CHAPTER 21
If love were all!
It was night, and I was in the cell wherein the King had lain in theCastle of Zenda. The great pipe that Rupert of Hentzau had nicknamed"Jacob's Ladder" was gone, and the lights in the room across the moattwinkled in the darkness. All was still; the din and clash of strifewere gone. I had spent the day hidden in the forest, from the time whenFritz had led me off, leaving Sapt with the princess. Under cover ofdusk, muffled up, I had been brought to the Castle and lodged where Inow lay. Though three men had died there--two of them by my hand--I wasnot troubled by ghosts. I had thrown myself on a pallet by the window,and was looking out on the black water; Johann, the keeper, still palefrom his wound, but not much hurt besides, had brought me supper. Hetold me that the King was doing well, that he had seen the princess;that she and he, Sapt and Fritz, had been long together. MarshalStrakencz was gone to Strelsau; Black Michael lay in his coffin, andAntoinette de Mauban watched by him; had I not heard, from the chapel,priests singing mass for him?
Outside there were strange rumours afloat. Some said that the prisonerof Zenda was dead; some, that he had vanished yet alive; some, that hewas a friend who had served the King well in some adventure in England;others, that he had discovered the Duke's plots, and had therefore beenkidnapped by him. One or two shrewd fellows shook their heads and saidonly that they would say nothing, but they had suspicions that more wasto be known than was known, if Colonel Sapt would tell all he knew.
Thus Johann chattered till I sent him away and lay there alone,thinking, not of the future, but--as a man is wont to do when stirringthings have happened to him--rehearsing the events of the past weeks,and wondering how strangely they had fallen out. And above me, in thestillness of the night, I heard the standards flapping against theirpoles, for Black Michael's banner hung there half-mast high, and aboveit the royal flag of Ruritania, floating for one night more over myhead. Habit grows so quick, that only by an effort did I recollect thatit floated no longer for me.
Presently Fritz von Tarlenheim came into the room. I was standing thenby the window; the glass was opened, and I was idly fingering the cementwhich clung to the masonry where "Jacob's Ladder" had been. He told mebriefly that the King wanted me, and together we crossed the drawbridgeand entered the room that had been Black Michael's.
The King was lying there in bed; our doctor from Tarlenheim was inattendance on him, and whispered to me that my visit must be brief. TheKing held out his hand and shook mine. Fritz and the doctor withdrew tothe window.
I took the King's ring from my finger and placed it on his.
"I have tried not to dishonour it, sire," said I.
"I can't talk much to you," he said, in a weak voice. "I have had agreat fight with Sapt and the Marshal--for we have told the Marshaleverything. I wanted to take you to Strelsau and keep you with me, andtell everyone of what you had done; and you would have been my best andnearest friend, Cousin Rudolf. But they tell me I must not, and that thesecret must be kept--if kept it can be."
"They are right, sire. Let me go. My work here is done."
"Yes, it is done, as no man but you could have done it. When they see meagain, I shall have my beard on; I shall--yes, faith, I shall be wastedwith sickness. They will not wonder that the King looks changed in face.Cousin, I shall try to let them find him changed in nothing else. Youhave shown me how to play the King."
"Sire," said I. "I can take no praise from you. It is by the narrowestgrace of God that I was not a worse traitor than your brother."
He turned inquiring eyes on me; but a sick man shrinks from puzzles,and he had no strength to question me. His glance fell on Flavia'sring, which I wore. I thought he would question me about it; but, afterfingering it idly, he let his head fall on his pillow.
"I don't know when I shall see you again," he said faintly, almostlistlessly.
"If I can ever serve you again, sire," I answered.
His eyelids closed. Fritz came with the doctor. I kissed the King'shand, and let Fritz lead me away. I have never seen the King since.
Outside, Fritz turned, not to the right, back towards the drawbridge,but to the left, and without speaking led me upstairs, through ahandsome corridor in the chateau.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
Looking away from me, Fritz answered:
"She has sent for you. When it is over, come back to the bridge. I'llwait for you there."
"What does she want?" said I, breathing quickly.
He shook his head.
"Does she know everything?"
"Yes, everything."
He opened a door, and gently pushing me in, closed it behind me. I foundmyself in a drawing-room, small and richly furnished. At first I thoughtthat I was alone, for the light that came from a pair of shaded candleson the mantelpiece was very dim. But presently I discerned a woman'sfigure standing by the window. I knew it was the princess, and I walkedup to her, fell on one knee, and carried the hand that hung by herside to my lips. She neither moved nor spoke. I rose to my feet, and,piercing the gloom with my eager eyes, saw her pale face and the gleamof her hair, and before I knew, I spoke softly:
"Flavia!"
She trembled a little, and looked round. Then she darted to me, takinghold of me.
"Don't stand, don't stand! No, you mustn't! You're hurt! Sit down--here,here!"
She made me sit on a sofa, and put her hand on my forehead.
"How hot your head is," she said, sinking on her knees by me. Then shelaid her head against me, and I heard her murmur: "My darling, how hotyour head is!"
Somehow love gives even to a dull man the knowledge of his lover'sheart. I had come to humble myself and pray pardon for my presumption;but what I said now was:
"I love you with all my heart and soul!"
For what troubled and shamed her? Not her love for me, but the fear thatI had counterfeited the lover as I had acted the King, and taken herkisses with a smothered smile.
"With all my life and heart," said I, as she clung to me. "Always, fromthe first moment I saw you in the Cathedral! There has been but onewoman in the world to me--and there will be no other. But God forgive methe wrong I've done you!"
"They made you do it!" she said quickly; and she added, raising her headand looking in my eyes: "It might have made no difference if I'd knownit. It was always you, never the King!"
"I meant to tell you," said I. "I was going to on the night of theball in Strelsau, when Sapt interrupted me. After that, I couldn't--Icouldn't risk losing you before--before--I must! My darling, for you Inearly left the King to die!"
"I know, I know! What are we to do now, Rudolf?"
I put my arm round her and held her up while I said:
"I am going away tonight."
"Ah, no, no!" she cried. "Not tonight!"
"I must go tonight, before more people have seen me. And how would youhave me stay, sweetheart, except--?"
"If I could come with you!" she whispered very low.
"My God!" said I roughly, "don't talk about that!" and I thrust her alittle back from me.
"Why not? I love you. You are as good a gentleman as the King!"
Then I was false to all that I should have held by. For I caught her inmy arms and prayed her, in words that I will not write, to come with me,daring all Ruritania to take her from me. And for a while she listened,with wondering, dazzled eyes. But as her eyes looked on me, I grewashamed, and my voice died away in broken murmurs and stammerings, andat last I was silent.
She drew herself away from me and stood against the wall, while I saton the edge of the sofa, trembling in every limb, knowing what I haddone--loathing it, obstinate not to undo it. So we rested a long time.
"I am mad!" I said sullenly.
"I love your madness, dear," she answered.
Her face was away from me, but I caught the sparkle of a tear on hercheek. I clutched the sofa with my hand and held myself there.
"Is love the only thing?" she asked, in low, sweet tones tha
t seemedto bring a calm even to my wrung heart. "If love were the only thing, Iwould follow you--in rags, if need be--to the world's end; for you holdmy heart in the hollow of your hand! But is love the only thing?"
I made no answer. It gives me shame now to think that I would not helpher.
She came near me and laid her hand on my shoulder. I put my hand up andheld hers.
"I know people write and talk as if it were. Perhaps, for some, Fatelets it be. Ah, if I were one of them! But if love had been the onlything, you would have let the King die in his cell."
I kissed her hand.
"Honour binds a woman too, Rudolf. My honour lies in being true to mycountry and my House. I don't know why God has let me love you; but Iknow that I must stay."
Still I said nothing; and she, pausing a while, then went on:
"Your ring will always be on my finger, your heart in my heart, thetouch of your lips on mine. But you must go and I must stay. Perhaps Imust do what it kills me to think of doing."
I knew what she meant, and a shiver ran through me. But I could notutterly fail her. I rose and took her hand.
"Do what you will, or what you must," I said. "I think God shows Hispurposes to such as you. My part is lighter; for your ring shall be onmy finger and your heart in mine, and no touch save of your lips willever be on mine. So, may God comfort you, my darling!"
There struck on our ears the sound of singing. The priests in the chapelwere singing masses for the souls of those who lay dead. They seemed tochant a requiem over our buried joy, to pray forgiveness for our lovethat would not die. The soft, sweet, pitiful music rose and fell as westood opposite one another, her hands in mine.
"My queen and my beauty!" said I.
"My lover and true knight!" she said. "Perhaps we shall never see oneanother again. Kiss me, my dear, and go!"
I kissed her as she bade me; but at the last she clung to me, whisperingnothing but my name, and that over and over again--and again--and again;and then I left her.
Rapidly I walked down to the bridge. Sapt and Fritz were waiting for me.Under their directions I changed my dress, and muffling my face, as Ihad done more than once before, I mounted with them at the door of theCastle, and we three rode through the night and on to the breaking day,and found ourselves at a little roadside station just over the borderof Ruritania. The train was not quite due, and I walked with them in ameadow by a little brook while we waited for it. They promised tosend me all news; they overwhelmed me with kindness--even old Sapt wastouched to gentleness, while Fritz was half unmanned. I listened in akind of dream to all they said. "Rudolf! Rudolf! Rudolf!" still rang inmy ears--a burden of sorrow and of love. At last they saw that I couldnot heed them, and we walked up and down in silence, till Fritz touchedme on the arm, and I saw, a mile or more away, the blue smoke of thetrain. Then I held out a hand to each of them.
"We are all but half-men this morning," said I, smiling. "But we havebeen men, eh, Sapt and Fritz, old friends? We have run a good coursebetween us."
"We have defeated traitors and set the King firm on his throne," saidSapt.
Then Fritz von Tarlenheim suddenly, before I could discern his purposeor stay him, uncovered his head and bent as he used to do, and kissed myhand; and as I snatched it away, he said, trying to laugh:
"Heaven doesn't always make the right men kings!"
Old Sapt twisted his mouth as he wrung my hand.
"The devil has his share in most things," said he.
The people at the station looked curiously at the tall man with themuffled face, but we took no notice of their glances. I stood with mytwo friends and waited till the train came up to us. Then we shook handsagain, saying nothing; and both this time--and, indeed, from old Saptit seemed strange--bared their heads, and so stood still till the trainbore me away from their sight. So that it was thought some great mantravelled privately for his pleasure from the little station thatmorning; whereas, in truth it was only I, Rudolf Rassendyll, an Englishgentleman, a cadet of a good house, but a man of no wealth nor position,nor of much rank. They would have been disappointed to know that. Yethad they known all they would have looked more curiously still. For, beI what I might now, I had been for three months a King, which, if nota thing to be proud of, is at least an experience to have undergone.Doubtless I should have thought more of it, had there not echoed throughthe air, from the towers of Zenda that we were leaving far away, intomy ears and into my heart the cry of a woman's love--"Rudolf! Rudolf!Rudolf!"
Hark! I hear it now!
CHAPTER 22
Present, Past--and Future?
The details of my return home can have but little interest. I wentstraight to the Tyrol and spent a quiet fortnight--mostly on my back,for a severe chill developed itself; and I was also the victim of anervous reaction, which made me weak as a baby. As soon as I had reachedmy quarters, I sent an apparently careless postcard to my brother,announcing my good health and prospective return. That would serve tosatisfy the inquiries as to my whereabouts, which were probably stillvexing the Prefect of the Police of Strelsau. I let my moustache andimperial grow again; and as hair comes quickly on my face, they wererespectable, though not luxuriant, by the time that I landed myself inParis and called on my friend George Featherly. My interview withhim was chiefly remarkable for the number of unwilling but necessaryfalsehoods that I told; and I rallied him unmercifully when he told methat he had made up his mind that I had gone in the track of Madame deMauban to Strelsau. The lady, it appeared, was back in Paris, but wasliving in great seclusion--a fact for which gossip found no difficultyin accounting. Did not all the world know of the treachery and deathof Duke Michael? Nevertheless, George bade Bertram Bertrand be of goodcheer, "for," said he flippantly, "a live poet is better than a deadduke." Then he turned on me and asked:
"What have you been doing to your moustache?"
"To tell the truth," I answered, assuming a sly air, "a man now and thenhas reasons for wishing to alter his appearance. But it's coming on verywell again."
"What? Then I wasn't so far out! If not the fair Antoinette, there was acharmer?"
"There is always a charmer," said I, sententiously.
But George would not be satisfied till he had wormed out of me (hetook much pride in his ingenuity) an absolutely imaginary love-affair,attended with the proper _soup?on_ of scandal, which had kept me all thistime in the peaceful regions of the Tyrol. In return for thisnarrative, George regaled me with a great deal of what he called "insideinformation" (known only to diplomatists), as to the true course ofevents in Ruritania, the plots and counterplots. In his opinion, he toldme, with a significant nod, there was more to be said for Black Michaelthan the public supposed; and he hinted at a well-founded suspicion thatthe mysterious prisoner of Zenda, concerning whom a good many paragraphshad appeared, was not a man at all, but (here I had much ado not tosmile) a woman disguised as a man; and that strife between the King andhis brother for this imaginary lady's favour was at the bottom of theirquarrel.
"Perhaps it was Madame de Mauban herself," I suggested.
"No!" said George decisively, "Antoinette de Mauban was jealous of her,and betrayed the duke to the King for that reason. And, to confirm whatI say, it's well known that the Princess Flavia is now extremely cold tothe King, after having been most affectionate."
At this point I changed the subject, and escaped from George's"inspired" delusions. But if diplomatists never know anything more thanthey had succeeded in finding out in this instance, they appear to me tobe somewhat expensive luxuries.
While in Paris I wrote to Antoinette, though I did not venture to callupon her. I received in return a very affecting letter, in which sheassured me that the King's generosity and kindness, no less than herregard for me, bound her conscience to absolute secrecy. She expressedthe intention of settling in the country, and withdrawing herselfentirely from society. Whether she carried out her designs, I have neverheard; but as I have not met her, or heard news of her up to this time,it is probable tha
t she did. There is no doubt that she was deeplyattached to the Duke of Strelsau; and her conduct at the time of hisdeath proved that no knowledge of the man's real character was enough toroot her regard for him out of her heart.
I had one more battle left to fight--a battle that would, I knew, besevere, and was bound to end in my complete defeat. Was I not backfrom the Tyrol, without having made any study of its inhabitants,institutions, scenery, fauna, flora, or other features? Had I not simplywasted my time in my usual frivolous, good-for-nothing way? That was theaspect of the matter which, I was obliged to admit, would present itselfto my sister-in-law; and against a verdict based on such evidence, I hadreally no defence to offer. It may be supposed, then, that I presentedmyself in Park Lane in a shamefaced, sheepish fashion. On the whole, myreception was not so alarming as I had feared. It turned out that Ihad done, not what Rose wished, but--the next best thing--what sheprophesied. She had declared that I should make no notes, record noobservations, gather no materials. My brother, on the other hand,had been weak enough to maintain that a serious resolve had at lengthanimated me.
When I returned empty-handed, Rose was so occupied in triumphing overBurlesdon that she let me down quite easily, devoting the greaterpart of her reproaches to my failure to advertise my friends of mywhereabouts.
"We've wasted a lot of time trying to find you," she said.
"I know you have," said I. "Half our ambassadors have led weary liveson my account. George Featherly told me so. But why should you have beenanxious? I can take care of myself."
"Oh, it wasn't that," she cried scornfully, "but I wanted to tell youabout Sir Jacob Borrodaile. You know, he's got an Embassy--at least,he will have in a month--and he wrote to say he hoped you would go withhim."
"Where's he going to?"
"He's going to succeed Lord Topham at Strelsau," said she. "You couldn'thave a nicer place, short of Paris."
"Strelsau! H'm!" said I, glancing at my brother.
"Oh, _that_ doesn't matter!" exclaimed Rose impatiently. "Now, you willgo, won't you?"
"I don't know that I care about it!"
"Oh, you're too exasperating!"
"And I don't think I can go to Strelsau. My dear Rose, would itbe--suitable?"
"Oh, nobody remembers that horrid old story now."
Upon this, I took out of my pocket a portrait of the King of Ruritania.It had been taken a month or two before he ascended the throne. Shecould not miss my point when I said, putting it into her hands:
"In case you've not seen, or not noticed, a picture of Rudolf V, therehe is. Don't you think they might recall the story, if I appeared at theCourt of Ruritania?"
My sister-in-law looked at the portrait, and then at me.
"Good gracious!" she said, and flung the photograph down on the table.
"What do you say, Bob?" I asked.
Burlesdon got up, went to a corner of the room, and searched in a heapof newspapers. Presently he came back with a copy of the IllustratedLondon News. Opening the paper, he displayed a double-page engraving ofthe Coronation of Rudolf V at Strelsau. The photograph and the picturehe laid side by side. I sat at the table fronting them; and, as Ilooked, I grew absorbed. My eye travelled from my own portrait to Sapt,to Strakencz, to the rich robes of the Cardinal, to Black Michael'sface, to the stately figure of the princess by his side. Long I lookedand eagerly. I was roused by my brother's hand on my shoulder. He wasgazing down at me with a puzzled expression.
"It's a remarkable likeness, you see," said I. "I really think I hadbetter not go to Ruritania."
Rose, though half convinced, would not abandon her position.
"It's just an excuse," she said pettishly. "You don't want to doanything. Why, you might become an ambassador!"
"I don't think I want to be an ambassador," said I.
"It's more than you ever will be," she retorted.
That is very likely true, but it is not more than I have been.
The idea of being an ambassador could scarcely dazzle me. I had been aking!
So pretty Rose left us in dudgeon; and Burlesdon, lighting a cigarette,looked at me still with that curious gaze.
"That picture in the paper--" he said.
"Well, what of it? It shows that the King of Ruritania and your humbleservant are as like as two peas."
My brother shook his head.
"I suppose so," he said. "But I should know you from the man in thephotograph."
"And not from the picture in the paper?"
"I should know the photograph from the picture: the picture's very likethe photograph, but--"
"Well?"
"It's more like you!" said my brother.
My brother is a good man and true--so that, for all that he is a marriedman and mighty fond of his wife, he should know any secret of mine. Butthis secret was not mine, and I could not tell it to him.
"I don't think it's so much like me as the photograph," said I boldly."But, anyhow, Bob, I won't go to Strelsau."
"No, don't go to Strelsau, Rudolf," said he.
And whether he suspects anything, or has a glimmer of the truth, I donot know. If he has, he keeps it to himself, and he and I never refer toit. And we let Sir Jacob Borrodaile find another attache.
Since all these events whose history I have set down happened I havelived a very quiet life at a small house which I have taken in thecountry. The ordinary ambitions and aims of men in my position seem tome dull and unattractive. I have little fancy for the whirl of society,and none for the jostle of politics. Lady Burlesdon utterly despairs ofme; my neighbours think me an indolent, dreamy, unsociable fellow. YetI am a young man; and sometimes I have a fancy--the superstitious wouldcall it a presentiment--that my part in life is not yet altogetherplayed; that, somehow and some day, I shall mix again in great affairs,I shall again spin policies in a busy brain, match my wits against myenemies', brace my muscles to fight a good fight and strike stout blows.Such is the tissue of my thoughts as, with gun or rod in hand, I wanderthrough the woods or by the side of the stream. Whether the fancy willbe fulfilled, I cannot tell--still less whether the scene that, led bymemory, I lay for my new exploits will be the true one--for I love tosee myself once again in the crowded streets of Strelsau, or beneath thefrowning keep of the Castle of Zenda.
Thus led, my broodings leave the future, and turn back on the past.Shapes rise before me in long array--the wild first revel with the King,the rush with my brave tea-table, the night in the moat, the pursuit inthe forest: my friends and my foes, the people who learnt to love andhonour me, the desperate men who tried to kill me. And, from amidstthese last, comes one who alone of all of them yet moves on earth,though where I know not, yet plans (as I do not doubt) wickedness, yetturns women's hearts to softness and men's to fear and hate. Where isyoung Rupert of Hentzau--the boy who came so nigh to beating me? Whenhis name comes into my head, I feel my hand grip and the blood movequicker through my veins: and the hint of Fate--the presentiment--seemsto grow stronger and more definite, and to whisper insistently in my earthat I have yet a hand to play with young Rupert; therefore I exercisemyself in arms, and seek to put off the day when the vigour of youthmust leave me.
One break comes every year in my quiet life. Then I go to Dresden, andthere I am met by my dear friend and companion, Fritz von Tarlenheim.Last time, his pretty wife Helga came, and a lusty crowing baby withher. And for a week Fritz and I are together, and I hear all of whatfalls out in Strelsau; and in the evenings, as we walk and smoketogether, we talk of Sapt, and of the King, and often of young Rupert;and, as the hours grow small, at last we speak of Flavia. For every yearFritz carries with him to Dresden a little box; in it lies a red rose,and round the stalk of the rose is a slip of paper with the wordswritten: "Rudolf--Flavia--always." And the like I send back by him. Thatmessage, and the wearing of the rings, are all that now bind me and theQueen of Ruritania. For--nobler, as I hold her, for the act--she hasfollowed where her duty to her country and her House led her, and is thewife of the King, uniting
his subjects to him by the love they bear toher, giving peace and quiet days to thousands by her self-sacrifice.There are moments when I dare not think of it, but there are others whenI rise in spirit to where she ever dwells; then I can thank God that Ilove the noblest lady in the world, the most gracious and beautiful, andthat there was nothing in my love that made her fall short in her highduty.
Shall I see her face again--the pale face and the glorious hair? Of thatI know nothing; Fate has no hint, my heart no presentiment. I do notknow. In this world, perhaps--nay, it is likely--never. And can itbe that somewhere, in a manner whereof our flesh-bound minds have noapprehension, she and I will be together again, with nothing to comebetween us, nothing to forbid our love? That I know not, nor wiser headsthan mine. But if it be never--if I can never hold sweet converse againwith her, or look upon her face, or know from her her love; why, then,this side the grave, I will live as becomes the man whom she loves; and,for the other side, I must pray a dreamless sleep.
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