CHAPTER XIX. FOR OUR LOVE AND HER HONOR
RUPERT of Hentzau was dead! That was the thought which, among all
our perplexities, came back to me, carrying with it a wonderful
relief. To those who have not learnt in fighting against him the
height of his audacity and the reach of his designs, it may well
seem incredible that his death should breed comfort at a moment
when the future was still so dark and uncertain. Yet to me it was
so great a thing that I could hardly bring myself to the
conviction that we had done with him. True, he was dead; but
could he not strike a blow at us even from beyond the gulf?
Such were the half-superstitious thoughts that forced their way
into my mind as I stood looking out on the crowd which
obstinately encircled the front of the palace. I was alone;
Rudolf was with the queen, my wife was resting, Bernenstein had
sat down to a meal for which I could find no appetite. By an
effort I freed myself from my fancies and tried to concentrate my
brain on the facts of our position. We were ringed round with
difficulties. To solve them was beyond my power; but I knew where
my wish and longing lay. I had no desire to find means by which
Rudolf Rassendyll should escape unknown from Strelsau; the king,
although dead, be again in death the king, and the queen be left
desolate on her mournful and solitary throne. It might be that a
brain more astute than mine could bring all this to pass. My
imagination would have none of it, but dwelt lovingly on the
reign of him who was now king in Strelsau, declaring that to give
the kingdom such a ruler would be a splendid fraud, and prove a
stroke so bold as to defy detection. Against it stood only the
suspicions of Mother Holf--fear or money would close her
lips--and the knowledge of Bauer; Bauer's mouth also could be
shut, ay, and should be before we were many days older. My
reverie led me far; I saw the future years unroll before me in
the fair record of a great king's sovereignty. It seemed to me
that by the violence and bloodshed we had passed through, fate,
for once penitent, was but righting the mistake made when Rudolf
was not born a king.
For a long while I stood thus, musing and dreaming; I was roused
by the sound of the door opening and closing; turning, I saw the
queen. She was alone, and came towards me with timid steps. She
looked out for a moment on the square and the people, but drew
back suddenly in apparent fear lest they should see her. Then she
sat down and turned her face towards mine. I read in her eyes
something of the conflict of emotions which possessed her; she
seemed at once to deprecate my disapproval and to ask my
sympathy; she prayed me to be gentle to her fault and kind to her
happiness; self-reproach shadowed her joy, but the golden gleam
of it strayed through. I looked eagerly at her; this would not
have been her bearing had she come from a last farewell; for the
radiance was there, however much dimmed by sorrow and by
fearfulness.
"Fritz," she began softly, "I am wicked--so wicked. Won't God
punish me for my gladness?"
I fear I paid little heed to her trouble, though I can understand
it well enough now.
"Gladness?" I cried in a low voice. "Then you've persuaded him?"
She smiled at me for an instant.
"I mean, you've agreed?" I stammered.
Her eyes again sought mine, and she said in a whisper: "Some day,
not now. Oh, not now. Now would be too much. But some day, Fritz,
if God will not deal too hardly with me, I--I shall be his,
Fritz."
I was intent on my vision, not on hers. I wanted him king; she
did not care what he was, so that he was hers, so that he should
not leave her.
"He'll take the throne," I cried triumphantly.
"No, no, no. Not the throne. He's going away."
"Going away!" I could not keep the dismay out of my voice.
"Yes, now. But not--not for ever. It will be long--oh, so
long--but I can bear it, if I know that at last!" She stopped,
still looking up at me with eyes that implored pardon and
sympathy.
"I don't understand," said I, bluntly, and, I fear, gruffly,
also.
"You were right," she said: "I did persuade him. He wanted to go
away again as he went before. Ought I to have let him? Yes, yes!
But I couldn't. Fritz, hadn't I done enough? You don't know what
I've endured. And I must endure more still. For he will go now,
and the time will be very long. But, at last, we shall be
together. There is pity in God; we shall be together at last."
"If he goes now, how can he come back?"
"He will not come back; I shall go to him. I shall give up the
throne and go to him, some day, when I can be spared from here,
when I've done my--my work."
I was aghast at this shattering of my vision, yet I could not be
hard to her. I said nothing, but took her hand and pressed it.
"You wanted him to be king?" she whispered.
"With all my heart, madam," said I.
"He wouldn't, Fritz. No, and I shouldn't dare to do that,
either."
I fell back on the practical difficulties. "But how can he go?" I
asked.
"I don't know. But he knows; he has a plan."
We fell again into silence; her eyes grew more calm, and seemed
to look forward in patient hope to the time when her happiness
should come to her. I felt like a man suddenly robbed of the
exaltation of wine and sunk to dull apathy. "I don't see how he
can go," I said sullenly.
She did not answer me. A moment later the door again opened.
Rudolf came in, followed by Bernenstein. Both wore riding boots
and cloaks. I saw on Bernenstein's face just such a look of
disappointment as I knew must be on mine. Rudolf seemed calm and
even happy. He walked straight up to the queen.
"The horses will be ready in a few minutes," he said gently.
Then, turning to me, he asked, "You know what we're going to do,
Fritz?"
"Not I, sire," I answered, sulkily.
"Not I, sire!" he repeated, in a half-merry, half-sad mockery.
Then he came between Bernenstein and me and passed his arms
through ours. "You two villains!" he said. "You two unscrupulous
villains! Here you are, as rough as bears, because I won't be a
thief! Why have I killed young Rupert and left you rogues alive?"
I felt the friendly pressure of his hand on my arm. I could not
answer him. With every word from his lips and every moment of his
presence my sorrow grew keener that he would not stay.
Bernenstein looked across at me and shrugged his shoulders
despairingly. Rudolf gave a little laugh.
"You won't forgive me for not being as great a rogue, won't you?"
he asked.
Well, I found nothing to say, but I took my arm out of his and
clasped his hand. He gripped mine hard.
"That's old Fritz!" he said; and he caught hold of Bernenstein's
hand, which the lieutenant yielded with some reluctance. "Now for
the plan," said he. "Bernenstein and I set out at once for the
lodge--yes, publicly, as publicly as we can. I shall ride right
through the people there, showing myself to as many as will look
at me, and letting it be known to everybody where I'm going. We
shall get there quite early to-morrow, before it's light. There
we shall find what you know. We shall find Sapt, too, and he'll
put the finishing touches to our plan for us. Hullo, what's
that?"
There was a sudden fresh shouting from the large crowd that still
lingered outside the palace. I ran to the window, and saw a
commotion in the midst of them. I flung the sash up. Then I heard
a well-known, loud, strident voice: "Make way, you rascals, make
way."
I turned round again, full of excitement.
"It's Sapt himself!" I said. "He's riding like mad through the
crowd, and your servant's just behind him."
"My God, what's happened? Why have they left the lodge?" cried
Bernenstein.
The queen looked up in startled alarm, and, rising to her feet,
came and passed her arm through Rudolf's. Thus we all stood,
listening to the people good-naturedly cheering Sapt, whom they
had recognized, and bantering James, whom they took for a servant
of the constable's.
The minutes seemed very long as we waited in utter perplexity,
almost in consternation. The same thought was in the mind of all
of us, silently imparted by one to another in the glances we
exchanged. What could have brought them from their guard of the
great secret, save its discovery? They would never have left
their post while the fulfilment of their trust was possible. By
some mishap, some unforeseen chance, the king's body must have
been discovered. Then the king's death was known, and the news of
it might any moment astonish and bewilder the city.
At last the door was flung open, and a servant announced the
Constable of Zenda. Sapt was covered with dust and mud, and
James, who entered close on his heels, was in no better plight.
Evidently they had ridden hard and furiously; indeed they were
still panting. Sapt, with a most perfunctory bow to the queen,
came straight to where Rudolf stood.
"Is he dead?" he asked, without preface.
"Yes, Rupert is dead," answered Mr. Rassendyll: "I killed him."
"And the letter?"
"I burnt it."
"And Rischenheim?"
The queen struck in.
"The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim will say and do nothing against
me," she said.
Sapt lifted his brows a little. "Well, and Bauer?" he asked.
"Bauer's at large," I answered.
"Hum! Well, it's only Bauer" said the constable, seeming
tolerably well pleased. Then his eyes fell on Rudolf and
Bernenstein. He stretched out his hand and pointed to their
riding-boots. "Whither away so late at night?" he asked.
"First together to the lodge, to find you, then I alone to the
frontier," said Mr. Rassendyll.
"One thing at a time. The frontier will wait. What does your
Majesty want with me at the lodge?"
"I want so to contrive that I shall be no longer your Majesty,"
said Rudolf.
Sapt flung himself into a chair and took off his gloves.
"Come, tell me what has happened to-day in Strelsau," he said.
We gave a short and hurried account. He listened with few signs
of approval or disapproval, but I thought I saw a gleam in his
eyes when I described how all the city had hailed Rudolf as its
king and the queen received him as her husband before the eyes of
all. Again the hope and vision, shattered by Rudolf's calm
resolution, inspired me. Sapt said little, but he had the air of
a man with some news in reserve. He seemed to be comparing what
we told him with something already known to him but unknown to
us. The little servant stood all the while in respectful
stillness by the door; but I could see by a glance at his alert
face that he followed the whole scene with keen attention.
At the end of the story, Rudolf turned to Sapt. "And your
secret--is it safe?" he asked.
"Ay, it's safe enough!"
"Nobody has seen what you had to hide?"
"No; and nobody knows that the king is dead," answered Sapt.
"Then what brings you here?"
"Why, the same thing that was about to bring you to the lodge:
the need of a meeting between yourself and me, sire."
"But the lodge--is it left unguarded?"
"The lodge is safe enough," said Colonel Sapt.
Unquestionably there was a secret, a new secret, hidden behind
the curt words and brusque manner. I could restrain myself no
longer, and sprang forward, saying: "What is it? Tell us,
Constable!"
He looked at me, then glanced at Mr. Rassendyll.
"I should like to hear your plan first," he said to Rudolf. "How
do you mean to account for your presence alive in the city
to-day, when the king has lain dead in the shooting-box since
last night?"
We drew close together as Rudolf began his answer. Sapt alone lay
back in his chair. The queen also had resumed her seat; she
seemed to pay little heed to what we said. I think that she was
still engrossed with the struggle and tumult in her own soul. The
sin of which she accused herself, and the joy to which her whole
being sprang in a greeting which would not be abashed, were at
strife between themselves, but joined hands to exclude from her
mind any other thought.
"In an hour I must be gone from here," began Rudolf.
"If you wish that, it's easy," observed Colonel Sapt.
"Come, Sapt, be reasonable," smiled Mr. Rassendyll. "Early
to-morrow, we--you and I--"
"Oh, I also?" asked the colonel.
"Yes; you, Bernenstein, and I will be at the lodge."
"That's not impossible, though I have had nearly enough riding."
Rudolf fixed his eyes firmly on Sapt's.
"You see," he said, "the king reaches his hunting-lodge early in
the morning."
"I follow you, sire."
"And what happens there, Sapt? Does he shoot himself
accidentally?"
"Well, that happens sometimes."
"Or does an assassin kill him?"
"Eh, but you've made the best assassin unavailable."
Even at this moment I could not help smiling at the old fellow's
surly wit and Rudolf's amused tolerance of it.
"Or does his faithful attendant, Herbert, shoot him?"
"What, make poor Herbert a murderer!"
"Oh, no! By accident--and then, in remorse, kill himself."
"That's very pretty. But doctors have awkward views as to when a
man can have shot himself."
"My good Constable, doctors have palms as well as ideas. If you
fill the one you supply the other."
"I think," said Sapt, "that both the plans are good. Suppose we
choose the latter, what then?"
"Why, then, by to-morrow at midday the news flashes through
Ruritania--yes, and through Europe--that the king, miraculously
preserved to-day--"
"Praise be to God!" interjected Colonel Sapt; and young
Bernenstein laughed.
"Has met a tragic end."
"It will occasion great grief," said Sapt.
"Meanwhile, I am safe over the frontier."
"Oh, you are quite safe?"
"Absolutely. And in the afternoon of to-morrow, you and
Bernenstein will set out for Strelsau, bringing with you the body
of the king." And Rudolf, after a pause, whispered, "You must
shave his face. And if the doctors want to talk about how long
he's been dead, why, they have, as I say, palms."
Sapt sat silent for a while, apparently considering the scheme.
It was risky enough in all conscience, but success had made
Rudolf bold, and he had learnt how slow suspicion is if a
deception be bold enough. It is only likely frauds that are
detected.
"Well, what do you say?" asked Mr. Rassendyll. I observed that he
said nothing to Sapt of what the queen and he had determined to
do afterwards.
Sapt wrinkled his forehead. I saw him glance at James, and the
slightest, briefest smile showed on James's face.
"It's dangerous, of course," pursued Rudolf. "But I believe that
when they see the king's body--"
"That's the point," interrupted Sapt. "They can't see the king's
body."
Rudolf looked at him with some surprise. Then speaking in a low
voice, lest the queen should hear and be distressed, he went on:
"You must prepare it, you know. Bring it here in a shell; only a
few officials need see the face."
Sapt rose to his feet and stood facing Mr. Rassendyll.
"The plan's a pretty one, but it breaks down at one point," said
he in a strange voice, even harsher than his was wont to be. I
was on fire with excitement, for I would have staked my life now
that he had some strange tidings for us. "There is no body," said
he.
Even Mr. Rassendyll's composure gave way. He sprang forward,
catching Sapt by the arm.
"No body? What do you mean?" he exclaimed.
Sapt cast another glance at James, and then began in an even,
mechanical voice, as though he were reading a lesson he had
learnt, or playing a part that habit made familiar:
"That poor fellow Herbert carelessly left a candle burning where
the oil and the wood were kept," he said. "This afternoon, about
six, James and I lay down for a nap after our meal. At about
seven James came to my side and roused me. My room was full of
smoke. The lodge was ablaze. I darted out of bed: the fire had
made too much headway; we could not hope to quench it; we had but
one thought!" He suddenly paused, and looked at James.
"But one thought, to save our companion," said James gravely.
"But one thought, to save our companion. We rushed to the door of
the room where he was. I opened the door and tried to enter. It
was certain death. James tried, but fell back. Again I rushed in.
James pulled me back: it was but another death. We had to save
ourselves. We gained the open air. The lodge was a sheet of
flame. We could do nothing but stand watching, till the swiftly
burning wood blackened to ashes and the flames died down. As we
watched we knew that all in the cottage must be dead. What could
we do? At last James started off in the hope of getting help. He
found a party of charcoal-burners, and they came with him. The
flames were burnt down now; and we and they approached the
charred ruins. Everything was in ashes. But"--he lowered his
voice--"we found what seemed to be the body of Boris the hound;
in another room was a charred corpse, whose hunting-horn, melted
to a molten mass, told us that it had been Herbert the forester.
And there was another corpse, almost shapeless, utterly
unrecognizable. We saw it; the charcoal-burners saw it. Then more
peasants came round, drawn by the sight of the flames. None could
tell who it was; only I and James knew. And we mounted our horses
and have ridden here to tell the king."
Sapt finished his lesson or his story. A sob burst from the
queen, and she hid her face in her hands. Bernenstein and I,
amazed at this strange tale, scarcely understanding whether it
were jest or earnest, stood staring stupidly at Sapt. Then I,
overcome by the strange thing, turned half-foolish by the bizarre
mingling of comedy and impressiveness in Sapt's rendering of it,
plucked him by the sleeve, and asked, with something between a
laugh and a gasp:
"Who had that other corpse been, Constable?"
He turned his small, keen eyes on me in persistent gravity and
unflinching effrontery.
"A Mr. Rassendyll, a friend of the king's, who with his servant
James was awaiting his Majesty's return from Strelsau. His
servant here is ready to start for England, to tell Mr.
Rassendyll's relatives the news."
The queen had begun to listen before now; her eyes were fixed on
Sapt, and she had stretched out one arm to him, as if imploring
him to read her his riddle. But a few words had in truth declared
his device plainly enough in all its simplicity. Rudolf
Rassendyll was dead, his body burnt to a cinder, and the king was
alive, whole, and on his throne in Strelsau. Thus had Sapt caught
from James, the servant, the infection of his madness, and had
fulfilled in action the strange imagination which the little man
had unfolded to him in order to pass their idle hours at the
lodge.
Suddenly Mr. Rassendyll spoke in clear, short tones.
"This is all a lie, Sapt," said he, and his lips curled in
contemptuous amusement.
"It's no lie that the lodge is burnt, and the bodies in it, and
that half a hundred of the peasants know it, and that no man
could tell the body for the king's. As for the rest, it is a lie.
But I think the truth in it is enough to serve."
The two men stood facing one another with defiant eyes. Rudolf
had caught the meaning of the great and audacious trick which
Sapt and his companion had played. It was impossible now to bring
the king's body to Strelsau; it seemed no less impossible to
declare that the man burnt in the lodge was the king. Thus Sapt
had forced Rudolf's hand; he had been inspired by the same vision
as we, and endowed with more unshrinking boldness. But when I saw
how Rudolf looked at him, I did not know but that they would go
from the queen's presence set on a deadly quarrel. Mr.
Rassendyll, however, mastered his temper.
"You're all bent on having me a rascal," he said coldly. "Fritz
and Bernenstein here urge me; you, Sapt, try to force me. James,
there, is in the plot, for all I know."
"I suggested it, sir," said James, not defiantly or with
disrespect, but as if in simple dutiful obedience to his master's
implied question.
"As I thought--all of you! Well, I won't be forced. I see now
that there's no way out of this affair, save one. That one I'll
follow."
We none of us spoke, but waited till he should be pleased to
continue.
"Of the queen's letter I need say nothing and will say nothing,"
he pursued. "But I will tell them that I'm not the king, but
Rudolf Rassendyll, and that I played the king only in order to
serve the queen and punish Rupert of Hentzau. That will serve,
and it will cut this net of Sapt's from about my limbs."
He spoke firmly and coldly; so that when I looked at him I was
amazed to see how his lips twitched and that his forehead was
moist with sweat. Then I understood what a sudden, swift, and
fearful struggle he had suffered, and how the great temptation
had wrung and tortured him before he, victorious, had set the
thing behind him. I went to him and clasped his hand: this action
of mine seemed to soften him.
"Sapt, Sapt," he said, "you almost made a rogue of me."
Sapt did not respond to his gentler mood. He had been pacing
angrily up and down the room. Now he stopped abruptly before
Rudolf, and pointed with his finger at the queen.
"I make a rogue of you?" he exclaimed. "And what do you make of
our queen, whom we all serve? What does this truth that you'll
tell make of her? Haven't I heard how she greeted you before all
Strelsau as her husband and her love? Will they believe that she
didn't know her husband? Ay, you may show yourself, you may say
they didn't know you. Will they believe she didn't? Was the
king's ring on your finger? Where is it? And how comes Mr.
Rassendyll to be at Fritz von Tarlenheim's for hours with the
queen, when the king is at his hunting lodge? A king has died
already, and two men besides, to save a word against her. And
you--you'll be the man to set every tongue in Strelsau talking,
and every finger pointing in suspicion at her?
Rudolf made no answer. When Sapt had first uttered the queen's
name, he had drawn near and let his hand fall over the back of
her chair. She put hers up to meet it, and so they remained. But
I saw that Rudolf's face had gone very pale.
"And we, your friends?" pursued Sapt. "For we've stood by you as
we've stood by the queen, by God we have--Fritz, and young
Bernenstein here, and I. If this truth's told, who'll believe
that we were loyal to the king, that we didn't know, that we
weren't accomplices in the tricking of the king--maybe, in his
murder? Ah, Rudolf Rassendyll, God preserve me from a conscience
that won't let me be true to the woman I love, or to the friends
who love me!"
I had never seen the old fellow so moved; he carried me with him,
as he carried Bernenstein. I know now that we were too ready to
be convinced; rather that, borne along by our passionate desire,
we needed no convincing at all. His excited appeal seemed to us
an argument. At least the danger to the queen, on which he dwelt,
was real and true and great.
Then a sudden change came over him. He caught Rudolf's hand and
spoke to him again in a low, broken voice, an unwonted softness
transforming his harsh tones.
"Lad," he said, "don't say no. Here's the finest lady alive sick
for her lover, and the finest country in the world sick for its
true king, and the best friends--ay, by Heaven, the best
friends--man ever had, sick to call you master. I know nothing
about your conscience; but this I know: the king's dead, and the
place is empty; and I don't see what Almighty God sent you here
for unless it was to fill it. Come, lad--for our love and her
honor! While he was alive I'd have killed you sooner than let you
take it. He's dead. Now--for our love and her honor, lad!"
I do not know what thoughts passed in Mr. Rassendyll's mind. His
face was set and rigid. He made no sign when Sapt finished, but
stood as he was, motionless, for a long while. Then he slowly
bent his head and looked down into the queen's eyes. For a while
she sat looking back into his. Then, carried away by the wild
hope of immediate joy, and by her love for him and her pride in
the place he was offered, she sprang up and threw herself at his
feet, crying:
"Yes, yes! For my sake, Rudolf--for my sake!"
"Are you, too, against me, my queen?" he murmured caressing her
ruddy hair.
