'That is a fine brilliant on your lordship's hand,' said I.
'You are fond of brilliants, Don Jorge,' said the archbishop, his
features brightening up; 'vaya! so am I; they are pretty things. Do you
understand them?'
'I do,' said I, 'and I never saw a finer brilliant than your own, one
excepted; it belonged to an acquaintance of mine, a Tartar Khan. He did
not bear it on his finger, however; it stood in the frontlet of his
horse, where it shone like a star. He called it Daoud Scharr, which,
being interpreted, meaneth light of war.'
'Vaya!' said the archbishop, 'how very extraordinary! I am glad you are
fond of brilliants, Don Jorge. Speaking of horses, reminds me that I
have frequently seen you on horseback. Vaya! how you ride! It is
dangerous to be in your way.'
'Is your lordship fond of equestrian exercise?'
'By no means, Don Jorge; I do not like horses. It is not the practice of
the Church to ride on horseback. We prefer mules; they are the quieter
animals. I fear horses, they kick so violently.'
'The kick of a horse is death,' said I, 'if it touches a vital part. I
am not, however, of your lordship's opinion with respect to mules: a good
ginete may retain his seat on a horse however vicious, but a mule--vaya!
when a false mule tira par detras, I do not believe that the Father of
the Church himself could keep the saddle a moment, however sharp his
bit.'
* * * * *
Francis Ardry and myself dined together, and after dinner partook of a
bottle of the best port which the inn afforded.
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