As the wedding is necessary for his plan to unite Germany, Bismarck proposes Harry impersonate Magnus and marry Irma, until the prince is cured. Harry reluctantly agrees after Bismarck threatens his life. Harry is given a crash course on how to be the Prince and two weeks later, meets Irma, who bedazzles him with her beauty and intimidates him with her frigidity. A crisis arises when Bismarck learns that Eric Hansen, a close childhood friend of the Prince and a member of a secret society dedicated to keeping the duchy apart from Germany, will be attending the wedding.
As the two men struggle, De Gautet slips on the ice, goes over the edge, but catches a rope and dangles over the abyss. Harry grasps the rope, leans over the edge and threatens to cut it unless De Gautet tells him why he was attacked. De Gautet confesses he was ordered by Bismarck to first kill Harry, then plant papers on his dead body and claim that Harry was an English spy, throwing the duchy into chaos, and allowing Bismarck to annex it to Germany.
De Gautet also informs Harry that the real prince is being held in a nearby castle. Instead of pulling the man up, Harry cuts the rope. However, he cuts the it too high, and both men plunge into the waterfall below. Harry survives, only to be captured by Eric Hansen and Sapten, the leader of the secret society.
Harry confesses everything and Sapten drags him along to rescue the prince. Upon reaching the castle, Sapten realizes his army cannot breach the walls, so Eric volunteers to cross the moat with Harry and lower the drawbridge. A reluctant Harry agrees after Sapten threatens to hang him. Eric and Harry swim the moat and into a tunnel leading to a courtyard.
Rudi appears and shoots Eric causing Harry to swim further into the tunnel to the dungeon. There, Harry discovers the crown prince chained to a boulder suspended by a thin rope over a hole leading to the moat. As the battle rages, Rudi stumbles downstairs and stabs Harry in the oil sack he is wearing.
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Harry rips off the sack, sets it aflame, and throws it at Rudi, before running back to the dungeon to toss the keys to the prince. Harry untangles himself, swims to shore and runs back to the palace, screaming the duchy is in a revolt. He steals the crown jewels and flees. He leaps on the running board and begs for aid, but Lola pushes him off until she notices a jewel Harry has dropped and lets him in.
The next morning, Harry awakes to find Lola has left with the jewels and horses. Nothing happens. Exit visas, which are necessary to leave the country, are at Laid up with a broken leg during the height of summer, renowned New York magazine photographer L. In , at a boxing match in Cleveland, Ohio, pandemonium breaks out when Jake La Motta, an up-and-coming young boxer, loses a decision to Jimmy Reeves, suffering his first At an outdoor dedication ceremony, a tramp is discovered sleeping in the arms of a statue as it is being unveiled before a crowd.
He is chased into Movie Title.
Royal Flash (Flashman 2)
Director: Richard Lester. Writer: George MacDonald Fraser. Cinematographer: Geoffrey Unsworth. Editor: John Victor Smith. Production Designer: Terence Marsh. Production Company: Two Roads Productions. Rothenburg Bavaria Germany. London England.
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Malcolm McDowell. Harry Flashman. Alan Bates. Rudi von Sternberg. Florinda Bolkan. Lola Montez. Oliver Reed. Otto von Bismarck.
Tom Bell. De Gautet. Joss Ackland. Christopher Cazenove. Henry Cooper. John Gully, M. Lionel Jeffries. Alastair Sim.
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Michael Hordern. Britt Ekland. Duchess Irma. It's always the same; the more genteel the company, the fouler the play. In my time I've played nap in the Australian diggings with gold-dust stakes, held a blackjack bank on a South Sea trader, and been in a poker game in a Dodge City livery stable with the pistols down on the blanket—and I've met less sharping in all of 'em put together than you'd find in one evening in a London club.
We dropped a few guineas, and then Speed says: "This ain't much fun. I know a better game. I had my eye on the smaller of the two, a pert little redhaired piece with dimples; thinks I, if I can't get this one stripped for action in a dozen hands then I've lost my talent for palming and dealing from the bottom.
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But whether I'd taken too much drink—for we had punished a fair amount of arrack, dear as it was—or the tarts were cheating too, the upshot was that I was down to my shirt-tail before my little minx had removed more than her shoes and gloves. She was trilling with laughter, and I was getting impatient, when a most unholy din broke out on the floor below. There was a pounding of feet, and shouting, whistles blowing and dogs barking, and then a voice yelled: "Cut and run! It's the traps! Let's get out of this, Flash! It's no joke trying to dress when the peelers are after you, but I had sense enough to know that there wasn't a hope of escaping unless we were fully clad—you can't run through St James on a fine evening with your trousers in your hand.
The place was in uproar. It sounded like a battle royal down on the gaming-floor, with furniture smashing and the Cyprians screaming, and someone bawling: "In the Queen's name! One fat old rascal, stark naked, was beating on a door bawling: "Hide me, Lucy! People nowadays don't realise that in the forties the law was devilish hot on gaming-hells. The police were forever trying to raid them, and the hell-owners used to keep guard-dogs and scouts to watch out for them. Most hells also had special hiding places for all gambling equipment, so that cards, dice, and boards could be swept out of sight in a moment, for the police had no right of search, and if they couldn't prove that gaming had been going on they could be sued for wrongful entry and trespass.
A whistle shrilled at the foot of the stairs, the trollops screamed and slammed their doors, and feet came pounding upwards. It was another empty landing—the top one—and we crouched by the bannisters, waiting to see what happened.http://soilstones.com/wp-content/2020-09-01/3352.php
Royal Flash From The Flashman Papers Study Guides
They were hammering on the doors below, and presently someone came scampering up. He was a fair, chinless youth in a pink coat. Then we tip-toed to a room on the other side of the landing, and took cover behind its door, which I left wide open. From the lack of activity on this floor, and the dust-sheets in the room, it obviously wasn't in use.
Presently the peelers came crashing up, spotted the kerchief, gave a great view halloo, and dragged out the pink youth. But as I had calculated, they didn't bother with our room, seeing the door open; and naturally supposing that no one could be hiding in it. We stood dead still while they tramped about the landing, shouting orders and telling the pink youth to hold his tongue, and presently they all trooped off below, where by the sound of things they were marshalling their prisoners, and being pretty rough about it. It wasn't often they raided a hell successfully, and had a chance to mistreat their betters.
I thought we were done. We found a skylight, and as luck had it there was a convenient flat roof close by over what proved to be an empty house. We prised up another skylight, crept down two flights of stairs, and got out of a back window into a lane. So far, excellent, but Speed thought it would be capital to go round the front and watch from a safe distance while the peelers removed their victims.
I thought it would be fun, too, so we straightened our clothes and then sauntered round into the end of the street.
Sure enough, there was a crowd outside the Minor Club to see the sport. The bobbies were there in their high hats and belts, clustering round the steps while the prisoners were brought down to the closed carts, the men silent and shame-faced or damning their captors for all they were worth, and the trollops crying for the most part, although some had to be carried out kicking and scratching.
If we had been wise we would have kept well clear, but it was growing dusk, and we thought we'd have a closer look. We strolled up to the fringe of the crowd, and as bad luck had it, who should be brought out last, wailing and white-faced, but the youth in the pink coat. Speed guffawed at the woebegone look of him, and sang out to me: "I say, Flashy, what will mother say?
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We had a fair start, but not enough to be able to get out of view and duck into a doorway or area; St James is a damned bad district to fly from the police in—streets too broad and no convenient alleyways. They were perhaps fifty yards behind for the first two streets, but then they began to gain —two of them, with their clubs out, yelling after us to stop. I could feel myself going lame in the leg I had broken earlier in the year at Jallalabad; the muscles were still stiff, and pains shot through my thigh at every stride. Speed saw what was up and slackened his pace.
Related Lesson Plans Royal Flash, from the Flashman Papers
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