The Prisoner of Zenda quotes

“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.”

But my rosy damsel tossed her head again; she was not to be repressed for long, and she broke out again:

“Aye, they love one another as men do who want the same place and the same wife!”

The old woman glowered; but the last words pricked my curiosity, and I interposed before she could begin scolding:

“Nay, but I love yours—it’s the Elphberg red.”

“Colour in a man,” said I, “is a matter of no more moment than that!”

—and I gave her something of no value.

“Amen!” said I, and left her.

In fact, however, as I now know, colour is sometimes of considerable moment to a man.

In fact, I was just impressing a fervent kiss on the charming lips of the princess, when I heard (and the voice seemed at first a part of the dream) someone exclaim, in rough strident tones:

“Why, the devil’s in it! Shave him, and he’d be the king!”

The idea seemed whimsical enough for a dream: by the sacrifice of my heavy moustache and carefully pointed imperial, I was to be transformed into a monarch!

For a moment or two we were all silent; then Sapt, knitting his bushy grey brows, took his pipe from his mouth and said to me:

“As a man grows old he believes in Fate. Fate sent you here. Fate sends you now to Strelsau.”

I staggered back, murmuring “Good God!”

Old Sapt chuckled, and held out his hand.

“You’re an Elphberg, every inch of you,” said he.

Then he paused, and looking at us, said quietly, “God send we may be alive tonight!”

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.

“All young men like to ride abroad now and again, why not the king?” said he; and Sapt’s laugh left his opinion of my motives undisturbed.

“You should always trust a man,” observed Sapt, fitting the key in the lock, “just as far as you must.”

We went in and reached the dressing room. Flinging open the door, we saw Fritz von Tarlenheim stretched, fully dressed, on the sofa. He seemed to have been sleeping, but our entry woke him.

“And what the devil are you laughing at?”

“Four gentlemen round a tea-table,” said I, laughing still

, for it had been uncommonly ludicrous to see the formidable three altogether routed and scattered with no more deadly weapon than an ordinary tea-table.

Before I could finish, her hand was in mine.

“If you were a convict in the prison of Strelsau, you would be my king,” she said.

And under my breath I groaned, “God forgive me!” and, holding her hand in mine, I said again:

“We will pray your Majesty for an early opportunity,” quoth Rupert airily; and he strode past Sapt with such jeering scorn on his face that I saw the old fellow clench his fist and scowl black as night.

For my part, if a man must needs be a knave, I would have him a debonair knave, and I liked Rupert Hentzau better than his long-faced, close-eyed companions.

It makes your sin no worse, as I conceive, to do it à la mode and stylishly.

“I would you were a few years older, though.”

“Oh, God gives years, but the devil gives increase,” laughed he. “I can hold my own.”

“How is your prisoner?” I asked.

I lay back on my pillows.

“There seem to me,” I observed, “to be two ways by which the king can come out of Zenda alive. One is by treachery in the duke’s followers.”

“You can leave that out,” said Sapt.

“You can leave that out,” said Sapt.

“I hope not,” I rejoined, “because the other I was about to mention is⁠—by a miracle from heaven!”

“The deuce take him!” grinned Sapt.

“It’s a pity,” said I, “that he’s a villain. Whom have we got?”

We had Lauengram and Krafstein: they lay stiff and dead; and, concealment being no longer possible, we flung them, with Max, into the moat; and, drawing together in a compact body, rode off down the hill.

“Isn’t that a hand to play?—a throne and your princess! And for me, say a competence and your Majesty’s gratitude.”

“Surely,” I exclaimed, “while you’re above ground, hell wants its master!”

“Well, think it over,” he said. “And, look you, it would take more than a scruple or two to keep me from yonder girl,” and his evil eye flashed again at her I loved.

I went back to Flavia and Sapt, pondering on the strangeness of the man.

Wicked men I have known in plenty, but Rupert Hentzau remains unique in my experience.

And if there be another anywhere, let him be caught and hanged out of hand. So say I!

“Unless you smile, Rudolf, I cry. Why are you angry?”

“It was something that fellow said to me,” said I, but I was smiling as we reached the door and dismounted.

There a servant handed me a note; it was unaddressed.

“Wear that ring, even though you wear another when you are queen,” I said.

“Whatever else I wear, this I will wear till I die and after,” said she, as she kissed the ring.

Thus voyaging, I came to my old friend, Jacob’s ladder, and felt the ledge of the masonry under me. I crouched down in the shadow of the great pipe—I tried to stir it, but it was quite immovable—and waited.

I remember that my predominant feeling was neither anxiety for the king nor longing for Flavia, but an intense desire to smoke; and this craving, of course, I could not gratify.

The drawbridge was still in its place. I saw its airy, slight framework above me, some ten yards to my right, as I crouched with my back against the wall of the king’s cell.

Rupert turned his back to the window, bowed low, and said, in his loud, merry tones:

“Apologizing for your absence, sir. Could I leave the lady alone?”

The newcomer must be Black Michael. I saw him directly, as he advanced towards the window. He caught young Rupert by the arm.

“Get off your horse,” I cried, “and fight like a man.”

“Before a lady!” said he, pointing to the girl. “Fie, your Majesty!”

Then in my rage, hardly knowing what I did, I rushed at him. For a moment he seemed to waver. Then he reined his horse in and stood waiting for me. On I went in my folly.

and then, lest Fritz should do me wrong in his thoughts, I opened my eyes and tried to say “Hurrah!” again. But I could not.

And being very tired, and now very cold, I huddled myself close up to Fritz, to get the warmth of him, and shut my eyes again and went to sleep.

Sapt turned his eyes on the child with an incredulous smile.

“Every fine gentleman is a king to such,” said he.

“Why, he’s as like the king as one pea to another, madame!” cried the girl, a little shaken but still obstinate.

“It is not the king,” said old Sapt again; and a sudden sob broke from tenderhearted Fritz.

It was the sob that told her no comedy was afoot.

“He is the king!” she cried. “It is the king’s face—the king’s ring—my ring! It is my love!”

And above me, in the stillness of the night, I heard the standards flapping against their poles, for Black Michael’s banner hung there half-mast high, and above it the royal flag of Ruritania, floating for one night more over my head.

Habit grows so quick, that only by an effort did I recollect that it floated no longer for me.

Presently Fritz von Tarlenheim came into the room. I was standing then by the window; the glass was opened, and I was idly fingering the cement which clung to the masonry where Jacob’s ladder had been.

“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.

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.

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;