"I might say the same of a certain rebellious aristocrat, who lays claim to the euphonious patronymic of La Tour d'Auvergne, with a pedigree that dates from the Flood, and a string of musty ancestors who might put the patriarchs to the blush; but I am more generous;" and De Lucenay began carelessly to hum a few bars of La Carmagnole.
"Softly!" said his more prudent friend. "We are drawing near the chateau, and you might as well wear a cockade tricolor as let them hear that."
It was an antique, half-Gothic, half-Saracenic looking edifice, which they now approached. A range of light arcades, whose delicate columns, wreathed round with the most graceful foliage, seemed almost too slight to sustain the massive structure which rose above them, surrounded the pian terreno. Long tiers of pointed windows, mingled with exquisite fretwork, and one colossal balcony, with a rich crimson awning, completed the façade. Beneath the portico, numbers of servants and retainers were lounging about, enjoying the fresco. Some, stretched out at full length on the marble benches that lined the open arcades, were fast asleep; others, seated à la Turque upon the ground, were busily engaged in a noisy game of cards. But the largest group of all had collected round a handsome Moorish-looking Andalusian, who, leaning against the wall, was lazily rasping the chords of a guitar that was slung over his shoulder, while he sang one of those charming little Tiranas, to which he improvised the usual nonsense words as he proceeded; anon the deep mellow voices of his auditory would mingle with the "Ay de mi chaira mia! Luz de mi alma!" &c. of the ritournelle, and then again the soft deep tones of the Andalusian rang alone upon the air.
As no one seemed to heed their approach, the two young men stood for a few moments in silence, listening delightedly to the music, which now melted into the softer strain of a Seguidilla, now brightened into the more brilliant measure of a Bolero. Suddenly, in the midst of it, the singer broke off, and springing on his feet as if inspired, he dashed his hands across the strings. Like an electric shock, the well-known chords of the Tragala aroused his hearers—every one crowded round the singer. The players threw down their cards, the loungers stood immovable, even the sleepers started into life; and all chorusing in enthusiastically, a burst of melody arose of which no one unacquainted with the rich and thrilling harmony peculiar to Spanish voices, can form an idea.
"Ernest," said La Tour d'Auvergne in a whisper, "we shall never conquer such a people: Napoleon himself cannot do it."
"Perhaps," replied his friend in the same tone. "They are desperately national; it will be tough work, at all events. But, come on; as the song is finished, we have some chance of making ourselves heard now." And De Lucenay spurred his horse up to the entrance. At their repeated calls for attendance, two or three servants hastened out of the vestibule and held their horses as they dismounted. They became infinitely more attentive, however, on hearing that the strangers were English officers, the bearers of dispatches to their master; and a dark Figaro-looking laquey, in whose lively roguish countenance the Frenchmen would have had no difficulty in recognising a Biscayan, even without the aid of his national and picturesque costume, offered to usher them into the presence of the Conde.
Their guide led the way through the long and lofty vestibule, which opened on a superb marble colonnade that encircled the patio or court, in the centre of which two antique and richly-sculptured fountains were casting up their glittering jets-d'eau in the proscribed form of fleurs-de-lis, to be received again in two wide porphyry basins. Traversing the patio, they ascended a fine marble staircase, from the first flight of which branched off several suites of apartments. Taking the one to the right, the young men had full leisure to observe the splendour that surrounded them, as they slowly followed their conductor from one long line of magnificent rooms into another. Notwithstanding many modern alterations, the character of the whole building was too evidently Eastern to admit a doubt as to its Moorish origin. Every where the most precious marbles, agates, and lapis-lazuli, oriental jasper, porphyry of every variety, dazzled the eye. In the centre of many of the rooms there played a small fountain; in others there were four, one in each angle. Large divans of the richest crimson and violet brocades lined the walls, while ample curtains of the same served in lieu of doors. But what particularly struck the friends was the brilliant beauty of the arabesques that covered the ceilings, and the exquisite chiselling of the cornices, and the framework of the windows.
"The palace is beautiful, is it not?" said the Biscayan, as he perceived the admiring glances they cast around them. "It ought to be, for it was one of the summer dwellings of il rey Moro; and those ereticos malditos cared but little what treasures they lavished on their pleasures. It came into my master's possession as a descendant of the Cid, to whom it was given as a guerdon for his services."
"What a numerous progeny that famous hero must have had! He was a wonderful man!" exclaimed De Lucenay, with extreme gravity.
"Si, señor—un hombre maravilloso en verdad," replied the Spaniard, whom, notwithstanding his natural acuteness, the seriousness of De Lucenay's manner and countenance had prevented from discovering the irony of his words. "But now señores," he continued, as they reached a golden tissue-draped door, "we are arrived. The next room is the comedor, where the family are at supper."