THE VAGRANT DUKE

Auckland Star, Volume LIV, Issue 148, 23 June 1923, Page 26

THE VAGRANT DUKE

[COPYRIGHT.]

Bj? GEORGE GIBBS

PROLOGUE. At the piano a man sat playing the "Revolutionary Etude" of Ohopin. The room was magnificent in its proportions, ~- its furnishings were massive, its panelled . oak walls were hung with portraits of men and women in the costumes of a by- -,- gone day. Through the lofty windows, the casements of which were open to the evening sky, there was a vista of forest and meadow-land stretching mtermini: - ably to the setting sun. • The mosque-like % - cupola of a village church, a few versts I distant, glimmered like a pearl in the ' dusky setting of wooded hills, and close \ t>y it, here and there, tiny spirals of i 1 opalescent smoke marked the dwellings of Zukovo village. But the man at the piano was detached, a being apart from this scene of quiet, absorbed in his piano, which r gave forth the turbulence which had been in the soul of the great composer. The expression upon the dark face of the "■ - youn<r musician was rapt and eager, ■until he crashed the chords to their triumphant conclusion, when he sank § back in his chair with a gasp, his head bent forward upon his breast, his dark gaze fixed upon the keys which still echoed with the tumult. It was at this moment that a door at ~- the side of the Toom was opened and a r white-haired man in purple livery enC" tered and stood in silence regarding '■ rather wistfully the man at the piano, i who raised his head abruptly like one t_ etartled from a dream. : "What is it, Vasili?" asked the musiI dan. The servant approached softly a few I steps. ir" "1 did not wish to intrude, Highness, 1 . but " g. As the old servant hesitated, the g young man shrugged and rose, disclosing 'U ' a tall, straight figure, clad in a darki blue blouse, loose trousers, and brown H boots liberally bespattered with mud. '..'■ The glow of the sun which shot across! V his face as he came forward into the , ' light showed swarthy features, level ' brows, a straight nose, a well-turned ;- chin, a small moustache and a generous mouth which revealed a capacity for Ihumour. He was quite calm now, and ;■ the tones of his voice were almost boyish in their confidence and gaiety. :;. "Well, what is it, Vasili?" he rejfj pea ted. "You have the air of one with ;: much on your conscience. Out with it. Has Sacha been fighting with you again?" : "No, Master, not Sacha," said the old man, clearing his throat nervously, it is something worse—much worse than Sacha." : "Impossible!" said the other with a ;■ laugh, as he took up a cigarette from ■ the table. "Nothing could be worse . than a Russian cook when she gets into _ a rage '■'- c "But it is, Master—something worse much worse " ':: "Really! You alarm mc." The Grand Duke threw himself into an armchair j and inhaled luxuriously of his cigarette. And then with a shrug," "Well ?" The old man came a pace or two nearer, muttering hoarsely, "They've broken out in the village again," he gasped. ». The Grand Duke's brow contracted suddenly. i. 'B-m. When did this happen?" •'Last night. And Siis morning they ~ . fourned the stables *f Prince Galitzin and looted the castle.* : The young man sprang to his feet. "You are sure of this?" . . "Yes, Master. The word was brought by Serge Andriev less than ten minutes '':, ago." He took a few rapid paces up and down the room, stopping by the open ■window and staring out. __'Tools!" he muttered to himself. Then turning to the old servitor, "But Vasili—why is it that I have heard nothing of this? To-day Conrad, the forester, said nothing to mc. ■ And the day before yesterday in the village the people swept, off their caps to me—as w the old days. I could have sworn everything would be peaceful at Zukovo —at least for the present—" he added as though in an afterthought. "I pray God that may be true," muttered Vasili uncertainly. And then with unction, "In their hearts they still love you, Highness. They are children—your their hearts still full of rever- ! ence for the Grand Duke Peter Nichol- ] ->evitch in whom runs the same blood as that which ran in the sacred being of the Little Father—but their brains! They -are drunk with the poison •poured into their minds by the Committeemen from Moscow." " ■—'■ "Ah," eagerly, "they returned?" "Last night," replied the old man wagging bis head. "And your people forgot all that you had said to them all that they owe to you. They are mad," he finished despairingly, "mad!" The Grand Duke had folded his arms and was staring out of the window toward the white dome of the church now Idyed red like a globule of blood in the sunset. - ' ; The old man watched him for a moment, all the fealty of his many years of service in his gaze and attitude.' "I do not like the look of things, Highness. What does it. ■ matter how good their hearts are if their brains are bad?" . ' "I must go and talk with them, Vasili," said the Grand Duke quietly. The old man took a step forward. "If I might make so free " "Speak " "Not to-night, Master " "Why not?" "It will be dangerous. Last night their voices were raised even against you." ''Mc! Why? Have I not done everything x could to help them? lam their friend—because I believe in their cause: and they will get their rights, too, but not by burning and looting " "And murder, Master. Two of Prince Galitzin's foresters were killed." The Grand Duke turned. "That's bad. Murder in Zukovo!" He flicked his extinguished cigarette out of the window and made a gesture with his hand. "Go, Vasili. I want to think. I ■will ring if I need you." "You will not go to Zukovo to-night?" "I don't know." And with another gesture he waved the window, his amis folded along its When Vasili had gone, the Grand Duke sat, Ms legs across the chair by the window, his arms folded,along its . back while his dark eyes peered out, beyond the hills and forests, beyond the reddened dome of the village church into

Author of " The Splendid Outcast," " The Yellow Dove," " The Secret Witness," etc.

"Nevertheless—l mean to stay —"

the past where his magnificent father, Nicholas Petroviteh, held feudal eway over all the land within his vision and his father's fathers from the time of his own great namesake held all Russia in the hollow of their hands. The Grand Duke's eyes were hard and bright above the slightly prominent cheek bones, the vestiges of his Oriental origin, but there was something of his English mother, too, in the contours of his chin and lips which tempered the hardness of his expression. The lines at his brows were not the savage marks of anger, or the vengefulness that had characterised the pitiless blood which ran in his veins, but rather were they lines of disappointment, of perplexity at the problem that confronted him, and pity for his people who did not know where to turn for guidance. He still believed them to be his people, a heritage from his lordly parent, his children, who were responsible to him and to whom he was responsible. It was a habit of thought, inalienable, the product of the ages. But it was the calm philosophy of his English mother that had first given him his real sense of obligation to them, her teachings, even before the war began, that had shown him how terrible were the problems that confronted his future. His Eerviee in the army had opened his eyes still wider, and when Russia had deserted her allies he had returned to Zukovo to begin the work of reconstruction in the ways his awakened conscience had dictated. He had visited their homes, offered them counsel, given them such money as he could spare, and had, he thought, become their friend as well as their hereditary guardian. All had gone well at first. They had listened to him, accepted his advice and his money and renewed their fealty under the Eew order of things, vowing that whatever happened elsewhere in Russia, blood and agony and starvation should not visit Zukovo. But the news that Vasili brought was disquieting. It meant that the minds of his people were again disturbed. And the fact that Prince Galitzin had always been'hated made the problems the Grand Duke faced none the less difficult. For his people had burned, pillaged, and killed. They had betrayed liim. And he had learned in the army what fire and the smell of blood could do. With a quick nod of resolution he rose. Hβ would go to them. Hβ knew their leaders. They would listen to him. They must listen. He closed the piano carefully, putting away the loose sheets of music, picked up his cap and heavy riding crop from the divan, on his way to the door, pausing, his hand on the bell-rope as a thought brought a deeper frown to his brow. Why had Conrad Grabar, his chief forester, said nothing to-day? He must have known—for news such as this travels from 'leaf to leaf through the forest. Conrad! And yet lie would have sworn by the faithfulness of his old friend and hunting companion. Perhaps Conrad had not known. The Grand Duke pulled the bell-rope, •then went to the window again and stood as though listening for the voices of the woods. Silence. The sun had sunk, a dull red 'ball, and the dusk wae falling swiftly. The aspens below his window'quivered slightly, throwing their white leaves upward as though in pain. The stately pines that he loved, mute, solemn, changeless, filled the air with balsam, but-they gavo no answer to his problem. -It was difficult to believe that, there, in the restless souls of men war could rage. ' And yet He peered out more intently. Beyond the pine forestj a murky cloud was rising. A storm? Hardly. For the sun had set in a.clear sky. But there was a cloud surely, growing in darkness and intensity. He could see it more clearly now, billowing upward in grim portent. The Grand Duke started and then stared again. The cloud was of smoke. Through the woods tiny lights were sparkling, picked out with ominous brilliancy against the velvet dusk. Peter Nicholaevitch leaned far out of the window, straining his ears to listen. And now he seemed to hear the crackle of flames, the distant sound of hoarse voices, shouting and singing. And while he still listened, aware that a great crisis had come into hie life, there was a commotion just below him, the sound of voices close at hand, and he saw a man come running from the woods, approaching the gateway of the castle. He recognised him by the gray beard and thickset figure. It was Boris Rylov, the huntsman, and as he ran he shouted to some one in the courtyard below. The Grand Duke made out the words: "They're burning the Hunting Lodge— where is the Master ?" Peter Nicholaevitch waited at the window no longer, but ran out of the room and down the flight of stairs into the great hall below. For he knew what happened now. The Red terror had come to Zukovo. He_ went out to the garden terrace, crossing quickly to the courtyard, where Tie met the frightened group of servants that had assembled. Boris, the huntsman, much out of breath, was waving his arms excitedly toward tile cloud of smoke rising above the pine trees, now tinged a dirty oran«e colour from beneath. ° "They came from all directions, Master," lie gasped, "like the black flies upon a dead horse—hundreds—thousands of them, from the village and all the country round. I talked with the first that came, Anton Lensky, Gleb Saltykov, Michael Kuprin and Conrad Grabar " "Conrad !" gasped the Grand Duke. "Yes, Highness," muttered Boris, his head bowed, "Conrad Grabar. They tried to restrain mc. Michael Kuprin I struck upon the head with a stick—and then I fled —to warn your Highness— that they mean to come hither." The face of the Grand Duke, a trifle pale under its tan, was set in stern lines, but there was no fear in his manner as, he quickly questioned, his eyes eagerly scrutinising the frightened men and women about him while he spoke to them with cool decision. "Thanks, Friend Rylov—you have done mc a service I shall not forget." Then to the others, "If there are any,of you who fear to remain with mc, you may gb. I cannot believe that they will come to Zukovo Castle, but we will close the gate to the courtyard at once. I will, talk with them from the terrace wall." "Master! Highness!" broke in the huntsman violently, "you .do not understand. You cannot stay here. They are mad. They will kill you. It i B . for that they come " :

"It" is death " - "Go thou, then, and Vasili, and Ivan. For before they burn Zukovo, I mean to talk with them " "It is madness !" "Come, Highness," broke in Loo Garshin, the headgroom, eagerly, "I will put the saddle upon Vera, and you can go out of the iron gate from the stableyard into the forest. Nothing can catch you and you can reach tho river—" "No, Leo," put in tho Graud Duke kindly. "I shall stay." The servants glanced at one another, appalled at the Master's attitude. Some of them had already disappeared into tho castle, but others, less timorous, had already rushed to close the courtyard gate. "You say they are many , , fFricnd Rylov?" he asked again. "As the hairs of your head, Mnstor— from Ivanovna, Jaroshav —everywhere— And women, Highness, more terrible than the men " "And the leaders 1" "Dmitri Sidorov, of the Zcmetvo. mid Michael Kositzin and Anton Lensky. Soe, yonder! Whero tho road turns from the clearing—they come!" / THIS BEGINS THE STORY. Peter Nicholacviteh, Russian Grand Duke, cousin of the Gear, in a magnliWut room In a magnificent homo, Iβ plnylng Chopin's "Revolutionary Etude," when otio of his servants Informs him that revolutionists have broken out In the village, nnd arc killing and burning. Being old nnd privileged he advises bis master to mako ; liis escape. The Grand Duke refuses and addresses the mob when It arrives. AND HERE IT CONTINUES. The keen eyes of Boris saw farther through the forest than thoao of most ' men, but in a moment those of the Grand Duke Peter confirmed him. Figures were moving in tho twilight, along the roads and bypaths. To Peter Xicholaevitch they seemed -1 like a great river which had flooded over its banks seeking new levels. Behind them the flames from the wooden hunt- ! ing lodge roared upward painting a ] lurid sky. He saw that the flood came rapidly, and above the roar of the j flames came the sound of voices singing the Russian version of the "Marseillaise." The Grand Duke stood at the terrace wall watching their approach. He knew if they meant to attack the castle the gate could not hold long, but he had hope that he might still be able to prevail upon them to 'listen to him. In a moment they saw him and .began running forward toward the courtyard gate. He recognised individuals now— I Anton Lensky, Michael Kuprin, with his head tied in a dirty handkerchief—and Conrad Grabar. The defection of his old instructor in wood-lore disturbed him. Conrad must have known what j was to happen and he had said nothing. [ If Conrad had turned against him, what : hope had he of prevailing against the others? The singing died away and in its place shouts and cries burst forth in a bedlam. "Open the gate!" "Let us in!" i The Grand Duke had heard that note j in men's voices in the Carpathian passes, and he knew what it meant, but while : his gaze sought out the fat figure of Michael Kositzin, who was the leader of the uprising, he held up his hand for silence. There was a roar of voices. "Peter Nioholaevitch wishes to speak." "It is our turn to speak now." "Nasha pora prishla" (our time has come). "Let the little master speak." j "We know no little masters here!" "No, nor old ones." i "Smiert Bourjouiam" (death to the bourgeoisie). I But as the young Grand Duke began' to speak the voices of the most rabid of the peasants were hushed for a moment by the others. "My friends and children," he began, "one word before you do something that you will forever regret. I am your friend. I am young —of the new generation. I have kept abreast of the new thought of the time and I believe in the new life that is for you and for us j all. I have proved it to you by bringing the new life to Zukovo by peaceful i means, by friendliness and brotherhood, while other parts of Russia nearby are in agony and darkness." (Cries of "That is true.") "It was in my heart that I had brought the revolution to Zukovo, a revolution against the old order of things which can be no more, implanting in you the strong seeds of peace and brotherhood which would kill out the ugly weeds of violence and enmity," Here a hoarse voice rang out: "Fire Only fire can clean." Then the reply of a woman, "Yes, Tovaristchi, it is the only way." Peter Nicholaevitch tried to seek out the speakers with his gaze. One of them ' was- Miohae] Kuprin, whom when a child the Grand Duke had seen flogged in this very courtyard. ° "There are sine of the past," he welit on, raising his voice against the low murmur of the mob, "many sins against you, but one sin does not wash out another. Murder, rapine, vengeance will [never bring peace to Zukovo. [ "What you do to-day will be visited on you to-morrow. I pray that you will listen to mc. I have fought for you and with you—with Gleb Saltykov and Anton Lensky, against the return of Absolutism in Russia. The old order Of things is gone. Do not stain the new with crime in Zukovo. I beseech you to disperse—return to your homes and I will come to you to-morrow, and if fliere are wrongs I will set them ri»ht You have believed in mc in the past. Believe in mc now and all may yet bo. well in Zukovo. Go, my friends, before it is too late " The crowd wavered, murmuring. But just then a shot rang out and the cap of the Grand Duke twitched around on his head A roar W«M ep from near the gate, "Nesha pom prisMa! Break in the gate!" crieil the voices and there were those of women among them shouting "Tovaristchi! Forward!" Over the heads of those in the front ranks, Peter Nicholaevitch saw some men bringing from the forest the heavy trunk of a felled tree. They meant to break down the gate. He knew that he had failed, but still he stood upright facing them. Another shot, the bullet this time grazing his left arm. The sting of it angered him. "Cowards!" he yelled, shaking" his fist at them. "Cowards!" A volley followed but no other bullets struck him. Behind him in the Castle doorway he heard the voice of Boris Rylov, calling to him hoarsely, "Come, Master. For the love of God! There is yet time." There was a crash of the heavy timbers at the gate. "Come,. Master " : i With a shrug Peter Nicholaevitch turned and walked across the terrace towards the castle. "Bolvany!" ho muttered. "I've finished with them." Boris and Vasili stood just within the doer, pleading with him to hurry, and together they made their way through the deserted kitchens and.over past the vegetable gardens to the stables, where

Leo Garshin awaited them, the saddles on several horses. Behind thciix they could now hear the triumphant cries as the courtyard gate crashed in. i "Hurry, Master!" cried Garshin eagerly. "Where ar o the others?" asked the Grand Duke. "Gone, Highness. They have fled." ' Boris R-ylov was peering out past an iron door into the forest. ' "There is no one there?" asked Garshin. '•Not yet. They have forgotten." "Como then, Highness." But the Grand Duke saw that the aged Vnsili whs mounted first and then i they rode out. of tho iron gate into a path which led directly into the forest. It was not until they were well clear of tho building c that a shout at one sido announced that their mode of cscnpo hod beon discovered. Men came running, tiring pistols as they ran. j Boris Rylov, bringing up the rear, I reined in" his horse and turning emptied I a revolver nl tho nearest of their purI .suors. One man fell and the others Iml tod. Until they found the other horses in the stables pursuit was fruitless. Peter Nloholnevitcfc rode at the head of tho little cavalcado, down the familiar nisloa of the forest, bis head bowed, a deep frown on his brows. It was Vasili who first noticed tho blood dripping from his finger ends. j "Master," ho gnsped, "you arc wounded." "It ie nothing," said the Grand luke. But Vnsili bound tho arm up vith a handkerchief while Leo Garshin and Boris Rylov watched the path down which thpy had come. They could hear the crackling of tho flames of the Hunting Lodge to tho southward and the cries of tho mob at the Castle, but there was no sign of pursuit. Perhaps j they were satisfied to appease their mndness with pillage and fire. Half-an-hour later Boris pointed backward. A i new glow 'had risen, a redder, deeper ! glow. ! "Tho Castle, Master " wailed J Vnsili. I Peter Nicholaevitch drew rein at a ! cross-patch, watched for a moment and i then turned to his companions, for he ' hnd reached a decision. "My good friends," ho said gently, "our ways part hero." "Master! Highness!" But he was resolute. "I am going on alone. I will not ! involve you further in my misfortunes. j You can" do nothing for me—nor I anyi thing for you except this. Vasili knows. iln the vault below tho wine-collar, ' hidden away, are some objects of value. ,They will not find them. When they 'go away you will return. The visit will repay you. Divide what is there ■ into equal p"arts— silver, plate and gold. 'As for me—forget mo.. Farewell!" They saw that he meant what he said. He offered these few faithful servitors :his hand and they kissed his fingers— 1 a last act of fealty and devotion and j in a moment they stood listening to the ! diminishing hoof-beats of Vera as the 1 vounc master went out of their mos. i" "May God preserve him," muttered I Vasili. T ■ I "Amen," said Boris Rylov and Leo Garshin. CHAPTER I. INTRODUCING PETEK NICHOLS. The Britieh refugee ship Phrygia «b about to sail for Constantinople, wnere her unfortunate passengers were to be transferred to other veeeels sailing for Liverpool and New York. After some difficulties the refugee made his way aboard her and announced his identity Ito the captain. If he had expected to be received with the honour due to one ot hie rank and station, he was quickly undeceived, for Captain Blashford, a man of rough manners, concealing a gentle heart looked 'him over critically, ex amined his credential (letters he ihad happened to have about him), and then :emiled grimly. ' I "We've got Toom for one more—-and : that's about all." j "I have no money —" began the refugee. i "Oh, ithat's all right," shrugged the captain, "you're not the only one. We've a cargo of twenty princes, thirtytwo countesses to set up a new nation somewhere. Your 'Ighnese is the only Duke that hae reached U3 up to the present epeakin', and if .there are any others, they'll 'aye to 'be 'brisk, for we're , sailin' in twenty minutes." j The mabter-oMact tones with -which 'the unemotional Britisher made this announcement restored the lost cense of humour of the Russian refugee, and he ibroke into a grim laugh. "An embarrassment of riches," remarked the Grand Duke. "Riches," grunted the captain, "in a manner of epeakin', yes. Money is not 'go plentiful. But jools! Good God! There must be half a ton of diamonds, ru'biee arid emeralds aboard. All they've got left, most of 'em, but complaints and ! narvousnese. Give mc a cargo of wheat ;' and I'm your man," growled the captain. I "It stays put and doesn't complain," ana then turning to Peter—"Ye're not expectin* any r?yal suite aboard the Phrygia, are ye?" "No. A hammock for'rd will be good enough for mc." "That's the way I like to 'ear a man ■ talk. Good God! Aβ man to man, 1 arek you —with Counts throwin' cigarette butts around an' princesses eryin' all over my clean white decks an' all, J what's a eelf-respoctin' skipper to do? But I 'aye my orders to fetch the odd lot to Constantinople, an' fetch 'em 1 will. Oh! They're odd—al right. Go 'below, eir, an' 'aye a look at "em." But Petor Nicholaevitch ehook his 'head. He 'had been doing a deal of ' quiet thinking in those starry nights upon ' tne Dnieper, and he had worked out his problem alone. "iNo, thanks," he said, quietly, "if I 3 - ou don't mind, I think I'd rather prej serve my incognito." , I "Incognito, is it? Oh, very well, suit yourself. And what will I be callin' Your Highness? " I , "Peter Nidhols," said the Grand Duke ! i with a smile, "it's as good as any other." j "Right you are, Peter Nichol?. Lay for'rd and tell the bos'n to show you lup to my cabin." I So Peter Nichols went forward, avoid- ; ing the cargo aft, until within a day's J run of the Bosphorus, when he found himself accosted by no less a person than • Prince Galitzin, who had strolled out to get the morning air. He tried to avoid the man, 'but Galitzin planted himself firmly in his path, scrutinising him eagerly. I "You, too, .Highness!" he eaid"with ■an accent of grieved surprise. The Grand Duke regarded him in a .moment of silence. j "It must be evident to you, Prince Galitzin, that I have some object in remaining unknown." "But, Your Highness, sucli a thing is unnecessary. Are we not all dedicated to the eSme misfortunes? Misery loves company." "You mean that it makes you less miserable to discover that I share your fate?"

"Not precisely that. It is merely that if one hold ng your liberal views cannot escape the holocaust that has suddenly fallen the:e is little hope for the rcet of us." "No]" said the Grand Duke shortly. "There is no hope, none at all, for us or for Russia." "Where are you going?" "To America." "But, Your Highness, that ie impossible. We shall all have asylum ju England until conditions change. You should go there with us. It will lend influence to our mission." "No." "Why?" "I am leaving Russia for the present. She is outcast. For, not content with betraying, she has betrayed herself." "But what are you going to do?" Peter Xicholaevitch smiled up at the sky, and the fussy, fat, bejewelled sycophant before him listened to him in amazement. •' Prince Galitzin,' , said, the Grand Duke amusedly, "I am going to do that which may bring the blush of shame to your brow or tlio sneer of pity to your lips. I am going to fulfil the destiny provided for every man with a pair of strong hands, and a willing spirit—l am going to work." The prince stepped iback a pace, his watery eyes snapping in incomprehension. "But your higher destiny—your great heritage as a prince of the royal blood of Holy Russia." (To bo continued daily.)