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THE PRISONER OF ZENDA
by Anthony Hope
CHAPTER 1
The Rassendylls--With a Word on the Elphbergs
"I wonder when in the world you're going to do anything, Rudolf?" said
my brother's wife.
"My dear Rose," I answered, laying down my egg-spoon, "why in the world
should I do anything? My position is a comfortable one. I have an
income nearly sufficient for my wants (no one's income is ever quite
sufficient, you know), I enjoy an enviable social position: I am
brother to Lord Burlesdon, and brother-in-law to that charming lady, his
countess. Behold, it is enough!"
"You are nine-and-twenty," she observed, "and you've done nothing but--"
"Knock about? It is true. Our family doesn't need to do things."
This remark of mine rather annoyed Rose, for everybody knows (and
therefore there can be no harm in referring to the fact) that, pretty
and accomplished as she herself is, her family is hardly of the same
standing as the Rassendylls. Besides her attractions, she possessed a
large fortune, and my brother Robert was wise enough not to mind about
her ancestry. Ancestry is, in fact, a matter concerning which the next
observation of Rose's has some truth.
"Good families are generally worse than any others," she said.
Upon this I stroked my hair: I knew quite well what she meant.
"I'm so glad Robert's is black!" she cried.
At this moment Robert (who rises at seven and works before breakfast)
came in. He glanced at his wife: her cheek was slightly flushed; he
patted it caressingly.
"What's the matter, my dear?" he asked.
"She objects to my doing nothing and having red hair," said I, in an
injured tone.
"Oh! of course he can't help his hair," admitted Rose.
"It generally crops out once in a generation," said my brother. "So does
the nose. Rudolf has got them both."
"I wish they didn't crop out," said Rose, still flushed.
"I rather like them myself," said I, and, rising, I bowed to the
portrait of Countess Amelia.
My brother's wife uttered an exclamation of impatience.
"I wish you'd take that picture away, Robert," said she.
"My dear!" he cried.
"Good heavens!" I added.
"Then it might be forgotten," she continued.
"Hardly--with Rudolf about," said Robert, shaking his head.
"Why should it be forgotten?" I asked.
"Rudolf!" exclaimed my brother's wife, blushing very prettily.
I laughed, and went on with my egg. At least I had shelved the question
of what (if anything) I ought to do. And, by way of closing the
discussion--and also, I must admit, of exasperating my strict little
sister-in-law a trifle more--I observed:
"I rather like being an Elphberg myself."
When I read a story, I skip the explanations; yet the moment I begin to
write one, I find that I must have an explanation. For it is manifest
that I must explain why my sister-in-law was vexed with my nose and
hair, and why I ventured to call myself an Elphberg. For eminent as,
I must protest, the Rassendylls have been for many generations, yet
participation in their blood of course does not, at first sight, justify
the boast of a connection with the grander stock of the Elphbergs or
a claim to be one of that Royal House. For what relationship is there
between Ruritania and Burlesdon, between the Palace at Strelsau or the
Castle of Zenda and Number 305 Park Lane, W.?
Well then--and I must premise that I am going, perforce, to rake up the
very scandal which my dear Lady Burlesdon wishes forgotten--in the year
1733, George II. sitting then on the throne, peace reigning for
the moment, and the King and the Prince of Wales being not yet at
loggerheads, there came on a visit to the English Court a certain
prince, who was afterwards known to history as Rudolf the Third of
Ruritania. The prince was a tall, handsome young fellow, marked (maybe
marred, it is not for me to say) by a somewhat unusually long, sharp and
straight nose, and a mass of dark-red hair--in fact, the nose and the
hair which have stamped the Elphbergs time out of mind. He stayed some
months in England, where he was most courteously received; yet, in
the end, he left rather under a cloud. For he fought a duel (it was
considered highly well bred of him to waive all question of his rank)
with a nobleman, well known in the society of the day, not only for his
own merits, but as the husband of a very beautiful wife. In that duel
Prince Rudolf received a severe wound, and, recovering therefrom, was
adroitly smuggled off by the Ruritanian ambassador, who had found him
a pretty handful. The nobleman was not wounded in the duel; but the
morning being raw and damp on the occasion of the meeting, he contracted
a severe chill, and, failing to throw it off, he died some six months
after the departure of Prince Rudolf, without having found leisure to
adjust his relations with his wife--who, after another two months, bore
an heir to the title and estates of the family of Burlesdon. This lady
was the Countess Amelia, whose picture my sister-in-law wished to remove
from the drawing-room in Park Lane; and her husband was James, fifth
Earl of Burlesdon and twenty-second Baron Rassendyll, both in the
peerage of England, and a Knight of the Garter. As for Rudolf, he went
back to Ruritania, married a wife, and ascended the throne, whereon his
progeny in the direct line have sat from then till this very hour--with
one short interval. And, finally, if you walk through the picture
galleries at Burlesdon, among the fifty portraits or so of the last
century and a half, you will find five or six, including that of the
sixth earl, distinguished by long, sharp, straight noses and a quantity
of dark-red hair; these five or six have also blue eyes, whereas among
the Rassendylls dark eyes are the commoner.
That is the explanation, and I am glad to have finished it: the
blemishes on honourable lineage are a delicate subject, and certainly
this heredity we hear so much about is the finest scandalmonger in the
world; it laughs at discretion, and writes strange entries between the
lines of the "Peerages".
It will be observed that my sister-in-law, with a want of logic that
must have been peculiar to herself (since we are no longer allowed to
lay it to the charge of her sex), treated my complexion almost as an
offence for which I was responsible, hastening to assume from that
external sign inward qualities of which I protest my entire innocence;
and this unjust inference she sought to buttress by pointing to the
uselessness of the life I had led. Well, be that as it may, I had picked
up a good deal of pleasure and a good deal of knowledge. I had been to
a German school and a German university, and spoke German as readily
and perfectly as English; I was thoroughly at home in French; I had a
smattering of Italian and enough Spanish to swear by. I was, I believe,
a strong, though hardly fine swordsman and a good shot. I could ride
anything that had a back to sit on; and my head was as cool a one as you
could find, for all its flaming cover. If you say that I ought to have
spent my time in useful labour, I am out of Court and have nothing
to say, save that my parents had no business to leave me two thousand
pounds a year and a roving disposition.
"The difference between you and Robert," said my sister-in-law, who
often (bless her!) speaks on a platform, and oftener still as if she
were on one, "is that he recognizes the duties of his position, and you
see the opportunities of yours."
"To a man of spirit, my dear Rose," I answered, "opportunities are
duties."
"Nonsense!" said she, tossing her head; and after a moment she went on:
"Now, here's Sir Jacob Borrodaile offering you exactly what you might be
equal to."
"A thousand thanks!" I murmured.
"He's to have an Embassy in six months, and Robert says he is sure that
he'll take you as an attache. Do take it, Rudolf--to please me."
Now, when my sister-in-law puts the matter in that way, wrinkling her
pretty brows, twisting her little hands, and growing wistful in the
eyes, all on account of an idle scamp like myself, for whom she has
no natural responsibility, I am visited with compunction. Moreover, I
thought it possible that I could pass the time in the position suggested
with some tolerable amusement. Therefore I said:
"My dear sister, if in six months' time no unforeseen obstacle has
arisen, and Sir Jacob invites me, hang me if I don't go with Sir Jacob!"
"Oh, Rudolf, how good of you! I am glad!"
"Where's he going to?"
"He doesn't know yet; but it's sure to be a good Embassy."
"Madame," said I, "for your sake I'll go, if it's no more than a
beggarly Legation. When I do a thing, I don't do it by halves."
My promise, then, was given; but six months are six months, and seem an
eternity, and, inasmuch as they stretched between me and my prospective
industry (I suppose attaches are industrious; but I know not, for I
never became attache to Sir Jacob or anybody else), I cast about for
some desirable mode of spending them. And it occurred to me suddenly
that I would visit Ruritania. It may seem strange that I had never
visited that country yet; but my father (in spite of a sneaking fondness
for the Elphbergs, which led him to give me, his second son, the famous
Elphberg name of Rudolf) had always been averse from my going, and,
since his death, my brother, prompted by Rose, had accepted the family
tradition which taught that a wide berth was to be given to that
country. But the moment Ruritania had come into my head I was eaten up
with a curiosity to see it. After all, red hair and long noses are
not confined to the House of Elphberg, and the old story seemed
a preposterously insufficient reason for debarring myself from
acquaintance with a highly interesting and important kingdom, one which
had played no small part in European history, and might do the like
again under the sway of a young and vigorous ruler, such as the new
King was rumoured to be. My determination was clinched by reading in _The
Times_ that Rudolf the Fifth was to be crowned at Strelsau in the course
of the next three weeks, and that great magnificence was to mark
the occasion. At once I made up my mind to be present, and began my
preparations. But, inasmuch as it has never been my practice to furnish
my relatives with an itinerary of my journeys and in this case I
anticipated opposition to my wishes, I gave out that I was going for a
ramble in the Tyrol--an old haunt of mine--and propitiated Rose's wrath
by declaring that I intended to study the political and social problems
of the interesting community which dwells in that neighbourhood.
"Perhaps," I hinted darkly, "there may be an outcome of the expedition."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Well," said I carelessly, "there seems a gap that might be filled by an
exhaustive work on--"
"Oh! will you write a book?" she cried, clapping her hands. "That would
be splendid, wouldn't it, Robert?"
"It's the best of introductions to political life nowadays," observed my
brother, who has, by the way, introduced himself in this manner several
times over. _Burlesdon on Ancient Theories and Modern Facts_ and _The
Ultimate Outcome, by a Political Student_, are both works of recognized
eminence.
"I believe you are right, Bob, my boy," said I.
"Now promise you'll do it," said Rose earnestly.
"No, I won't promise; but if I find enough material, I will."
"That's fair enough," said Robert.
"Oh, material doesn't matter!" she said, pouting.
But this time she could get no more than a qualified promise out of me.
To tell the truth, I would have wagered a handsome sum that the story
of my expedition that summer would stain no paper and spoil not a single
pen. And that shows how little we know what the future holds; for here I
am, fulfilling my qualified promise, and writing, as I never thought
to write, a book--though it will hardly serve as an introduction to
political life, and has not a jot to do with the Tyrol.
Neither would it, I fear, please Lady Burlesdon, if I were to submit it
to her critical eye--a step which I have no intention of taking.
CHAPTER 2
Concerning the Colour of Men's Hair
It was a maxim of my Uncle William's that no man should pass through
Paris without spending four-and-twenty hours there. My uncle spoke out
of a ripe experience of the world, and I honoured his advice by putting
up for a day and a night at "The Continental" on my way to--the Tyrol.
I called on George Featherly at the Embassy, and we had a bit of dinner
together at Durand's, and afterwards dropped in to the Opera; and
after that we had a little supper, and after that we called on Bertram
Bertrand, a versifier of some repute and Paris correspondent to _The
Critic_. He had a very comfortable suite of rooms, and we found some
pleasant fellows smoking and talking. It struck me, however, that
Bertram himself was absent and in low spirits, and when everybody except
ourselves had gone, I rallied him on his moping preoccupation. He
fenced with me for a while, but at last, flinging himself on a sofa, he
exclaimed:
"Very well; have it your own way. I am in love--infernally in love!"
"Oh, you'll write the better poetry," said I, by way of consolation.
He ruffled his hair with his hand and smoked furiously. George
Featherly, standing with his back to the mantelpiece, smiled unkindly.
"If it's the old affair," said he, "you may as well throw it up, Bert.
She's leaving Paris tomorrow."
"I know that," snapped Bertram.
"Not that it would make any difference if she stayed," pursued the
relentless George. "She flies higher than the paper trade, my boy!"
"Hang her!" said Bertram.
"It would make it more interesting for me," I ventured to observe, "if I
knew who you were talking about."
"Antoinette Mauban," said George.
"De Mauban," growled Bertram.
"Oho!" said I, passing by the question of the `de'. "You don't mean to
say, Bert--?"
"Can't you let me alone?"
"Where's she going to?" I asked, for the lady was something of a
celebrity.
George jingled his money, smiled cruelly at poor Bertram, and answered
pleasantly:
"Nobody knows. By the way, Bert, I met a great man at her house the
other night--at least, about a month ago. Did you ever meet him--the
Duke of Strelsau?"
"Yes, I did," growled Bertram.
"An extremely accomplished man, I thought him."
It was not hard to see that George's references to the duke were
intended to aggravate poor Bertram's sufferings, so that I drew the
inference that the duke had distinguished Madame de Mauban by his
attentions. She was a widow, rich, handsome, and, according to repute,
ambitious. It was quite possible that she, as George put it, was flying
as high as a personage who was everything he could be, short of enjoying
strictly royal rank: for the duke was the son of the late King of
Ruritania by a second and morganatic marriage, and half-brother to the
new King. He had been his father's favourite, and it had occasioned
some unfavourable comment when he had been created a duke, with a title
derived from no less a city than the capital itself. His mother had been
of good, but not exalted, birth.
"He's not in Paris now, is he?" I asked.
"Oh no! He's gone back to be present at the King's coronation; a
ceremony which, I should say, he'll not enjoy much. But, Bert, old man,
don't despair! He won't marry the fair Antoinette--at least, not unless
another plan comes to nothing. Still perhaps she--" He paused and added,
with a laugh: "Royal attentions are hard to resist--you know that, don't
you, Rudolf?"
"Confound you!" said I; and rising, I left the hapless Bertram in
George's hands and went home to bed.
The next day George Featherly went with me to the station, where I took
a ticket for Dresden.
"Going to see the pictures?" asked George, with a grin.
George is an inveterate gossip, and had I told him that I was off to
Ruritania, the news would have been in London in three days and in Park
Lane in a week. I was, therefore, about to return an evasive answer,
when he saved my conscience by leaving me suddenly and darting across
the platform. Following him with my eyes, I saw him lift his hat and
accost a graceful, fashionably dressed woman who had just appeared from
the booking-office. She was, perhaps, a year or two over thirty, tall,
dark, and of rather full figure. As George talked, I saw her glance at
me, and my vanity was hurt by the thought that, muffled in a fur coat
and a neck-wrapper (for it was a chilly April day) and wearing a soft
travelling hat pulled down to my ears, I must be looking very far from
my best. A moment later, George rejoined me.
"You've got a charming travelling companion," he said. "That's poor Bert
Bertrand's goddess, Antoinette de Mauban, and, like you, she's going to
Dresden--also, no doubt, to see the pictures. It's very ***, though,
that she doesn't at present desire the honour of your acquaintance."
"I didn't ask to be introduced," I observed, a little annoyed.
"Well, I offered to bring you to her; but she said, 'Another time.'
Never mind, old fellow, perhaps there'll be a smash, and you'll have a
chance of rescuing her and cutting out the Duke of Strelsau!"
No smash, however, happened, either to me or to Madame de Mauban. I can
speak for her as confidently as for myself; for when, after a night's
rest in Dresden, I continued my journey, she got into the same train.
Understanding that she wished to be let alone, I avoided her carefully,
but I saw that she went the same way as I did to the very end of my
journey, and I took opportunities of having a good look at her, when I
could do so unobserved.
As soon as we reached the Ruritanian frontier (where the old officer who
presided over the Custom House favoured me with such a stare that I felt
surer than before of my Elphberg physiognomy), I bought the papers, and
found in them news which affected my movements. For some reason, which
was not clearly explained, and seemed to be something of a mystery, the
date of the coronation had been suddenly advanced, and the ceremony was
to take place on the next day but one. The whole country seemed in a
stir about it, and it was evident that Strelsau was thronged. Rooms were
all let and hotels overflowing; there would be very little chance of my
obtaining a lodging, and I should certainly have to pay an exorbitant
charge for it. I made up my mind to stop at Zenda, a small town fifty
miles short of the capital, and about ten from the frontier. My train
reached there in the evening; I would spend the next day, Tuesday, in a
wander over the hills, which were said to be very fine, and in taking
a glance at the famous Castle, and go over by train to Strelsau on the
Wednesday morning, returning at night to sleep at Zenda.
Accordingly at Zenda I got out, and as the train passed where I stood on
the platform, I saw my friend Madame de Mauban in her place; clearly she
was going through to Strelsau, having, with more providence than I could
boast, secured apartments there. I smiled to think how surprised
George Featherly would have been to know that she and I had been fellow
travellers for so long.
I was very kindly received at the hotel--it was really no more than an
inn--kept by a fat old lady and her two daughters. They were good,
quiet people, and seemed very little interested in the great doings at
Strelsau. The old lady's hero was the duke, for he was now, under the
late King's will, master of the Zenda estates and of the Castle, which
rose grandly on its steep hill at the end of the valley a mile or so
from the inn. The old lady, indeed, did not hesitate to express regret
that the duke was not on the throne, instead of his brother.
"We know Duke Michael," said she. "He has always lived among us; every
Ruritanian knows Duke Michael. But the King is almost a stranger; he has
been so much abroad, not one in ten knows him even by sight."
"And now," chimed in one of the young women, "they say he has shaved off
his beard, so that no one at all knows him."
"Shaved his beard!" exclaimed her mother. "Who says so?"
"Johann, the duke's keeper. He has seen the King."
"Ah, yes. The King, sir, is now at the duke's hunting-lodge in the
forest here; from here he goes to Strelsau to be crowned on Wednesday
morning."
I was interested to hear this, and made up my mind to walk next day in
the direction of the lodge, on the chance of coming across the King. The
old lady ran on garrulously:
"Ah, and I wish he would stay at his hunting--that and wine (and one
thing more) are all he loves, they say--and suffer our duke to be
crowned on Wednesday. That I wish, and I don't care who knows it."
"Hush, mother!" urged the daughters.
"Oh, there's many to think as I do!" cried the old woman stubbornly.
I threw myself back in my deep armchair, and laughed at her zeal.
"For my part," said the younger and prettier of the two daughters, a
fair, buxom, smiling ***, "I hate Black Michael! A red Elphberg for
me, mother! The King, they say, is as red as a fox or as--"
And she laughed mischievously as she cast a glance at me, and tossed her
head at her sister's reproving face.
"Many a man has cursed their red hair before now," muttered the old
lady--and I remembered James, fifth Earl of Burlesdon.
"But never a woman!" cried the girl.
"Ay, and women, when it was too late," was the stern answer, reducing
the girl to silence and blushes.
"How comes the King here?" I asked, to break an embarrassed silence. "It
is the duke's land here, you say."
"The duke invited him, sir, to rest here till Wednesday. The duke is at
Strelsau, preparing the King's reception."
"Then they're friends?"
"None better," said the old lady.
But my rosy damsel tossed her head again; she was not to be repressed
for long, and she broke out again:
"Ay, they love one another as men do who want the same place and the
same wife!"
The old woman glowered; but the last words pricked my curiosity, and I
interposed before she could begin scolding:
"What, the same wife, too! How's that, young lady?"
"All the world knows that Black Michael--well then, mother, the
duke--would give his soul to marry his cousin, the Princess Flavia, and
that she is to be the queen."
"Upon my word," said I, "I begin to be sorry for your duke. But if a man
will be a younger son, why he must take what the elder leaves, and be
as thankful to God as he can;" and, thinking of myself, I shrugged my
shoulders and laughed. And then I thought also of Antoinette de Mauban
and her journey to Strelsau.
"It's little dealing Black Michael has with--" began the girl, braving
her mother's anger; but as she spoke a heavy step sounded on the floor,
and a gruff voice asked in a threatening tone:
"Who talks of 'Black Michael' in his Highness's own burgh?"
The girl gave a little shriek, half of fright--half, I think, of
amusement.
"You'll not tell of me, Johann?" she said.
"See where your chatter leads," said the old lady.
The man who had spoken came forward.
"We have company, Johann," said my hostess, and the fellow plucked off
his cap. A moment later he saw me, and, to my amazement, he started back
a step, as though he had seen something wonderful.
"What ails you, Johann?" asked the elder girl. "This is a gentleman on
his travels, come to see the coronation."
The man had recovered himself, but he was staring at me with an intense,
searching, almost fierce glance.
"Good evening to you," said I.
"Good evening, sir," he muttered, still scrutinizing me, and the merry
girl began to laugh as she called--
"See, Johann, it is the colour you love! He started to see your hair,
sir. It's not the colour we see most of here in Zenda."
"I crave your pardon, sir," stammered the fellow, with puzzled eyes. "I
expected to see no one."
"Give him a glass to drink my health in; and I'll bid you good night,
and thanks to you, ladies, for your courtesy and pleasant conversation."
So speaking, I rose to my feet, and with a slight bow turned to the
door. The young girl ran to light me on the way, and the man fell back
to let me pass, his eyes still fixed on me. The moment I was by, he
started a step forward, asking:
"Pray, sir, do you know our King?"
"I never saw him," said I. "I hope to do so on Wednesday."
He said no more, but I felt his eyes following me till the door closed
behind me. My saucy conductor, looking over her shoulder at me as she
preceded me upstairs, said:
"There's no pleasing Master Johann for one of your colour, sir."
"He prefers yours, maybe?" I suggested.
"I meant, sir, in a man," she answered, with a coquettish glance.
"What," asked I, taking hold of the other side of the candlestick, "does
colour matter in a man?"
"Nay, but I love yours--it's the Elphberg red."
"Colour in a man," said I, "is a matter of no more moment than
that!"--and I gave her something of no value.
"God send the kitchen door be shut!" said she.
"Amen!" said I, and left her.
In fact, however, as I now know, colour is sometimes of considerable
moment to a man.
CHAPTER 3
A Merry Evening with a Distant Relative
I was not so unreasonable as to be prejudiced against the duke's keeper
because he disliked my complexion; and if I had been, his most civil
and obliging conduct (as it seemed to me to be) next morning would have
disarmed me. Hearing that I was bound for Strelsau, he came to see
me while I was breakfasting, and told me that a sister of his who had
married a well-to-do tradesman and lived in the capital, had invited
him to occupy a room in her house. He had gladly accepted, but now found
that his duties would not permit of his absence. He begged therefore
that, if such humble (though, as he added, clean and comfortable)
lodgings would satisfy me, I would take his place. He pledged his
sister's acquiescence, and urged the inconvenience and crowding to which
I should be subject in my journeys to and from Strelsau the next day.
I accepted his offer without a moment's hesitation, and he went off to
telegraph to his sister, while I packed up and prepared to take the next
train. But I still hankered after the forest and the hunting-lodge, and
when my little maid told me that I could, by walking ten miles or so
through the forest, hit the railway at a roadside station, I decided to
send my luggage direct to the address which Johann had given, take my
walk, and follow to Strelsau myself. Johann had gone off and was not
aware of the change in my plans; but, as its only effect was to delay
my arrival at his sister's for a few hours, there was no reason for
troubling to inform him of it. Doubtless the good lady would waste no
anxiety on my account.
I took an early luncheon, and, having bidden my kind entertainers
farewell, promising to return to them on my way home, I set out to climb
the hill that led to the Castle, and thence to the forest of Zenda.
Half an hour's leisurely walking brought me to the Castle. It had been
a fortress in old days, and the ancient keep was still in good
preservation and very imposing. Behind it stood another portion of the
original castle, and behind that again, and separated from it by a deep
and broad moat, which ran all round the old buildings, was a handsome
modern chateau, erected by the last king, and now forming the country
residence of the Duke of Strelsau. The old and the new portions were
connected by a drawbridge, and this indirect mode of access formed the
only passage between the old building and the outer world; but leading
to the modern chateau there was a broad and handsome avenue. It was an
ideal residence: when "Black Michael" desired company, he could dwell in
his chateau; if a fit of misanthropy seized him, he had merely to cross
the bridge and draw it up after him (it ran on rollers), and nothing
short of a regiment and a train of artillery could fetch him out. I went
on my way, glad that poor Black Michael, though he could not have the
throne or the princess, had, at least, as fine a residence as any prince
in Europe.
Soon I entered the forest, and walked on for an hour or more in its cool
sombre shade. The great trees enlaced with one another over my head, and
the sunshine stole through in patches as bright as diamonds, and
hardly bigger. I was enchanted with the place, and, finding a felled
tree-trunk, propped my back against it, and stretching my legs out gave
myself up to undisturbed contemplation of the solemn beauty of the woods
and to the comfort of a good cigar. And when the cigar was finished and
I had (I suppose) inhaled as much beauty as I could, I went off into
the most delightful sleep, regardless of my train to Strelsau and of
the fast-waning afternoon. To remember a train in such a spot would
have been rank sacrilege. Instead of that, I fell to dreaming that I
was married to the Princess Flavia and dwelt in the Castle of Zenda, and
beguiled whole days with my love in the glades of the forest--which made
a very pleasant dream. In fact, I was just impressing a fervent kiss on
the charming lips of the princess, when I heard (and the voice seemed at
first a part of the dream) someone exclaim, in rough strident tones.
"Why, the devil's in it! Shave him, and he'd be the King!"
The idea seemed whimsical enough for a dream: by the sacrifice of my
heavy moustache and carefully pointed imperial, I was to be transformed
into a monarch! I was about to kiss the princess again, when I arrived
(very reluctantly) at the conclusion that I was awake.
I opened my eyes, and found two men regarding me with much curiosity.
Both wore shooting costumes and carried guns. One was rather short
and very stoutly built, with a big bullet-shaped head, a bristly grey
moustache, and small pale-blue eyes, a trifle bloodshot. The other was a
slender young fellow, of middle height, dark in complexion, and bearing
himself with grace and distinction. I set the one down as an old
soldier: the other for a gentleman accustomed to move in good society,
but not unused to military life either. It turned out afterwards that my
guess was a good one.
The elder man approached me, beckoning the younger to follow. He did so,
courteously raising his hat. I rose slowly to my feet.
"He's the height, too!" I heard the elder murmur, as he surveyed my six
feet two inches of stature. Then, with a cavalier touch of the cap, he
addressed me:
"May I ask your name?"
"As you have taken the first step in the acquaintance, gentlemen," said
I, with a smile, "suppose you give me a lead in the matter of names."
The young man stepped forward with a pleasant smile.
"This," said he, "is Colonel Sapt, and I am called Fritz von Tarlenheim:
we are both in the service of the King of Ruritania."
I bowed and, baring my head, answered:
"I am Rudolf Rassendyll. I am a traveller from England; and once for a
year or two I held a commission from her Majesty the Queen."
"Then we are all brethren of the sword," answered Tarlenheim, holding
out his hand, which I took readily.
"Rassendyll, Rassendyll!" muttered Colonel Sapt; then a gleam of
intelligence flitted across his face.
"By Heaven!" he cried, "you're of the Burlesdons?"
"My brother is now Lord Burlesdon," said I.
"Thy head betrayeth thee," he chuckled, pointing to my uncovered poll.
"Why, Fritz, you know the story?"
The young man glanced apologetically at me. He felt a delicacy which
my sister-in-law would have admired. To put him at his ease, I remarked
with a smile:
"Ah! the story is known here as well as among us, it seems."
"Known!" cried Sapt. "If you stay here, the deuce a man in all Ruritania
will doubt of it--or a woman either."
I began to feel uncomfortable. Had I realized what a very plainly
written pedigree I carried about with me, I should have thought long
before I visited Ruritania. However, I was in for it now.
At this moment a ringing voice sounded from the wood behind us:
"Fritz, Fritz! where are you, man?"
Tarlenheim started, and said hastily:
"It's the King!"
Old Sapt chuckled again.
Then a young man jumped out from behind the trunk of a tree and stood
beside us. As I looked at him, I uttered an astonished cry; and he,
seeing me, drew back in sudden wonder. Saving the hair on my face and
a manner of conscious dignity which his position gave him, saving also
that he lacked perhaps half an inch--nay, less than that, but still
something--of my height, the King of Ruritania might have been Rudolf
Rassendyll, and I, Rudolf, the King.
For an instant we stood motionless, looking at one another. Then I bared
my head again and bowed respectfully. The King found his voice, and
asked in bewilderment:
"Colonel--Fritz--who is this gentleman?"
I was about to answer, when Colonel Sapt stepped between the King and
me, and began to talk to his Majesty in a low growl. The King towered
over Sapt, and, as he listened, his eyes now and again sought mine.
I looked at him long and carefully. The likeness was certainly
astonishing, though I saw the points of difference also. The King's face
was slightly more fleshy than mine, the oval of its contour the least
trifle more pronounced, and, as I fancied, his mouth lacking something
of the firmness (or obstinacy) which was to be gathered from
my close-shutting lips. But, for all that, and above all minor
distinctions, the likeness rose striking, salient, wonderful.
Sapt ceased speaking, and the King still frowned. Then, gradually, the
corners of his mouth began to twitch, his nose came down (as mine
does when I laugh), his eyes twinkled, and, behold! he burst into the
merriest fit of irrepressible laughter, which rang through the woods and
proclaimed him a jovial soul.
"Well met, cousin!" he cried, stepping up to me, clapping me on the
back, and laughing still. "You must forgive me if I was taken aback. A
man doesn't expect to see double at this time of day, eh, Fritz?"
"I must pray pardon, sire, for my presumption," said I. "I trust it will
not forfeit your Majesty's favour."
"By Heaven! you'll always enjoy the King's countenance," he laughed,
"whether I like it or not; and, sir, I shall very gladly add to it what
services I can. Where are you travelling to?"
"To Strelsau, sire--to the coronation."
The King looked at his friends: he still smiled, though his expression
hinted some uneasiness. But the humorous side of the matter caught him
again.
"Fritz, Fritz!" he cried, "a thousand crowns for a sight of brother
Michael's face when he sees a pair of us!" and the merry laugh rang out
again.
"Seriously," observed Fritz von Tarlenheim, "I question Mr. Rassendyll's
wisdom in visiting Strelsau just now."
The King lit a cigarette.
"Well, Sapt?" said he, questioningly.
"He mustn't go," growled the old fellow.
"Come, colonel, you mean that I should be in Mr. Rassendyll's debt,
if--"
"Oh, ay! wrap it up in the right way," said Sapt, hauling a great pipe
out of his pocket.
"Enough, sire," said I. "I'll leave Ruritania today."
"No, by thunder, you shan't--and that's sans phrase, as Sapt likes it.
For you shall dine with me tonight, happen what will afterwards. Come,
man, you don't meet a new relation every day!"
"We dine sparingly tonight," said Fritz von Tarlenheim.
"Not we--with our new cousin for a guest!" cried the King; and, as Fritz
shrugged his shoulders, he added: "Oh! I'll remember our early start,
Fritz."
"So will I--tomorrow morning," said old Sapt, pulling at his pipe.
"O wise old Sapt!" cried the King. "Come, Mr. Rassendyll--by the way,
what name did they give you?"
"Your Majesty's," I answered, bowing.
"Well, that shows they weren't ashamed of us," he laughed. "Come, then,
cousin Rudolf; I've got no house of my own here, but my dear brother
Michael lends us a place of his, and we'll make shift to entertain you
there;" and he put his arm through mine and, signing to the others to
accompany us, walked me off, westerly, through the forest.
We walked for more than half an hour, and the King smoked cigarettes
and chattered incessantly. He was full of interest in my family, laughed
heartily when I told him of the portraits with Elphberg hair in our
galleries, and yet more heartily when he heard that my expedition to
Ruritania was a secret one.
"You have to visit your disreputable cousin on the sly, have you?" said
he.
Suddenly emerging from the wood, we came on a small and rude
hunting-lodge. It was a one-storey building, a sort of bungalow, built
entirely of wood. As we approached it, a little man in a plain livery
came out to meet us. The only other person I saw about the place was
a fat elderly woman, whom I afterwards discovered to be the mother of
Johann, the duke's keeper.
"Well, is dinner ready, Josef?" asked the King.
The little servant informed us that it was, and we soon sat down to a
plentiful meal. The fare was plain enough: the King ate heartily, Fritz
von Tarlenheim delicately, old Sapt voraciously. I played a good
knife and fork, as my custom is; the King noticed my performance with
approval.
"We're all good trenchermen, we Elphbergs," said he. "But what?--we're
eating dry! Wine, Josef! wine, man! Are we beasts, to eat without
drinking? Are we cattle, Josef?"
At this reproof Josef hastened to load the table with bottles.
"Remember tomorrow!" said Fritz.
"Ay--tomorrow!" said old Sapt.
The King drained a bumper to his "Cousin Rudolf," as he was gracious--or
merry--enough to call me; and I drank its fellow to the "Elphberg Red,"
whereat he laughed loudly.
Now, be the meat what it might, the wine we drank was beyond all price
or praise, and we did it justice. Fritz ventured once to stay the King's
hand.
"What?" cried the King. "Remember you start before I do, Master
Fritz--you must be more sparing by two hours than I."
Fritz saw that I did not understand.
"The colonel and I," he explained, "leave here at six: we ride down to
Zenda and return with the guard of honour to fetch the King at eight,
and then we all ride together to the station."
"Hang that same guard!" growled Sapt.
"Oh! it's very civil of my brother to ask the honour for his regiment,"
said the King. "Come, cousin, you need not start early. Another bottle,
man!"
I had another bottle--or, rather, a part of one, for the larger half
travelled quickly down his Majesty's throat. Fritz gave up his attempts
at persuasion: from persuading, he fell to being persuaded, and soon we
were all of us as full of wine as we had any right to be. The King began
talking of what he would do in the future, old Sapt of what he had
done in the past, Fritz of some beautiful girl or other, and I of the
wonderful merits of the Elphberg dynasty. We all talked at once, and
followed to the letter Sapt's exhortation to let the morrow take care of
itself.
At last the King set down his glass and leant back in his chair.
"I have drunk enough," said he.
"Far be it from me to contradict the King," said I.
Indeed, his remark was most absolutely true--so far as it went.
While I yet spoke, Josef came and set before the King a marvellous old
wicker-covered flagon. It had lain so long in some darkened cellar that
it seemed to blink in the candlelight.
"His Highness the Duke of Strelsau bade me set this wine before the
King, when the King was weary of all other wines, and pray the King to
drink, for the love that he bears his brother."
"Well done, Black Michael!" said the King. "Out with the cork, Josef.
Hang him! Did he think I'd flinch from his bottle?"
The bottle was opened, and Josef filled the King's glass. The King
tasted it. Then, with a solemnity born of the hour and his own
condition, he looked round on us:
"Gentlemen, my friends--Rudolf, my cousin ('tis a scandalous story,
Rudolf, on my honour!), everything is yours to the half of Ruritania.
But ask me not for a single drop of this divine bottle, which I will
drink to the health of that--that sly knave, my brother, Black Michael."
And the King seized the bottle and turned it over his mouth, and drained
it and flung it from him, and laid his head on his arms on the table.
And we drank pleasant dreams to his Majesty--and that is all I remember
of the evening. Perhaps it is enough.
CHAPTER 4
The King Keeps His Appointment
Whether I had slept a minute or a year I knew not. I awoke with a start
and a shiver; my face, hair and clothes dripped water, and opposite me
stood old Sapt, a sneering smile on his face and an empty bucket in his
hand. On the table by him sat Fritz von Tarlenheim, pale as a ghost and
black as a crow under the eyes.
I leapt to my feet in anger.
"Your joke goes too far, sir!" I cried.
"Tut, man, we've no time for quarrelling. Nothing else would rouse you.
It's five o'clock."
"I'll thank you, Colonel Sapt--" I began again, hot in spirit, though I
was uncommonly cold in body.
"Rassendyll," interrupted Fritz, getting down from the table and taking
my arm, "look here."
The King lay full length on the floor. His face was red as his hair,
and he breathed heavily. Sapt, the disrespectful old dog, kicked him
sharply. He did not stir, nor was there any break in his breathing. I
saw that his face and head were wet with water, as were mine.
"We've spent half an hour on him," said Fritz.
"He drank three times what either of you did," growled Sapt.
I knelt down and felt his pulse. It was alarmingly languid and slow. We
three looked at one another.
"Was it drugged--that last bottle?" I asked in a whisper.
"I don't know," said Sapt.
"We must get a doctor."
"There's none within ten miles, and a thousand doctors wouldn't take
him to Strelsau today. I know the look of it. He'll not move for six or
seven hours yet."
"But the coronation!" I cried in horror.
Fritz shrugged his shoulders, as I began to see was his habit on most
occasions.
"We must send word that he's ill," he said.
"I suppose so," said I.
Old Sapt, who seemed as fresh as a daisy, had lit his pipe and was
puffing hard at it.
"If he's not crowned today," said he, "I'll lay a crown he's never
crowned."
"But heavens, why?"
"The whole nation's there to meet him; half the army--ay, and Black
Michael at the head. Shall we send word that the King's drunk?"
"That he's ill," said I, in correction.
"Ill!" echoed Sapt, with a scornful laugh. "They know his illnesses too
well. He's been 'ill' before!"
"Well, we must chance what they think," said Fritz helplessly. "I'll
carry the news and make the best of it."
Sapt raised his hand.
"Tell me," said he. "Do you think the King was drugged?"
"I do," said I.
"And who drugged him?"
"That damned hound, Black Michael," said Fritz between his teeth.
"Ay," said Sapt, "that he might not come to be crowned. Rassendyll here
doesn't know our pretty Michael. What think you, Fritz, has Michael no
king ready? Has half Strelsau no other candidate? As God's alive, man
the throne's lost if the King show himself not in Strelsau today. I know
Black Michael."
"We could carry him there," said I.
"And a very pretty picture he makes," sneered Sapt.
Fritz von Tarlenheim buried his face in his hands. The King breathed
loudly and heavily. Sapt stirred him again with his foot.
"The drunken dog!" he said; "but he's an Elphberg and the son of his
father, and may I rot in hell before Black Michael sits in his place!"
For a moment or two we were all silent; then Sapt, knitting his bushy
grey brows, took his pipe from his mouth and said to me:
"As a man grows old he believes in Fate. Fate sent you here. Fate sends
you now to Strelsau."
I staggered back, murmuring "Good God!"
Fritz looked up with an eager, bewildered gaze.
"Impossible!" I muttered. "I should be known."
"It's a risk--against a certainty," said Sapt. "If you shave, I'll wager
you'll not be known. Are you afraid?"
"Sir!"
"Come, lad, there, there; but it's your life, you know, if you're
known--and mine--and Fritz's here. But, if you don't go, I swear to you
Black Michael will sit tonight on the throne, and the King lie in prison
or his grave."
"The King would never forgive it," I stammered.
"Are we women? Who cares for his forgiveness?"
The clock ticked fifty times, and sixty and seventy times, as I stood in
thought. Then I suppose a look came over my face, for old Sapt caught me
by the hand, crying:
"You'll go?"
"Yes, I'll go," said I, and I turned my eyes on the prostrate figure of
the King on the floor.
"Tonight," Sapt went on in a hasty whisper, "we are to lodge in the
Palace. The moment they leave us you and I will mount our horses--Fritz
must stay there and guard the King's room--and ride here at a gallop.
The King will be ready--Josef will tell him--and he must ride back with
me to Strelsau, and you ride as if the devil were behind you to the
frontier."
I took it all in in a second, and nodded my head.
"There's a chance," said Fritz, with his first sign of hopefulness.
"If I escape detection," said I.
"If we're detected," said Sapt. "I'll send Black Michael down below
before I go myself, so help me heaven! Sit in that chair, man."
I obeyed him.
He darted from the room, calling "Josef! Josef!" In three minutes he was
back, and Josef with him. The latter carried a jug of hot water, soap
and razors. He was trembling as Sapt told him how the land lay, and bade
him shave me.
Suddenly Fritz smote on his thigh:
"But the guard! They'll know! they'll know!"
"Pooh! We shan't wait for the guard. We'll ride to Hofbau and catch a
train there. When they come, the bird'll be flown."
"But the King?"
"The King will be in the wine-cellar. I'm going to carry him there now."
"If they find him?"
"They won't. How should they? Josef will put them off."
"But--"
Sapt stamped his foot.
"We're not playing," he roared. "My God! don't I know the risk? If
they do find him, he's no worse off than if he isn't crowned today in
Strelsau."
So speaking, he flung the door open and, stooping, put forth a strength
I did not dream he had, and lifted the King in his hands. And as he did
so, the old woman, Johann the keeper's mother, stood in the doorway.
For a moment she stood, then she turned on her heel, without a sign of
surprise, and clattered down the passage.
"Has she heard?" cried Fritz.
"I'll shut her mouth!" said Sapt grimly, and he bore off the King in his
arms.
For me, I sat down in an armchair, and as I sat there, half-dazed, Josef
clipped and scraped me till my moustache and imperial were things of the
past and my face was as bare as the King's. And when Fritz saw me thus
he drew a long breath and exclaimed:--
"By Jove, we shall do it!"
It was six o'clock now, and we had no time to lose. Sapt hurried me into
the King's room, and I dressed myself in the uniform of a colonel of the
Guard, finding time as I slipped on the King's boots to ask Sapt what he
had done with the old woman.
"She swore she'd heard nothing," said he; "but to make sure I tied her
legs together and put a handkerchief in her mouth and bound her hands,
and locked her up in the coal-cellar, next door to the King. Josef will
look after them both later on."
Then I burst out laughing, and even old Sapt grimly smiled.
"I fancy," said he, "that when Josef tells them the King is gone they'll
think it is because we smelt a rat. For you may swear Black Michael
doesn't expect to see him in Strelsau today."
I put the King's helmet on my head. Old Sapt handed me the King's sword,
looking at me long and carefully.
"Thank God, he shaved his beard!" he exclaimed.
"Why did he?" I asked.
"Because Princess Flavia said he grazed her cheek when he was graciously
pleased to give her a cousinly kiss. Come though, we must ride."
"Is all safe here?"
"Nothing's safe anywhere," said Sapt, "but we can make it no safer."
Fritz now rejoined us in the uniform of a captain in the same regiment
as that to which my dress belonged. In four minutes Sapt had arrayed
himself in his uniform. Josef called that the horses were ready. We
jumped on their backs and started at a rapid trot. The game had begun.
What would the issue of it be?
The cool morning air cleared my head, and I was able to take in all
Sapt said to me. He was wonderful. Fritz hardly spoke, riding like a man
asleep, but Sapt, without another word for the King, began at once to
instruct me most minutely in the history of my past life, of my family,
of my tastes, pursuits, weaknesses, friends, companions, and servants.
He told me the etiquette of the Ruritanian Court, promising to be
constantly at my elbow to point out everybody whom I ought to know, and
give me hints with what degree of favour to greet them.
"By the way," he said, "you're a Catholic, I suppose?"
"Not I," I answered.
"Lord, he's a heretic!" groaned Sapt, and forthwith he fell to a
rudimentary lesson in the practices and observances of the Romish faith.
"Luckily," said he, "you won't be expected to know much, for the King's
notoriously lax and careless about such matters. But you must be as
civil as butter to the Cardinal. We hope to win him over, because he and
Michael have a standing quarrel about their precedence."
We were by now at the station. Fritz had recovered nerve enough to
explain to the astonished station master that the King had changed his
plans. The train steamed up. We got into a first-class carriage, and
Sapt, leaning back on the cushions, went on with his lesson. I looked at
my watch--the King's watch it was, of course. It was just eight.
"I wonder if they've gone to look for us," I said.
"I hope they won't find the King," said Fritz nervously, and this time
it was Sapt who shrugged his shoulders.
The train travelled well, and at half-past nine, looking out of the
window, I saw the towers and spires of a great city.
"Your capital, my liege," grinned old Sapt, with a wave of his hand,
and, leaning forward, he laid his finger on my pulse. "A little too
quick," said he, in his grumbling tone.
"I'm not made of stone!" I exclaimed.
"You'll do," said he, with a nod. "We must say Fritz here has caught the
ague. Drain your flask, Fritz, for heaven's sake, boy!"
Fritz did as he was bid.
"We're an hour early," said Sapt. "We'll send word forward for your
Majesty's arrival, for there'll be no one here to meet us yet. And
meanwhile--"
"Meanwhile," said I, "the King'll be hanged if he doesn't have some
breakfast."
Old Sapt chuckled, and held out his hand.
"You're an Elphberg, every inch of you," said he. Then he paused, and
looking at us, said quietly, "God send we may be alive tonight!"
"Amen!" said Fritz von Tarlenheim.
The train stopped. Fritz and Sapt leapt out, uncovered, and held the
door for me. I choked down a lump that rose in my throat, settled my
helmet firmly on my head, and (I'm not ashamed to say it) breathed a
short prayer to God. Then I stepped on the platform of the station at
Strelsau.
A moment later, all was bustle and confusion: men hurrying up, hats
in hand, and hurrying off again; men conducting me to the buffet; men
mounting and riding in hot haste to the quarters of the troops, to the
Cathedral, to the residence of Duke Michael. Even as I swallowed the
last drop of my cup of coffee, the bells throughout all the city broke
out into a joyful peal, and the sound of a military band and of men
cheering smote upon my ear.
King Rudolf the Fifth was in his good city of Strelsau! And they shouted
outside--
"God save the King!"
Old Sapt's mouth wrinkled into a smile.
"God save 'em both!" he whispered. "Courage, lad!" and I felt his hand
press my knee.
CHAPTER 5
The Adventures of an Understudy
With Fritz von Tarlenheim and Colonel Sapt close behind me, I stepped
out of the buffet on to the platform. The last thing I did was to feel
if my revolver were handy and my sword loose in the scabbard. A gay
group of officers and high dignitaries stood awaiting me, at their head
a tall old man, covered with medals, and of military bearing. He wore
the yellow and red ribbon of the Red Rose of Ruritania--which, by the
way, decorated my unworthy breast also.
"Marshal Strakencz," whispered Sapt, and I knew that I was in the
presence of the most famous veteran of the Ruritanian army.
Just behind the Marshal stood a short spare man, in flowing robes of
black and crimson.
"The Chancellor of the Kingdom," whispered Sapt.
The Marshal greeted me in a few loyal words, and proceeded to deliver
an apology from the Duke of Strelsau. The duke, it seemed, had been
afflicted with a sudden indisposition which made it impossible for him
to come to the station, but he craved leave to await his Majesty at the
Cathedral. I expressed my concern, accepted the Marshal's excuses very
suavely, and received the compliments of a large number of distinguished
personages. No one betrayed the least suspicion, and I felt my nerve
returning and the agitated beating of my heart subsiding. But Fritz
was still pale, and his hand shook like a leaf as he extended it to the
Marshal.
Presently we formed procession and took our way to the door of the
station. Here I mounted my horse, the Marshal holding my stirrup. The
civil dignitaries went off to their carriages, and I started to ride
through the streets with the Marshal on my right and Sapt (who, as my
chief aide-de-camp, was entitled to the place) on my left. The city of
Strelsau is partly old and partly new. Spacious modern boulevards and
residential quarters surround and embrace the narrow, tortuous, and
picturesque streets of the original town. In the outer circles the upper
classes live; in the inner the shops are situated; and, behind their
prosperous fronts, lie hidden populous but wretched lanes and alleys,
filled with a poverty-stricken, turbulent, and (in large measure)
criminal class. These social and local divisions corresponded, as I knew
from Sapt's information, to another division more important to me. The
New Town was for the King; but to the Old Town Michael of Strelsau was a
hope, a hero, and a darling.
The scene was very brilliant as we passed along the Grand Boulevard and
on to the great square where the Royal Palace stood. Here I was in
the midst of my devoted adherents. Every house was hung with red and
bedecked with flags and mottoes. The streets were lined with raised
seats on each side, and I passed along, bowing this way and that, under
a shower of cheers, blessings, and waving handkerchiefs. The balconies
were full of gaily dressed ladies, who clapped their hands and curtsied
and threw their brightest glances at me. A torrent of red roses fell on
me; one bloom lodged in my horse's mane, and I took it and stuck it in
my coat. The Marshal smiled grimly. I had stolen some glances at his
face, but he was too impassive to show me whether his sympathies were
with me or not.
"The red rose for the Elphbergs, Marshal," said I gaily, and he nodded.
I have written "gaily," and a strange word it must seem. But the truth
is, that I was drunk with excitement. At that moment I believed--I
almost believed--that I was in very truth the King; and, with a look of
laughing triumph, I raised my eyes to the beauty-laden balconies again
. . . and then I started. For, looking down on me, with her handsome
face and proud smile, was the lady who had been my fellow
traveller--Antoinette de Mauban; and I saw her also start, and her lips
moved, and she leant forward and gazed at me. And I, collecting myself,
met her eyes full and square, while again I felt my revolver. Suppose
she had cried aloud, "That's not the King!"
Well, we went by; and then the Marshal, turning round in his saddle,
waved his hand, and the Cuirassiers closed round us, so that the crowd
could not come near me. We were leaving my quarter and entering Duke
Michael's, and this action of the Marshal's showed me more clearly than
words what the state of feeling in the town must be. But if Fate made me
a King, the least I could do was to play the part handsomely.
"Why this change in our order, Marshal?" said I.
The Marshal bit his white moustache.
"It is more prudent, sire," he murmured.
I drew rein.
"Let those in front ride on," said I, "till they are fifty yards ahead.
But do you, Marshal, and Colonel Sapt and my friends, wait here till
I have ridden fifty yards. And see that no one is nearer to me. I will
have my people see that their King trusts them."
Sapt laid his hand on my arm. I shook him off. The Marshal hesitated.
"Am I not understood?" said I; and, biting his moustache again, he gave
the orders. I saw old Sapt smiling into his beard, but he shook his
head at me. If I had been killed in open day in the streets of Strelsau,
Sapt's position would have been a difficult one.
Perhaps I ought to say that I was dressed all in white, except my boots.
I wore a silver helmet with gilt ornaments, and the broad ribbon of the
Rose looked well across my chest. I should be paying a poor compliment
to the King if I did not set modesty aside and admit that I made a very
fine figure. So the people thought; for when I, riding alone, entered
the dingy, sparsely decorated, sombre streets of the Old Town, there
was first a murmur, then a cheer, and a woman, from a window above a
cookshop, cried the old local saying:
"If he's red, he's right!" whereat I laughed and took off my helmet that
she might see that I was of the right colour and they cheered me again
at that.
It was more interesting riding thus alone, for I heard the comments of
the crowd.
"He looks paler than his wont," said one.
"You'd look pale if you lived as he does," was the highly disrespectful
retort.
"He's a bigger man than I thought," said another.
"So he had a good jaw under that beard after all," commented a third.
"The pictures of him aren't handsome enough," declared a pretty girl,
taking great care that I should hear. No doubt it was mere flattery.
But, in spite of these signs of approval and interest, the mass of
the people received me in silence and with sullen looks, and my dear
brother's portrait ornamented most of the windows--which was an ironical
sort of greeting to the King. I was quite glad that he had been spared
the unpleasant sight. He was a man of quick temper, and perhaps he would
not have taken it so placidly as I did.
At last we were at the Cathedral. Its great grey front, embellished
with hundreds of statues and boasting a pair of the finest oak doors in
Europe, rose for the first time before me, and the sudden sense of my
audacity almost overcame me. Everything was in a mist as I dismounted. I
saw the Marshal and Sapt dimly, and dimly the throng of gorgeously robed
priests who awaited me. And my eyes were still dim as I walked up the
great nave, with the pealing of the organ in my ears. I saw nothing of
the brilliant throng that filled it, I hardly distinguished the stately
figure of the Cardinal as he rose from the archiepiscopal throne to
greet me. Two faces only stood out side by side clearly before my
eyes--the face of a girl, pale and lovely, surmounted by a crown of the
glorious Elphberg hair (for in a woman it is glorious), and the face
of a man, whose full-blooded red cheeks, black hair, and dark deep eyes
told me that at last I was in presence of my brother, Black Michael. And
when he saw me his red cheeks went pale all in a moment, and his helmet
fell with a clatter on the floor. Till that moment I believe that he had
not realized that the King was in very truth come to Strelsau.
Of what followed next I remember nothing. I knelt before the altar and
the Cardinal anointed my head. Then I rose to my feet, and stretched out
my hand and took from him the crown of Ruritania and set it on my head,
and I swore the old oath of the King; and (if it were a sin, may it be
forgiven me) I received the Holy Sacrament there before them all. Then
the great organ pealed out again, the Marshal bade the heralds proclaim
me, and Rudolf the Fifth was crowned King; of which imposing ceremony an
excellent picture hangs now in my dining-room. The portrait of the King
is very good.
Then the lady with the pale face and the glorious hair, her train held
by two pages, stepped from her place and came to where I stood. And a
herald cried:
"Her Royal Highness the Princess Flavia!"
She curtsied low, and put her hand under mine and raised my hand and
kissed it. And for an instant I thought what I had best do. Then I
drew her to me and kissed her twice on the cheek, and she blushed red,
and--then his Eminence the Cardinal Archbishop slipped in front of Black
Michael, and kissed my hand and presented me with a letter from the
Pope--the first and last which I have received from that exalted
quarter!
And then came the Duke of Strelsau. His step trembled, I swear, and
he looked to the right and to the left, as a man looks who thinks on
flight; and his face was patched with red and white, and his hand shook
so that it jumped under mine, and I felt his lips dry and parched. And
I glanced at Sapt, who was smiling again into his beard, and, resolutely
doing my duty in that station of life to which I had been marvellously
called, I took my dear Michael by both hands and kissed him on the
cheek. I think we were both glad when that was over!
But neither in the face of the princess nor in that of any other did I
see the least doubt or questioning. Yet, had I and the King stood side
by side, she could have told us in an instant, or, at least, on a little
consideration. But neither she nor anyone else dreamed or imagined that
I could be other than the King. So the likeness served, and for an hour
I stood there, feeling as weary and blase as though I had been a king
all my life; and everybody kissed my hand, and the ambassadors paid me
their respects, among them old Lord Topham, at whose house in Grosvenor
Square I had danced a score of times. Thank heaven, the old man was as
blind as a bat, and did not claim my acquaintance.
Then back we went through the streets to the Palace, and I heard them
cheering Black Michael; but he, Fritz told me, sat biting his nails like
a man in a reverie, and even his own friends said that he should have
made a braver show. I was in a carriage now, side by side with the
Princess Flavia, and a rough fellow cried out:
"And when's the wedding?" and as he spoke another struck him in the
face, crying "Long live Duke Michael!" and the princess coloured--it was
an admirable tint--and looked straight in front of her.
Now I felt in a difficulty, because I had forgotten to ask Sapt the
state of my affections, or how far matters had gone between the princess
and myself. Frankly, had I been the King, the further they had gone the
better should I have been pleased. For I am not a slow-blooded man, and
I had not kissed Princess Flavia's cheek for nothing. These thoughts
passed through my head, but, not being sure of my ground, I said
nothing; and in a moment or two the princess, recovering her equanimity,
turned to me.
"Do you know, Rudolf," said she, "you look somehow different today?"
The fact was not surprising, but the remark was disquieting.
"You look," she went on, "more sober, more sedate; you're almost
careworn, and I declare you're thinner. Surely it's not possible that
you've begun to take anything seriously?"
The princess seemed to hold of the King much the same opinion that Lady
Burlesdon held of me.
I braced myself up to the conversation.
"Would that please you?" I asked softly.
"Oh, you know my views," said she, turning her eyes away.
"Whatever pleases you I try to do," I said; and, as I saw her smile and
blush, I thought that I was playing the King's hand very well for him.
So I continued and what I said was perfectly true:
"I assure you, my dear cousin, that nothing in my life has affected me
more than the reception I've been greeted with today."
She smiled brightly, but in an instant grew grave again, and whispered:
"Did you notice Michael?"
"Yes," said I, adding, "he wasn't enjoying himself."
"Do be careful!" she went on. "You don't--indeed you don't--keep enough
watch on him. You know--"
"I know," said I, "that he wants what I've got."
"Yes. Hush!"
Then--and I can't justify it, for I committed the King far beyond what I
had a right to do--I suppose she carried me off my feet--I went on:
"And perhaps also something which I haven't got yet, but hope to win
some day."
This was my answer. Had I been the King, I should have thought it
encouraging:
"Haven't you enough responsibilities on you for one day, cousin?"
***, ***! Blare, blare! We were at the Palace. Guns were firing
and trumpets blowing. Rows of lackeys stood waiting, and, handing the
princess up the broad marble staircase, I took formal possession, as
a crowned King, of the House of my ancestors, and sat down at my own
table, with my cousin on my right hand, on her other side Black Michael,
and on my left his Eminence the Cardinal. Behind my chair stood Sapt;
and at the end of the table, I saw Fritz von Tarlenheim drain to the
bottom his glass of champagne rather sooner than he decently should.
I wondered what the King of Ruritania was doing.
CHAPTER 6
The Secret of a Cellar
We were in the King's dressing-room--Fritz von Tarlenheim, Sapt, and I.
I flung myself exhausted into an armchair. Sapt lit his pipe. He uttered
no congratulations on the marvellous success of our wild risk, but his
whole bearing was eloquent of satisfaction. The triumph, aided perhaps
by good wine, had made a new man of Fritz.
"What a day for you to remember!" he cried. "Gad, I'd like to be King
for twelve hours myself! But, Rassendyll, you mustn't throw your heart
too much into the part. I don't wonder Black Michael looked blacker than
ever--you and the princess had so much to say to one another."
"How beautiful she is!" I exclaimed.
"Never mind the woman," growled Sapt. "Are you ready to start?"
"Yes," said I, with a sigh.
It was five o'clock, and at twelve I should be no more than Rudolf
Rassendyll. I remarked on it in a joking tone.
"You'll be lucky," observed Sapt grimly, "if you're not the late Rudolf
Rassendyll. By Heaven! I feel my head wobbling on my shoulders every
minute you're in the city. Do you know, friend, that Michael has had
news from Zenda? He went into a room alone to read it--and he came out
looking like a man dazed."
"I'm ready," said I, this news making me none the more eager to linger.
Sapt sat down.
"I must write us an order to leave the city. Michael's Governor, you
know, and we must be prepared for hindrances. You must sign the order."
"My dear colonel, I've not been bred a forger!"
Out of his pocket Sapt produced a piece of paper.
"There's the King's signature," he said, "and here," he went on, after
another search in his pocket, "is some tracing paper. If you can't
manage a 'Rudolf' in ten minutes, why--I can."
"Your education has been more comprehensive than mine," said I. "You
write it."
And a very tolerable forgery did this versatile hero produce.
"Now, Fritz," said he, "the King goes to bed. He is upset. No one is to
see him till nine o'clock tomorrow. You understand--no one?"
"I understand," answered Fritz.
"Michael may come, and claim immediate audience. You'll answer that only
princes of the blood are entitled to it."
"That'll annoy Michael," laughed Fritz.
"You quite understand?" asked Sapt again. "If the door of this room is
opened while we're away, you're not to be alive to tell us about it."
"I need no schooling, colonel," said Fritz, a trifle haughtily.
"Here, wrap yourself in this big cloak," Sapt continued to me, "and
put on this flat cap. My orderly rides with me to the hunting-lodge
tonight."
"There's an obstacle," I observed. "The horse doesn't live that can
carry me forty miles."
"Oh, yes, he does--two of him: one here--one at the lodge. Now, are you
ready?"
"I'm ready," said I.
Fritz held out his hand.
"In case," said he; and we shook hands heartily.
"Damn your sentiment!" growled Sapt. "Come along."
He went, not to the door, but to a panel in the wall.
"In the old King's time," said he, "I knew this way well."
I followed him, and we walked, as I should estimate, near two hundred
yards along a narrow passage. Then we came to a stout oak door. Sapt
unlocked it. We passed through, and found ourselves in a quiet street
that ran along the back of the Palace gardens. A man was waiting for us
with two horses. One was a magnificent bay, up to any weight; the other
a sturdy brown. Sapt signed to me to mount the bay. Without a word
to the man, we mounted and rode away. The town was full of noise and
merriment, but we took secluded ways. My cloak was wrapped over half
my face; the capacious flat cap hid every lock of my tell-tale hair. By
Sapt's directions, I crouched on my saddle, and rode with such a round
back as I hope never to exhibit on a horse again. Down a long narrow
lane we went, meeting some wanderers and some roisterers; and, as we
rode, we heard the Cathedral bells still clanging out their welcome to
the King. It was half-past six, and still light. At last we came to the
city wall and to a gate.
"Have your weapon ready," whispered Sapt. "We must stop his mouth, if he
talks."
I put my hand on my revolver. Sapt hailed the doorkeeper. The stars
fought for us! A little girl of fourteen tripped out.
"Please, sir, father's gone to see the King."
"He'd better have stayed here," said Sapt to me, grinning.
"But he said I wasn't to open the gate, sir."
"Did he, my dear?" said Sapt, dismounting. "Then give me the key."
The key was in the child's hand. Sapt gave her a crown.
"Here's an order from the King. Show it to your father. Orderly, open
the gate!"
I leapt down. Between us we rolled back the great gate, led our horses
out, and closed it again.
"I shall be sorry for the doorkeeper if Michael finds out that he wasn't
there. Now then, lad, for a canter. We mustn't go too fast while we're
near the town."
Once, however, outside the city, we ran little danger, for everybody
else was inside, merry-making; and as the evening fell we quickened our
pace, my splendid horse bounding along under me as though I had been a
feather. It was a fine night, and presently the moon appeared. We talked
little on the way, and chiefly about the progress we were making.
"I wonder what the duke's despatches told him," said I, once.
"Ay, I wonder!" responded Sapt.
We stopped for a draught of wine and to bait our horses, losing half an
hour thus. I dared not go into the inn, and stayed with the horses
in the stable. Then we went ahead again, and had covered some
five-and-twenty miles, when Sapt abruptly stopped.
"Hark!" he cried.
I listened. Away, far behind us, in the still of the evening--it was
just half-past nine--we heard the beat of horses' hoofs. The wind
blowing strong behind us, carried the sound. I glanced at Sapt.
"Come on!" he cried, and spurred his horse into a gallop. When we next
paused to listen, the hoof-beats were not audible, and we relaxed our
pace. Then we heard them again. Sapt jumped down and laid his ear to the
ground.
"There are two," he said. "They're only a mile behind. Thank God the
road curves in and out, and the wind's our way."
We galloped on. We seemed to be holding our own. We had entered the
outskirts of the forest of Zenda, and the trees, closing in behind us as
the track zigged and zagged, prevented us seeing our pursuers, and them
from seeing us.
Another half-hour brought us to a divide of the road. Sapt drew rein.
"To the right is our road," he said. "To the left, to the Castle. Each
about eight miles. Get down."
"But they'll be on us!" I cried.
"Get down!" he repeated brusquely; and I obeyed. The wood was dense up
to the very edge of the road. We led our horses into the covert, bound
handkerchiefs over their eyes, and stood beside them.
"You want to see who they are?" I whispered.
"Ay, and where they're going," he answered.
I saw that his revolver was in his hand.
Nearer and nearer came the hoofs. The moon shone out now clear and full,
so that the road was white with it. The ground was hard, and we had left
no traces.
"Here they come!" whispered Sapt.
"It's the duke!"
"I thought so," he answered.
It was the duke; and with him a burly fellow whom I knew well, and who
had cause to know me afterwards--Max Holf, brother to Johann the keeper,
and body-servant to his Highness. They were up to us: the duke reined
up. I saw Sapt's finger curl lovingly towards the trigger. I believe
he would have given ten years of his life for a shot; and he could have
picked off Black Michael as easily as I could a barn-door fowl in a
farmyard. I laid my hand on his arm. He nodded reassuringly: he was
always ready to sacrifice inclination to duty.
"Which way?" asked Black Michael.
"To the Castle, your Highness," urged his companion. "There we shall
learn the truth."
For an instant the duke hesitated.
"I thought I heard hoofs," said he.
"I think not, your Highness."
"Why shouldn't we go to the lodge?"
"I fear a trap. If all is well, why go to the lodge? If not, it's a
snare to trap us."
Suddenly the duke's horse neighed. In an instant we folded our cloaks
close round our horses' heads, and, holding them thus, covered the duke
and his attendant with our revolvers. If they had found us, they had
been dead men, or our prisoners.
Michael waited a moment longer. Then he cried:
"To Zenda, then!" and setting spurs to his horse, galloped on.
Sapt raised his weapon after him, and there was such an expression
of wistful regret on his face that I had much ado not to burst out
laughing.
For ten minutes we stayed where we were.
"You see," said Sapt, "they've sent him news that all is well."
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"God knows," said Sapt, frowning heavily. "But it's brought him from
Strelsau in a rare puzzle."
Then we mounted, and rode as fast as our weary horses could lay their
feet to the ground. For those last eight miles we spoke no more. Our
minds were full of apprehension. "All is well." What did it mean? Was
all well with the King?
At last the lodge came in sight. Spurring our horses to a last gallop,
we rode up to the gate. All was still and quiet. Not a soul came to meet
us. We dismounted in haste. Suddenly Sapt caught me by the arm.
"Look there!" he said, pointing to the ground.
I looked down. At my feet lay five or six silk handkerchiefs, torn and
slashed and rent. I turned to him questioningly.
"They're what I tied the old woman up with," said he. "Fasten the
horses, and come along."
The handle of the door turned without resistance. We passed into the
room which had been the scene of last night's bout. It was still strewn
with the remnants of our meal and with empty bottles.
"Come on," cried Sapt, whose marvellous composure had at last almost
given way.
We rushed down the passage towards the cellars. The door of the
coal-cellar stood wide open.
"They found the old woman," said I.
"You might have known that from the handkerchiefs," he said.
Then we came opposite the door of the wine-cellar. It was shut. It
looked in all respects as it had looked when we left it that morning.
"Come, it's all right," said I.
A loud oath from Sapt rang out. His face turned pale, and he pointed
again at the floor. From under the door a red stain had spread over the
floor of the passage and dried there. Sapt sank against the opposite
wall. I tried the door. It was locked.
"Where's Josef?" muttered Sapt.
"Where's the King?" I responded.
Sapt took out a flask and put it to his lips. I ran back to the
dining-room, and seized a heavy poker from the fireplace. In my terror
and excitement I rained blows on the lock of the door, and I fired a
cartridge into it. It gave way, and the door swung open.
"Give me a light," said I; but Sapt still leant against the wall.
He was, of course, more moved than I, for he loved his master. Afraid
for himself he was not--no man ever saw him that; but to think what
might lie in that dark cellar was enough to turn any man's face pale.
I went myself, and took a silver candlestick from the dining-table and
struck a light, and, as I returned, I felt the hot wax drip on my naked
hand as the candle swayed to and fro; so that I cannot afford to despise
Colonel Sapt for his agitation.
I came to the door of the cellar. The red stain turning more and more to
a dull brown, stretched inside. I walked two yards into the cellar, and
held the candle high above my head. I saw the full bins of wine; I saw
spiders crawling on the walls; I saw, too, a couple of empty bottles
lying on the floor; and then, away in the corner, I saw the body of a
man, lying flat on his back, with his arms stretched wide, and a crimson
gash across his throat. I walked to him and knelt down beside him, and
commended to God the soul of a faithful man. For it was the body of
Josef, the little servant, slain in guarding the King.
I felt a hand on my shoulders, and, turning, saw Sapt, eyes glaring and
terror-struck, beside me.
"The King? My God! the King?" he whispered hoarsely.
I threw the candle's gleam over every inch of the cellar.
"The King is not here," said I.