“To its shaping I consecrate youth that is strong in me, ardently yielding youth’s last least gift, who know that all grace which the gods have allotted me avails me in naught if it fails me in this. For all that a man has, that must I bring to the image I shape, that my making may live when time unmakes me and death dissevers me from the figure I make in this world of men.”
To this the King rather drily replied: “There is something in what you say. But that something is, I can assure you, not wisdom.”
So everyone was satisfied in Albania except Manuel, who declared that he was pleased but not contented by the image he had made in the likeness of King Helmas.
“Besides,” they told him, “you look as though your mind were troubling you about something.”
“In fact, I am puzzled to see a foolish person made wise in all his deeds and speeches by this wisdom being expected of him.”
“But that is a cause for rejoicing, and for applauding the might of your sorceries, Messire Manuel, whereas you are plainly thinking of vexatious matters.”
Manuel replied, “I think that it is not right to rob anybody of anything, and I reflect that wisdom weighs exactly the weight of a feather.”
Then Manuel went into King Helmas’ chicken yard, and caught a goose, and plucked from its wing a feather. Manuel went glitteringly now, in brocaded hose, and with gold spurs on his heels: the figure which he had made in the likeness of King Helmas was packed in an expensive knapsack of ornamented leather, and tall shining Manuel rode on a tall dappled horse when he departed southward, for Manuel nowadays had money to spare.
VIII
The Halo of Holiness
Now Manuel takes ship across the fretful Bay of Biscay, traveling always toward Provence and Alianora, whom people called the Unattainable Princess. Oriander the Swimmer followed this ship, they say, but he attempted to do Manuel no hurt, at least not for that turn.
So Manuel of the high head comes into the country of wicked King Ferdinand; and, toward All-Hallows, they bring a stupendous florid young man to the King in the torture-chamber. King Ferdinand was not idle at the moment, and he looked up good-temperedly enough from his employment: but almost instantly his merry face was overcast.
“Dear me!” says Ferdinand, as he dropped his white hot pincers sizzlingly into a jar of water, “and I had hoped you would not be bothering me for a good ten years!”
“Now if I bother you at all it is against my will,” declared Manuel, very politely, “nor do I willingly intrude upon you here, for, without criticizing anybody’s domestic arrangements, there are one or two things that I do not fancy the looks of in this torture-chamber.”
“That is as it may be. In the meantime, what is that I see in your pocket wrapped in red silk?”
“It is a feather, King, wrapped in a bit of my sister’s best petticoat.”
Then Ferdinand sighed, and he arose from his interesting experiments with what was left of the Marquess de Henestrosa, to whom the King had taken a sudden dislike that morning.
“Tut, tut!” said Ferdinand: “yet, after all, I have had a brave time of it, with my enormities and my iniquities, and it is not as though there were nothing to look back on! So at what price will you sell me that feather?”
“But surely a feather is no use to anybody, King, for does it not seem to you a quite ordinary feather?”
“Come!” says King Ferdinand, as he washed his hands, “do people anywhere wrap ordinary feathers in red silk? You squinting rascal, do not think to swindle me out of eternal bliss by any such foolish talk! I perfectly recognize that feather as the feather which Milcah plucked from the left pinion of the Archangel Oriphiel when the sons of God were on more intricate and scandalous terms with the daughters of men than are permitted nowadays.”
“Well, sir,” replied Manuel, “you may be right in a world wherein nothing is certain. At all events, I have deduced, from one to two things in this torture-chamber, that it is better not to argue with King Ferdinand.”
“How can I help being right, when it was foretold long ago that such a divine emissary as you would bring this very holy relic to turn me from my sins and make a saint of me?” says Ferdinand, peevishly.
“It appears to me a quite ordinary feather, King: but I recall what a madman told me, and I do not dispute that your prophets are wiser than I, for I have been a divine emissary for only a short while.”
“Do you name your price for this feather, then!”
“I think it would be more respectful, sir, to refer you to the prophets, for I find them generous and bighearted creatures.”
Ferdinand nodded his approval. “That is very piously spoken, because it was prophesied that this relic would be given me for no price at all by a great nobleman. So I must forthwith write out for you a count’s commission, I suppose, and must write out your grants to fertile lands and a stout castle or two, and must date your title to these things from yesterday.”
“Certainly,” said Manuel, “it would not look well for you to be neglecting due respect to such a famous prophecy, with that bottle of ink at your elbow.”
So King Ferdinand sent for the Count of Poictesme, and explained to him as between old friends how the matter stood, and that afternoon the high Count was confessed and decapitated. Poictesme being now a vacant fief, King Ferdinand ennobled Manuel, and made him Count of Poictesme.
It
