The Prisoner of Zenda | Page 2

or the Castle of
Zenda and Number 305 Park Lane, W.?
Well then--and I must premise that I am going, perforce, to rake up the
very scandal which my dear Lady Burlesdon wishes forgotten--in the
year 1733, George II. sitting then on the throne, peace reigning for the
moment, and the King and the Prince of Wales being not yet at
loggerheads, there came on a visit to the English Court a certain prince,
who was afterwards known to history as Rudolf the Third of Ruritania.
The prince was a tall, handsome young fellow, marked (maybe marred,
it is not for me to say) by a somewhat unusually long, sharp and
straight nose, and a mass of dark-red hair--in fact, the nose and the hair
which have stamped the Elphbergs time out of mind. He stayed some
months in England, where he was most courteously received; yet, in the
end, he left rather under a cloud. For he fought a duel (it was
considered highly well bred of him to waive all question of his rank)
with a nobleman, well known in the society of the day, not only for his
own merits, but as the husband of a very beautiful wife. In that duel
Prince Rudolf received a severe wound, and, recovering therefrom, was

adroitly smuggled off by the Ruritanian ambassador, who had found
him a pretty handful. The nobleman was not wounded in the duel; but
the morning being raw and damp on the occasion of the meeting, he
contracted a severe chill, and, failing to throw it off, he died some six
months after the departure of Prince Rudolf, without having found
leisure to adjust his relations with his wife--who, after another two
months, bore an heir to the title and estates of the family of Burlesdon.
This lady was the Countess Amelia, whose picture my sister-in-law
wished to remove from the drawing-room in Park Lane; and her
husband was James, fifth Earl of Burlesdon and twenty-second Baron
Rassendyll, both in the peerage of England, and a Knight of the Garter.
As for Rudolf, he went back to Ruritania, married a wife, and ascended
the throne, whereon his progeny in the direct line have sat from then till
this very hour--with one short interval. And, finally, if you walk
through the picture galleries at Burlesdon, among the fifty portraits or
so of the last century and a half, you will find five or six, including that
of the sixth earl, distinguished by long, sharp, straight noses and a
quantity of dark-red hair; these five or six have also blue eyes, whereas
among the Rassendylls dark eyes are the commoner.
That is the explanation, and I am glad to have finished it: the blemishes
on honourable lineage are a delicate subject, and certainly this heredity
we hear so much about is the finest scandalmonger in the world; it
laughs at discretion, and writes strange entries between the lines of the
"Peerages".
It will be observed that my sister-in-law, with a want of logic that must
have been peculiar to herself (since we are no longer allowed to lay it
to the charge of her sex), treated my complexion almost as an offence
for which I was responsible, hastening to assume from that external
sign inward qualities of which I protest my entire innocence; and this
unjust inference she sought to buttress by pointing to the uselessness of
the life I had led. Well, be that as it may, I had picked up a good deal of
pleasure and a good deal of knowledge. I had been to a German school
and a German university, and spoke German as readily and perfectly as
English; I was thoroughly at home in French; I had a smattering of
Italian and enough Spanish to swear by. I was, I believe, a strong,

though hardly fine swordsman and a good shot. I could ride anything
that had a back to sit on; and my head was as cool a one as you could
find, for all its flaming cover. If you say that I ought to have spent my
time in useful labour, I am out of Court and have nothing to say, save
that my parents had no business to leave me two thousand pounds a
year and a roving disposition.
"The difference between you and Robert," said my sister-in-law, who
often (bless her!) speaks on a platform, and oftener still as if she were
on one, "is that he recognizes the duties of his position, and you see the
opportunities of yours."
"To a man of spirit, my dear Rose," I answered, "opportunities are
duties."
"Nonsense!" said she, tossing her head; and after a moment she went on:
"Now, here's Sir Jacob Borrodaile offering you exactly what you might
be equal to."
"A