OF THE DISABILITIES THAT ATTEND ON GENTLE BIRTH
“SIR RICHARD PENDRAGON,” said I, when at last the immoderation of his
mirth would permit me to address him, “I make you my service. I owe it
to your clemency that I retain my life.”
“My young companion,” said he, “I pray you not to mention so small an
affair. I did but require a little exercise for mine arm. I had no mind
whatever to slay you.”
“I am afraid, Sir Richard,” I confessed, “that in my heat I would have
slain you readily had it but lain in my power.”
“Well, well,” said this remarkable man, with a magnanimity for which I
should have been the last to allow him the credit, “in our heats and
violences even we strong minds are like to commit that from which in
soberness we should refrain. I remember discoursing upon this point
with the Crown Prince of Bohemia. ‘Charles,’ said I--there was ever a
great familiarity between us--‘Charles,’ said I, ‘I would slay no man
in a private quarrel unless he were a villain.’ ‘Not even if he had
sworn to slay you, my illustrious friend?’ said the Crown Prince. ‘No,
Charles,’ said I. ‘The truly illustrious are the truly magnanimous.’
‘The sentiment is fine, good coz,’ said the heir to the throne. ‘There
speaks a great folly or a great nature.’ Now, my young companion, which
cap is it that fits the first-born son of a sainted English lady?”
“I believe you to be a good man, Sir Englishman. I know you are a great
swordsman; and also you appear to have an excellent knowledge of the
world. I make you my service.”
“These are honest words,” said he. “I wish you had an hundred crowns;
you would make a good appearance as my squire. You would be able to
clean my horse as well as another, and polish my spurs, and in return
I would advise you in the use of the sword, the broadsword, and, above
all, the noblest of God’s implements--the Italian rapier.”
“I would that I had, sir, for it would seem that I have but slight
pretension to the handling of these weapons. And methinks that here is
an art in which a man must aspire to excellence if he is to win his way
to fortune in a time so perilous.”
“You speak sooth, my son. A pedigree will bring no advancement to
virtue in these evil times unless it is accompanied by a bit of shrewd
steel and a deft wrist to push home its modest claims. But I grieve to
say, good Don, that I never met a more disappointing blade. Had you
never borne it before in the cause of integrity?”
I confessed that I had not.
“Well, gossip, you must pass many a weary vigil ere you can win the
mastery of this incomparable tool. But in spite of your nation, as I
perceive you to be a youth of parts, I have a mind to put you in the
way of the rudiments. My young son of the Spains, your peninsula is a
foolish one; but, as I say, you are of good birth and your intentions
are honourable--two vital particulars upon which my sainted mother was
extremely nice. It will only be a little against me if I teach you
the use of the sword. Give me those eight crowns and you shall be my
squire.”
He held out his hand for all I had in the world. Yet this was a matter
for grave reflection. Poor as I was, and humbled in my thoughts, I was
still a Spanish gentleman; and expert as was this Englishman with the
sword, and finely as he was found in wisdom, he was yet one of another
nation, and scarcely to be esquired by a blood like mine. My condition
was such that I could not give my service to one less in degree than a
Spanish nobleman, or one who was at least a prince in his own country;
and although this Englishman had moved about the courts of Europe and
Asia Minor, and the blood of kings flowed under his doublet, it was yet
a parlous thing for my father’s son, a veritable Sarda y Boegas, to
attend him in a humble capacity.
“Why, brother,” said Sir Richard Pendragon, “would you insult a
generous nature with your reluctancy? Is not the suggestion a noble
one? Is it not princely? Have I not peddled a great mind about Europe
for thirty years in the mild pursuit of knowledge, and do I not place
at your service the whole store of my politeness for the paltry sum of
eight crowns? Yet was I ever immoderate in the love of worth. My young
Spaniard, I have conceived a deep regard for your character. Besides,
I am in need of a squire, and between you and me and the door, eight
crowns will not come amiss.”
So much fair and honourable speaking upon the part of the Englishman
caused me to take most earnest thought. But at last, with a proper
submission, for the offer was fine from a swordsman so notable, I felt
I must deny him.
“I thank you from the heart, sir, for such fair words, proceeding as
they do from a man of learning and genius, but I fear I must seek my
fortune alone. My condition renders it necessary that the person I
serve be not less in degree than one of the Spanish nobility.”
“By cock!” he cried, “is not a Pendragon worthy? Can you be
unacquainted with the fact that a king’s blood flows under every
doublet of that name?”
“It is not the blood of a king of Spain, and therefore, good
Englishman, though I like you well, I fear I cannot attend you.”
I think my words must have worked on this mad fellow--since I have
come to know the world better I have learned that all Englishmen
are mad--for he put by his indignation, looked at me with immense
solemnity, and teased his short chin beard.
“So be it, my young companion. You are a man of birth, and in every
country under the stars a chip of that quality must be allowed his
maggot. Blood is blood wherever it flows, whether it is in Arabia
sitting in a mosque without its shoes, or whether it is in England,
drinking malmsey and eating walnuts with the Heir Apparent. I myself
am of that condition, and therefore, good Spaniard, none is better
acquainted with those immodest fancies that vex the minds of the nobly
nurtured.”
“These are good words, Sir Richard; and if my name were other than
Miguel Jesus Maria de Sarda y Boegas I would ask no better master for
my two hands and my faithful service.”
“Well, Master Miguel Jesus Maria de Sarda y Boegas, I never heard such
proud speaking on eight crowns before. If you had eight thousand I
expect you would be a maker of ballads. But I am inclined to love you
for it; and therefore out of a gentle feeling propose to teach you the
use of the sword. First, I would have you hand me your old tuck.”
With a proper humility I gave him my sword.
“Why,” said he, making divers sweeps and passes with it, “it would
weary one of twice your stature. It would require the giant Cormoran to
wield it delicately. It is a good thing but an ancient; it is at least
an hundred years behind the age.”
“My noble father gave it into my hand as death closed his eyes,” said
I, feeling my pride to be surmounting my humility.
“I expect your father was a very brave man, and as such I esteem him.
All the same, I should say that the intellect was not more than half
his estate.”
“He was as wise a man as ever lived.”
“As wise a Spaniard I make no doubt. But the really wise men live in
England. It is also the home of the first swordsmen of the time. You
see, Master Miguel, there is no true felicity in anything without true
mind. That is why we English are so fortunate; we have the mind and
therefore the felicity. Now, Master Miguel, I will show you how to fix
your gripe upon your sword. The wrist must be free, and the arm must
have good play.”
For more than an hour this learned master expounded the rudiments of
this weapon, which he swore by his beard I did not know. He declared
that every one of my father’s precepts, which I had to confess I had
put to a poor use, would not have been new in the time of the Cid. And
although I had a mind to dispute this contempt for my father’s opinion,
I did not venture, since I was quite unable to support the precepts of
my youth with any fair ensample. Indeed, only the highest presumption
would have ventured to dispute with so arch a master of the noble
weapon. There appeared to be nothing appertaining to its nature and
conduct that he did not know. He said he had devoted his life to this
study, and infinite practice, allied to the kindness of his stars, had
given him an address that was incomparable.
There was one trick he performed which I often recall, with such wonder
did it fill me. He took from a scabbard which he kept under his eye in
the chimney corner, a long, fine, and tapering Italian rapier, which
he declared was the most perfect and poetic thing of man’s invention.
With no other weapon than this, he met my own sword in such a fashion
that, heavy as it was, it seemed but as a lath before it. Indeed I,
its wielder, was unable to make the least advance therewith; and to
my amazement, with the might of his arm and this thin piece of steel,
he urged me before him all over the room. Afterwards he rolled up the
sleeve of his doublet with an air of pride, and showed the contour of
that enormous limb.
“Yet, Master Miguel,” said he, “it is not brute strength that makes the
man you behold. It is the deftness of the fingers in conjunction with
the brain’s agility.”
By the time my lesson was concluded the sweat had sprung from every
pore, and I was breathing heavily. On the contrary, the Englishman, who
had exerted himself not less greatly, was untroubled in any particular,
save that of the throat, an inconvenience, however, which in his case
seemed to be of a permanent character.
“These exercises,” said he, “I perform every day to keep the limbs
supple and the wrists responsive. Sometimes, if I feel especially
valiant, I place an apple or an onion upon the head of the old bull
frog of an innkeeper, and slice it in four quarters with my broadsword,
and to observe him quake as if he had the ague is the most delectable
sight. He is forever thinking that my honest blade will proceed too
far, and cleave through his mind; and I conceive it to be my duty
to assure him that he does well to show this concern, for sometimes
accidents have been known to occur.”
He then offered very courteously to perform a like action to an apple
placed upon my own head. This, however, I declined with a courtesy
which I hope was not less than his own.
Sir Richard Pendragon, having drunk copiously of his favourite beverage
out of his favourite cup, and having insisted that I should follow his
example, said,--
“Master Miguel, in what part of the globe do you intend to adventure
to-morrow with your noble eight crowns? They will not bear you above a
thousand leagues; fortune does not grow on the bushes, according to all
that I have heard about it; your stomach is too proud to take service
with one who has the blood of kings flowing under his doublet; so it
would seem that unless you bring your chaste mind to the nicking of
purses and the cutting of throats, your body will starve.”
“God forbid, sir! I have devices of my own. I mind me of one of the
finest and most sententious of my father’s precepts.”
“Not of swordsmanship, I trust?”
“No, sir, of conduct.”
“Not of conduct of the sword, Master Miguel Jesus Maria de Sarda y
Boegas--how I love the sound of that name!--if I may put the question?”
“Not conduct of the sword, sir, conduct of the heart. My father’s
precept was this: ‘In choosing him you shall serve, rather let it be
some high lord or gentleman of birth, diminished in his fortune, or in
some sort isolated from his right estate, for it is the cause of the
weak that feeds the valiant.’”
It was pleasing to witness Sir Richard Pendragon nod his head in
approval.
“That was well observed of your father, Master Miguel. I am rejoiced
to notice that he knew a little more of mankind than he did of martial
weapons. But, by my sooth, you will not need to look above a thousand
leagues for this high lord or gentleman of birth, diminished in his
fortune, or in some sort isolated from his right estate.”
“I am well pleased,” said I eagerly, “that he is so near at hand. Where
may he be, good Englishman?”
“He sits before you, gentle Spaniard, sipping a quartern of sack out of
a silver goblet on a three-legged stool.”
“I would ask no better master, had the king’s blood in his veins been a
true Spanish colour.”
“Well, every man to his taste,” said he, looking into his wine, “but
you Spaniards are very mad fellows. The blood of Uthyr Pendragon, sire
of Arthur, king and sovereign lord of Britain, not being to your mind,
we must make abatement of this peninsularity of yours, and find some
other.”
“I would serve some Spanish gentleman of high degree, and if you can
bring one to mind, Sir Englishman, who, diminished in his fortune, has
a beauteous and enchanting daughter--”
“Oho! we have now in the case a beauteous and enchanting daughter! Is
that another of your father’s precepts, my son, or does it proceed out
of your own wise pate?”
“The words of my father are these: ‘Set your heart without haughtiness,
but with bright ambition, upon some fair Spanish lady, one whose
condition is the equal of her beauty, and whose figure in the world is
of the first consideration, for so much superiority shall raise your
spirit, my gentle kinsman, to vie with hers, and be, as it were, as
that North Star that is fixed above the seas to point the course of
fortune. And further, gentle kinsman, I append as follows: When your
parts and situation are fit to vie with hers, the blood of a Sarda y
Boegas shall make you the nuptial lord of this proud lady.’”
When I had given this further precept of my father’s, the Englishman
sat laughing into his hands.
“Why, this is the maddest fellow,” he said, as if to himself; “yet I
like to hear these notions of his, because there is a kind of poetry
in them, and there is no saying whither his maggot will be leading him
next.”
“I wish, sir, you could aid me in the quest of this nobleman I seek,
and likewise of this beautiful and enchanting lady.”
“What should English Dick know of these noblemen you seek, and these
beautiful and enchanting ladies, you mad varlet?”
“You know the world so thoroughly. I believe you are acquainted with
every blade of grass that grows in it, and you appear to be familiar
with every person of the first consideration that inhabits it.”
“The varlet is not so mad after all,” he said, with a sleek air.
“Now and again there is sooth in him, although the rascal is always
flying off into such odd ideas. Yes, I am acquainted with the world a
little, Don Miguel Jesus Maria de Sarda y Boegas--that name will be my
doom!--and although I know hardly anything that is good of that part of
it which is oddly called Spain--another most ridiculous sounding name
to my mind!--I think I have heard of just the one person in it who will
be the man for your services.”
“A Spanish nobleman?”
“As full of nobility as a dog is of fleas. Quarterings I know not how
many; and as proud as the Fiend.”
“Of what degree, sir?”
“A duke, to be sure. Duke of Montesina--and as haughty as mine old and
dear friend the Sophy.”
“Is he diminished in his fortune, sir, and isolated from his right
estate?”
“Yes, by my troth. He is as bankrupt in his substance as he is in his
wit. Were he not well found in virtuous principles, he would be obliged
to starve like a sparrow in a hard winter.”
“And is this virtuous nobleman embroiled with an enemy?”
“Yes, good Don. He hath been embroiled this long while with the King of
Castile, his covetous nephew and bitter foe, who seeks to add his fair
castle and good lands above the city of Toledo to his own dominion.
And I may tell you, Spaniard, this Castilian is like to do it, unless
some wise and cunning hand arises to deny him, for that piece of old
punctilio, who gets nearer to eighty every day, will soon be unable to
fend him off.”
“Can it be,” I cried excitedly, “that Heaven has called me to be this
same wise and cunning hand? This looks uncommonly like a providence.”
“Oh, my dear Don Miguel!” exclaimed the Englishman, breaking forth
into another of his mighty roars of laughter, “I pray you to take pity
on these fluxions of mine. If one of these days you do not lay me
stark dead of an apoplexy, there is not an ounce of king’s blood in my
nature.”
“I am grievously surprised if my stars have not called me to some high
destiny. Don Ygnacio, my father, declared as he lay dying that it was
so.”
“I do fear me then, good Don, this high destiny of yours will declare
itself late in the day. You are as raw as a green pear. You must be set
on the chimney-piece to ripen before you can be considered as a table
fruit.”
“You wrong me, good Sir Richard. I am determined to prove myself as
soon as another. I may have no mind for stratagem, but I shall not be
afeared to draw my sword for this worthy but unfortunate grandee.”
“O Jesu!” said the English giant, laughing into his hands softly,
“I can feel this accursed fluxion mounting into my mind. I can see
perfectly well, Master Miguel, if we go our ways together about this
peninsula of yours, I shall be compelled to travel with a physician.
Not afeared to draw your sword! Why, good Don, your sword is a lath,
and he who draws it has not a hair to his chin, and cannot bleat so
loud as a Barbary sheep.”
“Deride me if you will, Sir Richard, but I will draw my sword for this
grandee. Fortune has decreed it. And tell me, in addition to these
misfortunes of his, hath he a daughter of a most surpassing fairness?”
“You can certainly count on his having a daughter. Dukes all the world
over are notorious getters of wenches.”
I asked the Englishman the reason of this phenomenon.
“It is a singular quality of their blood,” he declared. “It loses its
ambition and fills the world with farthingales.”
“Indeed,” said I, “is that the case? But it doth truly appear that this
virtuous Duke of Montesina was designed by Heaven that I might fulfil
my father’s behests. To-morrow, come what may, I will adventure towards
his country; and as you would have me believe that he hath a daughter,
I must hasten to appear before her.”
“A pitiless old hag of sixty, I dare swear,” cried Sir Richard
Pendragon. “There will not be a tooth in her mouth. But now you have
put me in mind of this duke, young sirrah, I think I will adventure
thither myself. For, upon my life, I have a crow to pluck with this
King John of Castile. I mind me it is high time I put paid to a score I
owe him.”
“Wherefore, Sir Richard?”
“Wherefore, my son? ’Tis but a year ago he threw the last of the
Pendragons into a dungeon; and had it not been for the ready
contrivance of that meritorious mind in scraping a hole through the
wall with a nail out of his shoe, he would have ceased to drink sack
this twelvemonth. Yes, Spaniardo, it was a most villainous matter, and
it is certainly time I put it in order.”
“If I may ride with you, sir, I shall count it a proud day,” said I,
making a low bow; for this strange man, with all his quiddity, was one
whose company was to be esteemed in an early adventure into the world.
“You shall, good Don,” said he, smiling upon me with much civility.
“And now let us draw our cloaks about us and creep into the
chimney-place, and sleep the sleep of those who addict themselves to
virtue. You take one corner and I will take the other; and let us pray
that we sleep like doom, for I tell you, brother, it is a long and hard
journey to Toledo.”
Seeing him quaff the final dregs in his monstrous cup, which of late
had begun to thicken his speech a little, seeing him wrap his cloak
about him and otherwise suit his action to his words, I was fain to
imitate him in these particulars. Nestling into the warm corner of the
chimney, for after the heat of the day the northern night was cold,
fatigue overcame me at once, and I fell into a profound and delicious
sleep.