OF OUR APPEARANCE AT THE LOUVRE BEFORE KING LOUIS
AT noon the next day we set out upon our embassy to the King of France.
However, before so doing, at the instance of Sir Richard Pendragon
we repaired to a furrier’s shop in a little narrow street behind the
church called Notre Dame, which the Count of Nullepart informed us
was the first in the city. Here we purchased three baldricks of an
extraordinary brilliancy, trimmed with ermine.
To our surprise, Sir Richard Pendragon disbursed the sum necessary to
this magnificence, for his winnings of the previous night had been
considerable. Besides, as he declared, it was due to our mistress “that
the plenipotentiary-extraordinaire of the young queen’s majesty should
appear at Paris like a man of condition, and that the retinue by whom
he was accompanied should appear in the same guise, because they had
worldly minds at the French court, and it would be easier to conduct
state business if they went upon terms of familiarity with the current
mode.”
To this piece of wisdom the Count of Nullepart assented laughingly. And
when our leader came to put on his baldrick this mirth bubbled up to a
point, for Sir Richard Pendragon was fain to add to it a pair of new
shoes with large silver buckles and a handsome collar of lace.
I confess that in this I approved of the Englishman’s conduct. And I
think we both felt the Count of Nullepart’s laughter to be somewhat ill
judged and out of place. Because in a city like Paris, which in the
light of day is not unpleasing, and among such a people as the French,
whom travellers allow to have a savour of the civilized arts, we deemed
that a certain richness among men of birth was not only expedient but
necessary.
Therefore I put on my new baldrick trimmed with ermine, also my new
shoes with silver buckles and my fine collar of lace which also had
been given to us. And let me tell you, reader, that never in my life
have I felt myself to be attired more worthily, a little the plain side
of splendour. Even then I felt that I did not compare with the leader
of our embassy, who, as he said, “to remove any lingering traces of the
provinces,” added to the bedizenments of his person a number of jewels
which his good fortune of the previous night enabled him to obtain;
and, further, as a crown to the whole, a sort of jewelled cockado that
is worn by the potentates of Eastern climes.
To obtain a field for the display of our magnificence, of which I
believe the three of us were proudly and justly conscious, we proceeded
slowly, arm-in-arm, down the centre of the streets of Paris; and
of almost every second person that passed us Sir Richard Pendragon
inquired in a haughty voice of the way to the palace of the King of
France.
I suppose it was our high and martial looks in company of our
resplendent attire--I may say that Sir Richard Pendragon had chosen
scarlet for the colour of our baldricks, that they might contrast
elegantly with the bright yellow of his own--that soon began to attract
the notice of the Parisians. Ere long a number of these curious persons
were following in our wake. By the time we had traversed the length of
two streets something of a crowd had collected upon our heels; and this
circumstance appeared to afford Sir Richard Pendragon a great deal of
pleasure.
“These good souls can see we are on the way to King Lewie,” said he.
“I am perfectly sure they mistake me for the Emperor Maximilian,
although I have five inches the better of my old crony in the matter
of perpendicularity, and at least six in the matter of circumference.
Still they cannot be expected to be informed of it. And prithee, good
Don Miguel Jesus Maria de Sarda y Boegas, do you observe how all eyes
are for my Persian cockado? I doubt not it looks very brave with court
livery; and it will afford me not the least surprise if King Lewie, who
is a good fellow, comes to adopt it at the court of France.”
Just as the English giant had concluded this speech, a little old woman
came up behind him and plucked him eagerly by the cloak.
“Good Master Tumbler,” said she, “if you will stand on your head I will
give you a groat; and if you will swallow your sword you shall have a
new franc piece.”
Sir Richard Pendragon plucked his cloak away fiercely from the old
creature and walked on with his head in the air, as though he had not
heard her. During the next moment, however, an unmannerly urchin had
thrown a cake of mud at the Persian cockado.
By the time we had come to the gates of the Louvre, the press was so
great that it had become difficult to proceed in it. Indeed, according
to the Count of Nullepart’s computation, and he seemed to derive much
pleasure from assessing it, it could not have been less than a thousand
persons.
To the astonishment of our leader, when we came before the gates of the
palace, the soldiers of the King’s Guard, who kept the royal entrance,
declined to allow us to pass. And when Sir Richard Pendragon threatened
peremptorily to cut off the ears of their captain, the prospect of our
gaining admittance did not seem to improve. For some reason, which I
cannot explain, the attitude of the King’s Guard seemed greatly to
please the mob that was pressing around us.
Sir Richard Pendragon was fain to produce the cartel of our mistress
duly sealed and inscribed: “To Lewis Our Nephew in His Court at Paris,
by the hands of Our Good Servants.” Yet even this document went without
effect, if only for the reason, as the Count of Nullepart assured us,
that the captain of the King’s Guard was unable so much as to decipher
the superscription.
In the next minute there was almost a riot in the open street. The
English giant, seeming to detect cries of derision arising about him,
turned to the ever-increasing multitude and observing a low fellow that
was near him in the act of making an insulting grimace, he made no more
to do, but lifted him up bodily, and flung him like a sack of flour
upon the heads of the people.
Upon this, mud and stones began to fly past us. And a missile having
struck Sir Richard Pendragon upon the cheek, he drew his sword and
began to lay about him lustily with the flat of it.
Our situation was now one of great peril. Three persons, whatever
their valour, were powerless to defend themselves from a press of this
magnitude. I incline to think our fate would have been a sorry one had
not the mother-wit of the Count of Nullepart arranged our deliverance.
While the mob were surging angrily around us and stones were flying
about our ears, our companion spoke some words in a low voice to
the captain of the King’s Guard, and this time he used the French
tongue. The effect was like magic. The captain instantly removed his
plumed hat, and bowing very low, led us through the gate and into the
precincts of the palace, leaving his company to deal in what sort it
suited them with a mob that by now was in no gentle humour.
Once within the walls of the palace, the Count of Nullepart dismissed
the King’s officer with a word of thanks; and then, under the count’s
own direction, we entered an exceeding large antechamber, which was
thronged with as fine a company as I have ever beheld. There were
priests of high learning and dignity, wearing their soutanes; there
were soldiers in bright doublets and shining armour; there were austere
and sombre-coated ministers; there were gay and handsome courtiers
in very modish and brilliant attire; and beyond all else there was a
number of beautiful ladies.
This fine company was talking very loudly and laughing very gaily at
the time we came into the room. But our entrance being a public one,
mainly owing to the manner in which Sir Richard Pendragon clanked his
spurs on the marble floor and the great voice in which he conversed
with the Count of Nullepart, the attention of all present was
immediately drawn upon us. Now I know not whether it was due to the
magnificence of our apparel or the pride of our bearing, yet the lively
talk and the gay mirth subsided in the most sudden manner. Each person
in the room seemed to turn to regard us with a wonderment that scorned
disguise; and then the silence was broken by a titter from one of the
fine ladies.
The court gallants who surrounded them were not slow to follow their
example.
The leader of our embassy, however, was not disconcerted in the least
by this public rudeness. Sir Richard Pendragon stroked his chin with
a disdain that appeared to amuse these courtiers the more; and then,
turning at his leisure to the richly attired gallant that was nearest
to him, he said in a voice like thunder, “Hi, you, sirrah, you with
a face like a monkey, do you go to the King your master, and do you
inform him that an embassy is come from Spain upon an affair of
delicacy.”
The youthful courtier placed his jewelled fingers on the hilt of his
sword. His unseasonable mirth was now changed to a look of ferocious
anger.
“Do you hear me, good jackanapes?” said the English giant in his great
insolent voice that surmounted everything and re-echoed to the high
ceiling upon which was a painting of Venus and Cupid.
“Mon Dieu!” cried the courtier, livid with passion, “I have a mind to
run you through the body, you canary-coloured barbarian!”
“A mind, did you say, good jackanapes?” said the Englishman, with a
roar of laughter. “Why, a thousand such poor dogs could not muster a
mind among you.”
By now all the persons in the room were gathered around us. The grave
among them were amazed; the young, and particularly those that were
female, shaken with mirth; and the rest in all degrees of anger,
incredulity, excitement, and a desire for diversion. Yet so sorely
incensed was this youthful gallant that I verily believe, the place and
the company notwithstanding, he would have been moved to an act of open
violence to avenge the insult that had been set upon him, had there not
stepped forth from the throng one who bore every mark of dignity and
high consideration.
“I ask your pardon, Monsieur Ambassador,” said he with a courtesy that
was very grave, “but if it is your desire to have an audience of his
majesty the King, will you have the good kindness to accompany me into
another room.”
“I am at your service, mounseer,” said the Englishman. “I will go with
you willingly. It will give one who carries the blood of kings under
his doublet a great deal of pleasure to escape out of this kennel in
which his cousin of France keeps his puppy dogs.”
Speaking thus, our leader threw a glance around him of great
effrontery, which ministered further to the amazement of those who were
present. He then followed this high officer of the court into another
room. The Count of Nullepart and myself accompanied him.
Here we found ourselves alone, which, considering Sir Richard
Pendragon’s present humour, I cannot help thinking was a fortunate
circumstance. The chamberlain withdrew in order to convey our business
to his royal master. No sooner had he done so than the Count of
Nullepart broke forth into an outburst of inextinguishable laughter.
Sir Richard Pendragon viewed the Count of Nullepart’s demeanour with
a grave disdain. Further, he assured me privily, that “a man’s nation
could not hide itself when his foot was on his native soil. Mounseer
Nullepart was a good fellow enough, but there was no mistaking his
nationality.”
In so far as the Englishman deplored the Count of Nullepart’s levity I
was in accord with him. Yet, for my own part, having the sangre azul
of Spain in my veins, which is apt to insist that a courtly bearing is
beyond all things essential to him who would converse with the great of
the earth, I could not help but regret the manner in which our leader
had invaded the palace of the most Christian prince.
As we remained thus to await an audience of the King of France, I
began to fear dreadfully lest the leader of our embassy should mislay
his manners before the Sovereign. The walls of the room were covered
by mirrors; and as Sir Richard Pendragon stood before each of them in
turn, preening himself like a bird of bright plumage, now with his
bonnet on his head to judge the appearance of his Persian cockado,
now with it off to see how he seemed without it, I grew sensible of a
concern for the affronts our singular leader was like to put upon the
Father of his People.
Six times Sir Richard Pendragon put his bonnet on before the mirrors,
and six times he took it off again. He then sighed deeply, and said,
“Prithee, good Miguel, in how far would you consider that Spain is a
civilized nation?”
“Good Sir Richard Pendragon,” I said, “surely your question asks not
an answer. From the time of the Cid, as all the world knows, Spain has
been the most civilized country on the face of the earth.”
“I understand that perfectly, good Don,” said Sir Richard Pendragon.
“But making abatement for your native peninsularity, which in its
due place and season is commendable, I would ask you whether, in my
capacity of plenipotentiary-extraordinaire to a Spanish princess, I
might come before the King of France wearing my bonnet, because I
find this Persian cockado sets off my countenance in a very proper,
majestical, modish, yet not foppish manner.”
“Good Sir Richard Pendragon,” answered I, “I do conceive that one who
has the sangre azul of Spain in his veins may be allowed to answer
your question judicially. Nothing could less beseem a representative
of Spanish nobility than that wearing his bonnet he should enter the
presence of a Christian sovereign.”
This opinion caused Sir Richard’s face to fall.
“It could be done by the ambassador of the Ottoman Empire,” said he,
“and the Turks are religious-men. The representatives of Morocco could
do it also, and the Moors are a very ancient people. And of course at
Teheran it is the mode. And if this Louis, this frog-eating French
fellow, were mine old gossip Maximilian, whose kingdom is four times
the size of France, the thing could be done so easily as you might
count nine.”
“Good Sir Richard Pendragon,” I said gravely, “this act which you
contemplate would be a blot upon the fair fame of Spain, of which these
many years we have been so jealous.”
Now I think my demeanour must have convinced Sir Richard Pendragon that
my opinion was a just one, had not the Count of Nullepart, who had laid
aside his mirth to listen to our conversation, interposed an opinion of
his own. And that opinion, as I grieve to inform the gentle reader, was
far from agreeing with the one I myself had given.
“Good Sir Richard Pendragon,” said the Count of Nullepart in his most
subtle and melodious accent, “it seems to my mind that these parallels
you have been learned enough to adduce from Constantinople, Tangier,
Teheran, and other centres of light are extremely pregnant to this
embassy. If the measure of civilization in such places--and as you say,
in those countries religion is not unknown--would permit the diplomatic
body to appear bonneted à la Persie before a crowned Christian prince,
it seems to me that you have furnished the clearest reason why you
should conform to their usage.”
“You speak well, mounseer, you speak well,” said Sir Richard Pendragon
with a complacent air.
“My good friends,” said I, “I deplore the fact that these are not my
views. Let me assure you that the act you contemplate would be far from
the dignity of Spain.”
The Count of Nullepart, observing that I was exercised upon the
subject, was good enough to make a proviso.
“Perchance, good Sir Richard,” said he, “there is one formality we
should observe if we would enter the presence of majesty bonneted à la
Persie. We owe it to the dignity of France, I think, that we follow the
practice of Mohammedan countries. If we wear our bonnets, it seems to
me that we must remove our shoes.”
To this proposal Sir Richard Pendragon seemed loth to assent. The
Count of Nullepart, with great courtesy, appealed to my judgment. Now
I, although extremely reluctant to appear in my bonnet before a great
Christian sovereign, yet felt that if such a course was imperative,
the Count of Nullepart’s suggestion came from a quarter where breeding
was admired. So familiar was he with the temper of courts, and so
firmly did he adhere to the opinion that the removal of our shoes
was necessary if the leader of our embassy was determined to wear
his bonnet, that I gave my sanction to this proposal. But it was not
until we had had further controversy upon the subject that Sir Richard
Pendragon, still declining to remove his bonnet, at last consented to
take off his shoes.
“Perhaps,” said he, as he reluctantly removed them, “it will give
France a better notion of our breeding.”
However, when he had discarded them and he came to survey their
buckles, he grew discomposed in his mind. He had purchased them
expressly that morning, and very handsome and imposing did they look.
“By my good soul,” he said, “I am not at all clear that silver buckles
do not make a better appearance than Persian cockadoes in the palaces
of the West.”
“It is a mere matter of taste, my dear Sir Richard,” said the Count of
Nullepart, smiling.
Yet the count had already followed the example of his leader, having
put on his bonnet and having doffed his shoes. I also had deemed it
necessary to do the same.
Therefore, when the grave French nobleman presently returned to say
that the most Christian King would see us in audience, he found us
seated in somewhat remarkable case.