The Second Class Passenger: Fifteen Stories. Gibbon Perceval

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ was mean in drama; and he chuckled and wagged his head in the wings as minute by minute the spell of Truda's genius strengthened, till there came that tenseness of silence in the great theatre which few actors live to know, and Truda, vibrant, taut- nerved, and superb, plucked at men's hearts as if they had been harp- strings. It was not till the curtain was down that the spell broke, and then crash upon crash roared the tumultuous applause of the audience.

      It was Vaucher who rushed forward, as Truda came from the stage, to kiss her hand extravagantly.

      "Ah! Madame!" he cried, looking up to her with his shrewd face working; "it is not for me to guide you. Do as you will by day, but be a genius at night. At this rate you could unman an army."

      Truda smiled and withdrew her hand.

      "That was Prince Sarasin in the great box," she said. "Presently he will send his card in."

      Vaucher nodded. "That was he," he said. "He is Governor of this town.

       Madame will receive him? Or not?"

      "Oh yes; let him in to me," she answered. "He is an old friend of mine."

      Vaucher bowed. "What a happiness for him, then!" he said gravely, and opened the door of her dressing-room for her.

      Prince Sarasin lost no time in making Truda's word good. By the time she was ready to receive him, he was waiting for admission. He strode in, burly in his uniform, and bowed to her effusively, full of admiration. He was a great dark Russian, heavy and massive, with a big petulant face not without intelligence, and Truda had known him of old in Paris. She looked at him now with some anxiety, trying to gauge his susceptibility. He had the spacious manners of a man of action, smiled readily and with geniality; but Truda realized that she had never before made him a request, and the real character of the man was still to find.

      "Superb! Magnificent!" he was saying. "You have ripened, my friend; your power has grown to maturity. It is people like you who make epochs."

      "Sit down!" she bade him. "I am a little tired, as you may think.

       Your town is hard on one's nerves, Prince."

      "Hard!" He laughed as he drew a chair towards her and seated himself. "It is death to the intelligence. It is suffocation to one's finer nature. It has a dullness that turns men into vegetables. I have been here now for three years, and till to-night I have not felt a thrill."

      "No?" Truda spoke lightly of design. "But you are the Governor, are you not? You are aloof, far above thrills. Why, it was only last night, while I was driving home, that I found a dead woman in the street."

      "I know," he said. "And a live baby; I heard all about it. If you had been an hour later they would have been cleaned away. I am sorry if you were shocked."

      "Shocked?" repeated Truda. "I was not thinking of that." She shivered a little, and gathered her big cloak more closely about her. "But I had not heard—I did not know—what the Judenhetze really was. And I think the world does not know, or it would not tolerate it."

      "Eh?" The prince stared at her. "But it has upset you," he said soothingly. "You must forget it. It is not well to dwell on these things."

      The big mirror against the wall, bright with lights, reflected the pair of them sitting face to face in the attitude of intimacy. The Prince, bearded and big, felt protective and paternal, for Truda, muffled in her great cloak, looked very small and feminine just then.

      His tone, so consoling and smooth, roused her; she sat up.

      "Prince," she said, "you could stop it."

      "The Judenhetze, you mean?" He made a gesture of resignation. "You are wrong, dear lady. I can do nothing. It does not rest with me."

      "You mean, there are higher powers who are responsible?" she demanded.

      "We will not talk politics," suggested the Prince. "But roughly that is what I mean."

      She scanned him seriously. "Yes," she said; "I thought that was so.

       And you can do nothing? I see."

      "But why," asked the Prince—"why let yourself be troubled, dear lady? This is a pitiful business, no doubt; it has thrust itself on you by an accident; you are moved and disturbed. But, after all, the Jews are not our friends."

      The courage to deal forthrightly was not lacking to her. As she sat up again, the fur cloak slipped, and her bare shoulders gleamed above it. Her face was grave with the gravity of a serious child.

      "I am a Jewess," she said.

      "Eh? What?" The Prince smiled uncertainly.

      "I am a Jewess," repeated Truda. "The Jews are my friends. And if you can do nothing, there is something I can do."

      He smiled still, but now there was amusement in his smile. He was not at all disconcerted.

      "Do you know," he said, "I had almost guessed it? There is something in you—I noticed it again to-night, in your great scene—that suggests it. A sort of ardor, a glow, as it were; something burning and poignant. Well, if all the Jews were like you there would be no Judenhetze."

      She put the futile compliment from her with a movement of impatience.

      "You can still do nothing?" she asked

      "My powers are where they were, Madame," he answered.

      "Then," she said slowly, "it rests with me." She gathered her cloak about her again. "I am tired, as you see," she said wearily—"tired and a little strained. I will beg you to excuse me."

      He rose to his feet at once and bowed formally.

      "At least," he said, "such a matter is not to interrupt our friendship, Madame."

      "It is for you to say," she answered, smiling faintly. He laughed, pressed her hand, and bade her good-night, leaving her with more matter for thought than he could have suspected.

      There was real cheering for her that night when she left the theatre. Truda had been cheered before in many cities; but that night she took note of it, looking with attention at the thrusting crowd collected to applaud her. It filled the square, restless as a sea under the tall lamps; rank upon rank of shadow-barred faces showed themselves, vociferous and unanimous—a crowd in a good temper. She bowed in acknowledgment of the shouts, but her face was grave, for she was taking account of what it meant to be alone amid an alien multitude, sharing none of its motives and emotions. The fat coachman edged his horses through the men that blocked the way, till there was space to go ahead, and the cheers, steady and unflagging, followed her out of sight.

      The baby was in bed when she arrived at her hotel; Truda paid a brief visit to its side, then ordered that her manager should be summoned, and sat down to write a note. It was to the big young Jew, the baby's uncle; she had a shrewd notion that Monsieur Vaucher would be able to lay hands on him. The note was brief: "I fear there will be more persecutions. The Governor can do nothing. When there is another attack on our people send to me. Send to me without fail, for I have one resource left."

      "You can find the man?" she demanded of Vaucher.

      The little hardened Frenchman was still СКАЧАТЬ