“Its natural resources are of such immensity,” said the Englishman, “that we do not care to have the sun shine upon us more than nine weeks in the year. We like it to have freedom to visit barren lands like Spain. At Madrid you vainglorious Spaniards showed me your tall spires and palaces glittering finely in this element; but that is no more than the reflection of heaven after all. The sun you will notice is a part of the firmament, not of Spain. Now, in London, if a fog arises on us, that element is native to our island kingdom; and though a modest thing in itself there is none to dispute with us for its possession. There you have the true sterling mettle of the English character.”
“Well, Sir Richard,” said I, being determined to challenge his swollen ideas of his nation to the best of my power; “according to the ancient chronicles, the beauty of our Spanish ladies hath been sung by poets from the earliest times. Yet I could never hear that those of England were so celebrated.”
“Thou never wilt, vainglorious one. Have I not told you that we English are the chastest people on the face of the globe? But this is one of those matters of delicacy in which you people of a foreign nationality have not been bred to delight. In England the adorable fair are so jealous in reputation that they would blush to have their names abroad at the instance of a poet or any other rogue in a hose and jerkin. And as for beauty, my youthful Don, the virtue of an English maid breeds in her damask cheek the chaste tint of lilies, and therein is the fair reflection of her soul.”
From this our discourse, reader, you will gather that although right was upon my side, by some odd flaw of my constitution I was unable to enforce it. This nimble-minded foreigner had always an answer to serve his occasion, which upon its face was so fair-seeming that it stood his need. But in many of his arguments he permitted himself such a notorious subtlety that I could not but wonder how one who had taken virtue for his guide could walk upon paths so perilous.
It was seven o’clock of the morning of the fifth day of our journey that we came to Toledo. I shall ask those who have not seen it to believe that it is a wonderful fair city, and an honour to the land that made it so; while those who have will stand my surety, for I do not see how the eye of man can hold two views upon the subject. And I mention the noble grandeur of this city without any reference to my heart and sentiment, for, as you are presently to hear, I spent some of the darkest hours of my life behind its walls.
We halted at a large inn that lay between the mighty ancient palace of the Moors and the church of San Juan de los Reyes, and had an admirable breakfast. And we were in need of it, since we had been riding hard all night. Now, we had no sooner come to this inn, which was more considerable than any in which we had lain, than I was sensible of a change in the demeanour of my companion. In our journey through the wilderness he had conversed with me familiarly, had treated me as equal as in accordance with my birth; but no sooner were we come into this fair city and this good inn than he fell into hectoring speech, as though I were a menial, and whispered to me privily to call him my lord.
“But, Sir Richard Pendragon,” I protested, “your degree does not warrant me in it.”
“By my hand!” said he, “you must not talk of degree to me, you varlet. Do you not know that in England any person who has a king’s blood under his doublet is called a lord by courtesy.”
To this I demurred not a little, but Sir Richard Pendragon would brook no denial.
“A king’s blood,” said he, “takes a courtesy title wherever it goes. If I lie in Dresden I am called your excellency; at Rome, monseigneur; the same at Paris; in Persia, in Russia, in Turkey, throughout the length and breadth of Europe and Asia I am allowed my merit.”