CHAPTER 1
The Rassendylls--With a Word on the Elphbergs
"I wonder when in the world you're going to do anything, Rudolf?" said
my brother's wife.
"My dear Rose," I answered, laying down my egg-spoon, "why in the world
should I do anything? My position is a comfortable one. I have an
income nearly sufficient for my wants (no one's income is ever quite
sufficient, you know), I enjoy an enviable social position: I am
brother to Lord Burlesdon, and brother-in-law to that charming lady, his
countess. Behold, it is enough!"
"You are nine-and-twenty," she observed, "and you've done nothing but--"
"Knock about? It is true. Our family doesn't need to do things."
This remark of mine rather annoyed Rose, for everybody knows (and
therefore there can be no harm in referring to the fact) that, pretty
and accomplished as she herself is, her family is hardly of the same
standing as the Rassendylls. Besides her attractions, she possessed a
large fortune, and my brother Robert was wise enough not to mind about
her ancestry. Ancestry is, in fact, a matter concerning which the next
observation of Rose's has some truth.
"Good families are generally worse than any others," she said.
Upon this I stroked my hair: I knew quite well what she meant.
"I'm so glad Robert's is black!" she cried.
At this moment Robert (who rises at seven and works before breakfast)
came in. He glanced at his wife: her cheek was slightly flushed; he
patted it caressingly.
"What's the matter, my dear?" he asked.
"She objects to my doing nothing and having red hair," said I, in an
injured tone.
"Oh! of course he can't help his hair," admitted Rose.
"It generally crops out once in a generation," said my brother. "So does
the nose. Rudolf has got them both."
"I wish they didn't crop out," said Rose, still flushed.
"I rather like them myself," said I, and, rising, I bowed to the
portrait of Countess Amelia.
My brother's wife uttered an exclamation of impatience.
"I wish you'd take that picture away, Robert," said she.
"My dear!" he cried.
"Good heavens!" I added.
"Then it might be forgotten," she continued.
"Hardly--with Rudolf about," said Robert, shaking his head.
"Why should it be forgotten?" I asked.
"Rudolf!" exclaimed my brother's wife, blushing very prettily.
I laughed, and went on with my egg. At least I had shelved the question
of what (if anything) I ought to do. And, by way of closing the
discussion--and also, I must admit, of exasperating my strict little
sister-in-law a trifle more--I observed:
"I rather like being an Elphberg myself."
When I read a story, I skip the explanations; yet the moment I begin to
write one, I find that I must have an explanation. For it is manifest
that I must explain why my sister-in-law was vexed with my nose and
hair, and why I ventured to call myself an Elphberg. For eminent as,
I must protest, the Rassendylls have been for many generations, yet
participation in their blood of course does not, at first sight, justify
the boast of a connection with the grander stock of the Elphbergs or
a claim to be one of that Royal House. For what relationship is there
between Ruritania and Burlesdon, between the Palace at Strelsau 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 thousand thanks!" I murmured.
"He's to have an Embassy in six months, and Robert says he is sure that
he'll take you as an attache. Do take it, Rudolf--to please me."
Now, when my sister-in-law puts the matter in that way, wrinkling her
pretty brows, twisting her little hands, and growing wistful in the
eyes, all on account of an idle scamp like myself, for whom she has
no natural responsibility, I am visited with compunction. Moreover, I
thought it possible that I could pass the time in the position suggested
with some tolerable amusement. Therefore I said:
"My dear sister, if in six months' time no unforeseen obstacle has
arisen, and Sir Jacob invites me, hang me if I don't go with Sir Jacob!"
"Oh, Rudolf, how good of you! I am glad!"
"Where's he going to?"
"He doesn't know yet; but it's sure to be a good Embassy."
"Madame," said I, "for your sake I'll go, if it's no more than a
beggarly Legation. When I do a thing, I don't do it by halves."
My promise, then, was given; but six months are six months, and seem an
eternity, and, inasmuch as they stretched between me and my prospective
industry (I suppose attaches are industrious; but I know not, for I
never became attache to Sir Jacob or anybody else), I cast about for
some desirable mode of spending them. And it occurred to me suddenly
that I would visit Ruritania. It may seem strange that I had never
visited that country yet; but my father (in spite of a sneaking fondness
for the Elphbergs, which led him to give me, his second son, the famous
Elphberg name of Rudolf) had always been averse from my going, and,
since his death, my brother, prompted by Rose, had accepted the family
tradition which taught that a wide berth was to be given to that
country. But the moment Ruritania had come into my head I was eaten up
with a curiosity to see it. After all, red hair and long noses are
not confined to the House of Elphberg, and the old story seemed
a preposterously insufficient reason for debarring myself from
acquaintance with a highly interesting and important kingdom, one which
had played no small part in European history, and might do the like
again under the sway of a young and vigorous ruler, such as the new
King was rumoured to be. My determination was clinched by reading in The
Times that Rudolf the Fifth was to be crowned at Strelsau in the course
of the next three weeks, and that great magnificence was to mark
the occasion. At once I made up my mind to be present, and began my
preparations. But, inasmuch as it has never been my practice to furnish
my relatives with an itinerary of my journeys and in this case I
anticipated opposition to my wishes, I gave out that I was going for a
ramble in the Tyrol--an old haunt of mine--and propitiated Rose's wrath
by declaring that I intended to study the political and social problems
of the interesting community which dwells in that neighbourhood.
"Perhaps," I hinted darkly, "there may be an outcome of the expedition."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Well," said I carelessly, "there seems a gap that might be filled by an
exhaustive work on--"
"Oh! will you write a book?" she cried, clapping her hands. "That would
be splendid, wouldn't it, Robert?"
"It's the best of introductions to political life nowadays," observed my
brother, who has, by the way, introduced himself in this manner several
times over. Burlesdon on Ancient Theories and Modern Facts and The
Ultimate Outcome, by a Political Student, are both works of recognized
eminence.
"I believe you are right, Bob, my boy," said I.
"Now promise you'll do it," said Rose earnestly.
"No, I won't promise; but if I find enough material, I will."
"That's fair enough," said Robert.
"Oh, material doesn't matter!" she said, pouting.
But this time she could get no more than a qualified promise out of me.
To tell the truth, I would have wagered a handsome sum that the story
of my expedition that summer would stain no paper and spoil not a single
pen. And that shows how little we know what the future holds; for here I
am, fulfilling my qualified promise, and writing, as I never thought
to write, a book--though it will hardly serve as an introduction to
political life, and has not a jot to do with the Tyrol.
Neither would it, I fear, please Lady Burlesdon, if I were to submit it
to her critical eye--a step which I have no intention of taking.
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