NEARLY three years after the children's festival in the park at Tsarskoe Seloe,where Katrinka had tried vainly to speak to the Czar, the dancing master came to her at the close of the afternoon lesson and spread before her an official-looking paper. It was covered with seals and signatures. Katrinka looked at it, then turned to the master.
"What is it ?" she asked,
"It is your contract with the Czar."
"I do not understand," said Katrinka.
"I have arranged for your appearance at the Imperial Theater. In this contract you promise to dance three evenings a week. In return you will receive eight thousand roubles a year. In the contract you will agree that you will not dance outside of St. Petersburg without permission from the Czar, otherwise you will forfeit your life pension which begins when you are thirty-six. Next week you will leave the school and go with your chaperone to live in a house near the theater."
"And Peter–my little brother–" began Katrinka.
"He will continue in school. But you may see him as often as you wish."
Katrinka clasped her hands. "Oh, how good everybody is to us," she cried. Then her face fell.
"I wish father knew that Peter was going to school. He told me to take the tin box and go to Stefan Norvitch in St. Petersburg and to ask him to send Peter to school. An officer carried away the tin box, and the morning after we found Stefan Norvitch he was shot by the Cossacks. Please tell me why people are so kind to me and so cruel to people who are so very good, like Stefan Norvitch and my father and mother."
"They are good to you, child, because you have a great gift. In Russia the path is made easy for all artists. From now on, you will be deprived of nothing that is within reason. You are setting out upon a great career. I shall continue to instruct you. But when the time comes when you no longer require the services of a master, remember to keep your work poetic and noble. Now sign your name to this paper. It is the Czar's contract with you. He engages you to dance for twenty seasons in the Imperial ballet."
The master held out a pen. Katrinka hesitated. "But he has not seen me dance since the children's festival, when he ran away from me."
A smile twisted the master's mouth.
"But he has heard of you. He sees very few of the artists whom he engages. He does not even know that Katrinka Petrovna is the young girl who caused so much commotion in the park at Tsarskoe Seloe."
Katrinka's heart sank. "Then, perhaps, he will never see me dance. I can never tell him my story after all."
"You are impatient, child. All that you wish will come in good time."
He gave Katrinka the pen and pointed to a line at the foot of the document. "Write your name there."
Very carefully Katrinka penned her name beneath that of the Czar. When she had finished, the master folded the paper and put it into his pocket.
"We shall begin rehearsing at the Imperial theater to-morrow. This afternoon Madame Morenski will call for you and for the woman who has taken care of you so long. A governess has been engaged to teach you French and music. You will in future be a protégée of the Emperor and Empress of Russia. Your life will be ordered very much like that of a child of noble birth."
Half an hour later the news of Katrinka's good fortune had been spread throughout the school, and by the time she was ready to start for home, she was surrounded by girls eager to question her and to wish her luck. Several of the older girls in the school had also signed contracts. Others had been disappointed. Some of these would be allowed to continue at the school for another year; but those who failed utterly would be compelled to give up the work.
Now began for Katrinka a very wonderful time. She moved from the ballet school to some bright rooms overlooking a park. They were very nicely furnished, and heated with a porcelain stove set in the wall so that it projected into the parlor on one side and into Katrinka's bedroom on the other. The house had double windows, and in each window was a single pane of glass that could be opened to let in the air.
The chaperone who had watched over Katrinka at the ballet school came to live with her, and so also did Stefan Norvitch's housekeeper, as happy as a child that she was again under the same roof with Katrinka.
Every day Katrinka had lessons with the dancing masters, but they were given in the Imperial theater now and the steps that it had once seemed impossible to master were no longer difficult. They seemed like simple words used to express the meaning of the music to which she danced.
Early in January the opening ball of the season in St. Petersburg was given at the Winter Palace, and the lovely young Madame Morenski who, Katrinka had learned at the ballet school, was a great favorite in society, received an invitation. The following day she called at the theater where Katrinka was rehearsing.
"I am going home with you this afternoon," she said, as Katrinka stepped into her low sledge, driven by a coachman wearing a coat so wadded and padded to keep out the cold that he looked curiously like a big feather pillow. "We will have tea together and make plans for the ball at the Winter Palace. I have decided to take you to see it. The Grand Duchess Olga will be present. It will be her first great ball."
"Will the Grand Duchess Tatiana be there too?" asked Katrinka, her eyes sparkling at the promised gayety.
"No, she is not yet sixteen. Her parents think her too young to attend court balls."
"I am not sixteen, either," said Katrinka, fearful that when she confessed her age Madame Mornski would withdraw her invitation. "I am only fifteen."
"You are not a Czar's daughter," laughed Madame Morenski. "Besides, you are merely going to look on. I thought it would interest you. The Emperor and Empress will open the Polonaise."
"Will they dance the Komarinskaia?" 27
Madame Morenski laughed softly. "No, indeed, Katrinka. The balls at the Winter Palace are very ceremonious affairs, at which a great many people merely promenade about the ballroom or look on from the balconies. The dances are slow and stately. You will see nothing so difficult as the Komarinskaia. There will be the Polonaise 28 and a few simple waltzes. That is all. But the music and the decorations of the room are wonderful If you go, even to look on, you ought to have a new frock–something simple, of course–and–I wonder what color would best suit you!"
"Mother used to like to see me in white on gala days," said Katrinka, simply.
"Then white you shall wear," said Madame Morenski. "We will order the dress to-morrow, for the ball is less than a week away."
This chapter has been put on-line as part of the
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Initial text entry and proof-reading of this chapter were the work of volunteers
Jessie Hudgins and
Jan Lawson.
This chapter is dedicated by Jessie Hudgins:
"With a little love and a little work... for my grandchildren."
