CHAPTER XVIII. THE TRIUMPH OF THE KING
THE things that men call presages, presentiments, and so forth,
are, to my mind, for the most part idle nothings: sometimes it is
only that probable events cast before them a natural shadow which
superstitious fancy twists into a Heaven sent warning; oftener
the same desire that gives conception works fulfilment, and the
dreamer sees in the result of his own act and will a mysterious
accomplishment independent of his effort. Yet when I observe thus
calmly and with good sense on the matter to the Constable of
Zenda, he shakes his head and answers, "But Rudolf Rassendyll
knew from the first that he would come again to Strelsau and
engage young Rupert point to point. Else why did he practise with
the foils so as to be a better swordsman the second time than he
was the first? Mayn't God do anything that Fritz von Tarlenheim
can't understand? a pretty notion, on my life!" And he goes off
grumbling.
Well, be it inspiration, or be it delusion--and the difference
stands often on a hair's breadth--I am glad that Rudolf had it.
For if a man once grows rusty, it is everything short of
impossible to put the fine polish on his skill again. Mr.
Rassendyll had strength, will, coolness, and, of course, courage.
None would have availed had not his eye been in perfect
familiarity with its work, and his hand obeyed it as readily as
the bolt slips in a well-oiled groove. As the thing stood, the
lithe agility and unmatched dash of young Rupert but just missed
being too much for him. He was in deadly peril when the girl Rosa
ran down to bring him aid. His practised skill was able to
maintain his defence. He sought to do no more, but endured
Rupert's fiery attack and wily feints in an almost motionless
stillness. Almost, I say; for the slight turns of wrist that seem
nothing are everything, and served here to keep his skin whole
and his life in him.
There was an instant--Rudolf saw it in his eyes and dwelt on it
when he lightly painted the scene for me--when there dawned on
Rupert of Hentzau the knowledge that he could not break down his
enemy's guard. Surprise, chagrin, amusement, or something like
it, seemed blended in his look. He could not make out how he was
caught and checked in every effort, meeting, it seemed, a barrier
of iron impregnable in rest. His quick brain grasped the lesson
in an instant. If his skill were not the greater, the victory
would not be his, for his endurance was the less. He was younger,
and his frame was not so closely knit; pleasure had taken its
tithe from him; perhaps a good cause goes for something. Even
while he almost pressed Rudolf against the panel of the door, he
seemed to know that his measure of success was full. But what the
hand could not compass the head might contrive. In quickly
conceived strategy he began to give pause in his attack, nay, he
retreated a step or two. No scruples hampered his devices, no
code of honor limited the means he would employ. Backing before
his opponent, he seemed to Rudolf to be faint-hearted; he was
baffled, but seemed despairing; he was weary, but played a more
complete fatigue. Rudolf advanced, pressing and attacking, only
to meet a defence as perfect as his own. They were in the middle
of the room now, close by the table. Rupert, as though he had
eyes in the back of his head, skirted round, avoiding it by a
narrow inch. His breathing was quick and distressed, gasp
tumbling over gasp, but still his eye was alert and his hand
unerring. He had but a few moments' more effort left in him: it
was enough if he could reach his goal and perpetrate the trick on
which his mind, fertile in every base device, was set. For it was
towards the mantelpiece that his retreat, seeming forced, in
truth so deliberate, led him. There was the letter, there lay the
revolvers. The time to think of risks was gone by; the time to
boggle over what honor allowed or forbade had never come to
Rupert of Hentzau. If he could not win by force and skill, he
would win by guile and by treachery, to the test that he had
himself invited. The revolvers lay on the mantelpiece: he meant
to possess himself of one, if he could gain an instant in which
to snatch it.
The device that he adopted was nicely chosen. It was too late to
call a rest or ask breathing space: Mr. Rassendyll was not blind
to the advantage he had won, and chivalry would have turned to
folly had it allowed such indulgence. Rupert was hard by the
mantelpiece now. The sweat was pouring from his face, and his
breast seemed like to burst in the effort after breath; yet he
had enough strength for his purpose. He must have slackened his
hold on his weapon, for when Rudolf's blade next struck it, it
flew from his hand, twirled out of a nerveless grasp, and slid
along the floor. Rupert stood disarmed, and Rudolf motionless.
"Pick it up," said Mr. Rassendyll, never thinking there had been
a trick.
"Ay, and you'll truss me while I do it."
"You young fool, don't you know me yet?" and Rudolf, lowering his
blade, rested its point on the floor, while with his left hand he
indicated Rupert's weapon. Yet something warned him: it may be
there came a look in Rupert's eyes, perhaps of scorn for his
enemy's simplicity, perhaps of pure triumph in the graceless
knavery. Rudolf stood waiting.
"You swear you won't touch me while I pick it up?" asked Rupert,
shrinking back a little, and thereby getting an inch or two
nearer the mantelpiece.
"You have my promise: pick it up. I won't wait any longer."
"You won't kill me unarmed?" cried Rupert, in alarmed scandalized
expostulation.
"No; but--"
The speech went unfinished, unless a sudden cry were its ending.
And, as he cried, Rudolf Rassendyll, dropping his sword on the
ground, sprang forward. For Rupert's hand had shot out behind him
and was on the butt of one of the revolvers. The whole trick
flashed on Rudolf, and he sprang, flinging his long arms round
Rupert. But Rupert had the revolver in his hand.
In all likelihood the two neither heard nor heeded, though it
seemed to me that the creaks and groans of the old stairs were
loud enough to wake the dead. For now Rosa had given the alarm,
Bernenstein and I--or I and Bernenstein (for I was first, and,
therefore, may put myself first)--had rushed up. Hard behind us
came Rischenheim, and hot on his heels a score of fellows,
pushing and shouldering and trampling. We in front had a fair
start, and gained the stairs unimpeded; Rischenheim was caught up
in the ruck and gulfed in the stormy, tossing group that
struggled for first footing on the steps. Yet, soon they were
after us, and we heard them reach the first landing as we sped up
to the last. There was a confused din through all the house, and
it seemed now to echo muffled and vague through the walls from
the street without. I was conscious of it, although I paid no
heed to anything but reaching the room where the king--where
Rudolf--was. Now I was there, Bernenstein hanging to my heels.
The door did not hold us a second. I was in, he after me. He
slammed the door and set his back against it, just as the rush of
feet flooded the highest flight of stairs. And at the moment a
revolver shot rang clear and loud.
The lieutenant and I stood still, he against the door, I a pace
farther into the room. The sight we saw was enough to arrest us
with its strange interest. The smoke of the shot was curling
about, but neither man seemed wounded. The revolver was in
Rupert's hand, and its muzzle smoked. But Rupert was jammed
against the wall, just by the side of the mantelpiece. With one
hand Rudolf had pinned his left arm to the wainscoting higher
than his head, with the other he held his right wrist. I drew
slowly nearer: if Rudolf were unarmed, I could fairly enforce a
truce and put them on an equality; yet, though Rudolf was
unarmed, I did nothing. The sight of his face stopped me. He was
very pale and his lips were set, but it was his eyes that caught
my gaze, for they were glad and merciless. I had never seen him
look thus before. I turned from him to young Hentzau's face.
Rupert's teeth were biting his under lip, the sweat dropped, and
the veins swelled large and blue on his forehead; his eyes were
set on Rudolf Rassendyll. Fascinated, I drew nearer. Then I saw
what passed. Inch by inch Rupert's arm curved, the elbow bent,
the hand that had pointed almost straight from him and at Mr.
Rassendyll pointed now away from both towards the window. But its
motion did not stop; it followed the line of a circle: now it was
on Rupert's arm; still it moved, and quicker now, for the power
of resistance grew less. Rupert was beaten; he felt it and knew
it, and I read the knowledge in his eyes. I stepped up to Rudolf
Rassendyll. He heard or felt me, and turned his eyes for an
instant. I do not know what my face said, but he shook his head
and turned back to Rupert. The revolver, held still in the man's
own hand, was at his heart. The motion ceased, the point was
reached.
I looked again at Rupert. Now his face was easier; there was a
slight smile on his lips; he flung back his comely head and
rested thus against the wainscoting; his eyes asked a question of
Rudolf Rassendyll. I turned my gaze to where the answer was to
come, for Rudolf made none in words. By the swiftest of movements
he shifted his grasp from Rupert's wrist and pounced on his hand.
Now his forefinger rested on Rupert's and Rupert's was on the
trigger. I am no soft-heart, but I laid a hand on his shoulder.
He took no heed; I dared do no more. Rupert glanced at me. I
caught his look, but what could I say to him? Again my eyes were
riveted on Rudolf's finger. Now it was crooked round Rupert's,
seeming like a man who strangles another.
I will not say more. He smiled to the last; his proud head, which
had never bent for shame, did not bend for fear. There was a
sudden tightening in the pressure of that crooked forefinger, a
flash, a noise. He was held up against the wall for an instant by
Rudolf's hand; when that was removed he sank, a heap that looked
all head and knees.
But hot on the sound of the discharge came a shout and an oath
from Bernenstein. He was hurled away from the door, and through
it burst Rischenheim and the whole score after him. They were
jostling one another and crying out to know what passed and where
the king was. High over all the voices, coming from the back of
the throng, I heard the cry of the girl Rosa. But as soon as they
were in the room, the same spell that had fastened Bernenstein
and me to inactivity imposed its numbing power on them also. Only
Rischenheim gave a sudden sob and ran forward to where his cousin
lay. The rest stood staring. For a moment Rudolf eyed them. Then,
without a word, he turned his back. He put out the right hand
with which he had just killed Rupert of Hentzau, and took the
letter from the mantelpiece. He glanced at the envelope, then he
opened the letter. The handwriting banished any last doubt he
had; he tore the letter across, and again in four pieces, and yet
again in smaller fragments. Then he sprinkled the morsels of
paper into the blaze of the fire. I believe that every eye in the
room followed them and watched till they curled and crinkled into
black, wafery ashes. Thus, at last the queen's letter was safe.
When he had thus set the seal on his task he turned round to us
again. He paid no heed to Rischenheim, who was crouching down by
the body of Rupert; but he looked at Bernenstein and me, and then
at the people behind us. He waited a moment before he spoke; then
his utterance was not only calm but also very slow, so that he
seemed to be choosing his words carefully.
"Gentlemen," said he, "a full account of this matter will be
rendered by myself in due time. For the present it must suffice
to say that this gentleman who lies here dead sought an interview
with me on private business. I came here to find him, desiring,
as he professed, to desire, privacy. And here he tried to kill
me. The result of his attempt you see."
I bowed low, Bernenstein did the like, and all the rest followed
our example.
"A full account shall be given," said Rudolf. "Now let all leave
me, except the Count of Tarlenheim and Lieutenant von
Bernenstein."
Most unwillingly, with gaping mouths and wonder-struck eyes, the
throng filed out of the door. Rischenheim rose to his feet.
"You stay, if you like," said Rudolf, and the count knelt again
by his kinsman.
Seeing the rough bedsteads by the wall of the attic, I touched
Rischenheim on the shoulder and pointed to one of them. Together
we lifted Rupert of Hentzau. The revolver was still in his hand,
but Bernenstein disengaged it from his grasp. Then Rischenheim
and I laid him down, disposing his body decently and spreading
over it his riding cloak, still spotted with the mud gathered on
his midnight expedition to the hunting-lodge. His face looked
much as before the shot was fired; in death, as in life, he was
the handsomest fellow in all Ruritania. I wager that many tender
hearts ached and many bright eyes were dimmed for him when the
news of his guilt and death went forth. There are ladies still in
Strelsau who wear his trinkets in an ashamed devotion that cannot
forget. Well, even I, who had every good cause to hate and scorn
him, set the hair smooth on his brow; while Rischenheim was
sobbing like a child, and young Bernenstein rested his head on
his arm as he leant on the mantelpiece, and would not look at the
dead. Rudolf alone seemed not to heed him or think of him. His
eyes had lost their unnatural look of joy, and were now calm and
tranquil. He took his own revolver from the mantelpiece and put
it in his pocket, laying Rupert's neatly where his had been. Then
he turned to me and said:
"Come, let us go to the queen and tell her that the letter is
beyond reach of hurt."
Moved by some impulse, I walked to the window and put my head
out. I was seen from below, and a great shout greeted me. The
crowd before the doors grew every moment; the people flocking
from all quarters would soon multiply it a hundred fold; for such
news as had been carried from the attic by twenty wondering
tongues spreads like a forest-fire. It would be through Strelsau
in a few minutes, through the kingdom in an hour, through Europe
in but little longer. Rupert was dead and the letter was safe,
but what were we to tell that great concourse concerning their
king? A queer feeling of helpless perplexity came over me and
found vent in a foolish laugh. Bernenstein was by my side; he
also looked out, and turned again with an eager face.
"You'll have a royal progress to your palace," said he to Rudolf
Rassendyll.
Mr. Rassendyll made no answer, but, coming to me, took my arm. We
went out, leaving Rischenheim by the body. I did not think of
him; Bernenstein probably thought that he would keep his pledge
given to the queen, for he followed us immediately and without
demur. There was nobody outside the door. The house was very
quiet, and the tumult from the street reached us only in a
muffled roar. But when we came to the foot of the stairs we found
the two women. Mother Holf stood on the threshold of the kitchen,
looking amazed and terrified. Rosa was clinging to her; but as
soon as Rudolf came in sight, the girl sprang forward and flung
herself on her knees before him, pouring out incoherent thanks to
Heaven for his safety. He bent down and spoke to her in a
whisper; she looked up with a flush of pride on her face. He
seemed to hesitate a moment; he glanced at his hands, but he wore
no ring save that which the queen had given him long ago. Then he
disengaged his chain and took his gold watch from his pocket.
Turning it over, he showed me the monogram, R. R.
"Rudolfus Rex," he whispered with a whimsical smile, and pressed
the watch into the girl's hand, saying: "Keep this to remind you
of me."
She laughed and sobbed as she caught it with one hand, while with
the other she held his.
"You must let go," he said gently. "I have much to do."
I took her by the arm and induced her to rise. Rudolf, released,
passed on to where the old woman stood. He spoke to her in a
stern, distinct voice.
"I don't know," he said, "how far you are a party to the plot
that was hatched in your house. For the present I am content not
to know, for it is no pleasure to me to detect disloyalty or to
punish an old woman. But take care! The first word you speak, the
first act you do against me, the king, will bring its certain and
swift punishment. If you trouble me, I won't spare you. In spite
of traitors I am still king in Strelsau."
He paused, looking hard in her face. Her lip quivered and her
eyes fell.
"Yes," he repeated, "I am king in Strelsau. Keep your hands out
of mischief and your tongue quiet."
She made no answer. He passed on. I was following, but as I went
by her the old woman clutched my arm. "In God's name, who is he?"
she whispered.
"Are you mad?" I asked, lifting my brows. "Don't you know the
king when he speaks to you? And you'd best remember what he said.
He has servants who'll do his orders."
She let me go and fell back a step. Young Bernenstein smiled at
her; he at least found more pleasure than anxiety in our
position. Thus, then, we left them: the old woman terrified,
amazed, doubtful; the girl with ruddy cheeks and shining eyes,
clasping in her two hands the keepsake that the king himself had
given her.
Bernenstein had more presence of mind than I. He ran forward, got
in front of both of us, and flung the door open. Then, bowing
very low, he stood aside to let Rudolf pass. The street was full
from end to end now, and a mighty shout of welcome rose from
thousands of throats. Hats and handkerchiefs were waved in mad
exultation and triumphant loyalty. The tidings of the king's
escape had flashed through the city, and all were there to do him
honor. They had seized some gentleman's landau and taken out the
horses. The carriage stood now before the doors of the house.
Rudolf had waited a moment on the threshold, lifting his hat once
or twice; his face was perfectly calm, and I saw no trembling in
his hands. In an instant a dozen arms took gentle hold of him and
impelled him forward. He mounted into the carriage; Bernenstein
and I followed, with bare heads, and sat on the back seat, facing
him. The people were round as thick as bees, and it seemed as
though we could not move without crushing somebody. Yet presently
the wheels turned, and they began to drag us away at a slow walk.
Rudolf kept raising his hat, bowing now to right, now to left.
But once, as he turned, his eyes met ours. In spite of what was
behind and what was in front, we all three smiled.
"I wish they'd go a little quicker," said Rudolf in a whisper, as
he conquered his smile and turned again to acknowledge the loyal
greetings of his subjects.
But what did they know of any need for haste? They did not know
what stood on the turn of the next few hours, nor the momentous
question that pressed for instant decision. So far from hurrying,
they lengthened our ride by many pauses; they kept us before the
cathedral, while some ran and got the joy bells set ringing; we
were stopped to receive improvised bouquets from the hands of
pretty girls and impetuous hand-shakings from enthusiastic
loyalists. Through it all Rudolf kept his composure, and seemed
to play his part with native kingliness. I heard Bernenstein
whisper, "By God, we must stick to it!"
At last we came in sight of the palace. Here also there was a
great stir. Many officers and soldiers were about. I saw the
chancellor's carriage standing near the portico, and a dozen
other handsome equipages were waiting till they could approach.
Our human horses drew us slowly up to the entrance. Helsing was
on the steps, and ran down to the carriage, greeting the king
with passionate fervor. The shouts of the crowd grew louder
still.
But suddenly a stillness fell on them; it lasted but an instant,
and was the prelude to a deafening roar. I was looking at Rudolf
and saw his head turn suddenly and his eyes grow bright. I looked
where his eyes had gone. There, on the top step of the broad
marble flight, stood the queen, pale as the marble itself,
stretching out her hands towards Rudolf. The people had seen her:
she it was whom this last rapturous cheer greeted. My wife stood
close behind her, and farther back others of her ladies.
Bernenstein and I sprang out. With a last salute to the people
Rudolf followed us. He walked up to the highest step but one, and
there fell on one knee and kissed the queen's hand. I was by him,
and when he looked up in her face I heard him say:
"All's well. He's dead, and the letter burnt."
She raised him with her hand. Her lips moved, but it seemed as
though she could find no words to speak. She put her arm through
his, and thus they stood for an instant, fronting all Strelsau.
Again the cheers rang out, and young Bernenstein sprang forward,
waving his helmet and crying like a man possessed, "God save the
king!" I was carried away by his enthusiasm and followed his
lead. All the people took up the cry with boundless fervor, and
thus we all, high and low in Strelsau, that afternoon hailed Mr.
Rassendyll for our king. There had been no such zeal since Henry
the Lion came back from his wars, a hundred and fifty years ago.
"And yet," observed old Helsing at my elbow, "agitators say that
there is no enthusiasm for the house of Elphberg!" He took a
pinch of snuff in scornful satisfaction.
Young Bernenstein interrupted his cheering with a short laugh,
but fell to his task again in a moment. I had recovered my senses
by now, and stood panting, looking down on the crowd. It was
growing dusk and the faces became blurred into a white sea. Yet
suddenly I seemed to discern one glaring up at me from the middle
of the crowd--the pale face of a man with a bandage about his
head. I caught Bernenstein's arm and whispered, "Bauer," pointing
with my finger where the face was. But, even as I pointed, it was
gone; though it seemed impossible for a man to move in that
press, yet it was gone. It had come like a cynic's warning across
the scene of mock triumph, and went swiftly as it had come,
leaving behind it a reminder of our peril. I felt suddenly sick
at heart, and almost cried out to the people to have done with
their silly shouting.
At last we got away. The plea of fatigue met all visitors who
made their way to the door and sought to offer their
congratulations; it could not disperse the crowd that hung
persistently and contentedly about, ringing us in the palace with
a living fence. We still heard their jests and cheers when we
were alone in the small saloon that opens on the gardens. My wife
and I had come here at Rudolf's request; Bernenstein had assumed
the duty of guarding the door. Evening was now falling fast, and
it grew dark. The garden was quiet; the distant noise of the
crowd threw its stillness into greater relief. Rudolf told us
there the story of his struggle with Rupert of Hentzau in the
attic of the old house, dwelling on it as lightly as he could.
The queen stood by his chair--she would not let him rise; when he
finished by telling how he had burnt her letter, she stooped
suddenly and kissed him off the brow. Then she looked straight
across at Helga, almost defiantly; but Helga ran to her and
caught her in her arms.
Rudolf Rassendyll sat with his head resting on his hand. He
looked up once at the two women; then he caught my eye, and
beckoned me to come to him. I approached him, but for several
moments he did not speak. Again he motioned to me, and, resting
my hand on the arm of his chair, I bent my head close down to
his. He glanced again at the queen, seeming afraid that she would
hear what he wished to say.
"Fritz," he whispered at last, "as soon as it's fairly dark I
must get away. Bernenstein will come with me. You must stay
here."
"Where can you go?"
"To the lodge. I must meet Sapt and arrange matters with him."
I did not understand what plan he had in his head, or what scheme
he could contrive. But at the moment my mind was not directed to
such matters; it was set on the sight before my eyes.
"And the queen?" I whispered in answer to him.
Low as my voice was, she heard it. She turned to us with a
sudden, startled movement, still holding Helga's hand. Her eyes
searched our faces, and she knew in an instant of what we had
been speaking. A little longer still she stood, gazing at us.
Then she suddenly sprang forward and threw herself on her knees
before Rudolf, her hands uplifted and resting on his shoulders.
She forgot our presence, and everything in the world, save her
great dread of losing him again.
"Not again, Rudolf, my darling! Not again! Rudolf, I can't bear
it again."
Then she dropped her head on his knees and sobbed.
He raised his hand and gently stroked the gleaming hair. But he
did not look at her. He gazed out at the garden, which grew dark
and dreary in the gathering gloom. His lips were tight set and
his face pale and drawn.
I watched him for a moment, then I drew my wife away, and we sat
down at a table some way off. From outside still came the cheers
and tumult of the joyful, excited crowd. Within there was no
sound but the queen's stifled sobbing. Rudolf caressed her
shining hair and gazed into the night with sad, set eyes. She
raised her head and looked into his face.
"You'll break my heart," she said.
