Nadyha stood on her private balcony, for Denny had given her his first-class stateroom since she had Anca and Boldo with her. She watched and listened hungrily as the great steamer fired up and began to breathe, its low huffing roar from the ’scape pipes. Hundreds of people lined the docks, watching the Queen of Bohemia as she slowly backed out, waving and calling out. Her smokestacks belched black smoke, the gold and red trim glittered in the early morning sun, and then her great whistles sounded, a deep commanding baritone.
“I can’t believe it,” she said softly to Anca, who stood by her side. “It’s like a dream, the best dream . . .”
And it’s all because of Gage Kennon.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dozens of passengers crowded around the easel set up by the grand concert piano in the Moravian Room. On the easel was a large playbill advertising the operetta to be performed on the Queen of Bohemia on two nights during their voyage to St. Louis. The playbill was expertly done. In large script letters across the top was The Countess and the Gypsy Queen. Denny had had a woodcut made of Nadyha and Anca, and they brooded in the left corner. Underneath their picture it read: Nadyha, Queen of the Gypsies, and Anca, her Fierce Mountain Lion.
In smaller script it read:
Featuring:
Baba Simza, the Phuri Dae
Mirella, the Gypsy who loves Bulibasha
Niçu as Bulibasha, Leader of the Gypsies & members of the Gypsy vitsi
In the lower right hand corner was a delicate woodcut of Cara, looking dreamily off toward some mountains. Her caption read simply: The Mysterious Countess Cara Czerny.
Underneath in smaller block letters the playbill read: “The Illustrious Owner of the Queen of Bohemia, Zedekiah Wainwright, has graciously consented to play Count Czerny of Bohemia.”
“Captain Dennis Wainwright, Ret., is also featured as Count Tomasz Adamczyk of Poland.”
In red block script was the mild warning: “Wild animals will be featured in the production. They are not dangerous, but any ladies who may be distressed are cautioned.” This, of course, guaranteed that every lady on the boat would, if necessary, claw her way in to see the operetta.
At the bottom was a removable board for posting performance times for first-, second-, and third-class passengers. It read: Performance 9:00 p.m. on Thursday night in The Bohemian Room, Texas Deck Passengers.
Mrs. Euprosine Dobard sniffed and said loudly, “I think the entire thing is scandalous! Did you know that those Gypsy women go barefoot, and their arms are always uncovered! And those terrible beasts! I have told Mr. Dobard that perhaps we ought to disembark in Baton Rouge and take another boat!” She was a short, plump olive-skinned woman dressed in a traveling ensemble that cost as much as her stateroom. Her husband, Theodule Dobard, was also short and rotund. He looked like a beefy squire, with fat, fluffy sideburns and round, red cheeks.
“Aw, Euprosine, the Queen of Bohemia is the best steamer on the Mississippi!” he said jovially, a startling contrast to his wife’s priggish sniffs and supercilious expression. “And look, if the animals bother you, you don’t have to attend, see?”
The crowd around them, some of them second-class passengers, pressed in to listen closely. “There’s really a mountain lion?” one young girl asked shyly.
“There is, and a dirty bear, and a wild tomcat that belongs to them that scampers up and down the halls willy-nilly!” Mrs. Dobard fumed. “They’re in first class! It’s abominable!”
Mr. Dobard sighed deeply; it was indeed beginning to sound like they may be disembarking in Baton Rouge. But then his daughter, Monique, came to thread her arm through her mother’s and said, “Oh, Maman, you are making entirely too much of it. It’s exciting! I, for one, wish the performance was tonight instead of tomorrow night, I’m so looking forward to it.”
Mrs. Dobard looked up at her daughter, for she was a full four inches shorter than Monique. In fact, Monique could have been a foundling, for she was nothing like either of her parents. She was slender and tall, and had exquisite grace and a hypnotic, musical voice. Her face wasn’t beautiful, but it was strong, with a long, straight, patrician nose and firm chin and well-shaped lips. Her eyes and hair were dark brown. It was her voice, and her charm, that made her such a comely woman.
“You are?” Mrs. Dobard said. “But, Monique, just think of my nerves! Thieving dirty Gypsies and wild animals! I thought that you might stay with me tomorrow night during this—this—spectacle.”
“No, ma’am,” Monique said coolly. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
ANTICIPATION WAS HIGH IN the Bohemian Room. The first-class passengers had finished their dinners, and lots of interesting noises—including a horse’s high battle cry, and the growl of a cougar—had been heard behind the red velvet curtains hiding the stage. Now, as the waiters removed the last white tablecloth, to the passengers’ wonder they set small vases of flowers on the tables beside the candle lanterns. The gaslights along the walls dimmed down, the gas chandeliers were darkened while the limelights lining the stage were turned up. Captain Edward T. Humphries, resplendent in a white uniform with gold braid, came to stand in the center of the stage. Some murmurs of conversation broke out.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in his commanding voice, “if I may have your attention please. The Countess and the Gypsy Queen will commence in a few moments. As I’m sure you’ve already heard, there will be wild animals included in the operetta. I assure you that no person on board my ship is in any kind of danger, so do not be concerned about that. I would, however, request that you remain silent when the animals are performing; please do not applaud or shout during those times. And I must insist that you keep your seats during the performance. Some parts of the production, you will see, are a bit unorthodox, but it is imperative that you all remain still and quiet. Thank you.”
The play that Denny had written was basically the same plot as The Bohemian Girl, without some of the complicated subplots.
In Act I, Count Czerny of Austria (played enthusiastically by Denny’s Uncle Zeke) tells his Captain of the Guard (played rather woodenly by Gage) that he’s had word that a Polish rebel is hiding somewhere in his fiefdom, and charges him to find the rebel and put him under arrest. That rebel, Captain Tomasz Adamcyzk, on the run for his life, meets Bulibasha, the leader of the Gypsies. Bulibasha feels empathy for his plight, and says that Tomasz must join his band. They hear horses coming and Bulibasha tells Tomasz to hide.
Then the Captain of the Guard came on stage. A magnificent chestnut horse took exactly two high, proud steps and then reared and neighed angrily at the sight of the Gypsy. Nadyha had taught Cayenne to do this, and he made the very portrait of a proud war horse. The captain asks Bulibasha if he’s seen any strangers, and Bulibasha answers that he had seen a Polish soldier, and points the captain in the opposite direction from the Gypsy camp.
A week later, the Captain of the Guard reports to Count Czerny that no sign of the Polish rebel soldier had been found, and that he must have fled the fiefdom. Count Czerny calls off the hunt. The count asks his servant where his daughter, the Countess Cara is, and the servant replies that she has gone to the meadows to pick flowers. Count Czerny remarks that he worries about her, she often wanders far from the castle, but she has done so by herself since she was a small child. The curtains close.
Then, in the Bohemian Theater, servants standing by the gas lamps along the wall turned them up to make the room well-lit again. As if from far away, soft strains from two guitars are heard. Very slowly the music grows louder, and then Countess Cara Czerny enters from the back of the room. She’s carrying a flower basket. Her dress is of sky-blue satin that shimmered richly in the light. It’s simply made, with tight sleeves and a tight bodice, a skirt slightly gathered at the waist, and a long train. Her hair is unbound, a cloud of honey-gold around her shoulders, falling to her waist. Around her neck she wears a gold medallion on a long chain. She starts weaving among the tables, picking a flower here and there fro
m the vases, and singing, Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
A surprised hum sounded from the audience, and shuffling sounds were heard as they turned in the seats to face the rear of the room. Then a profound silence fell. All that was heard was the distant guitar music, and Cara’s sweet voice, singing low, as if to herself.
As she neared the stage the curtains silently opened, and Tinar and Saz walked onstage. Saz, in particular, was a sensational-looking horse. His mane was pure white except for one broad streak of black. The night before, Gage and Nadyha had braided the horses’ manes and tails, fastening gold and silver threads in them. Now they were loose, full, and wavy, and the threads glittered in the limelight; Gage had even dusted their hocks with powdered fool’s gold, so every time they moved their hooves a tiny shower of gold fell from them. They began grazing on a blaze of red clover at their feet.
Cara stops and looks in wonder, then says, “Have I wandered into a beautiful dream? What are you, such wondrous steeds? Where do you come from, and where do you go?” Very slowly she climbs the stage and nears them. “Is this an enchantment? No, no, I’m not enchanted, but I have fallen under a spell, of amazement of such fantastical beasts. Dare I go near them?”
At this point, as Nadyha and Cara had taught him, Saz looked up straight at Cara, nodded his head up and down as if saying, “Yes,” then pawed the ground with his forefoot. Amazed, Cara drops her flower basket and goes to him to pet him (also secretly giving him a lump of sugar). She murmurs endearments, pets both horses, and continues to wonder aloud about them.
And then she’s attacked by a ferocious bear. He lumbers onto the stage from behind the horses. Immediately Cara, frightened, starts backing up. The bear stands upright, raises his forepaws, and starts toward her. As he nears her Cara faints, falling and striking her head against a rock. The “ferocious bear” then nonchalantly climbs up the stand of rocks, to where a honeycomb has been hidden. He sits down and begins to eat unconcernedly. Even Nadyha hadn’t been able to make him get up and go away after he gets his treat, but it didn’t seem to matter to the audience. They looked awed, astounded, and some of the ladies looked extremely frightened. But they didn’t leave.
Tomasz, who is looking for the horses and Boldo, finds the unconscious countess. When she fell, the chain around her neck broke, and he picks it up and recognizes the coat of arms of the House of Czerny. Pocketing the necklace, he rouses the girl and finds that she has amnesia; she doesn’t even remember her name. Because she is so weak, Tomasz picks her up and carries her in his arms to the Gypsy camp.
The next scene was Nadyha and Anca, alone on stage except for a campfire and trees and shrubs in the background. Nadyha recited “Tyger, Tyger”, Anca swatted viciously at her and roared deafeningly. The entire room was silent; no one moved. And then, in spite of Captain Humphries’s instructions, applause and cries and halloos and whistles broke out. Many men stood, shouting, “Bravo, Nadyha! Bravo, Anca!” The wives yanked on their coattails to make them sit back down.
The Gypsies were on their way to Prague, where a National Fair was to be held. Although Tomasz knew who Cara was, he kept it to himself, because he had fallen in love with her and knew that if he returned her to her father, he would lose her. Because she has lost all of her memory, he gives her the name “Camova”, which in Romany means “love”. During their travels Camova, in essence, becomes a Gypsy. Nadyha, who is in love with Tomasz, is jealous of her. Bulibasha also falls in love with Camova.
One scene was particularly poignant. Nadyha and Niçu were on the stage, but at opposite ends, in front of their vardos, which were particularly cleverly downsized mockups. They are unaware of each other, but they sing a duet, each in turn, each mourning their hopeless loves. It was a lovely, heartfelt song, and complicated, and Nadyha had written it. She had finally found the words to her music.
As always, the scene of the Gypsies singing and playing their instruments and dancing were a big hit. Niçu and Denny danced Gypsy-style, which was a lot of foot-stomping and leaping, and at the end they both jumped over the campfire. During the scene Matchko strolled onstage and nonchalantly leapt onto Tinar’s back, which made the audience laugh. The extra Gypsies sitting around were members of the orchestra, for only the Gypsies played instruments in the scene, and some chambermaids who were having the time of their lives. When Baba Simza and Niçu played “Ha Ne Ne Ne” and Nadyha, Mirella, and Cara danced, the audience, again ignoring Captain Humphries’s warning to stay silent, began shouting “Hai!” along with the extras. Boldo got to dance, too, much to the audience’s delight.
But the most moving scene of the play featured Cara and Niçu. Although he couldn’t read music, he had learned to play the most famous aria from The Bohemian Girl on the violin. With the lights low, he comes to sit outside Camova’s vardo, in the deep shadows beneath the back window, and begins to play the simple but haunting melody. After playing two verses, Cara, in a flowing white dress, comes out of the wagon and, not seeing Niçu, begins to sing into the night:
I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls
With vassals and serfs at my side,
And of all who assembled within those walls
That I was the hope and pride.
I had riches all too great to count
And a high ancestral name . . .
The song had four verses, ending sadly with “But I also dreamt which charmed me most, that you loved me still the same . . .” As she finishes she goes back into her vardo. The last soft strains of Niçu’s violin die out, and, crushed because he knows that Camova loves Tomasz, he drops his violin and bows his head. Niçu was actually an excellent actor.
Count Czerny, Cara’s father, also attends the fair in Prague, and there sees his daughter. As soon as Cara sees her father, her memory floods back, and they return to their castle. Tomasz lets her go, because he feels guilty for never telling her who she was, nor even who he really is. Here Denny got to sing “Then You’ll Remember Me,” with the full orchestra, and he sang very well.
In the end, Tomasz decides he must go to Count Czerny, confess who he is, and declare his love for Cara. Nadyha, maddened by jealousy, follows him to the castle and tries to stab Cara. But Bulibasha, though he is forbidden by his Queen to follow her, does so, and wrestles with Nadyha as she flies at Cara, knife held high. In the struggle, Nadyha gets stabbed in the heart and dies. The Gypsies leave Bohemia in sorrow, Count Czerny forgives Tomasz (particularly when he finds out he’s really a count), and Cara and Tomasz live happily ever after.
The general consensus, shared by even Euprosine Dobard, was that the play was a spectacular success.
NADYHA WAS AMAZED AT the enthusiasm for every scene of the play, and she was thoroughly chagrined when she found out that it was customary for the actors in productions to meet and mingle with the audience. Denny had brought several people backstage after the play was over, and he had started introducing them to Cara, Simza, Niçu, and Mirella. Nadyha had grabbed Anca and Boldo and fled. After she put them in her room she ran up to the Hurricane Deck.
The top deck of the Queen of Bohemia was fully accessible to passengers, but because the salons were so luxurious, and the promenade so inviting with its full complement of deck chairs, there was rarely anyone up there, except for the pilot in the pilothouse, of course. Nadyha loved staying up on the Hurricane Deck, not only for the solitude, but also because it gave such a sweeping view of the river. She was fascinated by every scene, every landmark, every settlement, every stretch of silent forest, and by the river itself. It was ever-changing.
She heard footsteps on the stairs, and turned to see Gage come on deck. “Oh, hello, Nadyha,” he said. “Congratulations! You were outstanding.” He came to stand by her at the railing at the stern. Below them the great paddlewheel churned, but the Queen was so big and heavy that she glided majestically.
“How did you know I was here?” Nadyha demanded.
“I didn’t. I just kinda wanted to get some fresh air, and avoid the crush. I
t’s not as if there were hordes of people wanting to meet the Captain of the Guard, anyway.” Glancing at her, he studied her profile. She was lovely, and mysterious, and enticing. Her expression was unreadable as she stared out over the river. He continued, “I think just about all of them want to meet Nadyha, Queen of the Gypsies.”
“Gypsies don’t have queens,” she said automatically.
“I know that, but your fans don’t.” When she didn’t respond he asked, “Nadyha, is this thing going to make you unhappy? Because if it is, you don’t have to do it. I’ll talk to Denny, and I’ll pick us all up and move us back to your camp in a hot minute if that’s what you want.”
She turned to him then and smiled a little. “No, no, not at all. I love being here, on this wonderful boat. I love”—she waved, encompassing the moonlit scene before them—“seeing all this. And I like the play, and performing. It’s just that I wasn’t quite ready for all the attention.”
“It seems to me like you get a lot of attention in New Orleans, and you handle that very well.” Gage moved a little closer to her, though as always he was careful not to even brush up against her.
“Yes, but that was different. Here, we’re supposed to be introduced to the gajes, and talk to them,” she said disdainfully. “What am I supposed to talk to them about? I have nothing to say to gajes, they don’t know or care anything about me. They just want to talk to the Queen of the Gypsies.”
“Yeah, that’s true. But so what? At the French Market they wanted to talk to you because you had things to sell that they wanted to buy, they wanted to see you with Boldo and Anca, they wanted to hear you sing and see you dance, they wanted to see you because you’re an interesting Gypsy woman. You’re doing the very same thing now, only you’re selling the Queen of the Gypsies instead of shawls and herbs.”
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