Rulers of kings: A novelAtherton, Gertrude Franklin Horn
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Rulers of kings: A novel
Atherton, Gertrude Franklin Horn
Statesmen -- Fiction
’48; and the determination was growing daily to give emphasis in every
possible way to the individuality of this most individual of European
states. Let those pitch their tents in Hungary who would, but they must
learn and use the Hungarian language or feel themselves the aliens they
were--Austrian officers not excepted.
Alexandra yielded to an impulse, not so much of coquetry as of
curiosity; she expressed approval of his patriotism in the beautiful
Magyar tongue. She had avoided German instinctively, and they had
talked in English--like most of his class he was accomplished in many
languages. For the moment she regretted her experiment. He trembled
violently and turned white. It was then that he shed his first tear.
“You are _not_ cruel!” he murmured. “You have enraptured me! How
kind--how wonderful. It is said to be the most difficult of tongues.
Did you learn a few words, perhaps, before coming to Hungary, knowing
our greatest weakness--”
“Dear me, no. I studied Hungarian, as one of many languages, with the
Archduchess. She studied it as a matter of course.”
“That is a very practical explanation,” he said sulkily. “If I had had
time to think I should have known. Queen Elizabeth,” he looked as if
he would have raised his plumed and jewelled _kalpag_ had it not been
under his chair, “bewitched Hungary upon her first visit by speaking
perfectly the Magyar language. She took a great fancy to a young
Hungarian girl and invited her to become a maid of honor, but when she
discovered that she had been educated in Paris and had almost forgotten
her native language she sent her home to learn it, and would not
receive her into her household again until she was proficient. We have
never forgotten that. And Rudolf! it _was_ his language--we refused to
believe that he knew how to speak German.”
“Do you regret Rudolf?” asked Alexandra, in the tone she might have
used to demand his opinion of the soft music in the gallery. Again she
had touched powder with her wicked torch.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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