LITERARY GENIUS
       Written in 1894 by British author Anthony Hope, The Prisoner of Zenda was responsible for giving the English language a rather curious new word: Ruritanian. This word is an adjectival form of Ruritania, the imaginary kingdom in central Europe where Hope’s novel (and its two sequels) takes place. Although Hope depicted Ruritania as a somewhat autocratic and classist kingdom plagued by poverty and civil unrest, film and stage adaptations romanticized the kingdom, and it is from these adaptations that we take the definition of Ruritanian. Hope’s imaginary kingdom lent its name to a whole genre of fiction—Ruritanian Romance—whose authors included George Barr McCutcheon, Frances Hodgson Burnett, and Andre Norton.
       The novel is told from the perspective of Rudolf Rassendyll (Rassendyll), distant cousin of Rudolf V, the soon-to-be king of Ruritania. Rudolf is somewhat feckless and unpopular with the common folk, but is supported by the wealthy, the army, and the church. Rudolf’s younger brother, “Black” Michael, is popular with the rural and working-class people, but has no legal claim to the throne. In a daring plan, Michael has Rudolf drugged and imprisoned in a castle in the small town of Zenda. Rassendyll, who bears striking resemblance to his cousin, has to impersonate the king at his coronation, and eventually falls in love with the king’s betrothed, Princess Flavia.
       In the excerpt below, Rudolf has been drugged and Rassendyll has just arrived at Strelsau, Ruritania’s capital city, to impersonate Rudolf and receive his crown.

FROM THE PRISONER OF ZENDA
by Anthony Hope

Chapter 5 – 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.