MADRID.
The King, Queen, and Royal Family; Personal Appearance of
Ferdinand; a Royal _Jeu d’esprit_; the King’s Confidence in the
People, and Examples; Character of the King; a Carlist’s Opinion of
the King; Favourites,--Calomarde,--Alegon,--Salsedo,--the Duque
d’Higar; rising Influence of the Queen; Habits of the Royal Family;
Court Diversions; Rivalry of Don Carlos; the Queen’s Accouchement,
and Views of Parties; Detection of a Carlist Plot; the Salic Law;
Court Society; Persons of Distinction, and Ministerial Tertulias;
Habits and Manner of Life of the Middle Classes; a Spanish House,
and its singular Defences; Abstemiousness of the Spaniards; Evening
and Morning Visits; Balls and Spanish Dancing; Character of Spanish
Hospitality; Spanish Generosity and its origin; Examples of
Ostentation; Morals; Gallantry and Intrigue; the Morals of the
Lower Orders; Religious Opinions in the Capital, and decline of
Priestly Influence; Jesuitical Education; the Influence of the
Friars; Causes of the decline of Priestly influence, and the
continuance of that of the Friars; Convent Secrets; curious Exposé
at Cadiz; Devotion in Madrid.
There is perhaps no European Court about which so little is known, as
the Court of Madrid,--nor any European sovereign whose character and
habits are so little familiar to us, as those of Ferdinand VII. The
first time I saw the king, was on the day of my arrival in Madrid: he
was expected to return from _St. Ildefonso_, and I mixed with the crowd
in the palace-yard about an hour before he appeared. There were several
thousand persons present, of all ranks, and his Majesty was received
with respect, but with no audible demonstrations of welcome. Upon this
occasion, I was not sufficiently near to observe the countenance and
demeanour of the king.
The next time I saw his majesty, was on the Prado, the Sunday following,
when he appeared in his state equipage, followed by the equipages of the
two Infantes. The display was regal: his majesty’s carriage was worthy
of a more powerful monarch: it was drawn by eight handsome horses,
elegantly caparisoned, and was followed by the two carriages of Don
Carlos and Don Francis, and by that of the Princess of Portugal, each
drawn by six horses; and the cavalcade was attended by a numerous party
of huzzars. There were no other persons than their Majesties in the
royal carriage. The king was dressed in military uniform, and his royal
consort wore a pink French crape hat, and printed muslin gown. When the
royal cavalcade passed, the king was received with the usual silent
tokens of respect; but when the carriage of the infante Don Carlos
appeared, I could distinguish a few _vivas_. The king took scarcely any
notice of the obeisances of his subjects; but the queen seemed anxious
to conciliate their favour by many sweet smiles and affable bendings of
the head. As for Don Carlos, none of the _vivas_ were lost upon him: he
had a bow and a grim smile for every one. It is said, and I believe with
truth, that the king does not like this public competition with his
brother for popular favour; but it has long been the invariable custom
for all the branches of the royal family of Spain, to attend prayers
every Sunday evening in the royal chapel in the convent of _San
Geronimo_, and afterwards to drive along the Prado.
A few days afterwards I met the king and queen in the Retiro, on foot;
they had been viewing the menagerie, and were returning to their
carriage. Ferdinand VII. king of Spain, is like a lusty country
gentleman, not the meagre figure he appears in Madame Tassaud’s
exhibition; he is large, almost to the extent of corpulency; his
countenance is fat and heavy; but good natured, with nothing of
_hauteur_, still less of ferocity in it: it betrays, in fact, a total
want of character of any kind. The queen is a remarkably pleasing, and,
indeed, a remarkable pretty woman; and the charm of affability, which is
universally granted to her by those who have had the honour to approach
her person, shines conspicuously in her countenance: she looks like 28
years of age, but I believe she is some years younger. The king took
little notice of the people who stood by, and who acknowledged the royal
presence; but the queen bestowed upon them her usual smiles and
curtesies. She was then an object of much interest with the public, for
she was expected shortly to give birth to an heir to the Spanish throne;
and to this event, most thinking persons looked forward, as one that
must produce an important influence upon the future condition of Spain.
His majesty stepped into the carriage first, leaving the queen to the
gallantry of an old general, who was their only attendant,--perhaps this
is Spanish court etiquette: but that I may not be the means of fixing
upon his majesty the character of an ungallant monarch, I must relate a
circumstance that will certainly make amends for this seemingly
ungracious act.
I happened to be walking one day in the Calle de Alcala, when the royal
carriage drove up to the door of the Cabinet of Natural History, and
being close by, I stopped to see the king and queen. The king stepped
from the carriage first; he then lifted from the carriage, a very large
poodle dog, and then the queen followed, whom, contrary no doubt to
royal etiquette, his majesty did not hand, but lifted, and placed on the
pavement; and then turning to the crowd who surrounded the carriage, he
said to them “_Pesa menos el matrimonio_,” which means, Matrimony is a
lighter burden than the dog,--a very tolerable _jeu d’esprit_ to have
come from Ferdinand VII.
It is a general belief in England, that the king of Spain seldom trusts
himself out of his palace; at all events, not without a formidable
guard: but this idea is quite erroneous; no monarch in Europe is oftener
seen without guards than the king of Spain. I could give numerous
instances of this, which have fallen under my own observation; but I
shall content myself with one. A few days before leaving Madrid, while
walking in the Retiro about six in the evening, in one of the most
private walks, I observed a lusty gentleman, in blue coat and drab
trowsers, with one companion, about twenty paces in advance; and, as my
pace was rather quicker than their’s, I caught a side look of the lusty
gentleman’s face: it was the king, accompanied by a new valet, who had
just succeeded Meris, who died a week or two before, of apoplexy. I had
frequently seen the king without guards; but never before, at so great a
distance from attendants, or in so retired a place; and that I might be
quite certain that this was indeed the redoubtable Ferdinand, I
followed, in place of passing. He walked the whole length of the Retiro,
parts of which are more than a mile from any guard or gate; the garden
is open to every body; some of the walks are extremely secluded; so that
he was the whole of the time, entirely in the power of any individual
who might have harboured a design against him; and all this struck me
the more forcibly since, upon that very day, it had been announced for
the first time in the _Gaceta de Madrid_, that the refugees had passed
the frontier; and in the same paper the ordinance had appeared, for
closing the universities. The king walked like a man who had nothing to
fear; and never once looked behind him, though his companion
occasionally did. Before making the circuit of the Retiro, he reached
the frequented walks, which were then crowded, and where he was of
course recognized, and received as usual. This exposure of himself
seemed to me extraordinary, and scarcely to be accounted for: the best
of kings have occasionally suffered by their temerity; and surely
Ferdinand can have no right to suppose himself without an enemy: his
conduct shewed either a very good, or a very hardened conscience.
But, in truth, the king has not many enemies; many despise him, but few
would injure him. I have heard men of all parties,--the warmest
Carlists, the most decided liberals, speak of him without reserve; and
all speak of him as a man whose greatest fault is want of character; as
a man not naturally bad; good tempered; and who might do better, were he
better advised. An honest adviser, a lover of his monarch, and a lover
of his country, Ferdinand has never had the good fortune to possess;
but, counselled always by men who desire only to enrich themselves, and
to maintain their power, he is constantly led to commit acts both of
injustice and despotism, which have earned for him the character of
tyrant. A despicable king might often make a respectable private
gentleman. That capital failing in the character of an absolute king,
which may be called want of character,--leading him to listen to every
tale that is told,--is the fruitful source of injustice in every
department of the Spanish government. And the same fault that in a king,
leads to the advancement of knaves, and the neglect of deserving men--to
robbery of the nation, and the ill-serving of the state, would, in a
private sphere, only lead to the dismissal of a footman, or the change
of a fruiterer. I am acquainted with a Colonel in the Spanish service,
who, after serving his country fifteen years, and receiving seventeen
wounds, was rewarded with the government of an important fortress; two
months after being appointed to this employment he lost it; and a
distant connexion of the mistress of one of the ministers, was put in
his place. The colonel demanded, and obtained an audience of the king;
shewed his wounds, and asked what crime he had committed: the king said
he must inquire of _Salmon_, who had told something to his disadvantage;
and this was all the satisfaction he ever obtained. This man, a brave
officer, and a loyal subject, was converted into a disaffected person;
and yet even he, although then leagued with the Carlists, spoke of the
king as a man who would act better if he were better advised: “Leave
him,” said he, “the name of king; let him perceive no difference in the
externals of royalty; leave him his secretaries and valets; give him his
segar; and let him have his wife’s apartments at hand; and he would
consent to any change that might be proposed to him by an honest and
able minister.” A bad education has produced its worst effects upon a
naturally irresolute and rather weak mind. Ferdinand was badly brought
up, by his mother; at an early age he was shamefully kidnapped by
Napoleon, and long kept a prisoner, where he could learn nothing of the
art of good government. He afterwards fell into the hands of a bigot,
his late wife: and constantly assured by those around him of the
precariousness of his throne, with the liberals on one side, and the
apostolicals on the other, he has felt the impossibility of acting for
himself; and has confided all, to those who have undertaken to keep the
state vessel afloat.
The man who has most the ear of the king, is Don Francisco Tudeo
Calomarde, minister of justice, as he is called in Spain. The private
opinions of Calomarde, are decidedly apostolical; but the opinions of
his colleagues being more moderate, he is obliged to conceal his
sentiments, and to pretend an accordance with theirs. The ministers who
are reputed to be moderate in sentiment are Don Luis Ballasteros,
minister of finance; Don Luis Maria Salagar, minister of marine, and
generally considered the most able in the cabinet; and Don Manuel
Gonsalez Salmon, secretary of state, and nominally prime minister. This
minister, for several years, held only the office of _interim_ secretary
of state; because, as was generally believed, etiquette forcing the king
to take the prime minister along with him to his country palace, the
advancement of Salmon would have deprived Calomarde of this privilege:
lately, however, Salmon has been named secretary of state without
reserve, probably because he would not serve upon other conditions; or,
according to another version, because he threatened Calomarde with some
_exposé_ if he opposed his advancement.
Calomarde, unquestionably no fool, is understood to keep all together;
the minister of the marine is the only other man of talent, and he is a
new man, possessing little influence, and who could not, for a moment,
support himself against Calomarde; he was only a few months ago
presented with the rank of general, that etiquette might enable him to
hold some office with which the king wished to reward his services.
But Calomarde had not the king’s undivided ear; and, if report speak
truly, he has tale-telling and cabal to encounter, as well as those in
inferior stations. There are two other individuals who, without high
state offices, possess great private influence, and are generally looked
upon in the light of favourites. These are the Duque de Alegon and
Salsedo. The former was appointed last autumn to the office of
captain-general of the guard; an office that keeps him much about the
king’s person. This Alegon is a dissipated old man, long known to the
king, and who used, in former days, to pander to his pleasures; the king
has never forgotten the convenient friend of his younger days, and has
now thought of rewarding him. The services of the Duque de Alegon refer
to many years back. Before the king wedded his bigot wife, not
affection, but religious fear kept him faithful during that connexion;
and now, the love he bestows upon the young queen, entirely supersedes
any call upon the services of Alegon.
The other individual, who is justly considered the royal favourite, _par
excellence_, is Salsedo, who holds the office of private secretary. A
dishonourable link formerly bound him to his sovereign, and he still
retains his influence. It is generally known, that previous to the
marriage of the king with his present wife, the wife of Salsedo was in
royal favour. Salsedo is decidedly a man of good tact, if not of talent;
his having retained his post fourteen years is some proof of both. His
principles are understood to be moderate; at all events his advice is
so, for he has sense to perceive that an opposite policy would probably
accelerate the ruin of both his master and himself. Salsedo possesses
more influence in the closet than Calomarde,--the king likes him better,
and confides in him more. The influence of Calomarde is not favouritism;
the king looks to his opinion, because he trusts to his knowledge. There
are still one or two others who have something to say at court,
particularly the Duque d’Higar, the best man of the _Camarilla_, and a
man both of talent and information: but the influence of the Duque
d’Higar is not great. The favourite _valet de chambre_, who died of
apoplexy some months ago, was also fast creeping on towards high favour;
and his death has thrown more influence into the hands of Salsedo.
But it is now generally supposed, that the rising influence of the queen
will in due time discard every other influence about court. No king and
queen ever lived more happily together, than the present king and queen
of Spain. The king is passionately attached to her; and it is said she
is perfectly satisfied with her lot. He spends the greater part of the
day in her apartments; and when engaged in council, leaves it half a
dozen times in the course of an hour or two, to visit his queen. The
habits of the court are extremely simple: the king rises at six, and
breakfasts at seven; he spends the morning chiefly with the queen, but
receives his ministers and secretary at any time before two; at
half-past two he dines, always in company with the queen. Dinner
occupies not more than an hour; and shortly after, he and the queen
drive out together: he sups at half-past eight, and retires early. The
queen does not rise so early as the king; she breakfasts at nine; and
the king always sits by her. There is scarcely any gaiety at court. The
queen is fond of retirement; and excepting now and then a private
concert, there are no court diversions.
While I was in Madrid, the favourite pastime of the king and queen was
of rather an extraordinary kind; especially as the queen was on the eve
of her accouchement. It consisted in looking at the wild beasts, which
are kept in the Retiro. Almost every evening about five o’clock, the
royal carriage might be seen crossing the Prado, on its way towards the
menagerie; and as the Retiro was generally my afternoon lounge, I had
frequent opportunities of seeing this royal diversion. There is a large
square court about 200 yards across, inclosed with iron railings, and
round the interior of this court, are the cages of the wild animals; and
in this court, sat the king and queen upon a bench, while the animals
were turned out for their amusement,--such of them at least as were
peaceable,--camels, elephants, zebras, &c. &c. The keepers mounted upon
the backs of the animals, and made them trot round the area; and when
this had been done often enough to please their majesties, the beasts
were led in front of their royal visitors, and made to kneel,--which act
of homage however they sometimes refused to perform. Upon one occasion,
the man who rode the camel, not being able to keep his seat, turned his
face towards the tail, sitting upon the neck of the animal; their
majesties were in ecstasies at this exhibition; the king, I thought,
would have died with laughing.
I was witness, another time, to a strange scene of rivalry between the
king and Don Carlos. When the king’s carriage drove up to the gate of
the court, Don Carlos and his wife and family were seated in the area,
and his carriage was in waiting: upon this occasion, the king arrived in
state; a party of dragoons attended him, and his coachmen were in court
dresses. The carriage of Don Carlos was in strange contrast with that of
the king; it was drawn by six mules, harnessed with ropes; in place of
postilions in court dresses, his servants were in the dress of Spanish
peasants in their holiday clothes,--one on the coach-box,--the other
employed as a runner by the head of the mules. Don Carlos affects all
this appearance of simplicity and Spanish usage, to please the people;
and for the same reason, his wife generally appears in a mantilla. The
moment the king’s carriage appeared, Don Carlos left the court with his
wife, and continued to walk in the most crowded part of the garden while
the king and queen remained, dividing the attention which their
majesties would otherwise have received, and indeed engrossing the
larger share of it. I could not avoid remarking the greater popularity
of Don Carlos among the lower orders: while they only took off their
hats as the king passed, they bowed almost to the ground at the presence
of the Infante. The appearance of the queen, however, always produced a
favourable impression, especially when contrasted with that of her
aspiring rival. One cannot look at the spouse of Don Carlos, without
perceiving that she covets a crown; while in the countenance of the
queen, we read indifference to it.
Upon frequent other occasions while in Madrid, I had proofs of the
anxiety of Don Carlos to recommend himself to the people. The most
marked of these, was upon the evening when the queen gave birth to a
princess: not an hour after this was known, the Infante drove through
the streets and along the Prado, in an open carriage, along with his
three sons, who, by the repeal of the Salic law, were that day cut out
of their inheritance.
The event to which I have alluded,--the accouchement of the queen--was a
matter of deep interest in Madrid; and before its accomplishment there
was the utmost anxiety among all ranks. Each party had its own views.
The moderate, or government party, and many belonging to the other
parties, who desired peace and tranquillity, anxiously looked to the
birth of a prince, as an event that would at once extinguish the claims
of those who, but for the repeal of the Salic law, would have had a
right to the throne, in case of the birth of a princess. The Carlists
secretly wished that the event might be precisely the opposite; and the
liberal party, seeing some possible advantage in whatever should tend to
unsettle the existing government, united their wishes with those of the
Carlists: but, the great majority of the respectable inhabitants,
perceiving in the birth of a prince, a guarantee for the tranquillity of
the kingdom, and the security of property, devoutly wished that such
might be the event.
The anxiety that filled the public mind, was fully partaken by the
government; for it was well known to the heads of the state, that
conspiracies were on foot; and that, in the event of the birth of a
princess, the Carlists would have a pretext for an open manifestation of
their views. They, however, had resolved not to wait this event, but to
anticipate it; and a plot, which might possibly have proved successful,
and which, at all events, must have led to scenes of blood, perhaps to
revolution, was fortunately discovered on the day before that appointed
for its execution; and the most prompt measures were immediately taken
for crushing it. On the fifth of October, about midnight, carriages,
accompanied by sufficient escorts, were taken to the houses of Padre
Cirilo, the chief of the Franciscan order of friars; of Don Rufino
Gonsalez; of Don Man. Herro, both Counsellors of State, and of thirteen
others; the conspirators were put into the carriages, and driven
off,--Cirilo to Seville; Rufino to La Mancha, and the others to
different places distant from the metropolis. The conspirators intended
that some of the heads should have repaired to the inner court of the
palace while the king was engaged in his evening drive; that about a
thousand of the royalist volunteers--who are for the most part
Carlists--should assemble at the palace yard; that the entrance to the
palace should be taken possession of; the king seized upon his return,
and forced to change his ministers, and to restore the Salic law. I feel
little doubt, that if this plot had not been discovered, it would have
led to more than a change of ministers. Among the military, and even
among the guards, there are many discontented men, who fancy they see in
the elevation of Don Carlos, a guarantee for a more impartial system of
promotion; and the royalist volunteers of Madrid, 6000 strong, and all
provided with arms, and accustomed to manœuvre them, are, with few
exceptions of the lowest classes, and chiefly Carlists.
I walked to the palace yard the evening when it was expected the event
would be known: it presented a dense mass of persons, chiefly of
bourgeois and of the middle classes, all waiting with anxiety the
announcement of the event, upon which the tranquillity of the country so
greatly depended. At length the white flag--the announcement of a
princess--was slowly hoisted. There was a universal and audible
expression of disappointment: “_Que lastima! que lastima!_” and the
crowd slowly dispersed.
The repeal of the Salic law was not in itself an unpopular measure; and
had there been no claimants to the crown under the old law, or no party
to take advantage of disunion, and support these claims, it would have
been a matter of indifference to the people, whether the queen gave
birth to a son or a daughter: the repeal of the Salic law was only the
revival of the ancient law of Castile, and _per se_, gave no
dissatisfaction. It was the peculiar circumstances in which the country
was placed, and the state of parties, that rendered the birth of a
prince or a princess a matter of importance: the event created much
disappointment to the government party, but no discontent: it is well
known that the Constitutionalists on the frontier had trusted to the
latter, and hoped to profit by it: but the effect was rather against
than favourable to that party; because the Carlists, seeing their own
ultimate chances increased, were therefore more interested in assisting
government to suppress the Constitutionalists, whose ascendancy would
leave them no hope.--But to return to the court.
There is nothing of court society at Madrid: the secluded habits of the
king and queen, I have spoken of already; and there is scarcely any
visiting among the courtiers. The persons of distinction in Madrid lead
a most monotonous life: one lady only, the Duchess of Benevente, opens
her house once a week,--this is on Sunday evening, and she receives,
among others, those of the foreign ministers who choose to visit her.
Her parties, however, are far from being agreeable: the Spaniards of
distinction who frequent her _tertulia_, generally withdraw when the
foreign ministers are announced. This disinclination on the part of the
Spanish grandees, and others holding high court preferment, to associate
with the foreign ambassadors, is notorious in Madrid. At the tertulia,
of the wife of Don Manuel Gonsalez Salmon, the foreign ministers used
formerly to be present, but they discovered that they were regarded in a
light little different from that of spies; and they are now never seen
at these tertulias. In Madrid there are no ministerial, no diplomatic
dinners; and among the persons of most distinction, entertainments are
extremely rare. There is, in fact, nothing like gaiety among the upper
ranks in the Spanish metropolis. And yet, if you remark to a Spanish
lady that there is little society among the higher classes in Madrid,
she will express the utmost astonishment that you should have imbibed so
false a notion of Madrid and its society; but her idea of society and
yours differ widely. If a dozen houses are open, into which a Spanish
lady may go when she pleases, sit down on the sofa with her friend, fan
herself, and talk till she is tired; this she considers society,--and
this is the only form of society to be found among the highest classes
in Madrid,--gaiety there is none.
Previous to travelling into Spain, I had heard much of the difficulty,
if not impossibility, of obtaining access to Spanish society; and
before I had the means of judging for myself, I received frequent
corroboration of this opinion. One of his majesty’s consuls, whom I
accidentally met in the Pyrenees, and whose appointment lies in the
largest city of Spain, next to Madrid; a man too, who, both by his rank,
for he is the nephew of a peer, and by the affability of his manners,
would be likely to be every where well received, told me that I should
probably leave Spain with no greater knowledge of Spanish society than
when I entered it; that it was more than probable I should never see the
inside of a Spanish house: and he concluded by saying, that he had been
four years in Spain, and actually _did not know if the Spaniards dined
off a table cloth_. This was rather disheartening: and when I waited
upon the British minister upon my arrival in Madrid, I received from him
no greater encouragement. He told me that Spanish houses were closed
against foreigners; and that, for his own part, he knew nobody, and
visited no where.
I am not able to reconcile these opinions, and the experience of others,
with my own; my advantages, considerable as they certainly were, could
not be compared with those of the accredited representatives of
government, who had resided many years in the country. It is a fact,
however, that I had not been many days in Madrid, before I had the
entrée of several Spanish houses, both in the higher and in the middle
classes of society: this good fortune I may partly attribute to my
intimacy with an _attaché_ of the Spanish embassy in London, who,
grateful for the attentions he had received from my countrymen, repaid
them in the manner most acceptable to me,--namely, by making me
acquainted with a numerous circle of friends and relatives. His father,
a member of the council of state, may easily be supposed to have
possessed the power of assisting the inquiries of a traveller; and to
him, and to my young friend, now secretary to one of the legations in
Italy, I have to return my best thanks for a hundred civilities.
It is the habits of the middle classes, that best interpret the
condition and character of a people; and to these I mean at present to
confine myself. I shall begin by giving the reader some idea of the
interior of a Spanish house; but let me premise, that the houses in the
different cities of Spain, bear scarcely any resemblance to each other:
the houses of Madrid differ in almost every thing from those of
Seville,--which, again, are in many respects different from the houses
in Malaga and Valencia. These distinctions are sufficient to excuse a
detail so apparently trifling, as the description of a house; because
they arise from a distinction in the manners and habits of the people
inhabiting the different provinces of Spain.
In Madrid, the whole of the middle classes, and, indeed, all excepting
the very highest ranks, live in stories, or flats, as they are called in
Scotland,--each story being a distinct house. The outer door of every
house in Madrid is of an enormous strength, more like the door of a
prison, or of a convent, than of a private dwelling house; and in the
centre, there is a small window, about six inches long by two broad,
grated with iron, and with a sliding shutter. When one rings at the door
of a Spanish house, the answer to the bell is a voice, which calls out
“_Quien es?_”--who is it? or who comes? and the person wishing to be
admitted, must answer “_Gente de paz_,”--literally, People peace. But
this assertion does not content the person within, who then shoves aside
the shutter and peeps through; and the usual colloquy is carried on
through the grating, before the door be thrown open, unless the person
without, be known to the servant within. One cannot help endeavouring to
account for the origin of so singular a custom; and perhaps the truest
guess that can be made, is, to refer it to the suspicion, and feeling of
personal insecurity, which are the offspring of bad government, of
political persecution, and religious inquisition. The window shutters of
the houses are as massive as the doors; and the glass of the windows is
purposely so bad, that it is impossible to see into a house from the
opposite side of a street: three panes, however, are always of good
glass, so that one may be able to see out.
The house which I select for a description of its interior, as a fair
sample of the dwelling-houses of the middle classes in Madrid, belonged
to a gentleman holding a government appointment of 50,000 reals
(500_l._) per annum; which may be equal to about 700_l._ a-year in
London: and, with very few variations, this house may be taken as an
average specimen of the houses of professional men, _employées_, and
independent persons, of from 500_l._ to 1,000_l._ per annum. The
principal room, answering to the English drawing-room, is large, and
well-lighted; a handsome straw matting, worked in a pattern of coloured
flowers, and which looks quite as pretty as a carpet, entirely covers
the floor, which is generally of brick. There is no fire-place in the
room; the walls and roof are both what is called stained, and this is as
well executed as I have ever seen it in England; and the furniture of
the room consists of a large mahogany sofa, with hair cushion, covered
with flowered black satin; mahogany chairs, with green and
straw-coloured basket-seats; four small mahogany tables, of good
material, and prettily carved, and a large round table in the centre of
the room--just an English loo-table--upon which stands a handsome
service of china; a mirror, and two marble slabs between the windows,
and a few pictures--copies from Spanish masters,--complete the
furniture: but let me not omit five or six low stools, scattered here
and there; for every lady has her footstool.
At one end of this room, opening from the side, is a recess, twelve or
thirteen feet square, and not concealed by any curtain. This is a
bed-room,--a bed-room too in constant use. The bedstead is of steel or
brass wire; the bed is covered with a counterpane, trimmed with broad
lace; the furniture is all of mahogany, and the wash-hand basin and ewer
are of brass.
A wide archway opening at the other end of the drawing-room, leads to an
ante-room, covered with the same matting as the drawing-room, and
furnished with a couch, chairs, and footstools, covered with blue satin.
At the side of this ante-room is another recess, open like the other,
containing two beds, between them a small marble slab, with a vessel of
holy-water, and at the head of each a small image of Christ in ivory.
This is the matrimonial chamber. The rest of the house consists of a
long, tortuous, and rather dark passage, from which the other rooms
enter: these are, a small parlour, or study, always poorly fitted up; a
boudoir, with a low couch covered with black satin, a couple of
footstools, a table, and very handsome looking-glass; this important
room is either matted, or floored with Valencia tiles; and the walls are
generally covered with a French paper, and adorned or disfigured as the
case may happen, with a few pictures, religious, or of an opposite
character, or both, according to the taste of the señora.
The worst room in almost every Spanish house, is the dining-room, or
rather eating-room, for every meal is taken in the same room: the floor
has generally no matting,--the walls are unadorned,--the furniture is of
the commonest description,--and the room itself so small, that the
table, which nearly fills the room, is rarely large enough for more than
six persons. This at once lets a stranger into an important secret in
the economy of Madrid society; that there is no probability of receiving
an invitation to dinner. I say Madrid society, because in the southern
provinces, the dining-room and its uses are different. But although a
stranger must not expect many invitations to dinner in Madrid, yet, if
he be once received into a family upon a familiar footing, and should
pay a visit while the family are at dinner, or just sitting down to
dinner, he will not be denied admittance, but will be requested to walk
into the eating-room, and a chair will be immediately placed for him at
table. This civility, however, must be accepted with discretion; because
the civil speech, which is invariably addressed to a stranger, when he
concludes his first visit,--_Esta casa es a la disposition de
V^{d.}_,--“This house is at your disposal,”--is a form of words not to
be always interpreted literally. I have omitted to mention the Spanish
kitchen, which is provided with a stone table, in which there are six or
eight circular holes for charcoal, and numerous earthen vessels to fit
these holes. Generally speaking, respectable Spanish houses, whether in
Madrid, Seville, or Valencia, are scrupulously clean. I have never in
any country, seen kitchens and bed-rooms so clean as they are in Spain.
The description I have given may serve to convey to the reader a
tolerably accurate idea of the houses of Madrid: some may contain a
greater number of apartments, and others fewer; and some may be a
little better, others a little worse furnished; but in the material
points, they are all the same; they have all an elegant drawing-room,
bed-rooms in recesses, a wretched dining-room, and a luxuriously
fitted-up boudoir.
In a former chapter, I spoke of the manner of living among the middle
classes in the northern provinces. In Madrid, and generally in Castile,
there is somewhat more luxury in the table, though the Spaniards as a
nation, may justly be characterized as abstemious, and little addicted
to the pleasures of the table. The _olla_ or _puchero_, is not the sole
dish that graces the tables of the middle and upper classes in Madrid:
there is generally a stew of some kind added, and dinner is always
followed by cakes, sweetmeats, and fruit; but this is after all but an
indifferent dinner for one with an income of 700_l._ or 800_l._ a-year.
And there are still very many in Madrid, even in the upper ranks, who
are contented with the puchero; and I was myself acquainted with one or
two families in good circumstances, who yet lived in a way which we
should call _piggishly_ in England, sending to the cook-shop for a
puchero, and to the wine-shop, for the daily portion required at
dinner.
The inhabitants of Madrid, excepting the trades people, rise late, and
breakfast between ten and eleven, upon a cup of chocolate, with scarcely
any bread, and a glass of cold water. Going to mass, dressing, paying
and receiving visits, and walking the streets, occupy the ladies till
the dinner hour; and this, following the example of the court, and in
order that it may not interfere with the claims of the Prado, is early,
even among the highest ranks. Then follows the siesta; and the interval
between the siesta and dressing for the Prado, is usually passed upon
the balcony. After the Prado, is the tertulia, which may be said to be
the only form of Spanish society. When you have the entrée of a house in
Madrid, and pay your visit in the evening, you find the family assembled
near the windows, with two or three strangers, chatting and laughing;
the ladies of the house without mantillas, and the visitors generally
wearing them. The young ladies, or señoritas, are in one part of the
room, with one or two caballeros; and the Senora de Casa in another,
probably conversing with a priest or friar; unless she be young, in
which case there is no division in the society. The room is usually
badly lighted, most commonly with a semi-luna at the farthest
corner,--and the master of the house is rarely one of the party. He is a
member of another tertulia. The conversation is always lively, and
somewhat piquante, and the visitors stay late, and are not presented
with any refreshment.
If the visit be made in the morning, the lady, if not walking the
streets, or gossiping, is found in her boudoir, seated upon a low couch,
in a black silk dress; her feet upon a footstool; and beside her, a
large basket, such as Murillo has so often painted. She is always
engaged in some kind of embroidery,--and her fan, which she resumes the
moment you enter, lies on the table before her.
The only kind of party to which a stranger is invited in Madrid, is a
ball; but there is no necessity for an invitation, if one has the entrée
of the house. At these parties, the ladies are rarely dressed in the
Spanish fashion, but generally _à la Française_, with white or coloured
dresses,--the only distinguishing, and never to be mistaken mark of a
Spanish woman, being the fan. The Spanish ladies invariably dance well;
and yet their mode of dancing is as opposite as possible from the French
style: it is the management of the head and shoulders; and the _manner_,
not the power of motion in the limbs, that distinguish the Spanish
woman. There is another remarkable difference between the Spanish, and
the French or English dance: the gravity of countenance,--and generally,
the silence that prevails among quadrillers, both in France and England,
is remarkable, and even ludicrous; but the Spanish ladies talk and laugh
while they dance,--seeing no reason why one pleasure should suspend
another. At these parties there is rarely any refreshment offered; a
glass of water may be had, but nothing more.
Are the Spaniards a hospitable people?--This is a question that cannot
be answered by a simple monosyllable: it seems difficult to separate
hospitality from generosity; and yet this distinction must be made in
speaking of the conduct of Spaniards towards strangers. A Spaniard
considers himself to be remarkable for his hospitality, because he is at
all times happy to see a stranger within his doors: he says, speaking to
an Englishman, “in your country you invite a foreigner to your house,
and there the civility ends; he cannot return without another
invitation. But here, if a stranger be once received within our houses,
they are ever afterwards at his disposal; he needs no farther
invitation.” This is true enough, but it scarcely amounts to
hospitality. This word, from the days of Abraham, who fed the angels,
has signified setting meat before one; but a stranger might live years
in a Spanish city, and be on terms of intimacy with many wealthy
Spaniards, and might yet never break bread within a Spanish
house,--certainly never by invitation. I speak at present of Madrid, and
the cities of the interior. In Cadiz, Malaga, Valencia, and Barcellona,
dinner parties are occasionally given. But, with this seeming want of
hospitality towards strangers, there is much, and very uncalled-for
generosity. Wherever a stranger goes in company with a Spaniard,--if to
a coffee-house, to the theatre, to a bull-fight,--even to shops where
fancy articles are sold, the Spaniard insists upon paying: any
remonstrance offends him; nor will he ever, at any after time, permit
you to repay the obligation in a similar way. He is at all times ready
with his purse; and draws its strings with the alacrity of a man who is
eager to give away his money. It is difficult to refer to any common
principle, the different ways in which a Spaniard and an Englishman shew
kindness to a stranger. The Spaniard lays out his money upon him
cheerfully; but gives him nothing to eat: the Englishman, on the other
hand, would dislike paying a crown for a foreigner, but would ask him to
dinner again and again, and thus lay out ten times its amount.
I fear this apparent disregard of money, may have some connexion with
that great and unfortunate failing in the character of the middle
classes in Spain, particularly in Castile--love of display, or
ostentation. This failing belongs to the middle and upper classes in an
extraordinary degree; while inconsiderateness, and carelessness of
to-morrow, are conspicuous in the characters both of the middle and
lower classes. Almost every one in Spain lives up to his income. Even
the employées, who hold their posts by a very uncertain tenure, seldom
lay by any thing; they generally die pennyless: and it is a certain
fact, that the families of employées who have died beggars, have swelled
the Spanish pension list to a most formidable length. A Spaniard will
dine without a table-cloth, to save the expense of washing; but this,
not that he may lay by his money,--but that he may have the eclât, not
the _pleasure_, of frequenting the opera; the _pride_, not the
_gratification_, of eating ice in the _Café Catalina_. I have known some
extraordinary instances of this love of display: a Spanish officer, with
whom we had some acquaintance, invited us to accompany him and his wife
to the Prado. A handsome carriage drove up to the door, attended by two
servants in gay liveries: will it be believed, that the carriage and
servants were hired for the occasion; and that this officer was married,
had a family, and possessed only his pay, amounting to about 140_l._
a-year? What sacrifices must have been made for the indulgence of this
piece of vanity! I knew the family of a judge, consisting of a widow,
and four daughters, all of whom appeared every Sunday on the Prado with
new satin shoes and clean white gloves: the pension of a judge’s widow
is 8000 reals, (80_l._ sterling). There is nothing remarkable in these
instances; and the same love of display is visible among the lower
orders in Madrid, as far as this can be shewn in their rank of life.
Persons in very humble circumstances are seen in most expensive dresses;
and it is not at all unusual to meet a female servant with a comb, fan,
and mantilla, whose united expense would amount to 4_l._ or 5_l._
In the upper and middle classes of society in Madrid, morals are at the
lowest ebb: though veils are almost thrown aside, and serenades are
rare, Spain is still the country of gallantry and intrigue. Want of
education among the women, and the absence of moral and religious
principle among the men, are the fruitful sources of this universal
demoralization. In the education of a Spanish woman, all has reference
to display; knowledge forms no part of it. The business of her life, is
dress and show; and its object, admiration: this leads to gallantry,
and all its train of consequences. It is impossible to walk into the
street, or along the Prado, without perceiving even among children, that
the rudiments of Spanish indiscretion are already laid. Little girls of
the tenderest age shew by their gait and manner, that they are already
initiated in the business of life. I have heard others, scarcely escaped
from childhood, talk in a manner that would have made an English married
woman blush,--and, to gather something even from infancy, I have heard a
child five or six years old, ask its companion, how it could disregard
appearance so much as to venture out without a proper _ceinture_.
In married life, I have reason to think that infidelity is more
universal than in Italy; but the origin of it is different, and the
thing is differently managed in the two countries. It is a great error
to imagine--as some old writers upon Spain, and accurate writers in
other respects, have asserted--that there is any connivance in Spain on
the part of the husband: Spanish husbands, with few exceptions, are too
proud to bargain for their own dishonour. While I was in Madrid, two
instances occurred, in which husbands murdered their wives in fits of
jealousy: in neither of these cases was the thing sifted to the bottom;
because it was known that in doing this the villany of two priests would
have been brought to light. The _Cortejo_ of Spain is by no means the
_Cisesbeo_ of Italy. The _liaison_ in Spain is a secret one; it has not
originated in interest or vanity, but in passion; and the greatest pains
are taken to conceal it from the husband, and even (intimates excepted)
from the world. There are not in Madrid the same opportunities for the
formation and prosecution of intrigue, as in Seville and the cities of
the south. In these, the gardens and summer houses,--the walls of both
forming a part of the street,--are particularly favourable to the
serenade, the billet-doux, and their recompense. In Madrid,
opportunities are more precarious: the mass, the street, the balcony,
are the only places of rendezvous; and of these, the latter is the most
prized. Walking the streets, while all the world enjoys the siesta,
wakeful señoras and señoritas are here and there seen behind the
curtains that fall over the balconies, and which are supposed to shade
the light from the eyes of the sleeper; and now and then some medium of
intelligence is seen fluttering downward, to be picked up by a cloaked
_cabalero_. There is another important difference between the
gallantries of Spain, and of Italy or France: in Spain, they are not
confined to married women: improper _liaisons_ are not unfrequently
formed by unmarried ladies; and those whom one sees on the balconies,
are much more frequently señoritas than señoras.
Intrigue is not confined in Madrid to the upper, or even the middle
classes of society; but is found also among the trades people. Sometimes
during the hours of sleep and silence, I have ventured, in passing along
the street, to draw aside the curtain that is meant to secure an
uninterrupted siesta to the inmates of the embroiderers, perfumers, or
dress-makers’ shops; and I have more than once interrupted a
_tête-à-tête_. It is fair to add, however, that I oftener found the
señorita fast asleep. It is well understood in Madrid, that during the
time of siesta, no one enters a shop where a curtain is drawn; but a
stranger may sometimes do unpermitted things, under pretence of
ignorance.
The lower orders in Madrid cannot be characterized as grossly immoral:
they are not drunken and brutal, like the mob of London; nor ferocious
and insolent, like the _canaille_ of Paris. In walking the streets of
Madrid, it is rarely that one sees either quarrelling or gambling; and I
believe it might be possible to walk through any part of the city with
the corner of a handkerchief hanging out of the pocket, and to return
with it in its place: petty larceny, a Castilian thinks beneath him.
Between the character of the Castilian and the Andalusian, there is as
marked a distinction as that which exists in the characters of any two
people inhabiting different kingdoms; but I will not anticipate.
I suspect that among the upper and middle ranks in Madrid, religion is
as low as morals: among them, priestcraft exercises very little
influence; and, indeed, ridicule and dislike of all orders of religion,
form a very common seasoning to conversation. There can be no doubt that
the occupation of the Peninsula by the French army, has gone far
towards diminishing the respect in which the priesthood was formerly
held by the great majority of all classes in Spain. In Madrid, I have
never heard one individual above the rank of a small tradesman, speak
with respect, of religion,--or with affection, of the priesthood. There
cannot be the smallest doubt that, in the capital at least, both the
clergy and the friars are sensible of a great diminution in the power
which they formerly enjoyed; and their tone and bearing are altered
accordingly. At present, they, at all events the regular clergy, yield a
little to the tide that has set in against them. I have been surprised
to hear the freedom with which some of the priests have spoken of the
state of Spain. I have heard them particularly lament the difficulties
that stand in the way of publishing books, and admit the oppressive
nature of the enactments that regard education. The clergy have not the
same interest as the friars, in supporting the present system, because
they have not the same fears. A revolution that might possibly chase
every monk from the soil, and which would, at all events, despoil them
of their possessions and terminate their dominion, would probably but
slightly affect the clergy of the church; and I have observed that since
the French revolution, their fears have diminished. The example of
France, in the respect it has shewn for the rights of the church, they
look upon as a guarantee of their own security; and perhaps justly.
Government still seeks for support in the influence of the church, and
endeavours, by every means, to keep up this influence. This, it may
easily be supposed, is attempted through the medium of education, which,
throughout Spain, may be said to be a government concern. The schools in
Madrid are all conducted by Jesuits; and the education received in them,
is such as might be expected from their heads. This surveillance
commenced when the king returned to the head of the government, in 1824.
The colleges were then remodelled; and all the public seminaries, even
those destined for military education, were placed under Jesuit heads. I
have frequently met in the streets of Madrid, long lines of students of
the _Colegio Imperial_, and of the _Semmario de Nobles_, some in
military uniform, and each company headed by a priest. And no choice is
left to the people, as to the education of their children: the only
choice is, the government school, or no school; for obstacles, almost
insurmountable, are thrown in the way of private tuition. Before a
family dare employ a tutor, the permission of government must be
obtained; and the tutor must provide himself with a license: this
implies minute inquiries into character, political and religious
opinions, &c.; so that, in fact, no tutor is ever licensed, unless there
is a perfect security that the system of education to be pursued by
him,--intellectual, political, and religious,--shall be precisely the
same as that taught in the public seminaries: there is nothing therefore
gained by private tuition. Whether the priesthood may possibly regain
any part of its lost influence, owing to the present system of
education, may admit of a question. If Spain should remain in its
present condition, without revolution or change, it is probable that the
growth of liberal opinions may be retarded; the thousands now educated
on jesuitical principles, and denied the means of real knowledge, were
not old enough during the existence of the constitution, to have caught
a glimpse of the light which at that time dawned upon the darkness of
Spain; nor have they had opportunities of being influenced by French
principles, during the time of the occupation of the Peninsula. The
policy of the Spanish government, therefore, with respect to its
surveillance of education, is not unworthy of a government that desires
to maintain itself by the blindness of the people.
The influence of the friars is much greater than that of the priests;
though this also diminishes daily. I speak of Madrid only. In many of
the other cities of Spain, of which I shall afterwards speak more in
detail--particularly in Toledo, Seville, Granada, Lorca, and Murcia, and
in most of the smaller towns, I think it almost impossible that the
influence of the friars could ever have been much greater than it is. In
Madrid, less attention is paid to religious ceremonials and processions,
than in any other city of Spain: and one sees fewer external proofs of
the veneration of the people for the character of friar. A Franciscan
may pass from one end of Madrid to the other, without having one claim
made upon his paternal blessing by a grown-up person. I have seen the
Virgin of St. Rosalio, and an image of St. Thomas, carried through the
streets, with some hundreds of friars accompanying them, without any one
being excited to a greater act of devotion than raising the hat from the
head: and during my morning walk, when I invariably looked into the
churches belonging to whichever of the convents that happened to lie in
my way, I seldom saw more than half a dozen persons at their devotions.
All this is very different at Toledo and Seville; and judging by the
difference I have observed in the proofs of bigotry apparent in the
different Spanish cities, I feel myself justified in believing that the
influence of the friars, as well as that of the priests, has sensibly
diminished in Madrid. But it is far from being small: it still exists,
with less or more force, among all ranks: and the breast of a friar is
still the favourite depository of family secrets. From my house, I could
see the regular visits made by friars to several houses within the range
of my window; and little children may at all times be seen in the
street, running after the monk of any order, to kiss his hand and beg
his blessing.
There are many reasons why the influence of the friars should decline
more slowly than that of the priesthood: as the first of these may be
mentioned, the greater immorality of the lives of the latter. This
immorality is notorious throughout Spain; and, indeed, they take little
pains to conceal,--I will not say their pecadillos,--but the
opportunities and temptations to commit them, which they create for
themselves; and they obtain full credit for yielding to these
temptations. Perhaps it is doing wrong to the clergy to assign to the
friars greater purity of life than to them; but whatever may be the
immoralities of the monks, they have more the art, and they possess
better opportunities too of concealing them. Priests live in the world,
and have worse opportunities of concealment than other men, because
their profession lays them open to scrutiny; but friars live in a world
of their own, fenced round, not only by walls of stone, but by a more
impenetrable wall of prescriptive veneration,--and they are very daring
eyes that pry into the secrets of the cloister. But strange, and even
dreadful events, occasionally occur, to lay open the hidden scenes that
are transacted within a convent’s walls. One such occurred last
September, while I was in Madrid. One morning, the Superior of the
monastery of San Basilio was found in bed murdered,--his throat cut, his
hands tied, and several stabs in his body. There could be no doubt that
the murder had been committed by the friars; and as no pretence could be
found against instituting an inquiry, a commission was accordingly
appointed to investigate, and sat during several days. Strange
disclosures were made: it appeared that the superior had been a good
man, and remarkably strict in the observances enjoined upon the
order,--too much so for the inclination of the friars, who had been
accustomed to commit every kind of excess, and to transgress in the most
essential points, the rules of the convent; particularly in being absent
during the night. The superior used to reprove this laxity, and exerted
his authority to restrain it; and dislike towards him was naturally
produced. In these circumstances, no doubt, rested in the mind of any
one, that the murder was committed by the monks; but it had been
resolved, that in some way or other the affair should be got rid of. The
porter of the convent, who, previous to the appointment of the
commission, had declared that no one had entered, so qualified his words
before the commissioners, that through his evidence, they found a
loop-hole by which justice might ooze out:--he said, that he had some
recollection, when half asleep, of having seen a person enter; but
besides the impossibility of any one entering, unless the porter had
been so much awake as to open the gate, the murder could not have been
committed by one person. The result was, that the commission broke up
without coming to any decision; but as a sacrifice to public opinion,
three of the friars were committed to prison on suspicion. It was well
understood that the affair would never go further; and I was assured by
the wife of a person holding a high official employment, that in a few
months the imprisoned monks would be found again in their convent. When
the king returned to Spain in 1823, he hanged a friar for a murder; but
this was done at that particular juncture to please the
Constitutionalists; and while the investigation I have mentioned was
proceeding, every one knew that his majesty dared not venture upon a
repetition of this.
A few years ago, a curious exposé was made at Cadiz, which, as I am upon
the subject of friars, I shall mention in this place. There was, and
still is, a banker named Gargallo, one of the richest men in Cadiz,
whose magnificent dwelling-house is separated from the wall of the
Franciscan monastery only by one small house; and this house also
belonged to Sr. Gargallo, although it was not inhabited. The master of
the house, who though a rich man, looked closely into his affairs,
perceived that his cook’s bill greatly exceeded the sum necessary for
the subsistence of the family; and after bearing this during a
considerable time, he at length discharged his cook. The cook applied
for service elsewhere; and upon his new master applying to Gargallo for
a character, he refused to give one, alleging as a reason, the
dishonesty of his servant: the cook enraged at this injustice, and more
solicitous to preserve his own good character than that of the friars,
returned to Gargallo’s house, taking witnesses along with him; and aloud
in the court-yard told this story: that every day he had carried a hot
dinner into the house adjoining, where Gargallo’s wife and daughter
entertained a select party of Franciscan friars; and what was worse
still, his late master’s money had been expended in the support of three
children and a nurse, who all lived in the adjoining house. The truth of
this story was easily put to the test; the three children and a nurse
were found in the house, and the whole affair was brought to light. The
especial favour of the ladies was reserved for only two of the friars:
the very reverend father Antonio Sanches de la Camissa, Sacristan Mayor,
was the favourite of the wife; and another, whose name I forget, but who
was next in rank to the prior, and had formerly been confessor in
Gargallo’s house, was the selection of his daughter. These had the
entrée of Gargallo’s house at all hours; and in order to keep quiet a
few others, who were supposed to be in the secret, a savoury dinner was
provided every day for the self-denying Franciscans. Gargallo married
his daughter to an old apothecary, at Chiclana, where she now lives a
widow; and he confined his wife during two years in an upper room in his
own house; but she now lives again with her husband. At the first
disclosure of the affair, he wished to send both offenders to the
Penitentiary; but the captain-general of the province interfered, to
prevent so much publicity in an affair compromising the character of the
Franciscans. No notice whatever of this disgraceful transaction was
taken in the convent. Both reverend fathers continued to bear the
character of good Franciscans; and doubtless returned for a time, to the
austerities of the order,--and when I was in Cadiz, one of them every
day accompanied Manuel Munoz, the superior, and Cerillo, who had been
banished to Seville, in an evening walk.
But these immoralities of the friars, although some such are
occasionally brought to light, and although much that exists is hidden,
are yet far more rare than the immoralities of the priests; and, it is
without doubt, the greater immorality of the clergy, and the greater
belief in that immorality, that are the primary reasons why the
influence of the friars diminishes more slowly than that of the
priesthood.
Several other reasons might be given, why the influence of the friars
maintains itself better than that of the clergy, in the minds of the
people,--especially the lower orders: one may be stated to be, the known
austerities practised by some of the orders, particularly by the
Franciscans, the Capuchins, and the Carthusians; another, the greater
alms given by the convents than by the church; another, the mystery that
involves the lives and habits of the friars,--for mystery recommends any
thing to the ignorant; and a fourth, which addresses itself to all
classes, is, the direct tax which the support of the clergy imposes. The
friars, whether poor or not, have the semblance of poverty; at all
events, the sources of their revenues are not seen to flow into their
treasury; and, although the nation at large groans under the weight,
individuals feel no part of it. Such are a few of the causes which, in
my opinion, operate in supporting the influence of the friars; and in
diminishing that of the clergy.
Comparatively with the rest of Spain, there is little attention paid to
the ceremonials of religion in Madrid. I often strolled into the
churches at all hours; and, excepting at time of mass, few were to be
seen at prayer. One morning I walked into the collegiate church of St.
Isodro, and found the pulpit occupied by a priest, who was exclaiming,
apparently extempore, and with great vehemence, against the sin of
religious infidelity. St. Isodro is the principal church of Madrid, and
yet I do not believe there were 300 listeners to the discourse; and of
these at least five-sixths were women. It is a curious spectacle to see
the women all sitting upon the ground _à la Turque_, on little round
mats, and every fan in quick motion. The entrance of a stranger into a
church during mass, always creates a sensation: a hundred eyes may at
any time be withdrawn from the contemplation of either a preacher or an
image, by the slightest possible cause.