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The Prisoner of Zenda: Rudolf

Yet there was the struggle between Black Michael and Rudolf Rassendyll, both of the royal house of Elphberg, but of very differing antecedents. The one was well known to the royal palace at Strelsau; the other was at home at No. 305 Park Lane, London, West. The kinship between the two was quite an accident, dating from the year 1733, when a dashing young prince, later known to fame as Rudolf the Third of Ruritania, paid a visit to London. There he was courteously entertained and was a great favorite with the ladies, especially Amelia, Countess of Burlesdon, and Baroness Rassendyll. In the end the prince left England rather hastily under a cloud, but not before he had fought a somewhat sanguinary duel with Countess Amelia's husband. In the years since there have appeared at intervals in the family of the Rassendyll certain sons who have been marked by the long, sharp, straight nose and the dark-red hair of the royal house of Ruritania.

The years pass, many of them, and another Rudolf of Elphberg is about to be crowned King of Ruritania. The same nose, the same red hair distinguish him. The loyal half of the population of Ruritania could not sleep at night till the coronation was safely over. For the late king had left another son, by a second and morganatic marriage, Black Michael, Duke of Strelsau and Lord of Zenda. Though Michael bore none of the marks of the Elphbergs, he had been his father's favorite, and he cast a longing eye on the throne; all the cutthroats and blackguards of Ruritania seconded his wish, for Michael was a man after their own hearts.

Curious that young Rudolf Rassendyll should be moved by an idle curiosity to witness the coronation of Rudolf of Ruritania; still more curious that he, too, should bear the familar nose, the same red hair. So thought Colonel Sapt, aide to the king, and Fritz von Tarlenheim, his close friend, as they came upon the young Englishman in the forest of Zenda, making his way afoot to Strelsau. So, too, thought the king when he appeared a moment later. But scandals of the past can no more be concealed in Ruritania than in England. As young Rassendyll later told the tale, first the king 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 favor.' "'By heaven! you'll always enjoy the king's countenance,' he laughed, 'whether I like it or not.'" All the good-fellowship in the world, however, could not permit royal scandals of the past to be raked up at a coronation. Rudolf Rassendyll must not show his face at this moment in the capital of Rudolf of Ruritania. "But by thunder," cried the king, "you sha'n't leave Ruritania to-day. For you shall dine with me to-night, happen what will afterward."

That was just the trouble, "happen what will afterward." One bottle led to another, until they were all as full of wine as they had any right to be. At last the king set down his glass and leaned 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." But still another bottle!--this from Black Michael, praying that he drink for the love that he bears his brother. Could the king refuse? He could not. Was the wine drugged? The morning answered yes. "'If he's not crowned to-day,' cried Sapt, 'I'll lay a crown he's never crowned.' "'By heavens, why?' "'The whole nation's there to meet him; half the army--aye, 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 illness too well. He's been ill before! As a man grows old he believes in Fate. Fate sent you here. Fate sends you now to Strelsau. You'll go?' "'Yes, I'll go,' said I, and I turned my eyes on the prostrate figure of the king. "'To-night,' 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 and ride here at a gallop. The king will be ready, and he must ride back with me to Strelsau, and you ride as if the devil were behind you to the frontier.'" So began those wondrous days of adventure which saw the throne of Ruritania occupied by an Elphberg with all the traces of the stock, though not "of the blood." "The play actor," Rupert of Hentzau called him, when he came to know the secret, but "as good an Elphberg as ever sat upon it," declared Sapt at the end.