CHAPTER XIX THE FIRE-BIRD
Strange as it may seem, it was at this very hour that Petite Jeannereceived one of the most unusual thrills of her not uneventful life. Sheand Madame Bihari were back in Chicago. The Ballet Russe, too, was inthat city. And to Jeanne who, as you may know, was one of the finest ofgypsy dancers, anything like the Ballet Russe was a call which, if needbe, would draw from her purse the last silver coin.
"The Ballet Russe!" she exclaimed to Madame. "We must go. And ah yes,tonight we must go! This is the last performance."
"Impossible, my pretty one," Madame said with slow regret. "I havepromised to say farewell to our good friends of Bohemia. They areleaving tomorrow for their native land.
"But you, my child, you must go. Put on your bright gown of a thousandbeads and your purple cape with the white fox collar, and go. Surely noone, not even the Fire-Bird, shall outshine my Petite Jeanne."
So Jeanne went alone. She secured a seat at the side of the gallerywhere she might look almost directly down upon the dancers. And was thatan hour of pure joy for Jeanne! Not for months had she witnessedanything half so charming. The lights were so bright, the costumes sobeautiful, the dancers so light-footed and droll, and the music soentrancing that she at times believed herself transported to anotherworld.
The first piece was a bit of exquisite nonsense. But when the time camefor that entrancing story, "The Fire-Bird," to be told in pantomime,music and dancing, Jeanne sat entranced. Once before, as a small child,she had seen this in Paris. Now it came to her as a thing of renewed andeternal beauty.
As the lights of the great Auditorium went dark and the orchestra tookup an entrancing strain, Jeanne saw at the back of the stage a tree thatseemed all aglow with light. And before this tree, dancing like someenchanted fairy, was a creature that, in that uncertain light, seemedhalf maiden, half bird.
"The Fire-Bird!" Jeanne's lips formed the words they did not speak.
Soon the beautiful, glimmering Fire-Bird began to seem ill at ease. Theshadow of a young man appeared in the background.
"Prince Ivan," Jeanne whispered.
The Prince pursued the Fire-Bird. Round and round they danced. How lightwas the step of the Fire-Bird! She seemed scarcely a feather's weight.How Jeanne envied her!
And yet there were those who would have said, "Petite Jeanne is a moresplendid dancer."
The Prince seized the Fire-Bird in his arms. She struggled in vain toescape. She entreated him. She attempted to charm and beguile him. Hereleased her only, in beautiful and fantastic dance rhythm, to captureher again. At last, on being given one of her shining feathers as acharm against all evil, he granted her the freedom she asked.
The Fire-Bird vanishes. Day begins to dawn upon the stage. The music islow and enchanting. Then a bevy of dancing girls emerge from a castlegate. These are Princesses, bewitched and enslaved by a wizard.
As the thirteen Princesses danced upon the stage, Jeanne received amomentary shock. One of these, the third from their leader, had abouther an air of familiarity. Jeanne was a dancer. She had learned torecognize other dancers by their movements. But this one--
"Where have I seen her?" she whispered.
Closing her eyes, she attempted to call forth upon the dimly lightedpicture gallery of memory some scene of other days, some open air arena,some stage where this one had danced.
"No, no!" She tapped her small foot. "It will not come. And yet I _have_seen her!"
Then again she gave herself over to the story unfolding so beautifullybefore her.
In the story played out for Jeanne, Prince Ivan falls in love with themost beautiful of the enchanted Princesses. There follows a marvelousdance done by the maidens. Jeanne as she watched had eyes for but onedancer, the mysterious person she felt she should know, but could notrecall.
Dawn comes. The enchanted ones disappear through the gate of the castle.Prince Ivan, in the abandon of love, follows. There comes the unearthlydin of gongs and bells. A host of weird creatures come out to attackhim. They are powerless because of the magic feather, gift of theFire-Bird. Ivan is not afraid.
Then comes the terrible wizard who, if he could, would destroy Ivan withhis very breath.
For the time Jeanne forgot the mysterious dancer who had once moreappeared upon the scene. Carried away by the story, Jeanne had eyes onlyfor the brave little Prince and the terrible creature who seeks hisdestruction. As the wizard approaches step by step, his hand tremblingwith rage, his small hard foot stamping the floor, Jeanne actuallytrembled with fear. Then, as Prince Ivan waved the magic feather andcalled upon the Fire-Bird to aid him, when the splendid dancingFire-Bird appeared upon the scene, Jeanne wanted to scream for joy.
Such enchantment passes rapidly. When at last Ivan had triumphed and thewizard been destroyed, Jeanne thought again of the mysterious dancer whohad, she was sure, played some part in her past life.
"If you please--" she spoke to her nearest neighbor whose opera glassdangled idly from a ribbon. "Just for one moment, may I borrow it?"
"Certainly." The lady smiled.
Strangely enough, as she put the glass to her eyes, the little Frenchgirl found herself all atremble. "Coming events cast their shadowsbefore them." Scarcely had the glass been focussed upon the mysteriousdancer than her hand dropped limply to her lap.
"It cannot be!" she murmured aloud. "But yes! It is she! It can be noother. There is the dark face. Even beneath her make-up one feels it.There is the torn ear. I can't be wrong. It is the dark lady! It is thespy!"
Twenty seconds later the opera glasses were in their owner's hands.Jeanne had vanished.