Skip to main content

CHAPTER 5- The Adventures of an Understudy

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?"

 

Bang, bang!  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.

 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Prisoner of Zenda - Book Index & Summary

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 7- His Majesty Sleeps in Strelsau

CHAPTER 7 His Majesty Sleeps in Strelsau     I put my arm round Sapt's waist and supported him out of the cellar, drawing the battered door close after me.   For ten minutes or more we sat silent in the dining-room.   Then old Sapt rubbed his knuckles into his eyes, gave one great gasp, and was himself again. As the clock on the mantelpiece struck one he stamped his foot on the floor, saying:   "They've got the King!"   "Yes," said I, ""all's well!" as Black Michael's despatch said. What a moment it must have been for him when the royal salutes fired at Strelsau this morning!   I wonder when he got the message?"   "It must have been sent in the morning," said Sapt.   "They must have sent it before news of your arrival at Strelsau reached Zenda-- I suppose it came from Zenda."   "And he's carried it about all da...