Fortune

However, the Count of Nullepart was wrong in this particular. For on returning to the Three Feathers, we found her supping porridge with the greatest zest, with two servants to wait upon her. We were in time to hear her rate the landlord soundly because her couch had been hard; also to hear her put innumerable questions to that honest fellow as to whether her horse was shoed? what kind of smith it was that shoed it? was the shoe likely to give comfort to the horse? and was it calculated to cause no injury?

“Not that the horse is mine, fellow, you understand that?” said the little lady, who looked as fresh as peach bloom, and who appeared to keep her small head full of practical affairs.

“Oh yes, your ladyship, I quite understand that,” said the innkeeper, with an air of the profoundest intelligence.

“I suspect you stole it, madam, from the Mother Superior,” said the Count of Nullepart, taking up the conversation with a silken air.

“Why should you suspect that, sir?” said she, flashing upon the count the instant glance of a hawk.

“I have two eyes, madam,” said he, smiling, “something of mind, and my five wits—although I have no respect for them, and deplore their use—are yet pointed as finely as five daggers. I am sure you stole your horse from the Mother Superior.”

“How so, sirrah? And why so? And what do you mean?” said the lady, flinging her questions at him scornfully, and tapping her foot on the ground with petulance.

“I have been thinking upon you during the night,” said the Count of Nullepart, “and have allowed myself to conclude that you are run away from your convent on the horse of the Mother Superior, which fetches home the eggs and butter from market.”

“Well, sir, and if I am run away,” said the lady haughtily, “I would not have you mention it in this public place. I have many reasons for running away, and the first of them is my father’s peril.”

“May I ask you, madam,” said the Count of Nullepart, with a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth, “will it alleviate your father’s peril, which I do not doubt is great, that you run away from your convent on the horse of the Mother Superior?”

“Why, sir, indeed it will,” said she. “All his days, my father, his lordship’s grace, hath been but as a child in statecraft; and being, as he conceives, insufficiently able to mismanage his own policy, he must needs in matters of great pith and delicacy call in the aid of an old fat man to embroil them further.”

“And so, madam,” said the Count of Nullepart gravely, “you must needs run away on the Mother Superior’s horse—the only horse, by the way, I believe she possesses, which itself is slightly lame of the spavin—in order that you may bear your infinite wisdom and your ripe experience to the councils of your august male parent, his lordship’s grace, the Duke of Where-is-it?”

“For what reason, sir, do you adjudge my father to be of that degree?”

“I adjudge it, madam, from the demeanour of his daughter. I called you highness at a venture, and you corrected me. But unless these five wits of mine, whose sharpness is forever disgracing me, have fallen into disuse, there is not less than ducal blood in your veins, although ‘highness’ be not the nature of your title.”

“Your wits are shrewd, sir,” said the lady, “and your mind is subtle. You have unmasked me, sir, you have torn away my cloak; and although I do not thank you for it, after all, I don’t grieve much. My father is the Duke of Montesina, dwelling at five leagues’ distance, and he is in unhappy case.”

You may conceive, reader, with what concern I heard these words. Fortune had indeed reserved for me a precious trick. I was to journey back to the house of my rejection in the suite of one upon whose service I had staked every hope. Overwhelmed by as great a conflict of feeling as I had ever known, I could not forbear from disclosing my ill adventure of the previous day. I am by no means clear that such an act was becoming in a gentleman thus to unbosom himself to this daughter of a high grandee, who on her account had used him without civility. But as I laid bare my misfortunes to this imperious lady I seemed to fail altogether in mastery of myself, being unable to command my unlucky tongue.

However, the consequences of such an indiscretion were in nowise unhappy. This noble lady listened to my words; and when I had spoken to her of my dismissal, merely because I had hoped to serve her, such a flame darkened her cheek, her eyes flashed so finely, her lips grew so tremulous with anger, and she gave me her hand with a gesture so pitiful and yet so superb that I found myself to be trembling with joy.

“Oh, that old man!” she cried. “Oh, that old man, he will be my death! But I see the hand of that fat man in this. If that fat man walk not warily, I will have him thrown into a dungeon with his bulk and everything else.”

Such a resolute anger as possessed her at this recital of my tale I never saw. I could not help recalling that of her father at the moment he supplied the present occasion for it. And it so chanced that the innkeeper, who was still standing by and paying his service to her, was himself a fat man with a goodly paunch. Therefore she caused him to supply the room of the offender, whoever he might be, and he was doubtless Don Luiz, the Duke’s gentleman-usher; for in a true manner of femininity, which filled the Count of Nullepart with joy, she addressed the whole of her dislike to grossness to this unfortunate fellow.

“I hate a fat man,” she said, looking at the stout landlord ruthlessly. “I am always filled with disgust by such enormous bulks. If I ever come to the state of power, I will have every fat man broke upon the wheel; and when I take over the governance of my father’s province, as I mean to do this very afternoon, I will at once enact an ordinance whereby every fat man within my dominion shall receive an hundred blows with a stick.”

The poor innkeeper, who for one of his tribe was an honest fellow, began to tremble horribly and to sweat like a horse.

“Annually,” she said, with such a truculent look that I marvelled how so fair a countenance could compass it, “an hundred blows.”

“Poor fellows!” said the Count of Nullepart. “Poor fat men, won’t they cry out!”

“There will never be such crying heard in Spain for many a year. I will have it ordained that the sticks be edged with sharp pieces of wire. Get you from my sight, you foolish, fat, lubberly fellow, else you shall be the first to receive your merit.”

The innkeeper needed no second admonition to retire, for upon this speaking her ladyship ordered the Count of Nullepart to procure her riding-whip from the corner of the room. When the Count of Nullepart brought forth this implement with an extremely grave face, it looked so formidable as to justify the landlord in his flight. Yet how one fashioned so delicately would have been able to wield such an enormous weapon was beyond the comprehension of both the Count of Nullepart and myself.

The instancy of the lady’s anger being past, she turned to the Count of Nullepart, who still preserved the utmost gravity in his mien, and said in a proud voice, which yet had nothing of its recent displeasure, “I am led to think, sir, you have a wise and a subtle mind. I will see to it that you are admitted into my counsels. What, sir, is your name and your degree?”

The Count of Nullepart informed her of his titles in his melodious accent.

“I am not displeased, sir,” said she, “that you are a man of birth. But I had already adjudged it by your address. Now, my friends, as soon as you have broken your fasts we will to horse. Five hot and dusty leagues lie before us up the side of a steep mountain. We must not tarry, else we shall not find the sun to be our friend.”

We did not venture to court her disapproval, which certainly, as we had just had the proof, could be of the most imperious nature, by lingering over our matutinal wine and meat. For myself, I ate my breakfast in a state of high excitement. I could do nothing but think of the subtle trick that fortune had set upon me. I was overjoyed to feel that by the stroke of Providence I was to be permitted to prove my quality. All my dreams, my ambitions, the wide vista opened to the view by my father’s wisdom and prophetic foresight, were suddenly offered an ample field in which to bear a golden fruit.

It was between six and seven o’clock of the summer’s morning when the horse of our youthful mistress was led out of its stall. It proved to be a shambling old white palfrey, as halt as a cow, and nearly as blind as a stone. Before the lady would suffer herself to be mounted she must needs examine its new shoe, which, happily for the smith, whoever he might be, had been laid on craftily enough to obtain the sanction of her goodwill and pleasure.

By the time this ancient quadruped had been led forth into the inn yard, and had fully justified the title of “a notorious milk and butter carrier,” as applied to it by the Count of Nullepart, I had determined, come what might, to be the foremost in helping our mistress into the saddle. I had contrived it that I should stoop to her and put out my hand with great alacrity, yea, I had even got so far as to clasp her boot in my palm, when, of a sudden motion, the Count of Nullepart took her round the middle without more ado, and deposited her, whip and all, upon the back of her palfrey with as little concern as if she had been a bundle of feathers.

I think we were both proud men as we rode forth of the inn yard in such society. Yet, if I must speak the truth, I was on ill terms with myself for having lacked the count’s boldness. Still, the manner in which he had taken her out of my grasp came very near to violence. And so far was she from checking him for his forwardness that she appeared, with some perversity as I conceived, to hold it nothing to his detriment. For all through the city she requited what I was forced to consider a rude importunity with the favour of her entire conversation.

“Do I take it, madam,” said the Count of Nullepart, “that your father, his lordship’s grace, has the whole of this fair city for his dominion?”

“No, sir,” said the lady, with petulance; “it is under the sway of the Archbishop of Toledo, a crafty and meddlesome priest. If my father had had a better thrift, so that his coffers had a richer lining, and the sharpest of his enemies were not like to be at his gate, I would urge him to wrest this fair town from this hateful churchman and put the old rascal to the sword.”

As she spoke these words in her fine clear speech, she swept a glance of so much splendour over the crowding gabled roofs, the trees and bazaars, and the tall spires of the churches, as plainly showed that that sweetly delectable form harboured a spirit that was bold and warlike. Nor was her utterance a light one. She did not speak for several minutes, for her words had caused her to fall into a muse.

“One of these days,” she said at last, “I shall bring an army into this city; one of these days this fair town shall be mine. You see, my friend, I stand next to my father; I am heiress of all his demesne. And I do tell you, my friend, that when the Countess Sylvia comes to her inheritance, and good soldiers and good treasure are at her beck, she will ride on a milk-white courser at the head of more than a thousand beautiful fighting soldiers, each clad in a corslet of steel as bright as a mirror, with a long white plume in his cap, and the motto of her house painted in scarlet upon a cloth of white camlet upon his breast. And she shall sack this fair city, and see to it that all Jews, heretics, and Moriscoes are put to the sword. And this snuffling old priest, this archbishop who at present holds the city in her despite, she will nail by the ears to that gate yonder—do you not see it, my friend, peeping out of the cork trees beside yonder fountain which hath the water playing?”

“Upon my soul,” said the Count of Nullepart, holding in his horse to give a better scope to his gravity, “I never heard a speech so full of statesmanship. Do I speak the future Queen of Castile, I wonder? Do I speak the future Queen of all Spain?”

“My thoughts are not concerned with so large a title, sir; I do but desire that my father defend his right and that I defend mine.”

“Yet you would quell the archbishop, most noble countess,” said the Count of Nullepart, laughing softly.

“That is not because I am covetous, sir, but because I have my ideas. It is a presumption for a priest to hold a city. Let him keep to the burning of heretics, and draw a revenue from the Holy Synod, not hold a demesne in fee to the prejudice of his betters.”

“Well, madam,” said the Count of Nullepart, beginning to shake in his saddle, “more advanced views I never heard put forward by a lady of eighteen. If the ladies of future ages are to be of such stern clay as yours, I foresee that there will be neither religions, dynasties, nor empires upon the face of the globe. I foresee the day to be at hand when everything of my unfortunate sex will be put to the sword, and trunk hose will cease to be the pledge of a valiant simplicity.”

The Count of Nullepart, who for all his melancholy and sad look, was much addicted to laughter, kept chuckling in a stealthy manner at these speeches of our fair companion. And she, dear soul, was far from observing him, being engrossed too deeply in her own designs; besides, such an air as she wore would have rendered it impossible for her to believe that any person could have been excited to mirth by her conversation.

You will suppose that I felt myself out of countenance a little by not receiving a share of the lady’s notice; but however much I might chafe at my inability to inspire it, fortune presently played into my hands. The Count of Nullepart, already installed as the favourite, either failed to appreciate or did not choose to consider that the eminence to which he had ascended carried its responsibilities. For, as we wound along the steep paths which led to the castle, we passed, under the shadow of a rock, a strapping rustic peasant girl with a laughing face, bright eyes and cheeks, and a nosegay at her bosom. As we came upon this handsome wench, the Count of Nullepart gazed at her long and particularly, and even permitted himself to express an open approval of her beauty. From that moment our fair companion paid him no more regard. Immediately she turned to me, riding upon her left hand, and proceeded to converse in a most grave and dignified manner.

All the rest of the way I had that arch and imperious voice to myself. Several times its owner pointed with her riding-whip to the fair prospect that was unfolded from this steep hill. I can never forget this picture of the corn-fields, the oak trees, the cattle browsing upon the mountain slopes, which were clad in the fierce white sun. Little rivers ran down shining and sparkling to the Tagus, that fine broad ribbon belted with diamonds which ran to hide itself in the fair city below.

“One day all this will be under my sway as far as the eyes can scan,” said the Countess Sylvia, “and that goodly city that lies below shall be the capital of my dominion.”

When we rode up to the gate of the castle I was put in mind of my previous misfortune. My heart began to beat as the scene returned upon me. I saw myself rejected for the second time, or perchance cast into a dungeon. Yet it was only for a moment that I permitted myself to embrace these fears. For I reflected that this weakness was no part of valour, and that at my side was one who, young as she was, was a beautiful and fearless protectress. In the eyes of her whom I was pledged to serve was that which put vacillation to the blush.

At the first blow I gave to the gate it swung back as before; yet upon our admission, in spite of the presence of the Lady Sylvia, the same formalities had to be enacted as on the previous occasion. She was unknown to the soldiers at the gate, and we had to await, upon her part with the greatest impatiency, the arrival of the captain of the guard.

He received her ladyship with a profound obeisance which did but add fuel to her displeasure. She turned upon him in the most instant manner, and cried, pointing to those who had declined to allow her to proceed, “Put those soldiers in durance. Let them receive a bastinado apiece.”

“But may it please your ladyship,” said the captain of the guard, “they have only been in the service of his grace a twelvemonth; and never having had the honour of seeing your ladyship, they knew you not.”

“If you venture to pass words with me, sirrah,” said the Countess Sylvia, “you shall go to a dungeon yourself. By my life, it is well I am come home! Even you dogs of soldiers have forgot your duty; but, by my good soul, I will have it rectified.”

With the arrogance of a queen she disdained the service of the Count of Nullepart, but allowed me to lift her from the saddle. Gathering up her coarse grey garments, she bade the cowed and abashed captain of the guard, a swollen and overbearing fellow with a pair of mustachios that were capable of striking terror into the boldest heart, and who might have concealed his mistress altogether in the capacious folds of his gaberdine, conduct her to her father.

Asking leave of none and standing upon no formality, we all three passed directly to that apartment of which I had had such a bitter experience. I must confess, to my shame, that, as again I entered it and beheld all those objects that were imprinted on my mind so indelibly, I was sensible of a grave uneasiness.

As on the previous day, the duke was seated on his high chair, with the dwarf at his back. At the appearance of his daughter he rose with a sharp exclamation of surprise. He came forward to greet her, and she met him gently with all her anger cooled, and received his embrace with every mark of pleasure.

“But this is most singular,” said the duke, when he had bestowed these marks of his affection. “What do you here, my delightful one? How have you travelled? In what manner have you been accompanied?”

“My lord,” she answered, “I am here of your kingdom’s business. I have travelled upon an old horse I took of the Mother Superior; and I have been accompanied part of the journey by my five wits, and the other part of it by these two honest gentlemen, whom I now present to your lordship’s grace.”

“Oh and soh!” said the duke, after accepting our obeisances with a disapproval he could ill conceal. “This is a very ill and froward matter.”

It alarmed me to see his face grow red and to hear the harsh manner in which he spoke these words. He put his daughter in no fear, however.

“Yes, your lordship,” she said calmly. “Being arrived at the age of eighteen years, and knowing well that a wise and mature mind was needed to direct your affairs, which the old fat man, your lordship’s chief councillor, hath embroiled for so long a season, I deemed it time, being arrived at eighteen years I say, to repair to the service of your lordship.”

I think a great man can seldom have been gravelled so badly as was the duke at these words. He could but open his mouth and gasp.

“But—but—but—” he cried in a splutter, “you leave your convent without permission, you ride alone into dangerous places, you take up with strangers along the road, and you dare—you dare, madam, to bring them here to me! By my hand, madam, this is intolerable. You shall go back to your convent immediately, and you shall be whipped.”

There never was such a staunch glance, I think, as that with which the Countess Sylvia met the petulant anger of her parent.

“This is feeble talk, my lord,” she said boldly. “I have not adventured a five days’ journey upon an old horse of most ridiculous paces to hear such speaking as this. Many rumours have reached me in my convent of what was toward in the world. I have even heard of the design of the infamous King John to turn you forth of this castle, which you and yours, my lord, have held by right of main for four hundred years. Answer me, my lord, is not this so? is not this King John of Castile about to take your manor?”

“Do not speak to me, madam,” said the duke. “You shall go back to your convent at once. And as for these precious villains that you have picked out of some infamous venta, they shall spend the rest of their lives in a prison.”

The angry duke, having directed a glance of the most desperate contempt at the Count of Nullepart and myself, sent the dwarf for Don Luiz, even as he had done on the previous occasion.

“Ods, my life, madam,” he said, “I think you must be mad!”

When that slow-moving, austere, and portentous Don Luiz, who was yet so girt about with arrogance and dignity, appeared in the wake of the natural, it was plain enough that he was no other than that fat man the recollection of whom had moved the little countess to such a deep disgust. As he entered with a grunt and a wheeze, she clenched her hands and looked upon him with the most disdainful effrontery, although she spoke not a word.

“Here is a matter, Luiz; here is a matter,” cried the duke, breaking out into a wail. “Mark yon little venom there; do you mark her? Run away, Luiz; run away from her convent. Do you have her taken back immediately, and she is to be flogged soundly.”

“Your grace shall be obeyed,” said Don Luiz heavily.

“And further, Luiz,” said the old grandee, who apparently was stimulated by the presence of his trusty gentleman-usher, “these two villainous rapscallions whom she hath picked out of some hedge tavern to accompany her, and who, as you see, have had effrontery to beard us in our own apartment, do you see to it, Luiz, that they are kept in a solitary dungeon for the remainder of their lives. Or I put it to you, Luiz—I shall cherish your advice upon this matter—would it be properer to have them hanged at once for such a piece of mischief?”

I know not what were the feelings of the Count of Nullepart, but I have to confess, good reader, that for myself I have seldom been thrown into a greater concern. From the light in which the duke chose to view this affair, our action in venturing to beard him in his own apartment at the instance of a mischievous truant, on so bare a pretext, did indeed savour of folly and presumption. And Don Luiz was fain to take the same view of our conduct as his master, for, after collecting his wits with wonderful solemnity, he answered, “I consider, my lord, you will do well to hang them.”