Delphi Works of Ford Madox Ford (Illustrated) (490 page)

“La Duchessa de Batalha y la sua sociedad!” for all the world as if he had been in tranquillity outside Buckingham Palace.

The officer bowed extraordinarily low, and led them, car and all, beneath the ruined arch. Here he opened the door like a lackey and, glancing at his frowning soldiery, he whispered in Emily Aldington’s ears whilst he assisted her to alight:

“Viva El Rey Don Pedro el segundo!” And then, “Remember, Highness, that I was the first to say these words to you!”

And then to Macdonald: “It’s all well.”

And Macdonald answered: “It’s all very well.”

To Mr. Pett he whispered: “I kiss your hands.” And to Mrs. Pett:” I kiss your beautiful little feet.”

Mrs. Pett tried to hide her dusty shoes beneath her skirt. Then the officer called out:” Attention! Guard! Present arms to the honourable guests of the republic.”

The sulky soldiers did something with their very old muskets.

They were under an immense ruined arch, the whole bulk of them, soldiers, ladies, officers, and guests. Mr. Salt jumped out of his car and covered the King’s back with his own body. He was very much afraid of the bayonets of the sulky soldiers, and he kept on muttering:

“Damn! damn! damn!”

For just a moment there was an ugly feeling in the air. The officer exclaimed: “Follow me,” and he disappeared into a dirty sort of tunnel. Macdonald pushed the two ladies quickly into the opening, then the young King, then Mr. Pett. But Mr. Salt refused to go; he said that he wasn’t going to leave his car amongst all those blighters, for he was furiously angry, though he didn’t know why, with the republican bodyguard of the President. And, indeed, just at that moment the landau containing the Marquis da Pinta rattled in under the arch, and he had to move the car further up.

“Keep it in readiness,” Macdonald called to him; and Mr. Salt said:

“I’ll have the engines running the whole blessed time.” There was again a little delay with the Marquis da Pinta, who was accompanied by the Dom Crisostomo Carrasco. Neither of these gentlemen desired to precede Macdonald into the tunnel. Dom Carrasco exclaimed:

“It is dangerous to be the last. That is my position.”

“It is certainly dangerous to be the last,” Macdonald said; “but I had rather have these angry soldiers behind me than you.”

Dom Carrasco exclaimed: “Ha!” He gave a piercing glance to Macdonald, and then disappeared into the tunnel.

Macdonald went across to Mr. Salt, who had turned his car round.

“You know the way back to that square where the fountain is?” he said. “The palace is on the right, the Russian Ministry on the left. You know the Russian Eagle? If I tell you to put on speed, put on speed like the devil. There’s no speed limit here.”

“I know; oh, I know,” Mr. Salt said. “Don’t you go and say that I wasn’t ready to lay down my life for Mr. Spenlow.”

“That’ll do,” Macdonald said. “Your business is to run your car.”

Before going himself into the tunnel he stopped to ask one of the soldiers for a light for his cigarette.

The man grumbled and spat, but at last he produced from his baggy trousers a flint and steel.

Macdonald said in Galizian, which he had been studying for six months:

“Your uniform’s disgraceful; there’s a tear under your armpit. You’ve done it with your own bayonet. That’s not the way to handle arms. This will have to be altered.”

The soldier glared feverishly. “And who is the Senhor Cavalier to talk of these things?” he said.

“This morning I am nothing,” Macdonald said. “But this afternoon I shall be the Duke de Batalha.” The soldiers pressed round him. “I shall be the Honorary Colonel of your regiment,” Macdonald said, “so if you want to shake hands with me you must shake hands now, for this afternoon I shall be your superior officer — by marriage.”

“What is all this?” an under-officer grumbled.

“I have offered to shake hands with you,” Macdonald said, “for this afternoon I shall marry the Duchess de Batalha.”

“What is the Duchess de Batalha to us?” the underofficer said.

“Why, she is a very charming woman,” Macdonald answered. “And a wedding is always a wedding, and the men of Galizia are always gallant men.”

“Well, I will shake hands with you,” the under-officer said.

He was a lean, brown man with a patch over one eye. But he cuddled his musket to him and held out his hands. Many other hands were also held out. Macdonald took from his hip-pocket a small bag that contained much silver.

Mr. Salt suddenly pushed through the soldiers to his side.

“Your Excellency is in danger,” he said. “They’re an ugly-looking crowd. What are you doing?”

“Oh, this is only dramatic effect,” Sergius Mihailovitch smiled. “I’m happy. I don’t see why I shouldn’t make these poor devils happy — by acting to them.”

The soldiers were grumbling a little. There were perhaps a hundred and twenty of them. And they didn’t like this colloquy of two foreigners.

“Now see?” Macdonald exclaimed; and he raised his voice: “Friends,” he cried—”for when it comes to weddings and feasts we are all friends—”

The under-officer exclaimed: “True! But this afternoon I hope to have my bayonet in your stomach.”

“Oh no,” Macdonald answered; “I hope this afternoon you will have a good meal of my providing in your stomach, for I can see you are all hungry men. Now take this silver. It is not forty pieces. It is more. It is not a bribe. It is a wedding favour, and all gallant men can put on wedding favours.”

“We’ll put them in, not on,” a ragged soldier said. And then they laughed, all of them.

Macdonald had his hand in the little bag. It contained four handfuls of silver, and these he threw towards the roof of the arch. Immediately all the muskets fell to the ground, and the paving stones were a welter of blue cloth uniforms and pink and white worsted epaulettes. Macdonald took out another little bag of silver and gave it to the under-officer.

“The scrambling,” he said, “is what luck does for them. Now, here in this other bag is enough to give each of them five hundred peccadi.”

“Now that is considerate,” the under-officer grumbled, “for those who had to trust to luck might, some of them, go hungry.”

“Well, I am considerate,” Macdonald said. “That is what I am here to be. If you put yourselves in my hands not many of you would go hungry.”

“That will be as the devil enacts,” the under-officer said. “If you overpower us you overpower us, and it is the will of God.”

“Well, I’ve overpowered you now,” Macdonald exclaimed.

And indeed the soldiers, each with a small piece of silver, were running with the gait of released convicts towards the provision stalls; even the under-officer ran austerely after them. He was as good a republican as Cato, but he was very hungry. The soldiers of the
Esmeralda
began to come by ones and twos, and Macdonald sent them into the tunnel to see the bull-fight. They were all very cheerful.

“I think they’re all in now,” Macdonald said to Mr. Salt. “I’m afraid you’ll have a dull time waiting. I’d take your place if I could, but I may be wanted.”

Mr. Salt grunted to save himself from saying that that would be all right, for he disliked appearing gracious. And then he asked sarcastically:

“What do you think you’ve done by giving those chaps money? You don’t think you’ve bribed them?”

“My dear Salt,” Macdonald said, “I’m a happy man. I’m a confounded happy man. And I didn’t like to see those dirty leather sword-belts round those empty worsted stomachs. That’s all. I just wanted them to have a square meal. I’m not always on the make.”

“Well, you’re the queer gentleman, as the Irish people would say,” Mr. Salt commented. “But if you want to make everybody happy you won’t have enough happiness to get through the day with. There’s not enough in the world to go round. You look out that your own happiness don’t run out before it’s time to light the lamps.”

“Oh, I’ll take my chance,” Macdonald said.

“Now, you know,” Mr. Salt commented, “you can’t go on being like a Jesus Christ all your life. I’m speaking in this unpleasant manner because it gave me a shock to see you standing amongst all those hooligans. I didn’t like it. And it’s turned my bowels round.
I
don’t want to see you killed. Don’t go taking any more risks! No, don’t! I feel just sick, I do. That’s why I’m speaking indecently.”

“That’s just affection for me,” Macdonald said. “Don’t you see, if you feel like that about me, you’re as you might say one of the family. It’s very touching and it’s very pleasing, and I don’t deserve it. But if you’re one of the family and feel like that, you’ve got to take the risks. I mean that I’ve got to take the risks, and you’ve got to sympathise and feel bad. I can’t help it. That’s the way we are made.’’

Mr. Salt said:” I don’t want it. I don’t want to see you take risks. This is all too beastly dangerous. And what do you get out of it, I should like to ask?”

“Get?” Macdonald answered. “Mr. Salt as a member of my family, that’s what I get. It’s quite enough.”

Mr. Salt suddenly grew pallid, and his eyes started out of his head.

“What’s that damn-fool row?” he whimpered.

A heavy waft of sound seemed to assail them from every- side.

“I suppose it’s the bulls coming into the ring,” Macdonald explained. “The people are cheering.”

“That’s not cheering,” Mr. Salt said. “It’s an ugly sound. I tell you I’m afraid for you and her ladyship. It’s ugly.”

Mr. Salt retired behind his car on the other side of the arch and became violently sick, so that Macdonald had to go after him with a small flask of brandy.

“Oh, it’s all right,” he said comfortingly. “There aren’t any shots. You can’t hear any shots. It’s all cheering. So there’s no danger.”

“If there were any blooming danger,” Mr. Salt said, “you’d be there. Just because there isn’t you aren’t there. But you ought to be. Go away. Go and sit in your place of honour. You’ve kicked up all this row, and you ought to be sitting on the throne, or whatever it is. Instead of that the play is going on, and you’re on the backstairs giving brandy to a skilled mechanic whose stomach isn’t strong enough for his job. Hark at that beastly row! It makes my inside shake like a blancmange!”

“Well, somebody’s got to tidy up the backstairs of historic events,” Macdonald said. “We can’t all be sitting in the stalls. I can’t leave you here in this state of nerves all alone, you’d be setting fire to the car. And the car may be the most important thing of this day. Somebody’s got to look after the most important thing of the day, and that somebody has got to be me.”

“Here’s a blooming insult to a skilled mechanic,” Mr. Salt grumbled. “Set fire to my car! What do you take me for?... But you’re jolly well right. I’m not fit to be left alone... And the car — the car is the most important thing...”

Lady Aldington was sitting in a blaze of morning sunshine. Towards the afternoon the sun would swing round and they would be in shadow. For the moment it was not unpleasantly hot. And the broad seats sloped slowly down to the stretch of sand in the arena. The seats were nearly all black and white, picked out here and there with the scarlet coats of the men coming from the town of bull-fighters. The immense amphitheatre was so crowded that they stood. That was why the streets were so empty. There was a clumsy Galizian proverb which said: “If a thief could resist the seductions of the Correida, the merchants of Flores would be ruined men.” For you would not find an adult man who could stand in all that city. The amphitheatre itself had been built by the Romans, and it would hold half a million people. But across the southern end the Moors had built a great flat mass of stones, which had been the castle of El Huel Huescan, the Moorish viceroy. It was from the mouldering walls of this Moorish edifice that Lady Aldington was looking down into the arena. Their seats sloped right down to the white sand.