XXIII Thusis
For a while the dancing was lively and good-humored hilarity reigned.
The Tzar of all the Bulgars had imbibed enough wine to dull, if not to obliterate that continual desire of his to slink into corners and peep out at a hostile world bent on his assassination. Only when somebody spoke to him too abruptly behind his back did the customary symptoms blanch his face and set his wild eyes roving and his big nose wrinkling like a boar which winds an enemy.
He was having as good a time as such a person can ever have; and toward supper time his exhilaration incited him to attempt a waddling sort of Bulgarian dance with the Countess Manntrapp—an amazing exhibition of mammoth movements on his part; and a sort of infernal and fascinating grace on the part of the lithe Countess.
Dancing with Thusis, I hastily led her out of their way, and everybody else stood in the circle, the center of which was pervaded by Ferdinand and his lively vis-à-vis.
Which performance presently stirred Admiral Lauterlaus from a somewhat beer-sodden lethargy, and he emitted raucous sounds of protest. But Baron Bummelzug began to snap his fingers and stamp and caper in imitation of the schuplattl of the Bavarian peasantry; and all the boche except the Queen, imitated him and seized partners.
Eddin Bey came to ask Thusis, and he was so faultlessly polite and so gay and graceful that she cast a saucy glance of dismissal at me and accepted him.
It was quite all right, of course, but it depressed me a little, particularly because Clelia had inexorably refused everybody except Smith.
Now there is a very beautiful Grecian dance supposed to be the triumphant dance executed by the Ten Thousand when they caught sight of the sea; and it is called “The Sea-dance.”
Tino, rather drunk, climbed on a chair, shouted for attention, and informed the company that he was about to perform this celebrated dance.
But when we all gave him room he jigged around a while like an intoxicated soldier’s drab, and, remarking jauntily that he had forgotten it, offered ten thousand drachma to anybody present who could dance the Sea-dance of the Ten Thousand.
He was rather vulgar about it, too, digging into his pockets and pulling out fistfuls of hun gold, and loudly demanding that somebody should attempt to win it.
I glanced instinctively toward Thusis who, her dance with Eddin interrupted, stood in the circle opposite me.
Her gray eyes were brilliant, her cheeks delicately flushed, and the shock of thick ruddy hair fairly glittered, every silky thread afire with the gleam of molten gold.
She looked at me with the sweet, reckless audacity of a spoiled child; then she laughed and said something to Clelia. I saw the latter go to the music box, select a record, start it; and the haunting air called The Sea-dance floated out.
Then Thusis seemed suddenly to melt into motion; her slim feet scarcely touched the floor; head, arms, slender body, were all part of a single and exquisite motion flowing from one soft curve to another.
You could have heard a pin drop in the room; and I did hear one—a big jeweled affair, that clattered to my feet.
As I stooped to recover it the queen said hoarsely in my ear:
“Who is that girl?”
I turned; she snatched the jewel and dug it into her hair.
“That girl, madame, is Thusis, my housekeeper.”
“Fiddle,” retorted the queen. “She’s something else, too,—or once was. The first time I noticed her it occurred to me that I’d seen her somewhere. What was she—a celebrated dancer?—before she became your housekeeper?”
The queen’s nasty insolence froze me.
“I am not,” said I, “as familiar with celebrated dancers as your husband is—and the various men of your immediate family.”
That I had penetrated her incognito did not appear to disturb her as much as my inferences concerning Tino and the Kaiser and that degenerate nest of reptiles, her nephews.
A white, pinched expression came into her frosty face and her eyes flamed.
“I thought you were a Yankee,” she said.
“A Yankee from Chile,” said I, bowing.
She looked clean through me at Thusis.
“I’ve seen that woman somewhere,” she said without emotion. “I’ll recollect where, presently.”
But my eyes and attention were now focussed on the lovely Thusis and I paid no further heed to this bad-tempered Hohenzollern.
Never have I seen such an exquisite dance, such grace, such loveliness. As for the boches, when Thusis ended her Dance of the Sea, they were like a herd of cattle galloping around her and bellowing their satisfaction.
Tino, drunk and prodigal, began to throw handfuls of gold at Thusis, and, enraged, I caught him by the collar and jerked him onto a chair.
“Where the devil do you think you are—in the Coulisse of the Opera?” I cried in his partly deafened ear.
But he only grinned and wagged his head and attempted to fish more gold out of his pockets. But now his thrifty wife interfered and she ordered Secretary Gizzler to pick up every coin. Then she hissed something into Tino’s car which seemed to galvanize that partly soused monarch so that he found his feet with alacrity and suffered himself to be led aside by his tight-lipped spouse.
From time to time during the festivities I had heard distant significant noises indicating that upstairs the Bolsheviki were not enduring sheep-dip and imprisonment with resignation.
Once I had slipped away to the corridor outside their quarters, but, when I made my presence known, Raoul from within calmly assured me that the delousing was progressing successfully and that he did not require my assistance.
Russia, forcibly scrubbed, had put forth agonized howls; and now, Russia imprisoned, was battering at its door and yelling murder.
Now and then, a hun noticed the noise and inquired concerning its origin, but I always turned on more music and they soon forgot in the din of the dance.
Thusis had resumed her dance with Eddin Bey; Smith and Clelia were dancing. I said to Raoul, who was starting to crank the music-machine: “I’ll just step up and quiet those Bolsheviki.”
They were raining blows upon their door when I arrived. I rapped sharply.
“What do you want?” said I.
They gibbered at me in Russian.
“Speak English!” I insisted.
Perhaps Puppsky was so excited or so demoralized by his first bath that he forgot he could speak English.
I tried them in Italian: “Whata da mat’?” I inquired pleasantly. They chattered back at me like lunatic squirrels.
“What the devilovitch is the matsky?” I shouted, incensed at their stupidity. “You listen to me! Your clothes are being boiled and you’ve got to stay where you are! Stop your noise, Puppsky!”
And off I went to inspect the big wash boiler in the kitchen where, lifting the lid which had been the queen’s shield, I was gratified to observe the garments of the Bolsheviki simmering nicely.
“It is not the only vermin that Germania’s shield covers,” said I. And much pleased with my jeu d’esprit, I poured in another bottle of sheep-dip and returned to the dance salon where supper was now being served at little tables.
As soon as I entered the room I felt trouble brewing. The inevitable hunnish reaction had set in. A tired boche is an ugly one; an intoxicated hun may become either offensively sentimental or surly and ingeniously bestial. And now they were about to become surfeited huns, heavy with wine, heavier with food. I did not fancy the looks of things very much.
The queen alone appeared to be perfectly sober; the others were engaged in that sort of half insolent raillery always provocative of a row, shouting German pleasantries at one another from table to table, lifting slopping glasses, cheering, singing and leering at the ladies.
Bummelzug demanded that the music-box play “Deutschland über Alles,” but the disk was non-existent.
Von Dungheim, who exhibited an inclination to weep at any mention of Germany, asked in a hoarsely saturated voice for a folk-song. And Raoul turned on two; and the huns sang first “Du bist wie eine Blume,” which shattered them sentimentally so that loud sobs punctuated the “Lorelei” which, of course, followed.
Then Ferdinand, one arm around the Princess Pudelstoff, and a chicken wing in the other hand, lifted a voice choked with food and attempted a Bulgarian folk-song—something about the “Kara Dagh” and “Slivnitza”—but presently lost all recollection of what he was doing and challenged everybody to extemporaneous rhymes in praise of his native land.
Nobody obliged.
“Too stupid!” he remarked thickly. “Nobody clever enough to rhyme ‘Bulgarian’—eh, mine host?” looking around at me where I sat shielding Thusis from the playful attentions of King Constantine who was attempting to pinch her.
“Of course,” said I, “‘Bulgarian’ rhymes with ’vulgarian’; but that’s obvious.” And I smiled at the Tzar of all the Bulgars and offered Thusis a bon-bon.
She looked at Ferdinand, at Tino, at the queen: suddenly she threw back her head, and that lovely, childlike, silvery laughter rippled through the Teutonic din.
There was no scorn in her laughter, only the delicious, irresistible gaiety of a young girl face to face with the excruciating. And there is nothing on earth more innocently insolent.
Every Teuton head was turned toward her in stupefied displeasure; fishy, fixed, pig-like eyes stared at this young girl who dared condone an insult to Bulgaria with her fresh, impulsive laughter.
Suddenly behind me there was a brusque movement; I heard Tino protest that his foot had been trodden on; and, turning, I saw the queen excitedly rising from her place.
“I know who that woman is now!” she said in a voice as sharp as a blade. She pointed at Thusis like a vixen from the markets:
“That’s The Laughing Girl!” she cried. “Look at her! Anybody can recognize her now from her photographs!”
Thusis colored crimson and shrank from the brutal publicity against my shoulder, staring wide-eyed at the hatefully sneering visage of the queen.
“The celebrated Laughing Girl!” repeated the queen mockingly; “Mr. O’Ryan’s housekeeper, gentlemen—and our guest at dinner! And what does our German chivalry and nobility think of that insult launched at us by a Yankee inn-keeper?”
“Be silent, madame!” I said sharply. “If you don’t know how to conduct yourself I shall request your husband to remove you!”
Then it came, the boche deluge!—a herd of huddling swine on their feet, all grunting at me, enraged, clamoring, waving their arms. And in the midst of the guttural uproar a thin, high voice pierced all sound and dominated it—the sniffling whine of Secretary Gizzler.
Possessed by a sort of cringing exaltation, he rose to his thin, splay feet, and pointed a meager finger almost in the shocked face of Thusis.
“That is the Duchess of Naxos!” he squealed.
At that Thusis was on her feet, white as a slim sword-blade, and her gray eye charged with lightning.
I rose, too, incredulous, astounded.
“Thusis, Duchess of Naxos!” piped the excited voice of Secretary Gizzler. “She and The Laughing Girl are one! I know! I was in the Intelligence! I procured that photograph so that if this woman ever gave our fatherland any trouble she could be easily recognized wherever she might be!” He beat his temples and glared at Thusis: “Stupid! Stupid!” he squealed; “why did I not recognize her at once! Why did not a single German present recognize the chief mischief-maker in Greece!—the instigator of revolt!—the pupil of Venizelos!—the enemy of their majesties King Constantine and Queen Sophia!—the plotter who aided in their downfall!—Thusis, Duchess of Naxos!”
The huns seemed thunderstruck; Thusis, very pale, swept them with insolent cool eyes.
All at once King Ferdinand got to his feet and loomed up like a bad dream.
“Naxos! Where is Naxos?” he demanded.
And when Secretary Gizzler would have answered him: “The man’s mad,” he said heavily; “there’s no such place.”
At that I saw Thusis’s face flame; but the boche all around her burst into a roar of ironic laughter.
“Let the fatherland tremble!” bellowed General Count von Dungheim. “Naxos declares war!”
“Look sharp!” shouted Admiral Lauterlaus, “or we’ll have Andorra invading us.”
“And Monaco, too!” growled Bummelzug. “Gott in Himmel! If Naxos defies us through her Duchess we’re as good as lost!”
“I tell you!” shrieked Secretary Gizzler, “that it’s no laughing matter! That girl is the Duchess of Naxos! And the other—her sister—look well at her, gentlemen!—she is Duchess of Tenedos!”
“That belongs to my country!” cried Eddin Bey, laughing, “the island of Tenedos. I sincerely hope the Cyclades are not in revolt! But if they are I’m very glad so charming a lady is to own one of them.”
But his attempt at a good natured diversion made no impression on the huns; and Gizzler, venomous and quivering, held the floor and kept his weak, vicious eyes on Thusis.
“It was the Ægean League that exiled the King and Queen of Greece!” he said. “She made that league!—that woman standing there—Thusis, Duchess of Naxos!”
“It isn’t a Duchy!” cried the queen, choking with fury; “it’s a Greek Island!”
“It’s a Venetian Duchy and belongs to Italy, madame,” I said calmly—having read up on it in the Encyclopedia since I had fallen in love with one of its inhabitants.
At that the queen turned on me like a fury.
“You lie!” she said.
I tried to control myself:
“Naxos is a Venetian Duchy, belonging to Italy,” I repeated. “I am happy and proud of the privilege of acknowledging the restoration of Naxos to Italy—and I salute its ruler—Thusis, Duchess of Naxos!”
And I lifted the white hand of Thusis and touched it with my lips.
“There’s conspiracy here!” shouted Tino, very drunk, and vainly attempting to stand up. “We’re all tangled up in treason here! We’re in the web of the Ægean League! What are these people doing here, anyway!—all these Yankees and Duchesses running about underfoot——”
A hiccough terminated his activities and he slid up against his spouse who shoved him away, her eyes flashing.
“That lying Yankee,” she began, almost beside herself, “has set a trap for us here!”
At the word “trap,” King Ferdinand, drunk as he was, got up hastily and started toward the door.
“You’d better defend yourselves!” he shouted. “I’ve got pistols in my room——”
His voice ceased: Raoul blocked his way:
“Stay where you are,” he said, smiling and cool. And placing a powerful hand on King Ferdinand’s chest he shoved him backward onto a chair. Then, to my surprise, Raoul slipped a pair of automatic pistols from his side pockets and cast a merry glance around him at the company.
“The first man that moves,” he remarked, “is not likely to continue the movement.”
The dead silence which fell over everybody was startling. Raoul, resting gracefully on a table with one leg on the floor, looked about him as though immensely amused. Then, as we awaited further developments, his countenance assumed a thoughtful expression—and he absent-mindedly hummed aloud his favorite air:
“Crack-brain-cripple-arm
You have done a heap of harm——”