II
CONCERNING ANCESTORS
However, I did not need to wait so long for my answer. I knew it quiteas well as Courtney--maybe a trifle better. Nevertheless, it is a bitjolting to realize, suddenly, that some one has been prying into yourfamily 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 ofthe Line. A hundred and more years had passed since he went to hisuncertain reward; and now, in me, his great-great-grandson, were hisface and figure come back to earth.
I had said, truly enough, that I had never been in the Gallery ofKings. But it was not necessary for me to go there to learn of thisresemblance to my famous ancestor. For, handed down from eldest son toeldest son, since the first Dalberg came to American shores, and, so,in my possession now, was an ivory miniature of the very portrait whichCourtney had in mind.
And the way of it, and how I chanced to be of the blood royal ofValeria, 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 tothe throne and, dying, passed the title to his only child, Henry; who,in turn, was succeeded by his only child, Frederick, the presentmonarch.
Adela, the daughter, married Casimir, King of Titia,--and of herdescendants more anon.
Hugo, the younger son, was born some ten years after his brother,--tobe accurate, in 1756,--and after the old King had laid aside his swordand retired into the quiet of his later years. With an honestlyinherited love of fighting, and the inborn hostility to England that,even then, had existed in the Valerians for a hundred years, Hugowatched with quickening interest the struggle between the NorthAmerican Colonies and Great Britain which began in 1775. When theMarquis de Lafayette threw in his fortunes with the Americans, Hugo hadbegged permission to follow the same course. This the old King hadsternly refused; pointing out its impropriety from both a political anda family aspect.
But Hugo was far from satisfied, and his desire to have a chance atEngland waxing in proportion as the Colonies' fortunes waned, he atlast determined to brave his fierce old father and join the strugglingAmerican 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 presagewell 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 withscant diet and chill stones, but, such would be scarce fitting for aDalberg. Neither is it fitting that a Prince of Valeria should fightagainst a country with which I am at peace. Therefore, the day youleave for America will see your name stricken from the rolls of ourHouse, your title revoked, and your return here prohibited by royaldecree. Do I make myself understood?"
So far as I have been able to learn, no one ever accused mygreat-grandfather of an inability to understand plain speech, and oldHenry's was not obscure. Indeed, Hugo remembered it so well that hemade it a sort of preface in the Journal which he began some monthsthereafter, 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. Forsome 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 wasdisbanded, he purchased a place upon the eastern shore of Maryland;and, marrying into one of the aristocratic families of theneighborhood, settled down to the life of a simple country gentleman.
He never went back to the land of his birth, nor, indeed, even toEurope. And this, though, one day, there came to his mansion on theChesapeake the Valerian Minister to America and, with many bows andgenuflections, presented a letter from his brother Frederick,announcing the death of their royal father and his own accession, andoffering to restore to Hugo his rank and estates if he would return tocourt.
And this letter, like his sword, his Order of the Cincinnati, hiscommissions and the miniature, has been the heritage of the eldest son.In his soldier days his nearest comrade had been Armand, Marquis de laRouerie, and for him his first-born was christened; and hence my ownqueer name--for an American: Armand Dalberg.
There was one of the traditions of our House that had been scrupulouslyhonored: there was always a Dalberg on the rolls of the Army; thoughnot 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 knownto my great-grandsire's friends and neighbors, yet, in the succeedinggenerations, it has been forgotten and never had I heard it referred toby a stranger.
Therefore, I was surprised and a trifle annoyed at Courtney'sdiscovery. Of course, it was possible that he had been attracted onlyby my physical resemblance to the Third Henry and was not aware of therelationship; but this was absurdly unlikely, Courtney was not one tostop at half a truth and Dalberg was no common name. Doubtless thepicture had first put him on the track and after that the rest waseasy. What he did not know, however, but had been manoeuvring todiscover, was how far I was known at the Court of Valeria. Well, hewas welcome to what he had got.
Now, as a matter of fact, it was quite likely that the Dalbergs ofDornlitz had totally forgotten the Dalbergs of America. SinceFrederick's minister had rumbled away from that mansion on theChesapeake, a century and more ago, there had been no word passedbetween us. Why should there be? We had been disinherited andbanished. They had had their offer of reinstatement courteouslyrefused. We were quits.
I think I was the first of the family to set foot within Valeria sinceHugo left it. Ten years ago, during a summer's idling in Europe, I hadbeen seized with the desire to see the land of my people. It was abreaking of our most solemn canon, yet I broke it none the less. Norwas that the only time. However, I had the grace,--and, possibly, theprecaution,--to change my name on such occasions. In the Kingdom ofValeria I was that well-known American, Mr. John Smith.
I did the ordinary tourist; visited the places of interest, and put upat the regular hotels. Occasionally, I was stared at ratherimpertinently by some officer of the Guards and I knew he had noted myresemblance to the national hero. I never made any effort to bepresented to His Majesty nor to establish my relationship. I shouldhave been much annoyed had anything led to it being discovered.
Once, in the park of the palace, I had passed the King walking with asingle aide-de-camp, and his surprise was such he clean forgot toreturn my salute; and a glance back showed him at a stand and gazingafter me. I knew he was thinking of the portrait in the Corridor ofKings. That was the last time I had seen my royal cousin.
The next day, while riding along a secluded bridle path some miles fromDornlitz, I came upon a woman leading a badly-limping horse. She wasalone,--no groom in sight,--and drawing rein I dismounted and asked ifI could be of service. Then I saw her face, and stepped back insurprise. Her pictures were too plentiful in the capital for me tomake mistake. It was the Princess Dehra.
I bowed low. "Your Royal Highness's pardon," I said. "I did not meanto presume."
She measured me in a glance. "Indeed, you are most opportune," shesaid, with a frank smile. "I have lost the groom,--his horse was tooslow,--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 thefrog 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 amoment she hesitated. Then there was the swish of a riding skirt, theglint of a patent-leather boot, an arched foot in my
palm, and withoutan 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 wentanother 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," shesaid, very graciously.
"As her groom?" I asked.
"As anything you choose, so long as you ride beside me to the hillabove 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 thetalk into less personal matters.
When we reached the hill I drew rein. Down in the valley lay theSummer Palace and the gates of the Park were but a few hundred yardsbelow 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 womanusually 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 mycousinship? I was sorely tempted. Then I saw what a mistake it wouldbe,--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 aninstant, then said, with a pause between each word and a peculiarstress 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 theevening gun.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "I am late. I must hasten. Good-bye, _monCapitaine_; you have been very kind."
She drew off her gauntlet and extended her hand. I bent andkissed,--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," sheanswered.
Then she rode away.
I leaned against my horse's shoulder and watched her as she went slowlydown the hill, the full glory of the sinking sun upon her, and theshadows of the great trees close on either side. Presently there camea 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 thePrincess Royal of Valeria. And, unless she has told it (which,somehow, I doubt), none knows it but ourselves. I had never seen hersince. Perhaps that is why I was quite content for Courtney to win hisbet. Truly, a man's heart does not age with his hair.