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SPAIN - Chapter III

My Departure From Paris--My Journey to Madrid--The Count of Aranda--
The Prince de la Catolica--The Duke of Lossada--Mengs--A Ball-- Madame
Pichona--Donna Ignazia


"Well, chevalier," I said, "I have read the little note, and I will try
and oblige his majesty as soon as possible.  However, if I have not time
to get away in twenty-four hours, his majesty must work his dread will on
me."

"My dear sir, the twenty-four hours are a mere formality.  Subscribe the
order and give me a receipt for the lettre de cachet, and you can go at
your convenience.  All I ask of you is that you give me your word of
honour not to go to the theatres or public places of amusement on foot."

"I give you my word with pleasure."

I took the chevalier to my room and gave him the necessary
acknowledgment, and with the observation that he would be glad to see my
brother, whom he knew already, I led him into the dining-room, and
explained with a cheerful face the purport of his visit.

My brother laughed and said,--

"But, M. Buhot, this news is like March in Lent, it was quite
unnecessary; my brother was going in the course of a week."

"All the better.  If the minister had been aware of that he would not
have troubled himself about it."

"Is the reason known?"

"I have heard something about a proposal to kick a gentleman, who though
young, is too exalted a person to be spoken to in such a manner."

"Why, chevalier," said I, "the phrase is a mere formality like the
twenty-four hours for if the impudent young rascal had come out he would
have met me, and his sword should have been sufficient to ward off any
kicks."

I then told the whole story, and Buhot agreed that I was in the right
throughout; adding that the police were also in the right to prevent any
encounter between us.  He advised me to go next morning and tell the tale
to M. de Sartine, who knew me, and would be glad to have the account from
my own lips.  I said nothing, as I knew the famous superintendent of
police to be a dreadful sermoniser.

The lettre de cachet was dated November 6th, and I did not leave Paris
till the 20th.

I informed all my friends of the great honour his majesty had done me,
and I would not hear of Madame du Rumain appealing to the king on my
behalf, though she said she felt certain she could get the order revoked.
The Duc de Choiseul gave me a posting passport dated November 19th, which
I still preserve.

I left Paris without any servant, still grieving, though quietly, over
Charlotte's fate.  I had a hundred Louis in cash, and a bill of exchange
on Bordeaux for eight thousand francs.  I enjoyed perfect health, and
almost felt as if I had been rejuvenated.  I had need of the utmost
prudence and discretion for the future.  The deaths of M.  de Bragadin
and Madame d'Urfe had left me alone in the world, and I was slowly but
steadily approaching what is called a certain age, when women begin to
look on a man with coldness.

I only called on Madame Valville on the eve of my departure: and found
her in a richly-furnished house, and her casket well filled with
diamonds.  When I proposed to return her the fifty louis, she asked me if
I had got a thousand; and on learning that I had only five hundred she
refused the money absolutely and offered me her purse, which I in my turn
refused.  I have not seen the excellent creature since then, but before I
left I gave her some excellent advice as to the necessity of saving her
gains for the time of her old age, when her charms would be no more.  I
hope she has profited by my counsel.  I bade farewell to my brother and
my sister-in-law at six o'clock in the evening, and got into my chaise in
the moonlight, intending to travel all night so as to dine next day at
Orleans, where I wanted to see an old friend.  In half an hour I was at
Bourg-la-Reine, and there I began to fall asleep.  At seven in the
morning I reached Orleans.

Fair and beloved France, that went so well in those days, despite lettres
de cachet, despite corvees, despite the people's misery and the king's
"good pleasure," dear France, where art thou now?  Thy sovereign is the
people now, the most brutal and tyrannical sovereign in the world.  You
have no longer to bear the "good pleasure" of the sovereign, but you have
to endure the whims of the mob and the fancies of the Republic--the ruin
of all good Government.  A republic presupposes self-denial and a
virtuous people; it cannot endure long in our selfish and luxurious days.

I went to see Bodin, a dancer, who had married Madame Joffroy, one of my
thousand mistresses whom I had loved twenty-two years ago, and had seen
later at Turin, Paris, and Vienna.  These meetings with old friends and
sweethearts were always a weak or rather a strong point with me.  For a
moment I seemed to be young again, and I fed once more on the delights of
long ago.  Repentance was no part of my composition.

Bodin and his wife (who was rather ugly than old-looking, and had become
pious to suit her husband's tastes, thus giving to God the devil's
leavings), Bodin, I say, lived on a small estate he had purchased, and
attributed all the agricultural misfortunes he met with in the course of
the year to the wrath of an avenging Deity.

I had a fasting dinner with them, for it was Friday, and they strictly
observed all the rules of the Church.  I told them of my adventures of
the past years, and when I had finished they proceeded to make
reflections on the faults and failings of men who have not God for a
guide.  They told me what I knew already: that I had an immortal soul,
that there was a God that judgeth righteously, and that it was high time
for me to take example by them, and to renounce all the pomps and
vanities of the world.

"And turn Capuchin, I suppose?"

"You might do much worse."

"Very good; but I shall wait till my beard grows the necessary length in
a single night."

In spite of their silliness, I was not sorry to have spent six hours with
these good creatures who seemed sincerely repentant and happy in their
way, and after an affectionate embrace I took leave of them and travelled
all night.  I stopped at Chanteloup to see the monument of the taste and
magnificence of the Duc de Choiseul, and spent twenty-four hours there.
A gentlemanly and polished individual, who did not know me, and for whom
I had no introduction, lodged me in a fine suite of rooms, gave me
supper, and would only sit down to table with me after I had used all my
powers of persuasion.  The next day he treated me in the same way, gave
me an excellent dinner, shewed me everything, and behaved as if I were
some prince, though he did not even ask my name.  His attentions even
extended to seeing that none of his servants were at hand when I got into
my carriage and drove off.  This was to prevent my giving money to any of
them.

The castle on which the Duc de Choiseul had spent such immense sums had
in reality cost him nothing.  It was all owing, but he did not trouble
himself about that in the slightest degree, as he was a sworn foe to the
principle of meum and tuum.  He never paid his creditors, and never
disturbed his debtors.  He was a generous man; a lover of art and
artists, to whom he liked to be of service, and what they did for him he
looked upon as a grateful offering.  He was intellectual, but a hater of
all detail and minute research, being of a naturally indolent and
procrastinating disposition.  His favourite saying was,

"There's time enough for that."

When I got to Poitiers, I wanted to push on to Vivonne; it was seven
o'clock in the evening, and two girls endeavoured to dissuade me from
this course.

"It's very cold," said they, "and the road is none of the best.  You are
no courier, sup here, we will give you a good bed, and you shall start
again in the morning."

"I have made up my mind to go on, but if you will keep me company at
supper I will stay."

"That would cost you too dearly."

"Never too dear.  Quick I make up your minds."

"Well, we will sup with you."

"Then lay the table for three; I must go on in an hour."

"In an hour!  You mean three, sir; papa will take two hours to get you a
good supper."

"Then I will not go on, but you must keep me company all night."

"We will do so, if papa does not object.  We will have your chaise put
into the coach-house."

These two minxes gave me an excellent supper, and were a match for me in
drinking as well as eating.  The wine was delicious, and we stayed at
table till midnight, laughing and joking together, though without
overstepping the bounds of propriety.

About midnight, the father came in jovially, and asked me how I had
enjoyed my supper.

"Very much," I answered, "but I have enjoyed still more the company of
your charming daughters."

"I am delighted to hear it.  Whenever you come this way they shall keep
you company, but now it is past midnight, and time for them to go to
bed."

I nodded my head, for Charlotte's death was still too fresh in my memory
to admit of my indulging in any voluptuous pleasures.  I wished the girls
a pleasant sleep, and I do not think I should even have kissed them if
the father had not urged me to do this honour to their charms.  However,
my vanity made me put some fire into the embrace, and I have no doubt
they thought me a prey to vain desires.

When I was alone I reflected that if I did not forget Charlotte I was a
lost man.  I slept till nine o'clock, and I told the servant that came to
light my fire to get coffee for three, and to have my horses put in.

The two pretty girls came to breakfast with me, and I thanked them for
having made me stay the night.  I asked for the bill, and the eldest said
it was in round figures a Louis apiece.  I shewed no sign of anger at
this outrageous fleecing, but gave them three Louis with the best grace
imaginable and went on my way.  When I reached Angouleme, where I
expected to find Noel, the King of Prussia's cook, I only found his
father, whose talents in the matter of pates was something prodigious.
His eloquence was as fervent as his ovens.  He said he would send his
pates all over Europe to any address I liked to give him.

"What!  To Venice, London, Warsaw, St. Petersburg?"

"To Constantinople, if you like.  You need only give me your address, and
you need not pay me till you get the pates."

I sent his pates to my friends in Venice, Warsaw, and Turin, and
everybody thanked me for the delicious dish.

Noel had made quite a fortune.  He assured me he had sent large
consignments to America, and with the exception of some losses by
shipwreck all the pates had arrived in excellent condition.  They were
chiefly made of turkeys, partridges, and hare, seasoned with truffles,
but he also made pates de foie gras of larks and of thrushes, according
to the season.

In two days I arrived at Bordeaux, a beautiful town coming only second to
Paris, with respect to Lyons be it said.  I spent a week there, eating
and drinking of the best, for the living there is the choicest in the
world.

I transferred my bill of exchange for eight thousand francs to a Madrid
house, and crossed the Landes, passing by Mont de Marsan, Bayonne, and
St. Jean de Luz, where I sold my post-chaise.  From St. Jean de Luz I
went to Pampeluna by way of the Pyrenees, which I crossed on mule-back,
my baggage being carried by another mule.  The mountains struck me as
higher than the Alps.  In this I may possibly be wrong, but I am certain
that the Pyrenees are the most picturesque, fertile, and agreeable of the
two.

At Pampeluna a man named Andrea Capello took charge of me and my luggage,
and we set out for Madrid.  For the first twenty leagues the travelling
was easy enough, and the roads as good as any in France.  These roads did
honour to the memory of M. de Gages, who had administered Navarre after
the Italian war, and had, as I was assured, made the road at his own
expense.  Twenty years earlier I had been arrested by this famous
general; but he had established a claim on posterity greater than any of
his victories.  These laurels were dyed in blood, but the maker of a good
road is a solid benefactor of all posterity.

In time this road came to an end, and thenceforth it would be incorrect
to say that the roads were bad, for, to tell the truth, there were no
roads at all.  There were steep ascents and violent descents, but no
traces of carriage wheels, and so it is throughout the whole of Old
Castile.  There are no good inns, only miserable dens scarce good enough
for the muleteers, who make their beds beside their animals.  Signor or
rather Senor Andrea tried to choose the least wretched inns for me, and
after having provided for the mules he would go round the entire village
to get something for me to eat.  The landlord would not stir; he shewed
me a room where I could sleep if I liked, containing a fire-place, in
which I could light a fire if I thought fit, but as to procuring firewood
or provisions, he left that all to me.  Wretched Spain!

The sum asked for a night's accommodation was less than a farmer would
ask in France or Germany for leave to sleep in his barn; but there was
always an extra charge of a 'pizetta por el ruido'.  The pizetta is worth
four reals; about twenty-one French sous.

The landlord smoked his paper cigarette nonchalantly enough, blowing
clouds of smoke into the air with immense dignity.  To him poverty was as
good as riches; his wants were small, and his means sufficed for them.
In no country in Europe do the lower orders live so contentedly on a very
little as in Spain.  Two ounces of white bread, a handful of roast
chestnuts or acorns (called bellotas in Spanish) suffice to keep a
Spaniard for a day.  It is his glory to say when a stranger is departing
from his abode,--

"I have not given myself any trouble in waiting on him."

This proceeds in part from idleness and in part from Castilian pride.  A
Castilian should not lower himself, they say, by attending on a Gavacho,
by which name the Spaniards know the French, and, indeed, all foreigners.
It is not so offensive as the Turkish appellation of dog, or the damned
foreigner of the English.  Of course, persons who have travelled or have
had a liberal education do not speak in this way, and a respectable
foreigner will find reasonable Spaniards as he will find reasonable Turks
and Englishmen.

On the second night of my journey I slept at Agreda, a small and ugly
town, or rather village.  There Sister Marie d'Agreda became so crazy as
to write a life of the Virgin, which she affirmed to have been dictated
to her by the Mother of the Lord.  The State Inquisitors had given me
this work to read when I was under the Leads, and it had nearly driven me
mad.

We did ten Spanish leagues a day, and long and weary leagues they seemed
to me.  One morning I thought I saw a dozen Capuchins walking slowly in
front of us, but when we caught them up I found they were women of all
ages.

"Are they mad?" I said to Senior Andrea.

"Not at all.  They wear the Capuchin habit out of devotion, and you would
not find a chemise on one of them."

There was nothing surprising in their not having chemises, for the
chemise is a scarce article in Spain, but the idea of pleasing God by
wearing a Capuchin's habit struck me as extremely odd.  I will here
relate an amusing adventure which befell me on my way.

At the gate of a town not far from Madrid I was asked for my passport.  I
handed it over, and got down to amuse myself.  I found the chief of the
customs' house engaged in an argument with a foreign priest who was on
his way to Madrid, and had no passport for the capital.  He skewed one he
had had for Bilbao, but the official was not satisfied.  The priest was a
Sicilian, and I asked him why he had exposed himself to being placed in
this disagreeable predicament.  He said he thought it was unnecessary to
have a passport in Spain when one had once journeyed in the country.

"I want to go to Madrid," said he to me, "and hope to obtain a chaplaincy
in the house of a grandee.  I have a letter for him."

"Shew it; they will let you pass then."

"You are right."

The poor priest drew out the letter and skewed it to the official, who
opened it, looked at the signature, and absolutely shrieked when he saw
the name Squillace.

"What, senor abbe!  you are going to Madrid with a letter from Squillace,
and you dare to skew it?"

The clerks, constables, and hangers-on, hearing that the hated Squillace,
who would have been stoned to death if it had not been for the king's
protection, was the poor abbe's only patron, began to beat him violently,
much to the poor Sicilian's astonishment.

I interposed, however, and after some trouble I succeeded in rescuing the
priest, who was then allowed to pass, as I believe, as a set-off against
the blows he had received.

Squillace was sent to Venice as Spanish ambassador, and in Venice he died
at an advanced age.  He was a man designed to be an object of intense
hatred to the people; he was simply ruthless in his taxation.

The door of my room had a lock on the outside but none on the inside.
For the first and second night I let it pass, but on the third I told
Senor Andrea that I must have it altered.

"Senor Don Jacob, you must bear with it in Spain, for the Holy
Inquisition must always be at liberty to inspect the rooms of
foreigners."

"But what in the devil's name does your cursed Inquisition want....?"

"For the love of God, Senor Jacob, speak not thus! if you were overheard
we should both be undone."

"Well, what can the Holy Inquisition want to know?"

"Everything.  It wants to know whether you eat meat on fast days, whether
persons of opposite sexes sleep together, if so, whether they are
married, and if not married it will cause both parties to be imprisoned;
in fine, Senor Don Jaimo, the Holy inquisition is continually watching
over our souls in this country."

When we met a priest bearing the viaticum to some sick man, Senor Andrea
would tell me imperatively to get out of my carriage, and then there was
no choice but to kneel in the mud or dust as the case might be.  The
chief subject of dispute at that time was the fashion of wearing
breeches.  Those who wore 'braguettes' were imprisoned, and all tailors
making breeches with 'braguettes' were severely punished.  Nevertheless,
people persisted in wearing them, and the priests and monks preached in
vain against the indecency of such a habit.  A revolution seemed
imminent, but the matter was happily settled without effusion of blood.
An edict was published and affixed to the doors of all the churches, in
which it was declared that breeches with braguettes were only to be worn
by the public hangmen.  Then the fashion passed away; for no one cared to
pass for the public executioner.

By little and little I got an insight into the manners of the Spanish
nation as I passed through Guadalaxara and Alcala, and at length arrived
at Madrid.

Guadalaxara, or Guadalajara, is pronounced by the Spaniards with a strong
aspirate, the x and j having the same force.  The vowel d, the queen of
letters, reigns supreme in Spain; it is a relic of the old Moorish
language.  Everyone knows that the Arabic abounds in d's, and perhaps the
philologists are right in calling it the most ancient of languages, since
the a is the most natural and easy to pronounce of all the letters.  It
seems to me very mistaken to call such words as Achald, Ayanda, Almanda,
Acard, Agracaramba, Alcantara, etc., barbarous, for the sonorous ring
with which they are pronounced renders the Castilian the richest of all
modern languages.  Spanish is undoubtedly one of the finest, most
energetic, and most majestic languages in the world.  When it is
pronounced 'ore rotundo' it is susceptible of the most poetic harmony.
It would be superior to the Italian, if it were not for the three
guttural letters, in spite of what the Spaniards say to the contrary.  It
is no good remonstrating with them.

'Quisquis amat ranam, ranam purat esse Dianam'.

As I was entering the Gate of Alcala, my luggage was searched, and the
clerks paid the greatest attention to my books, and they were very
disappointed only to find the "Iliad" in Greek, and a Latin Horace.  They
were taken away, but three days after, they were returned to me at my
lodging in the Rue de la Croix where I had gone in spite of Senor Andrea,
who had wanted to take me elsewhere.  A worthy man whom I had met in
Bordeaux had given me the address.  One of the ceremonies I had to
undergo at the Gate of Alcala displeased me in the highest degree.  A
clerk asked me for a pinch of snuff, so I took out my snuff-box and gave
it him, but instead of taking a pinch he snatched it out of my hands and
said,--

"Senor, this snuff will not pass in Spain" (it was French rappee); and
after turning it out on the ground he gave me back the box.

The authorities are most rigorous on the matter of this innocent powder,
and in consequence an immense contraband trade is carried on.  The spies
employed by the Spanish snuff-makers are always on the look-out after
foreign snuff, and if they detect anyone carrying it they make him pay
dearly for the luxury.  The ambassadors of foreign powers are the only
persons exempted from the prohibitions.  The king who stuffs into his
enormous nose one enormous pinch as he rises in the morning wills that
all his subjects buy their snuff of the Spanish manufacturers.  When
Spanish snuff is pure it is very good, but at the time I was in Spain the
genuine article could hardly be bought for its weight in gold.  By reason
of the natural inclination towards forbidden fruit, the Spaniards are
extremely fond of foreign snuff, and care little for their own; thus
snuff is smuggled to an enormous extent.

My lodging was comfortable enough, but I felt the want of a fire as the
cold was more trying than that of Paris, in spite of the southern
latitude.  The cause of this cold is that Madrid is the highest town in
Europe.  From whatever part of the coast one starts, one has to mount to
reach the capital.  The town is also surrounded by mountains and hills,
so that the slightest touch of wind from the north makes the cold
intense.  The air of Madrid is not healthy for strangers, especially for
those of a full habit of body; the Spaniards it suits well enough, for
they are dry and thin, and wear a cloak even in the dog days.

The men of Spain dwell mentally in a limited horizon, bounded by
prejudice on every side; but the women, though ignorant, are usually
intelligent; while both sexes are the prey of desires, as lively as their
native air, as burning as the sun that shines on them.  Every Spaniard
hates a foreigner, simply because he is a foreigner, but the women avenge
us by loving us, though with great precautions, for your Spaniard is
intensely jealous.  They watch most jealously over the honour of their
wives and daughters.  As a rule the men are ugly, though there are
numerous exceptions; while the women are pretty, and beauties are not
uncommon.  The southern blood in their veins inclines them to love, and
they are always ready to enter into an intrigue and to deceive the spies
by whom they are surrounded.  The lover who runs the greatest dangers is
always the favourite.  In the public walks, the churches, the theatres,
the Spanish women are always speaking the language of the eyes.  If the
person to whom it is addressed knows how to seize the instant, he may be
sure of success, but if not, the opportunity will never be offered him
again.

I required some kind of heat in my room, and could not bear a charcoal
brazier, so I incited an ingenious tin-smith to make me a stove with a
pipe going out of the window.  However, he was so proud of his success
that he made me pay dearly.

Before the stove was ready I was told where I might go and warm myself an
hour before noon, and stay till dinner-time.  It is called La Pueyta del
Sol, "The Gate of the Sun."  It is not a gate, but it takes its name from
the manner in which the source of all heat lavishes his treasures there,
and warms all who come and bask in his rays.  I found a numerous company
promenading there, walking and talking, but it was not much to my taste.

I wanted a servant who could speak French, and I had the greatest
difficulty in getting one, and had to pay dearly, for in Madrid the kind
of man I wanted was called a page.  I could not compel him to mount
behind my carriage, nor to carry a package, nor to light me by night with
a torch or lantern.

My page was a man of thirty, and terribly ugly; but this was a
recommendation, as his ugliness secured him from the jealous suspicions
of husbands.  A woman of rank will not drive out without one of these
pages seated in the forepart of her carriage.  They are said to be more
difficult to seduce than the strictest of duennas.

I was obliged to take one of these rascally tribe into my service, and I
wish he had broken his leg on his way to my house.

I delivered all my introductions, beginning with the letter from Princess
Lubomirska to the Count of Aranda.  The count had covered himself with
glory by driving the Jesuits out of Spain.  He was more powerful than the
king himself, and never went out without a number of the royal guardsmen
about him, whom he made to sit down at his table.  Of course all the
Spaniards hated him, but he did not seem to care much for that.  A
profound politician, and absolutely resolute and firm, he privately
indulged in every luxury that he forbade to others, and did not care
whether people talked of it or not.

He was a rather ugly man, with a disagreeable squint.  His reception of
me was far from cordial.

"What do you want in Spain?" he began.

"To add fresh treasures to my store of experience, by observing the
manners and the customs of the country, and if possible to serve the
Government with such feeble, talents as I may possess."

"Well, you have no need of my protection.  If you do not infringe the
laws, no one will disturb you.  As to your obtaining employment, you had
better go to the representative of your country; he will introduce you at
Court, and make you known."

"My lord, the Venetian ambassador will do nothing for me; I am in
disgrace with the Government.  He will not even receive me at the
embassy."

"Then I would advise you to give up all hopes of employment, for the king
would begin by asking your ambassador about you, and his answer would be
fatal.  You will do well to be satisfied with amusing yourself."

After this I called on the Neapolitan ambassador, who talked in much the
same way.  Even the Marquis of Moras, one of the most pleasant men in
Spain, did not hold out any hopes.  The Duke of Lossada, the high steward
and favourite of his Catholic majesty, was sorry to be disabled from
doing me any service, in spite of his good will, and advised me, in some
way or other, to get the Venetian ambassador to give me a good word, in
spite of my disgrace.  I determined to follow his advice, and wrote to M.
Dandolo, begging him to get the ambassador to favour me at the Spanish
Court in spite of my quarrel with the Venetian Government.  I worded my
letter in such a way that it might be read by the Inquisitors themselves,
and calculated on its producing a good impression.

After I had written this letter I went to the lodging of the Venetian
ambassador, and presented myself to the secretary, Gaspar Soderini, a
worthy and intelligent man.  Nevertheless, he dared to tell me that he
was astonished at my hardihood in presenting myself at the embassy.

"I have presented myself, sir, that my enemies may never reproach me for
not having done so; I am not aware that I have ever done anything which
makes me too infamous to call on my ambassador.  I should have credited
myself with much greater hardihood if I had left without fulfilling this
duty; but I shall be sorry if the ambassador views my proceedings in the
same light as yourself, and puts down to temerity what was meant for a
mark of respect.  I shall be none the less astonished if his excellency
refuses to receive me on account of a private quarrel between myself and
the State Inquisitors, of which he knows no more than I do, and I know
nothing.  You will excuse my saying that he is not the ambassador of the
State Inquisitors, but of the Republic of which I am a subject; for I
defy him and I defy the Inquisitors to tell me what crime I have
committed that I am to be deprived of my rights as a Venetian citizen.  I
think that, while it is my duty to reverence my prince in the person of
my ambassador, it is his duty to afford me his protection."

This speech had made Soderini blush, and he replied,--

"Why don't you write a letter to the ambassador, with the arguments you
have just used to me?"

"I could not write to him before I know whether he will receive me or
not.  But now, as I have reason to suppose that his opinions are much the
same as your own, I will certainly write to him."

"I do not know whether his excellency thinks as I do or not, and, in
spite of what I said to you, it is just possible that you do not know my
own opinions on the question; but write to him, and he may possibly give
you an audience."

"I shall follow your advice, for which I am much obliged."

When I got home I wrote to his excellency all I had said to the
secretary, and the next day I had a visit from Count Manucci.  The count
proved to be a fine-looking young man of an agreeable presence.  He said
that he lived in the embassy, that his excellency had read my letter, and
though he grieved not to receive me publicly he should be delighted to
see me in private, for he both knew and esteemed me.

Young Manucci told me that he was a Venetian, and that he knew me by
name, as he often heard his father and mother lamenting my fortune.
Before long it dawned upon me that this Count Manucci was the son of that
Jean Baptiste Manucci who had served as the spy of the State Inquisitors
and had so adroitly managed to get possession of my books of magic, which
were in all probability the chief corpus delicti.

I did not say anything to him, but I was certain that my guess was
correct.  His mother was the daughter of a valet de chambre, and his
father was a poor mechanic.  I asked the young man if he were called
count at the embassy, and he said he bore the title in virtue of a
warrant from the elector-palatine.  My question skewed him that I knew
his origin, and he began to speak openly to me; and knowing that I was
acquainted with the peculiar tastes of M. de Mocenigo, the ambassador, he
informed me laughingly that he was his pathic.

"I will do my best for you," he added; and I was glad to hear him say so,
for an Alexis should be able to obtain almost anything from his Corydon.
We embraced, and he told me as we parted that he would expect me at the
embassy in the afternoon, to take coffee in his room; the ambassador, he
said, would certainly come in as soon as he heard of my presence.

I went to the embassy, and had a very kind reception from the ambassador,
who said he was deeply grieved not to be able to receive me publicly.  He
admitted that he might present me at Court without compromising himself,
but he was afraid of making enemies.

"I hope soon to receive a letter from a friend of mine, which will
authorise your excellency producing me."

"I shall be delighted, in that case, to present you to all the Spanish
ministers."

This Mocenigo was the same that acquired such a reputation at Paris by
his leanings to pederasty, a vice or taste which the French hold in
horror.  Later on, Mocenigo was condemned by the Council of Ten to ten
years' imprisonment for having started on an embassy to Vienna without
formal permission.  Maria Theresa had intimated to the Venetian
Government that she would not receive such a character, as his habits
would be the scandal of her capital.  The Venetian Government had some
trouble with Mocenigo, and as he attempted to set out for Vienna they
exiled him and chose another ambassador, whose morals were as bad, save
that the new ambassador indulged himself with Hebe and not Ganymede,
which threw a veil of decency over his proceedings.

In spite of his reputation for pederasty, Mocenigo was much liked at
Madrid.  On one occasion I was at a ball, and a Spaniard noticing me with
Manucci, came up to me, and told me with an air of mystery that that
young man was the ambassador's wife.  He did not know that the ambassador
was Manucci's wife; in fact, he did not understand the arrangement at
all.  "Where ignorance is bliss!" etc.  However, in spite of the
revolting nature of this vice, it has been a favourite one with several
great men.  It was well-known to the Ancients, and those who indulged in
it were called Hermaphrodites, which symbolises not a man of two sexes
but a man with the passions of the two sexes.

I had called two or three times on the painter Mengs, who had been
painter in ordinary to his Catholic majesty for six years, and had an
excellent salary.  He gave me some good dinners.  His wife and family
were at Rome, while he basked in the royal favours at Madrid, enjoying
the unusual privilege of being able to speak to the king whenever he
would.  At Mengs's house I trade the acquaintance of the architect
Sabatini, an extremely able man whom the king had summoned from Naples to
cleanse Madrid, which was formerly the dirtiest and most stinking town in
Europe, or, for the matter of that, in the world.  Sabatini had become a
rich man by constructing drains, sewers, and closets for a city of
fourteen thousand houses.  He had married by proxy the daughter of
Vanvitelli, who was also an architect at Naples, but he had never seen
her.  She came to Madrid about the same time as myself.  She was a beauty
of eighteen, and no sooner did she see her husband than she declared she
would never be his wife.  Sabatini was neither a young man nor a handsome
one, but he was kind-hearted and distinguished; and when he told his
young wife that she would have to choose between him and a nunnery, she
determined to make the best of what she thought a bad bargain.  However,
she had no reason to repent of her choice; her husband was rich,
affectionate, and easygoing, and gave her everything she wanted.  I
sighed and burned for her in silence, not daring to declare my love, for
while the wound of the death of Charlotte was still bleeding I also began
to find that women were beginning to give me the cold shoulder.

By way of amusing myself I began to go to the theatre, and the masked
balls to which the Count of Aranda had established.  They were held in a
room built for the purpose, and named 'Los Scannos del Peral'.  A Spanish
play is full of absurdities, but I rather relished the representations.
The 'Autos Sacramentales' were still represented; they were afterwards
prohibited.  I could not help remarking the strange way in which the
boxes are constructed by order of the wretched police.  Instead of being
boarded in front they are perfectly open, being kept up by small pillars.
A devotee once said to me at the theatre that this was a very wise
regulation, and he was surprised that it was not carried into force in
Italy.

"Why so?"

"Because lovers, who feel sure that no one in the pit can see them, may
commit improprieties."

I only answered with a shrug of the shoulders.

In a large box opposite to the stage sat 'los padres' of the Holy
Inquisition to watch over the morals of actors and audience.  I was
gazing on them when of a sudden the sentinel at the door of the pit
called out "Dios!" and at this cry all the actors and all the audience,
men and women, fell down on their knees, and remained kneeling till the
sound of a bell in the street ceased to be heard.  This bell betokened
that a priest was passing by carrying the viaticum to some sick man.  I
felt very much inclined to laugh, but I had seen enough of Spanish
manners to refrain.  All the religion of the Spaniard is in outward show
and ceremony.  A profligate woman before yielding to the desires of her
lover covers the picture of Christ, or the Virgin, with a veil.  If the
lover laughed at this absurdity he would run a risk of being denounced as
an Atheist, and most probably by the wretched woman who had sold him her
charms.

In Madrid, and possibly all over Spain, a gentleman who takes a lady to a
private room in an inn must expect to have a servant in the room the
whole of the time, that he may be able to swear that the couple took no
indecent liberties with each other.  In spite of all, profligacy is
rampant at Madrid, and also the most dreadful hypocrisy, which is more
offensive to true piety than open sin.  Men and women seemed to have come
to an agreement to set the whole system of surveillance utterly at
nought.  However, commerce with women is not without its dangers; whether
it be endemic or a result of dirty habits, one has often good reason to
repent the favours one has obtained.

The masked ball quite captivated me.  The first time I went to see what
it was like and it only cost me a doubloon (about eleven francs), but
ever after it cost me four doubloons, for the following reason:

An elderly gentleman, who sat next me at supper, guessed I was a
foreigner by my difficulty in making myself understood by the waiter, and
asked me where, I had left my lady friend.

"I have not got one; I came by myself to enjoy this delightful and
excellently-managed entertainment."

"Yes, but you ought to come with a companion; then you could dance.  At
present you cannot do so, as every lady has her partner, who will not
allow her to dance with anyone else."

"Then I must be content not to dance, for, being a stranger, I do not
know any lady whom I can ask to come with me."

"As a stranger you would have much less difficulty in securing a partner
than a citizen of Madrid.  Under the new fashion, introduced by the Count
of Aranda, the masked ball has become the rage of all the women in the
capital.  You see there are about two hundred of them on the floor to-
night; well, I think there are at least four thousand girls in Madrid who
are sighing for someone to take them to the ball, for, as you may know,
no woman is allowed to come by herself.  You would only have to go to any
respectable people, give your name and address, and ask to have the
pleasure of taking their daughter to the ball.  You would have to send
her a domino, mask, and gloves; and you would take her and bring her back
in your carriage."

"And if the father and mother refused?"

"Then you would make your bow and go, leaving them to repent of their
folly, for the girl would sigh, and weep, and moan, bewail parental
tyranny, call Heaven to witness the innocency of going to a ball, and
finally go into convulsions."

This oration, which was uttered in the most persuasive style, made me
quite gay, for I scented an intrigue from afar.  I thanked the masked
(who spoke Italian very well) and promised to follow his advice and to
let him know the results.

"I shall be delighted to hear of your success, and you will find me in
the box, where I shall be glad if you will follow me now, to be
introduced to the lady who is my constant companion."

I was astonished at so much politeness, and told him my name and followed
him.  He took me into a box where there were two ladies and an elderly
man.  They were talking about the ball, so I put in a remark or two on
the same topic, which seemed to meet with approval.  One of the two
ladies, who retained some traces of her former beauty, asked me, in
excellent French, what circles I moved in.

"I have only been a short time in Madrid, and not having been presented
at Court I really know no one."

"Really!  I quite pity you.  Come and see me, you will be welcome.  My
name is Pichona, and anybody will tell you where I live."

"I shall be delighted to pay my respects to you, madam."

What I liked best about the spectacle was a wonderful and fantastic dance
which was struck up at midnight.  It was the famous fandango, of which I
had often heard, but of which I had absolutely no idea.
I had seen it danced on the stage in France and Italy, but the actors
were careful not to use those voluptuous gestures which make it the most
seductive in the world.  It cannot be described.  Each couple only dances
three steps, but the gestures and the attitudes are the most lascivious
imaginable.  Everything is represented, from the sigh of desire to the
final ecstasy; it is a very history of love.  I could not conceive a
woman refusing her partner anything after this dance, for it seemed made
to stir up the senses.  I was so excited at this Bacchanalian spectacle
that I burst out into cries of delight.  The masker who had taken me to
his box told me that I should see the fandango danced by the Gitanas with
good partners.

"But," I remarked, "does not the Inquisition object to this dance?"

Madame Pichona told me that it was absolutely forbidden, and would not be
danced unless the Count of Aranda had given permission.

I heard afterwards that, on the count forbidding the fandango, the ball-
room was deserted with bitter complaints, and on the prohibition being
withdrawn everyone was loud in his praise.

The next day I told my infamous page to get me a Spaniard who would teach
me the fandango.  He brought me an actor, who also gave me Spanish
lessons, for he pronounced the language admirably.  In the course of
three days the young actor taught me all the steps so well that, by the
confession of the Spaniards themselves, I danced it to perfection.

For the next ball I determined to carry the masker's advice into effect,
but I did not want to take a courtesan or a married woman with me, and I
could not reasonably expect that any young lady of family would accompany
me.

It was St. Anthony's Day, and passing the Church of the Soledad I went
in, with the double motive of hearing mass and of procuring a partner for
the next day's ball.

I noticed a fine-looking girl coming out of the confessional, with
contrite face and lowered eyes, and I noted where she went.  She knelt
down in the middle of the church, and I was so attracted by her
appearance that I registered a mental vow to the effect that she should
be my first partner.  She did not look like a person of condition, nor,
so far as I could see, was she rich, and nothing about her indicated the
courtesan, though women of that class go to confession in Madrid like
everybody else.  When mass was ended, the priest distributed the
Eucharist, and I saw her rise and approach humbly to the holy table, and
there receive the communion.  She then returned to the church to finish
her devotions, and I was patient enough to wait till they were over.

At last she left, in company with another girl, and I followed her at a
distance.  At the end of a street her companion left her to go into her
house, and she, retracing her steps, turned into another street and
entered a small house, one story high.  I noted the house and the street
(Calle des Desinjano) and then walked up and down for half an hour, that
I might not be suspected of following her.  At last I took courage and
walked in, and, on my ringing a bell, I heard a voice,

"Who is there?"

"Honest folk," I answered, according to the custom of the country; and
the door was opened.  I found myself in the presence of a man, a woman,
the young devotee I had followed, and another girl, somewhat ugly.

My Spanish was bad, but still it was good enough to express my meaning,
and, hat in hand, I informed the father that, being a stranger, and
having no partner to take to the ball, I had come to ask him to give me
his daughter for my partner, supposing he had a daughter.  I assured him
that I was a man of honour, and that the girl should be returned to him
after the ball in the same condition as when she started.

"Senor," said he, "there is my daughter, but I don't know you, and I
don't know whether she wants to go."

"I should like to go, if my parents will allow me."

"Then you know this gentleman?"

"I have never seen him, and I suppose he has never seen me."

"You speak the truth, senora."

The father asked me my name and address, and promised I should have a
decisive answer by dinner-time, if I dined at home.  I begged him to
excuse the liberty I had taken, and to let me know his answer without
fail, so that I might have time to get another partner if it were
unfavourable to me.

Just as I was beginning to dine my man appeared.  I asked him to sit
down, and he informed me that his daughter would accept my offer, but
that her mother would accompany her and sleep in the carriage.  I said
that she might do so if she liked, but I should be sorry for her on
account of the cold.  "She shall have a good cloak," said he; and he
proceeded to inform me that he was a cordwainer.

"Then I hope you will take my measure for a pair of shoes."

"I daren't do that; I'm an hidalgo, and if I were to take anyone's
measure I should have to touch his foot, and that would be a degradation.
I am a cobbler, and that is not inconsistent with my nobility."

"Then, will you mend me these boots?"

"I will make them like new; but I see they want a lot of work; it will
cost you a pezzo duro, about five francs."

I told him that I thought his terms very reasonable, and he went out with
a profound bow, refusing absolutely to dine with me.

Here was a cobbler who despised bootmakers because they had to touch the
foot, and they, no doubt, despised him because he touched old leather.
Unhappy pride how many forms it assumes, and who is without his own
peculiar form of it?

The next day I sent to the gentleman-cobbler's a tradesman with dominos,
masks, and gloves; but I took care not to go myself nor to send my page,
for whom I had an aversion which almost amounted to a presentiment.  I
hired a carriage to seat four, and at nightfall I drove to the house of
my pious partner, who was quite ready for me.  The happy flush on her
face was a sufficient index to me of the feelings of her heart.  We got
into the carriage with the mother, who was wrapped up in a vast cloak,
and at the door of the dancing-room we descended, leaving the mother in
the carriage.  As soon as we were alone my fair partner told me that her
name was Donna Ignazia.