章节正文
taking hold of me.
"Don't stand, don't stand! No, you mustn't! You're hurt!
Sit down--here, here!"
She made me sit on a sofa, and put her hand on my forehead.
"How hot your head is," she said, sinking on her knees by me.
Then she laid her head against me, and I heard her murmur:
"My darling, how hot your head is!"
Somehow love gives even to a dull man the knowledge of his lover's heart.
I had come to humble myself and pray pardon for my presumption;
but what I said now was:
"I love you with all my heart and soul!"
For what troubled and shamed her? Not her love for me,
but the fear that I had counterfeited the lover as I had acted
the King, and taken her kisses with a smothered smile.
"With all my life and heart," said I, as she clung to me.
"Always, from the first moment I saw you in the Cathedral!
There has been but one woman in the world to me--and there
will be no other. But God forgive me the wrong I've done you!"
"They made you do it!" she said quickly; and she added,
raising her head and looking in my eyes: "It might have made no
difference if I'd known it. It was always you, never the King!"
"I meant to tell you," said I. "I was going to on the night
of the ball in Strelsau, when Sapt interrupted me. After that,
I couldn't--I couldn't risk losing you before--before--I must!
My darling, for you I nearly left the King to die!"
"I know, I know! What are we to do now, Rudolf?"
I put my arm round her and held her up while I said:
"I am going away tonight."
"Ah, no, no!" she cried. "Not tonight!"
"I must go tonight, before more people have seen me.
And how would you have me stay, sweetheart, except--?"
"If I could come with you!" she whispered very low.
"My God!" said I roughly, "don't talk about that!"
and I thrust her a little back from me.
"Why not? I love you. You are as good a gentleman as the King!"
Then I was false to all that I should have held by. For I caught
her in my arms and prayed her, in words that I will not write,
to come with me, daring all Ruritania to take her from me.
And for a while she listened, with wondering, dazzled eyes.
But as her eyes looked on me, I grew ashamed, and my voice died
away in broken murmurs and stammerings, and at last I was silent.
She drew herself away from me and stood against the wall,
while I sat on the edge of the sofa, trembling in every limb,
knowing what I had done--loathing it, obstinate not to undo it.
So we rested a long time.
"I am mad!" I said sullenly.
"I love your madness, dear," she answered.
Her face was away from me, but I caught the sparkle of a tear on her cheek.
I clutched the sofa with my hand and held myself there.
"Is love the only thing?" she asked, in low, sweet tones that
seemed to bring a calm even to my wrung heart. "If love were
the only thing, I would follow you--in rags, if need be--to the
world's end; for you hold my heart in the hollow of your hand!
But is love the only thing?"
I made no answer. It gives me shame now to think that I would not help her.
She came near me and laid her hand on my shoulder. I put my hand up
and held hers.
"I know people write and talk as if it were. Perhaps, for some,
Fate lets it be. Ah, if I were one of them! But if love had been
the only thing, you would have let the King die in his cell."
I kissed her hand.
"Honour binds a woman too, Rudolf. My honour lies in being true
to my country and my House. I don't know why God has let me love you;
but I know that I must stay."
Still I said nothing; and she, pausing a while, then went on:
"Your ring will always be on my finger, your heart in my heart,
the touch of your lips on mine. But you must go and I must stay.
Perhaps I must do what it kills me to think of doing."
I knew what she meant, and a shiver ran through me. But I
could not utterly fail her. I rose and took her hand.
"Do what you will, or what you must," I said. "I think God shows
His purposes to such as you. My part is lighter; for your ring
shall be on my finger and your heart in mine, and no touch save
of your lips will ever be on mine. So, may God comfort you, my darling!"
There struck on our ears the sound of singing. The priests
in the chapel were singing masses for the souls of those who
lay dead. They seemed to chant a requiem over our buried joy,
to pray forgiveness for our love that would not die. The soft,
sweet, pitiful music rose and fell as we stood opposite one another,
her hands in mine.
"My queen and my beauty!" said I.
"My lover and true knight!" she said. "Perhaps we shall never
see one another again. Kiss me, my dear, and go!"
I kissed her as she bade me; but at the last she clung to me,
whispering nothing but my name, and that over and over again
--and again--and again; and then I left her.
Rapidly I walked down to the bridge. Sapt and Fritz were
waiting for me. Under their directions I changed my dress,
and muffling my face, as I had done more than once before,
I mounted with them at the door of the Castle, and we three
rode through the night and on to the breaking day, and found
ourselves at a little roadside station just over the border
of Ruritania. The train was not quite due, and I walked
with them in a meadow by a little brook while we waited for it.
They promised to send me all news; they overwhelmed me with
kindness--even old Sapt was touched to gentleness, while Fritz
was half unmanned. I listened in a kind of dream to all they said.
"Rudolf! Rudolf! Rudolf!" still rang in my ears--a burden of
sorrow and of love. At last they saw that I could not heed them,
and we walked up and down in silence, till Fritz touched me on the arm,
and I saw, a mile or more away, the blue smoke of the train.
Then I held out a hand to each of them.
"We are all but half-men this morning," said I, smiling.
"But we have been men, eh, Sapt and Fritz, old friends?
We have run a good course between us."
"We have defeated traitors and set the King firm on his throne,"
said Sapt.
Then Fritz von Tarlenheim suddenly, before I could discern
his purpose or stay him, uncovered his head and bent as he
used to do, and kissed my hand; and as I snatched it away,
he said, trying to laugh:
"Heaven doesn't always make the right men kings!"
Old Sapt twisted his mouth as he wrung my hand.
"The devil has his share in most things," said he.
The people at the station looked curiously at the tall man
with the muffled face, but we took no notice of their glances.
I stood with my two friends and waited till the train came up to us.
Then we shook hands again, saying nothing; and both this time--and,
indeed, from old Sapt it seemed strange--bared their heads,
and so stood still till the train bore me away from their sight.
So that it was thought some great man travelled privately
for his pleasure from the little station that morning; whereas,
in truth it was only I, Rudolf Rassendyll, an English gentleman,
a cadet of a good house, but a man of no wealth nor position,
nor of much rank. They would have been disappointed to know that.
Yet had they known all they would have looked more curiously still.
For, be I what I might now, I had been for three months a King,
which, if not a thing to be proud of, is at least an experience
to have undergone. Doubtless I should have thought more of it,
had there not echoed through the air, from the towers of Zenda
that we were leaving far away, into my ears and into my heart
the cry of a woman's love--"Rudolf! Rudolf! Rudolf!"
Hark! I hear it now!
CHAPTER 22
Present, Past--and Future?
The details of my return home can have but little interest.
I went straight to the Tyrol and spent a quiet fortnight--
mostly on my back, for a severe chill developed itself;
and I was also the victim of a nervousreaction, which made
me weak as a baby. As soon as I had reached my quarters,
I sent an apparentlycareless postcard to my brother,
announcing my good health and prospective return.
That would serve to satisfy the inquiries as to my whereabouts,
which were probably still vexing the Prefect of the Police of Strelsau.
I let my moustache and imperial grow again; and as hair comes quickly
on my face, they were respectable, though not luxuriant,
by the time that I landed myself in Paris and called on
my friend George Featherly. My interview with him was chiefly
remarkable for the number of unwilling but necessary falsehoods
that I told; and I rallied him unmercifully when he told me that
he had made up his mind that I had gone in the track of Madame de Mauban
to Strelsau. The lady, it appeared, was back in Paris, but was living
in great seclusion--a fact for which gossip found no difficulty
in accounting. Did not all the world know of the treachery
and death of Duke Michael? Nevertheless, George bade Bertram
Bertrand be of good cheer, "for," said he flippantly, "a live
poet is better than a dead duke." Then he turned on me and asked:
"What have you been doing to your moustache?"
"To tell the truth," I answered, assuming a sly air, "a man
now and then has reasons for wishing to alter his appearance.
But it's coming on very well again."
"What? Then I wasn't so far out! If not the fair Antoinette,
there was a charmer?"
"There is always a charmer," said I, sententiously.
But George would not be satisfied till he had wormed out
of me (he took much pride in his ingenuity) an absolutely
imaginary love-affair, attended with the proper soupcon of scandal,
which had kept me all this time in the peaceful regions of the Tyrol.
In return for this narrative, George regaled me with a great deal
of what he called "inside information" (known only to diplomatists),
as to the true course of events in Ruritania, the plots and counterplots.
In his opinion, he told me, with a significant nod, there was more to be said
for Black Michael than the public supposed; and he hinted at a well-founded
suspicion that the mysterious prisoner of Zenda, concerning whom
a good many paragraphs had appeared, was not a man at all, but
(here I had much ado not to smile) a woman disguised as a man;
and that strife between the King and his brother for this
imaginary lady's favour was at the bottom of their quarrel.
"Perhaps it was Madame de Mauban herself," I suggested.
"No!" said George decisively, "Antoinette de Mauban was jealous
of her, and betrayed the duke to the King for that reason.
And, to confirm what I say, it's well known that the
Princess Flavia is now extremely cold to the King,
after having been most affectionate."
At this point I changed the subject, and escaped from George's
"inspired" delusions. But if diplomatists never know anything
more than they had succeeded in finding out in this instance,
they appear to me to be somewhat expensive luxuries.
While in Paris I wrote to Antoinette, though I did not venture
to call upon her. I received in return a very affecting letter,
in which she assured me that the King's generosity and kindness,
no less than her regard for me, bound her conscience to absolute secrecy.
She expressed the intention of settling in the country, and withdrawing
herself entirely from society. Whether she carried out her designs,
I have never heard; but as I have not met her, or heard news of her
up to this time, it is probable that she did. There is no doubt
that she was deeply attached to the Duke of Strelsau; and her conduct
at the time of his death proved that no knowledge of the man's real character
was enough to root her regard for him out of her heart.
I had one more battle left to fight--a battle that would, I knew,
be severe, and was bound to end in my complete defeat. Was I
"Don't stand, don't stand! No, you mustn't! You're hurt!
Sit down--here, here!"
She made me sit on a sofa, and put her hand on my forehead.
"How hot your head is," she said, sinking on her knees by me.
Then she laid her head against me, and I heard her murmur:
"My darling, how hot your head is!"
Somehow love gives even to a dull man the knowledge of his lover's heart.
I had come to humble myself and pray pardon for my presumption;
but what I said now was:
"I love you with all my heart and soul!"
For what troubled and shamed her? Not her love for me,
but the fear that I had counterfeited the lover as I had acted
the King, and taken her kisses with a smothered smile.
"With all my life and heart," said I, as she clung to me.
"Always, from the first moment I saw you in the Cathedral!
There has been but one woman in the world to me--and there
will be no other. But God forgive me the wrong I've done you!"
"They made you do it!" she said quickly; and she added,
raising her head and looking in my eyes: "It might have made no
difference if I'd known it. It was always you, never the King!"
"I meant to tell you," said I. "I was going to on the night
of the ball in Strelsau, when Sapt interrupted me. After that,
I couldn't--I couldn't risk losing you before--before--I must!
My darling, for you I nearly left the King to die!"
"I know, I know! What are we to do now, Rudolf?"
I put my arm round her and held her up while I said:
"I am going away tonight."
"Ah, no, no!" she cried. "Not tonight!"
"I must go tonight, before more people have seen me.
And how would you have me stay, sweetheart, except--?"
"If I could come with you!" she whispered very low.
"My God!" said I roughly, "don't talk about that!"
and I thrust her a little back from me.
"Why not? I love you. You are as good a gentleman as the King!"
Then I was false to all that I should have held by. For I caught
her in my arms and prayed her, in words that I will not write,
to come with me, daring all Ruritania to take her from me.
And for a while she listened, with wondering, dazzled eyes.
But as her eyes looked on me, I grew ashamed, and my voice died
away in broken murmurs and stammerings, and at last I was silent.
She drew herself away from me and stood against the wall,
while I sat on the edge of the sofa, trembling in every limb,
knowing what I had done--loathing it, obstinate not to undo it.
So we rested a long time.
"I am mad!" I said sullenly.
"I love your madness, dear," she answered.
Her face was away from me, but I caught the sparkle of a tear on her cheek.
I clutched the sofa with my hand and held myself there.
"Is love the only thing?" she asked, in low, sweet tones that
seemed to bring a calm even to my wrung heart. "If love were
the only thing, I would follow you--in rags, if need be--to the
world's end; for you hold my heart in the hollow of your hand!
But is love the only thing?"
I made no answer. It gives me shame now to think that I would not help her.
She came near me and laid her hand on my shoulder. I put my hand up
and held hers.
"I know people write and talk as if it were. Perhaps, for some,
Fate lets it be. Ah, if I were one of them! But if love had been
the only thing, you would have let the King die in his cell."
I kissed her hand.
"Honour binds a woman too, Rudolf. My honour lies in being true
to my country and my House. I don't know why God has let me love you;
but I know that I must stay."
Still I said nothing; and she, pausing a while, then went on:
"Your ring will always be on my finger, your heart in my heart,
the touch of your lips on mine. But you must go and I must stay.
Perhaps I must do what it kills me to think of doing."
I knew what she meant, and a shiver ran through me. But I
could not utterly fail her. I rose and took her hand.
"Do what you will, or what you must," I said. "I think God shows
His purposes to such as you. My part is lighter; for your ring
shall be on my finger and your heart in mine, and no touch save
of your lips will ever be on mine. So, may God comfort you, my darling!"
There struck on our ears the sound of singing. The priests
in the chapel were singing masses for the souls of those who
lay dead. They seemed to chant a requiem over our buried joy,
to pray forgiveness for our love that would not die. The soft,
sweet, pitiful music rose and fell as we stood opposite one another,
her hands in mine.
"My queen and my beauty!" said I.
"My lover and true knight!" she said. "Perhaps we shall never
see one another again. Kiss me, my dear, and go!"
I kissed her as she bade me; but at the last she clung to me,
whispering nothing but my name, and that over and over again
--and again--and again; and then I left her.
Rapidly I walked down to the bridge. Sapt and Fritz were
waiting for me. Under their directions I changed my dress,
and muffling my face, as I had done more than once before,
I mounted with them at the door of the Castle, and we three
rode through the night and on to the breaking day, and found
ourselves at a little roadside station just over the border
of Ruritania. The train was not quite due, and I walked
with them in a meadow by a little brook while we waited for it.
They promised to send me all news; they overwhelmed me with
kindness--even old Sapt was touched to gentleness, while Fritz
was half unmanned. I listened in a kind of dream to all they said.
"Rudolf! Rudolf! Rudolf!" still rang in my ears--a burden of
sorrow and of love. At last they saw that I could not heed them,
and we walked up and down in silence, till Fritz touched me on the arm,
and I saw, a mile or more away, the blue smoke of the train.
Then I held out a hand to each of them.
"We are all but half-men this morning," said I, smiling.
"But we have been men, eh, Sapt and Fritz, old friends?
We have run a good course between us."
"We have defeated traitors and set the King firm on his throne,"
said Sapt.
Then Fritz von Tarlenheim suddenly, before I could discern
his purpose or stay him, uncovered his head and bent as he
used to do, and kissed my hand; and as I snatched it away,
he said, trying to laugh:
"Heaven doesn't always make the right men kings!"
Old Sapt twisted his mouth as he wrung my hand.
"The devil has his share in most things," said he.
The people at the station looked curiously at the tall man
with the muffled face, but we took no notice of their glances.
I stood with my two friends and waited till the train came up to us.
Then we shook hands again, saying nothing; and both this time--and,
indeed, from old Sapt it seemed strange--bared their heads,
and so stood still till the train bore me away from their sight.
So that it was thought some great man travelled privately
for his pleasure from the little station that morning; whereas,
in truth it was only I, Rudolf Rassendyll, an English gentleman,
a cadet of a good house, but a man of no wealth nor position,
nor of much rank. They would have been disappointed to know that.
Yet had they known all they would have looked more curiously still.
For, be I what I might now, I had been for three months a King,
which, if not a thing to be proud of, is at least an experience
to have undergone. Doubtless I should have thought more of it,
had there not echoed through the air, from the towers of Zenda
that we were leaving far away, into my ears and into my heart
the cry of a woman's love--"Rudolf! Rudolf! Rudolf!"
Hark! I hear it now!
CHAPTER 22
Present, Past--and Future?
The details of my return home can have but little interest.
I went straight to the Tyrol and spent a quiet fortnight--
mostly on my back, for a severe chill developed itself;
and I was also the victim of a nervousreaction, which made
me weak as a baby. As soon as I had reached my quarters,
I sent an apparentlycareless postcard to my brother,
announcing my good health and prospective return.
That would serve to satisfy the inquiries as to my whereabouts,
which were probably still vexing the Prefect of the Police of Strelsau.
I let my moustache and imperial grow again; and as hair comes quickly
on my face, they were respectable, though not luxuriant,
by the time that I landed myself in Paris and called on
my friend George Featherly. My interview with him was chiefly
remarkable for the number of unwilling but necessary falsehoods
that I told; and I rallied him unmercifully when he told me that
he had made up his mind that I had gone in the track of Madame de Mauban
to Strelsau. The lady, it appeared, was back in Paris, but was living
in great seclusion--a fact for which gossip found no difficulty
in accounting. Did not all the world know of the treachery
and death of Duke Michael? Nevertheless, George bade Bertram
Bertrand be of good cheer, "for," said he flippantly, "a live
poet is better than a dead duke." Then he turned on me and asked:
"What have you been doing to your moustache?"
"To tell the truth," I answered, assuming a sly air, "a man
now and then has reasons for wishing to alter his appearance.
But it's coming on very well again."
"What? Then I wasn't so far out! If not the fair Antoinette,
there was a charmer?"
"There is always a charmer," said I, sententiously.
But George would not be satisfied till he had wormed out
of me (he took much pride in his ingenuity) an absolutely
imaginary love-affair, attended with the proper soupcon of scandal,
which had kept me all this time in the peaceful regions of the Tyrol.
In return for this narrative, George regaled me with a great deal
of what he called "inside information" (known only to diplomatists),
as to the true course of events in Ruritania, the plots and counterplots.
In his opinion, he told me, with a significant nod, there was more to be said
for Black Michael than the public supposed; and he hinted at a well-founded
suspicion that the mysterious prisoner of Zenda, concerning whom
a good many paragraphs had appeared, was not a man at all, but
(here I had much ado not to smile) a woman disguised as a man;
and that strife between the King and his brother for this
imaginary lady's favour was at the bottom of their quarrel.
"Perhaps it was Madame de Mauban herself," I suggested.
"No!" said George decisively, "Antoinette de Mauban was jealous
of her, and betrayed the duke to the King for that reason.
And, to confirm what I say, it's well known that the
Princess Flavia is now extremely cold to the King,
after having been most affectionate."
At this point I changed the subject, and escaped from George's
"inspired" delusions. But if diplomatists never know anything
more than they had succeeded in finding out in this instance,
they appear to me to be somewhat expensive luxuries.
While in Paris I wrote to Antoinette, though I did not venture
to call upon her. I received in return a very affecting letter,
in which she assured me that the King's generosity and kindness,
no less than her regard for me, bound her conscience to absolute secrecy.
She expressed the intention of settling in the country, and withdrawing
herself entirely from society. Whether she carried out her designs,
I have never heard; but as I have not met her, or heard news of her
up to this time, it is probable that she did. There is no doubt
that she was deeply attached to the Duke of Strelsau; and her conduct
at the time of his death proved that no knowledge of the man's real character
was enough to root her regard for him out of her heart.
I had one more battle left to fight--a battle that would, I knew,
be severe, and was bound to end in my complete defeat. Was I
- darling [´dɑ:liŋ]
n.爱人 a.亲爱的 (初中英语单词) - humble [´hʌmbəl] a.谦卑的 vt.贬抑 (初中英语单词)
- pardon [´pɑ:dən] n.&vt.原谅；饶恕；赦免 (初中英语单词)
- forgive [fə´giv] vt.原谅，谅解，宽恕 (初中英语单词)
- thrust [θrʌst] v.&n.猛推；冲；刺；挤进 (初中英语单词)
- ashamed [ə´ʃeimd] a.惭愧；不好意思 (初中英语单词)
- sparkle [´spɑ:kəl] vi.闪耀；焕发 n.火花 (初中英语单词)
- shiver [´ʃivə] v.&n.(使)颤抖；碎片 (初中英语单词)
- chapel [´tʃæpəl] n.小教堂 (初中英语单词)
- meadow [´medəu] n.草地；牧场 (初中英语单词)
- curiously [´kjuəriəsli] ad.好奇地；稀奇古怪地 (初中英语单词)
- wealth [welθ] n.财富，财产 (初中英语单词)
- doubtless [´dautlis] ad.无疑地；大概，多半 (初中英语单词)
- severe [si´viə] a.严厉的；苛刻的 (初中英语单词)
- victim [´viktim] n.牺牲者；受害者 (初中英语单词)
- nervous [´nə:vəs] a.神经的；神经过敏的 (初中英语单词)
- reaction [ri´ækʃən] n.反应(力) (初中英语单词)
- careless [´keəlis] a.粗心的；草率的 (初中英语单词)
- imperial [im´piəriəl] a.帝国的；庄严的 (初中英语单词)
- interview [´intəvju:] n.&vt.接见；会见；交谈 (初中英语单词)
- nevertheless [,nevəðə´les] conj.&ad.然而；不过 (初中英语单词)
- peaceful [´pi:sfəl] a.和平的；平静的 (初中英语单词)
- supposed [sə´pəuzd] a.想象的；假定的 (初中英语单词)
- mysterious [mi´stiəriəs] a.神秘的；难以理解的 (初中英语单词)
- confirm [kən´fə:m] vt.证实；认可；加强 (初中英语单词)
- extremely [ik´stri:mli] ad.极端地；非常地 (初中英语单词)
- expensive [ik´spensiv] a.费钱的，昂贵的 (初中英语单词)
- conscience [´kɔnʃəns] n.良心；道德心 (初中英语单词)
- absolute [´æbsəlu:t] a.绝对的 n.绝对 (初中英语单词)
- intention [in´tenʃən] n.意图；打算；意义 (初中英语单词)
- probable [´prɔbəbəl] a.大概的n.很可能的事 (初中英语单词)
- sweetheart [´swi:thɑ:t] n.爱人；情人 (高中英语单词)
- roughly [´rʌfli] ad.粗糙地；毛糙地 (高中英语单词)
- madness [´mædnis] n.疯狂；狂热 (高中英语单词)
- forgiveness [fə´givnis] n.原谅，饶恕；宽仁 (高中英语单词)
- pitiful [´pitifəl] a.可怜的；慈悲的 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- apparently [ə´pærəntli] ad.显然，表面上地 (高中英语单词)
- respectable [ri´spektəbəl] a.可敬的；有身价的 (高中英语单词)
- gossip [´gɔsip] n.&vi.说闲话；聊天 (高中英语单词)
- narrative [´nærətiv] a.叙述的 n.记事 (高中英语单词)
- significant [sig´nifikənt] a.重要的；意义重大的 (高中英语单词)
- concerning [kən´sə:niŋ] prep.关于 (高中英语单词)
- strife [straif] n.竞争；吵架；冲突 (高中英语单词)
- finding [´faindiŋ] n.发现物；判断；结果 (高中英语单词)
- generosity [,dʒenə´rɔsiti] n.慷慨；慷慨的行为 (高中英语单词)
- daring [´deəriŋ] a.&n.勇敢(的) (英语四级单词)
- obstinate [´ɔbstinit] a.顽固的；(病)难治的 (英语四级单词)
- bridge [bridʒ] n.桥(梁)；鼻梁；桥牌 (英语四级单词)
- roadside [´rəudsaid] n.&a.路边(的) (英语四级单词)
- gentleness [´dʒentlnis] n.温和，温柔 (英语四级单词)
- trying [´traiiŋ] a.难堪的；费劲的 (英语四级单词)
- prospective [prə´spektiv] a.预期的；未来的 (英语四级单词)
- unwilling [ʌn´wiliŋ] a.不愿意的；不情愿的 (英语四级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
- undergone [,ʌndə´gɔn] undergo的过去分词 (英语六级单词)
- assured [ə´ʃuəd] a.确实的 n.被保险人 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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