_Madrid, ---- 1807._
In giving you a sketch of private life at Madrid, I shall begin
by a character quite peculiar to the country, and well known all
over Spain by the name of _Pretendientes_, or place-hunters. Very
different ideas, however, are attached to these denominations in
the two languages. Young men of the proudest families are regularly
sent to Court on that errand, and few gentlemen destine their sons
either for the church or the law, without calculating the means
of supporting them three or four years at Madrid, as regular and
professed _place-hunters_. The fact is, that, with the exception of
three stalls in every cathedral, and in some collegiate churches,
that are obtained by literary competition, there is not a single
place of rank and emolument to which Court interest is not the
exclusive road. Hence the necessity for all who do not possess an
independent fortune, in other words, for more than two thirds of the
Spanish gentry, to repair to the capital, there to procure that
interest, by whatever means their circumstances may afford.
The _Pretendientes_ may be divided into four classes. Clergymen,
who aspire to any preferment not inferior to a prebend; lawyers,
who wish to obtain a place on the bench of judges in one of our
numerous courts, both of Spain and Spanish America; men of business,
who desire to be employed in the collection of the revenue; and
_advocates_, whose views do not extend beyond a _Corregimiento_--a
kind of _Recordership_, with very limited judicial powers, which
exists in every town of any note where there is not an _Audiencia_,
or superior tribunal. I shall dispatch the last two classes in a few
words.
Between our advocates or barristers, and the superior judges, called
_Oidores_, there is such a line of distinction as to be almost an
insuperable barrier. A young man, who, having studied Roman law at
the University, attends three or four years at an acting advocate’s
chambers, is, after an examination on Spanish law, qualified to
plead at the courts of justice. But once engaged in this branch of
the law, he must give up all hopes of rising above that doubtful
rank which his profession gives him in society. Success may make him
rich, but he must be contented with drudging for life at the bar of a
provincial court, and bear the slighting and insolent tone with which
the judges consider themselves at liberty to treat the advocates. It
is, therefore, not uncommon among young lawyers, who cannot command
interest enough to be placed on the bench, to offer themselves as
candidates for a _Corregimiento_. Having scraped together a little
money, and procured a few letters of recommendation, they repair
to Madrid, where they are seen almost daily in the minister’s
waiting-room with a petition, and a printed list of their university
degrees and literary qualifications, called _Papél de Méritos_,
which, after two or three hours attendance, they think themselves
happy if his excellency will take from their hands. Such as can
obtain an introduction to some of the grandees who have the right
to appoint magistrates on their estates, confine themselves to the
easier, though rather more humiliating task, of _toad-eating_ to
their patron.
The _Pretendientes_ for the higher branches of finance, must be
able to make a more decent appearance at Court, if they hope for
success. It is not, however, the minister for that department, who
is most to be courted in order to obtain these lucrative places.
A recommendation from the Queen, or from the Prince of the Peace,
generally interferes with his views, if he allows himself to have
any of his own. To obtain the first, a handsome figure, or some
pleasing accomplishment, such as singing to the guitar in the Spanish
style, are the most likely means, either by engaging her Majesty’s
attention, or the affections of some of her favourite maids of
honour. The no less powerful recommendation of the Prince of the
Peace is, I must say in justice to him, not always made the reward of
flattery, or of more degrading servility. Justice and a due regard
for merit, are, it is true, far from regulating the distribution of
his patronage: yet, very different from the ministers who tremble
before him, he can be approached by every individual in the kingdom,
without an introduction, and in the certainty of receiving a civil,
if not a favourable answer. His great failing, however, being the
love of pleasure, none are so sure of a gracious reception as those
who appear at his public levees, attended by a handsome wife or
blooming daughter. The fact is so well known all over the country,
and--I blush to say it--the national character is so far sinking
under the influence of this profligate government, that beauties
flock from every province for the chance of being noticed by the
favourite. His public levee presents every week a collection of
the handsomest women in the country, attended by their fathers or
husbands. A suit thus supported is never known to fail.
The young aspirants to a _toga_, or judge’s gown, often succeed
through some indirect influence of this kind. The strange notion that
an _advocate_--one that has pleaded causes at the bar--has, in a
manner, disqualified himself for the bench, leaves the administration
of justice open to inexperienced young men, who, having taken a
degree in Roman law, and nominally attached themselves for a short
time to an _advocate_, as practitioners, are suddenly raised to the
important station of judges, either by marrying any of the Queen’s
maids of honour, or some more humble beauty on whom the Prince of
the Peace has cast a transient gleam of favour. I have known such
a reward extended to the sister of a temporary favourite, who,
being poor, and in love with a young man of family, poor himself,
and hopeless of otherwise obtaining a place, enabled him to marry,
by bringing a judge’s gown for her portion. Yet so perfectly can
circumstances alter the connexion which some moral feelings have
between themselves under certain forms and modifications of society,
that the man I allude to, as having owed his promotion to such
objectionable influence, is an example of justice and impartiality
in the difficult station in which he has been placed. I do not mean,
however, that a person who degrades his character with a view to
promotion, gives a fair promise of honourable principles when called
to discharge the duties of a public office: the growing venality of
our judges is too sad and clear a proof of the reverse. But when
a Government becomes so perfectly abandoned as to block up with
filth and pollution every avenue to wealth, power, and even bare
subsistence, men who, in a happier country, would have looked upon
the contaminated path with abhorrence, or, had they ventured a single
step upon it, would have been confirmed in their degradation by the
indelible brand of public censure; are seen to yield for a moment to
the combined influence of want and example, and recover themselves
so far, as almost to deserve the thanks of the people for having
snatched a portion of authority from the grasp of the absolutely
worthless.
Before I proceed to the remaining class of _Pretendientes_, allow
me, as a relief from the contemplation of this scene of vice and
corruption, to acquaint you with a man in power who, unwarped by
any undue influence, has uniformly employed his patronage in the
encouragement of modest and retiring merit. His name is Don Manuel
Sixto Espinosa. His father was a musician, who having had the good
fortune to please the King by his tasteful performances on the piano,
was appointed teacher of that instrument to the Royal Family. His
son, a young man of great natural abilities, which he had applied to
the study of finance and political economy, (branches of knowledge
little attended to in Spain,) had been gradually raised to a place
of considerable influence in that department, when his well-known
talents made the Prince of the Peace fix upon him as the fittest
man to direct the establishment for the consolidation of the public
debt. Espinosa, as Director of the Sinking Fund, has been accused of
impiety by the clergy, for trespassing on their overgrown privileges;
and blamed, by such as allow themselves to canvass state matters in
whispers, for not opposing the misapplication of the funds he enables
Government to collect. It would be needless to answer the first
charge. As to the second, common candour will allow that it is unfair
to confound the duties of a collector with those of a trustee of the
national revenue.
Without, however, entering upon the only remaining question, whether,
in the unfortunate circumstances of this country, it is an honest
man’s duty to refuse his services to a Government whose object is
to fleece the subject in order to pamper its own vices--a doctrine
doubtful in theory, and almost inapplicable in practice,--Espinosa
has qualities acknowledged by all who know him, and even undenied
by his enemies, which, without raising him into an heroic model of
public virtue, make him a striking instance of the power of virtuous
and honourable principle, in the midst of every allurement and
temptation which profligacy, armed with supreme power, can employ.
Inaccessible to influence, his patronage has uniformly been extended
to men of undoubted merit. A manuscript Essay on Political Economy,
written by a friendless young man and presented to Espinosa, was
enough to obtain the author a valuable appointment. A decided enemy
to the custom of receiving presents, so prevalent in Spain, as to
have become a matter of course in every suit, either for justice or
favour; I positively know, that when a commercial transaction, to the
amount of millions, between this Government and a mercantile house in
London had received his approbation, Espinosa sent back a hamper of
wine, which one of the partners had hoped, from its trifling value,
he would have received as a token of gratitude. His private conduct
is exemplary, and his manners perfectly free from “the insolence of
office,” which he might assume from the high honours to which he has
been raised. His parents, now very old, and living in the modest,
unassuming style which becomes their original rank, are visited by
Espinosa every Sunday, (the only day which leaves him a moment of
rest) and treated with the utmost kindness and deference. Always
mild and modest in his deportment, it is on these occasions that he
seems quite to forget his honours, and carry himself back to the time
when he looked for love and protection from those two, now, helpless
beings. It is there, and only there, that I once met Espinosa, and
he has ever since possessed my respect. If I have dwelt too long on
the subject of a man perfectly unknown to you, I trust you will not
attribute it to any of the motives which generally prompt the praises
of men in power. These, indeed, can never reach the ear of him they
commend, nor has he the means to serve the eulogist. But the daily
sickening sight of this infamous Court makes the mind cling to the
few objects which still bear the impress of virtue: and having to
proceed with the disgusting picture in which I have engaged, I gladly
seized the opportunity of dispelling the impression which my subject
might leave, either that I take pleasure in vilifying my country, or
that every seed of honour has died away from the land.
I do not know how it happens that in going through the description
of the different classes of _Pretendientes_, I have inverted the
order which they hold in my enumeration, so that I still find myself
with the Reverend _Stall-hunters_ upon my hands. These, as you may
suppose, are, by the decencies of their profession, compelled to take
quite a different course from those already described; for Hymen, in
this country, expects nothing from the clergy but disturbance; and
Love, accustomed, at Court, to the glitter of lace and embroidery,
is, usually, frightened at the approach of their black cloaks, and
the flapping brims of their enormous hats.
During the last reign, and the early part of the present, the King
seldom disposed of his patronage without the advice of his Privy
Council. The _Camaristas de Castilla_ received the petitions of the
candidates, accompanied by documental proofs of their merits and
qualifications, and reported thereon to the King through the Minister
of the home department. Such was the established practice till
the Queen took to herself the patronage of the Crown, and finally
shared it with her favourite. The houses of the Privy Counsellors
were, accordingly, the great resort of the Clerical _Pretendientes_.
Letters of introduction to some of the _Camaristas_ were considered
the most indispensable provision for the Madrid journey; and no
West Indian slave was ever so dependent on the nod of his master,
as these parasites were on the humours of the whole family of the
Privy Counsellor, where each had the happiness to be received as a
constant visiter. There he might be seen in the morning relieving the
_ennui_ of the lady of the house; who, from the late period of life
at which judges are promoted to a place in the King’s Council, are
themselves of the age which we call _canonical_; and there he was
sure to be found in the evening making one at the game of _Mediatór_,
without which her ladyship would be more restless and unhappy than
if she had missed her supper. In this Egyptian bondage the clerical
aspirant would pass three or four years of his life, till his patron
was willing and able to obtain for him the first place in the list
of three candidates presented to the King at each vacancy, when the
happy man quitted the Court for some cathedral, there quietly to
enjoy the fruits of his patience and perseverance.
The road to preferment is, at present, more intricate and uncertain.
I know a few who have been promoted in consequence of having assisted
the Government with their pens. Such is the case of a clergyman,
whose work against the privileges of the province of Biscay was the
prelude to the repeal of its ancient charters under the Prince of
the Peace: such is that of a learned sycophant who has lately given
us a National Cathechism, in imitation of one published by Napoleon
after his accession to the throne of France, setting forth the
divine right of Kings, and the duty of passive obedience. But the
despotism which crushes us, is too pampered and overgrown to require
the assistance of pensioned scribblers. There was a period when the
Prince of the Peace was pleased to see his name in verse; but crowds
of sonnetteers showered so profusely their praises upon him, that he
has grown insensible to the voice of the Muses. He, now and then,
rewards some of his clerical courtiers, with a recommendation to the
minister, which amounts to a positive order; but seems rather shy
of meddling with such paltry concerns. It is the Queen who has, of
late, taken possession of the keys of the church, which she commits
into the hands of her first lady of the bed-chamber, allowing her to
levy a toll on such as apply for admittance to the snug corners of
the establishment. I do not report from hearsay. The son of a very
respectable Seville tradesman, whom I have known all my life, having
taken orders, became acquainted with a person thoroughly conversant
with the state of the Court, who put him in possession of the secret
springs which might promote him at once to a prebendal stall in the
cathedral of his own town. The young man had no qualifications but
a handsome person, and a pretty long purse, of which, however, his
father had still the strings in his own hands. Four thousand dollars,
or two years income of the prebend, was the market-price then fixed
by the lady of the bed-chamber; and though the good dull man,
the father, was not unwilling to lay out the money so evidently to
the advantage of his son, he had heard something about simony,--a
word which, together with his natural reluctance to part with his
bullion, gave him such qualms of conscience as threatened to quash
the young man’s hopes. The latter possessed but a very scanty stock
of learning, but was not easily driven to his wit’s end; and, knowing
too well the versatile nature of casuistry, proposed a consultation
of three reverend divines, in order to take their opinion as to
the lawfulness of the transaction. The point being duly debated,
it appeared that, since the essence of simony is the purchase of
spiritual things for money, and the interest of the Queen’s confidant
was perfectly wordly and temporal, it might conscientiously be bought
for the sum at which she valued it. The young man, furnished with his
gold credentials, was a short time ago properly introduced to the
Queen’s female favourite. Having attended her evening parties for a
short time, he has, without farther trouble, been presented to the
vacant stall at Seville.
The hardships of a _Pretendiente’s_ life, especially such as do not
centre their views in the church, have often furnished the theatre
with amusing scenes. The Spanish proverbial imprecation--“May you
be dragged about as a _Pretendiente_,” cannot be felt in its full
force but by such as, like myself, have lived on terms of intimacy
with some of that unfortunate race. A scanty supply of money from
their families is the only fund on which a young man, in pursuit
of a judge’s gown, must draw for subsistence, for three or four
journeys a year to the _Sitios_, in order to attend the Court; for
the court-dress which he is obliged to wear almost daily; and the
turns of ill-luck at the card-table of his lady patroness. What a
notion would an Englishman form of our degree of refinement, if he
was to enter one of the lodging-houses at Aranjuez, for instance,
and find a large paved court surrounded by apartments, each filled
by a different set of lodgers, with three or four wretched beds,
and not so many chairs for all furniture; here one of the party
blacking his shoes; there another darning his stockings; a third
brushing the court-dress he is to wear at the minister’s levee;
while a fourth lies still in bed, resting, as well as he can, from
the last night’s ball! As hackney coaches are not known either at
Madrid or the Sitios, there is something both pitiable and ludicrous
in the appearance of these judges, intendants, and governors in
embryo, sallying forth in full dress, after their laborious toilet,
to pick their way through the mud, often casting an anxious look on
the lace frills and ruffles which, artfully attached to the sleeves
and waistcoat, might by some untoward accident, betray the coarse
and discoloured shirt which they meant to conceal. Thus they trudge
to the palace, to walk up and down the galleries for hours, till
they have succeeded in making a bow to the minister, or any other
great personage, on whom their hopes depend. Having performed this
important piece of duty, they retire to a very scanty dinner, unless
their good stars should put them in the way of an invitation. In the
afternoon they must make their appearance in the public walk, where
the royal family take a daily airing; after which, the day is closed
by the attendance at the _Tertulia_ of some great lady, if they be
fortunate enough to have obtained her leave to pay her this daily
tribute of respect.
Such as visit Madrid and the _Sitios_, independent of Court favour,
may, for a few weeks, find amusement in the strangeness of the scene.
The Court of Spain is, otherwise, too dull, stiff, and formal, to
become an interesting residence. The only good society in the upper
ranks is to be found among the _Corps Diplomatique_. The King, wholly
occupied in the chase, and the Queen in her _boudoir_, are, of late,
extremely averse to the theatres. Two Spanish play-houses are still
allowed to be open every night; but the opera has been discontinued
for several years, merely because it was a daily _rendezvous_ for the
higher classes. So jealous is the Queen of fashionable assemblies,
that the grandees do not venture to admit more than four or five
individuals to their _tertulias_; and scarcely a ball is given at
Madrid in the course of the year. This, however, is never attempted
without asking the Queen’s permission. The Marchioness of Santiago,
whose evening parties were numerous, and attended by the most
agreeable and accomplished people in the capital, was, a short time
since, obliged, by an intimation communicated through the police, to
deny her house to her friends.
Even bull-fights have been forbidden, and the idle population of
the metropolis of Spain have been left no other source of amusement
than collecting every evening in the extensive walk called El Prado,
after having lounged away the morning about the streets, or basked
in the sun, during the winter, at the Puerta del Sol, a large space,
almost surrounded by public buildings. The coffee-rooms are, in the
cold season, crowded for about an hour after dinner, i. e. from three
to four in the afternoon, and in the early part of the evening; but
the noise, and the smoke of the cigars, make these places as close
and disagreeable as any tap-room in London. It would be absurd
to expect any kind of rational conversation in such places. The
most interesting topics must be carefully avoided, for fear of the
combined powers of the police and the Inquisition, whose spies are
dreaded in all public places. Hence the depraved taste which degrades
our intercourse to an eternal giggling and bantering.
Our daily resource for society is the house of Don Manuel Josef
Quintana, a young lawyer, whose poetical talents, select reading,
and various information, place him among the first of our men
of letters; while the kindness of his heart, and the lofty and
honourable principles of his conduct, make him an invaluable friend
and most agreeable companion. After our evening walk in the Prado,
we retire to that gentleman’s study, where four or five others,
of similar taste and opinions, meet to converse with freedom upon
whatever subjects are started. The political principles of Quintana
and his best friends consist in a rooted hatred of the existing
tyranny, and a great dislike of the prevailing influence of the
French Emperor over the Spanish Court.
It was in this knot of literary friends that an attempt to establish
a Monthly Magazine originated, a short time before my arrival at
Madrid. But such is the listlessness of the country on every thing
relating to literature, such the trammels in which the _Censors_
confine the invention of the writers, that the publication of the
_Miscelanea_ was given up in a few months. Few, besides, as our men
of taste are in number, they have split into two parties, who pursue
each other with the weapons of satire and ridicule.
Moratin, the first of our comic writers--a man whose genius, were he
free from the prejudices of strict adherence to the _Unities_, and
extreme servility to the Aristotelic rules of the drama, might have
raised our theatre to a decided superiority over the rest of Europe,
and who, notwithstanding the trammels in which he exerts his talents,
has given us six plays, which for the elegance, the liveliness,
and the refined graces of the dialogue, as well as the variety,
the truth, the interest, and comic power of the characters, do not
yield, in my opinion, to the best modern pieces of the French, or the
English stage--Moratin, I say, may be considered as the centre of one
of the small literary parties of this capital, while Quintana is the
leader of the other. Difference of opinion on literary subjects is
not, however, the source of this division. Moratin and his friends
have courted the favour of the Prince of the Peace, while Quintana
has never addressed a line to the favourite. This tacit reproach,
embittered, very probably, by others rather too explicit, dropped by
the independent party, has kindled a spirit of enmity among the Court
_literati_, which, besides producing a total separation, breaks out
in satire and invective on the appearance of any composition from the
pen of Quintana.
I have been insensibly led where I cannot avoid entering upon the
subject of literature, though from the nature of these letters, as
well as the limits to which I am forced to confine them, it was my
intention to pass it over in silence. I shall not, however, give you
any speculations on so extensive a topic, but content myself with
making you acquainted with the names which form the scanty list of
our living poets.
I have already mentioned Moratin and Quintana. I do not know that the
former has published any thing besides his plays, or that he has,
as yet, given a collection of them to the public. I conceive that
some fears of the Inquisitorial censures are the cause of this delay.
There has, indeed, been a time when his play, _La Mogigata_, or
Female Devotee, was scarcely allowed to be acted, it being believed
that, but for the patronage of the Prince of the Peace, it would long
before have been placed in the list of forbidden works.
Quintana has published a small collection of short poems, which
deservedly classes him among those Spaniards who are just allowed to
give a specimen of their powers, and shew us the waste of talents for
which our oppressive system of government is answerable to civilized
Europe. He has embellished the title-page of his book with an
emblematical vignette, where a winged human figure is seen chained to
the threshold of a gloomy Gothic structure, looking up to the Temple
of the Muses in the attitude of resigned despondency. I should not
have mentioned this trifling circumstance, were it not a fresh proof
of the pervading feeling under which every aspiring mind among us is
doomed hopelessly to linger.
It is not, however, the Gothic structure of our national system
alone which confines the poetic genius of Spain. There is (if I may
venture some vague conjectures upon a difficult and not yet fairly
tried subject) a want of flexibility in the Spanish language, arising
from the great length of most of its words, the little variety
of its terminations, and the bulkiness of its adverbs, which must
for ever, I fear, clog its verse. The sound of our best poetry is
grand and majestic indeed; but it requires an uncommon skill to
subdue and modify that sound, so as to relieve the ear and satisfy
the mind. Since the introduction of the Italian measures by Boscan
and Garcilaso, at the beginning of the sixteenth century, our best
poets have been servile imitators of Petrarch, and the writers of
that school. Every Spanish poet has, like the knight of La Mancha,
thought it his bounden duty to be desperately in love, deriving both
his subject and his inspiration from a minute dissection of his lady.
The language, in the mean time, condemned for centuries, from the
unexampled slavery of our press, to be employed almost exclusively
in the daily and familiar intercourse of life, has had its richest
ornaments tarnished and soiled, by the powerful influence of mental
association. Scarcely one third of its copious dictionary can be used
in dignified prose, while a very scanty list of words composes the
whole stock which poetry can use without producing either a sense of
disgust or ridicule. In spite of these fetters, Quintana’s poetical
compositions convey much deep thought and real feeling; and should
an unexpected revolution in politics allow his mind that freedom,
without which the most vigorous shoots of genius soon sicken and
perish, his powerful numbers might well inspire his countrymen with
that ardent and disinterested love of liberty which adds dignity to
the amiableness of his character.
The poet who has obtained most popularity in our days is Melendez,
a lawyer, who, having for some time been a professor of polite
literature at Salamanca, was raised by the Prince of the Peace to a
place in the Council of Castile, and, not long after, rusticated to
his former residence, where he remains to this day. Melendez is a man
of great natural talents, improved by more reading and information
than is commonly found among our men of taste. His popularity as a
poet, however, was at first raised on the very slight and doubtful
foundation of a collection of Anacreontics, and a few love-poems,
possessing little more merit than an harmonious language, and a
certain elegant simplicity. Melendez, in his youth, was deeply
infected with the mawkish sensibility of the school of Gessner; and
had he not by degrees aimed at nobler subjects than his _Dove_,
and his _Phyllis_, a slender progress in the national taste of
Spain would have been sufficient to consign his early poems to the
toilettes of our town shepherdesses. He has, however, in his maturer
age, added a collection of odes to his pastorals, where he shows
himself a great master of Spanish verse, though still deficient in
boldness and originality. That he ranks little above the degree of
a sweet versifier, is more to be attributed to that want of freedom
which clips the wings of thought in every Spaniard, than to the
absence of real genius. It is reported that Melendez is employed in a
translation of Virgil: should he live to complete it, I have no doubt
it will do honour to our country.
During the attempt to awaken the Spanish Muse, which has been made
for the last fifty years, none has struck out a fairer path towards
her emancipation from the affected, stiff, and cumbrous style in
which she was dressed by our Petrarchists of the sixteenth century
than a naval officer named Arriaza. If his admirable command of
language, and liveliness of fancy, were supported by any depth of
thought, acquired knowledge, or the least degree of real feeling; the
Spaniards would have an original poet to boast of.
Few as the names of note are in the poetical department, I fear I
must be completely silent in regard to the branch of eloquence. Years
pass with us without the publication of any original work. A few
translations from the French, with now and then a sermon, is all the
Madrid Gazette can muster to fill up its page of advertisements. A
compilation, entitled El Viagero Universal, and the translation of
Guthrie’s Grammar of Geography, are looked upon as efforts both of
literary industry and commercial enterprise.
There exist two Royal Academies--one for the improvement of the
Spanish Language, the other for the advancement of National History.
We owe to the former an ill-digested dictionary, with a very bad
grammar; and to the latter some valuable discourses, and an
incomplete geographical and historical dictionary. Had the _Spanish
Academy_ continued their early labours, and called in the aid of real
talent, instead of filling up the list of members with titled names,
which have made it ridiculous; their Dictionary might, without great
difficulty, have been improved into a splendid display of one of the
richest among modern languages; and the philosophical spirit of the
age would have been applied to the elucidation of its elements. That
Academy has published a volume of prize essays and poems, the fruits
of a very feeble competition, in which the poetry partakes largely
of the servility of imitation to which I have already alluded, and
the prose is generally stiff and affected. Our style, in fact, is, at
present, quite unsettled--fluctuating between the wordy pomposity of
our old writers, without their ease, and the epigrammatic conciseness
of second-rate French writers, stripped of their sprightliness and
graces. As long, however, as we are condemned to the dead silence in
which the nation has been kept for centuries, there is little chance
of fixing any standard of taste for Spanish eloquence. Capmany,
probably our best living philologist and prose writer, insists upon
our borrowing every word and phrase from the authors of the sixteenth
century, the golden age (as it is called) of our literature; while
the Madrid translators seem determined to make the Spanish language a
dialect of the French--a sort of _Patois_, unintelligible to either
nation. The true path certainly lies between both. The greatest part
of our language has been allowed to become vulgar or obsolete. The
languages which, during the mental progress of Europe, have been made
the vehicles and instruments of thought, have left ours far behind
in the powers of abstraction and precision; and the rich treasure
which has been allowed to lie buried so long, must be re-coined and
burnished, before it can be recognised for sterling currency. It is
neither by rejecting as foreign whatever expressions cannot be found
in the writers under the Austrian dynasty, nor by disfiguring our
idiom with Gallicisms, that we can expect to shape it to our present
wants and fashions. Our aim should be to think for ourselves in
our own language--to _think_, I say, and express our thoughts with
clearness, force, and precision; not to imitate the mere sound of
the empty periods which generally swell the pages of the old Spanish
writers.
I do not mean, however, to pester you with a dissertation. Wretched
as is the present state of Spanish literature, it would require a
distinct series of letters to trace the causes of its decay, to
relate the vicissitudes it has suffered, and to weigh the comparative
merits of such as, under the deadening influence of the most absolute
despotism, are still endeavouring to feed the smouldering fire,
which, but for their efforts, would have long since been extinguished.
You will, I trust, excuse this short digression, in the sure hope
that I shall resume the usual gossip in my next letter.