Two lines of soldiers in fresh blue uniforms with green trimmings and gloves were drawn up between the gate of the plaza and the palace. Punctually at the appointed hour the band struck up the Spanish national air, there was a ruffle of drums and a fine gala coach from the royal stables came rumbling along the Calle Bailen at the heels of four noble horses with head-dresses of long nodding blue ostrich plumes. The coach was of gold and crystal with beautiful painted panels. The liveries of coachman, postillions, outriders, palfreniers and men-in-waiting who walked beside, were blue and gold to match the splendid trappings.
“The coach is empty, there is nobody inside,” cried Patsy. “What does it mean?”
“This,” said the Argentino, “is the coche de respecto for the Secretaries of Embassy. In the days when people travelled by post or on horseback, important personages always had a led horse or an extra carriage in case of accident.”
“What accident,” laughed Patsy, “could happen between the Embassy and the palace?”
“One never knows; it is one of the picturesque old customs the Spanish Court preserves, even though the need of the coche de respecto may have been outlived.”
In the second coach—as handsome in every detail as the first, the only difference being that the feathers and decorations were red instead of blue—rode Mr. Fairfax Cartwright, Mr. George Young, and two other English Secretaries of Embassy, looking magnificent and uncomfortable in stiff gold-laced court uniforms. Mr. Young made a little gesture of recognition to his wife, the others did not look out of the window.
The Ambassador’s coche de respecto, drawn by six horses, was even finer than the other. The liveries, trappings and feathers were red and yellow, the Spanish colors. There were six coaches in all, four for the Englishmen, two for the escort. In the last rode Sir Maurice, a tall fair man, with the First Introducer, both radiant in court finery. They had driven down the Calle Bailen in single file; at the plaza the shining coaches were drawn up into two lines, three abreast, with an escort of mounted cavalry on either side. They advanced at a snail’s pace, crossed the palace yard where the soldiers stood at attention, and approached the three doors of the palace to the music of the military march. The ambassador drove in through the middle door.
“That is the royal entrance,” said the Argentino. “Sir Maurice passes through it to-day because he brings letters from King Edward; he is not likely ever to go through it again.”
While we waited to see them come out, a private brougham with black and silver liveries drove up to the door by which the Secretaries had gone in. We caught a glimpse of Lady de Bunsen in a white dress with feathers in her hair, on the way to her audience with the Queen.
“She has come early,” said the Argentino, “so that she may see the finest sight of the ceremony, the halberdiers guarding the grand staircase while the Ambassador passes in and out of the throne room. They stand two on each step in that old swashbuckler uniform, silver-buckled shoes, cutaway coats, knee breeches and cocked hats, holding their big halberds so that the blades touch. The Ambassador walks up and down the stair between two flashing lines of steel. It really is worth seeing.”