“Parbleu, you may be right about my planet,” said Florian, smiling for reasons of his own. “Yet, as an artless veteran of the first and second Pubic Wars, I do not see how you can be certain.”
“Because of your corporature, sir,” replied the porter. “He that is born under this planet is of fair but not tall stature, his complexion being white but tending a little to darkness. He has fine black hair, the brows arched, the face pretty fleshy, a cherry lip, a rolling wandering eye. He has a love-dimple in his cheek, and shows in all as one desirous of trimming and making himself neat and complete in clothes and body. Now these things I see in your corporature and in the fretfulness with which you look at the grass-stains on your knees. So your planet is evident.”
“That is possible, your speech has a fine ring of logic, and logic is less common than hens’ teeth. Upon what sort of persons does this honorable planet attend?”
“If you could call it attending, sir—For I must tell you that these planets have a sad loose way of not devoting their really undivided attention to looking after the affairs of any one particular gentleman, not even when they see him most magnificent in bottle-green and silver.”
“They are as remiss, then, as you are precise. So do you choose your own verb, and tell me—”
“Sir,” replied the porter, “I regret to inform you that the person whom Venus governs is riotous, expensive, wholly given to dissipation and lewd companies of women and boys. He is nimble in entering unlawful beds, he is incestuous, he is an adulterer, he is a mere skip-jack, spending all his means among scandalous loose people: and he is in nothing careful of the things of this life or of anything religious.”
Florian brightened. “That also sounds quite logical,—in the main,—for you describe the ways of the best-thought-of persons since the old King’s death. And one of course endeavors not to offend against the notions of one’s neighbors by seeming a despiser of accepted modes. But I must protest to you, my friend, you are utterly wrong in the article of religion—”
“Oh, if you come hither to dispute about religion,” said the porter, “the priests of Llaw Gyffes will attend to you. They love converting people from religious errors, bless you, with their wild horses and their red-hot irons. But, for one, I never argue about religion. You conceive, sir, there is an entire chapter devoted to the subject, in the writing we were just talking over: and I have read that chapter. So I say nothing about religion. I like a bit of fun, myself: but when you find it there, of all places, and on that scale—” Again the dejected porter sighed. “However, I shall say no more. Instead, with your permission, Messire de Puysange, I shall just step in, and send up your news about the enchantment.”
This much the porter did, and Florian was left alone to amuse himself by looking about. Through the gateway he saw into a court paved with cobble-stones. Upon each side of the gate was an octagonal granite tower with iron-barred windows: each tower was three stories in height, and the battlements were coped with some sort of bright red stone.
Then Florian, for lack of other diversion, turned and looked idly down the valley, toward Poictesme. There he saw something rather odd. A mile-long bridge was flung across the west, and over it passed figures. First came the appearance of a bear waddling upon his hind legs, followed by an ape, and then by a huddled creature with long legs. Florian saw also an unclothed woman, who danced as she went: over her head fluttered a bird, and by means of a chain she haled after her a sedentarily disposed pig. An incredibly old man followed, dressed in faded blue, and he carried upon his arm an open basket. Last came a shaggy dog, barking, it seemed, at all.