University of Virginia Library

18. CHAPTER XVIII.
SCENE AT THE LEVÉE.

The eventful day closed amid the roar of artillery
from the fleet and the battery, and the hour at length
arrived when the new governor was to receive the
homage of the townsmen and of the chief men of the
province. The moon had just risen, and shone brightly
upon the Place d'Armes, where a military band of
music was playing national Spanish airs, surrounded
by crowds of spectators of the lower class, gayly
dressed in their holyday attire, while around, on casement
and balcony, were grouped beautiful women, listening
to the martial melody, and gazing with curiosity
upon the lively throngs beneath. All was life and

brilliancy. The windows of the palace were illuminated
with a thousand lamps, the lights glancing upon
the steel and silver of the governor's body-guard, who,
in their rich and brilliant costume, were drawn up before
the door, increasing the dazzling effect and enchantment
of the scene.

The citizens already began to enter and ascend towards
the audience-chamber, some advancing with
timidity, yet with stronger curiosity, to behold the face
of their new ruler, and mingle in the splendid pageant
of the evening; some going from self-interest, some
actuated by their love for spectacle, some governed by
one motive, some by another, but very few influenced
by a sincere desire to pay homage to the Spaniard.
The hall of audience was an upper room, of large dimensions,
opening on one side, by windows descending
to the floor, upon the Place d'Armes, and on the opposite
side upon a corridor, which ran around a spacious
inner court, paved with marble and ornamented by a
magnificent fountain, shaded by fruit-bearing lemon
and orange trees. From the lower porch or hall of entrance,
which extended from the front through to the
court, a spacious stone staircase, guarded by an iron
balustrade, conducted to the lofty door of the audience-chamber,
which, thrown wide open, displayed the
greatest magnificence within. The tall, deep windows
were draped with curtains of purple and damask
silk, falling from gilded spears like trailing banners;
columns were wreathed with vines and flowers; the
standards of France and Spain, intertwined, festooned
the arched ceiling, and from a choir at one extremity
the softest music floated through the apartment. The
floor was already crowded with citizens, above whose
heads danced the plumes of many a Spanish officer,
mingling amicably in their midst. Near one of the
windows that looked upon the Plaza stood the Count
of Osma, in the splendid uniform of a Spanish general,
his breast blazing with diamonds. On his arm leaned
Estelle, no longer the youthful Amazon, but robed like
the noble maidens of her country. A spencer of sable

velvet fitted her bust and waist, and was secured
at the throat by a ruby of great size and rare beauty.
From the girdle a light green robe of satin descended
to her feet, and, flowing into a train, was looped up on
one side just far enough to display an exquisite foot.
Her hair was braided and bound above her temples
like a coronet, with a wreath of pearls entwined in it;
and a single star of rubies above her brow. Her
manner was all grace and feminine witchery. How
gloriously beautiful she appeared! How many charms
had been disguised by her Amazonian costume! Hadst
thou vanity, Estelle, and didst know the power of thy
sex's attire, thou wouldst scarce don helmet or corslet
more!

With embarrassed eyes and heightened cheek, yet
with the grace and dignity of a Juno, she stood beside
her stately sire and received the homage of the citizens;
for his wily wisdom led him to embrace this occasion
of presenting to them a daughter in whom he
took such pride and loved so tenderly; a sort of love
and pride that made him, rather than be separated from
its object, give a soldier's education to a maiden whom
Nature had endowed with every feminine grace; that
led him to convert the lute into a lance, and seek to
make a warrior of a woman. Yet, save a certain degree
of decision, and a brusque air of independence,
that came as much from her father, perhaps, as from
the camp, she was still gentle, delicate, and feminine—a
woman to love and to be loved with all a man's heart.

By the side of the count stood the alguazil mayor,
who, first demanding the names of all who came forward,
presented them in turn to him. Nearly all the
chief citizens had paid homage to the Spanish ruler,
and, after having delivered and answered one or two
phrases of courtesy, had retired up the hall to converse
with one another upon the events of the day, to
listen to the music from the orchestra, or curiously
watch the progress of presentation. Osma had hitherto
worn a placid brow and a smiling lip; but as the
evening advanced without the appearance of the councillors,

he became impatient; and by the knitting of
his brow, and his inquiring glance directed towards the
door, showed that a storm was brewing that would
soon burst upon the heads of the objects of his displeasure.

“What mean your laggard councillors, sirs?” he
asked of several of the citizens who were near him
ominously watching their indications of angry disappointment.
“Why loiter they in their duty? Do
they hesitate to acknowledge, or dare to withhold their
allegiance? By the red cross of Calatrava! if they
be not here presently, their heads shall roll upon the
scaffold!”

“Nay, father, bear them with patience!” said Estelle,
gently. “They are perchance old men, and
may not have had time to reach the hall of audience.”

“They shall be dragged hither by their beards if
they are not here within a quarter of an hour.”

“They will be, sir,” she said, earnestly. “Nay,
see how thou hast disturbed the confidence and hilarity
reigning here but now. Surely, sir, this general homage
of the town should gratify thee!”

“Peace, daughter! And you, signors,” he cried,
turning and sternly addressing those about him, “shall
be answerable for their appearance with your lives.
Sulem,” he added, in a low tone, to the Ethiopian, who
stood behind him, “bid Garcilaso hither!”

“Garcilaso lieth wounded to the death,” interrupted
the Moor.

“'Fore God, 'tis truth! and these shall answer it.
Bear then this signet to Don Guzman, captain of my
body-guard! He will know its import.”

The eyes of the slave glistened with sanguinary delight;
and, receiving the ring, he was about to leave the
hall, when there was heard a sudden movement near
the door, and the cry of “The councillors!” rose
from a hundred voices.

“Stay, Sulem,” commanded the count; and the
slave, kneeling, offered him the signet.

“Nay, keep it; we may yet need its aid.”

Those about the governor now gave back, and left
a space for the approach of a small body of men, at
whose head walked the venerable and dignified president
of the abolished council.

“Silence, mayor! these need no usher,” said the
count to the officer, who was advancing to meet them
to demand their names and rank, as he had done to
the others.

As they approached, the count assumed a stern bearing;
but when they came nearer, apparently struck
with the calm and dignified port of the president, and
the firm and manly presence of his companions, he addressed
them with less severity than he had determined
to do, but still with a displeased tone.

“You are well arrived, signors! We had wellnigh
given up the honour of your countenance to our poor
levée, which had been naught you being absent. You
are well come, though, by'r lady! full late; and I am
at a loss whether I shall refer your tardiness to contempt
of my proclamation and express command, or
to the fashion of your province.”

“We have no fashion of homage with us towards a
conqueror, signor, never before having done homage
save to our king and Heaven,” answered the president,
stopping near the governor, and looking him full in
the face.

“Then, by the rood! you would doubtless have us
refer it to your contempt of us,” he demanded, with
angry surpise.

“The Count of Osma may interpret his own words
as best suits him,” answered the president, with irony.

“Nay, father, speak not!” said Estelle, interposing:
“they are here to show you that form of homage you
commanded, doubtless that they may obtain for their
families and goods the undisturbed security and protection
you appended to their obedience. I pray thee
receive them with grace!”

“Signors, you see an intercessor for yourselves in
my lovely child. For her sake I accept your presence
as a sufficient homage and token of your allegiance.”

“Nay, signor, our allegiance hath no king but Louis
of France,” answered the president, quietly.

“Be it so, Signor President. If thou hadst an army
to back thee, thy words were of weight; but, methinks,
without such, thy allegiance will little avail
France.”

The president smiled meaningly. The count saw
the smile, and seemed for a moment to be endeavouring
to interpret it; but, being foiled, he appeared to
forget it, and said, with the courtesy of a hospitable
entertainer, yet with awakened suspicion,

“Now that you are arrived, signors, we will proceed
to the banqueting-room, where you will find something
for the refreshment of yourselves and fellow-citizens.”

A signal then being given, the doors on the south
side of the hall were immediately thrown wide open,
and the guests, preceded by the count and his daughter,
went into a large and lofty room, where was spread
a sumptuous entertainment of wines and fruits. Here
the governor pledged his numerous guests, and, by the
suavity of his manner and unexpected condescension,
worked an extraordinary change in the minds of all
present in his favour; while the beauty and grace of
his daughter won all hearts.

“Now, Signor President,” he said, with a smile, to
the Sieur d'Alembert and the other councillors, “we
will leave these loyal town's-people to their repast, and
retire to a more orderly entertainment, which I have
prepared purposely for yourselves.”

From the peculiar manner of the speaker, the president
thought that there was more meant in this invitation
than met his ear, and would have declined it;
but, seeing no suspicion awakened in the minds of his
friends, and trusting for security from treachery to the
promise of amnesty and the present company of his
lovely daughter, he replied, evasively,

“We thank your excellency! We are plain burghers,
and have ever mingled freely with our fellow-townsmen,
and are now satisfied to share what thou
hast provided for them.”

“Nay, signors,” replied the count, “I would do you
especial honour; and, besides, knowing how loyally
you have held the trust reposed in you, I have hopes
that I shall possess eloquence enough to persuade you
to transfer this loyalty to Spain.”

The councillors knew not whether to construe his
words literally or ironically; but they felt sure that
they had to do with a crafty man, who, with an outward
seeming of friendship, cherished a spirit of hostility
against the people he had come to govern. Still,
trusting to his knightly word of general pardon to the
province, they followed him into a smaller chamber,
hung with crimson and gold, lighted with costly girandoles,
having a table spread in the midst, dazzling the
eyes with gold and silver vessels with which it was
laid, and tempting the palate with the rich and rare
viands that covered it. There were eight covers, and
by each, save that placed at the head, stood a black
slave, silent and statue-like.

“You see, signors, I have prepared a private banquet
for ourselves; therefore your absence to-night
would have been ill-timed. Be seated, and by-and-by,
over our wine, we will discourse of those matters of
which I just now hinted. I will but see my daughter
to her apartment, and be with you.”

Thus saying, the count departed by a side-door with
Estelle, who secretly gave the president a warning
glance as she passed him; and in a few moments he
returned, followed by the Moor, ere the surprised
councillors could exchange opinions upon this extraordinary
courtesy. At the moment the door had
closed upon them, the Sieur d'Alembert, who could not
fail to translate the earnest look of the maiden, also
quitted the apartment and returned into the general
banqueting-room, where he gave a signal to a young
man in the costume of a courreur du bois, lounging
near, to approach. He whispered a few words in his
ear, and the youth instantly left the hall, while he himself
quickly returned into the room he had left, just as
the count himself re-entered, followed by the Moor.

He had scarcely taken his seat, however, before the
massive doors were closed behind him by some invisible
agency, convincing him that the supper was meant
to be at least as private as it was costly and elegant.

“Now, signors, let us to our banquet,” said the
count; “our number is small, but the zest of a feast
consisteth rather in the spirits around the board than
in the number of guests.”