The
quick twilight fell as we entered a vast forest of pines that clothed
the mountain-side. The enormous trees looked in the dim evening light
like the forms of the Anakim, maimed with lightning but still defying
heaven. Years of battle with the mountain winds had twisted them into
every conceivable shape of writhing and distorted deformity. I never saw
trees that so nearly conveyed the idea of being the visible prison of
tortured dryads. Their trunks, white and glistening with oozing resin,
added to the ghostly impression they created in the uncertain and
failing light.
We reached the valley and rattled by a sleepy village, where we were
greeted by a chorus of outraged curs whose beauty-sleep we had
disturbed, and then began the slow ascent of the hill where St.
Ildefonso stands. We had not gone far when we heard a pattering of hoofs
and a ringing of sabres coming down the road to meet us. The diligence
stopped, and the Introducer of Ambassadors jumped to the ground and
announced, "El Regente del Reino!" It was the regent, the courteous and
amiable Marshal Serrano, who had ridden out from the palace to welcome
his guests, and who, after hasty salutations, galloped back to La
Granja, where we soon arrived.
We were assigned the apartments usually given to the papal nuncio, and
slept with an episcopal peace of mind. In the morning, as we were
walking about the gardens, we saw looking from the palace window one of
the most accomplished gentlemen and diplomatists of the new regime.
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