One afternoon, when a brief rehearsal3 of some small parts was over, not expecting Florence for a half hour or more, she gathered up her possession, her precious God of Fire, and tripping down the hallway arrived before the door that led to the land of magic, the great stage of the Opera.
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Several times she had made her way shyly down this hall to open the door and peer into the promised land beyond. She had found it to be a place of magnificent transformations4. Now it was a garden, now a castle, now a village green, and now, reverting5 to form, it was but a vast empty stage with a smooth board floor.
It was on this day only a broad space. Not a chair, not a shred6 of scenery graced the stage.
“How vast it is!” she whispered, as she looked in. She had been told that this stage would hold fifteen hundred people.
“What a place to dance all alone!”
The notion tickled7 her fancy. There was no one about. Slipping silently through the door, she removed her shoes; then, with the god still under her arm, she went tripping away to the front center of the stage. There, having placed her god in position, she drew a long breath and began to dance.
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It was a delicate bit of a fantastic dance she was doing. As she danced on, with the dark seats gaping8 at her, the place seemed to come to life. Every seat was filled. The place was deathly silent. She was nearing the end of her dance. One moment more—and what then? The thunder of applause?
So real had this bit of fancy become to her that she clasped her hand to her heart in wild exultation9.
But suddenly for a fraction of time that racing10 heart stood still. Something terrible was happening. She all but lost her balance, spun11 round, grew suddenly dizzy and barely escaped falling. The end of a large section of the floor, had risen a foot above the level of the stage! It was still rising.
Her mind in a whirl, she sprang from the tilting13 floor to the level space just beyond.
But horror of horrors! This also began to tilt14 at a rakish angle. At the same time she realized in consternation15 that the Fire God was in danger of gliding16 down the section on which he rested and falling into the pit of inky blackness below.
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Risking her own neck, she sprang back to her former position, seized the god and went dashing away across section after section of madly rocking floors, to tumble at last into some one’s arms.
This someone was beyond the door in the hallway. Realizing dimly that only the stage floor and not the whole building was doing an earthquake act, she gripped her breast to still the wild beating of her heart and then looked into the face of her protector. Instantly her heart renewed its racing. The woman who held her tightly clasped was none other than the one who, in a cape12 of royal purple and white fox, had sat beside Solomon and witnessed their rehearsal—Marjory Bryce, the greatest prima donna the city had ever known. And she was laughing.
“Please forgive me!” she said after her mirth had subsided17. “You looked so much like Liza crossing the ice with the child in her arms.”
“But—but what—” The little French dancer was still confused and bewildered.
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“Don’t you understand, child?” The prima donna’s tone was soft and kindly18 as a mother’s. Petite Jeanne loved her for it. “The floor is laid in sections. Each section may be raised or lowered by lifts beneath it. That is for making lakes, mountains, great stairways and many other things. Just now they are making a mountain; just for me. To-night I sing. Would you like to watch them? Have you time? It is really quite fascinating.”
“I—I’d love to.”
“Then come. Let us sit right here.” She drew a narrow bench from a hidden recess19. “This section will not be lifted. We may remain here in safety.”
In an incredibly short time they saw the stage transformed into a giant stairway. After that, from somewhere far above the stage, dangling20 from ropes, various bits of scenery drifted down. Seized by workmen, these bits were fitted into their places and—
“Behold! Here is magic for you!” exclaimed the prima donna. “Here we have a mountain.”
As Petite Jeanne moved to the front of the stage she found herself facing a mountainside with slopes of refreshing21 green. A winding22 path led toward its summit. At the top of the path were the stone steps of a palace.
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“Come,” said her enchantress, “Come to the castle steps and rest with me for a time.”
As Jeanne followed her up the winding path she felt that she truly must be in fairyland. “And with such a guide!” she breathed.
“Now,” said the prima donna, drawing her down to a place beside herself, “we may sit here and tell secrets, or fortunes, or what would you like?” She laughed a merry laugh.
“Do you know,” she said as her mood changed, “you are really very like me in many ways? I sing in parts you might take without a make-up. I, who am very old,” she laughed once more, “I must be made up for them very much indeed.”
“Oh, no, surely not!” the little French dancer exclaimed. “You are very young.”
“Thank you, little girl.” The prima donna placed a hand upon her knee. “None of us wish to grow old. We would remain young forever and ever in this bright, beautiful and melodious23 world.
“I saw you dancing here this afternoon,” she went on after a moment’s silence.
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Jeanne started.
“Was it very terrible?”
“Oh, no. It was beautiful, exquisite24!” The prima donna’s eyes shone with a frank truthfulness25. Jeanne could not doubt. It made her feel all hot and cold inside.
“Would you like to dance before all that?” The smiling woman spread her arms wide. “All those seats filled with people?”
“Oh, yes!” Jeanne caught her breath sharply.
“It is really quite simple,” the lady went on. “You look up at the people, then you look back at the stage and at the ones who are to act or sing with you. Then you say: ‘I have only to do it all quite naturally, as if they, the people in the seats, were not there at all. If I do that they will be pleased. And when I succeed in doing that, they like me.’
“So you think you’d enjoy it,” she went on musingly26.
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“Oh, yes; but—but not yet,” the little girl cried. “Sometime in the dreamy future. Now I want my own stage in my own sweet little theatre, and I want to be with just my own little Golden Circle.”
“Brave girl!” The prima donna seized her hand and squeezed it tight. “You are indeed wise for your years.
“But you said ‘with my own little Golden Circle.’ What is this circle?”
Jeanne explained as best she could.
“My child,” said her illustrious friend, “you have discovered a great truth. You know the secret of happiness. Or do you? What is it that makes us happy?”
“Doing things for others.”
“Ah, that is but half of it! You know the rest, but you do not tell me. The other part is to allow others to do things for you. Doing things for others and refusing to accept benefits in return is the most selfish unselfishness the world knows.
“Ah, but your Golden Circle! What a beautiful name!
“Tell me,” she demanded quite suddenly, after a moment of silence, “Do they say that I am a great prima donna?”
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“They tell me,” said Jeanne quite frankly27, “that you are the greatest of all.”
“But they do not tell you that I have a great voice?”
“N—no.” The dancer’s eyes and her tone told her reluctance28.
“Ah, no,” the great one sighed, “they will never say that! It would not be true.
“But if they say I am great,” again her mood changed, “if they say it in truth, that is because I have always had your Golden Circle in the back of my poor little head; because I have striven ever and always, not for my success but for our success—for the success of the whole company, from the least to the greatest.
“You have learned at a very tender age, my child, that this alone brings true success and lasting29 happiness.”
For a time they sat in silence. Changes were taking place all about them, but the little French girl was not at all conscious of them. She was wrapped in her own thoughts.
“But what is this curious thing you have at your side?” her companion asked soberly.
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“That? Why—oh, that is the gypsy God of Fire.” Seeing the prima donna’s eyes light with sudden interest, she went on. “He fell from some planet, to the land of India. There, beneath the palms, the gypsy folk worshiped him before they came to Europe. After that they brought him to France. And now I have him,” she ended quite simply.
“But how did you come into possession of so rare a treasure?”
Jeanne told her.
“But why do you not keep him locked away in a vault30?”
“Because without him I cannot do my dances as they should be done. It is he who inspires me.”
“Ah!” sighed the great one. “I, too, once believed in fairies and goblins, in angels and curious gods.”
“I shall always believe,” the little French girl whispered.
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“You have one good angel in whom you may believe to your heart’s content. He is a very substantial angel and not very beautiful to look upon; but he is beautiful inside. And that is all that counts.”
“You mean Mr. Solomon?”
“Yes. I have known him a long time. You are very fortunate.”
“And to think—he is a Jew. I used to believe—”
“Yes, I know. So did most of us believe that Jews had no hearts, that they were greedy for gold. That is true sometimes; it may be said of any race. But there are many wonderful men and women of that race. Perhaps no race has produced so many.”
“Doesn’t it seem strange!” Petite Jeanne mused31. “There we are, all working together, all striving for the success of one thing, our light opera. And yet we are of many races. Angelo is Italian; Swen a Swede; Dan Baker32 very much American; Mr. Solomon is a Jew and he has found me a very handsome young stage lover who is very English, who has a golden voice and perfect manners. And poor me, I am all French. So there we are.”
251
“Very strange indeed, but quite glorious. When we all learn that races and names, countries, complexions33 and tongues do not count, but only the hearts that beat beneath the jackets of men, then we shall begin to succeed.”
“Ah, yes! Succeed!” Jeanne’s voice went quite sober again. Unconsciously she was yielding to influences outside herself. As they sat there on the stage mountainside a change had been taking place. So gradually had it come that she had not noticed it. In the beginning, all about them had been stage daylight, though none the less real. Gradually, moment by moment shadows had lengthened34; the shades of evening had fallen; darkness was now all but upon them. Only dimly could they discern the difference between gray paths and green mountainsides.
“Success,” Jeanne murmured once more. “There are times when I feel that it will come to us. And we all want it so much. We have worked so hard. You know, we tried once before.”
“In the old Blackmoore?”
“Yes. And we failed.”
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“Dear child.” The prima donna threw an arm about her waist. “All will be different this time.
“But look! While we have been talking, twilight35, a stage twilight, has fallen upon us. You did not know, it came so gradually. Such is the magic of modern science.
“It is, however, only one of those Arctic summer nights, lasting a few brief moments. Watch, and you will see that already we are looking upon the first faint flush of dawn.”
Together, hand in hand, they watched the coming of day as it stole across the mountainside. Only when day had fully36 come did the spell of enchantment37 break.
“Grand Opera,” said the prima donna, with some show of feeling, “will live forever because it combines the most beautiful of everything we see with the most melodious of all we hear.
“That,” she added, “is why I cling to Grand Opera. Friends tell me over and over: ‘You might become the greatest actress of your age.’ But no, I will not. Grand Opera is the greatest of all!
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“But come!” she exclaimed. “We must go. There is work to be done.”
As they walked down the operaland mountain in silence, it seemed to the little French girl that she had been on the Mount of Transfiguration.
“Your little opera,” said the prima donna, as they parted at the door, “it is beautiful. I am sure it will be a great success. And I am coming on your first night.”
“Th—thanks.” Scarcely could the little dancer keep back her tears. “I—I’ll tell Angelo and Swen, and Mr. Solomon and the old trouper and—and all the rest.”
“Your Golden Circle.” The prima donna pressed her hand, and was gone, leaving her feeling as though she had spoken with an angel.
“But I must not dream!” She shook herself free from golden fancies. “There is much work to be done! Ten long, hard days, and then—ah then!” She drank in one long, deep breath. Then she went dancing down the hallway to find Florence anxiously awaiting her return.
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1
tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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rehearsal
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| n.排练，排演；练习 | |
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4
transformations
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| n.变化( transformation的名词复数 )；转换；转换；变换 | |
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reverting
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| 恢复( revert的现在分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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shred
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| v.撕成碎片，变成碎片；n.碎布条，细片，些少 | |
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7
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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9
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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12
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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13
tilting
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| 倾斜，倾卸 | |
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14
tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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25
truthfulness
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| n. 符合实际 | |
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musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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27
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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28
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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32
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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33
complexions
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| 肤色( complexion的名词复数 )； 面色； 局面； 性质 | |
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lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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