الفصل الفصل 5 · The Adventures of an Understudy

. The Adventures of an Understudy

With Fritz von Tarlenheim and Colonel Sapt close behind me, I stepped

out of the buffet on to the platform. The last thing I did was to feel

if my revolver were handy and my sword loose in the scabbard. A gay

group of officers and high dignitaries stood awaiting me, at their head

a tall old man, covered with medals, and of military bearing. He wore

the yellow and red ribbon of the Red Rose of Ruritania--which, by the

way, decorated my unworthy breast also.

“Marshal Strakencz,” whispered Sapt, and I knew that I was in the

presence of the most famous veteran of the Ruritanian army.

Just behind the Marshal stood a short spare man, in flowing robes of

black and crimson.

“The Chancellor of the Kingdom,” whispered Sapt.

The Marshal greeted me in a few loyal words, and proceeded to deliver

an apology from the Duke of Strelsau. The duke, it seemed, had been

afflicted with a sudden indisposition which made it impossible for him

to come to the station, but he craved leave to await his Majesty at the

Cathedral. I expressed my concern, accepted the Marshal’s excuses very

suavely, and received the compliments of a large number of distinguished

personages. No one betrayed the least suspicion, and I felt my nerve

returning and the agitated beating of my heart subsiding. But Fritz

was still pale, and his hand shook like a leaf as he extended it to the

Marshal.

Presently we formed procession and took our way to the door of the

station. Here I mounted my horse, the Marshal holding my stirrup. The

civil dignitaries went off to their carriages, and I started to ride

through the streets with the Marshal on my right and Sapt (who, as my

chief aide-de-camp, was entitled to the place) on my left. The city of

Strelsau is partly old and partly new. Spacious modern boulevards and

residential quarters surround and embrace the narrow, tortuous, and

picturesque streets of the original town. In the outer circles the upper

classes live; in the inner the shops are situated; and, behind their

prosperous fronts, lie hidden populous but wretched lanes and alleys,

filled with a poverty-stricken, turbulent, and (in large measure)

criminal class. These social and local divisions corresponded, as I knew

from Sapt’s information, to another division more important to me. The

New Town was for the King; but to the Old Town Michael of Strelsau was a

hope, a hero, and a darling.

The scene was very brilliant as we passed along the Grand Boulevard and

on to the great square where the Royal Palace stood. Here I was in

the midst of my devoted adherents. Every house was hung with red and

bedecked with flags and mottoes. The streets were lined with raised

seats on each side, and I passed along, bowing this way and that, under

a shower of cheers, blessings, and waving handkerchiefs. The balconies

were full of gaily dressed ladies, who clapped their hands and curtsied

and threw their brightest glances at me. A torrent of red roses fell on

me; one bloom lodged in my horse’s mane, and I took it and stuck it in

my coat. The Marshal smiled grimly. I had stolen some glances at his

face, but he was too impassive to show me whether his sympathies were

with me or not.

“The red rose for the Elphbergs, Marshal,” said I gaily, and he nodded.

I have written “gaily,” and a strange word it must seem. But the truth

is, that I was drunk with excitement. At that moment I believed--I

almost believed--that I was in very truth the King; and, with a look of

laughing triumph, I raised my eyes to the beauty-laden balconies again

. . . and then I started. For, looking down on me, with her handsome

face and proud smile, was the lady who had been my fellow

traveller--Antoinette de Mauban; and I saw her also start, and her lips

moved, and she leant forward and gazed at me. And I, collecting myself,

met her eyes full and square, while again I felt my revolver. Suppose

she had cried aloud, “That’s not the King!”

Well, we went by; and then the Marshal, turning round in his saddle,

waved his hand, and the Cuirassiers closed round us, so that the crowd

could not come near me. We were leaving my quarter and entering Duke

Michael’s, and this action of the Marshal’s showed me more clearly than

words what the state of feeling in the town must be. But if Fate made me

a King, the least I could do was to play the part handsomely.

“Why this change in our order, Marshal?” said I.

The Marshal bit his white moustache.

“It is more prudent, sire,” he murmured.

I drew rein.

“Let those in front ride on,” said I, “till they are fifty yards ahead.

But do you, Marshal, and Colonel Sapt and my friends, wait here till

I have ridden fifty yards. And see that no one is nearer to me. I will

have my people see that their King trusts them.”

Sapt laid his hand on my arm. I shook him off. The Marshal hesitated.

“Am I not understood?” said I; and, biting his moustache again, he gave

the orders. I saw old Sapt smiling into his beard, but he shook his

head at me. If I had been killed in open day in the streets of Strelsau,

Sapt’s position would have been a difficult one.

Perhaps I ought to say that I was dressed all in white, except my boots.

I wore a silver helmet with gilt ornaments, and the broad ribbon of the

Rose looked well across my chest. I should be paying a poor compliment

to the King if I did not set modesty aside and admit that I made a very

fine figure. So the people thought; for when I, riding alone, entered

the dingy, sparsely decorated, sombre streets of the Old Town, there

was first a murmur, then a cheer, and a woman, from a window above a

cookshop, cried the old local saying:

“If he’s red, he’s right!” whereat I laughed and took off my helmet that

she might see that I was of the right colour and they cheered me again

at that.

It was more interesting riding thus alone, for I heard the comments of

the crowd.

“He looks paler than his wont,” said one.

“You’d look pale if you lived as he does,” was the highly disrespectful

retort.

“He’s a bigger man than I thought,” said another.

“So he had a good jaw under that beard after all,” commented a third.

“The pictures of him aren’t handsome enough,” declared a pretty girl,

taking great care that I should hear. No doubt it was mere flattery.

But, in spite of these signs of approval and interest, the mass of

the people received me in silence and with sullen looks, and my dear

brother’s portrait ornamented most of the windows--which was an ironical

sort of greeting to the King. I was quite glad that he had been spared

the unpleasant sight. He was a man of quick temper, and perhaps he would

not have taken it so placidly as I did.

At last we were at the Cathedral. Its great grey front, embellished

with hundreds of statues and boasting a pair of the finest oak doors in

Europe, rose for the first time before me, and the sudden sense of my

audacity almost overcame me. Everything was in a mist as I dismounted. I

saw the Marshal and Sapt dimly, and dimly the throng of gorgeously robed

priests who awaited me. And my eyes were still dim as I walked up the

great nave, with the pealing of the organ in my ears. I saw nothing of

the brilliant throng that filled it, I hardly distinguished the stately

figure of the Cardinal as he rose from the archiepiscopal throne to

greet me. Two faces only stood out side by side clearly before my

eyes--the face of a girl, pale and lovely, surmounted by a crown of the

glorious Elphberg hair (for in a woman it is glorious), and the face

of a man, whose full-blooded red cheeks, black hair, and dark deep eyes

told me that at last I was in the presence of my brother, Black Michael. And

when he saw me his red cheeks went pale all in a moment, and his helmet

fell with a clatter on the floor. Till that moment I believe that he had

not realized that the King was in very truth come to Strelsau.

Of what followed next I remember nothing. I knelt before the altar and

the Cardinal anointed my head. Then I rose to my feet, and stretched out

my hand and took from him the crown of Ruritania and set it on my head,

and I swore the old oath of the King; and (if it were a sin, may it be

forgiven me) I received the Holy Sacrament there before them all. Then

the great organ pealed out again, the Marshal bade the heralds proclaim

me, and Rudolf the Fifth was crowned King; of which imposing ceremony an

excellent picture hangs now in my dining-room. The portrait of the King

is very good.

Then the lady with the pale face and the glorious hair, her train held

by two pages, stepped from her place and came to where I stood. And a

herald cried:

“Her Royal Highness the Princess Flavia!”

She curtsied low, and put her hand under mine and raised my hand and

kissed it. And for an instant I thought what I had best do. Then I

drew her to me and kissed her twice on the cheek, and she blushed red,

and--then his Eminence the Cardinal Archbishop slipped in front of Black

Michael, and kissed my hand and presented me with a letter from the

Pope--the first and last which I have received from that exalted

quarter!

And then came the Duke of Strelsau. His step trembled, I swear, and

he looked to the right and to the left, as a man looks who thinks on

flight; and his face was patched with red and white, and his hand shook

so that it jumped under mine, and I felt his lips dry and parched. And

I glanced at Sapt, who was smiling again into his beard, and, resolutely

doing my duty in that station of life to which I had been marvellously

called, I took my dear Michael by both hands and kissed him on the

cheek. I think we were both glad when that was over!

But neither in the face of the princess nor in that of any other did I

see the least doubt or questioning. Yet, had I and the King stood side

by side, she could have told us in an instant, or, at least, on a little

consideration. But neither she nor anyone else dreamed or imagined that

I could be other than the King. So the likeness served, and for an hour

I stood there, feeling as weary and blase as though I had been a king

all my life; and everybody kissed my hand, and the ambassadors paid me

their respects, among them old Lord Topham, at whose house in Grosvenor

Square I had danced a score of times. Thank heaven, the old man was as

blind as a bat, and did not claim my acquaintance.

Then back we went through the streets to the Palace, and I heard them

cheering Black Michael; but he, Fritz told me, sat biting his nails like

a man in a reverie, and even his own friends said that he should have

made a braver show. I was in a carriage now, side by side with the

Princess Flavia, and a rough fellow cried out:

“And when’s the wedding?” and as he spoke another struck him in the

face, crying “Long live Duke Michael!” and the princess coloured--it was

an admirable tint--and looked straight in front of her.

Now I felt in a difficulty, because I had forgotten to ask Sapt the

state of my affections, or how far matters had gone between the princess

and myself. Frankly, had I been the King, the further they had gone the

better should I have been pleased. For I am not a slow-blooded man, and

I had not kissed Princess Flavia’s cheek for nothing. These thoughts

passed through my head, but, not being sure of my ground, I said

nothing; and in a moment or two the princess, recovering her equanimity,

turned to me.

“Do you know, Rudolf,” said she, “you look somehow different today?”

The fact was not surprising, but the remark was disquieting.

“You look,” she went on, “more sober, more sedate; you’re almost

careworn, and I declare you’re thinner. Surely it’s not possible that

you’ve begun to take anything seriously?”

The princess seemed to hold of the King much the same opinion that Lady

Burlesdon held of me.

I braced myself up to the conversation.

“Would that please you?” I asked softly.

“Oh, you know my views,” said she, turning her eyes away.

“Whatever pleases you I try to do,” I said; and, as I saw her smile and

blush, I thought that I was playing the King’s hand very well for him.

So I continued and what I said was perfectly true:

“I assure you, my dear cousin, that nothing in my life has affected me

more than the reception I’ve been greeted with today.”

She smiled brightly, but in an instant grew grave again, and whispered:

“Did you notice Michael?”

“Yes,” said I, adding, “he wasn’t enjoying himself.”

“Do be careful!” she went on. “You don’t--indeed you don’t--keep enough

watch on him. You know--”

“I know,” said I, “that he wants what I’ve got.”

“Yes. Hush!”

Then--and I can’t justify it, for I committed the King far beyond what I

had a right to do--I suppose she carried me off my feet--I went on:

“And perhaps also something which I haven’t got yet, but hope to win

some day.”

This was my answer. Had I been the King, I should have thought it

encouraging:

“Haven’t you enough responsibilities on you for one day, cousin?”

Bang, bang! Blare, blare! We were at the Palace. Guns were firing

and trumpets blowing. Rows of lackeys stood waiting, and, handing the

princess up the broad marble staircase, I took formal possession, as

a crowned King, of the House of my ancestors, and sat down at my own

table, with my cousin on my right hand, on her other side Black Michael,

and on my left his Eminence the Cardinal. Behind my chair stood Sapt;

and at the end of the table, I saw Fritz von Tarlenheim drain to the

bottom his glass of champagne rather sooner than he decently should.

I wondered what the King of Ruritania was doing.