MENDIZABAL
Rollo and his companions rode into Madrid amid the clamour and rejoicing
of thousands, as indeed he might have done behind Don Carlos had he been
successful in his first intention. Madrid was healthy and hungry. The
plague had been stayed by the belt of barren country which cinctures the
capital village of Spain. And as for fear, do not the inhabitants say
that what happens not in Madrid, happens not at all!
Rollo, so long accustomed to the high clear silences of the _sierra_ or
the scarcely less restful valleys where the birds sing all day in the
spring, felt himself closed in and deafened by the clamour, blinded by
the brilliant colours, and in ill-humour with all things--chiefly, it
must be confessed, because Concha, attired by the Queen's own
waiting-maid from Aranjuez, sat in a carriage with the aplomb of a
duchess.
They were all in high favour. For Munoz (now more than ever the Power
behind the Throne, and perhaps secretly proud of having played the man
at the defence of the _barranco_ of Moncayo) had quickly turned the tide
of the Queen-Regent's displeasure. And at this period there was scarcely
any honour that she would not have bestowed upon her preservers.
For in distracted hither-and-thither Spain of the early Carlist wars, it
seemed nothing extraordinary to any one that Rollo should have saved
their Majesties' lives with a Carlist commission in his pocket, or that
Sergeant Cardono of the command of General Cabrera should have been shot
dead by his superior officer while fighting vehemently for the opposite
party. For these are incidents common to most civil wars and specially
common in Spain, that land of adventurous spirits with little to do and
plenty of time in which to do it. Indeed a feather or a favour, the
colour of a riband or the shape of a cap, often made young men Carlist
or Cristino, National or Red Republican, as the case might be.
On the third day after their arrival the privilege of a royal interview
was granted to the young Scot. Rollo smiled as he thought of the first
he had been favoured with, and of that other when he had started off a
cavalcade consisting of two Queens and an outlaw under sentence of death
with the loud "_Arre!_" of a muleteer.
But Rollo had learned to be calm-eyed before royalties. He was a
Scottish gentleman, and had grown accustomed to Queens during these
latter days. Court lords and the ruck of Madrid politicians stared at
him in the corridors, but, affrayed by something in his eye, meekly or
reluctantly according to their mood took the wall from him as he strode
on, careless, hard-bitten, a little insolent, perhaps, in bearing. At
last he stood in the great hall of audience, his plain well-worn coat
and knee-breeches the secret scorn of every courtier. But a glance at
Killiecrankie, once more a-swing by his side, was sufficient to sober
too impertinent male interest, while the reputation of his exploits and
the keen soldierlike face which he turned so pensively towards the
window, awakened the liveliest interest in many a pair of dark eyes.
Somewhat after this fashion ran the prattle.
"Look! there goes the man who delivered the Regent and the young Queen!
They say that both Jose Maria, whom every one thought dead, and El
Sarria the outlaw were of his band. More than that, it is certain that
one very near to the Queen-Regent's person was content to take service
with him as a common soldier. How great and famous then must he be! And,
above all, how certain of preferment! It were indeed well to cultivate
his acquaintance. For what shall be done to the man whom two Queens and
a Consort unite in delighting to honour? His threadbare coat? A mere
eccentricity of genius, my love. His huge battered sword a-dangle at his
side? It is said that he has slain over twenty men with that same blade!
Decidedly not a man to be despised; speaks all languages, even the
crabbed Gitano-Castilian like a native of Valladolid. He will marry a
Spanish wife and become one of _nosotros_, as did O'Donnel, Duke of
Tetuan, Sarsfield, Blake, and a score of others--all once poor and
neglected, now thrice-hatted and set among the finest clay of the court
potter."
Thus in the ante-chambers of Queens spake the wily, the wise, the
far-seeing. And from such Rollo had many offers of service. But with a
delicate politeness at which none could take offence he declined all
these, making (as his father had advised him) his words at once "firm
and mannerly."
Thank you, but he was content to wait. He had been sent for by the
Queen-Regent. Till then--but at that moment, after a preliminary peep
from behind a curtain, the Princess herself ran skipping across the
hall, and, catching Rollo by the hand, bewildered him with a chatter of
joyous questionings.
Where was Concha? Would her brother never come back? Why had he not been
at Aranjuez? She sent him a kiss. (The which Rollo promised without fail
to deliver, and what is more, meant to keep his word.)
Yes (he answered with amusement), perhaps one day the Princess would see
Concha's brother again. It was certainly very dull in Madrid. Royal
palaces were as little to his liking as to that of the Princess.
Then the little lady had her turn. Did he remember when he had hidden
her underneath the great brass pot among the hay? Did he know that once
a straw had tickled her beneath the chin so funnily that she came near
to bursting out laughing? Rollo did not know, but the very thought
turned him cold even among that throng of courtiers, all casting
sidelong glances and trying to get near enough to listen politely to the
conversation without appearing to do so. He seemed to be once more
threading his way through the scattered groups of gipsies, the dark
brows of Egypt bending suspiciously upon him and the royal storehouses
flaring up like torches.
"Ah, there he comes--just like him!" cried the little girl, stamping her
foot after the pattern of her mother; "now you and I will have no more
good talk. But I shall wait for you at the gate when you come out.
There--now bend down. I want to give you another kiss for that pretty
boy, the brother of that Concha of yours!"
As she ran off Rollo found a friendly hand on his arm, and lo! there at
his elbow was Don Fernando Munoz, Duke of Rianzares, come in person to
convey him into the presence. His manner was characterised by the utmost
cordiality, together with a certain humanity altogether new, which made
Rollo think that a few more _barrancos_ to defend would do this favoured
grandeeship a great deal of good.
Rollo had expected to be ushered into the presence of her Majesty in
person, but instead, a plain English-looking man stood alone in a little
room, the window of which commanded a vast and desolate prospect. There
was a tall chair with a golden crown over it at the top of a table
covered with red cloth, while several others, all uncushioned and
severely plain, were ranged regularly about it.
The English-looking man came forward bluffly, and put out his hand to
Rollo. He looked more like a healthy fox-hunting squire, just
intelligent enough to sit in Parliament and make speeches against reform
and the corn laws, than the political confidant of a Queen of Spain.
Then in a moment it flashed through Rollo's mind that this hearty
Anglo-Iberian could be none other than Mendizabal himself, the Prime
Minister of Spain, the scourge of monks and monasteries, the promised
regenerator of the finances of Spain. Another thought crossed his mind
also. He had actually not so very long ago practically accepted a
commission to kill this man if he should chance to cross his path.
Yet the remembrance did not dim the brightness of the young man's smile
as he took the other's hand.
"Ten to one he will talk to me about the weather," said Rollo to
himself, "to me who ought at this moment to be inserting a twelve-inch
Manchegan knife between his ribs."
And it fell out even as he had anticipated.
"You have been favoured with fine weather for your many adventures,"
said the Prime Minister of the Queen-Regent; "it is almost like an
English June, clear, but with a touch of cold in the mornings and after
sunset."
Rollo modestly supplied the appropriate conversational counter.
"Your name strikes me as in some way familiar," said Mendizabal; "was
not your father Alistair Blair of Blair Castle, a client of mine when I
was a banker in London and operating on the Stock Exchange?"
"He was, sir," quoth candid Rollo, "not greatly to his advantage--or
mine!"
The Premier coloured a little but did not alter his friendly tone.
"Well, perhaps not," he said; "I myself lost every penny I possessed in
the world at the same time. Our Spanish stocks were not so favourable an
investment as they have become since we obtained recognition and a
guarantee from England. But when I have been turned out of my present
occupation, I wish you would permit me to look into your affairs. Your
father's old vouchers should be worth something now. You have not, I
hope, had to sell the old place of your ancestors?"
"No," said Rollo, carelessly; "an ancient retainer of the family lives
in the castle with his wife. There is a dovecote in the yard, so they
eat the pigeons which eat the farmers' crops, who in turn forget to pay
their rents. Thus the ball rolls. And indeed the years have been so bad
of late that I have not asked them!"
"You prefer a life of adventure abroad?" asked the Premier, who had not
ceased to look at Rollo with the most earnest attention.
Rollo shrugged his shoulders slightly at the question.
"I do not know," he said simply, "I have not tried. The most ordinary
affairs turn out adventurous with me. But then, I would rather undergo
any conceivable hardship than live on in one place like a beetle pinned
to a card, able only to waggle my feet, till a merciful death put a
limit to my sufferings."
Further conversation was cut short by the entrance of the Queen-Regent.
Her husband conducted her to the door or rather _portiere_ curtain of
the council-room, and immediately withdrew--a slight waving of the
tapestry, however, affording some reasons for suspecting that his
Excellency the Duke of Rianzares had not removed himself the entire
distance required by etiquette from the councils of his Sovereign.
Maria Cristina extended first to Mendizabal and then to Rollo a plump
hand to kiss.
"I have to thank you," she said to the latter, not ungraciously, "for
the many and great services you have rendered to me, my
daughter--and--to other friends also. The result has certainly been most
fortunate, though the manner of service at times left something to be
desired!"
Then as Rollo kept his head modestly lowered, the Queen-Regent relented
a little, thinking him covered with confusion at her severity, which
indeed was far from being his real state of mind.
"But after all you are a brave man, of excellent parts, and personable
to a degree----"
"Which in this age and country goes for no little!" said Mendizabal,
bowing to the Queen as if he intended a compliment. "You have heard how
our soldiers chant as they go into battle:
"'_Old Carlos is a crusty churl,
But Isabel's a sweet young girl!_'"
The Queen bowed, with however a little frown upon her face. She was
never quite sure whether her Prime Minister was laughing at her or not.
Then she returned to the subject of Rollo.
"You have some employment of a sort suited to the taste of this
adventurous young man?" she went on. "I understand and sympathise with
his desire not to return to the wars in the North."
"There is the little matter of the suppression of the monasteries,"
returned Mendizabal, "to take effect (as your Majesty doubtless
remembers) on the twentieth of the month. It is already the sixth. There
may be some slight trouble where the orders are strong. I propose that
we send this distinguished young Scottish soldier (whose noble father I
had the honour of knowing somewhat intimately) to Valencia or the
Baleares with vice-regal powers. We have great need of such men at such
a time."
Rollo gasped and bowed his head. The crimson rose to his cheek. To be a
Governor with almost regal powers and soldiers at his beck, to hold a
turbulent province quiet under his hand! How he wished there were no
such thing as "honour" anywhere, keeping him by mere iteration and
irritancy to the resolution his conscience had extorted from him.
Mendizabal thought the young man only doubtful of his capacity, and
patted him on the shoulder with fatherly tolerance and encouragement.
"You will do very well," he said kindly, "we will give you a free hand,
full powers, and as many soldiers as you want. Besides, the Carlists
have been some while in these regions, and we have not been able to get
our own men. Now you can look them up!"
Then Rollo, suddenly finding words, spoke his mind fully and freely.
"I cannot go," he said; "at least, not till I have fulfilled a sacred
duty which lies heavily upon me. I took up a charge. I have not
fulfilled it. I cannot serve the Queen-Regent till I have laid down that
which I undertook, and to the person who charged me with the mission!"
The Queen stared at the bold young man, but the Prime Minister
understood better.
"It is his point of honour," he explained to Maria Cristina; "those of
his nation cannot help it. It is in the blood and in the gloomy creed
which they profess--a sour and inconvenient religion in which there is
no confession."
"No confession!" cried the Queen, casting up her hands in horror, "no
absolution! How then can they go on living from day to day?"
"Much like other people," said the Premier, smiling; "they repent, and
then--repent of their repentances!"
"And is this young man not a Christian?" cried the Queen. "Is he also of
this dark and gloomy superstition--what was it that you called the
heresy?"
"I am indeed a Presbyterian," said Rollo, smiling; "at least, my father
was, and I also when any one contradicts me. For the rest I am, I fear,
but an indifferent Christian!"
"Ah," murmured the Queen with a reflective sigh, "then even heretics may
have their uses. In that case it will be easier for you to oppress--I
mean to argue with and convince the holy friars of the righteous
intentions of the government with regard to them!"
"Well," said Mendizabal, quickly, desirous of diverting the conversation
from a dangerous subject, "off with you, sirrah! Go satisfy that
Calvinistic conscience of yours! But first kiss her Majesty's royal
hand. Let no one spoil your beauty, and return betimes to the post which
we will keep open for you!"
Rollo did as he was bidden. He kissed the hand of the Queen, who was
graciously pleased to give his fingers a slight pressure as hers rested
a moment in his. For the handsome face and high bearing of Rollo Blair
had been working their usual way with Maria Cristina.
The Prime Minister, noting a slight movement of the _portiere_ curtains,
bustled Rollo off lest he should lose his favour with the Power Behind
the Throne. But, pausing a moment at the door, he whispered in his
ear--"Have you any objection to telling me the name of the person from
whom you had this commission? I promise you upon my sacred honour that
you shall have no cause to repent your frankness. Neither you nor he
shall suffer on account of my knowledge--no, not if it were Don Carlos
himself."
"His name is Don Baltasar Varela, Prior of the Abbey of Montblanch!"
said Rollo, after a moment's hesitation.
"I understand," said Mendizabal, with an inscrutable expression.
"Nevertheless, I will keep my word."