CHAPTER V. AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING
Having come thus far in the story that I set out to tell, I have
half a mind to lay down my pen, and leave untold how from the
moment that Mr. Rassendyll came again to Zenda a fury of chance
seemed to catch us all in a whirlwind, carrying us whither we
would not, and ever driving us onwards to fresh enterprises,
breathing into us a recklessness that stood at no obstacle, and a
devotion to the queen and to the man she loved that swept away
all other feeling. The ancients held there to be a fate which
would have its fill, though women wept and men died, and none
could tell whose was the guilt nor who fell innocent. Thus did
they blindly wrong God's providence. Yet, save that we are taught
to believe that all is ruled, we are as blind as they, and are
still left wondering why all that is true and generous and love's
own fruit must turn so often to woe and shame, exacting tears and
blood. For myself I would leave the thing untold, lest a word of
it should seem to stain her whom I serve; it is by her own
command I write, that all may one day, in time's fullness, be
truly known, and those condemn who are without sin, while they
pity whose own hearts have fought the equal fight. So much for
her and him; for us less needs be said. It was not ours to weigh
her actions; we served her; him we had served. She was our queen;
we bore Heaven a grudge that he was not our king. The worst of
what befell was not of our own planning, no, nor of our hoping.
It came a thunderbolt from the hand of Rupert, flung carelessly
between a curse and a laugh;its coming entangled us more tightly
in the net of circumstances. Then there arose in us that strange
and overpowering desire of which I must tell later, filling us
with a zeal to accomplish our purpose, and to force Mr.
Rassendyll himself into the way we chose. Led by this star, we
pressed on through the darkness, until at length the deeper
darkness fell that stayed our steps. We also stand for judgment,
even as she and he. So I will write; but I will write plainly and
briefly, setting down what I must, and no more, yet seeking to
give truly the picture of that time, and to preserve as long as
may be the portrait of the man whose like I have not known. Yet
the fear is always upon me that, failing to show him as he was, I
may fail also in gaining an understanding of how he wrought on
us, one and all, till his cause became in all things the right,
and to seat him where he should be our highest duty and our
nearest wish. For he said little, and that straight to the
purpose; no high-flown words of his live in my memory. And he
asked nothing for himself. Yet his speech and his eyes went
straight to men's hearts and women's, so that they held their
lives in an eager attendance on his bidding. Do I rave? Then Sapt
was a raver too, for Sapt was foremost in the business.
At ten minutes to eight o'clock, young Bernenstein, very
admirably and smartly accoutred, took his stand outside the main
entrance of the castle. He wore a confident air that became
almost a swagger as he strolled to and fro past the motionless
sentries. He had not long to wait. On the stroke of eight a
gentleman, well-horsed but entirely unattended, rode up the
carriage drive. Bernenstein, crying "Ah, it is the count!" ran to
meet him. Rischenheim dismounted, holding out his hand to the
young officer.
"My dear Bernenstein!" said he, for they were acquainted with one
another.
"You're punctual, my dear Rischenheim, and it's lucky, for the
king awaits you most impatiently."
"I didn't expect to find him up so soon," remarked Rischenheim.
"Up! He's been up these two hours. Indeed we've had the devil of
a time of it. Treat him carefully, my dear Count; he's in one of
his troublesome humors. For example--but I mustn't keep you
waiting. Pray follow me."
"No, but pray tell me. Otherwise I might say something
unfortunate."
"Well, he woke at six; and when the barber came to trim his beard
there were--imagine it, Count!--no less than seven gray hairs."
The king fell into a passion. "Take it off!" he said. "Take it
off. I won't have a gray beard! Take it off!' Well what would
you? A man is free to be shaved if he chooses, so much more a
king. So it's taken off."
"His beard!"
"His beard, my dear Count. Then, after thanking Heaven it was
gone, and declaring he looked ten years younger, he cried, "The
Count of Luzau-Rischenheim breakfasts with me to-day: what is
there for breakfast?" And he had the chef out his of bed
and--But, by heavens, I shall get into trouble if I stop here
chattering. He's waiting most eagerly for you. Come along." And
Bernenstein, passing his arm through the count's, walked him
rapidly into the castle.
The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim was a young man; he was no more
versed in affairs of this kind than Bernenstein, and it cannot be
said that he showed so much aptitude for them. He was decidedly
pale this morning; his manner was uneasy, and his hands trembled.
He did not lack courage, but that rarer virtue, coolness; and the
importance--or perhaps the shame--of his mission upset the
balance of his nerves. Hardly noting where he went, he allowed
Bernenstein to lead him quickly and directly towards the room
where Rudolf Rassendyll was, not doubting that he was being
conducted to the king's presence.
"Breakfast is ordered for nine," said Bernenstein, "but he wants
to see you before. He has something important to say; and you
perhaps have the same?"
"I? Oh, no. A small matter; but--er--of a private nature."
"Quite so, quite so. Oh, I don't ask any questions, my dear
Count."
"Shall I find the king alone?" asked Rischenheim nervously.
"I don't think you'll find anybody with him; no, nobody, I
think," answered Bernenstein, with a grave and reassuring air.
They arrived now at the door. Here Bernenstein paused.
"I am ordered to wait outside till his Majesty summons me," he
said in a low voice, as though he feared that the irritable king
would hear him. "I'll open the door and announce you. Pray keep
him in a good temper, for all our sakes." And he flung the door
open, saying, "Sire, the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim has the honor
to wait on your Majesty." With this he shut the door promptly,
and stood against it. Nor did he move, save once, and then only
to take out his revolver and carefully inspect it.
The count advanced, bowing low, and striving to conceal a visible
agitation. He saw the king in his arm-chair; the king wore a suit
of brown tweeds (none the better for being crushed into a bundle
the night before); his face was in deep shadow, but Rischenheim
perceived that the beard was indeed gone. The king held out his
hand to Rischenheim, and motioned him to sit in a chair just
opposite to him and within a foot of the window-curtains.
"I'm delighted to see you, my lord," said the king.
Rischenheim looked up. Rudolf's voice had once been so like the
king's that no man could tell the difference, but in the last
year or two the king's had grown weaker, and Rischenheim seemed
to be struck by the vigor of the tones in which he was addressed.
As he looked up, there was a slight movement in the curtains by
him; it died away when the count gave no further signs of
suspicion, but Rudolf had noticed his surprise: the voice, when
it next spoke, was subdued.
"Most delighted," pursued Mr. Rassendyll. "For I am pestered
beyond endurance about those dogs. I can't get the coats right,
I've tried everything, but they won't come as I wish. Now, yours
are magnificent."
"You are very good, sire. But I ventured to ask an audience in
order to--"
"Positively you must tell me about the dogs. And before Sapt
comes, for I want nobody to hear but myself."
"Your Majesty expects Colonel Sapt?"
"In about twenty minutes," said the king, with a glance at the
clock on the mantelpiece.
At this Rischenheim became all on fire to get his errand done
before Sapt appeared.
"The coats of your dogs," pursued the king, "grow so
beautifully--"
"A thousand pardons, sire, but--"
"Long and silky, that I despair of--"
"I have a most urgent and important matter," persisted
Rischenheim in agony.
Rudolf threw himself back in his chair with a peevish air. "Well,
if you must, you must. What is this great affair, Count? Let us
have it over, and then you can tell me about the dogs."
Rischenheim looked round the room. There was nobody; the curtains
were still; the king's left hand caressed his beardless chin; the
right was hidden from his visitor by the small table that stood
between them.
"Sire, my cousin, the Count of Hentzau, has entrusted me with a
message."
Rudolf suddenly assumed a stern air.
"I can hold no communication, directly or indirectly, with the
Count of Hentzau," said he.
"Pardon me, sire, pardon me. A document has come into the count's
hands which is of vital importance to your Majesty."
"The Count of Hentzau, my lord, has incurred my heaviest
displeasure."
"Sire, it is in the hopes of atoning for his offences that he has
sent me here to-day. There is a conspiracy against your Majesty's
honor."
"By whom, my lord?" asked Rudolf, in cold and doubting tones.
"By those who are very near your Majesty's person and very high
in your Majesty's love."
"Name them."
"Sire, I dare not. You would not believe me. But your Majesty
will believe written evidence."
"Show it me, and quickly. We may be interrupted."
"Sire, I have a copy--"
"Oh, a copy, my lord?" sneered Rudolf.
"My cousin has the original, and will forward it at your
Majesty's command. A copy of a letter of her Majesty's--"
"Of the queen's?"
"Yes, sire. It is addressed to--" Rischenheim paused.
"Well, my lord, to whom?"
"To a Mr. Rudolf Rassendyll."
Now Rudolf played his part well. He did not feign indifference,
but allowed his voice to tremble with emotion as he stretched out
his hand and said in a hoarse whisper, "Give it me, give it me."
Rischenheim's eyes sparkled. His shot had told: the king's
attention was his; the coats of the dogs were forgotten. Plainly
he had stirred the suspicions and jealousy of the king.
"My cousin," he continued, "conceives it his duty to lay the
letter before your Majesty. He obtained it--"
"A curse on how he got it! Give it me!"
Rischenheim unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat. The head of
a revolver showed in a belt round his waist. He undid the flap of
a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat, and he began to draw out
a sheet of paper.
But Rudolf, great as his powers of self-control were, was but
human. When he saw the paper, he leant forward, half rising from
his chair. As a result, his face came beyond the shadow of the
curtain, and the full morning light beat on it. As Rischenheim
took the paper out, he looked up. He saw the face that glared so
eagerly at him; his eyes met Rassendyll's: a sudden suspicion
seized him, for the face, though the king's face in every
feature, bore a stern resolution and witnessed a vigor that were
not the king's. In that instant the truth, or a hint of it,
flashed across his mind. He gave a half-articulate cry; in one
hand he crumpled up the paper, the other flew to his revolver.
But he was too late. Rudolf's left hand encircled his hand and
the paper in an iron grip; Rudolf's revolver was on his temple;
and an arm was stretched out from behind the curtain, holding
another barrel full before his eyes, while a dry voice said,
"You'd best take it quietly." Then Sapt stepped out.
Rischenheim had no words to meet the sudden transformation of the
interview. He seemed to be able to do nothing but stare at Rudolf
Rassendyll. Sapt wasted no time. He snatched the count's revolver
and stowed it in his own pocket.
"Now take the paper," said he to Rudolf, and his barrel held
Rischenheim motionless while Rudolf wrenched the precious
document from his fingers. "Look if it's the right one. No, don't
read it through; just look. Is it right? That's good. Now put
your revolver to his head again. I'm going to search him. Stand
up, sir."
They compelled the count to stand up, and Sapt subjected him to a
search that made the concealment of another copy, or of any other
document, impossible. Then they let him sit down again. His eyes
seemed fascinated by Rudolf Rassendyll.
"Yet you've seen me before, I think," smiled Rudolf. "I seem to
remember you as a boy in Strelsau when I was there. Now tell us,
sir, where did you leave this cousin of yours?" For the plan was
to find out from Rischenheim where Rupert was, and to set off in
pursuit of Rupert as soon as they had disposed of Rischenheim.
But even as Rudolf spoke there was a violent knock at the door.
Rudolf sprang to open it. Sapt and his revolver kept their
places. Bernenstein was on the threshold, open-mouthed.
"The king's servant has just gone by. He's looking for Colonel
Sapt. The King has been walking in the drive, and learnt from a
sentry of Rischenheim's arrival. I told the man that you had
taken the count for a stroll round the castle, and I did not know
where you were. He says that the king may come himself at any
moment."
Sapt considered for one short instant; then he was back by the
prisoner's side.
"We must talk again later on," he said, in low quick tones. "Now
you're going to breakfast with the king. I shall be there, and
Bernenstein. Remember, not a word of your errand, not a word of
this gentleman! At a word, a sign, a hint, a gesture, a motion,
as God lives, I'll put a bullet through your head, and a thousand
kings sha'n't stop me. Rudolf, get behind the curtain. If there's
an alarm you must jump through the window into the moat and swim
for it."
"All right," said Rudolf Rassendyll. "I can read my letter
there."
"Burn it, you fool."
"When I've read it I'll eat it, if you like, but not before."
Bernenstein looked in again. "Quick, quick! The man will be
back," he whispered.
"Bernenstein, did you hear what I said to the count?"
"Yes, I heard."
"Then you know your part. Now, gentlemen, to the king."
"Well," said an angry voice outside, "I wondered how long I was
to be kept waiting."
Rudolf Rassendyll skipped behind the curtain. Sapt's revolver
slipped into a handy pocket. Rischenheim stood with arms dangling
by his side and his waistcoat half unbuttoned. Young Bernenstein
was bowing low on the threshold, and protesting that the king's
servant had but just gone, and that they were on the point of
waiting on his Majesty. Then the king walked in, pale and
full-bearded.
"Ah, Count," said he, "I'm glad to see you. If they had told me
you were here, you shouldn't have waited a minute. You're very
dark in here, Sapt. Why don't you draw back the curtains?" and
the king moved towards the curtain behind which Rudolf was.
"Allow me, sire," cried Sapt, darting past him and laying a hand
on the curtain.
A malicious gleam of pleasure shot into Rischenheim's eyes. "In
truth, sire," continued the constable, his hand on the curtain,
"we were so interested in what the count was saying about his
dogs--"
"By heaven, I forgot!" cried the king. "Yes, yes, the dogs. Now
tell me, Count--"
"Your pardon, sire," put in young Bernenstein, "but breakfast
waits."
"Yes, yes. Well, then, we'll have them together--breakfast and
the dogs. Come along, Count." The king passed his arm through
Rischenheim's, adding to Bernenstein, "Lead the way, Lieutenant;
and you, Colonel, come with us."
They went out. Sapt stopped and locked the door behind him. "Why
do you lock the door, Colonel?" asked the king.
"There are some papers in my drawer there, sire."
"But why not lock the drawer?,
"I have lost the key, sire, like the fool I am," said the
colonel.
The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim did not make a very good
breakfast. He sat opposite to the king. Colonel Sapt placed
himself at the back of the king's chair, and Rischenheim saw the
muzzle of a revolver resting on the top of the chair just behind
his Majesty's right ear. Bernenstein stood in soldierly rigidity
by the door; Rischenheim looked round at him once and met a most
significant gaze.
"You're eating nothing," said the king. "I hope you're not
indisposed?"
"I am a little upset, sire," stammered Rischenheim, and truly
enough.
"Well, tell me about the dogs--while I eat, for I'm hungry."
Rischenheim began to disclose his secret. His statement was
decidedly wanting in clearness. The king grew impatient.
"I don't understand," said he testily, and he pushed his chair
back so quickly that Sapt skipped away, and hid the revolver
behind his back.
"Sire--" cried Rischenheim, half rising. A cough from Lieutenant
von Bernenstein interrupted him.
"Tell it me all over again," said the king. Rischenheim did as he
was bid.
"Ah, I understand a little better now. Do you see, Sapt?" and he
turned his head round towards the constable. Sapt had just time
to whisk the revolver away. The count lent forward towards the
king. Lieutenant von Bernenstein coughed. The count sank back
again.
"Perfectly, sire," said Colonel Sapt. "I understand all the count
wishes to convey to your Majesty."
"Well, I understand about half," said the king with a laugh. "But
perhaps that'll be enough."
"I think quite enough, sire," answered Sapt with a smile. The
important matter of the dogs being thus disposed of, the king
recollected that the count had asked for an audience on a matter
of business.
"Now, what did you wish to say to me?" he asked, with a weary
air. The dogs had been more interesting.
Rischenheim looked at Sapt. The revolver was in its place;
Bernenstein coughed again. Yet he saw a chance.
"Your pardon, sire," said he, "but we are not alone."
The king lifted his eyebrows.
"Is the business so private?" he asked.
"I should prefer to tell it to your Majesty alone," pleaded the
count.
Now Sapt was resolved not to leave Rischenheim alone with the
king, for, although the count, being robbed of his evidence could
do little harm concerning the letter, he would doubtless tell the
king that Rudolf Rassendyll was in the castle. He leant now over
the king's shoulder, and said with a sneer:
"Messages from Rupert of Hentzau are too exalted matters for my
poor ears, it seems."
The king flushed red.
"Is that your business, my lord?" he asked Rischenheim sternly.
"Your Majesty does not know what my cousin--"
"It is the old plea?" interrupted the king. "He wants to come
back? Is that all, or is there anything else?"
A moment's silence followed the king's words. Sapt looked full at
Rischenheim, and smiled as he slightly raised his right hand and
showed the revolver. Bernenstein coughed twice. Rischenheim sat
twisting his fingers. He understood that, cost what it might,
they would not let him declare his errand to the king or betray
Mr. Rassendyll's presence. He cleared his throat and opened his
mouth as if to speak, but still he remained silent.
"Well, my lord, is it the old story or something new" asked the
king impatiently.
Again Rischenheim sat silent.
"Are you dumb, my lord?" cried the king most impatiently.
"It--it is only what you call the old story, sire."
"Then let me say that you have treated me very badly in obtaining
an audience of me for any such purpose," said the king. "You knew
my decision, and your cousin knows it." Thus speaking, the king
rose; Sapt's revolver slid into his pocket; but Lieutenant von
Bernenstein drew his sword and stood at the salute; he also
coughed.
"My dear Rischenheim," pursued the king more kindly, "I can allow
for your natural affection. But, believe me, in this case it
misleads you. Do me the favor not to open this subject again to
me."
Rischenheim, humiliated and angry, could do nothing but bow in
acknowledgment of the king's rebuke.
"Colonel Sapt, see that the count is well entertained. My horse
should be at the door by now. Farewell, Count. Bernenstein, give
me your arm."
Bernenstein shot a rapid glance at the constable. Sapt nodded
reassuringly. Bernenstein sheathed his sword and gave his arm to
the king. They passed through the door, and Bernenstein closed it
with a backward push of his hand. But at this moment Rischenheim,
goaded to fury and desperate at the trick played on him--seeing,
moreover, that he had now only one man to deal with--made a
sudden rush at the door. He reached it, and his hand was on the
door-knob. But Sapt was upon him, and Sapt's revolver was at his
ear.
In the passage the king stopped.
"What are they doing in there?" he asked, hearing the noise of
the quick movements.
"I don't know, sire," said Bernenstein, and he took a step
forward.
"No, stop a minute, Lieutenant; you're pulling me along!"
"A thousand pardons, sire."
"I hear nothing more now." And there was nothing to hear, for the
two now stood dead silent inside the door.
"Nor I, sire. Will your Majesty go on?" And Bernenstein took
another step.
"You're determined I shall," said the king with a laugh, and he
let the young officer lead him away.
Inside the room, Rischenheim stood with his back against the
door. He was panting for breath, and his face was flushed and
working with excitement. Opposite to him stood Sapt, revolver in
hand.
"Till you get to heaven, my lord," said the constable, "you'll
never be nearer to it than you were in that moment. If you had
opened the door, I'd have shot you through the head."
As he spoke there came a knock at the door.
"Open it," he said brusquely to Rischenheim. With a muttered
curse the count obeyed him. A servant stood outside with a
telegram on a salver.
"Take it," whispered Sapt, and Rischenheim put out his hand.
"Your pardon, my lord, but this has arrived for you," said the
man respectfully.
"Take it," whispered Sapt again.
"Give it me," muttered Rischenheim confusedly; and he took the
envelope.
The servant bowed and shut the door.
"Open it," commanded Sapt.
"God's curse on you!" cried Rischenheim in a voice that choked
with passion.
"Eh? Oh, you can have no secrets from so good a friend as I am,
my lord. Be quick and open it."
The count began to open it.
"If you tear it up, or crumple it, I'll shoot you," said Sapt
quietly. "You know you can trust my word. Now read it."
"By God, I won't read it."
"Read it, I tell you, or say your prayers."
The muzzle was within a foot of his head. He unfolded the
telegram. Then he looked at Sapt. "Read," said the constable.
"I don't understand what it means," grumbled Rischenheim.
"Possibly I may be able to help you."
"It's nothing but--"
"Read, my lord, read!"
Then he read, and this was the telegram: "Holf, 19
Konigstrasse."
"A thousand thanks, my lord. And--the place it's despatched
from?"
"Strelsau."
"Just turn it so that I can see. Oh, I don't doubt you, but
seeing is believing. Ah, thanks. It's as you say. You're puzzled
what it means, Count?"
"I don't know at all what it means!"
"How strange! Because I can guess so well."
"You are very acute, sir."
"It seems to me a simple thing to guess, my lord."
"And pray," said Rischenheim, endeavoring to assume an easy and
sarcastic air, "what does your wisdom tell you that the message
means?"
"I think, my lord, that the message is an address."
"An address! I never thought of that. But I know no Holf."
"I don't think it's Holf's address."
"Whose, then?" asked Rischenheim, biting his nail, and looking
furtively at the constable.
"Why," said Sapt, "the present address of Count Rupert of
Hentzau."
As he spoke, he fixed his eyes on the eyes of Rischenheim. He
gave a short, sharp laugh, then put his revolver in his pocket
and bowed to the count.
"In truth, you are very convenient, my dear Count," said he.
