Part 32 (1/2)

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.