E-Book - The Prisoner of Zenda

The Prisoner of Zenda - by Anthony Hope About- The Prisoner of Zenda The Prisoner of Zenda is an adventure novel by Anthony Hope, published in 1894. The king of the fictional country of Ruritania is abducted on the eve of his coronation, and the protagonist, an English gentleman on holiday who fortuitously resembles the monarch, is persuaded to act as his political decoy in an attempt to save the situation. The books were extremely popular and inspired a new genre of Ruritanian romance, including the Graustark novels by George Barr McCutcheon. The villainous Rupert of Hentzau gave his name to the sequel published in 1898, which is included in some editions of this novel. Plot Summary The narrator is twenty-nine year old the Hon. Rudolf Rassendyll, younger brother of the Earl of Burlesdon and (through an ancestor's sexual indiscretion) a distant cousin and look alike of Rudolf V, the soon-to-be-crowned King of Ruritania, a "highly interesting and important" [1] Ger...

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 ...

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 w...