She felt very low-spirited. Since she had seen
and talked with the two men in whose lives Magda had
played so big a part, she was oppressed with a sense
of the utter hopelessness of trying to put matters
right. Things must take their course—drive
on to whatever end, bitter or sweet, lay hidden in
the womb of fate.
She had tried to stem the current of affairs, but
she had proved as powerless to deflect it as a dried
stick tossed on to a river in spate. And now,
whether the end were ultimate happiness or hopeless,
irretrievable disaster, Michael and Magda must still
fight their way towards it, each alone, by the dim
light of that “blind Understanding” which
is all that Destiny vouchsafes.
FAREWELL
The curtains swung together for the last time, the
orchestra struck up the National Anthem, and the great
audience which had come from all parts to witness
the Wielitzska’s farewell performance began to
disperse.
A curious quietness attended its departure. It
was as though a pall of gravity hung over the big
assemblage. Public announcements of the performance
had explained that the famous dancer proposed taking
a long rest for reasons of health. “But,”
as everyone declared, “you know what that means!
She’s probably broken down—heart or
something. We shall never see her dance again.”
And so, beneath the tremendous reception which they
gave her, there throbbed an element of sadness, behind
all the cheers and the clapping an insistent minor
note which carried across the footlights to where
Magda stood bowing her thanks, and smiling through
the mist of tears which filled her eyes.
The dance which she had chosen for her last appearance
was the Swan-Maiden. There had seemed
a strange applicability in the choice, and to those
who had eyes to see there was a new quality in the
Wielitzska’s dancing—a depth of significance
and a spirituality of interpretation which was commented
upon in the Press the next day.
It had been quite unmistakable. She had gripped
her audience so that throughout the final scene of
the ballet no word was spoken. The big crowd,
drawn from all classes, sat tense and silent, sensitive
to every movement, every exquisite, appealing gesture
of the Swan-Maiden. And when at last she had
lain, limp in death, in her lover’s embrace,
and the music had quivered into silence, there followed
a vibrant pause—almost it seemed as though
a sigh of mingled ecstasy and regret went up—before
the thunderous applause roared through the auditorium.
The insatiable few were still clapping and stamping
assiduously when Magda, after taking innumerable calls,
at last came off the stage. It had been a wonderful
night of triumph, and as she made her way towards
her dressing-room she was conscious of a sudden breathless
realisation of all that she was sacrificing.
For a moment she felt as though she must rush back
on to the stage and tell everybody that she couldn’t
do it, that it was all a mistake—that this
was not a farewell! But she set her teeth and
moved resolutely towards her dressing-room.
