.' You have already danced, and no matter with what refinement of reason you may explain this false step, no one will believe you if the king raises his voice against you; and he will do this, believe me. He will say: 'I brought this Barbarina to Berlin. I wished to see if the world had gone mad or become childish, or if Barbarina really deserved the enthusiasm and adoration which followed her steps. Well, I have seen her dance, and I find the world is mad in folly. I give them back their G.o.ddess-- she does not suit me. She is a wooden image in my eyes. I wished to capture Terpsich.o.r.e herself, and lo, I found I had stolen her chambermaid! I have seen your G.o.ddess dance once, and I am weary of her pirouettes and minauderies. Lo, there, thou hast that is thine.'”
”Sir, sir!” cried Barbarina menacingly, and springing up with flaming eyes and panting breath.
”That is what the king will say,” said Frederick quietly. ”You know that the voice of the king is full and strong; it will resound throughout Europe. No one will believe that you refused to dance. It will be said that you did not please the king; this will be proved by the fact that he did not applaud, did not utter a single bravo.
In a word, it will be said you have made a fiasco.”
Barbarina sprang from her seat and laid her hand upon the arm of the king with indescribable, inimitable grace and pa.s.sion.
”Lead me upon the stage--I will dance now. Ah, this king shall not conquer me, shall not cast me down. No, no! I will compel him to applaud; he shall confess that I am indeed an artiste. Tell the director to prepare--I will come immediately upon the stage.”
Barbarina was right when she compared the artiste to a war-horse. At this moment she did indeed resemble one: she seemed to hear the sound of the trumpet calling to battle and to fame. Her cheeks glowed, her nostrils dilated, a quick and violent breathing agitated her breast, and a nervous and convulsive trembling for action was seen in every movement. The king observed and comprehended her. He understood her tremor and her haste; he appreciated this soul- thirsting for fame, this fervor of ambition, excited by the possibility of failure; her boldness enraptured him. The sincerity and power with which she expressed her emotions, commanded his respect; and while the king paid this tribute to her intellectual qualities, the man at the same time confessed to himself that her personal attractions merited the wors.h.i.+p she received. She was beautiful, endowed with the alluring, gentle, soft, luxurious, and at the same time modest beauty of the Venus Anadyomene, the G.o.ddess rising from the sea.