The world had become sunless and quite empty except for human pain....
And so, thought I in a dull sort of way, this ends my romance with The
Laughing Girl.... The Laughing Girl of Naxos..... Not laughing now, but
very much subdued, brooding beside me with both hands covering her face,
and the splendid masses of her hair now loosened to her shoulders like a
hood hiding the bowed features.
"Don't grieve, Thusis," I whispered, forgetting my own pain; but she
suddenly huddled up and doubled over, crying:
"If you speak to me that way I--can't--endure it----" Her voice broke
childishly for the first time, and I saw her shoulders quiver.
We had a rotten time of it--self-restraint on my side, and on hers--a
hard, sharp shower of tears--terrifying to me because of her silence;
not a sigh, not a sob, not even one of those undignified gulps which
authors never mention--but which nevertheless usually characterize all
lachrymose feminine procedure, and punctuate its more attractive
silences.
It resembled a natural rainstorm in April--abrupt, thorough; and then
the sun. For after considerable blind fumbling, she suddenly leaned
forward and dried her eyes with the edge of the bed-sheet.
"There," she said, "is an intimate act which ought to breed mutual
contempt!"
We both laughed. She found a fresh section of the sheet and used it.
"You are an adorable boy," she said, keeping her face turned away but
busy, now, with her sagging hair.
"It's got to come right some day," I said with the fatuous stupidity
characteristic of the stymied swain.
"It won't," she remarked, "but let's pretend it will.... Is my nose
red, Michael?"
"I can't see it when you turn your face away."
"I don't wish you to see it if it's red."
"But how can I judge----"
We burst into that freer laughter which welcomes the absurd when hearts
are heavy laden.
Her dresser was within reach. I gazed at her back while she powdered
her nose.
"My eyes are red," she observed calmly.
"No, they're gray; it's your hair that is red, Thusis."
It was silly enough to invoke the blessed relief of further laughter.
But when Thusis finally turned toward me there was a new shyness about
her, exquisite, captivating, that held me quiet and very serious.
"What a dreadfully sober gentleman," she said. "The storm's all over,
and it isn't going to rain again."
I quoted: "It rains--in my heart----" And she laid a quick, impulsive
hand on my arm:
"Have I not confessed that I love you?"
"Yes----"
"Very well. Is it a reason for rain--in your heart or anywhere else?"
"No----"
"Well then! ... You may touch my hand with your lips."
Only her lips could be sweeter than the soft hand I kissed, long and
closely, until she withdrew it with a tremulous little laugh of protest.
"We're becoming infamous; we're a scandal, Michael. Have you anything
further to say to me? If not, please go home to bed."
Casting about in my mind for an excuse to linger I recollected the
advent of Eddin Bey; and I told her about it.
"What a barnyard full!" she said scornfully, "all the creatures,
now,--Turk, Bulgarian, Bolshevik, and boche! ... To see them here--and
the two principal scoundrels almost within my grasp! I don't believe I
can stand it," she added breathlessly. "Smith or no Smith, and his
exasperating majesty the King of Italy to the contrary, I think
something is going to happen to Tino and Ferdie as soon as the pass is
cleared."
"One thing more," I said; "do you believe there really was a bomb in the
room next to the Princess Pudelstoff's?"
"Do you mean, Michael, that those murderous Russians might possibly
suspect Clelia, Josephine, Raoul, and me?"
"Oh no, I don't think that. But possibly they had other assassinations
in mind and were trying out a new species of bomb--experimenting with
some untried fuse. That's what occurred to me--unless the fat Princess
really did dream it all."
"When I make the beds to-morrow," remarked Thusis, "I shall search very
carefully. The only trouble is that those Bolsheviki seldom leave their
rooms except to eat. And then I'm obliged to wait on table."
I nodded, a little troubled. But it was unthinkable that these
treacherous Reds should even dream of bomb-murder in Switzerland. Whom
might they desire to slaughter, unless it were the poor, fat Princess?
And they would scarcely blow up an entire establishment in a neutral
country for the purpose of scattering portions of the Princess over the
adjacent Alps.
And yet I began to feel oddly uneasy, now. Of what such vermin might be
capable I could not guess, with the frightful example of the two
arch-traitors Lenine and Trotzky staring a sickened world in the
face,--a world already betrayed twice since its sad history began--once
by Judas, once by Benedict Arnold.
Judas would have sold the souls of all mankind: Lenine and Trotzky sold
only one hundred and fifty million bodies to the anti-Christ. Things
were improving on earth after all.
I said: "Smith is a good man to have here at such a time. He's a
wonderfully level-headed fellow. I don't believe we need worry."
"I ought to dislike him. But I don't," remarked Thusis.
"Dislike Smith?"
"He's turned my sister's head!"
"But--good heavens!--if she cares for him----"
"I care for _you_!" she cut in crisply. "But I haven't lost my head or
my sense of proportion----"
"I wish you had."
She looked at me in silence almost hostile. Suddenly she blushed
furiously:
"I wish I had, too! I care for you as much as my sister cares for Mr.
Smith! More! Much more! I'm--I'm quite hopelessly in love! But I
don't--don't--forget that--that----"
She shook her head but sat looking at me out of tragic eyes--suffered me
to press her lovely hands to my lips, watching me all the while.
"You had better go, Michael."
I laid her hands in her lap. She clasped them so tightly that the
delicate nails whitened.
"It will come out right," said I, rising.
"It never will.... I--I love you."
At the door I hesitated. But she did not speak. And I opened it and
went out.
*XXI*
*SUS SCROFA*
For two exasperating weeks, now, the Schwindlewald pass had remained
hermetically sealed with snow, utterly isolating the valley. It is true
that a Swiss airplane had appeared overhead and had dropped several tons
of bread which we did not require, and a message couched in hysterical
language reminding us that God would protect us while several score of
sweating Swiss dug us out.
Personally I didn't care except for the highly objectionable colony of
boches with whom I was obliged to share an imprisonment which otherwise
would never have bored me.
But the royal circus was a dreadful visitation--kings, queen, lesser
fry, and Bolsheviki became almost unendurable, even when, during the
first week of our captivity, they flocked by themselves and conspired to
their hearts' content.
Had this condition endured, the situation might have been borne with a
certain philosophy. But the inevitable, of course, happened: one week
of exclusive gregariousness was enough for these people: they began to
bore one another.
It showed first, characteristically, at table. Tino and spouse, always
engaged in continual bickering to the vast discomfort of everybody, now
had it out in star-chamber proceedings; and the King, badly battered but
jaunty, appeared at table with one eye partly closed and a mouth so
swollen that he could not comfortably manipulate a cigarette. He
explained that he had bumped his head in the dark. But it was perfectly
understood who had bumped it.
King Ferdinand became moody, and his cunning, furtive features often
bore a white, scared expression. He developed, too, a morbid mania for a
most depressing line of conversation--celebrated assassinations being
his theme,--and he ransacked the history of all times in search of
examples, Eddin Bey slyly assisting him.
Sluggish livers and piggish feeding probably accounted for the sullen
lethargy of Von Dungheim and Bummelzug. Their ever latent and brutal
tempers blazed at absurd trifles, involving usually the bad manners and
lack of respect shown them by the Bolsheviki, who chattered back at them
like enraged monkeys, terrifying the Princess Pudelstoff who had never
forgotten her "dream."
Admiral Lauterlaus, whose personal habits were always impossible, now
spent most of his time bullying the wretched Secretary Gizzler or, with
a telescope such as chamois-hunters carry, squatted on the veranda steps
and swept the Bec de l'Empereur for "gamps," and heaven knows what else.
Only the Countess Manntrapp and Eddin Bey appeared to retain their good
humor. The Turk, a handsome fellow of distinguished manners and gay
address, evidently possessed a lively eye for pulchritude. He lost no
time at all in paying his sly court to my servants, beginning with
Thusis, progressing to Clelia, and ending with Josephine Vannis in the
kitchen: and he accepted defeat with such cheerful and humorous alacrity
that they all forgave him, I think, and his perfectly frank suggestions
that they return to Adrianople with him and honor him by becoming the
nucleus for a zenana.
He found, however, a pretty bird of his own vivacious and volatile
temperament in the exceedingly bored Countess Manntrapp. And they were
often together and apparently having a jolly flirtation, being cleverly
aware of each other's character and entertaining no delusions.
Except for these two at table and on the veranda, and except for the
companionship of Smith, and now and then an opportunity for a few
cautious words with Thusis, those days would have been insupportable for
me. A hungry hun is bad enough; an ill-tempered one is worse; but a
bored boche!--imagine a penful of them with time heavy on their hoofs!
The old story--"What's time to a hawg!"--has no significance among the
_Sus scrofa_ or the "Bosch Vark." Bored, the embers of that dull,
slumbering rage glow hotter; the sulky silence is broken by grumbling,
then by quarrels; the blind, senseless instinct to brutalize and rend
obsesses. Small wonder the boche desires a place in the sun where his
herds can spread out from the constricted and common wallow!
Tino had again appeared at luncheon with the other eye done in
thunderous tints of purple, taupe, and an exquisite mauve. Parallel
scratches adorned his nose; some of his mustache was missing. But I
must admit he took it jauntily enough, and his bland
explanation--something about tripping over a rock in the woods--was
accepted by all and believed by none.
The queen, still somewhat pasty and pinched from the effects of this
ritual _in camera_, ate haughtily, disdainful of what anybody might
really think, and calm in her conviction that the Hohenzollern is
responsible to Gott alone for whatever a Hohenzollern may choose to do.
That she had done plenty to Tino was painfully visible: but he was in a
jocose and waggish humor, and his barrack-room quips and jests were
plainer than usual. In fact, they became so coarse that even the
Admiral bristled his beard and eyebrows, sniffing lack of respect for
himself in the loud-mouthed levity of the King.
And I was getting madder and madder, Thusis and Clelia being present to
wait on table as usual, and I was on the point of making a sharp
observation to King Tino, when a sudden burst of applause from the other
end of the table checked me. The Countess Manntrapp was speaking. She
continued:
"This enforced imprisonment is becoming exceedingly dull for everybody.
Why not divert ourselves? Has anybody any suggestions to offer?"
"A mountain party," rumbled Admiral Lauterlaus. "I, in my time, a famous
hunter of 'gamps' have been."
"We don't wish to break our necks to divert ourselves," sneered the
queen.
"A fishing party!" exclaimed Von Dungheim. "If there is a good big net
we can all help draw it and clean out every trout in the stream!"
"Droly," expostulated Tino, "you have such wholesale ideas! Our host
might possibly object, you know."
At the very idea of anybody objecting to the destructive wishes of a
Prussian officer, General Count von Dungheim glared at me.
"Why not give a baby-party?" inquired Smith, blandly.
"A--a _baby_-party!" repeated Baron Bummelzug vacantly, in English;
"what perhaps iss it a baby-party?"
Thusis, serving me, bent over and whispered in my ear: "Not the sort of
baby-parties they gave in Belgium; there are no babies." And she moved
serenely to serve the queen, her beautiful face placid and inscrutable.
The Princess Pudelstoff began to clap her pudgy hands excitedly:
"A baby-party! A baby-party! That'll be fun! That'll be great! And
we'll have a feed and a spiel----"
"Ach wass!" shouted the Admiral exasperated. "Tell us once what it iss a
baby-party, und stop your noises yet!"
But the excited Princess had become uncontrollable, and she began to
hammer on the table with her fat fists, shouting:
"A feed and a spiel! For God's sake somebody start something in this
hellofa hole!"
Amid her clamor and the ominous roaring of the infuriated Admiral, I
tinkled my goblet with my fork and presently secured comparative silence
for Smith.
In a few pleasant phrases he explained to them the simple intricacies of
the American baby-party.
"I'll come!" cried the Countess Manntrapp, delighted.
"I also!" echoed Eddin Bey.
Tino was visibly enchanted at the prospect, and he clapped King
Ferdinand on his elephantine back exultingly:
"We'll go as twins!" he cried. "This is most agreeable to me! Eh,
Sophy? I'm half dead for a bit of a frolic! Everybody must come.
Nobody is to be excused. Desperate cases require desperate remedies.
Ennui is what is killing us; diversion is what we need!"
He was pounding the breath out of King Ferdinand who began to cough and
dodge and blink wildly at everybody out of his little wild-pig's eyes,
when I stood up giving the signal.
"The party," announced Smith, "is for to-night! There will be games, a
dance, and a supper. All are politely invited!"
"My God," said Secretary Gizzler to me, rubbing his bony hands together,
"to what foolishness does noble company resort in order that ennui may
be escaped."
The Princess Pudelstoff overheard him:
"Crape-hanger!" she said, giving him a vigorous dig in the ribs which
almost disarticulated his entire and bony frame.
The majority, however, trooping out to the veranda where they could
teutonically enjoy their coffee and cognac "im gruenen," appeared
desirous of engaging in the proposed diversion.
Even the queen deigned to inquire of me whether there was, in the house,
material with which to construct a pair of ruffled panties for her
husband.
Only the Bolsheviki remained aloof, chattering and mouthing together and
waving their soiled fingers at each other and, presumably, at the
bourgeois world in general.
Later, Smith came into my room whither I had retired to resume my series
of poems to Thusis,--a rather melancholy occupation yet oddly
comforting, too.
"Why the devil," said I, "did you suggest such a party?"
"I don't know. It occurred to me. I'm rather tired of their
wrangling."
"But a _baby_-party!"
He laughed: "You see how they take to the idea. Anything to dissipate
this sullen, ugly atmosphere. It gets on my nerves."
"Are _you_ going?"
"Certainly."
"In costume?"
"Of course."
"Good heavens, Smith! I didn't think you had it in you to frivol."
"Why--I don't know," he said, smilingly. "I'm intensely happy."
I eyed him gloomily: "Yes," said I, "no doubt you are--winning the
affections of the girl you wish to marry. By the way, has she been
civil enough to tell you who she really is?"
"No," he replied cheerfully.
"Do you mean to tell me you are engaged to marry a girl who refuses to
disclose her identity?"
"Exactly."
"How the devil is she going to marry you? Under an assumed name?"
"That is for Clelia to decide."
"_That_," said I, "is a most remarkable view to take of the situation."
"Why? I am in love. I dare believe she cares for me. It makes no
difference to me who Clelia may be. That she is Clelia is
enough--enough that she will be my wife. And when a man stands for the
first time inside the gates of happiness with the girl he loves--what an
ass he'd be to bother her about details!"
This was a totally new and unexpected Smith, to me. I never dreamed it
was in him.
"Don't you agree with me?" he inquired.