Visit from the Turkish Ambassador.--Stroll to the gardens of the
Buen Retiro.--Troop of ostriches.--Madame d’Aranda.--State of
Cortejo-ism.--Powers of drapery.--Madame d’Aranda’s
toilet.--Assembly at the house of Madame Badaan.--Cortejos off
duty.--Blaze of beauty.--A curious group.--A dance.
Sunday, 23rd.
Every morning I have the pleasure of supplying the Grand Signior’s
representative with rolls and brioche, baked at home for my breakfast;
and this very day he came himself in one of the king’s lumbering state
coaches, with some of his special favourites, to thank me for these
piping hot attentions. We had a great deal of conversation about the
marvels of London, though he seemed stoutly convinced that in every
respect Islembul exceeded it ten times over.
As soon as he moved off, I strolled to the gardens of the Buen Retiro,
which contains neither statues nor fountains worth describing. They
cover a vast extent of sandy ground, in which there is no prevailing
upon anything vegetable or animal to thrive, except ostriches, a troop
of which were striding about in high spirits, apparently as much at home
as in their own native parched-up deserts.
Roxas dined with us, and we went together in the evening to the French
ambassador’s, the Duke de la V****. His daughter, a fine young woman of
eighteen or nineteen, is married to the Prince de L****, a smart
stripling, who has scarcely entered his fifteenth year; the ambassador
is no trifling proficient in political intrigue, no common-place twister
and turner in the paths of diplomacy, looks about him with calm and
polished indifference, though full of hazardous schemes and projects;
ever in secret ferment, and a Jesuit to the heart’s core. I could not
help noticing his quiet, observing eye--the still eye of a serpent lying
perdue in a cave. In his address and manners he is quite a model of
high-bred ease, without the slightest tincture of pedantry or
affectation.
Madame la Duchesse is a great deal fonder of fine phrases, which she
does not always reserve for grand occasions. Their son, the Prince de
C***, amused me beyond bounds with his lightning-like flashes of wit and
merriment, at the expense of Madrid and its tertullias. Upon the whole,
I like this family very much, and ardently wish they may like me.
I could not stay with them so long as I desired, Roxas having promised
to present me to Madame d’Aranda, whose devoted friend and _cortejo_ he
has the consummate pleasure to be. Happy the man who has the good
fortune of being attached by such delicious, though not quite strictly
sacred ties, to so charming a little creature; but in general the state
of cortejo-ism is far from enviable. You are the sworn victim of all the
lady’s caprices, and can never move out of the rustle of her black silk
petticoats, or beyond the wave of her fan, without especial permission,
less frequently granted with complacence than refused with asperity. I
imagine she has very good-naturedly given him leave of absence to show
me about this royal village, or else I should think he would hardly
venture to spare me so much of his company.
We found her sitting _en famille_ with her sister, and two young boys
her brothers, over a silver brazier in a snug interior apartment hung
with a bright valencia satin. She showed me the most pleasing marks of
civility and attention, and ordered her own apartments to be lighted up,
that I might see its magnificent furniture to advantage. The bed, of the
richest blue velvet trimmed with point lace, is beautifully shaped, and
placed in a spacious and deep recess hung round with an immense
profusion of ample curtains.
I wonder architects and fitters up of apartments do not avail themselves
more frequently of the powers of drapery. Nothing produces so grand and
at the same time so comfortable an effect. The moment I have an
opportunity I will set about constructing a tabernacle, larger than the
one I arranged at Ramalhaô, and indulge myself in every variety of plait
and fold that can possibly be invented.
Madame d’Aranda’s toilet, designed by Moite the sculptor and executed by
Auguste, is by far the most exquisite _chef-d’œuvre_ of the kind I
ever saw. Poor thing! she has every exterior delight the pomps and
vanities of the world can give; but she is married to a man old enough
to be her grandfather, and looks as pale and drooping as a narcissus or
lily of the valley would appear if stuck in Abraham’s bosom, and
continually breathed upon by that venerable patriarch.
After passing a delightful hour in what appeared to me an ethereal sort
of fairy-land, we went to a far more earthly abode, that of a Madame
Badaan, who is so obliging as to give immense assemblies once or twice a
week, in rather confined apartments. This small, but convenient
habitation, is no idle or unimportant resort for cortejos off duty, or
in search of novel adventures. Several of these disbanded worthies were
lounging about in the mean time, quite lackadaisically. There was a
blaze of beauty in every corner of the room, sufficient to enchant those
the least given to being enchanted; and there frisked the two little
Sabatinis, half Spanish, half Italian, sporting their neatly turned
ankles; and there sat Madame de Villamayor in all her pride, and her
daughters so full of promise; and the Marchioness of Santa Cruz, with
her dark hair and blue eyes, in all her loveliness. How delighted my
friend, the Effendi, must have been upon entering such a paradise, which
he soon did after we arrived there, followed by his Armenian
interpreter, whom I like better than the Greek, Timoni, with his prying,
squirrelish look, and malicious propensities.
The ambassador found me out almost immediately, and taking me to an
angle of the apartment, where a well-cushioned divan had been prepared
for his lollification, made me sit down by him whether I would or not.
We were just settled, when a bevy of young tits dressed out in a
fantastic, blowzy style, with sparkling eyes and streaming ribbons, drew
their chairs round us, and began talking a strange lingua-franca,
composed of three or four different languages. We must have formed a
curious group; I was declaiming and gesticulating with all my might,
reciting scraps of Hafiz and Mesihi, whilst the ladies, none of the
tallest, who were seated on low chairs, kept perking up their pretty
little inquisitive faces in the very beard of the stately Moslem, whose
solemn demeanour formed an amusing contrast to their giddy vivacity.
Madame Badaan and her spouse, the very best people in the world, and the
readiest to afford their company all possible varieties of
accommodation, sent for the most famous band of musicians Madrid could
boast of, and proposed a dance for the entertainment of his bearded
excellency. Accordingly, thirteen or fourteen couples started, and
boleroed and fandangoed away upon a thick carpet for an hour or two,
without intermission. There are scarcely any boarded floors in Madrid,
so the custom of dancing upon rugs is universally established.