Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net









                            THE LETTERS OF
                             RICHARD FORD

                     [Illustration: _Richard Ford_

                _from a sketch by J. F. Lewis in 1832_

                        _Emery Walker Ph. Sc._]




                            THE LETTERS OF
                             RICHARD FORD

                               1797-1858


                               EDITED BY

                      ROWLAND E. PROTHERO, M.V.O.

             FORMERLY FELLOW OF ALL SOULS’ COLLEGE, OXFORD
                 AUTHOR OF “THE LIFE OF DEAN STANLEY”
                 “THE PSALMS IN HUMAN LIFE,” ETC. ETC.


                   WITH PORTRAITS AND ILLUSTRATIONS


                               NEW YORK
                       E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY
                                 1905




                              PRINTED BY
                    HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.,
                         LONDON AND AYLESBURY,
                                ENGLAND




PREFACE


Sixty years ago, few men were more widely known in the world of art,
letters, and society than Richard Ford, the author of the _Handbook for
Spain_. A connoisseur of engravings, an admirable judge of painting, the
interpreter to this country of the genius of Velazquez, he had no rival
as an amateur artist. From his sketches Roberts made many of his best
drawings; some were reproduced by Telbin, others appeared in the
_Illustrated London News_ and the _Landscape Annuals_ of the day, or
supplied illustrations to such books as Byron’s _Childe Harold_ and
Lockhart’s _Spanish Ballads_. One of the first critics who appreciated
the beauties of the ceramic products of Italy, he formed a fine
collection of Gubbio and Majolica ware, and the works of Giorgio and the
Della Robbias. The contents of his Spanish Library, to which many of the
prizes of the Heber sale found their way, were as rich as they were rare
and curious. His taste was no less varied than sound, and few art
treasures in clay, metal, and marble, were beyond his ken. Nor was his
knowledge of the mysteries of cookery less profound, and Amontillado
sherry and Montanches hams were introduced by him into this country.
Well and widely read, gifted with a wonderful memory and a keen sense of
humour, possessed of an extraordinary faculty for happy, unexpected
turns of expression, full of curious anecdotes and adventures, he was a
delightful talker. Entirely without the jealousy of the professed wit,
he was an equally admirable listener. No man was a more welcome guest in
society, none had more friends or fewer enemies.

His father, Sir Richard Ford (born 1759, died 1806), a friend of William
Pitt, M.P. for East Grinstead (1789), and for Appleby (1790), at one
time Under-Secretary of State for the Home Department, became Chief
Police Magistrate at Bow Street, and the creator of the mounted police
force of London. His mother (born 1767, died 1849) was the daughter of
Benjamin Booth, whose wife, Jane Salwey, was the only child and heiress
of Richard Salwey of the Moor, near Ludlow, in Shropshire. To Lady Ford
descended the whole of the Salwey property. Herself an excellent artist,
she inherited from her father, not only his love of art, but a fine
collection of paintings, including examples of the Dutch and Italian
Schools, and of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and a number of the best works of
Richard Wilson, the landscape painter.

Richard, the eldest son of Sir Richard and Lady Ford, was born at 129,
Sloane Street, Chelsea, in 1796. Educated at Winchester, and Trinity
College, Oxford, he was called to the Bar at Lincoln’s Inn in 1822. But
he never practised. He had inherited from his grandfather and mother a
love of the fine arts; his passion for travelling was strong; he had no
need to pursue his profession. To a young man of his temperament and
easy circumstances, the Continent, so long closed to English travellers
by the Napoleonic wars, opened an alluring field. He travelled in France
and Italy, where he laid the foundation of his own collection of books,
paintings, and engravings. His additions to the pictures which he had
inherited, chiefly belonged to the Spanish School. Among them were fine
examples of Zurbaran, Ribalta, and Velazquez. Of the latter, the
portrait of Mariana of Austria, second wife of Philip IV. of Spain, is
reproduced in this volume (to face p. 218). The picture was given by
Ferdinand VII. to the Canon Cepero, in exchange for two Zurbarans in the
Madrid Gallery.

In 1824 Richard Ford married Harriet Capel, a daughter of the Earl of
Essex, who, as Lord Malden, had been an intimate friend of his father.
The remaining facts of his life are sufficiently told in his letters.

The letters from Richard Ford printed in this volume are almost entirely
selected from those which he wrote to Henry Unwin Addington, who in 1830
was Envoy Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary at the Court of Madrid.
They were carefully preserved by Addington, and at his death were left
by him to his wife, with directions that she should leave them to the
widow of Richard Ford. It is by Mrs. Ford’s wish that they are now
published.

For the Index I am indebted to Mr. G. H. Holden, Assistant Librarian at
All Souls’ College, Oxford.

                                                   ROWLAND E. PROTHERO.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER I: SEVILLE

(NOVEMBER 1830-MAY 1831)

                                                                    PAGE

POLITICAL CONDITION OF SPAIN--FORD AS A TRAVELLER--LIFE
AT SEVILLE--JOURNEY TO MADRID BY _DILIGENCE_--DON
QUIXOTE’S COUNTRY--RETURN TO SEVILLE                                   1


CHAPTER II: THE ALHAMBRA

(MAY-NOVEMBER 1831)

THE ALHAMBRA--ADDINGTON’S VISIT--TOUR TO ALICANTE,
VALENCIA, BARCELONA, ZARAGOZA, MADRID--RETURN TO
THE ALHAMBRA                                                          34


CHAPTER III: SEVILLE REVISITED

DECEMBER 1831-DECEMBER 1832

RETURN TO SEVILLE--EXECUTION OF TORRIJOS--QUESTION OF
SPANISH INTERVENTION IN THE AFFAIRS OF PORTUGAL--TARIFA--SALAMANCA
AND NORTH-WESTERN SPAIN--SUCCESSION TO THE SPANISH CROWN              68


CHAPTER IV: SEVILLE AND GRANADA

(JANUARY-SEPTEMBER, 1833)

SEVILLE--GRANADA--TETUAN--FESTIVITIES AT MADRID--RETURN
TO ENGLAND                                                           109


CHAPTER V: EXETER

1833-1837

DEATH OF FERDINAND VII.--EXETER--PROJECTED BOOK ON
SPAIN--PURCHASE OF HEAVITREE HOUSE--MARRIAGE OF
LORD KING AND OF ADDINGTON--FIRST ARTICLE IN THE
_QUARTERLY REVIEW_--DEATH OF MRS. FORD                               133


CHAPTER VI: HEAVITREE, NEAR EXETER

(1837-1845)

LITERARY WORK--ENGAGEMENT AND SECOND MARRIAGE--ARTICLES
IN THE _QUARTERLY REVIEW_--PREPARATIONS FOR
A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT--PROMISE TO WRITE THE
_HANDBOOK FOR TRAVELLERS IN SPAIN_--DELAYS AND
INTERRUPTIONS--GEORGE BORROW--REVIEWS OF THE
_ZINCALI_ AND THE _BIBLE IN SPAIN_--SUPPRESSION OF THE
FIRST EDITION OF THE _HANDBOOK_--FINAL PUBLICATION--THE
_FELICIDADE_                                                         158


CHAPTER VII: HEAVITREE AND LONDON

1845-1858

SUCCESS OF THE _HANDBOOK_--_GATHERINGS FROM
SPAIN_--ILLNESS AND DEATH OF HIS WIFE--MARRIAGE WITH
MISS MARY MOLESWORTH--TELBIN’S “DIORAMA OF THE
DUKE OF WELLINGTON’S CAMPAIGNS”--FRANCIS CLARE
FORD AND THE DIPLOMATIC SERVICE--DEATH OF SIR WILLIAM
MOLESWORTH--FAILING HEALTH--MARRIAGE OF CLARE
FORD--LAST ARTICLE IN THE _QUARTERLY REVIEW_, AND
LAST LETTER TO ADDINGTON--DEATH AT HEAVITREE,
AUGUST 31ST, 1858                                                    201


INDEX                                                                221




ILLUSTRATIONS


                                                                   PAGE

RICHARD FORD (ÆT. 35)                                     _Frontispiece_
    _From a Sketch in Chalk by J. L. Lewis, R.A._

“JACA CORDOVESE,” 1832                                       _Facing_ 9
    _From a Sketch by J. L. Lewis, R.A._

BILL PAYABLE TO THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON AGAINST MONEY RECEIVED
BY RICHARD FORD FROM THE DUKE’S SPANISH ESTATES              _Facing_ 36

PATIO DE LOS LEONES      “ 40
    _From a Drawing by Harriet Ford, 1832._

PATIO DE LA MEZQUITA      “ 82
    _From a Drawing by Harriet Ford, 1832._

A SHOOTING EXCURSION      “ 108
    _From a Sketch by J. L. Lewis, R.A. (Lewis rides in front,
    Ford in the middle, José Boscasa on a baggage donkey.)_

HARRIET FORD, FIRST WIFE OF RICHARD FORD                             156

RICHARD FORD (ÆT. 43)      “ 172
    _From a Picture painted in Rome by Antonio Chatelain, 1840._

MARGARET HENRIETTA FORD      “ 186
    _From a Water-colour Sketch by Marianne Houlton, 1854._

LADY FORD, MOTHER OF RICHARD FORD      “ 206
    _From a Painting by Ramsay Richard Reinagle, R.A._

DOÑA MARGARITA MARIANA OF AUSTRIA, WIFE OF PHILIP IV. OF SPAIN       218
    _From the Painting by Velasquez in the possession of Richard Ford._




CHAPTER I

SEVILLE

(NOVEMBER 1830-MAY 1831)

     POLITICAL CONDITION OF SPAIN--FORD AS A TRAVELLER--LIFE AT
     SEVILLE--JOURNEY TO MADRID BY _DILIGENCE_--DON QUIXOTE’S
     COUNTRY--RETURN TO SEVILLE


On September 15th, 1830, Richard Ford wrote from London to his friend
Henry Unwin Addington, the British Plenipotentiary at Madrid, announcing
his intention to winter in Spain. The letter was sent by the hand of Mr.
Wetherell, who had been encouraged by the Spanish Government to set up a
tannery at Seville. He imported workmen and machinery, and established
his premises in the suppressed Jesuit convent of San Diego. But the
Government proved faithless, its promises were unfulfilled, the convent
was taken from him, and the unfortunate Wetherell, with many of his
compatriots, lies buried in the garden near the dismantled tannery.

Cea Bermudez, whose opinion Ford quotes, was at that time the Spanish
Ambassador in England. As Prime Minister under Ferdinand VII. he had
proved too Liberal for his master (1825); so at a later period (1832-3)
he showed himself, in the same capacity, too Conservative for Queen
Christina.

                                          LONDON, _September 15 [1830]_.

     DEAR ADDINGTON,

     Mr. Wetherell will take this to Madrid, on his way to Seville,
     where I am shortly bound myself on account of Mrs. Ford’s health.
     She is condemned to spend a winter or two in a warm climate, and we
     have decided on the south of Spain for this year. We shall sail
     very soon, as a friend of mine, Captain Shirreff, who is appointed
     Port-admiral at Gibraltar, gives us a passage out.

     News we have none, as grass is growing in the deserted streets of
     London; other news are not safely sent _por la delicadeza de las
     circunstancias politicas_. But with them you are well acquainted by
     the newspapers, which, if you could contrive occasionally to send
     to me confidentially, and not to be shown, when at Seville, would
     be the greatest favour our King’s representative could show to one
     of his humble subjects on his travels.

     I am in hopes all will be quiet in Spain. Cea Bermudez thinks so,
     and hinted to Lord Dudley, who told me, that they were going to do
     everything that could be fairly expected by the Liberals. I am
     praying the Queen may produce a son.

     I have seen much here of the Consul at Malaga, Mr. Mark; if I am
     to believe him, Malaga is a second Paradise. The Duke of Wellington
     says Granada is charming; he has given us a letter to O’Lawlor, who
     manages his property at Soto de Roma. Washington Irving tells us we
     shall be able to be lodged in the Alhambra, as he was, which will
     tempt me to pass next summer there.

     It is a serious undertaking to travel into Spain with three
     children and four women, and a great bore to break up my
     establishment here, but it must be done.

                                                S[u] S[eguro] S[ervidor],

                                                RICHARD FORD.



Political conditions, at the time when Richard Ford landed in Spain with
his wife and children, threatened the outbreak of civil war. In 1812 the
Cortes, sitting at Cadiz, then almost the only spot which was not
occupied by a foreign force, had promulgated the forms and phrases of
parliamentary government. Few praised, few blamed the new Constitution,
which was foreign in spirit and founded on French models; few asked the
reason why _Plaza de la Constitucion_ was inscribed on the principal
squares. To the mass of the Spanish people, constitutions were parchment
unrealities. Caring less for theories of government than for the just
administration of existing laws, they gained from the action of the
Cortes nothing that they desired. Their deepest convictions were
loyalty to the Church and to the Crown, and to these prejudices the
Constitution only opposed definitions. Every class that suffered by the
proposed reforms was mistrustful, if not hostile. The clergy, the
functionaries, the nobles, were either outraged in their opinions, or
attacked in their interests, or curtailed of their authority.

When Ferdinand VII. returned to power in March 1814, he pressed his
advantage home. A restoration is often worse than a revolution. It was
so in Spain. Ferdinand rejected the Constitution, removed the
restrictions on his despotism, and restored the Inquisition. But he had
gone too far. Don Rafael del Riego stirred to rebellion the ill-paid
troops assembled on the Isla de Leon for the unpopular expedition to
South America. _El Himno de Riego_, the _Marseillaise_ of Spain, written
by Evaristo San-Miguel and composed by La Huerta, caught the ears of the
people; even the _Tragala_, or _Ça ira_ of Spanish revolutionists, was
sung in Madrid, and from 1820 to 1823 the Constitution was forced upon
the King. But with the help of France he had regained his despotic
authority, and used it with blind ferocity.

In 1829 Ferdinand, till then childless, had married as his fourth wife,
Christina of Naples. The expected birth of a child alarmed the
retrograde party of extreme clericals and ultra-royalists which had
rallied round the King’s brother and presumptive heir, Don Carlos. At
the same time, the Constitutionalists or Liberals, encouraged by the
French Revolution of 1830, returned from exile, or emerged from their
hiding-places, and risings in favour of political reform agitated the
North and the South of Spain. The general unrest was increased by the
Civil War in Portugal, where the Liberal adherents of Maria da Gloria,
the daughter of Pedro IV., waged war against the Absolutists who
supported her uncle Dom Miguel.

Threatened on the one side by reactionary tendencies, and on the other
by political innovations, the weak and bankrupt Government rested
securely on the torpor of the Spanish people. With all his faults,
Ferdinand, fat, good-natured, jocose in a ribald fashion, affecting the
national dress, feeding on _puchero_, an eager sportsman, devoted to
smoking his thick Havana cigars, and to his beautiful queen, had few
personal enemies. He knew the temper of his country well. He did
nothing, and it was the interest of neither party to precipitate the
impending crisis. He was “the cork in the beer bottle,” as he said
himself, and only when he was “gone, would the beer foam over.” On
October 10th, 1830, his daughter Isabella was born. In her favour the
Salic law of succession was set aside. Don Carlos retired to Portugal,
and the Cortes swore to Isabella the oath of allegiance as Princess of
the Asturias and heiress to the throne. Three months later (September
29th, 1833), Ferdinand died. Isabella was proclaimed Queen, under the
guardianship of her mother, Doña Christina. Civil war at once broke out,
the Liberals supporting Christina, and the Carlists fighting under the
standard of legitimacy.

But, apart from disturbed political conditions, the moment at which Ford
visited the country was exceptionally favourable. Entrenched behind the
Pyrenees, isolated from the rest of Europe, Spain, in lazy pride,
watched from her Castle of Indolence the progress of other nations. Few
travellers crossed her borders. Travelling carriages were unknown
luxuries; it was only possible to post from Irun to Madrid. The system
of passports and police surveillance was vexatious. Except on the main
lines, the inns were bad, the by-roads were almost impassable for
wheeled carriages, the country was infested with robbers, and all these
obstacles were magnified by literary travellers. Thus Spain, repelling
intercourse with other nations, was thrown back upon herself. Yet this
isolation did not unite the separate provinces in any community of
national feeling. The contrary was the case. Bound together in
provincial clanship, the inhabitants knew themselves and their
neighbours, not as Spaniards, but as Arragonese or Castilians,
Andalusians or Catalans. The climate, soil, and products of the barren
dusty centre did not present more striking variations from those of the
rich luxuriant south than did the distinctive dress, language, customs,
and habits of the natives of the respective provinces. Here were the
sandals, the wide breeches, the bright sash, the many-coloured plaid,
the gay handkerchief of the half-oriental Valencian; here the red cap of
the Catalan, trousered to the armpits; here the broad-brimmed hat,
figured velvet waistcoat, richly worked shirt, and embroidered gaiters
of the Leonese; here the filigree buttons, silver tags and tassels which
studded the jacket of the Andalusian dandy, who starved for weeks on a
crust and onion that he might glitter in a gay costume, for a few hours
on a saint’s day, under his blue sky and brilliant sun. And everywhere,
in the foreground of every rural scene, stood the ass, the companion and
the helpmate of the Spanish peasant.

Distinctions of dress were but the outward expression of a variety of
deeper differences. To the artist, the historian, the sportsman, and the
antiquary,--to the student of dialects, the observer of manners and
customs, the lover of art, the man of sentiment, Spain in 1830 offered
an enchanting field, an almost untrodden Paradise. In Ford all these
interests were combined, not merely as tastes, but as enthusiasms. He
revelled in the country and its people with the unflagging zest of his
richly varied sympathies. He learned to speak the Spanish of the place
in which he happened to be, and of the people with whom he chanced to be
talking. The inveterate exclusiveness of the aristocracy, the ingrained
mistrust of the lower orders, the professional suspicion of the bandit
or the smuggler broke down before the charm of his manners and
appearance. Quick to observe, and prompt to adopt, the customs,
ceremonies, and courtesies of Spanish society, he found the houses of
the grandees at his disposal. Rural Dogberries, jealous of their
authority, who could not be driven by rods of iron, submitted to be led
by the silken thread of his civility. José Maria, the bandit King of
Andalusia, made him free of his country, and over his wide district Ford
rode for miles, if not by his side, at least under his personal
protection. Even the smuggler, by the fireside of a country inn, laid
aside his blunderbuss, and, over a bottle of wine and a cigar, gave him
his confidence. He was, in fact, a born traveller. If necessary, he was
master of every intonation with which the mule driver of La Mancha can
pronounce the national oath. But with him these occasions were rare. He
knew that money made the mare and the driver to go, and that a joke, a
proverb, or a cigar, was the best oil for reluctant wheels. Travelling
mainly on horseback, he was independent of roads. Mounted on “Jaca
Cordovese,” threading his way by bridle-paths and goat-tracks, he
penetrated to the most inaccessible of the towns which were plastered
like martins’ nests against the tawny rocks of Spain. Never looking for
five feet in a cat, or expecting more from Spanish inns than they could
offer, he encountered every inconvenience with good temper, and
accumulated in his wanderings the mass of insight, incident, and
adventure, which he stored in his note-books and embodied in his
_Handbook to Spain_.

Ford’s second letter to Addington (November 27th, 1830) announces his
arrival, and is dated from “Plazuela San Isidoro, No. 11, Seville,”--the
Athens and the Capua of Spain. The house which he occupied seems to have
belonged to the Mr. Hall Standish who left to Louis Philippe the fine
collection of Spanish pictures which were formerly deposited in the
_Musée Standish_ at the Louvre.

     We are all safely arrived at Seville, in spite of the Bay of
     Biscay, and all the dangers and perils

[Illustration: JACA CORDOVESE.

[_To face p. 9._

“I [R. F.] rode more than 2000 miles on this Horse.”]

     supposed to abound in this quiet country by the good people in
     England. We had rather a long passage--twenty days--but were in a
     good ship with a good captain, an old friend of mine, who is now
     employed in cleaning that Augean Stable of jobs and
     mismanagement--the Bay of Gibraltar. We were as comfortable as the
     wretched nature of ships will allow of; man-cook, doctor, cow,
     sheep, and chickens contributed thereunto.

     We were right glad to be landed at the Rock, and spent eight or ten
     days there very agreeably in seeing the lions and monkeys, guns and
     garrisons, and in going to balls and batteries. When I come to
     Madrid, I will let you into a few of the secrets I heard at the
     Rock. The old general[1] and his lady (an old friend of my
     mother’s) were very civil and good-natured to us. We found their
     house very agreeable. Having clambered all over the Rock, we began
     to feel the epidemic under which the garrison labours, namely,
     _bore_, and the feeling of being shut up on so small a space. We
     therefore took an English brig and proceeded to Cadiz.

     By the way, before you leave Spain, you should see the Straits of
     Gibraltar. I never yet have seen any scenery to equal the African
     coast, so bold and mountainous. Cadiz is charming, clean and tidy,
     abounding in all good things, the result of _a free trade_,[2] if
     you and the Spaniards would but think so. Thence in the steamer to
     Seville, where we are finally settled in an excellent house which I
     have taken of Mr. Hall Standish. It has the advantages of a garden,
     a fireplace, and a southern exposure, which make it perfectly warm;
     the climate delicious, everybody very civil.

     We have brought letters to all the governors and grandees, and one
     from a gentleman who was of some consequence, the Duke of
     Wellington, to his old friend, the Marquis de las Amarillas, the
     _beau idéal_ of a Spanish caballero.[3] We intend spending the
     winter here.

     I am in treaty for a _grande chasse_ near this place, where the
     _assistente_ goes, and also am about to take the best box at the
     theatre. You will think I have discovered a mine of gold; but all
     this may be done for much less than the weekly bills in London, and
     I hope to save at least half my income.

     Pray consider this house at your disposal if ever you may be
     inclined to come to Seville; I think we shall be able to make you
     comfortable.

At Seville Ford remained for the next six months. There he laid the
foundations of his unrivalled knowledge of Spanish life. There,
sketchbook in hand, he studied the various styles of architecture, both
ecclesiastical and civil, of which the city was an epitome, sketching
the Prout-like subjects which every turn of the labyrinthine streets
afforded. There he studied the ceremonial, origin, and meaning of the
religious functions, nowhere more magnificent, and especially of the
quaint pageants of Holy Week. He learnt by heart the pictures in the
cathedral, the churches, the university, the museum, the private
galleries, and picked up for himself not a few of the treasures of
Spanish art. Under the crumbling battlements and long arches of the
aqueduct at the _Plaza de la Carne_ he watched the Easter sales of
paschal lambs, reminded of Murillo by living originals, as the children
led off their lambs decorated with ribbons, or as shepherds strode by,
holding the animals by the four legs so as to form a tippet round their
necks. With much gossip and cigar-smoking he ransacked the shop of the
Greek Dionysio, the tall, gaunt bookseller in the _Calle de Genoa_, for
rare volumes, or chaffered with the jewellers in the arcades of the
_Plaza_ for Damascene filigree and cinque-cento work, or bargained at
the weekly markets of _La Feria_ among the piled-up stalls of fish,
fruit, flesh and fowl. At Seville he learned the useful art of ridding
himself of the importunity of beggars. There also he masqueraded at the
carnivals, flirted with the Andalusian beauties in the _Plaza del
Duque_, and mastered, in the best of schools, the intricacies of the
art of bull-fighting. At the fair of Mairena he noted every detail of
the glittering dresses of the _majos_, the dandies who there displayed
their finest dresses and feats of horsemanship. He revelled in the
colours and costumes, the grouping and attitudes of the washerwomen, who
screamed and chattered in the _Corral del Conde_. He followed with the
keenest interest every step in the national _bolero_ at the theatre,
every movement of the wilder saraband, danced to the accompaniment of
castanets and tambourines by the gipsies in the suburb of _Los Humeros_.
Among the horse-dealers, jockeys, and cattle-dealers, who thronged the
_Alameda Vieja_, he had many friends, and from them probably learned
some of the secrets of horse-keeping which he knew to perfection. For
his pencil he found endless subjects on the sunny flats beyond the
Moorish walls in the groups of idlers, who, under the vine trellises,
played cards the livelong day for wine or love or coppers; or in the
suburb of _La Macarena_, the home of the agricultural labourer, where
the women, clad in the rainbow rags of picturesque poverty, and the
naked urchins, rich in every variety of brown and yellow, gathered in
front of their hovels behind their carts and implements and animals.

Of society in Seville he saw as much as there was to be seen. Writing to
Addington in November or December 1830, he says:

     This place is dull enough for people inclined to balls and dinners;
     but we are very well pleased. The climate delicious beyond
     description, open doors and windows, with the sun streaming in. We
     have had a good deal of rain, but no cold. I have a good fireplace
     in my sitting-room, which is a rarity here, and indeed is not much
     wanted. The habits of the natives are very unsocial, never meeting
     in each other’s houses, and only going to the theatre Thursdays and
     Mondays. Politics, and a want of money, contribute much to this,
     and, more, their natural indolence and love of hugger-muggery at
     home in their shawls and over the _Brasero_. Their customs are
     droll and inconvenient. Nothing more so than that of visiting in
     grand costume, white gloves and necklaces, from 12 to 2; then they
     dine, and what they do afterwards, God knows. The day is pretty
     well consumed in doing nothing. However, we dine at half-past 5,
     and contrive to get a morning for walking, sketching, reading, etc.

     The principal people are very civil, especially the _Assistente_,
     Arjona, and a General Giron, Marquis of Amarillas, a friend of the
     Duke of Wellington. They talk politics to _me_; but that is a
     subject nobody touches on here.

     As far as I can see, mixing much with bankers, _canonigos_, and
     grandees, there is no appearance whatever of anything unpleasant,
     and I am sure at Cadiz still less; either they do not talk about
     these matters, or do not care. I am inclined to think the latter. I
     saw a captain of an English brig yesterday, twelve days from
     Plymouth, who says that everything is quite quiet in the south-west
     part of England--no burnings or meetings.

     I have had no news yet from my _Whig friends_ in London. Now would
     be the time for me to be looking out for something; but there are
     ten Pigs no doubt for every Teat, and the Whigs are much more
     hungry from long abstinence than the Tories who have been sucking
     away this fifty years. I will venture to opine that they will not
     meddle with you. Lord Palmerston is a great friend of Lord Dudley’s
     and they were in office together, and I am sure Lord D. is a good
     friend of yours. I hope they won’t for all sorts of reasons, and a
     selfish one of looking forward to paying you a visit at Madrid next
     April.

     I am going on Sunday to the Coto del Rey for a week’s shooting, the
     _Assistente_ having ordered an officer to go with me and see that I
     have the best of it and good lodgings in the _Palacio_.

     Mr. Williams[4] has a very fine collection of pictures of the
     Spanish school, which I own disappoints me, a sort of jumble of
     Rubens and Carlo Maratti. However, I have not seen much yet.

     My wife is better already, and the children in a wonderful state of
     health; we positively live in the open air; the air is good, the
     water better, and the bread superlative. I don’t see what they want
     here except money, which is after all something, but nothing to so
     _rich_ a man as your very humble servant is in Seville.

A later letter (January 1st, 1831) is in the same strain:--

     Many thanks for the Galignanis, always most acceptable, whether
     early or late, many or few. One can’t expect in Spain to keep pace
     with the march of intellect and English mail. I trust civilisation
     will be long getting in here, for it is now an original Peculiar
     People, potted for six centuries, as was well said. Luckily the
     robbers and roads will stop much advance of improvement. I have too
     much respect for Ambassadors and their privileges to presume to
     expect anything out of the way. _La forme, il faut s’y tenir._ If
     you can get me a Galignani, well; if not, well. I have a great mind
     to write to Paris at once, as I see they never touch any of my
     letters. If they did I should go to Arjona, who is a great friend
     of mine.

     I am just returned from a shooting excursion at the _Coto del Rey_,
     where he sent me, with a captain to attend on me; a magnificent
     sporting country and full of woodcocks.

     We go on in our humdrum manner, for there is absolutely no society
     whatever; dinners of course not, but not even a _Tertulia_ [“at
     home” or _Conversazione_]. They meet twice a week at the theatre.
     The great bore is the visiting for all the _fine ladies_ (what
     would Lʸ. Jersey or Lʸ. Cowper think of them?). They have
     condescended to quit their _braseros_ and call on my wife, partly
     to see the strange monster they conceive her to be, and partly to
     show their laces, white gloves, and trinkets. They call about 2
     o’clock, dressed out for a ball, with fans, and all their wardrobe
     on their back; visits interminable. Some bring Mr. Fernando White
     as their dragoman, which is rather droll, as his English is
     infinitely less intelligible than their Spanish. Then we return the
     visits, my wife in mantilla and white gloves, according to
     etiquette. What a contrast between these fine ladies at home and
     abroad! No Cinderella changes more rapidly. There they are,
     squatting over their _brasero_, unwashed, undressed, cold and
     shivering, and uncomfortable, wrapped up in a shawl in their great
     barnlike, unfurnished houses; a matted rush and a few chairs the
     inventory of their chattels. A book is a thing I have not yet set
     eyes on, nor anything which indicates the possession of those
     damnable, heretical accomplishments, reading and writing. They are
     very civil and gracious, and everything is at our disposition,
     especially as they see we have eyes, hands, and faces, like other
     mortals. Of course I am considered to be a milor, and am known by
     the name of the Don Ricardo.

     We have had many letters from England; all seem very uncomfortable
     there about the way things are going on. After all, it will turn
     out, as I said in England, the only place to be quiet in is Spain.
     Lady Jersey is broken-hearted; Lady Lyndhurst ruined,--they have
     just £1200 a year, which won’t pay her coiffeur. Lord Lyndhurst[5]
     expected to the last to have been Chancellor; Lords Carnarvon,
     Dudley, and Radnor indignant. The new Ministry thought to be very
     Grey, too much so.[6] They will cut down all the good things, till,
     as old Tierney said, it will be a losing concern to come in. Lord
     Castlereagh used to say, in the good old times, in the dark days
     of Nicolas, that “the cake was not then too large for the wholesome
     aliment of the constitution.”

     Great doings in the cathedrals, churches, and convents: much
     bell-ringing, processions, great consumption of incense, torches,
     and tapers. I wonder how the lower orders manage to keep
     themselves, as every day seems to be a holiday. The most active
     branch of commerce is the sale of the water of the Alameda, which
     seems to agree with the Sevillian as well as it would with a trout.

     Everything appears to me to be in a state of profound repose, all
     dead and still.

An enthusiastic sportsman, Ford found that the neighbourhood swarmed
with game--with partridges, hares, rabbits, quail, curlew, and plover.
Snipe and woodcock abounded. Within a mile from Seville, he could with
ease kill ten couple of snipe in a morning: in every half-acre copse he
counted on flushing five or six woodcock. Behind a pasteboard horse, or
concealed in a country cart, he stalked the bustards drawn up in long
lines on the plains that bordered the Guadalquivir. The Coto del Rey, a
royal preserve about thirty miles from Seville, abounded not only with
the smaller game of the country, but also deer and wild boars. With most
of the smaller winged game he had the field to himself, and his skill,
armed with a double-barrelled Purdey, and using detonators, seemed to
the countrymen almost demoniacal. The natives themselves rarely fired at
game in motion, partly because ammunition was extravagantly dear, partly
because, with their flint and steel guns, a quarter of a minute elapsed
between pulling the trigger and the discharge of the piece. Spaniards
shot rather for the pot than for sport. In partridge shooting decoys
were used, and the birds killed on the ground. Hares were shot in
cleared runs or on their forms, and rabbits as they paused in creeping
to the edges of woods.

In the occupations and amusements which Seville and its neighbourhood
afforded, Ford passed his time agreeably enough. Though not yet the
vehement Tory that he became in later life, he congratulated himself on
having left England, then in the throes of Parliamentary Reform. Nor was
he alone in his gloomy forebodings. Even the prospects of Spain seemed
to him, by comparison, peaceful. Yet already revolutionary movements
were on foot within his immediate neighbourhood. In his next three
letters from Seville (February 2nd; February, undated; March 25th,
1831), he refers to the attempts of General Torrijos to stir up a
Liberal rising in Andalusia, their failure, and their punishment.

From his safe refuge at Gibraltar, Torrijos had issued a proclamation,
calling on the Spanish people to rise against the tyranny of the
Government. On January 24th, 1831, he followed up this manifesto by
landing near Algeciras with two hundred followers. Confronted by
superior numbers, he was compelled to re-embark for Gibraltar. Six
weeks later, March 3rd, 1831, his emissaries won over six hundred of the
sailors and soldiers quartered at Cadiz. A riot took place: the
Governor, Oliver y Hierro, was killed; the movement threatened to become
general. But the rising was soon quelled. The mutineers endeavoured to
join Manzanares in the hills round Ronda. On their march they were
attacked by Quesada, the Captain-General of Andalusia, at Vejer, a
Moorish town scrambling up the rocky cliffs from the river Barbate,
sixteen miles from Cadiz. “Prodigies of valour” were performed by the
royalist troops, whose losses were one man killed, two wounded, and two
bruised. The rebels were defeated. A few escaped to the coast; the
majority were either killed with arms in their hands or as prisoners.
The followers of Manzanares had dwindled to twenty men; Manzanares
himself was murdered by a goatherd, and his companions were spared at
Quesada’s request. The only results of these badly planned invasions
were the creation of courts martial, the multiplication of spies,
wholesale executions, and the establishment of a reign of terror.

Quesada, in spite of his magniloquent bulletin, was a man of mark. Under
Queen Christina’s regency he was appointed Captain-General of Madrid.
Borrow, who speaks of him as “a very stupid individual, but a great
fighter,”[7] was yet stirred to enthusiasm by the energy and courage of
the “brute bull,” to whom he devotes some of his most picturesque pages.
Almost single-handed, Quesada repressed the military riots at Madrid
(August 11th and 12th, 1836). “No action,” says Borrow, “of any
conqueror or hero on record is to be compared with this closing scene of
the life of Quesada; for who, by his single desperate courage and
impetuosity, ever stopped a revolution in full course? Quesada did; he
stopped the revolution at Madrid for one entire day, and brought back
the uproarious and hostile mob of a huge city to perfect order and
quiet. His burst into the Puerta del Sol was the most tremendous and
successful piece of daring ever witnessed. I admired so much the spirit
of the ‘brute bull’ that I frequently, during his wild onset, shouted
‘Viva Quesada!’”[8] A few days afterwards Quesada was murdered by the
nationals at a village near Madrid. Portions of his body were brought
back to the city, and in the coffeehouse of the _Calle del Alcalá_ the
mangled fingers and hand of the murdered man were stirred in a huge bowl
of coffee, which was drunk to the accompaniment of a grisly song.

                                  _February 2, 1831._

     I send you a proclamation issued this morning. People do not seem
     inclined to believe it, and think Torrijos had at least two
     thousand men. If he had, there must have been a vast propagation
     going on in the bay this winter, and armed revolutionists must have
     sprung out of the seaweed like so many soldiers of Cadmus. When I
     was there, I heard much of them from General Don, the Town Major,
     and Shirreff (the Captain of the Port, who brought us out), and the
     outside number was computed at six hundred, without arms or money.
     I believe the people would have no objection here to a change, if
     it could be accomplished by the act of God, or anyhow without
     putting them to expense or trouble. They are afraid of everything,
     I am told--hot water, cold water, shaving, talking, or indeed doing
     anything. As for their ignorance, it is the result of leaving the
     mind constantly fallow, and the sharpest Spaniard would get dull,
     with their 2-o’clock dinners and habits of living. I find them all
     _slow_ in the movements of mind and body. The climate of this place
     is most delicious; the rains are over, and the last ten days have
     been more charming than any July in England, the sun so warm as
     really to be almost oppressive. Spring is coming on rapidly; the
     trees are budding, and the vegetation makes gigantic strides. We
     have not had above ten days’ cold all the winter, and that a degree
     of cold varying between 36 and 46.

     I have had many letters from England, and fear that people are very
     uncomfortable there. The tone and feeling I collect from the mass
     of letters are far from satisfactory. I believe we are now in the
     only quiet place. If ever you should see any real clouds in the
     horizon, pray give me a timely hint, as I have a wife and three
     children here, and Gibraltar is a very snug place in stormy
     weather. I am going to write to Shirreff, and will beg him to let
     me know the rights of this Spanish business at Gibraltar, and
     communicate them to you.

     There is nothing doing; we live a humdrum life, never going out,
     neither to the theatre, which is really insupportably dull, nor to
     the _Alameda_. We dine late, and are much occupied with those
     damnable heretical inventions--reading and writing, with those
     incomprehensible ones to Spaniards--drawing and music, for not even
     the guitar is played. I have made a large collection of drawings of
     this most picturesque old town; my wife is hard at work with her
     guitar, and will play you some real Spanish airs when she gets to
     Madrid.

     There is no such thing as a _drawing master_. The natives are
     interested and surprised at all our proceedings, and verily believe
     we have all arrived from the moon.

                                                _February_ (undated) 1831.

     We are here blockaded by the waters, and almost cut off from all
     communications. The country from the top of the Giralda looks like
     Venice, and in many of the streets people go about in boats. The
     state of the poor is very lamentable, and they are distributing
     bread, etc. Still, the suburb of Triana has risen, and a troop of
     soldiers has been obliged to be sent there. However, the rain has
     ceased, and there is a prospect of better weather. I hear
     occasionally from England, where things are settling down, but
     people seem to expect a continental war, in consequence of the
     Polish revolution. However, you are much more in the light than I
     can possibly be. Is it true that Sir Frˢ. Burdett is dead? I hope
     not, as he is a great friend of mine and a most agreeable and
     perfect gentleman, tho’ _not_ a Tory, _con licencia de usted_
     [begging your Honour’s pardon]. People seem to think Parliament
     will be dissolved after all.

     This is a sad, dull town for news, as I see nobody, and nobody sees
     anybody. I have got into a mess by asking some of the _Grandees_ to
     dinner, and giving them a Spanish dinner and using some _Spanish_
     plates. God knows I have neither plates nor plate. They have
     thought what I meant as a compliment was meant to turn them into
     ridicule. However, I have gravely explained the matter, and stand
     right again, _rectus in curia_, having afforded conversation to
     this excellent and industrious Capital for some few days.

     Certainly to us who have seen England, France, Germany, and Italy,
     this _is_ a curious country, and the people are not attainted by
     the march of intellect. However, I am much inclined to like them
     better than the French, the Germans, or the Italians.

     My wife is _pretty_ well; she did not expect such a tremendous
     visitation of rain and damp as we have undergone. As soon as she is
     delivered of her precious burden, she will set out for Madrid, and
     hopes to find your Excellency there. In spite of all our Whig
     friends, I am a rank Tory in hoping to see you at your post, and am
     not quite sure that some of the Tory principles I imbibed in very
     early youth do not remain, in spite of Brooks’s, and the dangerous
     company I have kept since marriage. I am not sure if I should not
     prefer the Canning System to all others; you will despise that as a
     half-measure. However, here I have no politics, nor care much to
     have any anywhere.

                                  _March 25, 1831._

     At length I am able to announce the safe confinement of my wife,
     who on the 22nd presented me with another boy to consume my
     substance in these hard times. My wife had an excellent time, and
     everything was managed in the Spanish fashion, much to her
     satisfaction. She is doing quite well. Owing to her confinement
     having taken place so much later than we expected, I am afraid she
     must give up all thoughts of coming to Madrid, as the journey is
     too long for one so newly confined. I think of coming myself after
     the raree show of the Holy Week here is over, so very likely may
     set out in the _diligence_ about the 7th or 8th of April.

     We are all very quiet here. The Captain-General is come back, so I
     conclude all the row near Gibraltar is put down. Indeed, the thing
     seems to be rather ridiculous. We have a flaming account of the
     _bizarria_ and wonderful gallantry of the troops--how they stood
     firm under a most tremendous fire, the result of which was one man
     killed, two wounded, one horse ditto, and two men with contusion.
     They were in a sad stew the night the news of the assassination of
     the Cadiz Governor arrived; but since that all has been most
     tranquil, and now Quesada is come back, the Liberals will be in
     such a fright as will even surprise a Spaniard.

     Many thanks for the Galignanis. The debates are most interesting.
     It is a sweeping measure, and if the Ministry go out on it, the
     country will go with them. Those who succeed will not be on a bed
     of roses. I hardly think they can carry it, with the present state
     of the House.

     I am in hopes, now Quesada is come back, that they will let the
     processions go on as usual. There was some talk that this year
     they would not; it would be a hard case not to see the whole game
     played.

     I have just seen a friend of mine, Captain Bigge, who was very
     ill-used at Cadiz, and threatened with arrest unless he left the
     town. Quesada, the Captain-General here, is very civil to him. The
     people in Madrid must be crazy to offend such a man as Quesada,
     whose presence and name _only_ put down the affair at Cadiz. Here
     they say that they have refused him the pardon he asked for for
     some of the revolutionists. He is so annoyed that they expect he
     will resign; if so, the Lord have mercy upon the ruling powers. As
     long as he is here all will go right. They are arresting and
     shooting away in Cadiz, and they say an order is arrived for all
     those settled there since 1822 to leave the place in forty-eight
     hours; they will all join José Maria or turn Liberals. Some low
     rumours are afloat that Cadiz will no longer be a free port. _Quem
     Deus vult perdere, prius dementat_. The only man to conciliate and
     consult is Quesada, as far as this part of the world goes, as he is
     a fair straightforward man of common sense, and equally respected
     by all parties, and his name alone is a host in a country where
     everybody is afraid of everything and everybody.

     Many thanks for your hospitable offer. I shall certainly come
     alone to Madrid, and may Providence protect your Excellency from
     the reductions of the Whigs for many a year! Depend upon it, the
     general feeling in Andalusia is against these cold-blooded military
     executions, and no one more so than Quesada, who is the _magnus
     Apollo_ here, and the only person of whom the Spanish Government
     might say _sic me servavit_. The processions of the Holy Week are
     all stopped,--much to my sorrow, as I am told they were most
     curious, delightful relics of superstition, which I am very fond
     of, very picturesque and barbarous.

In April 1831 Ford paid his proposed visit to Addington at Madrid. The
two following letters announce his intended departure (April 2nd) and
his safe return to Seville (May 14th).

The _diligences_, though only introduced into Spain in 1821, were
admirably managed. Travelling over excellent main roads, drawn by teams
of eight, twelve, or sometimes fifteen mules, they were lighter, more
roomy, and faster than those in France. As compared with English
stage-coaches, a traveller[9] considered them to be more comfortable
than our own, and equally regular in their working. Posting was almost
unknown, and people who in England would have hired post-horses,
travelled by the public coaches. Even royal personages did not disdain
their use. The journey from Seville to Madrid occupied four and a-half
days, a few hours every evening being allowed for sleep on the journey.
The fares varied with the places, ranging from £9 in the _berlina_ to £5
10_s._ on the outside.

The living portions of the equipage were picturesque in the extreme. The
mules, whose harness was adorned with skeins and tassels of gay-coloured
worsted, were shorn smooth, except on the flanks and cruppers, where the
hair was allowed to grow in fantastic patterns. The driver wore a
sugarloaf-shaped, broad-brimmed hat over a bright silk handkerchief,
tied round his head so that the tails hung down behind. He was clothed
in a short jacket of brown cloth, embroidered on the back and arms with
vases and flowers, and breeches of blue plush, adorned with stripes and
filigree buttons, bound at the knees with cords and tassels of silk. His
neck was open, with a turn-down collar, and a gaudy tie passed loosely
through a ring. His waist was girt with a yellow sash. His legs were
encased in stockings and embroidered gaiters, and his feet shod with
brown boots of untanned calfskin. Mounting to his perch, gathering the
skein of reins in his hand, cracking his whip, calling on each of the
mules by her high-sounding name, he set his team in motion,--his helper,
a humble imitator of his master in the matter of dress, running by the
side of the animals, encouraging, reviling, or pelting them, with
unerring aim, from the stones with which he had filled his sash. So the
_diligence_ rattled past the Tobacco Factory out of the city gate,
under the Moorish wall, through an arch of the Roman aqueduct, and on to
the great high road to Madrid.

One part of the journey, at least, was full of interest to Ford. He
carried _Don Quixote_ with him on all his travels, knew the book by
heart, and now found himself passing through the barren district of La
Mancha. Here was Argamasilla de Alba, the village of Don Quixote, and
the site of the prison in which, as tradition wrongly asserted,
Cervantes wrote his book. Here, with its neighbouring well, was the
_Venta de Quesada_, scarcely changed in external aspect since it was the
scene of the knighting of the “lantern-jawed” Don; here was El Toboso,
where Dulcinea lived; here the Sierra, where the knight did penance;
here, at the mouth of the gorge of Despeña-perros, was the Venta de
Cardenas, which perhaps suggested the name of Cardenio for the “Ragged
one of the Sorry Countenance,” and, above the pass, was the spot where
he told his tale. Valdepeñas was still littered with the wine-swollen
pig-skins, which Don Quixote attacked; the waterless uplands bristled
with windmills; and in every village toiled numbers of brown-clad,
sandal-shod Sancho Panzas.

                                 _April 2 [1831]._

     I venture to take up a moment of your time, to say that I have
     taken my place in the _diligence_ for Thursday next, and shall, in
     due time, God willing, arrive in Madrid on _Monday the 11th_. I
     accept with great thankfulness the offer you make of giving me a
     room in your house, and will give you no trouble, I assure you.

     No doubt you have had a long protest, etc., etc., from
     Brackenbury[10] on the subject of Captain Bigge’s ill-usage at
     Cadiz. Now, as Bigge is an old friend of mine, I can tell you _en
     confidence_ something about it. In the first place, he thinks
     neither of Liberals nor Constitutions, but only where he can get
     the best cigars. He was dining with me, and talking of his Cadiz
     adventures, when he let out that he was a friend of Torrijos and
     Calderon; that his passport was signed the _3rd of March_, the
     fatal day; that he had told a girl he was dancing with in Cadiz
     last Carnival to beware of the Ides of March, and not to venture
     out on the 3rd. Now, all this being duly reported to the police, in
     such a moment as this, was enough to make them treat him as a
     suspected person,--very unjustly, but, still, on these sort of
     matters Spaniards do not understand how _young_ men talk in
     England. I just mention all this to put you _au courant_.

     We have also here a Captain Cook, a navigator[11] (but not _the_
     Captain Cook). He is a great geologist and stuffer of little birds,
     a tall, stiff man, with a sort of philosophical hat, that Buckland
     or Cuvier might wear. Now you know what you have to expect in
     Madrid.

     I have had a most civil letter from General O’Lawlor, of Granada
     (having sent him a letter his master, the great Duke, gave me). He
     has procured me the refusal of the Alhambra; but it is represented
     to be in a ruinous condition, and, as my children and English
     servants have no taste for the Moorish picturesque, but a great
     notion of the more humble gratification proceeding from a
     comfortable house and well-appointed kitchen, I am rather inclined
     to put up with the unromantic reality of some good ready-furnished
     house.

     Meantime _vive valeque_! I hope very shortly to pay my personal
     respects to your Excellency.

                                SEVILLA, _May 14_.

     I arrived safely this morning here after a very prosperous journey,
     and rather an interesting one, through Talavera, Merida, and
     Badajoz. Talavera, a very curious old _Spanish_ town in a most
     picturesque state of dirt and decay; Merida, where I remained two
     days, full of Roman remains, an aqueduct grander than anything I
     ever saw in Italy; Badajoz, well worth seeing, a magnificent
     position, and fine old castle, which we have pretty well knocked
     about. They were all rather in a fuss there (as being the frontier
     town) as to what was going on in Portugal, and very particular
     about all strangers coming in and going out. Thence to Sevilla over
     the Sierra Morena, a glorious, wild, uncultivated, uninhabited
     country, full of hawks, partridges, and cistus. The hills, being
     covered with the white flower, looked like _Epinards sucrés_. I
     found my spouse much better than I expected.

     Messrs. de Custine[12] and de Barbe are, I believe, still here.
     They have been taking a great many people up here lately for
     political reasons, but no executions.




CHAPTER II

THE ALHAMBRA

(MAY-NOVEMBER 1831)

     THE ALHAMBRA--ADDINGTON’S VISIT--TOUR TO ALICANTE, VALENCIA,
     BARCELONA, ZARAGOZA, MADRID--RETURN TO THE ALHAMBRA


When Ford wrote to Addington in April 1831, he was hesitating between a
furnished house at Granada or rooms in the ruined palace of the
Alhambra. Poetry conquered prose; comfort gave way to romance. His
letter of June 7th, 1831, announces that he had installed himself in the
palace.

Granada and the Alhambra are places which seem to rise above the prosaic
level of the working world and catch the last gleams of mediæval
romance. The very mention of their names conjures up pageants of
chivalry and splendid visions of departed glory. Soil and climate
increase the fascination and deepen the spell which is cast upon the
imagination. The verdure of a northern climate spreads itself beneath
the cloudless azure of the south. Olive-yards, orange-groves, and
vineyards clothe the hills, gardens embroider the valleys, billows of
corn wave in the plains, of that enchanted region over which hung the
celestial Paradise of Mahomet. Here, hemmed in between the mountains and
the sea, and narrowed within the space of ten years, till its events
assume the distinctness and unity of an epic, was concentrated the final
struggle which closed the drama of Moorish domination in Spain. Every
spot recalls some scene in the conflict, and the “last sigh of the Moor”
still whispers on the heights above Granada. In that Holy War historical
truth outrivalled romantic fiction; the manners, customs, creeds of the
East and the West contended for supremacy; the splendour of steel-clad
chivalry met the roar and crash of artillery; the Middle Ages were
locked in the death-grapple with modern civilisation.

The journey from Seville to Granada followed the high road to Madrid as
far as Andujar. Leaving the _diligence_ at that place, the Fords drove
from Andujar to Granada by way of Jaen in a _coche de colleras_. Their
carriage was a huge machine belonging to the seventeenth century,
carved, gilded, and richly painted, set on wheels which were as
extravagantly high behind as they were low in front. It was drawn by
four mules, driven by the voice, whip, and stones of the driver
(_majoral_) and his helper (_zagal_). But the picturesque novelty of the
expedition was the guard of six _Miquelites_ who accompanied the
carriage. These men, drawn from a regular body which was organised
throughout Spain for the protection of travellers, are said to derive
their name from Miquel de Prats, a bravo in the train of Cæsar Borgia.
Well armed with short guns, swords, and pistols, dressed in a sort of
uniform of blue jackets trimmed with red, they were all young men picked
for their strength and activity. Many of them had previously been
smugglers or bandits, and were held in wholesome dread by their former
colleagues.

Thus escorted, the journey was performed without risk, and Ford, with
his wife and family, safely lodged in the Alhambra. The palace,
whitewashed by the monks and purified from Moslem abominations, or
wrecked by Charles V. to supply materials for new palaces, had fallen
into neglect and decay. It had been an asylum for debtors, a hospital
for invalid soldiers, a prison for galley-slaves. From 1798 onwards it
was the official residence of Spanish governors, who made good use of
their opportunity for plunder. The dados were broken up to make firewood
for cooks and bakers; the tiles were torn up and worked into shop
fronts; the leaden pipes which supplied the fountains were sold. A
donkey was stabled in the chapel, sheep were folded in the courtyards,
poultry penned in the halls. The French invaders converted it into a
barrack, a powder magazine, a store for plundered goods, and, when they
evacuated it, blew up eight of the Moorish towers. The work of gutting
the place was continued by the Spaniards, who tore down doors, wrenched
off locks, and carried off panes of glass. When Ford was there
galley-slaves were at work converting, to the chink of their chains, a
part of the building into a storehouse for salt fish. The first real
attempt to restore the Alhambra was made by a peasant woman, Francisca
de Molina, the “Tia Antonia” of Washington Irving.

[Illustration: BILL PAYABLE TO THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON AGAINST MONEY
RECEIVED BY RICHARD FORD FROM THE DUKE’S SPANISH ESTATES.

[_To face p. 36._
]

She worked with her own hands to repair the ravages of her predecessors,
cleared away rubbish, set the famous lions on their legs in the
courtyard, and reigned, with her two chattering mercenary nieces, the
crabbed Queen and lioniser of the Alhambra. In the rooms which she had
occupied Ford was lodged.

From the Alhambra, more beautiful, probably, in its ruin than in its
restoration, most of the letters contained in this chapter were written.
Here Ford entertained Addington, and to the Alhambra he returned in
November, 1831, from the tour which he describes.

Ten miles from Granada is the Sota de Roma, or Wood of the Pomegranate,
an estate of 4000 acres, conferred by the Cortes on the Duke of
Wellington in gratitude for his victory at Salamanca. Owing to
difficulties of exchange, Ford had arranged that the Duke should receive
his income in England, while he drew an equivalent sum from the Duke’s
Spanish estates. The agent was General O’Lawlor, an Irish gentleman in
the Spanish military service. Don José, as Ford calls him, had married a
wealthy heiress from Malaga, the “Dionysia” of the letters, and had made
profitable investments of her money in the lead mines of Berja. Ford
found the society of the O’Lawlors pleasant, as also were the
green-gages in the garden attached to the old rambling house which was
the agent’s residence.

His letters show little trace of the disturbed condition of the country.
Yet all round him were signs of the reign of terror produced by panic of
rebellion. One execution struck him, in all its circumstances, as
peculiarly brutal. By express orders from Madrid, a young woman of good
birth, Mariana de Pineda,[13] was, in May 1831, garrotted at Granada.
Pardon was offered her if she would reveal the names of her accomplices.
She refused, and died by the hand of the public executioner. Her alleged
crime was the possession of a partially embroidered flag of green silk,
the Constitutionalist colours. Whether she was guilty or not seems to be
doubtful. It was at least alleged that the flag had been placed in her
house by a Government _employé_, Ramon Pedroza, whose suit she had
rejected. A column near the Triunfo now marks the site of her sacrifice
to a longing for liberty.

                                  ALHAMBRA, _June 7 [1831]_.

     DEAR ADDINGTON,

     I am almost tempted to go down a crumbling staircase, which leads
     from my kitchen into the _Sala de los Embajadores_, to indite my
     epistle from a _local conveniente a sa Ecc_. I am busy up here with
     a troop of painters and carpenters putting the part of the Alhambra
     given up to the Alcaide, and by him to me, into order: no small
     task, I can assure you, for, what with time, the French, and the
     barbarous Spaniards, all this enchanted spot is going the way of
     everything in Spain. To attempt any account of it would be
     impossible, either by pen or pencil. No previous idea can come up
     to the exquisite beauty of the Alhambra. Here we are, with the
     most delicious breezes from the snowy mountain above us, perfumed
     by a thousand groves and gardens of vine, orange, and pomegranate,
     carolled by nightingales, who daily and nightly sing in the dark
     grove to the tune of “Ally Croker,”[14] all by the side of gushing
     streams and never-failing fountains. Here summer cometh not--_not_
     in the way that it appears _not to come_ in Castille; but, while
     all below in the town and _Vega_ are roasting, broiling, and
     baking, we neither know it nor feel it.

     The journey here was very prosperous. _Esposa y sa servidor_
     started alone in the _diligence_ to Cordova. The heat without
     intense, inside (_six inside_) infernal. Ecija, another hell, and
     well deserves to be called _La sartenilla_ [the frying-pan] _de
     Andalucia_. We remained at Cordova three days; in the ancient
     _mezquita_ a wood of pillars, some eight hundred odd, to say
     nothing of the holy chapel of the Moslems, _La Ceca_, which is
     finer and better preserved than anything even here, owing to the
     _purification of Sn. Fernando’s_ monks, which was simply daubing
     over with plaster of Paris all the painted arabesque and delicate
     damascene work of the Moor. A few years ago all this
     impurification was removed, and the worshippers of Mahomet and the
     fine arts made happy. Thence to Andujar per _diligence_. Thence in
     a _coche_ with nine _Miquelites_ to Granada, by Jaen. The road to
     Jaen through ploughed fields, uninhabited except by the gang of the
     _Botiga_, the José Maria of Jaen; but we neither saw nor heard of
     him, and duly arrived, well shaken, at the worst inn in Spain. Jaen
     very striking and picturesque. I was much bored by the
     _commandante_, one Downie, who has forgotten English, but came to
     pay me a visit.

     Thence to Granada, through the mountains, the most beautiful road
     (_quoad_ road) possible, a thing to delight Macadam. The scenery to
     delight any son of Adam with or without a Mac, full of torrents,
     rivers, rocks, precipices, goats, vines, figs, lights and shades,
     etc., but wanting in good accommodation for man or beast. So we
     went direct the seventeen leagues, seventeen mortal mountain
     leagues, at a pull, twenty-three hours _en coche_; think of that,
     Master Brook![15] The _Miquelites_, being well supplied with strong
     cigars of the worst Royal fabrication, ran and sang the whole way.

     Arrived here at a most excellent inn, the best I have seen in
     Spain, and forgot all our woes at

[Illustration: PATIO DE LOS LEONES.

[_To face p. 40._

     Harriet Ford, 1832.
]

     the first sight of the Albaicin, Generalife, and Alhambra, with the
     cold, snowy, sparkling Sierra glistening in the blue cloudless sky.
     Then such an _airecillo_: not the one in the _calle Alcalá_ that
     goes through your _Capa_ and upper Benjamin in the twinkling of a
     bedpost, but a mild, gentle, refreshing, reinvigorating breeze.
     Then such a profusion of tree and water. General O’Lawlor, very
     civil, has procured me the Governor’s suite of apartments in the
     Alhambra, one staircase of which leads into the _Sala de los
     Embajadores_ (as aforesaid), where I hope and trust to have the
     honour of receiving the present one of his B.M. The other leads to
     the _Patio de los Leones_, which beat Pidcock’s lions, and are
     lions worth seeing.

     All very quiet. They were prepared to rise had the thing succeeded
     at Cadiz, but as that did _not_, they think little about it, but
     eat their ices as usual.

     There has been a horrid execution here, which was calculated to
     excite a revolution anywhere. A beautiful widow, connected with
     high families, was _garrotted_, solely for a Constitutional flag,
     with a half-embroidered motto, having been found in her possession.
     She refused to give any account of it herself, or any accomplices.
     The matter was sent to Madrid, and down came, to the equal horror
     and surprise of every one, an order for her execution! a woman
     executed for such an offence _anno_ 1831! They certainly manage
     these things differently in Spain.

     If you come, you must do so _per diligence_ to Andujar, and thence
     ride in two days across the country with three or four of these
     stout _Miquelites_. You will find every comfort in the inn, and I
     am now constructing a sort of a grate, the sweet vision of Your
     Excellency’s excellent, super-excellent, _rost-bif_ ever floating
     before my eyes as the hour of 6 approaches. I cannot promise such
     fare as it was my lot to consume at Madrid, and which sent me back
     to the conjugal embrace _Epicuri de grege porcum_. But you shall
     dine in the fabled palace of the Moorish kings: the fountains shall
     play, and a band of _Gitanas_ shall dance their half-voluptuous
     dance around you; you shall drink the purest, coldest water from
     the Moorish cistern, which is opposite my window, and which I am
     supplied with _gratis_: (it costing to the public an _ocharo per
     cantaro_);[16] you shall eat the delicious ice, the _Queso de
     albaricoqui_; and, last of all, a most hearty welcome from

                                  S. S. S. y amigo,

                                   R. F.



     P. S.--_Mr. Sᵗᵉ Barbe_, _el ingles afrancesado_, and Mr. de
     Custine, _el Frances inglesado_, being duly dressed as _majos_ by
     Pindar of Seville, departed for Tariffa, where the Marquis tells me
     he is going to write “some poem about the good Guzman.” They are
     then coming here. I shall entertain them in the Alhambra, and be
     immortalised in a note by this poetical Marquis.

     My wife thinks she can manage a room and a sort of a bed for you
     and your man. It appears inhospitable in me to talk of the inn, but
     the Alhambra is but a ruin; however, you shall choose yourself.
     _Utrum horum mavis accipe._

                                  ALHAMBRA, _June 15 [1831]_.

     I am very sorry that, at this distance from my worthy friend the
     _Assistente_, there is no chance of extracting from him the
     information you want, which I think I could have managed at Seville
     in a _careless_ way. If I were to write to him, he would instantly
     be alarmed, and attach great importance to it. I enclose a letter
     to Lord Dudley for Mr. de Gersdorf (?) instead of one to Lord
     Essex; a letter to Lord Essex would be of no use, for he has now
     totally abandoned and shut up Cassiobury, which _was_ very well
     worth seeing when he lived there; secondly, he lives entirely in a
     set of his own, and I know from long experience hates nothing like
     the sight of a foreigner;--as he expresses himself, “damn all
     foreigners; none shall put their foot in my house.”

     I am comfortably settled here, after much painting and
     whitewashing, and, if you can steal away from Madrid, can give you
     a tidy bedroom and sitting-room, with a view out of the windows
     quite unequalled. The difference in the thermometer here and in the
     town below is some 6 or 8 degrees; then we have always such a
     delicious breeze, and such a constant trickling and splashing of
     fountains. I am sorry to say that the _Lions_ are all adry, and the
     flowers in the courtyard past dying; a wall fell down the other
     day, which supported the aqueduct, which used to supply these cool
     courts. They are fast repairing it, but it is a work of great
     extent, and the Spaniards do not do things in an offhand style here
     any more than at Madrid. We have had a rare party of English
     Tigers, looking at the Lions; they flock out from Gibraltar, now
     the communication is again open, and astonish the natives in their
     red jackets, redder faces, and the quantity of undiluted wine they
     consume. Captain Pascoe, a gentlemanlike man, _aide-de-camp_ to
     General Don, has been here.

     We are going to be regaled with more executions--two officers who
     were found tampering with their troops. (They deserve it; but poor
     Mariana! who might have been spared.)

     It is impossible to describe, either by pen or pencil, the
     extraordinary freshness and beauty of this spot, so take time by
     the forelock, and, as Ovid says:

    _Nil mihi rescribas, attamen, ipse veni._



                                  ALHAMBRA, _Sunday, 14th June, /31_.

     I am delighted to hear that you are really coming here; you will
     find at least a clean bed, and a clean dinner, with no oil or
     garlic.

     You must put up with the unfurnished, whitewashed sort of way we
     are living in, which is unlike the gorgeous mansion in Alcala
     Street.

     Everything is arranged, and you will find a _coche_ at Andujar, and
     a sufficient number of _Miquelites_. They have lately taken so many
     robbers, executed some, banished others, that the road is quite
     safe. I should recommend your buying some cigars at Andujar, which,
     being duly distributed to the men, _majorals_, and innkeepers, will
     act like magic. I expended a dollar in them on my journey, and am
     celebrated in _los cuatro reinos_ as the greatest and most affable
     milor ever seen since the ‘grand Lord’ commanded in Spain.

     I have written to Downie, to get the inn ready for you, and to
     provide, if possible, some partridges, and not have you bothered
     with ceremony, guards, or visits,--all which he nevertheless will
     doubtless inflict on you, calculating by the Rule of 3 principle.
     If he did such and such things for a simple milor, what will he do
     for an _embajador_?

     I have duly instructed O’Lawlor on your being left quiet, which I
     think you will be, at least in the Alhambra, as no Spaniard has
     courage to face the hill, or any wish to see anything of their much
     superior predecessors, the Moors.

     The 20th, or thereabouts, is the time to go up the Sierra Nevada. I
     am thinking of taking my wife that trip, so you may imagine it is
     not attended with much difficulty. It is a glorious mountain,
     though the dog-days have played the devil with the snow. Still
     there is enough left to swear by, and to cool one’s wine. By God’s
     blessing, a quarter-cask of sherry has made its appearance in
     Granada, otherwise you would have got nothing but _Bara_, a sort of
     clarety-porty wine, not bad in water, but very disagreeable to
     British officers, as they find it too weak to drink in goblets this
     hot weather. The weather has been very hot, but getting
     cooler,--down to 72 at night.

     You will have a terrible bad road to Jaen, and I should set out
     very early, before 4, and get into Jaen before the great heat of
     the day. Set out again early for Campillo de la Arena, half way to
     Granada. I remained there four or five hours in the day, and came
     on in the night, getting here very early in the morning. I would,
     however, not recommend that to you. You had better sleep at
     Campillo, where you will get _partridges_, on asking if there are
     any to be bought in the village.

     By setting out betimes, you will get here in nine or ten hours, and
     I will take care and have a _roast pavito_ [young cock turkey],
     which is equivalent to a London fowl, ready for you.

     My wife is frightened at the thoughts of our cuisine, but I assure
     her that you are an ex-dyspeptic, and not very difficult, rather
     more in that you do _not_ eat than in what you do.

     My Spanish servant (who calls himself my _major duomo_) wants me to
     borrow a service of plate, and have the dinners sent up from the
     inn!! Lord deliver us! They are curious people, _muy Etiqueteros_
     (I can’t even spell the word), and think we are as great asses as
     themselves. What we have here are delicious eggs--laid under your
     window, fine fruit, tolerable mutton, good bread and water, and a
     jack for roasting, the only one in Granada, to say nothing of cool
     breezes, cool fountains (though they don’t play), much shade, many
     nightingales (though they don’t sing now), and plenty of snow, and
     a view, from the windows and all about, passing all understanding;
     but you will see with your own eyes and hear with your own ears, so
     no more for the present.

                                  ALHAMBRA, _June 22 [1831]_.

     DEAR ADDINGTON,

     I am going to give you proper and business-like answers to your six
     questions, and I think satisfactory ones to all.

     1. The inn is the best in Spain, but very crowded and very _hot_, a
     long way from the Alhambra, and all up hill--quite out of the
     question, except early and late. You may, to be sure, ride up, and
     General O’Lawlor will send you a horse whenever you want; but I
     enclose you a plan of my dwelling up here, which is very spacious,
     and where I can accommodate you well and without the least
     inconvenience. You will then see the Alhambra in your
     dressing-gown, cool and comfortable, and never get heated or tired.
     You will, too, be within reach of the Generalife, which, if
     possible, is more beautiful than the Alhambra. It is about as high
     above the Alhambra as the Alhambra is above the town; but a
     tolerable shady walk through fig-trees, vines and pomegranates.

     2. The getting here will be _easily_ accomplished in a
     _coche_--that is, every bone will be broken, but, however, get here
     you will. I should take the _diligence_ to Baylen, and thence in
     one day to Jaen in the _coche_. The road, I am told, is tolerable.
     I came from Andujar, which would be out of your way--the road the
     most infernal ever seen. From Jaen to Granada it is magnificent;
     Macadam never made a better, and the scenery most beautiful and
     picturesque. We came in one day--that is, left Jaen early, 3 a.m.,
     arrived at Campillo de Arenas about 1, halted till 5, eating salad
     and _Guisado de Perdices_ at the Venta; thence _per_ night to
     Granada, where we arrived about 4 a.m. The whole journey from Jaen
     takes about twenty hours _en route_. You might do it quicker
     without _Miquelites_, as it is a long pull (seventeen leagues) for
     men to walk in one day; thermometer at 3000, and up hill. Now if
     your plans really do ripen into reality, what you should do is
     this: let me know the day you leave Madrid; the third night you
     will get to Andujar or Baylen. I will send over the identical
     _coche_ which brought us, a roomy one with four mules, and an
     excellent _majoral_, who will buy you partridges at the Venta, etc.
     The cost will be 29 dollars for the six days there and back. I will
     manage with O’Lawlor that a troop of _Miquelites_, eight or nine,
     shall be picked men, and sent with the _coche_. I gave them 25
     dollars for nine men eight days. They generally get a _pezeta_
     apiece, but half a dollar is what they well deserve, as they are
     fine fellows.

     3. I know the _commandante_ at Jaen, who will choose the best. The
     said _commandante_, Downie, the d--st bore in Jaen, Spain, or
     anywhere, will call upon you and plague your heart out with bad
     English, etc.

     My silver watch is excellent, and cost three dollars at Madrid. I
     should think you might buy Mr. Pearson’s, who bought one too for
     one dollar.[17]

     4. I hear there is some shooting here; but August is very hot,
     except up in the Sierra Nevada, where I propose going, as the view
     is superb--Mediterranean, Atlantic, Africa, etc. The Pico de Valeta
     is easily ascended in August.

     5. The post comes in very regularly twice a week, and goes out the
     day after--from Madrid in three days and a half. The letters do not
     appear to be opened.

     6. Plenty of hats, white and black straw and chip, in Granada; the
     men here are the greatest dandies in Spain, and are not at all ill
     dressed.

     I should not think you will be much bothered. O’Lawlor is a
     sensible man, and does not bore one, but is very civil, and will be
     of great use in every way, and a _banker_ besides. As he has to
     remit money to the Duke of Wellington, he is glad of good bills on
     London.

     Your journey here will take you six days; there is not much, I
     believe, in Granada to be seen. I seldom go there, except in the
     cool dark night, to eat ices. _This_ is the place; you will _see_
     it in a morning; but the more one lives in it, the more delightful
     it is. The walks about are charming. If you live in the town, you
     will not see much more of the Alhambra than those brutes the
     natives, who think it _fabrica antiqua, obra de los arabes_, to
     which they seem to have an antipathy.

     You must make up your mind to fare but indifferently here when
     compared to your own good _ménage_; but we can, at all events,
     serve you up a clean dinner, and without any poisonous matters. At
     all events you must not think of going to the inn; you may as well
     stay where you are, as far as the Alhambra is concerned.

                                  Ever most sincerely,

                                  RICH. FORD.



                                  _July 27 [1831]_, ALHAMBRA.

     I am afraid, as you say nothing about your journey to Granada, that
     you have had bad news from home; all work and no play. How unlucky
     all this business about the free trade of Cadiz, and the voluminous
     speculations thereon by my friend the Proconsul; to say nothing of
     despatches from Hopner to plague your heart out. Well, well! _no
     tiene remedio_. I only mention all this, as it is considered
     unlucky here not to ascend the _Pico de Valeta_ about this time, in
     some of these three or four “glorious days” of July, glorious Dog
     Days; _son en canicula_. However, we managed to keep our
     thermometer under 80, which is not more than the heat at Paris, as
     I see _per_ Galignani--for which accept my greatest thanks--that
     true pabulum of an Englishman. The three received yesterday were
     very amusing: the debate on the reform, Macaulay’s essay
     oratorical, Porchester’s discourse peninsular and historical,
     Wetherell droll and coarsish, some _lucid intervals_, as was said
     of that part of his shirt which always appears between his breeches
     and waistcoat; Peel sentential and sonorous in the Joseph Surface
     school; and bravo! old Sir Francis Burdett, who gave him a sound
     drubbing. For all that, I would vote against the bill, professing
     myself a _bit by bit_ reformer. The Tories may thank themselves,
     for the people could not but see, after that Bassetlaw job,[18]
     that they would do nothing for them.

     Monʳ de Sᵗᵉ Barbe and A. Custine, Esq., have duly started for
     Madrid with his unfinished MSS. By speaking bad English, the one is
     forgetting his French--the other, the wholesome vernacular tongue
     as expressed in Hampshire. I don’t think they took kindly to the
     Alhambra; however, you will see and hear. I have begged the Marquis
     de Sᵗᵉ Barbe to give you some account of my _Local_ and poor means
     of receiving so great a personage as your Excellency. I can only
     say that it will be _con muchisimo agrado_. Mrs. Ford has got a
     Pajes,[19] and there is a dark glancing Spaniard washing clothes in
     the Alhambra, to whom you may pour forth your amatory _rondeñas_.

     I rather think that, about the middle of September, I shall come up
     to Madrid with my spouse for a very few days, show her Toledo and
     the Escurial, and return by a short cut (to diddle _Castaños_)
     through Zaragoça, Barcelona, and Valencia. This little trip will
     occupy very well a couple of the autumnal months; and then on to
     Malaga; and should any rows take place, and the consular protection
     of the apostolic Mark be insufficient, I shall place myself under
     the batteries of Gibraltar: so much for plans. If you have time,
     you may let me have a line as to yours, whether we have any chance
     of your visit. You really should come, for, depend on it, the old
     woman of the Alhambra, in whose house we are living, will never let
     the Governor turn her out again, and if you do not live in the
     Alhambra, you may as well remain in the Calle de Alcalá.

During Addington’s stay at the Alhambra, Ford, his wife, and their guest
ascended the Picacho de la Veleta, “the watch-point,” the second highest
peak (12,459 feet) of the Sierra Nevada. The greater part of the ascent
to the top of the conical peak, about twenty miles, was ridden, the
party sleeping for the night at the Cortijo del Puche.

After Addington had left, the Fords started (September 9th, 1831) on an
expedition to eastern Spain, Mrs. Ford on a donkey, her husband on
horseback, and their servant Pasqual in a one-horse, two-wheeled,
covered cart. They made their way over the mountains by Elche, the “City
of Palms,” to Alicante; thence by San Felipe de Xativa, the birthplace
of Ribera (Spagnoletto) and Pope Alexander VI., and the prison of his
son Cæsar Borgia, to Valencia.

At Valencia Ford stayed several days, delighting in the pictures of
Vicente Joanes[20] and Francisco Ribalta.[21] Thence he made his way by
Murviedro (Saguntum) to Tarragona and Barcelona. On the road from
Barcelona to Tarragona they turned aside to see Montserrat, spent a
night in the convent on the jagged saw-like hills, dropped down on
Manresa and the famous _cueva de san Ignacio_, visited the salt mines at
Cardona, rejoined the high road and the _diligence_, and so reached
Zaragoza.

Zaragoza, the pilgrim city of Arragon, “the Ephesus of Mariolatry,” as
Ford calls it in his _Handbook_, has two cathedrals, the _Seu_, and _El
Pilar_. The latter marks the spot where the Virgin, standing on a jasper
pillar, bade St. James build a chapel in her honour. At the time of
Ford’s visit to the city its houses were still riddled and pitted with
shot-marks. They were the honourable scars of two memorable sieges, of
which Agustina, “La Artillera,” the maid of Zaragoza who snatched the
match from a dying artilleryman and fired upon the French, and Tio
Jorge, “Gaffer George,” who organised the peasants for the defence, were
the real heroes. The first siege lasted from June 15th to August 15th,
1808. Led, as they believed, by the Virgin of the Pillar, the
inhabitants fought with desperate courage. It was in the convent of
Santa Engracia that the French effected a lodgment. On August 15th,
those of the invaders who survived had retreated, after blowing up the
monastery and leaving it in ruins. The attack was renewed on December
20th. Four marshals of France directed the operations of the siege. Shot
and shell, plague and famine, did their work within the walls. On
February 20th, 1809, after holding out for sixty-two days, Zaragoza
surrendered to Marshal Lannes.

                                  _Saturday, 3rd Sept. [1831]_, ALHAMBRA.

     I hope you got quite safely to Andujar in that tremendous machine
     you started in. We are off on Thursday for Alicante: Pasqual in a
     _Tartana_, wife on the _Burra_, and your humble servant on
     _Cavallo_. With a troop of Miquelites we shall, I trust, get safely
     to Alicante, and publish in due time a rival account of Mr.
     Inglis,[22] another traveller _ingles_.

     My wife kisses your hands, I your feet, offering you my
     kitchenmaid, four children, and the _Burra_, and anything else.

                                  VALENCIA, _Saturday, 24 Sept. [1831]_.

     DEAR ADDINGTON,

     We arrived here yesterday, having ridden from Granada to Alicante,
     and thence to Xativa, a most magnificent mountain ride, full of old
     towns, perched on rocks, and sheltered by ruined castles, narrow
     defiles, precipices and torrents. The accommodation and roads
     infinitely better than we had been led to expect, so that my wife,
     riding on the foal of an ass, arrived at Alicante hardly fatigued.

     San Philipe de Xativa is one of the most picturesque towns in
     Spain, not even excepting Granada. The famous country about
     Valencia may be very fertile, and rich, and extremely agreeable to
     the eye of the proprietor, but very little so to the traveller, as
     the mulberry and olive trees on each side of the road, in so flat a
     country, completely intercept the view.

     I see in the papers that you have had to interfere for some English
     artist, who was taken up for sketching the Palace at Madrid, which
     you will probably have to do some day for me, as I was nearly taken
     to the Alcalde for drawing some palm trees at Elche; but, on
     telling the officer that he and the Alcalde might go to _Carrajo_,
     and refusing to go, the thing passed off; to be sure, I had six of
     the Alhambra invalids with me, and might have ordered them to bring
     the Alcalde to me, which would have been the best way after all. I
     shall remain here four or five days, and thence proceed to
     Barcelona and Zaragoça, to either of which places, if any crumbs of
     comfort fall from your table in the way of Galignani, they may be
     addressed, at all events to the latter place, Zaragoça.

     I left Dionysia in great force, and Don José much delighted at the
     honour of your Excellency’s visit. The Captain-General wrote me two
     notes after you were gone, one addressed to me as _Gentilhombre de
     S. M. Britanica_ and the second to Lord Ricardo Fort. There is no
     saying what I might not have come to be had I remained there a few
     days longer.

     Valencia seems to be a nice place; the women as pretty here as the
     Granadinas are ugly.

                                  Ever most truly yours,

                                  RICHARD FORD.



                                  VALENCIA, _Wed., 28th [Sept. 1831]_.

     DEAR ADDINGTON,

     Here we are still, and shall remain until Friday, when we go over
     to Murviedro, to potter about the ruined Saguntum till the Saturday
     _diligence_ comes through to take us on to Tarragona. As far as my
     _finances_ are concerned, I had perhaps better not have come here,
     for I have been tempted by a certain picture of Ribalta, and have
     given 11,000 reals for it, a large sum here, or anywhere; but it is
     a stupendous picture, and of the very grandest finest class, and
     worth £500. However, tell not this in Gath or Askalon, for I always
     make it a rule _crier au pauvre_, which an extravagance like this
     would infallibly contradict. I have just written to that worthy
     Israelite, Ravasa, to send me a credit of 4000 reals to Zaragoça,
     Burgos, and Valladolid in case of accidents, and have referred him
     again to you to say a word as to my being a _solvent_ person,
     though I am afraid, after the Gold Rosario of the Senora and the
     Ribalta of Milor, you will rather hesitate this time. However, if
     you still think me responsible, write a line to Ravasa to tell him
     that he may venture his monies, and that I will honestly repay him
     when I reach Madrid.

     We go to Barcelona, and by Zaragoça and Segovia to Madrid, where I
     hope we shall arrive about the first week in November.

     This is a very nice place, and I regret that it is impossible to
     convey my _impedimenta_ here, as I should much have liked to have
     spent the winter here, instead of Gibraltar, where I take refuge to
     escape the protection of His M. Consul at Malaga, from whom I have
     had such a letter which I am keeping for your amusement. Chico’s
     motto of “there is no conqueror but God”[23] is nothing to the
     account Mark gives of himself.

     The pictures they possess here are endless, almost as many as at
     Seville; but, if possible, even still more neglected and unknown,
     not unknown only by the natives, but by the dignitaries and heads
     of the churches, and going to ruin from neglect, damp, dust, and
     smoke. No information of any kind is ever to be obtained; “_No sé_”
     [I don’t know] the universal answer. The fine pictures are kept
     merely as objects of idolatry, not as matters of art, and called as
     such; if you ask for the Virgin of Juanes, the sacristan or curate
     knows nothing about it; but ask for the _Purissima_ and up goes a
     curtain in a minute.

     The women are very pretty indeed, fairer than the Andalucians,
     quite as small feet and much better shoes, not so tight or pointed.
     I do not know when the seventh commandment has run such risks.

     To-morrow, Friday, we go to Murviedro and thence to Barcelona.

                                  Ever most sincerely,

                                  RICHARD FORD.



                                  BARCELONA, _Oct. 9_.

     Your letter with the papers reached this place quite safely, as did
     we some four or five days ago; and, being heartily tired of these
     Catalonians, who are neither Spaniards nor French, are going to
     set out to-morrow for the Salt Mountain at Cardona and the
     monastery of Monserrat, and thence to Zaragoça, where we expect to
     arrive the 16th, and proceed directly afterwards to Madrid, as we
     find we shall have much difficulty in crossing the country to
     Burgos. I hope we may manage to get to _La Corte_ about Saturday,
     the 22nd, _si Dios quiere_ [God willing], and shall be both proud
     and happy to be installed in the Duchess’s dry dock.

     This is a fine town, but not Spanish. The troops have shoes instead
     of sandals, and, I believe, stockings. They can roast at the inn,
     and have mustard and French wines. The women wear mantillas over
     caps, and commit divers other equally un-Spanish atrocities; people
     stupid and ill-mannered; a horrid language; all the discomforts and
     prohibitions of Spain, without being made up for by the curious and
     original people of the South; women ugly and coarse; men in large
     high trousers, looking like Cruickshank’s prints of “nobody, all
     legs.” Everything in perfect order and quiet. The name of the Conde
     de España does here what that of Quesada does in Andalucia. They
     are all frightened about the cholera, and the quarantine
     regulations most severe. The Captain-General has sent to England
     for _four gallons_ of Cajeput oil, which for a population of more
     than 100,000 is a fair stock.

                                  ZARAGOÇA, _Oct. 18_.

     DEAR ADDINGTON,

     We arrived here quite safely on Sunday in a tremendous storm of
     rain, having stuck in the mud divers times during our journey, and
     being extricated by the spades of peasants and many supplications
     to the _Santissima Virgen del Pilar_, whose effigy I have bought in
     consequence.

     On our arrival here, to my utter dismay and discomfiture, I found
     no letter from V. E., and, worse, no letter of credit from that
     arch-circumcised dog, Ravisa, to whom I had written from Valencia
     at the same time as I wrote you, but which letters must, from some
     Spanish mismanagement, have never reached their destination. Well!
     here we are with about 800 reals in our pocket,--no means of
     getting any more, the bill to pay, and the places to Madrid some
     600 or 700 more. I had, like a fool, refused a letter of credit
     from my Barcelona banker, trusting to that Philistine Ravisa.
     Henceforward I have vowed before the _Pilar_ of Zaragoça never to
     trust to Jew or Christian again. In this quandary, the post to-day
     from Madrid having brought no letter, I have despatched my
     eloquent, mellifluous-tongued Pasqual, who has persuaded the
     _diligence_ to take us to Madrid without our paying here, my wife,
     Pasqual, and the luggage to be detained in pledge at the office
     until the dollars are regularly booked up. It would be a rare
     opportunity for a husband who wanted to break up his establishment
     to leave these tender pledges unredeemed; but I do not propose
     doing so if your Excellency will interfere, and this is _dignus
     vindice nodus_. My plan is to start on Friday; we are to arrive at
     Madrid on Sunday, time uncertain, somewhere between 12 and 5. Will
     you therefore be so good as to put up 600 or 700 reals in a paper
     directed to me, and leave it with your porter? I shall get out at
     the P. de Alcalá, pass your door, take the cash, and hasten to
     liberate the pledges from the magazines of the _diligence_, and
     proceed from their prison to the sumptuous quarters you have
     prepared for us.

     We made an interesting tour into the mountains on leaving
     Barcelona, first to Monserrat, where we slept in the convent, and
     spent the next day in wandering about the rocks and hermitages,--a
     most wonderful rock, and scenery well worth of itself the journey
     to Monserrat from Granada. Thence we proceeded to Manresa, and on
     to Cardona to the celebrated Salt Mountain, which stands out of the
     ground like a huge lump of _confiture_, peach, apricot, and lemon,
     all candied over with little pearly globules of salt--a true
     Spanish mine, as they have absolutely nothing to do but knock off
     lumps, put them into a bag, pound them and eat them--no salt-pans,
     refining, corporations, or any other tedious processes. Thence we
     rode over a wild mountain, sometimes up the bed of dry rivers,
     sometimes through torrents, generally over rock, and never over
     road, to Igualada, and so on in the _diligence_ to Zaragoça, a
     gloomy, old, dirty, brick-built town, but truly Spanish; many
     things very well worth seeing--the Virgen del Pilar and the
     positions during the siege, the great lions. As to the siege, they
     seem neither to know nor care much about it, though, really, here
     the Spaniards might be proud of their truly Moorish exploits of
     _fighting well behind a wall_. I met two well-dressed men on the
     walk to Sᵗᵃ Engracia, and made Pasqual ask them (to prevent the
     possibility of being misunderstood) where Sᵗᵃ Engracia was, and,
     though it was close by, and the famous Quartel of the French, they
     shrugged their shoulders with the true Spanish shrug, and muttered
     out the usual true meaning of said shrug--_No sé!_ Fine, honest,
     downright simplicity of ignorance! _Viva la España, viva la Stˢᵃ Vⁿ
     del Pilar y S.E. mille años!_ But do not forget _los 600 reales_;
     for, if my wife is knocked down for a dollar at the _diligence_
     sale of unredeemed pledges, it will be entirely the fault of the
     want of these 600 _reales_. So farewell.

                                  Ever most sincerely,

                                  RICHARD FORD.



A letter dated Saturday, November 19th, 1831, announces the return of
Ford and his wife to the Alhambra.

     We arrived safely at the Alhambra this afternoon, after rather an
     uncomfortable ride from Andujar. As you predicted it would rain, it
     did, and we got into Jaen wet one evening to set out the next
     morning in a Scotch mist, which lasted all the way to Campillo,
     where we put up in the worst posada in Spain, which pray commend to
     Col. Oxholm, who has a list of them. At Jaen we saw Don Carlos
     [Downie], whose heart, body, and soul are at your service. I called
     on the _Intendente_ to enquire after his precious health, and
     praise his cigars, both of which he felt, as he ought, highly
     flattered, and Jaen is at your _disposicion_, whenever you choose
     to have it.

     Don Carlos very fat, talking bad English and worse Spanish,
     delighted with your visit and the dinner he gave you, which was,
     like his _Tertulia_, a contribution from all the houses in Jaen, as
     he sent round to everybody to say the great man was to dine with
     him, and begging them to send him their best wine and the best dish
     of their own dinner to his. I did not see “God’s Face,” which is
     only shewn to representatives of Kings and Bishops.[24]

     We rode a pretty ride from Campillo this morning through Benalua,
     which you may inform the Duchess of San Lorenzo is in a high state
     of preservation; a sort of town on the side of a hill, which looks
     as if giants had been pelting each other with pigsties.

     At Valdepeñas we fell in with three ’pon-honourish, well-fleshed
     English, journeying on to the Corte, a trio, which will relieve you
     when you have had enough of _duets_, the order of travelling in
     Spain since the unnatural alliance of those modern Pyladeses and
     Oresteses, St. Barbe and Custine, Eden[25] and Martin, Meara and
     Heaphy, all hunting in couples, to say nothing of a more proper
     marital couple, who have lately drawn so largely on your
     good-nature and hospitality.

     I have not had time to throw myself at the feet of Dionysia, being
     fully occupied with the joys of paternity, having a small
     boarding-school now romping about, to the utter discomfiture of any
     intelligible writing or spelling.

     Pray let us hear of that horrid cholera, whether the last news in
     Galignani is confirmed. The smallest donations in that way
     thankfully received.

     Excuse this scrawl, which is just to notify to you that we have
     escaped José Maria and Botiga, and are always your secure servants.
     What a sheet of paper to write, as Don Carlos says, “to such a
     great man as we never had in Jaen.” You will become a Carlista.




CHAPTER III

SEVILLE REVISITED

DECEMBER 1831-DECEMBER 1832

     RETURN TO SEVILLE--EXECUTION OF TORRIJOS--QUESTION OF SPANISH
     INTERVENTION IN THE AFFAIRS OF PORTUGAL--TARIFA--SALAMANCA AND
     NORTH-WESTERN SPAIN--SUCCESSION TO THE SPANISH CROWN.


In December the Fords returned from the Alhambra to a house which they
had taken in the Calle de los Monsalvos at Seville. There they spent the
winter of 1831-2. A letter dated December 10th, 1831, announces their
return, and their life resumed its previous course.

     We have at length arrived here safely, God be praised! through the
     deepest ploughed fields, worst _Ventas_, and stoutest gangs of
     robbers in all Spain. We have been six mortal days on the journey,
     doing some 36 leagues at an expense of 6000 or 7000 reals, having
     to feed 29 persons every night, ravenous wolves who never ate
     before and probably never will again, unless some _Milor_ or
     _Embajador_ should make that journey. José Maria was _muy
     politico_, and neither the chink of my dollars nor the black eye
     and red lip of Sarah could tempt him to come down from a hill,
     where we saw him and his drawn up in a line about a mile off, as we
     passed through _his_ country--his it is in every sense of the word.

     When we passed through Jaen, we saw Don Carlos [Downie], who
     regaled us with good English and better wine of the country, of
     which he had prepared a choice barrel to be sent to your Excellency
     _q. Dios guarde y Lord Palmerston_.

     I have got into a magnificent house, larger even than yours, and
     very comfortable in every respect. It belongs to the Mˢ. de la
     Granja, who, I believe, is General O’Neil (being interpreted). If
     so, make my respects to him, and tell him I will use it well, and
     pay the rent duly and truly on the appointed days, and it is such a
     rent as will enable him to cut a figure at the _Corte_. Don José
     [O’Lawlor] invited us to dinner, to our great surprise; grand
     dinner _de cent Couverts_, to meet fiscals and the Lord knows who;
     the dinner not bad, as he is a wise man, and knows how to deal with
     Englishmen.

     Famous shooting here, I am told--snipe, woodcock, rabbit,
     _chorlito_ [curlew or gray plover], _alcaravan_ [bittern],
     bustards, etc. So if you like to put yourself in the _diligence_,
     here is a _Casa_ at your _disposicion_, a warm, sunny suite of
     rooms, and a decent bottle of sherry; an excellent clergyman, a
     friend of mine, will provide you with books at a monthly
     subscription. Captain Heaphy and his hairsplitting prigmatic friend
     have, thank God! passed through into the keeping of that great man,
     Don Brackenbury. I met the Polish polished Russian Cheffhttinschkwi
     on his way up to the Alhambra. I could be of no use to him
     _unfortunately_, as I was going to leave the town the next morning.
     Captain Martin and Sir Eden are daily expected here. The _Gallego_
     Standish has bought two pictures here at tremendous prices--a
     Murillo £400, a Velazquez £200.

     Have you ascertained the exact use of those curious spears we saw
     in the Armeria? I conclude, when you have, you will draw on me by
     the hands of that worthy Israelite, Don Ravarra or Ravisa (I forget
     which, though often lectured for it by you), and I will duly honour
     the bill.

     My wife begs to thank you for the good-natured way you put up with
     the inconvenience a marital pair must have inflicted on your B.A.
     habits.

                                  _Dec. 27, 1831._

     My wife is very far from well, in a sad state of nervousness and
     weakness, the result of over-excitement in travelling and
     over-exertions in drawing in the Alhambra. The doctors leave all to
     _naturaleza_ and asses’ milk, having a congenial feeling for that
     animal.

     Sir Eden and Captain Martin are here, having taken up their winter
     quarters in Seville.

     I am only awaiting an answer from my landlord, General O’Neil, to
     put up a fireplace in the Quarto, which is destined for my
     _despacho_ [office] and for your habitation when you come here in
     the spring. I wished to make a necessary, a roasting jack, and this
     fireplace, three things rather usual, and thought in England to be
     rather necessary, in large houses. I have had great difficulty with
     the _administrador_, who, after offering me his house, kissing my
     hand, and laying himself at my wife’s feet, proceeded rather to
     protest against these innovations, viewing them in the light of
     dilapidations, especially the _comun_, which he assured me no
     _clean Spaniard_ would use, as they preferred a pan in their
     bedrooms, and that, when I left the house, he should be at the
     expense of restoring matters to their former state of comfort and
     cleanliness.

     The jack, however, is up, and the turkeys are roasting.

     The weather is delicious, fine clear sky, 66 and 67 in the sun,
     open windows and doors, and plenty of dry crackling olive-wood
     (cheap) for the mornings and evenings.

     Don Julian [Williams] in great force, in a consular coat with G.R.
     buttons, which would shame an ambassador. We are going to Cadiz
     (Don Julian and I) on a visit to a still greater man, Don Brackʸ.,
     to taste sherry at Xeres, and look after a few pictures. The
     Alhambra we left in a _cruel_ state of repair, the _Patio de
     Leones_ and _Sala de los Abencerrages_ one mass of ruin, rubbish,
     and dirt. They are re-tiling the whole of it, and the ladders of
     the _presidarios_ [convicts] are every day knocking off part of the
     delicate stucco work. The Governor is going to repair the wall, and
     remove the garden from the _Patio_. They say the powder will be
     removed from the Palace of Carlos V. As the Spaniards do not work
     with the rapidity of lightning, I take it a stray _Rayo_ may get
     the start of them, and send old Frascita and Dolorosita to the
     devil.

Once more political troubles disturbed Ford’s peace. So long as General
Torrijos remained safe in his refuge at Gibraltar, he was a source of
uneasiness to the Government. A trap was set to lure him to Spanish
soil. A former friend, General Vicente Gonsalez Moreno, Captain-General
of Malaga, opened a correspondence with him, professing Liberal
sympathies, and promising the support of the troops. With about fifty
companions, among whom was a young Irishman named Robert Boyd, Torrijos
landed near Malaga, December 4th, 1831. Moreno was prepared for their
arrival. The farmhouse in which the party sheltered for the night was
surrounded by soldiers. Resistance was useless, and Torrijos and his
friends surrendered the following morning. Six days later, Sunday,
December 11th, all the prisoners were drawn up on the beach below the
Carmen Convent at Malaga, and shot. Moreno was rewarded by being made
Captain-General of Granada. Disgraced by Queen Christina, he
subsequently joined the Carlists, and was murdered at Urdax, September
6th, 1839, by some Navarrese soldiers, in the act of escaping to France.
It is said that he begged for a confessor and a brief respite. The only
answer to his prayer was that he should have such mercy as he had
himself shown to Torrijos, and he was instantly bayoneted and shot.

Every reasonable effort was made by Mark, Addington, and Lord
Palmerston, to save Robert Boyd. But it was in vain. Boyd was the first
person buried in the Protestant cemetery outside Malaga, to the east of
the town. Up to this time Protestants who died at Malaga were buried on
the sea-shore beyond low-water mark. The new burial ground, laid out by
Mark, the British Consul, was the first spot in Spain which the
authorities allowed to be enclosed for the interment of heretics.

The death of Torrijos relieved the Government from one danger. But
another cause of anxiety arose. Spain threatened to intervene in the
affairs of Portugal. In April 1831 Dom Pedro resigned the throne of
Brazil, and returned to Europe to vindicate the Constitutional Charter,
and restore to his daughter, Maria da Gloria, the crown which the
Regent, her uncle, Dom Miguel, had seized. In July 1832 Pedro occupied
Oporto, and held it for a year against all the attacks of Dom Miguel,
both by land and sea. Spain at first favoured the cause of Miguel and
the Absolutists. Her army of observation was assembling on the frontier;
armed intervention seemed imminent. But the health of Ferdinand VII. was
failing fast. At his death, it was plain that the crown would be claimed
by Don Carlos, who was in avowed sympathy with Miguel. Christina saw
that she must rally to her daughter’s support the Spanish Moderates, and
she was disinclined to aid the Portuguese Government to crush the party
on which she herself was relying in Spain. Thus the danger of war was
averted.

                                  _Janʸ. 11, 1832_, SEVILLA.

     I have had a magnificent, _grandis Epistola_ from Mark, who is gone
     wild about the Malaga events, and the execution of Mr. Boyd. In his
     heart, I believe he was as glad as a young surgeon to get a subject
     for his new churchyard. He certainly has a hankering after my
     wife’s body, not her live body, but, hearing of her ill health,
     tried all in his power to get me to Malaga to have a pretty female
     specimen in his sepulchral museum. I must try and get you a copy
     of a letter, which is circulating here, from one of the monks of
     the convent, where the victims were taken, to a friend here. Mark
     is mentioned as coming in a _coche_ in uniform to take Mr. Boyd’s
     body, over which he read prayers. Mark’s Epistle concludes with
     crumbs of comfort for you. “No man of honour can be otherwise than
     disgusted in serving near such men as are seen in command here, and
     I shall use all possible means in my power _to quit the country_ as
     soon as it can be done.” _Feliz viage y vaya v. con Dios_. Meantime
     he threatens me with a visit, _cum duodecim Marcis_, pretty dears,
     who will certainly convey their sweet persons to the _Fonda_, as I
     can’t take in woman-kind.

     The weather is most delicious here, sunny and balmy, and winter is
     gone. I am meditating a shooting excursion with Martin and Eden,
     not having the fear of José Maria in my eyes. I understand the
     officers kidnapped near Gibraltar have paid the fine; they had much
     better cross over to Africa, where both travelling and shooting,
     and indeed all the comforts of civilised life, are much more easily
     obtained than in Spain.

     José Maria has sent to Quesada, offering to give up business on
     being secured a pardon; I suspect he has sold the _goodwill_ of his
     vocation to his second in command, one Juan Cavallero. Quesada
     told me this, and that he took no notice of the application.
     Everybody here outrageous at Don Moreno and the _Deshonra_ on
     Spanish _buena fé_!! The English papers you are so beneficent as to
     send me, as usual, are gone stark staring crazy about Don Boyd.
     Certainly, if anybody of the party deserved shooting, it is a
     meddling _Foreigner_, who must have known the existence of the
     decree under which all rebels, taken _in flagrante delicto_, were
     liable to summary punishment.

     I have taken no steps about your wine yet, as the dealer has shown
     somewhat of the _Moreno_, a little _mala fé_, in some transactions
     I have had with him. I hope soon to go to Xeres, and will then
     taste all the wines in all the cellars, till I am carried off dead
     drunk.

     My wife does not mend, and I am rather uneasy about her, and shall
     be more so, if this delightful change of weather does nothing. I
     shall take her down to Cadiz and try sea air, _sub consule Branco_,
     who is detained at Gibraltar, not daring to go by land, as, if they
     could catch a _consul_, they would ask more ransom than for the
     whole staff of Sir Houston.

     We are all crazy here about pictures, such buying and selling. By
     the time Mecænas Standish and that eminent connoisseur, Captain
     Cook, arrive, the market will be cleaned out. Sir William Eden is
     _muy pegajoso_ and _bizarro_ [very attractive and full of spirits].
     I did not suspect that he was such an amateur and collector. In
     short, we are buying things here at double what they are worth in
     England.

     I have received splendid letters from the Mˢ de la Granja and his
     _sobrino_, the Colonel. The Marques in a sad way about the
     dilapidations of jacks, fireplaces, and _comun_, damned English
     revolutionary nuisances. The poor _administrador_ quite frantic
     about changes in a house, which had remained in genuine discomfort
     since the days of the Moors,--an argument he thought to put me and
     my fire out with. “If,” says he, “these things had been wanted, the
     very great families who always have lived here would have done
     them.”

     Meantime, whenever you like to come here, you can really be
     decently lodged and fed, and return by Badajoz and Talavera, a very
     interesting route.

     We are expecting the Conde de los Andes here from Granada, where
     Don Moreno, the “complete Spanish letter writer,” goes to replace
     him.

                                  _Saturday 14th_ [_Jan. 1832_], SEVILLA.

     I think I can assure you, on the best authority, that no troops
     have been sent from this place, or from hereabouts, to the
     Portuguese frontier, and that, rather, they are diminishing than
     increasing their forces, disbanding the militia regiments. At the
     cannon foundry they are occupied more in repairs than in casting
     cannon. I believe they have about a hundred pieces ready, with
     carriages, etc., etc.

     Here all is, as usual, perfectly quiet and tranquil, I have seen
     several persons this day, all of whom give the same account of the
     absence of all military movements.

     There has been a fulsome address voted by the Chapter of the
     Cathedral of Malaga to Don Moreno, which, with his reply, has been
     printed. I am sorry Don Julio O’Niel considers me so troublesome;
     but he will think otherwise when the term expires and he loses so
     good a tenant and so excellent a rent. He has a sad character here
     as to money matters, and as for his _administrador_ he is still
     more; _arcades ambo_.

     We have had very fine weather lately, and I am meditating a week’s
     shooting with Los Señores Eden and Martin, as we hear rare accounts
     of the woodcocks.

     My wife does not mend. The doctors come daily, take their fee, and
     say all must be _dejado a la Naturaleza_. Of what use are they,
     then?

     I am sorry you see so many clouds brewing for the Easter week, as
     we shall have a dull Carnival, and none of the Saints and
     Saintesses will come out in the streets. Even war will be better
     than the cholera.

     I have no news here. The days glide on in a sort of _far niente_,
     with the tinkling of my wife’s guitar, and the crying of my
     nursery, all of whose teeth have taken to plague them and their
     parents. These are blessings you know not. _Fortunati nimium._

                                  _Feb. 1 [1832]_, SEVILLA.

     Captain Martin and Eden are setting out for Badajoz and Lisbon,
     where they will probably get into some disagreeable scrape; rather
     a bad time to visit Portugal, to say nothing of the wet rain and
     cold Ventas.

     We have an arrival of three officers from the garrison, two of
     which were of the party taken up into the mountains by José Maria,
     who wanted to rob them again, as, hearing they were at Xeres, he
     proceeded yesterday to rob the _diligence_, thinking to catch them;
     but they had luckily taken the steamer. This is a serious system
     for travellers, now he finds the English will pay handsome ransoms.

     There is an order come here to prepare thirty cannon _forthwith_.
     The number they have quite ready, with men, mules, etc., is not
     above eight or ten; but I am told, if money was forthcoming, they
     could soon get ready above a hundred. No troops have moved from
     this place.

     The Conde de los Andes has not arrived here yet; I heard from Don
     José [O’Lawlor], who is now performing the functions of
     Captain-General at Granada, that Dionysia is rather ailing.

     We are all here going on in the usual humdrum way, _sin novedad_,
     and without any news. The weather mild and open. The swallows
     flying about, and the storks looking out for lodgings on the church
     towers, all of which, the learned say, is a sign that winter is
     over.

     I am expecting Shirreff from Gibraltar, to occupy the _Sala del
     Embajador_ in my _Palacio_, where I hope in the summer you will
     come and take up your quarters. They tell me this is a most
     delicious summer house, and that Seville and the _Andaluças_ should
     be seen in the genial month of May or June.

                               SEVILLA, _Wednesday, 15 Feb. 1832_.

     They are all in a bustle here with _warlike_ movements and
     preparations; artillery ordered off to Badajoz, infantry and
     cavalry to Salamanca. I heard to-day that the militia regiments and
     the Royalists are to be called out. Some of the troops went
     to-day, and others are to follow to-morrow. The _partidas_ [parties
     of soldiers] which were in _José Maria’s_ country are coming in,
     and _he_ will then be _de facto_ absolute king of the countries
     between Cadiz, Sevilla, and Granada. They say General Monet, of
     Algeciras, a General O’Donnel, and the Captain-General of
     Valladolid, are to command this _cordon sanitaire_ on the frontiers
     of Portugal. All this will probably be stale news to you. I do not
     think they can send much very effective stuff from hence, either in
     cavalry, artillery, or troops. The _pesetas_ are unusually scarce,
     and the _derechos de Puerta_ [tolls, _octrois_] weighing everybody
     down. The Conde de los Andes has been here for a few days, and is
     now gone back to his Quartel at Cadiz. Captain Martin and Sir
     William Eden will be in the thick of the row, as they started some
     ten days ago for Badajoz, with the intention of going on to
     Portugal. If they fall into the hands of that truculent youth, Dom
     Miguel, you will have to claim them, if alive, and Mark, if dead,
     for his new burying ground. That eminent undertaker is on his way
     to visit _me_ and Seville. I am much honoured, and only regret that
     you should not be here to gain a “few hints” as to governing
     Spaniards.

     I am quite sorry that you are bothered with so many
     “suspicious-looking letters” for me. They are quite as unwelcome to
     me. One of them was from a Valentian _azulejo_ [tile] manufacturer,
     begging me to intercede with you to get him an order for painted
     tiles from the Grand Señor at Constantinople. Many thanks for the
     papers. The debate very interesting. Lord Aberdeen seems to be gone
     demented, and the great Duke, if weak in body, perfectly sound in
     his intellect. I suspect my friends the Whigs are rather at a
     discount. There must be a screw loose. The only good of all these
     _trastornos_ [disturbances] is the exchange on England being so
     delightfully low. They are, here and at Cadiz, looking out for
     bills on England, it is said, to remit them to Lisbon.

     My wife is busy as ever with the Alhambra, and is a little better,
     but still most wretchedly thin and weak.

                                  _Saturday_, SEVILLA [_21 Feb. 1832_].

     I enclose you an exact account of the military movements which have
     taken place here; you will receive the same account by next post
     from a _greater man_ from Cadiz. This is a copy of what Don Julian
     writes to him this post; but, as possibly it may interest you to
     have even this information without loss of time, I send it you
     also.

     Don Julian (who is the best of God’s creatures)

[Illustration: PATIO DE LA MEZQUITA.

[_To face p. 82._

     Drawn by Harriet Ford, 1832.
]

     never likes troubling any one, still less so great a man as your
     Excellency, as his instructions are to correspond with Don
     Brakenbury, otherwise he would, in these sort of cases, write
     directly to you.

     The weather here is delicious, like English October. Ronda Hills
     are covered with snow, which is unusual: Don José writes from
     Granada that the Vega is wrapt in a fleecy mantle and the Picacho
     inaccessible. Captain Cook duly arrived _per diligence_; we shall
     shortly forward him to Cadiz. I wish I could say as much of Don
     Mark, who is expected.

     My spouse mends very slowly; I wish she got on as well as the
     Alhambra _azulejo_ drawings.

        (ENCLOSURE.)

     Wednesday, the 15th inst. (February 1832). Part of the Escuadron de
     Artilleria Volante left this city for Valencia de Alcantara by the
     Badajoz road, consisting of

            4 pieces (8-pounders),
            8 furgones (artillery waggons),
            1 fragua (forge),

     with the Escuadron maniobrero del Regimento de Caballeria del
     Principe, consisting of 115 men, well mounted, for the same
     destination.

     Thursday, the 16th inst. The 2nd battalion of the Regimenᵗᵒ de
     Ynfanteria de Africa 6º de Linea left this for Madrid, consisting
     of nearly 900 men, including officers, having been completed with
     men taken from the 1st and 3rd battalions.

     Observations. The Escuadron de Artilleria Volante, which consists
     of 12 pieces, for want of horses, could only send off the 4 pieces
     above-mentioned, although the orders were for the entire Escuadron
     to proceed to Valencia de Alcantara. Exertions are making to get it
     completed, that it may be able to proceed.

     The Regimᵗᵒ de Caballeria del Principe, although it consists of
     above 300 men, could send only 115, also for want of horses.

     The 1st and 3rd battalions of the Regimᵗᵒ de Ynfanteria de Africa,
     remaining here, have only from 300 to 400 men, and the battalion
     that has gone to Madrid, it is said, will be replaced by one
     battalion of Ynfanteria de la Regna, which is to come from Ceuta.

     The Regimᵗᵒ Provincial de Sevilla is to be called together as soon
     as shoes and various articles of clothing, of which they are much
     in want, can be got ready.

At the end of February, 1832, Ford started alone on a riding expedition
through the south-west corner of Spain, visiting Tarifa, Algeciras,
Xeres, and Ronda. The story of Tarifa is the one great incident in the
wretched reign of Sancho IV., called _El Bravo_, King of Castile and
Leon (1284-1295). The castle had been taken in 1292 by Alonzo Perez de
Guzman, who held it against the Moors. His only son, a child of nine,
was brought under the walls of the castle by the Infante Juan, a
traitor and renegade. Juan threatened to kill the boy if Guzman would
not surrender to the Moors. Guzman drew his own dagger, threw it down to
Juan, and replied, “Better is honour without a son than a son with
dishonour.” The boy was murdered before the father’s eyes; but the
castle remained in Christian hands. King Sancho rewarded the defender
with the “canting” name of _El Bueno_, and with all the lands between
the Guadalete and the Guadairo. From Guzman sprang the family of Medina
Sidonia, who take their ducal title from the name of a hill fort some
twenty miles from Cadiz.

                                  SEVILLA, _March 31, 1832_.

     Since I wrote last, I have been scampering over the mountains of
     Ronda, not having the fear of José Maria in my eyes. I went first
     to Cadiz to see the consular pictures and drink the consular
     sherry, both very fine, _cosas de gran gusto_. Thence by Vejer to
     Tarifa to see the castle of Guzman _el Bueno_, and the eye of many
     a dark Tarifenia. They go about there, as they do at Tangiers,
     covering their faces with a black _manta_; one black eye shines out
     and goes clean through one like a bullet. Thence to Gibraltar,
     where your despatches have set the General and his staff on the
     alert, and the dogs of war are looking forward to be slipped. The
     first thing General Houston told me was how he regretted that
     General Monet[26] _had left Algeciras for Seville_, which was news
     to me who had come from Algeciras that morning, and was going back
     to dine with the said General Monet. General Monet, all pacific,
     and, as he has had some experience as to what took place in the
     last business, his opinion was a fair set-off against _el ingles_.
     However, they know as much about Spain in Gibraltar as people in
     Plymouth do about Algeciras, or those in Algeciras about Plymouth.

     I was strongly advised by all my friends on the Rock not to venture
     back into Spain, but send forthwith for my family. I did, however,
     venture, and proceeded to Ronda, through a wild mountain country,
     full of smugglers and robbers (though one implies the other). The
     ride was very striking. The old Moorish towns with Moorish names
     perched like the nests of eagles on almost inaccessible pinnacles.
     Indeed, they are still Moors, talking Spanish. Ronda, with its
     _tajo_ or cleft between the old town and the new one, is a thing
     worth being robbed in order to have seen.

     Thence to Xeres through Grazalema, the hotbed of José Maria and
     _contrabandistas_. I there had a long interview with Frasquito de
     la Torre and his eleven robbers. They are now all _hombres de
     bien_, _indultados y en persecucion de los malhechores_; they have
     undertaken to clear Andalucia of _Ladrones_, a plant that all the
     armed agriculturists in Europe will never weed from so fertile a
     soil; a fine set of picturesque well-dressed _Majos_. I had,
     however, six soldiers given me by General Monet, and would have
     shown fight; but they showed me all sort of civility, giving me
     wine and presenting me to their wives, who are not worth our pretty
     _Sevillañas_. Thence to Xeres, full of sherry, which is better
     discussed out of a decanter than in an epistle. The Duke of San
     Lorenzo has a magnificent Alcazar there, and, were I him, I should
     cut Madrid, and take to drinking dry Amontillado in my Moorish
     palace.

     Mrs. O’Lawlor has presented the General with a little girl, born on
     the 25th. Don Carlos Downie has presented him with twenty-four
     robbers from the neighbourhood of Jaen, who will be duly hung, _si
     Dios quiere_.

     All the authorities here, Arjona, Quesada, General Flegres (these
     two know something about the Raya [frontier] de Portugal), are
     quite confident about peace, and that Spain will not interfere. I
     hope you will give me a hint, _verbum sapienti et ab Sapiente_, as
     to when you think the climate of Gibraltar more favourable for the
     welfare of my family than that of Seville.

     We have Captain Cook here. Sʳ. Eden has just returned from Lisbon.
     Everything most perfectly quiet there. He was much struck by the
     admirable appearance of the Portuguese troops. Pedro will get a
     licking if he does not look sharp. I should not be sorry, who want
     to remain another year in Spain; and then they may both go to
     _Carrajo_ or _the Carracas_, or wherever and whenever they like.

     All perfectly quiet at Badajoz.

     I find my wife very unwell and in great anxiety about the little
     baby (who was born at Seville last year). It has been alarmingly
     ill within these few days, and I fear there is not much chance that
     it will live. I am the more distressed on my wife’s account, as it
     has thrown her back very much, and intercepted the slow progress of
     her recovery.

As the following letter shows (May 12th) Ford did not remain long in
Seville. Two months were spent in an expedition along the frontier of
Spain and Portugal and in the north from Lugo to Bilbao. The first part
of his road took him by Merida, with its magnificent Roman remains, over
the Tagus by the famous bridge at Alcantara, through Placencia to
Salamanca. From Placencia he rode over the hills to the Jeronymite
Convent of San Yuste, where Charles V., empire-sick, retired to die
(September 21st, 1558). In the same neighbourhood and also visited by
Ford, was the square-built palace of Abadia, where the Duke of Alva
withdrew from public life, in the society of Lope de Vega, to lay out
his gardens in terraces and adorn them with Italian statuary.

                                  SEVILLA, _May 12, 1832._

     I am going to set out to-morrow for Zafra and Merida, and thence
     through Placencia, Alcantara, Ciudad Rodrigo to Salamanca, where I
     shall finish my education. If I see anything _interesting_ to you
     on the _Raya_ of Portugal I will take care and forward a despatch.
     If this finds you in Madrid, you will much oblige me by letting
     Alphonso walk to that arch-Hebrew, Ravassa, to desire him to send
     me a credit on Ciudad Rodrigo, Salamanca and Valladolid, and write
     to me at Ciudad Rodrigo the names of the bankers. You may remember
     what a state of poverty and destitution the Jew left me in at
     Zaragoça for want of diplomatic _garantias_. I have written to the
     circumcised dog this post. When I reach Salamanca, I shall settle
     my future plans. Much will depend on whether the cholera should
     take a fancy about that time to travel in Spain, in which case I
     shall get back here through Madrid as quickly as I can, as I would
     rather meet José Maria than the Cholera.

     My wife has relinquished all thoughts of leaving Seville this
     spring, as our last baby continues in rather a precarious state,
     and she is unwilling to leave him; otherwise we should have gone
     to Malaga and Granada. Seville is free from English; Heaphy _el
     feroz_, and O’Meara _el Majadero_ [gawk], (what a knack they have
     at _soubriquets_!) are gone to Murcia; S Eden and Martin _per_
     steamer to England; Cook and Baring return to Madrid on Thursday.
     They have been detained here by another ball I have been giving, to
     the horror of the _dévotes_, during the _Rogativas_, for which,
     they say, all those who attended will be carried off by a
     particular and express cholera. Meantime the ball was very well
     attended; and by most beautiful and bewitching _Andaluças_, as
     Baring and Cook will tell you. By the way, we are expecting the
     famous French dandy, Charles de Mornay, who is coming from Morocco,
     where he has been as _Plenipo_. He will enlighten the Madrid
     dandies by some outlandish Paris coat _couleur de cholera morbus_;
     if you fall in with him, and can get over his outward appearance,
     you will find him very tolerable. He is an acquaintance of mine,
     and friend of my wife, which may be predicated of all his English
     _connoissances_.

                                  SALAMANCA, _June 6 [1832]_.

     Here I am in this venerable university, completing my education,
     and endeavouring to make amends for the sad waste of time during
     the years mis-spent at Oxford in earning the honour of a M.A. This
     peaceful habitation of the Muses is disturbed by the piping of the
     fife and the beating of the “soul-stirring” drum. The empty
     colleges are filled with soldiers, who are inscribing on the walls
     _carrajo_, and the usual words by which that class of people show
     their proficiency in the art of writing.

     Everything very quiet in Portugal; in Merida there may be 400 or
     500 men; in Placencia as many cuirassiers; in Ciudad Rodrigo a
     company of artillery and about 1200 men. Here there are artillery
     from Seville, some cavalry, and altogether about 4000 to 4500 men.
     This army on the frontier, including Badajoz, I should state as
     under 10,000. They are very well appointed in all respects, and
     seem fine troops--full, however, of _quintas_ [balloted men] and
     young lads.

     I have seen much of General Sarsfield, which is more than anybody
     else has. He seems to think that there is no chance of anything
     taking place in Portugal, except in case of a general war.

     This is a charming old town. I have been over the field of battle.
     The identical guide who was with Lord Wellington lives still in
     Arapiles.[27] Would you believe it? not a single Spaniard, though
     they have been here two months, has ever been over to see the scene
     of battle. They, I suppose, know full well how very little they had
     to do with it.

     I have been wandering over the mountains to the mines of Rio Tinto,
     to Zafra and Merida, and thence across the uninhabited plain of
     Estremadura to Alcantara, a magnificent Roman bridge in a most
     picturesque situation, reminding me much of Toledo. Thence through
     Coria to Placencia, and to the convent of Yuste, where Charles V.
     died. The monks received me with great hospitality, lodged me in
     the imperial quarters, and gave me a bed in the room in which
     Charles died, and I did not see his ghost.

     Thence through Capara (a beautiful Roman arch) to Abadia, a ruined
     palace of the great Duke of Alva. Thence over the mountains through
     the romantic valley of Jurdes to the celebrated convent of Las
     Batuecas, a mountain scene of the grandest description. Thence to
     the ruined town of Ciudad Rodrigo, and so on to Salamanca; where I
     have been living much with the Prior, a great ally of the Duke of
     Wellington, and who furnished him with the most important
     intelligence during the war. I am now going to Benavente, thence to
     Santiago, Oviedo, Leon, and so to Madrid, _viá_ Burgos and
     Valladolid. Please God, I hope to arrive in the _Corte_ early in
     July.

     Pray be so kind as to put aside the Galignanis since May, as these
     are most interesting times, and I am longing to read the debates.
     If I can be of any service, _manda V. E. con toda franqueza a su
     criado_; and write either to Lugo, Oviedo, or Leon, in case you
     wish anything done in the mountains or a prayer said for your sins
     at Compostella.

     I have good accounts of my wife at Seville, who is broiling while I
     am shivering under the blasts of Castille, attended with cold and
     rain--worse weather than the most inclement June in England. Sad
     work for an artist, as the wind blows one’s paper to rags and the
     rain wets it through, to say nothing of the chance of being shot as
     a spy or laid in the Red Sea as the ghost of Mr. Boyd.

                                  MADRID, _Thursday [July 13, 1832]_.

     I arrived here this morning, having left Bilbao on Tuesday, which
     is not bad work this warm weather. I am very sorry not to meet you
     here, to talk over my pilgrimage and travels, which have been
     rather interesting. I have been absent from my spouse and children
     so long that my marital and paternal feelings are getting impatient
     for Seville, where I hope to arrive next week, leaving this
     _Corte_ on Tuesday by the _Malle de Poste_. This is an excellent
     and most rapid mode of travelling, as we came from Vitoria nearly a
     gallop all the way. I hope this autumn, if Dom Pedro allows you,
     that you will come down and look at our pretty Sevillanas.

     I have been looking over the batch of Galignanis, and have many
     thanks to give you for having preserved them for me; any you can
     henceforth spare for Seville pray send me. I saw nothing worth
     writing to you about on my tour in political matters. There are
     about two thousand men at Zamora, and, altogether, I should reckon
     the Spanish force to be about twelve thousand men--good troops and
     well appointed with everything. The general feeling everywhere is
     that they will not pass the frontier.

                                  MADRID, _Tuesday, 17th [July 1832]_.

     I am off this night _per Malle de Poste_ to Seville. I am very
     sorry that we have not met in Madrid, but hope in the autumn we may
     meet in the marble court of my house in the sweet south. You will
     do well to come down and dissipate a little after your fatigues
     with Dom Pedro. _Dulce est desipere_ in Seville. Will you be so
     kind as to forward the enclosed to the Duke of Wellington, whenever
     you have a safe conveyance? It contains a letter which a friend of
     his gave me at Salamanca.

     A Mr. Lewis,[28] a clever artist whose father I know well, has been
     recommended to me by Henry Wellesley. He is about to make a sort of
     picturesque tour of Spain, having orders for young ladies’ albums
     and from divers booksellers who are illustrating Lord Byron. Will
     you be so good as to get his passport _viséd_ in manner that he may
     not be shot or hung as a spy? I think, if it were _viséd_ in your
     Embassy in Spanish, it would be quite sufficient in a sort of form
     like this:--

     “El contenido artista Ingles viaja en España con el unico objeto de
     estudiar y debujar y siendo sujeto de confianse se le recommienda a
     las auctoridades civiles y militares de su Transitu.”

     I had a sort of _visé_ like this from Quesada, which operated like
     magic. To be sure, they took me for your Excellency in disguise, or
     at least for a Field-Marshal. This place is very hot, dusty and
     glaring, and I shall be glad to repose under my orange trees and
     vines in the shade, and listen to the splashing of waters, the
     domestic details of my spouse, and the crying of my children, all
     which pass a single gentleman’s belief.

     I see nothing new except the Velazquez, which are more
     extraordinary every time I meet them.

Ford missed seeing Addington at Madrid, because the Ambassador was in
attendance on the Court at La Granja, where momentous events were taking
place which affected the destiny of Spain for the next half-century.

In May 1713 the first Bourbon King of Spain, Philip V., had decreed the
establishment of a modified form of the Salic law of succession. Women
were not absolutely excluded from the throne; but, only if male heirs
failed, could they succeed to it. As the law stood, thus modified, Don
Carlos, the brother of Ferdinand VII., was the legal heir, rather than
Ferdinand’s daughter Isabella.

But in 1789, on the accession of Charles IV., the Cortes was summoned to
take the oath of allegiance. When they assembled, the President informed
them that the King desired them to exercise their constitutional rights,
and to request him to decree the abolition of the Salic law of 1713. The
restoration of the old Spanish law of succession, which allowed females
to succeed, failing male heirs of the same degree, was welcome to a
nation which remembered the reign of Queen Isabella. The Cortes
therefore begged Charles IV. to abolish the Salic law and to restore the
ancient rule. But the enactment was never perfected by publication.

Early in 1830 Ferdinand VII. had hopes of a child. It was therefore
determined to act on the address of the Cortes of 1789, and to publish
the decree. Accordingly, in March 1830, the decree was solemnly
proclaimed at Madrid; the Salic law was abolished, and the ancient rule
of succession restored. By this change Don Carlos could only succeed if
Ferdinand remained childless; if a child were born to him, whatever its
sex, it inherited the throne. Isabella was born in October 1830, and a
second daughter in January 1832. But the King’s health made it probable
that he would have no further issue, and round the legality of the
decree of 1830 centred the intrigues of two masterful women, Maria
Francisca of Braganza, the wife of Don Carlos, and Carlota of Naples,
the wife of Ferdinand’s younger brother, Francisco de Paula.

At the end of the summer of 1832 Ferdinand seemed to be dying. Queen
Christina was nursing him at La Granja. Young and inexperienced, worn
out with fatigue, she was no match for the reactionary Ministers who
surrounded her husband. Their advice was plain and urged with
persistency. If the decree of 1830 were not repealed, Spain would be
torn by civil war, and deluged with blood. The King yielded. In
September 1832, on what was supposed to be his death-bed, he signed a
secret document, revoking his decree, restoring the Salic law, and thus
constituting Don Carlos heir to the throne.

The news reached Dona Carlota among the bull-fights and receptions in
Andalusia which Ford describes. She hurried to Madrid, vehemently
reproached Calomarde, the Minister of Justice, extorted from him the
document, tore it to shreds, and soundly boxed his ears. Calomarde,
utterly cowed, could only murmur, “White hands, Madam, can never
dishonour.” The King recovered. New Ministers were appointed. The old
ones were dismissed. The Captains-General were displaced by men of more
moderate views. Thus Quesada was appointed to Madrid, the Marques de las
Amarillas to Andalusia, the Conde de España replaced by Llauder at
Barcelona, and Moreno removed from Granada. The Liberals were amnestied.
In March 1833 Don Carlos was permitted to retire to Portugal, and in the
following June Isabella received the oath of allegiance as Princess of
the Asturias and heiress to the crown of Spain.

                           SEVILLA, _Aug. 1 [1832]_.

     My poor little baby (who has been a year struggling against the
     organic injury received by his fall in the Alhambra) on Monday
     evening was released from its continual and cruel sufferings, and
     has been buried in the orange garden of San Diego, where the
     remains of those English who die in this distant land are gathered
     together. (I doubt if Mark will ever forgive me.)

     This melancholy event, though long anticipated, has upset my wife
     more than I should have expected. I found her on my return very
     much improved in health, and looking much better than she has ever
     done this last three years--quite fat and stout.

     José Maria is now a _hombre de bien_, living like an honest
     gentleman retired from an honourable and laborious profession,
     enjoying the _otium cum dignitate_, the rich reward of meritorious
     industry in Estefa. About forty gentlemen in his line have been
     received into the society of honest Spaniards by an ample
     _indulto_. The roads are in consequence quite safe for the present,
     as long as the uneasy virtue of these gentlemen continues. It is
     just possible that we may spend our autumn in Granada, and the
     winter under the protection of Marco _el grande_, who is always the
     conqueror. Malaga is a _rinconcillo_ [small corner] we have never
     seen, and I am anxious to go over to Africa in the spring to see
     the _real Moors_. Many thanks for the Galignanis, which tell us
     something about Messrs. Peter and Miguel, a pretty pair, as the
     Devil said. I suppose that thing must by this time be ended. Would
     the cholera were!

     We have a man here, fresh from London, who says nobody there pays
     the slightest attention to it, and if there were no newspapers its
     presence would be unnoticed.

     The Infante[29] has been here, seeing bull-fights. The Infanta
     very sulky, ugly, and cross, and insulting the Sevillanas. They
     were coldly received, and at one time hissed (not kissed) in the
     Plaza. The Alcazar is exquisite. What a palace it is now, hung with
     the finest pictures in Seville, and furnished with the most
     beautiful and costly furniture, old plate, etc., lent by the
     principal families, all those who have saved anything since the war
     of _de_pendence! The sheets on the bed, costing 5000 Rs., like Lady
     Holland’s, edged with lace, and for the repose of such carcasses!
     The consequence is that we flesh-eaters are paying the penalty of
     these fooleries, two _cuartos_[30] having been added to the pound
     of meat, and a tax here (and elsewhere), once put on, is never
     taken off.

                           SEVILLA, _Aug. 22, 1832_.

     We are now full of warlike reports; Juntas of _Realistas_; four
     thousand are to march from this province, and two hundred
     _valientissimos_ from Sevilla, who will eat Dom Pedro in a
     _Gaspacho_ [a cold vegetable soup].

     They say that the Spaniards are determined to interfere, which will
     very much interfere with my remaining in Spain; but I hope, if you
     think the horizon cloudy and bad for a gentleman’s health, that
     you will give me a timely hint, to get a little sea-bathing at
     Gibraltar.

     Spaniards deal so much in hyperbole, that one never knows what to
     believe; they say that you and the Frenchman have taken down your
     arms (if the Frenchman did his tombstones and cocks it would be no
     bad thing). They also say that Sartorius[31] has taken Dom Miguel’s
     ships, all except the large one. These news came per London
     steamer. However, the _Realistas_ are certainly in a bustle; of
     that there can be no doubt, and it looks warlike. God help poor
     fallen Spain! The cholera and a French army marching in at once,
     and the plentiful crop of weeds which will sprout up out of the
     earth, like the armed men of Cadmus. The Liberals and discontented
     are overjoyed; they are like Mother Cary’s chickens, which only
     come out when there are symptoms of foul and dirty weather.

     I wish Dom Pedro was hung in the _Tripas_ of Dom Miguel, as the
     Spaniards say of the English and French.

     Many thanks for your passport for Don Luis. He has written a letter
     to me, full of thanks for your good nature to him, and will no
     doubt draw your portrait _gratis_.

     We have nothing new here. Colonel Buller talking incessantly and
     unceasingly of his uniform; if he does not make haste, they will
     declare war before he gets it. His friend Mr. Horner sits in a
     corner.

     There have been magnificent doings at the Alhambra, and I hear that
     Dionysia’s dress and magnificence are the talk of the town.
     Travelling is quite safe, as José Maria is looking after the
     robbers instead of being looked after.

                           SEVILLA, _Sept. 19 [1832]_.

     By desire of Don José I enclose you an account of the gay doings in
     the Alhambra in honour of His Serene Highness Don Francisco de
     Paula. You may depend upon it that, in knocking up their trumpery
     lamps and chandeliers, they have cruelly injured the beautiful
     Moorish stucco, and probably have whitewashed over the little
     remnants of its former gilding.

     We have the supreme felicity of being honoured by the royal
     presence, and have had a grand bull-fight (the cause and effect),
     given by the Maestranza,[32] in which Don Rafael Gusman (a
     descendant of Gusman _el Bueno_) killed a bull, who, in his dying
     spring, bounded over the barrier and died between it and the
     spectators, a _lance_ [a lucky event] considered by the
     _aficionados_ [enthusiasts] as _algo raro_ [somewhat unusual], and
     much applauded by His Highness and the _Majos_ of Seville. This
     occupies much conversation, of course, and Dom Pedro and the
     cholera are at a discount. As to Doms Miguel and Pedro, even the
     Spaniards are disgusted at their want of fight. What two
     blackguards, to disturb the peace of the Peninsula!

     Everybody here is satisfied that the King is to spend the winter in
     Seville, and to set out as soon as he can be moved, as they make
     him out to be very ill. Meantime Gutierrez the painter, who is in
     high favour in Court (drawing _two hundred_ heads of the servants,
     attendants, etc., in a blank book of the Queen’s), describes the
     King as coming in and being very affable and good-humoured.

     We have no news whatever. Colonel Buller’s uniform is arrived, and
     both are still remaining at Seville. Otherwise, God be praised!
     there are no British subjects here. The weather perfectly
     delicious; the walks of an evening and at night charming. My wife
     has been very unwell, feverish, and relaxed. As soon as she is
     confined, which I hope will be early next month, we think of
     starting for Malaga to eat raisins and be under the protection of
     Mark.

     Our great visitors are all to go the 24th, and say they shall
     return next year much earlier. The people are so poor that they
     have not been able to give them a ball. In the town they said I was
     going to do so. You see how we apples swim, and what a great place
     this is for little people; however, I prefer counting my dollars in
     my box, _nummos in arcâ_.

                           SEVILLA, _Saturday [29 Sept. 1832]_.

     As you have been so long “in at the death,” I will give you a
     little _birth_ by way of a change. On Wednesday my wife was safely
     brought to bed of a little girl, both mother and child doing
     perfectly well. The birth was premature by three weeks, and brought
     on by a severe illness which my wife has had, and which has thrown
     her back sadly. I am in hopes that she will now recover her
     strength for the journey to Malaga.

     They say, first, that the King is dead, and that he died on the
     17th; next, that he is eating chickens and smoking cigars, on the
     20th; and that he is coming here to a _dead_ certainty.

     The furniture of the Alcazar, provided for the Infante, which was
     to have been sold, is ordered to be put away in case of being
     shortly required. How is all this? Is there really any chance of
     the King’s coming? If so, pray let me know (_quite privately_), as
     I in that case would remain the winter, having the largest and best
     house in the town, which I need not say is at the _Disposicion de
     V.E._, and where I can give you a nice _little apartment_, with a
     fireplace, and with no chickens to sing ovations on your arrival.

     Don Lewis is drawing the Alhambra, and Don José is speculating on
     politics, about three weeks more behindhand than we are, which
     might be expected, as he lives in an out-of-the-way mountainous
     kingdom.

     I suppose you have had a rare time of it at the Granja. The running
     up and down stairs and the stir of diplomacy will keep your feet
     free from chilblains in that Mountain Court. The weather here is
     beyond expression delicious.

                           _November 10, 1832_: SEVILLA.

     I have moved out of O’Neill’s house to the one I formerly occupied,
     which is warmer and smaller, and have just laid in 1500 cwt. of dry
     olive wood, which I wish I could present you with. O’Neill’s
     _administrador_, who is a regular skinflint, has taken to his bed,
     in consequence of the loss of a tenant who paid 35 reals a day for
     a _Caseron_ which will never again be relet. Here they say that he
     is coming to Seville for his _Quartel_.

     Amarillas has been well received at Granada, where the joy at
     having got rid of that scoundrel Moreno is unbounded; above 500
     prisoners have been let out of the dungeons there. In spite of his
     passport, he ordered Mr. Lewis out of Granada at two hours’ notice,
     but relented on an application of Don José.

     Mark, who is always the conqueror, has got all the original
     correspondence between Torrijos and Moreno, which I hear beats
     cockfighting. They say Moreno has fled into Portugal.

     Quesada is making rare reforms in the police, and the Andalucians
     are dancing Fandangos with delight.

     I am expecting Mr. Lewis from Granada, and am going to take him
     into my house. I look forward to his Alhambra drawings, and hope my
     wife will make some good copies of them. She is, I am very sorry to
     say, in a most delicate state, and cruelly pulled down. People are
     all in high spirits and looking forward to changes and
     improvements which they will never see realised. The Queen very
     popular, and, if the King exchange a terrestrial for an immortal
     crown, she will here have a strong party.

                           SEVILLA, _Saturday, 15 [December 1832]_.

     As soon as I received your Walter Scott[33] prospectuses I sent one
     to Arjona, the _assistente_, another to Quesada, and another to the
     editor of the _Diario_. If you send any more, it will be as well to
     add a postscript, saying who Walter Scott was, whether he was a
     Frenchman or a German, whether he wrote Verses or dealt in
     _Bacalao_ [dried cod-fish], as there is no one here who has yet
     heard of him, and all, like Lord Westmorland when asked to
     subscribe to the monument of Watt, are asking _what’s what_.
     However, if he had written the Song of Solomon, and been as
     notorious as the Cid, the devil a _cuarto_ would any Spaniard
     subscribe, and I do not expect one _peseta_ from Andalucia. The
     Major is occupied in buying a horse; Colonel Buller in buying cloth
     for new trousers, on which he descants till even tailors cry _ohe!
     jam satis est_. I am buying meat and drink for my family. All these
     matter-of-fact expenses militate against handing over dollars for
     the decoration of a bleak northern capital.

     We are about to lose Quesada, who goes to Madrid; but he is
     replaced by a better officer and a far higher-bred gentleman,
     Amarillas; so that, as far as we are concerned, we rather gain.
     Madame Quesada is one of the most agreeable, _graciosas y
     chistosas_ [gay] of all _Gaditanas_, and, if you fall in her way,
     pray become acquainted with her.

     We are all going on here in our usual humdrum manner, my wife
     certainly much better. I have just bought her a horse, and she is
     having a splendid _Maja_ riding-habit made, which will make the
     _Andaluças_ die of envy; black, with innumerable lacing and
     tagging, and a profusion of silver filigree buttons.

     I have Don Luis staying in my house, he has made some beautiful
     sketches of Granada, and is very busy with Sevilla.

     The wall of the Alhambra is not yet built up. Remember me and mine
     to O’Lawlor, who, I hope, will pick up something in these times of
     scramble and change.

[Illustration: SKETCH OF SHOOTING EXCURSION.

[_To face p. 108._

     By J. F. Lewis, 1833.

J. F. Lewis is seated on a Grey Horse.

R. Ford with the coloured mantle.

The Captain, José Boscasa, on a Baggage Donkey.]




CHAPTER IV

SEVILLE AND GRANADA

(JANUARY-SEPTEMBER, 1833)

SEVILLE--GRANADA--TETUAN--FESTIVITIES AT MADRID--RETURN TO ENGLAND


                           SEVILLA, _Saturday, January 12 [1833]_.

     I did not answer your letter last post, as I was then in the Sierra
     Morena, near Alcolea, on a shooting excursion.

     You will find a large engraving of the tomb of the Catholic kings
     in the folio work published at Madrid in 1804 by Don Pablo Lorano,
     and called _Antiquedades arabes in España_.

     Lewis, who is here, says, if you are not satisfied with that print,
     that he will make a drawing of the chapel and tomb at Granada when
     he returns. There are portraits of Fernando and Isabella in the
     Generalife; but they are bad, and certainly not so old as the
     period those personages lived in. At the Cartuja convent, near
     Burgos, is a genuine and beautiful small portrait of Isabella,
     which struck me very much when I was there, and is certainly of
     the time, and in the manner, of Holbein.

     If you are acquainted with a brother of General Sⁿ. Martin, who has
     just been named Bishop of Barcelona, he will probably be able to
     put you in the way of getting a copy made of this portrait by some
     artist at Burgos. The newly-elected Bishop was treasurer of the
     cathedral at Burgos, and is a most worthy and good man.

     Don José O’Lawlor could get you copies made of the portraits at the
     Generalife and of the tomb of Granada, and that musical artist
     _Muriel_ will do the job in a manner that no one will recognise
     them.

     So much for your Excellency’s commissions.

     We are all agog here with the arrival of Amarillas from Granada,
     who will make an excellent Captain-General, quite as honest and
     firm as Quesada, and much better and higher bred. If you see Madᵉ
     Quesada, who is a most agreeable, charming, fat old lady, pray lay
     me most devotedly at her feet.

     My wife has been far from well lately--a bad cough, pain in her
     chest, and palpitations of the heart. I am not quite comfortable
     about her, and have some thoughts of going to Madeira. The Colonel
     is here as usual, and has lately set up a waistcoat, which he has
     eulogised to all Seville.

     My wife wishes to know if you would like to have a _very, very
     fine_ Pajes guitar. There was a talk of one being to be sold, and
     it was mentioned to her.

     I have this instant seen the _Gazetta_, and that Don José is
     appointed Captain-General of Mallorca. I suspected something was in
     the wind when so prudent a gentleman undertook the journey to
     Madrid. I am sorry for it, as I had eyes on the Alhambra for next
     summer.

                           SEVILLA, _March 6 [1833]_.

     I have been resisting during these last six weeks an _empeño_
     [favour] of my wife’s, but have at length yielded, as most men,
     whether single or married, must to the constant battery of female
     determination. She has bought a small silver filigree box, about
     half a foot long and six inches high, which she is very anxious to
     send to England, and to get it in without being broken up. She
     wants to know whether you can or will help her in this matter. It
     is a favour to be bestowed on her, and for which she will ever
     remain your handmaid or handwoman. I have told her that _I_ do not
     ask you, because you would say _no_ slap, and there would be an end
     of it. As the box is so small, will it be possible to get Lady S.
     Canning to take it back with her? I hardly like writing to Lord
     Althorp about it, as the Whigs, of course, will never do a job. So
     the matter stands. If you can do it, it will be a great favour to
     her, as the nicknack is a very pretty one. If you cannot, then she
     must bear it patiently--_no tiene remedio_. You will have heard of
     us and of our masquerading from a tall major, who was as high as a
     hill; he passed through with a stammering gentleman, who, I hope,
     was not the talebearer, or it is not told yet.

     We are expecting a flock of Consuls from Europe and Africa--the
     Brackenburys and the Drummond Hays, who are going to spend the Holy
     Week, and a rare unholy one will they make it; as, where two or
     three English are gathered together, there is envy, hatred, and
     uncharitableness amongst them, and still more with that great class
     of people His B.M. Consuls. The Hays, I hear, are the greatest men
     alive. I am thinking of being off to escape the Consular deluge,
     and to retire to the polished cities of Tangier and Tetuan. Mr. Hay
     has made me offers for my house, and probably I shall make hay
     while the sun shines.

     We have applied for the Alhambra, and, as soon as I can get an
     answer, we shall prepare to set forth for Granada, having no fear
     _now_ of José Maria, who came to Seville and paid me a visit of
     which the whole town is talking. I received him as a man of his
     merits deserves, and gave him a present of a pistol, with which
     probably, if he meets me on the high road, he will shoot me.
     Lewis, who is with me still, made a drawing of him--a fine handsome
     fellow, and fit to be absolute king of Andalucia.

     If you have time to write, pray tell us what is _really known_
     about the cholera. Is it at Lisbon? What are you about at Madrid,
     making the exchange to rise so? I am ruined by it.

     My wife begs to be remembered to you, and that her _empeño_ may be
     remembered by you.

     Poor Don José! What a mess he made of his trip to Madrid, where his
     Dionysia nearly miscarried, and he has completely. As far as we are
     concerned, I am delighted to see him again at Granada.

                           SEVILLA, _April 3 [1833]_.

     My wife begs me to thank you a thousand times for offering to send
     her box. The size is 5 inches wide, 6 inches high, 8 inches long.

     If you think fit, I will send it to you, and you shall dispose of
     the matter as you like. It contains a few odd Spanish trinkets,
     about £50 worth, in which _materiam superavit opus_, and which she
     wishes not to lose on account of the recollections attached to
     them, being memorials of her travels. I am really quite vexed at
     giving you all this trouble, thinking on the subject exactly the
     same as you do, and wishing all ladies and their _empeños_ at the
     devil.

     We are full of _Misereres_, _Custodias_, _Pagos_, and processions,
     all the night and day work of the Holy Week, all unction, the
     fruits of which will duly make their appearance, this day nine
     months, in a plentiful crop of bastards for the _Casa de los
     Expositos_. Lots of English from the Rock, of the regiment called
     The Tiger; Consuls, Vice-Consuls, and Consuls-General, as thick as
     blackberries, and quite as insipid. I am dying to be lodged again
     in the Alhambra, and hear the ovation of the Tia’s chickens. Will
     the troubled times permit your Excellency to come and see us again
     this summer, when we will ride to Alhama and on to the Consul Mark,
     _el siempre Vencidor, El Galib?_

     We are all at a nonplus at what is going on in the _Corte_. His
     Majesty’s letter to the Captain-Generals is a poser, and means in
     English, “I want nobody but my little Cea Bermudez.”[34] However, I
     am delighted to see that his Majesty is so well, as these decrees
     speak more clearly than any bulletins, that he has no thoughts of
     dying, and cares no more for Isabel than George the Fourth did for
     Charlotte. I wonder you can have any doubts whatever as to what
     will happen next. You will see the next word of command will be “As
     you were.”

     It would be a pity that the march of intellect should get into the
     Peninsula, or that Africa should cease to begin at the Pyrenees.

                           SEVILLA, _Wednesday, 17 [April 1833]_.

     I enclose you the receipt of the _diligence_ for the small box I
     sent you, in consequence of your kind offer to send it home for my
     wife. Mind, I should never have ventured to bother you on such a
     subject. The _diligence_ will arrive on Monday morning. If you will
     send your whiskered _Chasseur_ with the enclosed paper, no
     custom-house officer will dare to open it.

     I suppose Brackenbury will send you the news of the two packets, up
     and down, which have met at Cadiz. The one from Malta brings the
     news that the Russians have 7 sail of the line at Constantinople,
     and 40 transports full of troops in the Bosphorus, and that Mehemet
     Ali’s fleet, 5 sail, have hoisted the flag of independence.[35]

     The _Hermes_ from England, sent off at an hour’s notice by the
     Admiralty, touched at Oporto, Vigo, Lisbon, with orders to all the
     English ships of war to proceed directly to Constantinople, without
     anchoring at Gibraltar. The _Malabar_, Captain Percy (with Sir
     William Eden on board), is at Cadiz, and, ere this, in the
     Mediterranean. Other English ships are in sight. Private
     intelligence to “_the Proconsul_” says that the cholera is at
     Lisbon.

     Will you be so kind, if you have time, to let me know when the box
     arrives, and, if it goes to England, how and when? It contains £50
     or £60 of trinkets, the honey collected by my Queen Bee.

     Shirreff is uncertain as to his motions. He is agog at the thoughts
     of a war and a three-decker. It is probable that he will turn off
     at Ossuna and proceed directly to Gibraltar by Ronda.

     I hope to arrive at Granada next Wednesday, where, in case of
     seizure or squalls, you have a house at your _disposicion_ to
     retire to.

                           TETUAN, _Saturday, May 25 [1833]_.

     Do not be alarmed at a letter from this land of lions, tigers,
     deserts, and cannibals, for I assure you it is a paradise compared
     to the garrison and gunfire of Gibraltar, almost as beautiful as
     Granada, quite as civilised as Spain, and abounding with comforts
     and accommodations, seeing that the houses of the Jews are more
     handsomely and abundantly furnished than those of the grandees of
     Seville.

     It is quite a mistake to suppose that there is any difficulty or
     danger in travelling in Barbary, or that the condition of the Jews
     or Christians here is so deplorable as gentlemen on their travels
     have printed and published for the benefit of Mr. Colburn and
     edification of the British public. Both are treated with great
     kindness, and the proof of the substantial prosperity of the sons
     of Israel is in the silks and jewels, domestic comforts and
     luxuries, which are to be met with even among the poorest of them.

     I must go back a little in my letter. We left Seville in April, and
     reached Granada in due time, in spite of the wind and the rain. We
     thence proceeded to the town called by the English Gib, by the way
     of Alhama _ay de mi_![36] Loja, Antequera, and Ronda, a fine
     mountain ride, full of Moorish castles and fastnesses, the scene of
     many a desperate conflict, all of which are written in the book of
     Washington Irving. From Gibraltar we were conveyed by Shirreff to
     Tangiers, a pretty little town situated in a sheltered bay. I need
     not tell you how great is the change on landing, greater than that
     between Dover and Calais. I will not say that, on coming from
     Spain, it is coming from civilisation to barbarism, it being well
     known that Africa begins at the Pyrenees; but still the change of
     turbans for hats, _haiks_ for _capas_, camels for mules, wild Arabs
     in their peaked _jellibeas_ for monks, is sufficiently striking.
     The interior of the town is like a Spanish one--all dirt, ruin, and
     bad pavement, the houses, low and windowless, looking like whitened
     sepulchres; and the women, in their _haiks_ and muffled-up faces,
     look like the ghost in _Semiramis_--a very appropriate population
     for so sepulchral a city. From under the shroud, however, peep out
     certain black, soft eyes, so full of life that a gentleman would
     have no objection to be haunted in the night-time by one of these
     spectres.

     The Jewesses do not hide their faces, and it would be a sin to do
     so, as they are truly beautiful. Their costume is most fanciful and
     oriental--a mass of brocade, golden sashes, handkerchiefs, and
     jewelry, pearls, rubies, and emeralds, by no means the trappings of
     a people said to be stripped to the skin by the Moors. If they have
     any “_old cloes_,” they buy and sell them and do not wear them.
     They are highly pleased at being visited, and show their finery
     with great complacency. My wife has been admitted into the interior
     of divers houses of the Moors, but does not give so favourable an
     account of them as of the Jewesses. The newly-married women paint
     their faces very much as we remember, in the days of our youth,
     that facetious gentleman Grimaldi did.

     There is a very decent inn, much cleaner and better provided than
     those in Spain. We were lodged at His B. Majesty’s
     Consulate-General, and so changed houses with the Hays. From
     Tangiers we rode to Tetuan, a pleasant ride through a rich country,
     well cultivated, of about eleven hours. Here we have put up in the
     oriental dwelling of a respectable Jew, who has two daughters, who
     make me think every day better of Moses as a legislator--fair
     complexions, dark black hair, and soft, mild, large, almond-shaped
     eyes, rendered more oriental by a dark powder, with which the lids
     are slightly blacked, which gives an indescribable soft expression
     to them. We have been received by the Pasha in oriental state,
     turbaned guards, Ethiopian slaves, cushions and couches, and much
     green tea, almond cakes and sweetmeats. My wife was presented to
     his lady, and presented by her with a scarf value ten shillings,
     for which she gave her a musical snuff-box.

     The situation of the town delightful, on the slope of a hill
     commanded by an embattled castle, and overlooking a valley of
     gardens bounded to the north-east by the blue sea, and to the south
     by a magnificent chain of mountains. It is a second Granada, and
     the original founders who fled from Granada brought with them all
     their love for agriculture and gardens, which are here the delight
     of the Moors. The hills supply them with an abundance of water,
     which under African sun and a fertile soil covers the earth with
     the most luxuriant vegetation and every kind of fruit given to man
     to eat. The town is like that of Tangiers, impressive when seen
     from the distance, but ruined in the interior. The bazaars, and
     especially the corn and vegetable markets, very African. Lines of
     camels laden with dates from Tafilet, silks from Fez, Ethiopians,
     wild Arabs, and muffled women, naked legs and covered faces, all
     talking a guttural idiom which beats German to nothing. The wares
     they deal with are as singular as the people: painted _couskousu_
     dishes from Fez, odd brown zebra-looking carpets from Rabat,
     tricolour clothes for the Ethiopians, velvet embroidered cushions,
     slippers and sashes from Algiers. Then the jewelry of the women. My
     wife represents the Moorish women as one mass of pearls and
     precious stones. I have seen the collection of a Jewish woman
     which filled a decent-size box, about four times as big as the one
     my wife troubled you with, and which I hope started safely for
     England. Huge uncut emeralds seem to be the favourites. The houses
     are full of small _patios_, arches, arabesque work, and tesselated
     pavement, like the Alhambra, and the palace of the Governor, which
     is in high order, gives one an idea of what the Alhambra must have
     been once upon a time. We hope to set out to-morrow for Gibraltar,
     and thence to Granada _viâ_ Malaga, and, having embraced His B. M.
     Consul in that city, to get back to the Alhambra by the 6th of
     June, _el dia de Corpus_, which is celebrated with great pomp in
     Granada. _Adios_ ever, here and everywhere.

                           GIBRALTAR, _Thursday, 30 [May, 1833]_.

     We have arrived here quite safely from Tetuan, and hope to be back
     at Granada by the 6th of June for _el dia de Corpus_.

Leaving his wife at Granada, Ford hurried to Madrid to be present at the
solemn recognition of Isabella as heiress to the Spanish crown. In spite
of the protests of Don Carlos, the oath of allegiance was taken by the
Cortes in the Church of Geronimo at Madrid (June 20th, 1833). The
capital was given up for days to magnificent festivities, which
culminated in a bull-fight, given in the Plaza Mayor on Saturday, June
22nd. The whole square was converted into a superb spectacle, the
windows of the houses being used as boxes. Under a gorgeous canopy in
the centre window of the Town Hall sat the King and Queen; on either
side of them were the royal family and the court. The King arrived in
state at 5 o’clock. The arena was cleared by halberdiers, dressed in the
costume of the old guard of Philip II. The four knights, who took part
in the fight, led a splendid procession round the arena. Each was
accompanied by his sponsor, in a state coach and six, attended by
running footmen. The sponsors, the Dukes of Frias, Alva, and Infantado,
and the Count of Florida Blanca, were followed by troops of gaily
dressed bull-fighters and their assistants, leading horses from the
King’s stables, saddled with silver trappings, and their manes and tails
plaited with ribbons. They were succeeded by four troops, each
consisting of forty men, one equipped as ancient Spaniards, the second
as Romans, the third as wild Indians, and the fourth as Moors. When all
had taken their places the bull-fight began. The bulls were let loose,
and each of the four knights in turn advanced on horseback clad in silk,
and armed only with a short javelin. Their safety depended on the skill
of the matadors who attended them. Care had been taken that the bulls
should not be of their usual ferocity; but, even as it was, one of the
knights was severely wounded.[37]

                           MALAGA, _June 2 [1833]_.

     If you do not repent you of your hospitable offer of giving me a
     bed, during the approaching shows and ceremonies, I should be
     delighted to run up for a few days. As I should come alone, any
     hole or corner in your house would be perfectly good enough, and I
     should put you by no means out of your way.

     I hope to be at Granada by Thursday, and will consult Don José’s
     tailor on the subject of a coat, something blue, turned up with red
     and a few dollars of gold lace; you can pass me, in this decent
     livery, as an _attaché_ extraordinary from the Pacha of Tetuan, or
     a proconsul from his B.M. Consul-General at Tangiers. I hope in
     this disguise to be allowed to stand behind your Excellency’s chair
     at the different ceremonies, bull-fights, _rows_ (_si Dios
     quiere_), and hold your dress cocked hat.

     My wife is not well, and much knocked up by this last journey, and
     will do quite well to remain quiet in the Alhambra. Indeed, some
     repose is absolutely necessary to her, both bodily and mentally.

     This is a warm spot; and having dined with the consul, eaten the
     raisins, drunk the Malaga, and looked at the clay figures, nought
     remains but to pack up the _Alforjas_ [saddle-bags] and be off to
     Granada.

     I wrote you a letter from Tetuan, which I hope reached you, and was
     less tedious than one of sixty pages from Mr. Edward Drummond
     Mortimer Auriol Hay.

     I hear there will be no time for an answer to reach me at Granada,
     as I must set out about the 10th to arrive the 16th. All sorts of
     conveyances will no doubt be occupied, and I shall have to ride
     over the interminable plains of Castille, and shall arrive as brown
     as the Plenipo from Algiers.

On July 1st, 1833, Ford was back at Granada. But he had now determined,
for the reasons given in the following letter, to return to England.
Addington was also leaving Madrid. Greville (_Memoirs_, ed. 1888, vol.
iii. pp. 14-15), notes on July 20th: “George Villiers is to go as
Minister to Madrid, instead of Addington, who is so inefficient they are
obliged to recall him, and at this moment Madrid is the most important
diplomatic mission, with reference to the existing and prospective state
of things. The Portuguese contest, the chance of the King of Spain’s
death and a disputed succession, the recognition of the South American
Colonies, and commercial arrangements with this country, present a mass
of interests which demand considerable dexterity and judgment; besides,
Addington is a Tory, and does not act in the spirit of this Government,
so they will recall him without ceremony.” The unfavourable criticism
is discounted by the last sentence. But there can be no question that
Addington’s successor George Villiers, afterwards (1838) fourth Earl of
Clarendon, was a man of much greater ability. Villiers remained at
Madrid till early in 1839.

                           _July 6 [1833]_, GRANADA.

     I arrived here to dinner on Monday last, having left Madrid
     Saturday morning at 2, passing through the _Prado_, which was full
     of people eating gingerbread, and dancing to guitars and strumming,
     a very proper and Catholic mode of keeping the _Visperas_ of Sⁿ.
     Pedro.

     The journey here was severe, but rapid. I found Mrs. Ford much
     better, very much better than I could have expected--so much so
     that we have determined on returning to England in September, _si
     Dios quiere_. I do not like the looks of things here, and, with the
     Portuguese business and the cholera in the Peninsula, think it high
     time to return to England. Indeed, it is high time for other
     reasons. My wife is left alone without female society; my children
     at this important age are brought up as heathens and Spaniards, a
     pretty prospect for daughters; and I myself must purge like
     Falstaff, and live cleanly like a gentleman, and take to that
     gentlemanlike old vice, avarice, to save a little money for the
     bad times which hang over England.

     We hear here that the expedition in the south of Portugal is
     advancing prosperously, and that they pay as they go, which is a
     surer way of making proselytes than all their charters and
     constitutions.

     Don José has added another young lady to his family, Dionysia
     having been safely brought to bed yesterday. This is her sixth
     child of the female sex.

     The weather here delicious, mornings and evenings cool and fresh,
     and all green, and trickling streams, shady over-leafy arbours,
     with sweet singing nightingales; _per contra_ nothing to eat, and
     no Valdepeñas or dinners.

     The wall in the Alhambra is rising most rapidly, and the Frenchman
     equally expeditious in his painting of the _Patio de los Leones_
     for _Vista allegre_; indeed he had better make haste, for the
     _vista_ of the future is anything but _allegre_.

                           GRANADA, _August 24, 1833_.

     I was astounded in seeing in the _Revista_ that your ambassadorial
     career in Spain is coming to a conclusion. As you have been long
     prepared for it, and, indeed, rather surprised at its not having
     taken place sooner, I need say no more on the matter except that
     you will retire to enjoy your _otium cum dignitate_. They have been
     very considerate to let you out of Spain just when the cholera is
     coming in. We hear that it was at Huelva on the 10th, and will soon
     be at Cadiz and Seville. This is bad intelligence for us, as we
     were preparing to return to England that route. If it does not
     reach Gibraltar by October, we shall go home in that packet.

     If you have time, in all the misery of packing up and departure, to
     write me a line, I shall be very glad to know when you are going
     and what are your plans. I am sure I am most thankful to the Whigs
     for their forbearance, as I verily believe, had you not furnished
     me with the Galignani (to say nothing of much and friendly
     hospitality on all and many occasions), I could not have survived
     in this land of darkness. The papers say George Villiers is to be
     your successor. He is a very clever, high-bred man, _muy rubio_ and
     an _elegante_; he will please the Madrilenas. I should doubt if he
     knew a word of Spanish, which he will find a pretty considerable
     _desideratum_.

     We are here enjoying the most beautiful weather, and one would
     hardly suppose, on looking at the blue sky and bright sun, that
     there was cholera in the world.

     The summer has been unusually warm, and old Picacho has taken off
     his white nightcap in consequence of the heat. I went up to the
     Barranco de Sⁿ. Juan with Head,[38] who is a well-informed,
     agreeable companion, and is filling his portfolio and pericranium
     with all sorts of Spanish _memoranda_.

     Don José is _in statu quo_, and has had another baby born to him. I
     occasionally stroll with him in the Alameda, and listen to his old
     campaigns and how the Duke “flaked” the French on all occasions. I
     am reading the masterly work of Napier, and O’Lawlor is quite a
     commentator. _Quæque ipse miserrima vidi et quorum pars magna fui._

     You won’t be tempted to run down here in the _diligence_, and go
     home in the October packet?

     Brackenbury was at Seville, gone to see the paintings of Mr.
     Roberts, which I hear are very fine;[39] but the news at Huelva
     sent him off per steamer to his post at Cadiz.

     I fear the wise Whigs will find their _protégé_ in Portugal in a
     mess; we hear every day of the country rising against Dom Pedro.
     O’Lawlor considers his troubles as now beginning. Your troubles
     and mine are fast drawing to an end.

                           _Sept. 21, 1833_, MADRID.

     We arrived here at last this morning, after a most distressing
     journey, in consequence of the detentions and discomforts
     occasioned on the road by the singular precautions taken in the
     towns against the approach of the cholera. These are so very
     absurd, and so totally calculated to defeat the object in view,
     that I think some account of what took place may possibly interest
     you.

     As I had to travel with a sick wife, four small children--one of
     them only weaned a few days--I made many enquiries of General
     Abadia and the _administrador_ of the _diligence_ at Granada
     whether any difficulties would be offered on the road, with a view
     of making some sort of preparation; but, having been assured that
     none would, I ventured forth on Wednesday morning. We reached Jaen
     without interruption, but on our arrival found a guard of soldiers
     drawn up across the road, with many of the inhabitants behind them.
     The _diligence_ was stopped, though it could only come from
     Granada; and though all other carriages coming from Granada were
     admitted at once, a precaution taken against the _diligence only_,
     which on the contrary ought to have been the least suspected, both
     from the forms of its institution and the decency of travellers who
     proceed by such a conveyance. The _mayoral_ got down, and entered
     into close communication with the soldiers and people, collected
     all the passports, and gave them _into the hand_ of a person
     appointed to receive them. The passengers then alighted, and
     mingled with the assembled people until the passports were
     returned.

     Next morning we proceeded to Mengibar, a miserable hamlet, where we
     were detained by some wild-looking peasants and a nondescript
     soldier in a _gorro_ without stockings, but with a sword in his
     hand. The passports were received in the same way, and returned
     duly _viséd_ by the _Junta de Sanidad_. In almost every town some
     sort of detention took place, generally of about half an hour, but
     varying in detail according to the plan laid down by each petty
     Junta.

     At Guarroman a carriage, supposed to have a person from Seville in
     it, was turned out of the town, and the passengers obliged to pass
     the day in the sun, without food or communication, while some steps
     were taken to procure them a _cortijo_.

     At Manzanares, where we arrived early, we were detained much
     longer, as none of the peasants could read or write, and the
     passports had to be taken to the _Escribano_, who was in bed, and
     had left orders not to be disturbed.

     At Ocaña, where we ought to have rested some hours and supped, the
     _diligence_ was peremptorily ordered out of the town. We were
     driven out and left to ourselves; the innkeeper, who ought to have
     provided food, not having done so because there might be some
     difficulty in his getting paid. However, a party in the carriage
     fared better: several ladies, attended by two officers of the
     garrison with servants, came down to the _diligence_ with
     provisions, remained with it an hour, and then returned to Ocaña
     with the _very guards_ who were appointed to prevent all
     communication.

     At Aranjuez, the next town, we were admitted without stoppage,
     enquiry, or notice of any sort.

     It is needless to point out to you the absurdity of these
     proceedings, so vexatious to travellers, and so utterly ill
     calculated to produce any good effect. Persons suspected of being
     infected are allowed to remain in full communication with
     inhabitants of the town, before their actual freedom from disease
     is ascertained. The commonest measures of sanitary precautions are
     neglected. There was no bar, no rope across the road, no fixed spot
     for the travellers to communicate with the guards, no receiving
     papers or passports with tongs, or with vinegar, or any of the
     usual disinfecting processes.

     Each little town seemed to act according to its own ideas, and all
     absolute and peremptory; all in equal ignorance of what was passing
     below and left in equal ignorance by the authorities at Madrid;
     without orders or instructions, or one general simple plan to be
     adopted everywhere, each petty village acting for itself as if no
     other town existed, and without reference to the public good.

     Depend upon it, they are adopting the sure means of rapidly
     communicating the disease, and _any one_ infected traveller will
     bring it, to a certainty, to Madrid, if no better precautions are
     taken in the towns nearer the disorder.




CHAPTER V

EXETER

1833-1837

     DEATH OF FERDINAND VII.--EXETER--PROJECTED BOOK ON SPAIN--PURCHASE
     OF HEAVITREE HOUSE--MARRIAGE OF LORD KING AND OF ADDINGTON--FIRST
     ARTICLE IN THE _QUARTERLY REVIEW_--DEATH OF MRS. FORD.


On his way to England, at the end of September 1833, Ford passed through
Madrid. There he saw the funeral of Ferdinand VII., of which he gives an
account in the following letter written to Addington from his mother’s
house in London.

                 [123, PARK STREET], LONDON, _Wednesday, 4th Dec., 1833_.

     I am afraid I shall have left town before your return, which I am
     very sorry for, as I should have much liked to have had a chat with
     you in this dull and dingy capital, and to have talked over that
     fair land (_alias_ brown) beyond the Pyrenees. I should have had
     more to tell you than will go in a letter of our perils by sea and
     by land, moving adventures and escapes. Poor old Fernando, as you
     predicted, died when we were there, and we saw him duly conveyed
     to the Escurial in a _coche de colleras_, with his feet projecting
     out of the front windows, and the _capa_ of the _Zagal_ hanging up
     behind. Alva, Medina Celi, and other grandees, riding hacks, in
     gold-embroidered coats and black trousers (the under man like an
     undertaker; the upper, all the tinsel of Spain, which gilds those
     mean hearts that lurk beneath a star). Sad dogs they looked, _tel
     maître tel valet_. Old Alagon brought up the rear. It was
     archi-Spanish, a mixture of the paltry and magnificent, and no one
     caring one inch about any part of it.

     Villiers arrived with a good cook, and began his dinners, which
     were good and agreeable. He has arrived at a rare difficult period;
     but he is a very clever fellow and a complete man of the world.

     I am going down to Exeter, where I have taken a house for a year,
     and am going to place my children in the hands of my brother[40] to
     eradicate _Santa Maria_, and teach them the architecture of the
     interiors of English churches.

     I met Grant the other day, who was on his way from Madrid to
     Lisbon, _viâ Londres_. He told me that all your goods and chattels
     were in the Downs, “all in the downs the goods were moored”; among
     them is a silver vase and some coins belonging to your _servidor_,
     and a _Maja_ dress with four million silver buttons belonging to
     Mrs. Ford. A case of old books went at the same time, and probably
     is among them; for them I wish to pay duty, if your agent would be
     so good as to do so, and then all the _Roba_ may be forwarded to my
     mother’s, with many thanks for all the trouble you have taken.

     Grant tells me that your pension is rather undecided! God forfend!
     Ruin seems to stare everybody in the face; London half-deserted,
     and the roads and inns of the continent encumbered with absentees.
     We are patriotic, and come home in the time of need.

The surroundings of his new home at Southernhay, Exeter, delighted him.
Writing to Addington, February 4th, 1834, he says:--

     “This Exeter is quite a Capital, abounding in all that London has,
     except its fog and smoke. There is an excellent institution here
     with a well-chosen large Library, in which I take great pastime and
     am beginning my education. There is a bookseller who has some _ten
     thousand_ old tomes to tempt a poor man. However, here one has no
     vices or expenses except eating clotted cream, and a _duro_ crown
     piece wears a hole in your pocket before you are tempted to change
     it. The dollars accumulate, and I am reading my Bible and minding
     my purse. Spain is in a pretty state. Llauder[41] cannot be
     trusted, as he has been true to no one, not even to himself.
     Quesada is a violent man, without much statesmanlike tact; he is
     piqued with what happened to him at Madrid, when they were fools
     enough to set out with disgusting him. He is no Liberal in his
     heart, hates the English, likes the French, believes in the
     _Gazette de France_. I know him right well; he is _muy integro_,
     and has a sort of straightforward common sense.

     “Amarillas is, without any sort of doubt, the first man in Spain,
     and of the soundest political sentiments, a true friend to England,
     and most anxious to recognise the Americas, which he always told me
     _must_ be the first step to the welfare of Spain. He has property
     in Andalucia which has been ruined by the non-exportation of their
     oils.

     “My brother and his family (all most super-excellent people and of
     transcendental goodness) are quite well, and _the five Miss Fords_
     are the dearest friends.

     “I amuse myself much with old Spanish books and old Spanish
     recollections, and _have my pen in my hand_. The more I read, the
     more ignorant I find I am, and how the middle age of life has been
     mis-spent. I am rubbing up what I knew at eighteen and nineteen; it
     is an awful thing, now the world is so learned and the lower orders
     walking encyclopedias, to think of writing anything and printing.
     _Nous verrons_.”

Once settled at Exeter, Ford began to write an account of his Spanish
experiences. The pocketbooks, in which he had noted whatever had
impressed him in his travels or his reading, were brought out, and the
task was commenced with characteristic zest. But the book which he had
planned in 1834 was never written. Many circumstances led to the
abandonment of the design. For a time he was discouraged by Addington’s
criticisms. Then his literary ambitions were temporarily checked by the
passion for house-building and landscape-gardening; when these were
revived, they were fully occupied in the articles which, from 1836
onwards, he contributed to the _Quarterly Review_. Finally the material
which he had collected was embodied in _The Handbook for Spain_ (1845),
and the _Gatherings from Spain_ (1846).

The old pocket-books, filled with notes and sketches, revived pleasant
memories of Spain:--

                           EXETER, _March 10, 1834_.

     I have been rubbing up my notes on the coast of Andalucia, and have
     been in the _Bottegas of Xeres_, drinking the golden Consular;
     thence to Tarifa, and sucked a sweet orange with Guzman _el Bueno_.
     Thence to Gib., round of beef and porter at Griffiths’. So to
     Malaga; all sweet wine, raisins, and Consular uniforms. I cannot
     say how much the fighting one’s old battles over again delights me.
     I am afraid it will delight the gentle reader less. If I were to
     write familiar letters like old Howell,[42] perhaps they might do,
     but the times won’t stand that now. Penny Magazines are all the
     order of the day. Well! well! _dulce est desipere in loco_. I often
     think that one day would take me to Falmouth, and six to Cadiz to
     the society of the fair Brackybrigas, and another day _per_ steamer
     to the dark-eyed _Sevillanas_. Howbeit I have done with that
     bird-lime to the human race, _viscarium Diaboli_, as old St.
     Ambrose has it.

                           EXETER, _March 15, 1834_.

     I sent Head a sample of my wares, to see if the article would do
     for the public. He is a learned, dry antiquarian; that is not
     exactly my line. You wish me to write an entertaining book (how
     easy!!), _bagatella_, with anecdotes on men and manners. _Mores
     multorum vidit et urbes!_ A lady wished for scenery and sentiment.
     Heigho! true lovers’ knots and moonlight. I should wish to make a
     sort of _Puchero_, an _olla Andaluça_, a little dry _vacca_ à la
     Cook (that _cocinero_ has just turned out two volumes which I have
     sent for), a little _chorizo_ [sausage] and _jamon de las
     Alfujarras_, with some good pepper, _salsa_ [sauce] _de Zandunga_.

     Where you could most assist me would be in a droll account of life
     at Aranjuez or la Granja, which I never saw. I am strong in
     Religion (you did not know that), Arts, and all except the
     Literature; but I have an excellent Spanish library, and could in
     six weeks write such an essay on the matter as would appear to be
     the result of a greater acquaintance with their authors than I
     have. I have, indeed, turned over a good many pages in Spain, but
     it has been odd out-of-the-way reading.

     If you feel up to this task, it will be a _very, very_ great
     obligation, and will keep my book _correct_, and, I hope, cut out
     all that is offensive. I hope not to insert anything on politics,
     which I neither like nor understand. I must wait and see Captain
     Cook’s book. It will be heavy and correct; no taste, much industry
     (the plates ought to be _wood_ blocks): it will be very ligneous,
     no _pyro_ligneous _acid_--as stiff and bolt-upright as a mainmast.
     I do not see any possibility of getting the book done before next
     spring; it will take a year to write. I care not for Captain
     Heaphy, who will sail over the surface in an ice-boat. Captain Cook
     will go down _pondere suo_.

     It is a serious matter; but I have leisure, and nothing to do. This
     place is delicious: such a climate! such clotted cream! and an
     excellent public Library with all good books of reference.

                           EXETER, _March 26, 1834_.

     You should look at Captain Cook’s book (_Sketches in Spain_: Boone,
     Bond Street), dry, painstaking and accurate, better than I had
     expected by far. He understands the people better than the
     pictures. There he breaks down lamentably. But he is without taste,
     and does not know a Murillo from a mainmast. You will see a
     splendid sentence on old Ferdinand’s patronage of the Arts in
     giving the pictures to the Museum. I have always heard that it was
     the deed of the _Portuguesa_ and the Ms. de Santa Cruz, who was
     _Major duomo_. The D. of [?] told me that he and Santa Cruz spent
     days in rummaging them out. Ferdinand had sent them to the Devil to
     make room for some new French paper.

                           EXETER, _April 20, 1834_.

     I enclose you a batch of MSS. which will remind you of the
     despatches of Mark.

     The greatest act of real friendship you can show me is by not
     scrupling to use your pencil as freely as a surgeon would his
     knife, when he really thought the patient’s recovery required it. I
     write in haste always, and am more troubled to restrain and keep in
     matter, than for want of it.

     I want the book to run easy, to read easy, to be light and
     pleasant, not dry and pedantic. I get on but slowly, and do not see
     land. I feel the matter grow upon my hands in proportion as I get
     on. It is like travelling in the Asturias; when you get up one
     mountain, you see five or six higher before you. However, the coast
     is clear, and that able circumnavigator, Cook, will be drier than
     the Mummy of Cheops before my sheets will be dampt for printing.

     Do not forget to throw into an _omnium-gatherum_ any odd remarks
     about Madrid. If you get a copybook, when any stray _dyspeptic_
     observation occurs, book it, and I will work it up, as a gipsy does
     the stolen children of a gentleman, so that the parent shall not
     recognise it.

Addington’s criticism was in some respects discouraging. His diplomatic
caution was probably alarmed at Ford’s outspoken vigour, and he does not
seem to have read enough between the lines to recognise Ford’s real love
for Spain and the Spanish people. Ford’s reply shows his surprise at the
impression which he had produced on Addington.

                           _Sunday Evening_, EXETER, _May 4, 1834_.

     Your letter has knocked the breath out of my body, the ink out of
     my pen, the pen out of my hand. You have settled my _cacoethes_. I
     had no idea I was anything but a friend to the Spaniards. I do not
     think them brave, or romantic, but with many super-excellent
     qualities, all of which I should have duly praised. You cut out my
     wit! Head cuts out my poetry! and I shall cut the concern. What is
     to be done? I can’t write like Cook; I really wish to take in a
     very wide haul, and have very great materials. Religion must come
     in, or the Arts must go out. Politics and Poetry I care nothing
     for. Wit (if there is any),--it is not wit but a trick of stringing
     words together, and I cannot write a common letter, or say
     anything, without falling into these sort of absurdities. It would
     not be my book, if it was not so. I have a horror of _flippancy_.
     That is what I fear most, and am most likely to run into. There you
     may carbonado me, and I will kiss the rod. If you read the MSS., do
     not spare your pencil, and I will make great sacrifices to please
     you. Remember you only see an excursion. My early chapters on
     Seville will be historical, _prosaical_, and artistical.

     I should like you to read Faure or Bory St. Vincent,[43] and see
     how _they_ handle the Spaniards,--or some of the older works. Mine
     is milk and water to Napier. I always thought you prejudiced
     _against_ the Spaniards rather than in their favour, poor
     innocents! All about the grandees at Madrid, if you have stumbled
     on that, I will cut out with pleasure. At the same time, if you
     don’t agree in the book, I cannot be so right as I imagined, and
     had better have nothing to do with the concern, but read other
     people’s works instead of their reading mine.

     I have not the presumption to suppose my opinion to be worth yours
     in many important subjects. On some I think it is,--the lighter and
     more frivolous. I am a humble-minded author, as Head will tell you,
     very docile, and not at all irritable. I care not how much you cut
     out, as I have written for four volumes, and would rather write
     _two_.

     We will talk over the matter when I come to town, which will be
     soon. Meanwhile, read the MSS., and cut away. Spare not my
     pungency, and correct my mistakes. Cut out all that is flippant,
     personal, or offensive (the grandees, I admit, is both). Remember
     you have only the rough sketch. I have two years before me, and the
     lean kine of reflection will eat up the fat ones of the overflowing
     of young conceit and inexperience. I wish to write an amusing,
     instructive, and, more than all, a gentlemanlike book. I hold
     myself lucky that you and Head see it, and will abide by your
     dictations, and kiss the rod and your hand.

But the discouragement was not great enough to divert Ford from his
enterprise. The criticism did not cool his friendship. He was eager to
persuade Addington to settle near him, and once more sings the praises
of Exeter.

                           EXETER, _Saturday evening, 14 June, 1834_.

     Now that the show is over, and all the caps and gowns, stars and
     garters no more, I venture to indite you an epistle from the green
     fields of Devon; right pleasing and fresh are they after the dusty
     treadmill of _la Corte_. There are houses of all sorts from £50 a
     year to £_250_; one at that price is beautiful and fit for a
     Plenipo. (I have not fixed on anything myself, having been chiefly
     in bed with an infernal _urticaria_, _alias_ a nettle-rash.) The
     women, God be praised! are very ugly. Meat at 6_d_. a pound, butter
     seldom making 1_s_.; I am told in the London Buttometer it reaches
     18_d_. A Mr. Radford, who has a place to sell, has one gardener,
     who looks after two acres and three horses, all for a matter of £15
     or so a year. Servants go twice to church of a Sunday, and masters
     read family prayers, and make them work their bodies like galley
     slaves, _per contra_ the benefit conferred on their souls.

     The town is _pueblo levitico de hidalguia y algo aficionado a la
     Iglesia y al Rey absoluto_; otherwise quiet and literary:
     clergymen, physicians, colonels, plain £1000-a-year folk, given to
     talk about quarter sessions and the new road bill (if you will
     allow them). Otherwise a man goes quietly down hill here, _oblitus
     et obliviscendus_, reads his books (or those of the Institution),
     goes to church, and gets rich, which is very pleasurable and a
     novel feeling--better than the _romance_ of youth.

Once more the manuscript passed to and fro between the friends. But a
new and absorbing interest for a time diverted Ford’s energies from
literature. In the late summer of 1834 he bought an Elizabethan
cottage, called Heavitree House, near Exeter, standing in about twelve
acres of land. Here he gradually rebuilt and enlarged the house, laid
out the ground in terraces and gardens with Moorish-patterned flower
borders, and planted pines from the Pincian and cypresses from the
Xenil. The first mention of the purchase, in his correspondence with
Addington, occurs in a letter written from Oxford, September 13th, 1834.

     I am wandering (he says) _inter Academiæ silvas_, to my great
     delight, poring over old books in the Bodleian, and copying
     barge-boards and gable-ends, in order to ruin myself as
     expeditiously as possible at Heavitree.

Within and without, as time went on, he made the house and gardens
express his varied tastes. Old houses in and about Exeter furnished many
of the treasures which enriched his home. Thus the fireplace in the hall
came from an ancient house pulled down in Rack Street; the gates, the
staircase, much of the panelling and carved woodwork were brought from
“King John’s Tavern.” The cornice of the bathroom had once adorned the
Casa Sanchez in the Alhambra; the old Register chest from Exeter
Cathedral formed the case of the bath. Here, too, he stored his curious
library and exhibited many of the spoils of his foreign
travels--pictures, etchings, engravings, and specimens of Majolica ware.

For the moment books were laid aside for building and gardening. His
letters are filled with his new pleasure. In April 1835 the house began
to be habitable, although he is still “ashamed of it as _in presenti_;
there are beds but no kitchen,” and “it will hardly hold the
accumulation of books. I am sighing,” he adds, “to drink the sweet
waters of the Nile; and when my book is written, when my house is built,
and when I am ruined, shall go and economise in hundred-gated Thebes.”
Writing April 16th, 1834, he says:

     The move from Southernhay to Heavitree was accomplished in three
     most sunny days. All the books and other traps duly conveyed into
     Myrtle Bower to the tune of a triple bob major of the village
     bells. I have already begun digging, and moving plants; to-morrow
     comes my man of mortar to plan the kitchen. My pink thorn will be
     out in a month: quite a nosegay. You can’t think how snug my upper
     drawing-room looks, now it is full of books, ormolu, drawings, etc.
     I expect to see you here very shortly, as London must be detestable
     now O’Connell rules the land.

     The work of destruction (he writes a week later) proceeds as
     rapidly as Dr. Bowring or Lord Johnico could desire. The removal of
     the cob has let in a flood of light and a side view over my
     extensive landed estate. A part is preserved, overmantled with
     ancient ivy (the harbour of slugs, black-beetles, and earwigs),
     which is to be converted into a Moorish ruin, and tricked out with
     veritable _azulejo_ from the Alhambra. The myrtles only want an
     Andalucian _muchacha_ to be shrubs worthy of Venus. The foundations
     of the kitchen will be laid on a rock on Monday next. Meanwhile my
     cook roasts meat admirably with a nail and a string.

     I have no vote, or I would go ten miles on foot to record my
     contempt for that aristocratical prig, that levelling lordling.

     I have given up the pen for the hoe and spade, all a-delving and
     digging. I hope, however, in a week or so, that the _obra_ will be
     so far planned and definitely arranged as to send me back to my old
     books, which I find the best and surest of resources.

For one brief interval Ford was swept from his garden into the
excitement of political life. On April 8th, 1835, Sir Robert Peel and
his colleagues resigned office over the question of the Irish Church and
Irish Tithes. Under Lord Melbourne a new Government was formed, in which
Lord John Russell, as Home Secretary, was a member of the Cabinet.
Ministers offered themselves for re-election, and Lord John found his
seat in South Devonshire threatened by Mr. Parker. The contest was
keenly fought, excitement ran high, but in the end Mr. Parker won by
twenty-seven votes, and Lord John eventually found a seat at Stroud.

                           HEAVITREE HOUSE, _May 3 [1835], Friday Evening_.

     We had a drenching rain this morning; it had not rained for many
     weeks (it seldom rains except when testy gentlemen come down in
     July), but just when Lord Johnny came forward, the heavens poured
     forth their phials by buckets. The little man, “the widow’s mite,”
     could not be heard for the sweet acclamations of “O’Connell,” “The
     tail,” “Cut it short,” “Here’s the Bishop coming.” At every
     sentence was a chorus, “That’s a new lie.” All Devon was assembled.
     The Parker _mob_ very noisy and violent, but all yeomen and
     substantial farmers. Johnny’s crew a sad set, hired at 2/6ᵈ per
     man. He was supported by Lord Ebrington and Dr. Bowring.

     Bulteel proposed Johnny; seconded by Lillifant, a sort of a
     methodist, a member of the temperance society, which occasioned
     much fun and cries of “Heavy wet,” “Brandy.” Parker (a
     dandy-looking youth) was proposed in a loud, bold, and successful
     speech by Baldwin Fulford, Jr., and seconded in a quieter and
     gentlemanlike manner by Stafford Northcote (_fils_, the
     Wykehamist). By this time I was so wet that I made off for
     Heavitree, and found my myrtles just washed by a shower, etc.

     I dined yesterday with all the Rads, and sat next to Dr. Bowring.
     They do not seem over-confident. The Conservatives say that Parker
     has a numerical majority, as far as promises go, of 700. They say
     the Rads are spending money by sackfuls in inducing Parkerites not
     to vote at all.

     I dined the other day with _Episcopus_, who made grateful mention
     of your Excellency, and rejoices in the prospect of your arrival.
     So you are in for it, and have nothing to do but to give me notice,
     when my niggar shall stand at the _Ship_ in Heavitree to conduct
     you to my _house_. It is in a rare state of external
     mortarification; but the interior is tolerable, and there is ample
     accommodation for man and beast, master and man, or nags, and
     plenty of wholesome food for the mind and body.

For the next eighteen months there are but few allusions in Ford’s
letters to his literary plans, and still fewer to politics. Heavitree
was the absorbing occupation of his life.

     “Since you have been gone” (he writes to Addington, June 21st,
     1833), “I have laid the axe to the foot of the trees, and have cut
     down some twenty apples in my orchard, which has let in a great
     deal of light and sun, and rejoiced the green grass below. The
     weather delicious; thermometer 79 in the shade. I sit under my
     drooping elm and cock up my head when I read the works of Socrates,
     Plato, and Lady Morgan.

     “‘Les deux tiers de ma vie sont écoulés. Pourquoi m’inquieter sur
     ce qui m’en reste? La plus brillante fortune ne mérite point les
     tourments que l’on se donne. Le meilleur de tous les biens, s’il y
     a des biens, c’est le repos, la retraite, et un endroit qui soit sa
     domaine.’ There’s a black cat for your Excellency to swallow!”

Beyond his cob walls Ford scarcely cared, even in mind, to travel. But
in the affairs of his friends he was still deeply interested, and
especially in the marriages of Lord King and of Addington. On July 8th,
1835, Lord King (cr. 1838 Earl of Lovelace) was married to Augusta Ada,
only daughter of Byron.

     “The Baron’s bride” (he writes in June) “will be worthy of himself
     in name and fortune. I guessed who she was by his sighs and
     unpremeditated discoveries. La Bruyère says, ‘In friendship a
     secret is confided; in love _il nous échappe_.’ _Viva el Amor!_”

A few days later Ford returns to the subject:

     ‘Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart!’ From the Baron’s
     account she must be perfection, such a perfection as her father’s
     fancy and fine phrenzy rolling would have imagined. She is highly
     simple, hateth the city and gay world, and will not be likely to
     turn up her nose at you and me, the respectable aged friends of her
     lord.

     I believe the Baron has all the elements of domestic felicity in
     his composition, and it will go hard even if he did not make a good
     wife out of bad materials. But when the _prima materia_ is worthy
     of himself, we must expect a scion worthy of the descendants of
     Locke and Byron, the union of philosophical esteem with poetic
     ardour.

     The book does not progress as much as the chimneys. I never go
     beyond my cob walls, have never been out fishing, and probably
     never shall until you reappear in these regions.

Little more than a year later, Ford was writing to congratulate
Addington on his engagement.

                           HEAVITREE, _October 13, 1836_.

     DEAR ADDINGTON,

     You are right. From 20 to 40 a man takes a wife, as a mistress; and
     sometimes makes a mistake, gets tired, and wants to change horses.
     From 40 to 50 (sometimes 55) a man hugs a spouse to his bosom, for
     comfort and sweet companionship. When the hopes of youth, the
     heyday of manhood, the recklessness of health and prosperity are
     waning,--when he begins to know how few things answer, and how hard
     it is to depend on one’s own resources to pass well through the
     long day and longer night,--then it is not good to be alone. You
     have felt that, and have now chosen the right moment. Your wild
     oats are sown, a good crop of experience reaped, and you have found
     (and there is no mistake) that the solitary, selfish system won’t
     do.

     Happy, thrice happy are you to be able to bind yourself in those
     golden threads, woven by friendship, esteem and love! For love, a
     _sine quâ non_, must be tempered to become durable. _Felix quem
     faciunt aliena pericula cautum._

     You will find, after having had your own way so long, how much more
     it tends to peace of mind to give up and be nicely managed and
     taken care of. You may amuse yourself with the superintendence of
     your cellar, and keep a bottle of Valdepeñas for those old friends
     who may occasionally drop in, and twaddle about that fair land
     peopled by devils incarnate, male and female.

     I have no news. I am content to dig in my garden; like Candide, _il
     faut cultiver son jardin_--an innocent, refreshing occupation,
     which gives health to the body, peace to the mind, oblivion for the
     past, hopes for the future;--to do no more harm, if possible, and
     as much good,--to bury resentments and cultivate peace and
     goodwill, read my Bible and mind my purse, and thank my stars that
     matters are no worse.

     The Elizabethan apartment is finished and furnished. _Esta casa
     esta muy a la disposicion de V.E. y de mi Señora (cuyos pies beso)
     la Esposa de V.E._ I beg you will speak kindly of me to your fair
     bride, as I am anxious to stand well in her opinion. I have had the
     good fortune hitherto to have lost neither of two old friends who
     have recently married.

     If your Reading plan fails, there are really some very nice places
     within 5 and 8 miles of Exon, cheap and delightful. You can make
     the place your headquarters, if you have a fancy to look for
     habitations amid the green valleys of Devon.

     So, with the best and sincerest wishes for the unmixed and long
     happiness of Bride and Bridegroom, and it can hardly fail to be so,
     believe me,

                           Ever most truly yours,

                           RICHARD FORD.



Addington was married on November 17th, 1836, to Eleanor Anne, eldest
daughter of T. G. Bucknall Estcourt, M.P. Meanwhile Heavitree rapidly
approached completion. Three weeks later Ford announces (December 9th,
1836) that his house was ready. “Heavitree,” he says, “is finished and
furnished, and really is a little gem in its way. The _Episcopus_ has
been to dine here, and, as he dines nowhere, it is rather an honour and
has infused an odour of sanctity over my cell.”

It is not perhaps singular, after so long a devotion to building, that
the first article which Ford contributed to the _Quarterly Review_
should have been dedicated to “Cob Walls.” The substance of the article
seems from the following letter (February 27th, 1837) to have been a
paper read before the Exeter _Athenæum_. Among the audience was William
Nassau Senior, whose praise led Lockhart to ask to publish it in the
_Quarterly_.

     Cob, depend upon it, is indestructible. I am about next week to
     read a learned paper on that very subject at the Athenæum, which I
     will send you, with a chapter on Spanish Comedy.

     The house at Heavitree is now in really a very habitable state, and
     the gardens beginning to put on their spring livery. I was heartily
     glad to get out of that plague-stricken, foggy,
     heart-and-soul-withering city of London, where I was detained more
     than a month by the illness of my boy, who is still far from well
     and unable to return to his tutor. I am occupied in the parental
     task of teaching him chess and the Greek alphabet. I saw very few
     of our mutual friends in London, as I was, like the rest of
     mankind, under the lowering influenza.

     I have no news here,--leading a humdrum life amid my flowers and
     books, with a clean tongue and dirty hands, _oblitus et
     obliviscendus_.

Ford’s article on “Cob Walls” well illustrates his literary methods. The
mass of miscellaneous learning, which is concentrated on an unpromising
subject, is so humorously handled as to be entirely free from pedantry.
He traces the use of the material from the time of Cain to that of
modern peasants in France and Spain, from the walls of Babylon to the
white villages of Andalusia. Finally he hazards the bold speculation
that it was introduced into the West of England by Phœnician traders.
But, interspersed with doubtful theories and historical and classical
lore, are clear directions and practical rules for the composition and
employment of a material which is almost indestructible, if it is
protected from damp above and below, or has, to quote the Devonshire
saying, a good hat and a pair of shoes.

Encouraged by his success, Ford was already engaged on other literary
subjects, when his work was interrupted by the death of his wife, who
had long been in delicate health. The news is communicated to Addington
in the following letter:--

                           _Monday_ [_15 May, 1837_], 123, PARK STREET [LONDON].

     You will be sadly shocked with the melancholy import of this
     letter; indeed I am so overwhelmed that I hardly know how to
     express myself. My poor wife died yesterday morning! She, as you
     know, never was well, and latterly has suffered from excruciating
     headaches which deprived her entirely of rest. Last Sunday week she
     was seized

[Illustration: Emery Walker Ph Sc.

Harriet Ford

first wife of Richard Ford

1830.]

     with a sort of paralysis of the brain and loss of speech. She
     remained a few days sensible and recognising those who came into
     the room; but on Friday all consciousness was gone, and she
     yesterday morning at quarter past 9 breathed her last. I am
     dreadfully afflicted.




CHAPTER VI

HEAVITREE, NEAR EXETER

(1837-1845)

     LITERARY WORK--ENGAGEMENT AND SECOND MARRIAGE--ARTICLES IN THE
     _QUARTERLY REVIEW_--PREPARATIONS FOR A TOUR ON THE
     CONTINENT--PROMISE TO WRITE THE _HANDBOOK FOR TRAVELLERS IN
     SPAIN_--DELAYS AND INTERRUPTIONS--GEORGE BORROW--REVIEWS OF THE
     _ZINCALI_ AND THE _BIBLE IN SPAIN_--SUPPRESSION OF THE FIRST
     EDITION OF THE _HANDBOOK_--FINAL PUBLICATION--THE _FELICIDADE_.


By his wife’s death Ford was left with the sole care of the two
daughters and the son, who alone survived out of the six children born
to them. He continued to live on at Heavitree, planning improvements in
his house and garden, busy with his books and pen. During the first few
months of 1837 he contributed two articles to the _Quarterly
Review_.[44] He also published his first independent work, _An
Historical Inquiry into the Unchangeable Character of a War in Spain_,
in which he made a lively, vigorous reply, from a Tory point of view,
to a pamphlet written in defence of Lord Palmerston’s attitude towards
Spain, _The Policy of England towards Spain_.

As usual, his work was submitted to Addington for criticism.

     In your miserable days of celibacy (he writes to his friend in May
     1837) you waded through much of my MSS. Now I only trouble you with
     print, as you have less time to devote to those solitary
     occupations. I send you the proofs of a review on Pückler Muskau.
     Will you skim it over, and send it back _per_ twopenny post? If you
     object to anything, or can add a barb or sting to any critical
     fish-hook, do so.

     You will see “Cob” in the last number of the _Quarterly_. _Viva Don
     Carlos!_

Addington’s criticisms were gratefully received, and his suggestions
generally adopted. But Ford could not, if he had wished, write otherwise
than he was. He had the good sense to know, and not to attempt, the
impossible.

     Many thanks for your valuable critical emendations, which have been
     duly and thankfully introduced. I fear my _liberal_ education and
     foreign travel will never enable me to spell either my own or any
     other language. You can form no idea how very difficult it is for a
     hasty, _currente calamo_, slipshod writer like me to form a
     critical, sober, proper style. That stile is always in my way, as
     it is in the country; I shall never, I fear, change my old into the
     new stile, nor get my writing stile, _stilus_, sufficiently
     pointed, although whetted on so excellent a bone as your Excellency
     is. You are quite qualified to be the Editor of the _Quarterly
     Review_, and I wish you were, for I wonder Lockhart overlooks the
     manifest flaws you detect.

     I am by no means averse to the _limæ labor_, and am really anxious
     to turn out my wares in a workmanlike manner; I often take more
     pains with them than you or my readers will give me credit for.

Between July 1837 and April 1838 Ford contributed nothing to the
_Review_. Beyond putting the final touches to articles already prepared
for the press, his pen was idle. He had become engaged to a lady whom he
had known intimately for several years, the Hon. Eliza Cranstoun, sister
of the tenth Lord Cranstoun. On October 7th, 1837, he writes of his
engagement to Addington:

     As the affair has been the unceasing nine days’ wonder of this part
     of the world, it is no longer a secret, and has been duly
     communicated to Lord Essex. Therefore you may participate to the
     fair partner of your joys the important secret so long concealed in
     the diplomatic depths of your silent bosom, “_un secreto de
     importanza_.” I hope in due time that these ladies will meet, and
     like each other, and be equally of opinion, that no men make such
     excellent, super-excellent husbands as those who have lived in the
     world, been in Spain, and _not been_ there for three or four years.

     Be assured that there is no truth in my selling my Alhambra. My
     Sultana, who disposes of me, and my house, and all, is pleased with
     the idea of leading a loving, rational, quiet life there. The
     Moorish tower is finished, and covered with arabesque _Lienzo_
     work, and is prettier than the Puerta del Vino of the Alhambra.

The marriage took place February 24th, 1838, and Mr. and Mrs. Ford began
life together at Heavitree.

                           HEAVITREE, _March 6, 1838_.

     Your kind and friendly letter (as all indeed have been and are) was
     duly and gratefully received by me, and dutifully communicated to
     that sweet person in whose keeping I have placed myself and my
     happiness, and, having done so, my perturbed spirit is at rest.
     This ceremony took place on the 24th, at Stoke Gabriel, a beautiful
     little hamlet in one of those quiet sequestered nooks on the Dart,
     where the woods slope into the clear waters, a locality _dulces qui
     suadet amores_. She was very nervous and affected, but went
     through the trying scene with that purity, grace, and propriety
     which mark all she says or does. I was nervous, but very collected,
     and think few men were more aware than I was, how much and entirely
     the future depends on the husband. I am not afraid of myself, and
     less of her. We returned to Sandridge, and in the afternoon
     proceeded quietly to this quiet cell, gladdened with the sunny
     presence of a cheerful, contented mistress. She is highly pleased
     with her abode _and_ (I am pleased to say) with the master. All is
     placed at her _disposicion_. Indeed, since you were here so much
     has been done, internally and externally, that you would not know
     the place. I am in hopes, now there is a fit personage to receive
     her, that some day _die gnädige Frau Gesandterrinn_ (_C.P.B._) will
     honour this (her) house. The Moorish trellis-walk and the tower are
     worth seeing. We are expecting Lord Cranstoun here to-day, and King
     on the 10th. Strange that he should come to witness my hymeneals,
     as we did his. We shall then proceed reluctantly to London. I have
     got rid of my house in Jermyn Street at a sad loss of coin, but a
     great gain of peace. I am still hampered with the _Casita_ in
     Lowndes Street, where my children are. I hope this year to get rid
     of that, and then to pitch my tent here, far from the _opes
     strepitumque Romæ_. I am going to build a small Britzka, and have
     bought another nag, which goes well in harness with my old horse,
     you will remember. Madame rides well, and has a beautiful horse
     which her brother has given her. We think of driving up to town,
     and be not therefore surprised at an intimation that we may take
     you in the way for a night. I will present you to my spouse, and
     you will do me the same service by yours, to whom I in anticipation
     offer my profound respects. I meditate an article on Spanish
     Heraldry and on Bull-fighting. So farewell. Cherish your spouse,
     and think no more of the past nor _las tierras calientes_.

The two articles to which Ford alludes at the close of the letter were
published before the end of the year. Both were full of curious
information gleaned from a wide field. The article on “Bull Fights” is
remarkably complete and exhaustive, and is especially interesting from
the personal observation which lightens the historical details. Before
publication it had been submitted to Addington for criticism.

                           HEAVITREE, _Aug. 16, 1838_.

     Many thanks for your tororesque notices. I have finished the
     paper,--_opus exegi_,--having worked incessantly for a fortnight
     five or six hours a day. The MSS. goes up with this to the
     printer’s. I have begged him to send you a proof: will you be so
     kind as to run it over, and forward it here _per_ mail _quam
     primum_? Never mind correcting the press, except _the Spanish_.

     The article is long, and I am not afraid of your Excellency’s
     shears, and will gladly avail myself of any proposed excisions or
     additions. Any word or idea more pungent than my poor thoughts
     might be pencilled in the margin. The article is extremely learned
     and tororesque. I think the old subject is treated newly. I hope
     Murray will treat me to £36 15_s._, as gaunt poverty flits about my
     gilded ceiling. I wish you could see the dining-room, all blue,
     red, yellow, and green _à la_ Mamhead, very gay and brilliant.
     Madame is quite well and happy, and salutes your _dimidium vitæ
     animæque_. We are going next week for a few days to Sandridge, a
     place of her brother’s. I shall then hurry back to correct the
     press. I intend _summing_ up with a few general remarks on the
     moral tendency and effect on Spanish character produced by the
     bull-fight. If you have ever philosophically cogitated thereon,
     favour me with a few “‘ints.” My idea is that the Spaniards were
     cruel and ferocious before they had bull-fights; that bull-fights
     are rather an effect than a cause, albeit they reciprocate now;
     that the savage part is lost on them from early habit; that the
     sporting feeling predominates; and that strangers are hardly fair
     judges, for they feel _first_ excitement, then bore, then disgust;
     _bore_ the predominant. Still, the whole is magnificent, though the
     details (like Paris) are miserable. I should like to have a neat
     peroration, and am going to meditate on the subject in those shady
     groves which hang over the clear Dart, where we as bachelors used
     to toil and catch no fish, and where I caught that fish which has
     swallowed up all others and all my cares besides.

_Spanish Bull-feasts and Bull-fights_ created something of a sensation
in the literary world. It was noticed with high praise in the journals
of the time, and Ford writes to thank Addington for an extract which he
had himself overlooked.

                           HEAVITREE, _December 5 [1838]_.

     The critique is so palatable, that I beg you will not think I wrote
     it myself. Pray, as you will be in franking-land, let me know
     whence you extracted it. I am delighted. I want people to think
     that I _could_, if I wished, write a d--d, long, dry, serious
     essay, which they would _not_ read. The political pepper flavours
     the _Puchero_, and it is exactly _that_ that makes Lockhart write
     to me that all the world cries “Bravo!”

     I am buttered by Murray, and considered a man of _deep research_.
     _Dii boni!_ and people _regret_ that I “should _persifler_, and
     amuse, instead of boring.”

Ford had undertaken a review of Prescott’s _Ferdinand and Isabella_, “an
admirable book,” he tells Addington, “the _best_ book ever written by a
Yankee.” But he found the task difficult. On February 9th, 1839, he
writes to Addington from his mother’s house in London:--

     Your letter followed me to this foggy, careworn abode of attorneys,
     and men who sow tares in the corn of human happiness. I have been
     up here nearly three weeks, to my infinite worry and the fret of an
     absent and disconsolate spouse, about mortgages and the devil knows
     what of my own and my mother. I hope to get back again to my
     pleasant house _et placens uxor_ before the end of next week.

     All these breaks interfere sadly with literary pursuits. The
     rolling stone gathers no moss. Prescott, promised half a year ago,
     is not yet begun! In fact, I blink, bolt, shy and jib from the
     task. Meanwhile, to keep my pen in, I have written a lightish
     article on _Ronda and Granada_, which looks well in print, and will
     come out in the next number, and Prescott in the June number.

     I have read Gurwood attentively, which took six weeks, and never
     were six weeks better employed. Murray tells me that the Duke cut
     out as much more as would have made six more volumes. What a pity!
     But they will be printed when that great man is gone. _Serus in
     cœlum redeat!_

     Do you know that I am _up_ in the market, and that my articles are
     thought No. 1, Letter A,--clear grit? I am fed by those who usually
     feed lions, and curious people are asked to meet _me_. This is not
     unamusing. I have seen “Sam Slick” (Haliburton); Scrope, who wrote
     that charming book on _Deer Stalking_; Jones of the Alhambra,
     Marryat, etc., and I do not know who. Murray feeds well, and his
     claret is particular; “Bulls” £36 15_s._; so my papers rise in
     value. Lockhart’s _Ballads_ are to be republished, and I rather
     think that I am to edit them. All this looks like turning author.
     Who would have thought it? and to have a character for most
     profound reading and research! _Dii boni!_

     I met a friend of yours yesterday at Lockhart’s--Mr. Best: we had a
     pleasant dinner; Scrope and Lord Selkirk, great shooters and
     fishers, whose healthy exploits gave a game flavour to the blue men
     around them. If I remained here, neither head, nor legs, nor
     _entrañas_ could do their work. It is all very well now and then.
     But _oh rus! quando te aspiciam_? Not but what, if I had £5000 a
     year, I would spend three months in this metropolis to rub off
     rust, keep up acquaintances, and hear the news up to Saturday
     night.

Six weeks later he was still engaged on his task. He writes from
Heavitree, April 2nd, 1839:--

     I have been occupied, since my return to these myrtle bowers, in a
     review on Prescott’s _Ferdinand and Isabella_. I ought to have done
     it long ago; but I deferred and deferred. _Mañana, mañana!_ I find
     it a tougher job than I had expected, and almost think that I have
     undertaken a task for which I am unfit. However, _stultorum numerus
     est infinitus_, and I presume on people knowing less than myself.
     It will be a mighty dull, learned, and historical affair.

     I am not very well, as I cannot sleep. I never can when I write,
     and believe you are right to hunt and fish, the original
     _délassement_ of a gentleman.

At last _Ferdinand and Isabella_ was finished and published. The article
deals more with the subject than with the book. It is, however,
important from the new lights which it throws upon the period, drawn
from the writer’s intimate knowledge, not only of the history, but of
the country and the people. Some trace of effort appears in the unusual
elaboration. But another article which was printed in the same number
of the _Quarterly_ was in Ford’s most characteristic vein. This was a
review of _Oliver Twist_. In a letter dated April 29th, 1839, he had
asked Addington’s opinion of Dickens’ style, and given his own view. “I
am inclined to think it,” he says, “the reaction from the Silver Fork
school and the Rosa Matildas, ‘_car le dégoût du beau amène le goût du
singulier_.’” He also regarded the book as a product and a sign of
democratic times. Both the literary and political theories are developed
in the _Quarterly_, where he describes “Boz” as “a lively half-bred colt
of great promise, bone and action,--sire, ‘Constantine the Great,’--dam,
‘Reform.’”

“Constantine the Great” is Constantine Henry Phipps, first Marquis of
Normanby, and the most distinguished of the “prattling scribbling
Phippses.” His kid-glove novels and romances, founded on actual
occurrences in society, tickled the curiosity of the public. Newspapers
still further pandered to the same taste; “Perry and Stewart led the way
by chronicling and posting the dinners, wooings, and marriages of high
life.” But a diet of water gruel palled, and the patient “clamoured for
beef and stout.” Sickened of the “smooth confectionery style,”
“disgusted with die-away _divorcées_ and effeminate man-milliners,” the
public fled in despair to “rude, rough, human, ‘Dusty-Bob’ nature.” Such
was Ford’s explanation of the appearance of _Oliver Twist_. As a Tory,
and an Irish mortgagee, he was no doubt pleased to treat the author of
_Matilda_, and _Yes or No_ as one of these “Catilines in politics and
literature” who had helped forward “a depraved taste” and “the
degradation of the higher classes, whether monarchical, clerical, or
aristocratical.” Not only had Lord Normanby changed sides and deserted
the Tories for the Liberals, but, as Lord Lieutenant of Ireland
(1835-39), his attempt to conciliate O’Connell, his patronage of the
Catholic Party, and his leniency towards political crime, had, in the
opinion of his opponents, endangered the very existence of law and
order. Politics apart, the review shows a keen appreciation of the
genius and faults of Dickens. It concludes with a just tribute to the
haunting power of George Cruikshank, for whom Ford demands admission to
the rank of a Royal Academician: “We are really surprised that such
judges as Wilkie, Landseer, Leslie, Allan, etc., have not ere now
insisted on breaking through all puny laws, and giving this man of
undoubted genius a diploma.”

The last months of the year were spent in preparations for a tour
abroad. Addington and his wife were also going, and were to meet the
Fords at Rome.

     Many thanks (writes Ford, August 4th, 1839) for all your valuable
     hints. I rather incline to cross over from Weymouth to Cherbourg,
     or, if not so, from Southampton to Jersey and St. Malo. As I intend
     to go through the south, it will be _autant de gagné sur la belle
     France_. I take it we shall have bad inns between St. Malo and
     Toulouse. _No hay atajo sin trabajo_ [no convenience without
     inconvenience]. We shall follow your steps with due respect, and, I
     hope, meet in the Eternal City.

     I progress greatly in design, and am washing in skies which are
     heavier than lead. I reckon on _your_ portable library and beg to
     tell you that I take Shakespeare, Burton’s _Rome_, and Conder’s
     _Italy_, which will always be _á la disposicion de V.E. y de mi
     Señora la Esposa de V.E. (C.P.B.)_

     I have just bought a charming Britzka here which was made at
     Vienna, and shall therefore jog down with all my traps, pictorial
     and piscatorial. I am sorry that you do not take your rod and line.
     How little room they will take! and _quien sabe?_ Who knows what
     trout spring in Terni’s fall? I never was so agog for migration,
     and intend to go the whole Continental hog.

     You will have the pleasure of seeing your old friend Sir Richard
     Ottley at Naples,--he who asked us to dine at 5 to meet the Miss
     Barings. We will not dine with him at Naples, be his macaroni
     royal. His daughter has turned Roman Catholic: so much for taking
     imaginative maidens into the glowing climes of Italian _Abates_.

     We have been all gaieties here. The great squires have been giving
     _déjeuners_, with archery and pine-apples, under tents. We will eat
     _polpette_, drink Orvieto in the Eternal City, and grow young and
     forget years and care.

Ford returned from the Continent in July 1840. Of his travels no account
exists, as he journeyed in company with Addington, who alone preserved
his letters. But he writes, September 7th, 1840, to welcome his friend
back to England from “the land of macaroni and sour crout.”

     Did you (he asks) get a letter from me at Milan? It contained an
     account of my Sicilian trip and of our hurried flight home. We
     drove through France as hard as four horses could go, and crossed
     from Havre on the 14th of July--nine months to a day.

     Meanwhile we are slowly recovering from the vast scarifications and
     bleedings of _Italia cum Gallia_. I am afraid to look at all the
     items; I should like to see your sum total. _N’importe!_ It was a
     gallant trip, and shed a flood of new light and sources of future
     reading, writing, and drawing on one’s mind.

     When you were in Rome I asked you to lend me your _Minaño,
     diccionario de España_. I am going to do a handbook for Spain for
     Murray, and we have not been able to get a Minaño in London. I will
     take the greatest care of it, and send you an early copy of the
     book when written and when published--when!!--for your fee. Will
     you pack

[Illustration:

Antonio Chatelain Pinx     Emery Walker Ph Sc.

Richard Ford

1840.]

     it up and send it me _per_ coach? I hope to do the little book
     before February.

_The Handbook for Travellers in Spain_, here first mentioned, seems to
have been undertaken almost in jest. In 1839, when Ford was dining with
John Murray, the publisher, his host asked him to recommend a man to
write a Spanish guide-book. “I will do it myself,” replied Ford, and
thought no more on the subject. But, after his return from abroad,
Murray definitely asked him to write the book. His estimate of the time
necessary to complete the work proved far too moderate. Instead of six
months, the myrtle and ivy-clad garden-house at Heavitree, to which he
retired as a study, was for nearly five years the scene of his labours.
Week after week he sat at his inky deal table, clad in his Spanish
jacket of black sheepskin, surrounded by shelves laden with
parchment-clad folios and quartos, by pigeon-holes crammed with notes to
repletion, and by piles of manuscript which gradually encumbered the
chairs and floor. Here he entertained his visitors with his
book-rarities, and poured forth his complaints, half serious, half
humorous, of the slavery to which he had condemned himself.

In spite of its modest title, the _Handbook_ is really a most
entertaining encyclopedia of Spanish history and antiquities, religion
and art, life and manners. But the slavery might have been less
protracted if it had been mitigated by fewer distractions. Nor had Ford
acquired the habit of prolonged labour on a lengthy subject. Review
writing had encouraged him in the short bursts of literary industry,
concentrated on a comparatively restricted field, which were most
congenial to his natural tastes and character. No doubt, as time went
on, and as he realised the magnitude of his task, he grew heartily weary
of the _Handbook_. But it may be doubted whether the form is not the
best that, under the circumstances, he could have chosen. At all events,
no trace of effort appears in the lively vivacious style which
communicated to the reader a prodigious mass of information in the
easiest possible manner.

More than two months passed before the book was begun. Even then it was
interrupted by other literary work.

                           HEAVITREE, _13 September, 1840_.

     The Minaños are duly arrived, and to-morrow will leave this library
     for a den in a cottage here in my garden, where I am going to
     retire and compose _Handbook_. What a mass of matter the said
     Minaño contains, and how will it be simmered down into a gallipot
     guide-book?

     I have no news yet of the macaroni; but it is in London. Let me
     know how you feel as to sharing in the _rotuli_. There is no
     delicacy in refusing, if the taste be swamped by eating German sour
     crout, as there are more amateurs for that article hereabouts than
     for Rafaello ware. By the way, I could indeed turn one honest penny
     by those pots and plates, having been offered _guineas_ for what
     cost _scudi_, and having weeded my collection very nearly to the
     amount of the prime cost. The marbles are still in the agents’
     custody, as I have nowhere to put them here. But buying what one
     does not want is the veritable malaria of the Via Babuino.

     The weather is so delicious that I have not the heart to begin
     work. I take a lesson every day in drawing, and am going through
     the whole of my sketches, which then will be put in a huge book. It
     is wonderful, as in the case of Spain, how they carry you back to
     scenes long forgotten, and awaken a million events hived in the
     brain, which, like dewdrops on the boughs, only fall when touched!
     There’s a go!

     I don’t wonder at the contending elements that are now fermenting
     in your noddle. They will all settle down into a delicious elixir
     to sweeten future existence, and make cheerful the domestic
     fireside when a lull comes--which will happen, and indeed ought to
     happen, as we can’t be always living on cayenne and lollypops.

                           _November 6, 1840._

     I assure you I have been so scared about war, and the exposed site
     of Heavitree between Exmouth and Exeter, that I have been
     meditating moving up land my Wilsons and _roba fina_. However, I
     think the storm is clearing away. _Vive_ Louis Philippe!

     While you are hunting of foxes, I am going to hunt through Minaño.
     I begin Spanish Handbook next week.

                           _Wednesday, November 18, 1840._

     The Minaños frighten me, like the great Genius did the Arabian
     fisherman. How am I to get this mass into the small pot or
     duodecimo handbook?

     Handbook lingers. I have made no progress, and am tempted to give
     it up. I am all for the sublime and beautiful, sententious and
     sesquipedalian. I can’t cool my style to the tone of a way-bill.

Gradually the work shaped itself in his mind and in print.

     “Part of Handbook” (he writes, January 14th, 1841) “is gone to
     press.” “I am meditating” (he says, February 16th, 1841) “a serious
     go at the Handbook, and have got about forty pages of preliminary
     remarks in print, which I am told are amusing. I have written them
     off like a letter, _sermone pedestri_, without, however, forgetting
     the _ajo y cibolla_ [garlic and onion].”

On March 26th, 1841, the first batch was sent to Addington.

     “I send you a few sheets of Handbook. If your eyes will permit you
     to run through it, pray correct any error or make any suggestion. I
     have done about fifty pages (letterpress) more. The object I have
     is to combine learning with facetiousness, _utile dulci_.”

                           _April 11, 1841_.

     The print is damnable, and what is worse is the enormous quantity
     it takes to a page. All this preliminary part, which will run to
     two hundred pages, is an after-thought of mine. Murray only
     bargained for distances and mere lionizing. It appears to me that
     the traveller in a _Venta_ will thank me for an amusing bit of
     reading. How often have I cursed Starke[45] for the contrary, and I
     hope to give a true insight into Spanish manners.

                           _May 4, 1841._

     I have already expunged the bits that you objected to, and the
     sheets read all the better for it. I grieve deeply that the print
     is so execrable. But you cannot tell what a service your sound
     censorship is. I write _currente calamo_ in a sort of
     slip-slap-and-shod style both as to matter and language. It comes
     boiling over like a soda-water bottle, and I cannot help it. I
     daresay that, if I had more time, I should make it _worse_, as it
     would be more laboured.

                           _November 3, 1841._

     I am not so bigoted a Carlist as to think all reform a wilderness.
     But my antiquarian, artistical and _romantic_ predilections make me
     grieve at seeing barbarous destructives overturning in an hour the
     works of ages of taste and magnificence. This age can only destroy:
     witness cheap, compo churches _versus_ cathedrals.

     I am getting very slowly on. But I hope it may be done by May or
     June. I intend in a short preface to allude to the “state of
     transition” of the moment. But some things are fixed--country,
     ruins, battlefields, history of the past. All that can be pointed
     out. I am only afraid it will be _too_ good.

                           _November 18, 1841._

     I am sick of Handbook. I meditate bringing out the first volume,
     the _preliminary_ and the most difficult, early next spring. It is
     nearly completed. It is a series of essays, and has plagued me to
     death. The next volume will be more mechanical and
     matter-of-fact--what Murray wanted; and I am an ass for my pains.
     I have been throwing pearly articles into the trough of a
     road-book. However, there will be stuff in it.

Weary of the _Handbook_, Ford turned from it with relief to a subject
after his own heart. In 1841 George Borrow published his _Zincali; or an
Account of the Gypsies in Spain_. Interested both in the writer and his
work, his own mind absorbed in Spanish life, Ford laid aside the
_Handbook_ to write an article on the book, which he had himself
recommended to Murray for publication. His article ultimately appeared
in the _British and Foreign Review_ (No. XXVI., p. 367).

     I have made acquaintance (he tells Addington, January 14th, 1841)
     with an extraordinary fellow, _George Borrow_, who went out to
     Spain to convert the _gipsies_. He is about to publish his failure,
     and a curious book it will be. It was submitted to my perusal by
     the hesitating Murray.

     Borrow is done (he writes November 3rd, 1841), and I daresay will
     soon be printed. I took the greatest pains with it, and Lockhart,
     on reading a portion, wrote to me that it was “perfect”--a great
     word from a man not prodigal of praise.

In an undated letter to John Murray, he says:

     I have written a very careful review of Borrow’s _Gypsies_, with
     which Lockhart seems well pleased. The book has created a great
     sensation far and wide. I was sure it would, and I hope you think
     that when I read the MS. my opinion and advice were sound.

     I have now a letter from Borrow telling me that he has nearly
     completed his _Bible in Spain_. I have given him much advice,--to
     avoid Spanish historians and _poetry_ like Prussic acid; to stick
     to himself, his biography, and queer adventures. He writes: “I
     shall attend to all your advice. The book will consist entirely of
     my personal adventures, travels, etc., in that country during five
     years. I met with a number of strange characters, all of whom I
     have introduced; the most surprising of them is my Greek servant,
     who accompanied me in my ride of 1500 miles.”

     The author writes again, November 8th: “_The Bible in Spain_ is a
     rum, very rum, mixture of gipseyism, Judaism, and missionary
     adventure, and I have no doubt will be greedily read.”

     I have some thoughts of asking him down here with his MS., and
     pruning it a little for him.

An early copy of _The Bible in Spain_ seems to have been given to Ford
by John Murray. In a letter[46] to the publisher he thus describes its
character.

     I read Borrow with great delight all the way down per rail, and it
     shortened the rapid flight of that velocipede. You may depend upon
     it that the book will sell, which, after all, is the rub. It is the
     antipodes of Lord Carnarvon, and yet how they tally in what they
     have in common, and that is much--the people, the scenery of
     Galicia, and the suspicions and absurdities of Spanish
     Jacks-in-office, who yield not in ignorance or insolence to any
     kind of red-tapists, hatched in the hot-beds of jobbery and
     utilitarian mares-nests. Borrow spares none of them. I see he hits
     right and left, and floors his man whenever he meets him. I am
     pleased with his honest sincerity of purpose and his graphic abrupt
     style. It is like an old Spanish ballad, leaping _in medias res_,
     going from incident to incident, bang, bang, bang, hops, steps, and
     jumps like a cracker, and leaving off like one, when you wish he
     would give you another touch or _coup de grâce_.

     He really puts me in mind of Gil Blas; but he has not the sneer of
     the Frenchman, nor does he gild the bad. He has a touch of Bunyan,
     and, like that enthusiastic tinker, hammers away, _à la Gitano_,
     whenever he thinks he can thwack the Devil or his man-of-all-work
     on earth--the Pope. Therein he resembles my friend and everybody’s
     friend--_Punch_--who, amidst all his adventures, never spares the
     black one.

     However, I am not going to review him now; for I know that Mr.
     Lockhart has expressed a wish that I should do it for the
     _Quarterly Review_. Now, a wish from my liege master is a command.
     I had half engaged myself elsewhere, thinking that he did not quite
     appreciate such a _trump_ as I know Borrow to be. He is as full of
     meat as an egg, and a fresh-laid one--not one of your Inglis breed,
     long addled by over-bookmaking. Borrow will lay you golden eggs,
     and hatch them after the ways of Egypt; put salt on his tail and
     secure him in your coop, and beware how any poacher coaxes him with
     ‘raisins’ or reasons out of the Albemarle preserve.

     When you see Mr. Lockhart tell him that I will do the paper. I owe
     my entire allegiance to the _Q. R._ flag.... Perhaps my
     understanding the _full force_ of this “gratia” makes me
     over-partial to this wild Missionary; but I have ridden over the
     same tracks without the tracts, seen the same people, and know that
     he is true, and I believe that he believes all that he writes to be
     true.

Before the book appeared, Ford had already begun a review of the
work,[47] the progress of which he reports to Addington: “Borrow has
got,” says a letter dated June 28th, 1842, “a very singular book coming
out--_The Bible in Spain_--the place where one would be the least likely
to meet it.” “How gat it there?” he asks later (November 21st), and
describes the book as “a sort of Gil Blas and Bunyan rolled together.”
His review came out in the _Edinburgh Review_ for February 1843 (vol.
lxxvii. pp. 105-38).

     I have been very busy (he writes, December 16th, 1842) about
     Borrow’s _Bible in Spain_. It is a most curious book, and mind you
     read it, if you can steal a moment. In the last _Quarterly_ there
     is a paper by Lockhart, principally extracts, which will only give
     you a slight notion of the contents of the _chorizo_ [sausage]. The
     first sentence will amuse you, in which Lockhart grieves that he
     let slip my gipsy paper.[48] I would have done one for the
     _Quarterly Review_, but he only could give me five days. That was
     enough to write with _a pair of scissors_, but not quite for such a
     paper as the subject deserved. So I have done a _grandis et verbosa
     epistola_, which has been offered to the _Ed. Rev._, and graciously
     accepted with many civil speeches. It is very careful, enters into
     the philosophy of Spanish fanaticism, etc., very anti-Gallican.

Borrow, writing to John Murray, February 25th, 1843, alludes to the
_Edinburgh_ article as “exceedingly brilliant and clever, but rather too
epigrammatic, quotations scanty and not correct. Ford is certainly a
most astonishing fellow; he quite flabbergasts me--handbooks, reviews,
and I hear that he has just been writing a ‘Life of Velasquez’ for the
_Penny Cyclopædia_.” But Ford’s infidelity to the orthodox organ
provoked a characteristic note from the Duke of Wellington: “My dear Mr.
Ford,” he wrote, “you think the Lord will forgive your former
Whiggishisms: I daresay He may, but the Devil will have his due, and the
contributions to the _Edinburgh_ are items in his account.” With these
and many other interruptions, the _Handbook_ had made slow progress.
Still, in its first draft, it was approaching completion.

                           HEAVITREE, _Jan. 10, 1843_.

     How you must have disported in rural idleness. _Oh Rus!_ Here we
     have enough of it, and too much of local festivities. How the
     excise can fall off I can’t imagine. Here Belly is the god of all
     classes. The squires are not scared with the tariff, which by the
     way has done me no good in any respect, nor any one else that I can
     hear of, while the income tax is a real, tangible, awful evil.

     Drawing flourishes, and I am now making a Spanish volume, and have
     begun with Toledo, glorious, rock-built, imperial Toledo!

     I meditate coming up to town at Easter with my two girls, who are
     now assuming the _toga muliebris_, having discarded their
     governess. The next step is a husband, and, when once a grandpapa,
     I shall consider the 5th act of the _comedia imbrogliata_ as fast
     approaching. I shall bring up the Spanish drawings, and, if any
     should revive in your Excellency recollections of pleasant days
     gone by, I shall be proud to make you any you may select for your
     private portfolio.

     Borrow is a queer chap. I believe that an extra number of the
     _Edinburgh_ is to come out next month, when my article will appear.
     I have just got an application to write the life of Velazquez for
     the _Penny Cyclopædia_. Murray will sigh for his _Handbook_ as you
     do for the country; but I am so interrupted that I have never
     fairly gone to work, and, as it is, at least two-thirds of what I
     have got together must be exscinded, but they are a useful mass of
     work got up for any future object.

                           HEAVITREE, _27th Feb., /43_.

     The enclosed will amuse, if not _convince_ you. I believe Borrow to
     be honest, albeit a _Gitano_. His biography will be passing strange
     if he tells the _whole_ truth. He is now writing it by my advice.

     Have you found time to run through my paper in the last _Edinburgh
     Review_, which the critic_ee_ lauds so much and _pour cause_? The
     value of a thing is, however, just what it will _bring_, and the
     thirty-two pages brought me £_44_, well and truly paid by the canny
     Scot, Napier, who does not throw away cash without “_value
     received_.” Verily the Whigs pay well, and will _do_ Murray by
     seducing his light troops. Hayward (also a Quarterly reviewer like
     me) figures in the last blue and bluff; _proh pudor! et nummos!_
     his paper on “Advertising” is droll.

     I have invested my £44 in Château Margaux.

     _Handbook_ is done--that is, I have done my _own hobby_, and have
     covered a haycock of reams with the past and present of Spain:
     antiquities, art, history, manners, scenery, battles, and what not.
     Now comes the _rub_, to cut out all that is good and simmer it down
     to a way-bill. I _shy_ and “gib” like a Pegasus in a dung-cart.

                           WEYMOUTH, _July 30, 1843_.

     I am here with all my family, first and second,[49] great and
     small, having been dabbling in brick, mortar, and paint at
     home--wild vagaries you will

[Illustration:

Marianne Houton, del        Emery Walker Ph. Sc.

Margaret Henrietta Ford

1854.]

say for a man who _lives_ on an Irish mortgage; but those who have read
Milesian and Iberian annals will take things coolly: _son cosas de
España y Irlanda_, where peace and order are the exception, not the
rule, and where row and blarney are as wholesome as fire to the
salamander. I, however, wish we had a _government_. It would have been
just as easy, instead of reading a sentence from a king’s speech, to
have declared mooting repeal high treason.

There is no conciliating an enemy. Knock him down. “Hit him hardest in
the weakest point,” _once_ said the Iron Duke. Now enemies sneer and
despise, and good friends are cooled and stand aloof. Peel’s
unpopularity in the far west is daily increasing; _low_ prices will ruin
us all.

I set out to-morrow for town, having a week’s absence. I shall bring up
Minaño, _con muchas y muchissimas gracias_. I have kept it an
unconscionable while; but it has produced a bairn, which I shall beg
your acceptance of: not much of a bairn, a Spanish parturition, a mouse
from a mountain.

Minaño’s book, whatever people may say, is an admirable compilation.
_Handbook_ is _written_. Poor old Murray’s death has deranged the types
in Albemarle Street, and these _rows_ in Spain are

     not favourable to the man with the notebook; however, I shall
     settle something this next week.

                           HEAVITREE, _Oct. 10, 1843_.

     While you have been up to your middle in No. 6548, I have been
     boating and catching mackerel at Weymouth, eating Portland mutton,
     and dreaming of George III. Now the falling leaf has warned us to
     see the warm household and penates. The _Domus_ has been painted,
     and a new wing added, which is not paid for. The _placens uxor_ is
     well and much improved by sea air; the _chiquilla_ is in stupendous
     force, and rejoicing in a new hoop.

     We shall have the railroad open to this place next May, and then
     you and Madame might run down and rusticate here amid the myrtles
     and forget Downing Street. I was rather idle at Weymouth; ’tis the
     quality of a watering-place; but now I am simmering and resimmering
     at Handbook; which although done, waits the _imprimatur_ of Murray.
     The times are out of joint as regards Spanish travelling. I met a
     man yesterday at dinner just returned from a tour in Spain. Nothing
     can exceed the dilapidation and demoralisation. This new outbreak
     has come like the war after Ferdinand VII.’s death, to blight the
     improvements which quiet was producing. That French influence and
     Christina gold effected the matter, no one doubts in Spain. The
     French are hated and the English not unpopular.

     Borrow writes me word that his _life_ is nearly ready, and that it
     will run the _Bible_ hull down. If he tells truth, it will be a
     queer thing. I shall review it for the _Edinburgh_. There is
     nothing new here; the harvest has been splendid, and there is cider
     enough to make the country drunk. The farmers are in better
     spirits; if the Government did but know their strength and act, all
     would go well, but the house is on fire in many places, and not a
     bucket moved: _Vaya! vaya! il faut cultiver son jardin_.

                           HEAVITREE, _Dec. 28th, 1843_.

     We are all here, pursuing the same uniform vegetable existence for
     which Devonians are renowned, and none the worse for the routine.
     It has been somewhat varied by my bringing out _two_ Daughters,
     which, in point of satin slips, ball flounces, and trimmed
     nightcaps, is nearly equivalent to a marriage trousseau. The bills,
     combined with those of Eton, have reduced my _Irish_ 5 per cents.
     to almost an unknown quantity. Such is the perverse tendency of
     expenditure to advance in a more rapid ratio than increase of
     income. Ireland just now seems quiet; so is Vesuvius. If Dan
     carries the day, I shall be shot up, or rather be shot down, light
     as the _scoriæ_ by which Pompeii was covered over; but I have no
     fears whatever.

     _Handbook_ is about to be printed. All these civil wars in Spain
     are not very attractive to the wayfaring man, who purchases in
     Albemarle Street; but I dare swear that ere April the goodly
     tomes--now two--will decorate Murray’s shop. The task has indeed
     been severe, yet a serious pleasure, a great occupation,--somewhat
     indeed too much, as the mind ought not to be kept on a perpetual
     strain. I shall “_couper mon bâton_” and pen; when it is done, _his
     artem cestumque repono_.

     _Asi va el mundo._ I am lamenting over the silent and rapid flight,
     and the _desengaño_ of all things. It is lucky that there is no
     _San Yuste_ in this Protestant land, or (as one, now _en la gloria
     esta_, used to say) I might be tempted to turn hermit and count my
     beads. What a charming place after all Sⁿ Yuste was! and what
     capital trout fishing!

                           OULTON HALL, LOWESTOFT, _26 Jan. /44_.

     _Handbook_ goes forthwith to press.

     I am here on a visit to _El Gitano_; two “rum coves,” in a queer
     country. This is a regular Patmos, an _ultima Thule_; placed in an
     angle of the most unvisited, out-of-the-way portion of England.
     His house hangs over a lonely lake covered with wild fowl, and is
     girt with dark firs, through which the wind sighs sadly; however,
     we defy the elements, and chat over _las cosas de España_, and he
     tells me portions of his life, more strange even than his book. We
     scamper by day over the country in a sort of gig, which reminds me
     of Mr. Weare on his trip with Mr. Thurtell (Borrow’s old
     preceptor); “Sidi Habismilk” is in the stable, and a Zamarra
     [sheepskin coat] now before me, writing as I am in a sort of
     summer-house called _La Mezquita_, in which _El Gitano_ concocts
     his lucubrations, and _paints_ his pictures, for his object is to
     colour up and poetise his adventures.

Writing to Ford from Oulton Hall, February 9th, 1844, Borrow says:

     Almost as soon as I got back from Norwich the weather became very
     disagreeable, a strange jumble of frost, fog, and wet. I am glad
     that during your stay here it has been a little more favourable. I
     still keep up, but not exactly the thing. You can’t think how I
     miss you and our chats by the fireside. The wine, now I am alone,
     has lost its flavour, and the cigars make me ill. I am very
     frequently in my valley of the shadows, and had I not my summer
     jaunt to look forward to, I am afraid it would be all up with your
     friend and _Batushka_ [little father]. I still go on with my
     _Life_, but slowly and lazily. What I write, however, is _good_. I
     feel it is good, strange and wild as it is.

Ford’s correspondence with Addington is resumed.

                           HEAVITREE, _May 23, 1844_.

     As your Excellency is naturally a studier of human character, I
     think you will be edified by beholding me in a new phase, that of
     Church-building and drawing up reports thereanent; so I enclose you
     the particulars.

     Mrs. Ford and myself are about to quit these bemyrtled bowers on
     Monday next: we proceed to Eton, where my son and heir is to figure
     in the Montem Saturnalia, in a red coat, cocked hat and sword, and
     to be brought back,--oh sight painful to parents! drunk in a
     wheelbarrow. There is nothing like spending £250 a year in giving
     one’s boy a liberal good education. Hawtrey has bidden us to the
     feastings which he gives to sundry Papas and Mamas.

     _Handbook_ is slowly printing. The _Mañana_ of Spain has infected
     even Albemarle Street; but we have got well to page 264 of Vol. I.

     The rail is now open, and Exeter is 7-1/2 hours from London. We
     hope some day that you and _mi Señora_ (_c.p.b._) may be tempted
     to come and see us and the New Church.

     I have been suffering from influenza in common with almost
     everybody. The bright sun and cold north-east winds remind me of
     Madrid.

But Ford was not at the end of his labours. The first edition of the
Handbook was cancelled, in deference to Addington’s advice, at a cost to
Ford of £500 and the toil of re-writing a considerable portion of the
work.

                           _Sept. 26, 1844._

     Visions of Joinville, Narvaez, and the Pope breaking Murray’s
     presses and _écrase_-ing my head have haunted me since your letter.
     Alas! alas! the Preface which you condemn is drawn very mild, and
     was written purposely to _soften_ more severe castigations on
     events, historians, and nationalities. What is a man to do who
     wishes to write the truth, when, at every step in Spain, he meets a
     French ruin, and, at every page in a Spanish or French book, a
     libel against us?

     I have told the _truth_. I wish I had not. I have, however, said
     nothing more than Southey, Napier, Schepeler[50], and the Duke. But
     I am quite averse to getting into hot water or ill words, and must
     reconsider the subject, and either cancel much, or make
     complimentary _amendes honorables_ in the subsequent sheets.

     My spouse thinks with you, and I have such a high opinion of you as
     a man of the world and of sound judgment, and know you to be so
     kind, true, and good a friend, that I am now going to write to
     Murray.

At first Ford hoped that he could substitute for the objectionable
passages artistic or antiquarian information. In December 1844 he writes
to Addington that already four sheets (_i.e._ 64 pages) had been
cancelled. He adds that “we are all in a snowy surplice.” This
description of a snowstorm was suggested by the attempt of the Bishop of
Exeter to do away with the black gown, and by the excitement which the
step had created in Exeter. He refers to the subject in a letter dated
January 20th, 1845.

                           HEAVITREE, _Jan. 26, /45_.

     I enclose you a very characteristic letter from Don Jorge [Borrow],
     which please to return. It would be well if he could allay the evil
     spirit that is broken loose here; the flocks are rising against the
     shepherds, more like wolves than lambs. The thing is much more
     serious, and lies deeper than many imagine; it is no _mob_ affair.
     The entire mass of the middling classes and rich tradesmen are the
     leaders; the lower and better classes stand aloof. The disquieted
     are not only urged by a violent, no-popery, protestant feeling, but
     by a democratic element, probably unknown to themselves, which
     resists dignities and anything, even a surplice, being dictated to
     them. The mob, the real [Greek: polykephalon], is quiet, having
     work and cheap food. The gentry attach no importance to the black
     or white vesture, nor do their clergy ever, in fact, rule them. But
     with the middling, and a numerous, class, these clerical crotchets
     are not shadows, but realities and dangers. The church coach will
     be upset, unless great temper and management be shown (and that
     will _not_ be shown); the dissentients are ripe for a free church.
     Philpotti has been considerably in the wrong; he would have made a
     splendid Hildebrand or Loyola, but the age of railroads and steam
     will smash mitres and tracts. The war of opinions which has been
     now raged for ten years is coming to a crisis. I take our tradesmen
     in Exeter to be types of those throughout England, and Foolometers;
     and as they have acted, so will all their like. The train is laid,
     and a spark may ignite it.

Eventually Ford found that his wisest course was to withdraw the first
edition of the _Handbook_. He writes from London, where he was laid up
by somewhat serious illness, February 19th, 1845: “I have quite
determined on cancelling _Handbook_, and reprinting it _minus_
political, military, and religious discussions, and to omit mention of
disagreeables, and only make it smooth and charming.” On these lines the
book was recast.

                           _April 30, 1845._

     I am leading the life of a true _Devoto á la Santissima Hygeia_. I
     sleep at Exmouth, rise at six, walk on the beach, listening to the
     ripple of the waves, and inhaling the morning sea-impregnated
     breezes. I come home to breakfast at seven; at half-past mount my
     steed, and come clipping over here, _ganando horas_, in about an
     hour, nine miles, and such hills! then, while hot as a horseshoe, I
     hiss under a shower-bath, and occupy the morning until two in
     Handbooky and gentle exercise of the mind. At two I dine, _en
     famille_, on _rôti_ and a pint of Bordeaux; after dinner is
     dedicated to sauntering on the terrace and listening to the gentle
     discourse of Mrs. Ford, when in a sweet disposition, and at other
     times to lectures, _à la_ Mrs. Caudle, on gastronomic excesses and
     consequent pains and penalties. At five I remount, and jog
     leisurely back again through sweet, shady, and verdurous lanes. A
     butter-and-egg pace favours meditation and sentiment which is akin
     to the season, when Nature puts on her new livery of spring, which
     we can’t. Arrived at Exmouth, I again wander on the lonely shore
     and watch the sunsets, which are transcendental, the heaven and the
     earth all crimson; then I count the pretty stars as they come out
     coyly one by one for their evening’s pleasure, _tomando el fresco_.
     All this air and _belles pensées_ naturally conduce to hunger and
     thirst, and at eight I sit down to _two_ mutton chops, _nada más_,
     _ni menos_, and another pint of claret. Then I peruse the _Morning
     Post_ of the day, and soon the gentle, oblivious style and absence
     of thought steal over my senses, and then to bed, to sleep sound
     and short, and then up again: _asi gira la vida_. The most
     pendulous uvula yields to such a bracing winding-up system:
     _hominem sic erigo_. I will duly advise you whether Don Jorge will
     meet me in London.

The _Handbook_ was published in the summer of 1845. Released from his
labour, Ford was preparing to spend a holiday abroad, when Exeter was
convulsed by a famous trial, which took place at the July assizes.

In February 1845 a Brazilian schooner named the _Felicidade_ was
captured in the Bight of Benin by H.M. _Wasp_. Though fitted for the
slave trade, she had no slaves on board. In charge of a prize crew she
was making for Sierra Leone, when she met the _Echo_, a brigantine full
of slaves. She captured the _Echo_, took on board some of the crew as
prisoners, and resumed her course. The prisoners from the _Echo_
overpowered and killed the prize crew of _Felicidade_, seized the
schooner, and made off. The _Felicidade_, however, was recaptured by
H.M. _Star_. Suspicions were aroused, and ten of the prisoners were sent
home to be tried for murder on the high seas. Mr. Baron Platt overruled
the objections that the slave trade was not piracy by Brazilian law, and
that the _Felicidade_, being wrongfully taken, was not a British ship.
The jury found seven of the men guilty, and they were sentenced to
death. An appeal was however allowed on the legal points; Platt’s
decision was reversed and the prisoners released. Ford describes the
trial to Addington in an undated letter of July 1845.

     I will secure the _Western Times_. Nothing can have been so bad as
     Platt, or his vulgar platitudes. The defence too, was miserable.
     Manning, _un Burro cargado de leyes_, broke down, and Collier, a
     young advocate, _proved_ his clients’ guilt, by over-examination;
     and what think you of a peroration like this--“Will you hang up
     these foreigners like ropes of onions (_? ajos_) and cast them then
     as carrion to the crows?” Mr. Godson, who came down special, made
     sad hash or ash with the Queen’s Alphabet: “Suppose this case Hay
     and B. on the ’igh seas,” etc. The facts were too clear to admit of
     a doubt, and seven have been found guilty. It is a sad thing for
     our peaceable, _unslave-dealing_ city to be horrified with such a
     wholesale execution, and they ought to be hung on the African
     coast. If they are _not_ hung, the exasperation of the cruising
     Jacks is so great that they will _Pelissier_ the next slave prize
     to avenge their murdered comrades. A Frenchman on the jury did all
     he could to save the prisoners from _la perfide Albion_. An
     _attaché_ also of the Brazilian Mission was down here, abusing the
     witnesses in their vernacular until stopt. What think you of the
     Spanish and Portuguese Government refusing to pay for more than one
     counsel, who was chosen because a nephew of the Portuguese Consul?
     Thus ten men’s lives were risked to put 5 guineas in a relation’s
     pocket. _Vaya! un empeño!_ Drewe was so annoyed that he retained
     Manning (who understands Spanish) at his own cost.

     I forgot to say that these Spaniards were made a regular show of by
     the magistrates, who gave orders by hundreds to see them in the
     jail, until Drewe, the High Sheriff, stopt the spectacle. The
     pirates thought that they _had_ been tried, and came here expecting
     to be hung. One was a monstrous handsome fellow, and all the ladies
     are interested for him, as he realised the Corsair, while his
     bronzed cheek, raven locks and flashing eyes contrasted with the
     pudding-headed, clotted-cream, commonfaced Devonians. Another
     culprit was the facsimile of a monk of Zurbaran; the rest were a
     savage South America set. Of course nothing has occupied people
     here but _Cosas de España_, and your humble servant, _quasi_ one of
     the gang, was at a premium and a sort of lion.




CHAPTER VII

HEAVITREE AND LONDON

(1845-1858)

     SUCCESS OF THE _HANDBOOK_--_GATHERINGS FROM SPAIN_--ILLNESS AND
     DEATH OF HIS WIFE--MARRIAGE WITH MISS MARY MOLESWORTH--TELBIN’S
     “DIORAMA OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON’S CAMPAIGNS”--FRANCIS CLARE FORD
     AND THE DIPLOMATIC SERVICE--DEATH OF SIR WILLIAM
     MOLESWORTH--FAILING HEALTH--MARRIAGE OF CLARE FORD--LAST ARTICLE IN
     THE _QUARTERLY REVIEW_, AND LAST LETTER TO ADDINGTON--DEATH AT
     HEAVITREE, AUGUST 31ST, 1858.


     “Since July” (Ford writes to Don Pascual Gayangos at Madrid,
     November 27th, 1845) “I have been wandering with my son in Germany,
     and have visited those mighty rivers, the Rhine and the Danube, and
     beheld the temples and frescoes of Munich.”

He returned to England to find that the _Handbook_ was succeeding beyond
his own or his publisher’s expectations. In spite of its price, print,
and double columns, 1389 copies were sold in three months, and a second
edition was already talked of. The book had, in fact, created a
sensation. Under its unpretending title it gave a description of Spain,
past and present, which no other man living, foreigner or native, could
have produced. Men who knew the country intimately, such as Lord
Clarendon, Prescott, George Borrow, and Washington Irving, were as
enthusiastic as they were unanimous in its praise. “Surely never was
there,” wrote Prescott, “since Humboldt’s book on Mexico, such an amount
of information, historical, critical, topographical, brought together in
one view, and that in the unpretending form of a _Manuel du Voyageur_.”
Lockhart saw in the _Handbook_ “the work of a most superior
workman,--master of more tools than almost anyone in these days pretends
to handle,” and he found in its pages “the combination of keen
observation and sterling sense with learning _à la_ Burton and
pleasantry _à la_ Montaigne.” The book, in fact, took, and still holds,
its place among the best books of travel in the English language. Few
writers even now can touch on Spanish subjects without owing or
acknowledging a deep debt to Ford. Nor was his work merely a guidebook
to a particular country; it is a guidebook to all travellers, wherever
they might be, from its infectious capacity for enjoyment and the
richness and variety of its interests.

The letter to Gayangos, quoted above, was written on Ford’s way back
from Oxford, where that learned Spaniard had once hoped to obtain a
Professorship.

     I am but just returned from Oxford, where I spent ten days. The
     minds of the young men are perplexed with _Puseyismo y la Santa
     Iglesia Catholica y Romana_. That evil, and a tremendous habit of
     smoking cigars, seem to be the _features_ of the place, and perplex
     the tutors and heads of colleges.

Among the Addington correspondence is a letter, written November 25th,
1845, from Oxford itself:--

                           OXFORD, _Nov. 25, /45_.

     I propose leaving this learned city on Monday, and am about to
     spend a week in Park Street, to settle some law matters for my
     mother. This is the moment which is big with fate for the
     Montanches Porkers, and I am about to write to Don Juan to forward
     to me my annual adventure of _Jamones_. How do you feel disposed?

     This Oxford is indeed changed since my time. The youths drink toast
     and water and fast on Wednesdays and Fridays. They have somewhat of
     a priggish, macerated look; _der Puseyismus_ has spread far among
     the rising generation of fellows of colleges. Pusey, the
     arch-heretic, has indeed the true Jesuit look. I sang an anthem out
     of his book and _with_ him last Sunday, having been placed in a
     stall at Christ Church between him and Gaisford of Greek fame; but
     I have not yet joined Rome, being still rather of the school of
     the æsthetics than of the ascetics.

Literary work was resumed. A second edition of the _Handbook_ had to be
prepared. Articles were written for the _Quarterly Review_ on such
varied subjects as “Spanish Architecture,” “Spanish Painting,” “The
Horse’s Foot,” “Spanish Lady’s Love.” In 1846 appeared his _Gatherings
from Spain_, consisting partly of the introductory essays to the
_Handbook_, partly of new material. The book was brought out at
lightning speed.

     I am glad (he writes to Addington, December 1846) that _Gatherings_
     have been deemed worthy of your perusal. The first part has indeed
     been knocked off _currente calamo_, and almost without my ever
     seeing the pages in revise. They were written against time,
     composed, printed, and type distributed in three weeks. This is not
     fair on the Author, as slips in style must inevitably occur. I have
     almost written a new book as to half of it.

The success of the book was great.

     The _Gatherings_ have taken wonderfully. All the critics praise
     without exception. So I have sacked £210 by two months’ work, and
     not damaged my literary reputation.

Lockhart congratulated him warmly on the achievement. “You may,” he says
(January 5th, 1847), “live fifty years without turning out any more
delightful thing” than the _Gatherings_. Tho’ I had read the _Handbook_
pretty well, I found the full zest of novelty in these Essays, and such,
I think, is the nearly universal feeling. Fergusson was at Lord
Clarendon’s in Herts at Christmas. Lord Clarendon said that he had had a
Spanish party a few days before--all highly pleased. One said it would
take, to get together the knowledge of this book, four of the most
accomplished of Spaniards. ‘Ah!’ said another, ‘but where could you get
_one_ that could put it all together in a form so readable?’ I forget
their names; but they were men of mark.”

From 1846 onwards Mrs. Ford’s health became a cause of ever-increasing
anxiety. Changes of climate were tried without permanent benefit. For
months together Ford was separated from his library. He still wrote
articles for the _Quarterly Review_, but he attempted no larger work.
Addington had apparently urged him to write a life of the Duke of Alva.
His answer shows that he felt that a different standard of historical
writing was forming, and that he had neither the youth nor the freedom
from other duties to satisfy the new canons of criticism.

     As for Alva (he writes, December 14th, 1848), I imagine that _iron
     Duke_ will form a prominent figure in Prescott’s _Philip II._, on
     which he is hard at work. To write a _new_ and _real_ history,
     State-paper offices, archives, and family documents must be
     consulted all over the world. Neither eyes nor domestic businesses
     permit a sufficient lucid interval. It is something for a man who
     has idled away the best part of life to have put forth two red
     tomes, and be acknowledged as competent. _Claudite jam rivos pueri,
     sat prata biberunt._

Mrs. Ford died January 23rd, 1849. Six months later his mother, Lady
Ford, died at the age of eighty-two (July 13th, 1849). Business crowded
upon him, so that he describes himself as “hung, drawn, and quartered by
attorneys.” Solitary, depressed in spirits, worried by executorships and
trusteeships, he wrote nothing, and went nowhere. But gradually his life
resumed its usual course, though he made London, not Heavitree, his
home. His pen was once more busy. The marriage of his two elder
daughters interested and excited him.

     “Great events” (he writes to Addington from 123, Park Street,
     December 1850) “have taken place here. My humble dwelling has
     become a perfect temple of Hymen. Cupid scatters orange blossoms
     _plenis manibus_. _Both_ my girls are going to be married.
     Georgy,[51]--you know,--to _Mowbray_, son of our old friend, Henry
     Northcote; Minnie[52] to Edmund Tyrwhitt, next brother to Sir
     Henry, and cousin

[Illustration:

R.R.Reinagle R.A.S. Pinx      Emery Walker Ph Sc.

Lady Ford

b.1767 d.1949]

     to my little Meta. So I shall be left, high and dry, to console
     myself with _Jamones y seco_. Not but what a lady told me yesterday
     that she heard as positive that _I_ was booked also. The ardent
     imaginations of the best half of creation rush at conclusions, and
     underrate the difficulties of fifty-four. After this, let no man
     despair. Instead of making love, I have been pursuing a more
     becoming task of writing articles.”

In the summer of 1851, Ford married Mary, only daughter of Sir Arscott
Ourry Molesworth, Bart., of Pencarrow, near Bodmin, sister of Sir
William Molesworth, who had succeeded his father as eighth Baronet in
1823, and was at this time, and to the date of his death (1845-October
1855), M.P. for Southwark. Politically Ford was little in sympathy with
his brother-in-law, who was an advanced Liberal, and for many years the
leader of the “Philosophical Radicals.” Writing to the Dowager Lady
Molesworth, August 18th, 1851, Ford says:--

     The pen seems to have passed from the fingers of the late literary
     Mr. Ford into those of Mrs. Ford. She is now with her nose in her
     blotting-book, diligently, dutifully, and no doubt delicately
     inditing to you. _I_ generally leave her to the monopoly of the
     inkstand, and take refuge in my paint-box, having begun a series of
     Spanish views to decorate her room, in the hopes of keeping her
     out of Spain by bringing the Peninsula to Park Street.

     Meanwhile we rub on pleasantly and much enjoy the repose of London
     “out of town.” We vary existence by suburban trips of an approved
     cockney and connubial character. One day we steam down to
     Greenwich, champagne and whitebait; another, we float down the
     beautiful Thames at Twickenham, to the disturbance of swans and
     punters.

     You will have heard from Mary of all our sayings and doings.
     Nothing could be kinder or more hospitable than Miss Molesworth[53]
     was. She is a very superior and a right honest woman. We
     fraternised and sisterised greatly. I suppose I have some old
     hankering and a predilection for the name of “Miss Molesworth.”
     Assuredly we shall repeat our visit, which our hostess so
     repeatedly and really pressed.

     The lady of the Lodge gave me lessons in the cultivation and
     concoction of flax, which she conducts with great profit, and I
     hope I may do no worse when an _Irish_ proprietor. I shall grow a
     small plot of hemp for Cardinals and Co. By the way, what an
     excellent politician Miss M. is!

In the spring of 1852 the most popular sight of London was Telbin’s
“Diorama of the Campaigns of Wellington.” On the battlefields
themselves, with Napier’s _History of the Peninsular War_ in his hand,
Ford had traced each move in the struggle between the English and French
in Spain. He had read every book which bore upon the subject; from the
lips of men who themselves had seen or taken part in the contest, he had
gathered details unknown to the historians; and he adored the Duke as
the greatest of Englishmen. From many of the places which the war had
made famous he had brought away his own sketches, and four of the
pictures (“The Night of the Battle of Talavera,” “The Capture of Ciudad
Rodrigo,” “The Victory of Salamanca,” “The Victory of Vitoria”) were
painted from his drawings. He also contributed the descriptive
letterpress, which was printed as _A Guide to the Diorama of the
Campaigns of the Duke of Wellington_ (London, 1852). His lively
descriptions of the battlefields are so vigorous that the following
extract from a rare book may be read with interest. It explains a
picture of “A Convoy intercepted by Partizans.”

     The predatory system of Napoleon, in forcing the countries he
     invaded to nourish his armies, necessarily sapped the foundations
     of military discipline and good conduct. This increased the French
     difficulties of subduing the Peninsula, which cannot be done with a
     small army, and where a large one must starve i Polf separated
     from magazines. The Massenas, who trusted to gaining their ends by
     impetuous advances, did not or would not attend to organised
     supplies, the sinews of war. Strong only when in position, and with
     no hold on the soil or hearts of the nation, their convoys, few and
     far between, were always exposed to be cut off by roving bands who
     waged a _guerilla_, or little war, which, congenial to their
     country--broken and rugged, and to their character--warlike but not
     military, was conducted with infinite perseverance, energy, skill,
     daring, valour, and success. Lord Wellington, who knew by
     experience the impossibility of any Spanish army, “in want of
     everything at the critical moment,” carrying on a regular war,
     pronounced their partizanship the real and best national power.
     Unparalleled in a contest of shifts and devices, and without
     discipline or drill, the _Guerilleros_ waged a war to the knife;
     and circumventing the invader by fair means and foul, avenged in
     his heart’s blood wrongs too many ever to be forgotten, too great
     ever to be forgiven. These hornets swarmed around every movement,
     and displaced a force equal to 30,000 men, who were required to
     patrol roads and keep communications open. The success of these
     irregulars sustained the flame of Spain’s patriotism, amid the
     disgrace and defeats of her regular armies. The French, who
     smarted, executed them as robbers, because, forsooth, they wore no
     uniform. Can a Marshal’s embroidery transform spoilers of church
     and cottage into heroes, or its want degrade the honest defender of
     altar and hearth into a bandit? Throughout the war, the surprises
     of French convoys afforded scenes no less frequent than
     picturesque. Down Alpine defiles and amid aromatic brushwood, the
     long lines of laden mules, cars, and mounted escorts tracked their
     tangled way, now concealed in rocks and thickets, now glittering in
     the sun and giving life to the loneliness; then, in the most
     perilous point of passage and behind loosened crags lurked the
     partizans; every blunderbuss loaded and cocked, every finger on the
     trigger, every knife unclasped, each breathlessly awaiting the
     signal; nor ever was priest or monk wanting to shrive the souls,
     and hold out immediate paradise to these humble crusaders, who fell
     gloriously in the holy war for God, King and country. Honour
     eternal to these noble sons of Spain! However wild, undisciplined
     and oriental their resistance, it rises grandly, an example to the
     world, now the crimes and follies of their unworthy leaders in
     cabinet and camp have sunk into deserved oblivion.

     Just now (Ford writes to Addington, May 7th, 1852) the old Tory’s
     _Duke of Wellington’s Campaign Libretto_ is much talked of at the
     Palace. Think of the F.M. going there _in personâ_, pulling out his
     shilling, and buying a book, and carrying it off.

     The old Duke (he adds, May 11th) has been to the Diorama, and was
     much pleased, especially with Lisbon, Salamanca, Vitoria, and
     Sorauren. When the squares at the concluding Waterloo began to
     move, he quite fought his battles over again.

     The Queen is illustrating the Diorama, the guide in hand.

Ford also notes that a large-paper copy had been bought by Lord
Malmesbury, then the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. He was
especially pleased with this purchase, because he was endeavouring to
obtain, through Addington, a nomination to the Diplomatic Service for
his only son, Francis Clare Ford. On leaving Eton, Clare Ford had
entered the 4th Light Dragoons. But military life was not to his taste:
he had sold out of the Army in June 1851, and was now studying in
France. By Addington’s advice a formal letter was written for submission
to the Foreign Secretary.

     I am most anxious (wrote Ford) to start my only son in diplomacy,
     to be followed up as his profession. You know the youth. He was at
     Eton, has learnt the world in the course of soldiering, speaks and
     writes French excellently, is a clever artist, gentlemanlike and
     good-looking, can keep a secret, and is aged twenty-three.
     Hereafter he will have an independent fortune.

     I am fully aware that I have no right to apply to Lord Malmesbury
     on private or public grounds; but, at least, I have always been,
     and in the worst of times, a good Tory with pen and by mouth.

Across the letter which Addington wrote recommending Clare Ford, Lord
Malmesbury scribbled in pencil: “If the son is as clever as the father,
he deserves advancement. I have put him down, and hope to name him.” In
due course the nomination came. Writing to Addington, July 10th, 1852,
Ford says:

     I really hardly know how _to thank you enough_. But I do _feel it
     greatly_, and hope you believe that. Nothing could be more
     gentlemanlike than Lord Malmesbury. In the middle of dinner--I sat
     next to him--he said: “Let’s have a glass of champagne together and
     drink your son’s health, whom I have just appointed an _attaché_ to
     Naples.”

Before taking up his appointment abroad, Clare Ford was summoned home,
and began work at the Foreign Office in London. “The young diplomat,”
says his father, August 13th, 1852, “works hard at the desk, and is, I
am sure, in real and right earnest, and I hope by 1882 will be G.C.B.”
The hope was realised in the spirit, if not in the actual date. Sir
Clare Ford became a G.C.B. April 29th, 1889.

Hopeful of his son’s career and gratified by Lord Malmesbury’s
recognition of the young man as one of his “cleverest youngsters,” easy
in his own circumstances, established in his literary reputation,
preserving much of his extraordinary capacity for enjoyment, retaining
the freshness of his varied interests, a welcome guest everywhere in
society, counting his friends by the hundred, Ford seemed to have before
him many years of happiness. His pen was not idle. He wrote frequently
in the _Athenæum_ on subjects connected with art. He contributed several
articles to the _Quarterly Review_, notably that on “Apsley House”
(March 1853), in which he paid a fine tribute to the Duke of
Wellington.[54] He prepared a third edition of the _Handbook_, which was
in great part rewritten. He also was again busy with bricks and mortar
at Heavitree.

     We have been (he writes to Addington, September 14th, 1854)
     ruralising and rusticating ever since we fled from the thick-pent,
     pestilence-stricken city. The days and weeks flit past with wings,
     and fast as my ducats, for, to the raw material of ruin (farming),
     I have in my dotage superadded building, and towers and domes are
     rising while the bankers’ balance comes down. We are great in pigs
     and pears, but only so-so in potatoes, which are cruelly diseased;
     all my fond hopes of getting home by these tubers are dissipated.

     I am pretty well, barring pocket;--early to bed and early to rise,
     without, however, being wealthy or wise. _Handbook_ is at a
     standstill; in fact, it is impossible to dip in the inkstand, or
     remain indoors, when there is so much going on out of doors, and,
     as I never admit either architects or nursery gardeners, there is
     plenty for the master’s head to devise and eye to superintend.

In the autumn of 1855 Ford and his wife were hastily summoned to London
by the dangerous illness of her only brother. Sir William Molesworth had
won for himself a brilliant position in English politics. To his
advocacy had been mainly due the abolition of transportation, and his
speeches on colonial questions were marked by profound knowledge of the
subject and a statesmanlike breadth of view. In January 1853 he was
appointed First Commissioner of Works, with a seat in Lord Aberdeen’s
Cabinet. Two years later (July 1855), when he succeeded Lord John
Russell as Colonial Secretary, he had gained the legitimate object of
his ambition, and held an office for which he was acknowledged to be
peculiarly qualified. But his health, always weak, broke down under the
strain.

     His system (writes Ford to Addington, October 21st, 1855), never
     very strong, has succumbed to a long and late session, to which
     the overwork of a new office was added just at the moment when
     repose and the country were most wanting. He is in a _very critical
     state_; but I do not quite despair, and I hope to-morrow to be able
     to report progress.

     I have no heart now to enter on those matters which would have
     filled my pages. Oh the vanity of vanities! Look at poor Sir
     William, a young man, stretched on his bed and wrestling with death
     with the heart of a lion, and this just at the moment when all his
     honours were budding thick and the object of a life’s honourable
     ambition gained.

Sir William Molesworth died October 22nd, 1855. Ford’s own health was
now rapidly breaking down. His eyesight began to fail. He slept badly.
The fatal malady which ultimately caused his death--Bright’s
disease--was already developed in his system, and affected his nervous
condition. His letters lost their gaiety. A visit to Paris in September
1856, where his son was now an _attaché_, did not revive his spirits.
Writing to Addington, he says:

     One line from the most palatial Paris, the capital and centre of
     general civilisation, where gold and gastric juice and the
     insolence of health and intellect seem to be the things wanting,
     and where the lust of the eye is indeed gratified. To those who
     have not seen it for many years, the transformations are magical,
     and the slaves of the lamp are at work day and night.
     _Diruit--edificat_ is the imperial mandate.

     We, I fear, must mark No. 2 in many things, not only in political
     matters. Our _prestige_ has sadly fallen on the Continent, and the
     French, who claim all the glory of the Crimea, almost fancy we
     exist at their sufferance, and that by saving us at Inkerman, etc.,
     they have wiped out Waterloo. Not a few call the English medal
     which figures on the breast of many a Zouave _La Medaille de
     sauvetage_, and compare it to that given by the Humane Society to
     those who have rescued others from death and danger.

     My son is alive and busy. He has now an idea of what _work_ is, and
     this mission at Paris is of a very different stamp from _Otiosa
     Neapolis_. However, work is good for the young. The time will
     arrive, and how rapidly! when we must all say _tempus abire_, and
     happy those who are _en règle_, and are blessed besides, like you,
     with a strong and philosophic mind,--both of which are wanting to
     me, who would gladly prefer them to gold and gastric juice.

In December 1856 Ford accepted the appointment to serve, with Lord
Broughton, the Dean of St. Paul’s, Michael Faraday, George Richmond,
and Charles Robert Cockerel, on a Royal Commission “to determine the
site of the National Gallery, and to report on the desirableness of
combining with it the Fine Art and Archæological Collection of the
British Museum.” But eight days after the announcement had appeared in
the _London Gazette_ (December 15th, 1856), he was obliged to withdraw
his consent to act, as he found that his health incapacitated him from
discharging the duties of the commission. The newspapers of the day bore
witness to the regret that was felt at his inability to serve. “We
expressed a fortnight ago,” says the _Illustrated London News_ for
January 3rd, 1857, “the general satisfaction that was felt in Mr. Ford’s
appointment. His place is not easily to be supplied. His practical good
sense, and the general esteem in which he is held, peculiarly fitted him
for the appointment.”

Ill though Ford was, he was able to enjoy the promise of his son’s
success in the diplomatic service. Promoted to be a paid _attaché_ in
March 1857, Clare Ford passed an examination which, as his father
proudly reports to Addington, was “the most brilliant ever passed in
international law.” In the summer of the same year (June 22nd, 1857) he
married Annie, second daughter of the Marquis Garofalo, the head of a
family distinguished in the history of Naples. Ford was at his son’s
wedding; but after that date he went less and less into society. His
last article in the _Quarterly Review_, “Rugby Reminiscences,” which
appeared in October 1857, was a review of _Tom Brown’s Schooldays_. For
him

[Illustration:

Velasquez Pinx.         Emery Walker Ph. Sc.

Dona Margarita Mariana of Austria wife of Philip IV. of Spain.]

the subject had two special attractions. Arnold was an old schoolfellow
at Winchester, and ‘Tom’ Hughes had married Ford’s niece, the daughter
of his brother James. It is interesting to learn that Arnold had not
impressed his contemporaries at school with any “great promise of future
excellence,” though his “love for history rather than for poetry, and
for truth and facts in preference to fiction,” was already conspicuous.
But Ford traces Arnold’s encouragement of games and attention to the
supply of proper food at Rugby, to his own experience of “the cheerless
condition of Commoners,” and “the ‘Do-the-boys’ dietary” which had
prevailed at Winchester.

Ford’s last letter to Addington, dated December 20th, 1857, is written
from 123, Park Street:--

                           DEAR ADDINGTON,

     Many thanks for your old-friendlike and most _seasonable_ letter,
     and, indeed, I most sincerely reciprocate in wishing you and your
     dear wife every possible happiness, and in these wishes Mrs. Ford
     most entirely joins. May the season be pleasant to you both, nay,
     even “merry.” May you both enjoy that good old epithet associated
     to the auspicious moment, to which your sound health and right
     cheery mind so fairly entitle you.

     We dined last night with the Marshalls, and the turkey was indeed
     most orthodox and succulent. Spring Rice dined there with _Bessy_,
     and my son Clare with his _Bene_. They are preparing for Lisbon,
     and will start in about a fortnight. _Bon voyage!_

     The Indian news is well-timed. The worst is now past, and the
     difficult task of reconstruction has begun. Your friend, Lord
     Canning, seems to have done right well. Things seem to be
     _bettering_ in the City; but I fear that there will be much
     distress among our industrious operatives. The next three months
     will be a terrible trial for the poor.

     God bless you, dear Addington!

                           Ever yours most truly,

                           RICHARD FORD.



During the next few months the two old friends met frequently; but in
July 1858 Ford’s health had become so precarious that his son was
summoned home from Lisbon, where he now was an _attaché_. Richard Ford
died at Heavitree, August 31st, 1858.




INDEX


Abadia, General, 129

Abadía, Palace at, 88, 92

Aberdeen, Lord, 82

Absolutists, the, 5

Abu Abdullah, 59ⁿ

Addington, Henry Unwin--Plenipotentiary at Madrid (1829-33), 1, 73;
  leaves Madrid, 124, 126, 127;
  his pension, 135;
  his criticism of Ford, 137, 141-4, 159, 163, 164, 193, 194;
  his advice as to Clare Ford’s future, 212

_Advertising_, Hayward’s article on, 186

Agriculture in Morocco, 120

Agustina, “La Artillera,” the Maid of Zaragoça, 55

Airecillo, the, at the Alhambra, 41, 44, 47

Alagon, 134

Alameda Vieja, the, at Seville, 12, 18, 23, 128

Albaicin, the, 41

Albemarle Street, 182, 187, 190, 192

Alcantara, 88, 89, 92

Alcaravan (bittern), 69

Alcazar, the, 100, 105

Alcolea, 109

Alexander VI., Pope, 55

Alforjas (saddle bags), 124

las Alfujarras, jamon de, 139

Algeciras, Torrijos lands at, 19; 84, 86

Algiers, 120

Albania, 114, 117

Alhambra, the, 32, 34, 36, 37, 38, 39, 41,
      51, 59ⁿ, 65, 72, 102, 108, 112, 114, 126, 146, 148, 161

Alicante, 54, 56, 57

Allan, Sir William, R.A., 170

“Ally Croaker,” 39

Althorp, Lord, 111

Alva, the Duke of, 89, 92;
  life of, 205

Alva, Duke of, 122, 134

las Amarillas, Marques de, 10, 13, 98, 106, 108, 110;
  the first man in Spain, 136, 137

Andalusia, rising in, 19

los Andes, Conde de, 77, 80, 81

Andujar, 35, 40, 42, 45, 49, 56, 65

Antequera, 117

Apsley House, article on, 214

Aqueduct at Merida, 32

Aranjuez, 131, 139

Arapiles, 91

Architecture, Spanish, article on, 204

Argamasilla de Alba, 30

Arjona, the Assistente, 13, 14, 15, 43, 87, 107

Armament, the, for Portuguese expedition, 83

Armeria, the, 70

Arnold, Dr. Thomas, 134ⁿ, 219

Arrests for sketching, 57

Ass, the, 7, 56

Asses’ milk, 71

_Athenæum_, the, 214

Athenæum, the, at Exeter, 155

_Ay de mi, Alhama_, 117

Azulejos, 82, 83, 148


Babylon, walls of, 156

Bacalao (dried fish), 107

Badajoz, 32, 77, 79;
  artillery ordered to, 80; 81, 88, 91

Bara, 46

Barbate, the, 20

Barbary, travelling in, 117

Barcelona, 54, 55, 57, 59, 60;
  description of, 61; 110;
  Llauder expelled from, 136

Baring, 90

Barings, the Miss, 171

Barranco de San Juan, the, 128

Bassetlaw job, the, 53

Batushka (Borrow), 192

Baylen, 49

Benalua, 66

Benavente, 92

“Bene” (Mrs. Clare Ford), 220

Benin, Bight of, 197

Berja, lead mines at, 37

Bermudez, Cea (or Zea), 1, 2, 114

de Berry, la Duchesse, 99ⁿ

“Bessy,” 219

Best, Mr., 167

_Bible in Spain_, the, quoted, 20, 21; 180-4

Bigge, Captain, 27, 31

Bilbao, 88, 93

Boabdila, 59ⁿ

Boars, wild, 18

Bodleian Library, the, 146

Bodmin, 207

Borgia, Cæsar, 35, 55

Borrow, George, on Quesada, 20;
  _Zincali_, 179;
  _Bible in Spain_, 180-4;
  his Greek servant, 180; 185;
  his biography, 185, 189;
  at Oulton Hall, 190, 191, 192; 194, 202

Bory de Saint Vincent, 143

Botiga, the, 40, 67

Bowring, Dr., 147, 149

Boyd, Robert, 73, 74, 75, 76, 93

Brackenbury, Sir John, Consul at Cadiz, 31, 72, 76, 83, 112, 115, 128, 138

Brasero, the, 12, 16

Brazilian Slave Trade, the, 198, 199

_British and Foreign Review_, the, 179

“Brook, Master,” 40

Brougham, Lord, 17ⁿ

Broughton, Lord, 217

la Bruyère, quoted, 151

Bull fights, 102, 103;
  in honour of Princess Isabella, 122;
  Ford’s article on, 122ⁿ, 163, 165, 166, 167

Buller, Colonel, 102, 103, 107, 110

Bulteel, Mr., 149

Bunyan, John, 181, 183

Burdett, Sir Francis, 24, 52

Burgos, 59, 61, 93, 109, 110

Burra, 56

Burton, Professor Edward, his _Antiquities of Rome_ (1821), 171

Burton, Robert (author of the _Anatomy of Melancholy_), 202

Bustard, the, 18, 69

Byron, Ada (Lady Lovelace), 151

Byron, Lord, 95, 117ⁿ, 151, 152;
  _The Corsair_, 199


Cadiz, the Cortes at, in 1812, 3;
  free trading at, 10, 27, 52;
  riots at, in 1831, 20, 27, 41;
  assassination of governor, 20, 26;
  the _Malabar_ at, 116;
  cholera at, 127, 128, 138

Cain, the originator of cob walls, 156

_Ça ira_ of the Spanish Revolution, the, 4

Cajeput oil, 62

Caldero, 31

Calle de Alcala, in Madrid, 21, 41, 45, 54

Calle de Genoa, at Seville, 11

Calle de los Monsalvos, at Seville, 68

Calomarde, 97, 98

Campillo de la Arena, 47, 49, 65, 66

_Candide_, 153

Canning, Lord, 220

Canning, Lady Stratford, 111

Canning system, the, 25

Capara, 92

Cardenas, the Venta de, 30

Cardenio, 30

Cardinals & Co., 208

Cardona, the salt mines at, 55, 61, 63, 64

Carlos, Don, 4;
  retires to Portugal, 5, 98; 74, 96, 97;
  his wife, 97; 121, 159

“Carlos, Don:” _see_ Downie

Carlota, Princess, of Naples, 97, 99ⁿ, 100

Carmen Convent, the, at Malaga, 73

Carnarvon, Lord, 17, 181

Cartuja Convent, the, near Burgos, 109

Casa de los Expositos, the, 114

Casa Sanchez, the, in the Alhambra, 146

Cassiobury, 43

Castlereagh, Lord, 17

Cavallero, Juan, 76

Ceca, La, 39

Cemetery at Malaga, the, 73, 74

Charles IV., and the Salic Law, 96;
  his wife, 99ⁿ

Charles V. at the Alhambra, 36, 72;
  at San Yuste, 88, 92;
  founder of the Maestranza, 103ⁿ

Charlotte, Princess, 114

Château Margaux, 186

Cheffhttinschkwi, 70

Cherbourg, 170

Chico, el Rey, 59ⁿ

Cholera, the, 61, 67, 89, 99, 103, 113;
  at Lisbon, 116; 125, 127;
  precautions against, 129-32

Chorizo (sausage), 139, 183

Chorlito (curlew), 69

Christina, Queen, 2, 4, 5;
  degrades Moreno, 73; 74, 97, 99ⁿ, 107, 136ⁿ

Ciudad Rodrigo, 89, 91, 92;
  capture of, Ford’s picture, 209

Clarendon, Lord, 202, 205;
  and _see_ George Villiers

Cob walls, 147, 151, 152, 155, 156, 159

Coche de colleras, the, 35, 49, 134

Cockerel, Charles Robert, 218

Colburn, Mr., 117

Collier, Mr., 198

Compostella, 93

Conder, Josiah, his “Italy” (1831), 171

“Constantine the Great” (Lord Normanby), 169

Constitution, the, 3;
  rejected by Ferdinand VII., 4;
  and Pedro IV., 74

Constitutionalists, return of the, 4

Consuls, English, 112, 114

Cook, Samuel Edward (afterwards Widdrington), 31ⁿ,
      38ⁿ, 77, 83, 88, 90, 139, 140, 141, 142

Cordova, 39

Coria, 92

Corpus, el Dia de, 121

Corral de Conde, at Seville, 12

Cortijo del Puche, the, 54

Coto del Rey, the, 14, 16, 18

Couskousu, 120

Cowper, Lady, 16

Cranstoun, Lord, 160, 162

Cranstoun, the Hon. Eliza (second wife of Richard Ford), 160

Crawford, Oswald John Frederick, 186ⁿ

Cuarto, the, 100ⁿ, 107

de Custine, Marquis (Author of _L’Espagne sous Ferdinand VII._), 33, 43, 53, 66


Danube, the, 201

Dart, the, 161, 165

Daubeny, Professor, 31ⁿ

Dennis, G., his _Summer in Andalusia_, 28ⁿ

Despeña-perros, 30

_Diario_, the, 107

Dickens, Charles, 167, 170

Diligences in Spain, 28, 29;
  stopped on account of cholera, 129, 130, 131

“Dionysia” (Mrs. O’Lawlor), 37, 58, 67, 80, 87, 102, 113, 126

Dionysio, bookseller at Seville, 11

Diorama of the Campaigns of the Duke of Wellington, Guide to the, 209-12

Dog-days, at the Alhambra, 52

Dolorosita, (niece of Francisca de Molina), 72

Domestic appliances, at Seville, 71, 77

Don, General Sir George, 9, 21, 44

Downie (“Don Carlos”), the commandante at Jaen, 40, 45, 50, 65, 67, 69, 87

Dress, in Spain, 6, 7;
  in Morocco, 118;
  at state funerals, 134

Drewe, Mr., High Sheriff of Devon, 199

Drummond-Hay, Edward William Auriol, H.B.M. Consul at Tangier, 112, 119, 124

Dudley, Lord, 2, 14, 17, 43

Dulcinea, 30


Ebrington, Lord, 149

_Echo_, the, 197, 198

Ecija, 39

Eden, Sir William, 66, 70, 71, 75, 77, 78, 79, 81, 88, 90, 116

_Edinburgh Review_, the, 183, 184, 185, 186, 189, 214ⁿ

El Bravo (Sancho IV.), 84

El Bueno (Guzman), 85, 103, 138

El Feroz (Heaphy), 90

El Galib (Mohammed I.), 59;
  (Mark), 114

El Gitano (Borrow), 190

El Majadero (gawk), 90

El Pilar, 55, 62, 64

El Rey Chico, 59ⁿ

_El Santo Rostro_, 66ⁿ

El Toboso, 30

Elche, the city of palms, 54, 57

Election, parliamentary, for South Devon, 148 _seq._

Ephesus of Mariolatry, the (Zaragoça), 55

Escribano, the, at Manzanares, 131

Escurial, the, 53

de España, the Conde, 61, 98;
  replaced by Llauder, 136ⁿ

Essex, Lord, 43, 160

Estcourt, T. G. Bucknall, M.P., 154

Estcourt, Eleanor Anne (Mrs. Addington), 154

Estefa, José Maria retires to, 99

Estremadura, 92

Eton, school bills at, 189;
  Montem, 192; 212

Exeter, 134, 135, 136;
  its library, 135, 140; 144, 145, 146;
  old furniture from, 146;
  railway to, 192;
  July (1846) assizes at, 197

Exmouth, 175, 196, 197


Falmouth, 138

Faraday, Michael, 218

Faure, 143

_Felicidade_, the, 197, 198

Ferdinand VII., 1, 4;
  his restoration, 4;
  his marriage, 4;
  his character, 5;
  his health, 74, 79, 98, 114;
  his children, 97;
  restores the Salic law, 97;
  winters at Seville, 103;
  his letter to the Captains General, 114;
  his patronage of art, 140, 141;
  his death and funeral, 133, 134, 188

_Ferdinand and Isabella_ (Prescott’s), reviewed by Ford, 166, 168

Ferdinand the Catholic, 109

Fergusson, 205

Fez, 120

Flax, cultivation of, 208

Flegras, General, 87

Florida Blanca, court of, 122

Foote, Samuel, 39ⁿ

Ford, Frances (wife of Thomas Hughes), 134ⁿ, 219

Ford, Francis Clare, 155, 212, 213, 214;
  his examination in international law, 218;
  his marriage, 218;
  G.C.B., 213, 214;
  at Naples (1852), 213;
  at Paris (1856), 216, 217;
  at Lisbon (1857), 220

Ford, Georgina (wife of Mowbray Northcote), 206

Ford, James, 134, 137, 219.

Ford, Mary Jane (wife of Edmund Tyrwhitt), 206

Ford, Meta (wife of O. J. F. Crawford), 186ⁿ, 207

Ford, Richard, as a sportsman, 18, 19;
  birth of a son, 25;
  his son’s death, 98;
  birth of a daughter, 104;
  his return to England, 125, 133;
  at Park Street, 133, 166, 203, 206, 207, 208, 219;
  at Southernhay, 135, 137;
  his pocketbooks, 137, 138;
  illness of his son, 155;
  his second marriage, 160, 161;
  his daughters, 185, 189;
  their marriages, 206;
  his church building, 192, 193;
  his third marriage, 207;
  Bright’s disease, 216;
  visits his son in Paris, 216;
  Commissioner on the site of the National Gallery, 218;
  his death, 220;
  and _see_ Reviews

Ford, Lady, her death, 206

Ford, Mrs. (the first), her Pajez guitar, 53;
  her health, 15, 70, 74, 76, 78, 82, 83, 88, 93, 98, 104, 106, 110, 123, 125;
  her riding habit, 108, 135;
  her silver box, 111, 113, 115, 116;
  her death, 156, 157

Ford, Mrs. (the second), 160, 161, 162, 163, 164, 188, 192, 196;
  her health, 205;
  her death, 206

Ford, Mrs. (the third), 207, 208

Fords, the five Miss, 137

Fowling-pieces, 18, 19

Francisco de Paula, 97, 99, 102, 103ⁿ

Frias, Duke of, 122

Fulford, Mr. Baldwin, jun., 149


“Gaffer George,” 55

Gaisford, Dr., 203

Galignani’s newspaper, 15, 26, 52, 57, 93, 94, 99, 127

Game, at Seville, 18, 19

Garofalo, Marquis, 218

Garofalo, Annie (wife of Clare Ford), 218

Gaspacho (soup), 100

_Gatherings from Spain_, 138, 204

Gayangos, Don Pascual, 201, 202

_Gazette de France_, the, 136

Generalife, the, 41, 48, 109, 110

George III., 188

George IV., 114

Germany, 201

Geronimo, church of, in Madrid, 121

de Gersdorf, Mr., 43

Gibraltar, 9;
  Torrijos at, 19; 23;
  officers kidnapped at, 75; 85, 121, 138

Gil Blas, 181, 183

_Gipsies in Spain_, the (Borrow), 179, 183ⁿ

Giralda, the, 23

Giron, General, 10, 13;
  _see_ Marques de las Amarillas

Godoy, 99ⁿ

Godson, Mr., 198

Gorro, the, 130

Granada, the Duke of Wellington on, 3;
  climate, etc., 34, 35; 40, 49, 51, 90, 99,
      108, 109, 110, 116, 117, 121, 124, 125, 129, 166

Grant, 134, 135

Grazalema, 86

Greenwich, whitebait at, 208

_Greville Memoirs_, the, 17ⁿ, 101ⁿ, 124

Grey, Lord, his ministry, 17

Griffiths’, at Gibraltar, 138

Grimaldi, 119

Guadairo, the, 85

Guadalete, the, 85

Guadalquivir, the, 18

Guarroman, 130

Guerilleros, 210, 211

Guisado de Perdices, 49

Gurwood, Lt.-Col., his _Wellington Dispatches_, 166

Gutierez, 103

de Guzman, Alonzo Perez (El Bueno), 84, 85, 103, 138

Guzman, Don Rafael, 103


Haliburton, Thomas Chandler, author of _Sam Slick_, 167

_Handbook for Travellers in Spain_, the (1845), 66ⁿ, 138,
      173-9, 184, 186, 187, 188, 190, 192;
  first edition cancelled, 193, 194, 195, 196;
  (1846), 197, 201, 202;
  second edition (1847), 204;
  third edition (1855), 214, 215

Hats, in Granada, 50, 51

Havre, 172

Hawtrey, of Eton, 192

Hay: _see_ Drummond Hay

Hayward, Abraham, 186

Head, Sir Edmund, 128;
  his book reviewed by Ford, 128; 139, 143, 144

Heaphy, Captain, 66, 70, 90, 140

Heavitree, 146 _seq._, 150;
  Elizabethan apartment at, 154,
  finished and furnished, 154, 155;
  the garden-house at, 173

Heraldry, Spanish, article on, 163

_Hermes_, the, 115, 116

Hierro, Oliver y, Governor of Cadiz, 20

Hildebrand, 195

Himno del Riego, el, 4

_Historical Inquiry into the unchangeable character of a war in Spain_, 158

Holbein, 110

Holland, Lady, her sheets, 100

Holy War, the, 35

Holy Week, 112, 114

Hoppner, Mr. R. B., 52

Horner, Mr., 102

Horse’s Foot, the, article on, 204

Houston, Sir William, Governor of Gibraltar, 76, 85

Howell, James, his _Epistolæ Ho-elianæ_, 138ⁿ

Huelva, cholera at, 127; 128

la Huerta, composer of the Hymn of Riego, 4

Hughes, Thomas, 134ⁿ, 219

Humboldt, 202

Hurdes: _see_ Jurdes


Ibrahim Pacha, defeats the Turks at Konieh, 115

Igualada, 64

_Illustrated London News_, the, 218

Income tax, the, 184

India, after the mutiny, 220

Infantado, Duke of, 122

Influenza, the, 155, 193

Inglis, H. D., his _Spain in 1830_, 56

Inkerman, 217

Inquisition, the, restored by Ferdinand VII., 4

International Law, Clare Ford’s examination in, 218

Irish Church Question, the, 148

Irun, 6

Irving, Washington, 3, 36, 117, 202

Isabella, Queen, 96, 109

Isabella, Princess, birth of, 5, 97;
  proclaimed queen, 5; 96, 98;
  recognized as heiress to the throne, 121; 99ⁿ, 114

Isla de Leon, 4


“Jaca cordovese,” 8

Jaen, 35, 40, 46, 47, 49, 50, 65, 69, 87;
  cholera at, 129

“Jamon de las Alfujarras,” 139

Jamones, 203, 207

Jermyn Street, Ford’s house in, 162

Jersey, 170

Jersey, Lady, 16, 17

Jewelry, of the Moors, 118, 120, 121

Jews, the, in Morocco, 116, 117, 118, 119

Joanes (or Juanes), Vicente, 55, 60

Joinville, 193

Jones, Owen, his _Plans, etc., of the Alhambra_ (1842), 167

“Jorge, Don” (Borrow), 194, 197

“José, Don,” _see_ O’Lawlor

José Maria, _see_ Maria

“Juan, Don,” 203

Junta de Sanidad, the, 130

Jurdes, 92


“King John’s Tavern,” Exeter, 146

King, Lord, his marriage, 151, 152, 162

Konieh, defeat of the Turks at, 115ⁿ

Kutayah, Treaty of, 115


de Laborde, Alexandre, 143ⁿ

Ladrones, 37, 99

Lady’s Love, Spanish, article on, 204

La Granja, 96, 97, 105, 139

La Granja, Marquis de, 69, 77

Lambert, Abbot of S. Rufus, quoted by Ford as St. Ambrose, 138

Landseer, Sir Edwin, 170

Lannes, Marshall, 56

Larpent’s _Journal_, reviewed by Ford, 214ⁿ

Las Batuecas, 92

Leon, 93

Leslie, Charles, R.A., 170

Lewis, Mr. J. F., 95, 102, 105, 106, 108, 109, 113

Lewis, Mr. F. C., 95ⁿ

Lienzo work, 161

Lillifant, Mr., 149

Lisbon, 79;
  the _Hermes_ at, 116;
  the cholera at, 116; 212

Llauder, General Manuel, 98, 136

Locke, John, 152

Lockhart, John Gibson, 155, 160, 165;
  his “Ballads,” 167 179, 182;
  on the _Handbook_, 202;
  on the _Gatherings_, 204, 205

Loja, 117

_London Gazette_, the, 218

Lorano, Don Pablo, his _Antiquedades arabes_, 109

Los Humeros, 12

Louis Philippe, 8, 176

Lovelace, Earl of: _see_ Lord King

Lowestoft, 190

Lowndes Street, Ford’s house in, 162

Loyola, 195

Lugo, 88, 93

Lyndhurst, Lady, 17

Lyndhurst, Lord, 17ⁿ


Macadam, 40

la Macarena, 12

Macaroni, 171, 174

Macaulay, Thomas Babington, 52

Macklin, Miss, 39ⁿ

Madeira, 110

Madrid, riots at, suppressed by Quesada, 20, 21; 93, 94;
  exchange at, 113; 193

Maestranza, the, 103

Magazines, penny, 138

Mairena, fair at, 12

Major, the, 127

Majoral, the, 35, 45, 49, 130

Majos, the, 43, 87, 103

_Malabar_, the, 116

Malaga, 2, 3, 37, 54, 59;
  Torrijos lands at, 73;
  Carmen Convent at, 73; 74, 78, 90, 99, 104, 121, 123, 138

Malle de Poste, the, 94

Mallorca, 111

Malmesbury, Lord, 212, 213, 214

Mamhead, 164

la Mancha, 30

Manning, Mr., 198, 199

Manresa, 55, 63

Manzanares (the rebel), 20

Manzanares, 130

Maratti, Carlo, 15

Maria da Gloria, 5, 74, 101ⁿ

Maria Francisca, of Braganza, 97

Maria, José, Bandit of Andalusia, 7, 27, 40, 67, 68, 75, 79, 81, 85, 86, 89;
  his retirement, 99, 102, 112, 113

Maria Luisa, wife of Charles IV., 99ⁿ

Mark, Mr., Consul at Malaga, 2, 3, 54, 59, 73,
      74, 75, 81, 83, 98, 99, 104, 106, 114, 121, 141

Marryat, Captain Frederick, 167

Marseillaise of Spain, the, 4

Marshalls, the, 219

Martin, Captain, 66, 70, 71, 75, 78, 79, 81, 90

Massenas, the, 210

_Matilda_, 169

Meara: _see_ O’Meara

Medina Celi, 134

Medina Sidonia, 85

Mehemet Ali, 115

Melbourne, Lord, 148

Mengibar, 130

Merida, 32, 88, 89, 92

_Merry Wives of Windsor, The_, 40ⁿ

Mexico, Humboldt’s book on, 202

“la Mezquita,” at Oulton Hall, 191

Miguel, Dom, 5, 74, 81, 99;
  his fleet destroyed, 101; 103

Miguelites: _see_ Miquelites

Milan, 172

Milman, Dean, 218

Mina, General, 136ⁿ

Minaño, Diccionario de España, 172, 174, 176, 187

Miquelites, or Miqueletes, the, 35, 36, 40, 42, 45, 49, 50, 56

Mohammed I. (Ibn-al-Ahmar), 59ⁿ

Molesworth, Sir Arscott Ourry, 207

Molesworth, Miss Caroline, 208

Molesworth, Miss Mary (third wife of Richard Ford), 207

Molesworth, Sir William, M.P., 207;
  in the Cabinet, 215;
  Colonial Secretary, 215;
  his last illness, 215;
  his death, 216

Molesworth, Dowager Lady, the 207

de Molina, Francisca (“Tia Antonia”), and the Alhambra, 36, 37, 54, 72, 114

Monet, Don Juan Antonio, of Algeciras, 81, 86, 87

Monserrat, 55, 61, 63

Montaigne, 202

Montanches Porkers, 203

Moreno, Vicente Gonsalez, Captain-General of Malaga, 72, 73;
  of Granada, 73; 76, 77, 78, 98, 106

Morgan, Lady, 150, 151

de Mornay, Charles, 90

_Morning Post_, the, 197

Muchacha, 148

Munich, 201

Murcia, 90

Muriel, 110

Murillo, 11

Murray, John, 164, 165, 167, 172, 173, 177, 178, 179;
  Memoir of John Murray, 180, 184; 185, 186;
  his death, 187, 188, 190, 193, 194

Murviedro, 55, 58, 60

Musée Standish, the, 8


Nagle, Jane Francis (Mrs. James Ford), 134ⁿ

Napier, Admiral Sir Charles, 101

Napier, Sir W. F. P., his _Peninsular War_, 128, 143, 193, 209

Napier, Macvey, Editor of the _Edinburgh Review_, 186

Napoleon, his system of supplies, 209 _seq._

Narvaez, 193

National Gallery, the, 218

Nicholas I., 18

Nightingales in the Alhambra, 48

“No-popery” disturbances in Devonshire, 194, 195

Northcote, Mowbray, 206

Northcote, Stafford, 149, 206

Norwich, Borrow at, 191


Ocaña, 131

O’Connell, 147, 149, 170, 190

O’Donnel, General, 81

O’Lawlor, General, agent for the Duke of Wellington (Don José), 3, 32, 37,
      41, 46, 48, 49, 51, 58, 69, 80, 83, 87, 102, 105, 106, 108, 111, 113;
  his tailor, 123;
  birth of a daughter, 126; 128, 129

_Oliver Twist_, reviewed by Ford, 169

Olive wood, for burning, 105

O’Meara, 66, 70, 90

O’Neil, General, 69, 71, 77, 78, 105, 106

Oporto, occupied by Pedro IV., 74;
  the _Hermes_ at, 116

Ormerod, Miss, 208

Orvieto, 172

Ossuna, 116

Ottley, Sir Richard, 171;
  his daughter, 171

Oulton Hall, 190, 191

Oviedo, 93

Oxford, Ford at, 146, 202, 203

Oxholm, Colonel, 65


Painting, Spanish, Ford’s article on, 204

Pajez, Juan, his guitars, 53ⁿ, 111

Palmerston, Lord, 14, 69, 73, 159

Palms, the city of: _see_ Elche

Palo santo (wood), 53ⁿ

Paris, 216

Parker, Mr., M.P. for South Devon, 148, 149, 150

Partizans, convoy intercepted by, 209

Partridges, 46, 47, 49

Pascoe, Captain, 44

Pasqual, 54, 56, 62, 63, 64

Passports for Mr. F. J. Lewis, 95, 102;
  and cholera, 130

Patio de los Leones, the, 41, 72, 126

Pavito, roast, 47

Pearson, Mr., his watch, 50

Pedro IV., 5;
  resigns the throne of Brazil, 74;
  occupies Oporto, 74; 88, 94, 99, 100, 101, 103, 128

Pedroza, Ramon, 38

Peel, Sir Robert, 52, 148, 187

Pelissier, Marshal, 199

Pencarrow, 207

_Penny Cyclopædia_, the, 184, 185

Percy, Captain, of the _Malabar_, 116

Perry, James, of the _Morning Chronicle_, 169

Philip II., 122;
  Prescott’s _Philip II._, 205

Philip V., 96

“Philosophical Radicals, the,” 207

Philpotts, Dr. Henry, Bishop of Exeter, 149, 150, 154, 194, 195

Phipps, Constantine Henry, first Marquis of Normanby, 169, 170

Phœnicians, the, introducers of cob walls, 156

Picacho de la Veleta, 50, 52, 54, 83, 128

Pidcock’s lions, 41

Pilar: _see_ El Pilar

Pincian, pines from the, 146

Pindar, of Seville, 43

de Pineda, Maria, 38, 41, 42, 45

Pirates, execution of, at Exeter, 199

Placencia, 88, 89, 91, 92

Plato, 150

Platt, Mr. Baron, 198

Plaza de Alcala, the, 63

Plaza de la Carne, the, at Seville, aqueduct at, 11

Plaza de la Constitution, the, 3

Plaza del Duque, the, at Seville, 11

Plaza Mayor, the, at Madrid, 122

Plazuela San Isidoro, the, at Seville, 8

Poland, revolution in, 24

_Policy of England towards Spain_ (pamphlet), 159

Polpette, 171

Pompeii, 190

Porchester, Lord, 52

Porrit’s _Unreformed House of Commons_, 53ⁿ

Portland mutton, 188

Portugal, civil war in, 5, 74;
  armament against, 78; 79, 83, 88, 91, 126

Prado, the, at Madrid, 125
de Prats, Miquel, 35

Prescott, W. H., his _Ferdinand and Isabella_ reviewed by Ford, 166, 168;
  his _Philip II._, 205;
  on the _Handbook_, 202

Presidarios, the, 72

Protestants buried at Malaga, 73

Puchero, 5, 139, 165

Puerta del Vino, the, at the Alhambra, 161

Punch, 182

“Purissima,” the, 60

Pusey, Dr., 203

Puseyism at Oxford, 203

Pynes, 206ⁿ


_Quarterly Review_, the, 122, 128, 134, 137,
      138, 155, 158, 159, 160, 169, 182, 183, 186, 204, 205, 214, 218

Quesada, Captain General of Andalusia, 20, 21, 26, 28;
  of Madrid, 20, 98;
  Borrow on, 20, 21; 61, 75, 87, 95;
  reforms the police, 106; 107, 108, 110;
  his character, 136

Quesada, Madame, 108, 110

Queso de albaricoqui, 42

Quintas, 91

_Quixote, Don_, 30


Rabat, 120

Rack Street, Exeter, 146

Radford, Mr., his establishment, 145

Radnor, Lord, 17

Rafaello ware, 174

Ravasa, or Ravisa, 59, 62, 70, 89

Reading, 154

Reform Bill, the, 52, 53

Register chest from Exeter Cathedral, 146

Retford, East, borough of, 53

Reviews and Articles, by Ford:--
  Apsley House (_Quarterly Review_, March 1853), 214
  _Bible in Spain_ (_Edinburgh Review_, February 1843), 182-6
  Cob Walls (_Quarterly Review_, April 1837), 155, 156, 159
  Horse’s Foot, the (_Quarterly Review_, June 1846), 204
  Larpent’s _Journal_ (_Edinburgh Review_, July 1853), 214ⁿ
  _Oliver Twist_ (_Quarterly Review_, June 1839), 169
  Prescott’s _Ferdinand and Isabella_ (_Quarterly Review_, June 1839), 166, 168
  Ronda and Granada (_Quarterly Review_, March 1839), 166
  Semilasso in Africa (_Quarterly Review_, July 1837), 158, 159
  Spanish Architecture (_Quarterly Review_, March, 1846), 204
  Spanish Bull-feasts and Bull-fights (_Quarterly Review_, October 1838),
      122ⁿ, 163-5
  Spanish Heraldry (_Quarterly Review_, June 1838), 163
  Spanish Lady’s Love (_Quarterly Review_, September 1846), 204
  Spanish Painting (_Quarterly Review_, June 1848), 128, 204
  Spanish Theatre (_Quarterly Review_, July 1837), 158
  _Tom Brown’s School Days_ (_Quarterly Review_, June 1848), 134ⁿ, 218
  _Zincali, or, The Gipsies in Spain_ (_British and Foreign Review_,
      No. XXVI.), 179

Rhine, the, 201

Ribalta, Francisco, 55, 58

Ribera (Spagnoletto), 54

Richmond, George, R.A., 218

del Riego, Don Rafael, 4

Rio Tinto, mines at, 92

Roberts, David, his sketches, 128

Rome, 171

Ronda, Manzanares at, 20;
  snow-clad hills at, 83; 84, 85, 86, 116, 117, 166

Rubens, 14

_Rugby Reminiscences_, 218

Rugby, school food at, 219

Russia, protects Constantinople, 115


Saguntum, 55, 58

St. Ambrose, “viscarium diaboli,” 138;
  _see_ Lambert

St. Barbe, M. de, 33, 43, 53, 66

St. Malo, 170

St. Veronica’s handkerchief, 66ⁿ

St. Vincent, Cape, 101ⁿ

Sala de los Abencerrages, the, 72

Sala de los Embajadores, the, at the Alhambra, 38, 41

Salamanca, 37, 80, 88, 89, 91, 92, 95;
  Ford’s picture, 209, 212

Salic Law, the, set aside in favour of Isabella, 5, 96, 97

Salsa de Zandunga, 139

_Sam Slick_, 167

San Diego, Jesuit convent at, 1;
  Ford’s child buried at, 98

San Felipe de Xativa: _see_ Xativa

San Fernando’s Monks, 39

San Ignacio, Cueva de, 55

San Lorenzo, Duchess of, 66

San Lorenzo, Duke of, 87

San Martin, Bishop of Barcelona, 110

San Martin, General, 110

San Miguel, Evaristo, 4

San Pedro, vespers of, 125

San Yuste, convent, 88, 92, 190

Sancho IV. (El Bravo), 84

Sandridge, 162, 164

Santa Cruz, Marques de, 140, 141

Santa Engracia, convent at Zaragoça, 55, 64

Santiago, 92

Sarah, 69

Sarsfield, General, 91

“la Sartenilla de Andalucia” (Ecija), 39

Sartorius, Admiral Sir George, 101ⁿ

Schepeler, his _Histoire de la Révolution en Espagne_, 193

Scott, Sir Walter, 107

Scrope, William, his _Art of Deer-stalking_ (1838), 167

Segovia, 59

Selkirk, Lord, 167

_Semilasso in Africa_, Ford’s article on, 158

Senior, William Nassau, 155

Seu, the, 55

Seville, Mr. Wetherell’s tannery at, 1; 11-12;
  Game at, 18, 19;
  spring climate, 22;
  floods at, 23;
  taken by Mohammed I., 59;
  carnival at, 79; 94;
  cholera at, 127

Sheets, at the Alcazar, 100

Shirreff, Captain, port admiral at Gibraltar, 2, 22, 23, 80, 116, 117

Sicily, trip to, 172

“Sidi Habismilk” (Borrow’s Arabian horse), 191

Sierra Leone, 197

Sierra Morena, the, 33, 109

Sierra Nevada, the, 46, 50, 54

Smiles, Samuel, his _Memoir of John Murray_ quoted, 181, 182

Socrates, 150

Sorauren (or Sauroren), 212

Soto de Roma, Duke of Wellington’s property at, 3, 37

Southampton, 170

Southernhay, Exeter, 135-7

Southey, Robert, his _History of the Peninsular War_, 193

Spagnoletto, 54

Spain, political condition of, 3-5;
  description of, 6;
  fresh outbreak in, 188

_Spanish-Bull-feasts and Bull-fights_, Ford’s article on, 163, _seq._

Spring Rice, Mr., 219

Stalking-horse, the, 18

Standish, Mr. Hall, 8, 10, 70, 76

_Star_, H.M.S., 198

Starke, Mariana, her _Travels in Europe_, 177

Stewart, ----, 169

Stoke Gabriel, 161

Stroud, returns Lord John Russell, 148

Style, Ford’s, 139-44, 159, 160

Surplice, the white, 194, 195


Tafilet, 120

Talavera, 32, 77;
  battle of, Ford’s picture, 209

Tangier, 112, 117, 118

Tariff, the, 184

Tariffa, 43, 84, 85;
  women at, 85; 138

Tarragona, 55, 58

Tartana, 56

Telbin’s Diorama, 202

Terni, falls at, 171

Tertulia, 16, 65

Tetuan, 112, 116, 119;
  description of, 120

Theatre, the Spanish, Ford’s article on, 158

Thurtell, Mr., 191

“Tia Antonia”: _see_ Francisca de Molina

Tierney, 17

“Tigers, the,” 44, 114

Tio, Jorge, 55

Tiles (_azulejos_), 82, 83, 148

Toledo, 53, 92, 185

_Tom Brown’s School Days_, 134ⁿ;
  reviewed by Ford, 134ⁿ, 218

Toreadors, 103ⁿ

de la Torre, Frasquito, and his robbers, 86

Torrijos, General, 19, 21, 31, 72;
  lands near Malaga, 73;
  surrenders, 73;
  death of, 73

Toulouse, 170

Tragala, the, 4

Transportation, Sir W. Molesworth and, 215

Travelling in Spain, 6, 28, 29;
  in Morocco, 119

Triana, suburb of Seville, 24

Triunfo, the, 38

Twickenham, 208

Tyrwhitt, Edmund, 206

Tyrwhitt, Sir Henry, 206

Tyrwhitt-Jones, Sir T., Bart., 206


Urdax, Moreno murdered at, 73


Valdepeñas, 30, 66, 126, 153

Valdès, General, 136

Valencia, 54, 55, 57, 58;
  pictures at, 60

Valladolid, 59, 81, 89, 93

Vega, the, 39, 83

Vega, Lope de, 89

Vejer, fight at, 20, 26; 85

Velazquez, 96;
  Ford’s Life of, 184, 185

Venta de Cardenas, the, 30

Venta de Quesada, the, 30

Vera, capture of, 136

Via Babuino, the, 175

Vigo, the _Hermes_ at, 116

Villiers, George, Minister at Madrid, 124, 125, 127;
  his dinners, 134

“Viscarium diaboli,” 138

Visiting, 16, 17;
  in Morocco, 119

Vitoria, 94;
  Ford’s picture, 209, 212


_Wasp_, H.M.S., 197

Watches, cheap, 50

Water at the Alhambra, 42, 44, 47

Waterloo, 212, 217

Watt, James, 107

Weare, Mr., 191

Wellesley, Henry, 95

Wellington, Duke of, 3, 10, 13, 32,
      37, 51, 82, 91, 92, 94, 128, 167,
      184, 187, 193, 209, 210, 212, 214

_Western Times_, the, 198

Westmorland, Lord, 107

Wetherell, Mr., his tannery at Seville, 1

Wetherell, Sir Charles, 52

Weymouth, 170, 186, 188

White, Mr. Fernando, 16

Widdrington: _see_ Samuel Edward Cook

Wilkie, David, 170

Williams, Don Julian, Consul at Seville, 72, 82

“Wilsons,” Ford’s, 176

Winchester, 219

Women, the “viscarium diaboli,” 138


Xativa, San Felipe de, 54, 56, 57

Xeres, 72, 76, 79, 84, 86, 87, 138

Xenil, the, cypresses from, 146


_Yes or No_, 169


Zafra, 89, 92

Zagal, the, 35, 134

Zamarra, the, 173, 191

Zamora, 94

Zandunga, salsa de, 139

Zaragoça, 54, 55;
  the Maid of, 55;
  first siege of, 55;
  second siege of, 56; 57, 59, 61

_Zincali_, Borrow’s, 179, 183

Zouave medals, 217

Zurbaran, 200


_Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury, England._


FOOTNOTES:

[1] General Sir George Don.

[2] The free warehousing of goods at the Port of Cadiz was permitted
from 1828 to 1832, when the increase of smuggling led to its
abandonment.

[3] The Marques de las Amarillas, who had been War Minister in 1820,
was nominated by Ferdinand VII. to the Council of “Regency.” He was
appointed Captain-General of Andalusia in 1832.

[4] Don Julian Williams, Consul at Seville, and, in Ford’s opinion, the
best judge of Spanish pictures then living.

[5] Lord Lyndhurst, according to Greville (_Memoirs_, ed. 1888, vol.
ii. p. 69), expected that the Great Seal would be put in commission,
and that, after a few months, he would fill the office again.
Brougham’s acceptance of the Lord Chancellorship upset his calculations.

[6] Greville makes the same criticism, and enumerates six members of
the Grey family who were provided for in the distribution of offices.
(_Ibid._, p. 80.)

[7] _Bible in Spain_ (ed. 1896), vol. i. p. 181.

[8] _Bible in Spain_, p. 204.

[9] _A Summer in Andalucia_ (G. Dennis), vol. i., p. 264, 2 vols. 8vo,
London, 1839.

[10] Mr. (afterwards Sir John) Brackenbury, the Consul at Cadiz.

[11] Samuel Edward Cook, Captain in the Royal Navy, assumed in 1840 the
name of Widdrington. He published in 1834 _Sketches in Spain during
1829-32_ (London, 2 vols. 8vo). He paid a second visit to Spain in
1843, accompanied by Professor Daubeny, then Professor of Botany and
Chemistry at Oxford. Of this visit Captain Widdrington gives an account
in his _Spain and the Spaniards in 1843_ (London, 2 vols. 8vo, 1844).

[12] _L’Espagne sous Ferdinand VII._ Par le Marquis Astolphe de
Custine. 4 tomes, 12º, Bruxelles, 1838.

[13] “Widow of a Brigadier” at Granada, says Captain Cook (_Sketches in
Spain_, vol. i., p. 327).

[14] “Ally Croaker” is a song in Foote’s comedy _The Englishman in
Paris_ (1753): it was sung by Miss Macklin to the guitar.

[15] Alluding to the name assumed by the husband of Mrs. Ford in _The
Merry Wives of Windsor_.

[16] Half a farthing the pitcher.

[17] Probably Ford had advised Addington to wear a cheap watch for fear
of brigands. To have no watch at all was construed as an attempt to
cheat the robber of his legitimate reward, and exposed a traveller to
worse treatment than a slender purse.

[18] In 1830 the Parliamentary area of the corrupt Borough of East
Retford was enlarged by the addition of the Hundred of Bassetlaw,
in which the delinquent borough was situated (1 Wm. IV. c. 74). The
borough electorate was thus increased by the forty-shilling freeholders
who already voted in the elections for their county. (Porritt’s
_Unreformed House of Commons_, vol. i. p. 16.)

[19] The guitars made at Cadiz by Juan Pajez, and his son Josef rank
with the violins of Stradivarius. The best have a backboard of dark
wood called _Palo Santo_.

[20] Vicente Joanes, or Juanes (1523-1579).

[21] Francisco Ribalta (1551-1628).

[22] _Spain in 1830._ By H. D. Inglis, 2 vols. 8vo, London, 1831.

[23] Mohammed I. (Ibn-al-Ahmar), 1238-71, is said to have begun the
Alhambra in 1248. When he returned from the surrender of Seville, his
subjects saluted him by the title _galib_ or conqueror. He replied “_Le
galib ile Allah_” (“There is no conqueror but God”). The words are
everywhere introduced in the building as the founder’s motto. _El Rey
chico_ was the name given to Abu Abdullah (corrupted by the Spaniards
into Boabdila), the last Moorish King of Granada.

[24] _El Santo Rostro_, the impression of our Saviour’s face on the
handkerchief of St. Veronica, was only shown to the public on great
festivals.

[25] Ford’s _Handbook for Travellers in Spain_ is dedicated to Sir
William Eden, Bart., “in remembrance of pleasant years spent in
well-beloved Spain.”

[26] Don Juan Antonio Monet, appointed Minister of War October 1832.

[27] The village of Arapiles was the Duke of Wellington’s position at
the battle of Salamanca, July 22nd, 1812.

[28] The visit which John Frederick Lewis (1805-76) paid to Spain
(1832-4) was a turning-point in his artistic career. Till then he
had devoted himself almost exclusively to animals. His _Sketches and
Drawings of the Alhambra_ were published in 1835, and his _Sketches
of Spain and Spanish Character_ in 1836. Frederick Christian Lewis,
the father of “Spanish” Lewis, was a well-known engraver and landscape
painter.

[29] The Infante, Francisco de Paula, youngest child of Maria Luisa,
wife of Charles IV., was said to be her son by Godoy. He married the
Princess Carlota, sister of Queen Christina and the Duchesse de Berry.
His son was King Consort of Isabella II. (1846).

[30] _A cuarto_ is a copper coin of the value of four _maravedis_, i.e.
about a farthing.

[31] Captain (afterwards Admiral Sir George) Sartorius, was in 1831
appointed to command the Portuguese fleet acting for Maria da Gloria
against Dom Miguel. His command was successful. But the final blow
was struck by Captain (afterwards Admiral Sir Charles) Napier, who
succeeded him in June 1833. Napier destroyed Dom Miguel’s fleet off
Cape St. Vincent, July 3rd, 1833. The news reached London on July 14th,
“to the great delight of the Whigs and equal mortification of the
Tories” (_Greville Memoirs_, ed. 1888, vol. iii. p. 9).

[32] The _Maestranza_ was a corporation of gentlemen, instituted by
Charles V., to improve the breed of horses, encourage equestrian
exercises, and control the management of amphitheatres. Men of rank
and good family, like Don Rafael Guzman, rarely adopted the profession
of _toreador_. But the Infante, Don Francisco, was at the head of a
movement to revive the art of bull-fighting.

[33] Sir Walter Scott died September 21st, 1832.

[34] See page 1.

[35] The Egyptian troops under Ibrahim Pacha, son of Mehemet Ali,
defeated the Turks at Konieh, December 21st, 1832. The Sultan appealed
for aid to the Czar, who ordered 30,000 troops and 12 sail of the line
to go to the protection of Constantinople. Further hostilities were
averted by the treaty of Kutayah, May 1833.

[36] The capture of Alhama, the key to Granada, February 28th, 1482,
prepared the way for the expulsion of the Moors. _Ay de mi, Alhama!_
(“Woe is me, Alhama!”) is the refrain of Byron’s “very mournful ballad”
(_Poems_, vol. iv., pp. 529-34, ed. 1901).

[37] _Spanish Bull-feasts and Bull-fights._ By Richard Ford. _Quarterly
Review_, No. CXXIV., October 1838, pp. 395-6.

[38] Sir Edmund Head wrote, among other works and translations, _A
Handbook of the History of the Spanish and French Schools of Painting_
(London, 1848), which was reviewed by Ford in the Quarterly Review, No.
CLXV., June 1848, pp. 1-37.

[39] A volume of the sketches of David Roberts was published in 1837,
under the title of _Picturesque Sketches in Spain_.

[40] James Ford (1797-1877) was ordained in 1821, and became a
Prebendary of Exeter Cathedral in 1849. A good classical scholar, he
was a voluminous writer, chiefly on religious and moral subjects. In
1825 he married Jane Frances Nagle. Their eldest daughter married
Thomas Hughes, the author of _Tom Brown’s School Days_, which Richard
Ford, himself a contemporary of Arnold at Winchester, reviewed in the
_Quarterly Review_ for October 1857, the last article he ever wrote.

[41] General Manuel Llauder commanded the Royalist troops against the
Liberal leaders Mina and Valdès in Navarre, and by the capture of
Vera, October 1830, had suppressed the rising. As Inspector-General
of Infantry, he was chosen by Queen Christina, in October 1832, to
replace the Conde de España, an avowed Carlist, as Captain-General of
Catalonia. Ford probably means that Llauder, who at first had been
inclined to moderate Liberalism, grew reactionary in his views. It was
his later political opinions which made his appointment as Minister of
War in 1835 so unpopular, and in July 1835 led to his expulsion from
Barcelona.

[42] James Howell’s _Epistolæ Ho-elianæ; Familiar Letters, Domestic and
Foreign, etc._, 4 vols., 1645-55.

[43] The _Itinéraire descriptif de l’Espagne_ (par Alexandre de
Laborde, 5 tomes, Paris, 1806-21) was edited by Bory de Saint Vincent
in 1827, who, in 1823, had published a _Guide du Voyageur en Espagne_
(Paris, 1823).

[44] The two articles, one on the Spanish Theatre, the other a review
of _Semilasso in Africa_, appeared in No. CXVII. of the _Quarterly
Review_ (July 1837), pp. 62-87 and 133-64 respectively.

[45] Mariana Starke wrote _Travels in Europe for the use of Travellers
on the Continent, and likewise in the Island of Sicily. To which is
added an account of the remains of ancient Italy_. (1st Edition, 1820;
8th Edition, 1833.)

[46] Reprinted from the _Memoir of John Murray_. By Samuel Smiles, vol.
ii. pp. 491-2.

[47] _The Bible in Spain._ By George Borrow, London, 1842 (2 vols.
12mo).

[48] “Mr. Borrow’s book on the _Gipsies of Spain_, published a couple
of years ago, was so much and so well reviewed (though not, to our
shame be it said, in our own journal), that we cannot suppose his name
is new to any of our readers.”--_Quarterly Review_, No. CXLI. (Dec.
1842), p. 169.

[49] ‘Meta’ Ford, born October 1840, the only child of Richard Ford’s
second wife, married Oswald John Frederick Crawford, and died in 1899.
She inherited much of her father’s wit, love of art, and conversational
ability.

[50] _Histoire de la Révolution en Espagne._ 3 vols. Leipzig, 1829-31.

[51] Georgina Ford married the Rev. Mowbray Northcote, third and
youngest son of Sir Stafford Henry Northcote, Bart., of Pynes, near
Exeter.

[52] Mary Jane Ford married Edmund Tyrwhitt, second son of Sir T.
Tyrwhitt Jones, Bart.

[53] Miss Caroline Molesworth, Mrs. Ford’s aunt, was a distinguished
botanist and meteorologist, whose scientific papers were edited by Miss
Ormerod (_Cobham Journals: Meteorological Observations_, London, 1880,
8vo).

[54] He also reviewed Larpent’s _Journal_ in the _Edinburgh Review_ for
July 1853 (vol. xcviii. pp. 216-40).