Читать книгу The Colonel of the Red Huzzars - John Reed Scott - Страница 9

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However, I did not need to wait so long for my answer. I knew it quite as well as Courtney—maybe a trifle better. Nevertheless, it is a bit jolting to realize, suddenly, that some one has been prying into your family history.

On the west wall of the Corridor of Kings, in the Palace of Dornlitz, hung the full-length portrait of Henry, third of the name and tenth of the Line. A hundred and more years had passed since he went to his uncertain reward; and now, in me, his great-great-grandson, were his face and figure come back to earth.

I had said, truly enough, that I had never been in the Gallery of Kings. But it was not necessary for me to go there to learn of this resemblance to my famous ancestor. For, handed down from eldest son to eldest son, since the first Dalberg came to American shores, and, so, in my possession now, was an ivory miniature of the very portrait which Courtney had in mind.

And the way of it, and how I chanced to be of the blood royal of Valeria, was thus:

Henry the Third—he of the portrait—had two sons, Frederick and Hugo, and one daughter, Adela. Frederick, the elder son, in due time came to the throne and, dying, passed the title to his only child, Henry; who, in turn, was succeeded by his only child, Frederick, the present monarch.

Adela, the daughter, married Casimir, King of Titia—and of her descendants more anon.

Hugo, the younger son, was born some ten years after his brother—to be accurate, in 1756—and after the old King had laid aside his sword and retired into the quiet of his later years. With an honestly inherited love of fighting, and the inborn hostility to England that, even then, had existed in the Valerians for a hundred years, Hugo watched with quickening interest the struggle between the North American Colonies and Great Britain which began in 1775. When the Marquis de Lafayette threw in his fortunes with the Americans, Hugo had begged permission to follow the same course. This the old King had sternly refused; pointing out its impropriety from both a political and a family aspect.

But Hugo was far from satisfied, and his desire to have a chance at England waxing in proportion as the Colonies' fortunes waned, he at last determined to brave his fierce old father and join the struggling American army whether his sire willed it or no. His mind once formed, he would have been no true son of Henry had he hesitated.

The King heard him quietly to the end—too quietly, indeed, to presage well for Hugo. Then he answered:

"I take it sir, your decision is made beyond words of mine to change. Of course, I could clap you into prison and cool your hot blood with scant diet and chill stones, but, such would be scarce fitting for a Dalberg. Neither is it fitting that a Prince of Valeria should fight against a country with which I am at peace. Therefore, the day you leave for America will see your name stricken from the rolls of our House, your title revoked, and your return here prohibited by royal decree. Do I make myself understood?"

So far as I have been able to learn, no one ever accused my great-grandfather of an inability to understand plain speech, and old Henry's was not obscure. Indeed, Hugo remembered it so well that he made it a sort of preface in the Journal which he began some months thereafter, and kept most carefully to the very last day of his life. The Journal says he made no answer to his father save a low bow.

Two days later, as plain Hugo Dalberg, he departed for America. For some time he was a volunteer Aide to General Washington. Later, Congress commissioned him colonel of a regiment of horse; and, as such, he served to the close of the war. When the Continental Army was disbanded, he purchased a place upon the eastern shore of Maryland; and, marrying into one of the aristocratic families of the neighborhood, settled down to the life of a simple country gentleman.

He never went back to the land of his birth, nor, indeed, even to Europe. And this, though, one day, there came to his mansion on the Chesapeake the Valerian Minister to America and, with many bows and genuflections, presented a letter from his brother Frederick, announcing the death of their royal father and his own accession, and offering to restore to Hugo his rank and estates if he would return to court.

And this letter, like his sword, his Order of the Cincinnati, his commissions and the miniature, has been the heritage of the eldest son. In his soldier days his nearest comrade had been Armand, Marquis de la Rouerie, and for him his first-born was christened; and hence my own queer name—for an American: Armand Dalberg.

There was one of the traditions of our House that had been scrupulously honored: there was always a Dalberg on the rolls of the Army; though not always was it the head of the family, as in my case. For the rest, we buried our royal descent. And though it was, naturally, well known to my great-grandsire's friends and neighbors, yet, in the succeeding generations, it has been forgotten and never had I heard it referred to by a stranger.

Therefore, I was surprised and a trifle annoyed at Courtney's discovery. Of course, it was possible that he had been attracted only by my physical resemblance to the Third Henry and was not aware of the relationship; but this was absurdly unlikely, Courtney was not one to stop at half a truth and Dalberg was no common name. Doubtless the picture had first put him on the track and after that the rest was easy. What he did not know, however, but had been manoeuvring to discover, was how far I was known at the Court of Valeria. Well, he was welcome to what he had got.

Now, as a matter of fact, it was quite likely that the Dalbergs of Dornlitz had totally forgotten the Dalbergs of America. Since Frederick's minister had rumbled away from that mansion on the Chesapeake, a century and more ago, there had been no word passed between us. Why should there be? We had been disinherited and banished. They had had their offer of reinstatement courteously refused. We were quits.

I think I was the first of the family to set foot within Valeria since Hugo left it. Ten years ago, during a summer's idling in Europe, I had been seized with the desire to see the land of my people. It was a breaking of our most solemn canon, yet I broke it none the less. Nor was that the only time. However, I had the grace—and, possibly, the precaution—to change my name on such occasions. In the Kingdom of Valeria I was that well-known American, Mr. John Smith.

I did the ordinary tourist; visited the places of interest, and put up at the regular hotels. Occasionally, I was stared at rather impertinently by some officer of the Guards and I knew he had noted my resemblance to the national hero. I never made any effort to be presented to His Majesty nor to establish my relationship. I should have been much annoyed had anything led to it being discovered.

Once, in the park of the palace, I had passed the King walking with a single aide-de-camp, and his surprise was such he clean forgot to return my salute; and a glance back showed him at a stand and gazing after me. I knew he was thinking of the portrait in the Corridor of Kings. That was the last time I had seen my royal cousin.

The next day, while riding along a secluded bridle path some miles from Dornlitz, I came upon a woman leading a badly-limping horse. She was alone—no groom in sight—and drawing rein I dismounted and asked if I could be of service. Then I saw her face, and stepped back in surprise. Her pictures were too plentiful in the capital for me to make mistake. It was the Princess Dehra.

I bowed low. "Your Royal Highness's pardon," I said. "I did not mean to presume."

She measured me in a glance. "Indeed, you are most opportune," she said, with a frank smile. "I have lost the groom—his horse was too slow—and I've been punished by Lotta picking a stone I cannot remove."

CONCERNING ANCESTORS 25

"By your leave," I said, and lifted the mare's hoof. Pressing back the frog I drew out the lump of sharp gravel.

"It looks so easy," she said.

"It was paining her exceedingly, but she is all right now."

"Then I may mount?"

I bowed.

"Without hurting Lotta?" she asked.

I turned the mare about and dropped my hand into position. For a moment she hesitated. Then there was the swish of a riding skirt, the glint of a patent-leather boot, an arched foot in my palm, and without an ounce of lift from me she was in the saddle.

I stepped back and raised my hat.

She gathered the reins slowly; then bent and patted the mare's neck.

I made no move.

"I am waiting," she said presently, with a quick glance my way.

"I do not see the groom," said I, looking back along the road.

She gave a little laugh. "You won't," she said. "He thinks I went another way."

"Then Your Highness means——"

"You do not look so stupid," she remarked.

"Sometimes men's looks are deceiving."

"Then, sir, Her Highness means she is waiting for you to mount," she said, very graciously.

"As her groom?" I asked.

"As anything you choose, so long as you ride beside me to the hill above the Park."

I took saddle at the vault and we trotted away.

"Why did you make me ask for your attendance?" she demanded.

"Because I dared not offer it."

"Another deception in your looks," she replied.

I laughed. She had evened up.

"You are a soldier—an American officer?" she said suddenly.

"Your Highness has guessed most shrewdly," I answered, in surprise.

"Are you staying at the Embassy?" she asked.

"No," said I. "I am not on the staff. I am only a bird of passage."

"Do you know General Russell?"

"My father knew him, I believe," I answered, evasively, and turned the talk into less personal matters.

When we reached the hill I drew rein. Down in the valley lay the Summer Palace and the gates of the Park were but a few hundred yards below us. I dismounted to say good-bye.

"I am very grateful for your courtesy," she said.

"It is for the stranger to be grateful for your trust," I answered.

She smiled—that smile was getting into my poor brain—"A woman usually knows a gentleman," she said.

I bowed.

"And under certain circumstances she likes to know his name," she added.

For a moment I was undecided. Should I tell her and claim my cousinship? I was sorely tempted. Then I saw what a mistake it would be—she would not believe it—and answered:

"John Smith, Your Royal Highness, and your most obedient servant."

She must have noticed my hesitation, for she studied my face an instant, then said, with a pause between each word and a peculiar stress on the name:

"General—Smith?"

"Simple Captain," I answered. "We do not climb so rapidly in our Army."

Just then, from the barracks three miles away, came the boom of the evening gun.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "I am late. I must hasten. Good-bye, mon Capitaine; you have been very kind."

She drew off her gauntlet and extended her hand. I bent and kissed—possibly too lingeringly—the little fingers.

"Farewell, Princess," I said. And then, half under my breath, I added: "Till we meet again."

She heard, and again that smile. "'Auf Wiedersehen' be it," she answered.

Then she rode away.

I leaned against my horse's shoulder and watched her as she went slowly down the hill, the full glory of the sinking sun upon her, and the shadows of the great trees close on either side. Presently there came a bend in the road and, turning in the saddle, she waved her hand.

I answered with my hat. Then she was gone. That was how I met the Princess Royal of Valeria. And, unless she has told it (which, somehow, I doubt), none knows it but ourselves. I had never seen her since. Perhaps that is why I was quite content for Courtney to win his bet. Truly, a man's heart does not age with his hair.