Transcribed from the 1819 George Smallfield edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org

                      [Picture: Public domain cover]





                               OBSERVATIONS
                                    ON
                                THE STATE
                                    OF
                         RELIGION AND LITERATURE
                                    IN
                                  SPAIN,


                               MADE DURING

                    _A JOURNEY THROUGH THE PENINSULA_

                                 IN 1819.

                                * * * * *

                                 London:

                 _Printed by George Smallfield Hackney_.

                                * * * * *

                                  1819.




OBSERVATIONS, &c.


THERE are in Spain, according to Antillon’s {3a} calculations, two
hundred thousand ecclesiastics.  They possess immense revenues and an
incalculable influence over the mass of the people; though it is certain
that influence is diminishing, notwithstanding the countenance and
co-operation of a government deeply interested in preserving their
authority.

It would be great injustice to the regular clergy of Spain to class them
with the immense hordes of monks and friars, scattered over the face of
the Peninsula, some possessing rich and well-stored convents, large
estates and accumulating wealth, and others (the mendicant orders) who
prey more directly on the labours of the poor, and compel the industrious
to administer to their holy, uninterrupted laziness.  The former, though,
doubtless, by far too numerous, are for the most part intelligent and
humane: dispensing benevolence and consolation in their respective
parishes; friendly, in many instances, to liberty and devoted to
literature.  The latter, with few, but striking exceptions, {3b} are
unmanageable masses of ignorance and indolence. {3c}  They live (as one
of the Spanish poets says) in a state of sensual enjoyment between the
organ-loft and the refectory, to which all other enjoyment is but
purgatory; {3d} the link which should connect them with the common weal
for ever broken; the ties of family and friend dissolved; their authority
founded on the barbarism and degradation of the people, they are
interested in stemming the torrent of improvement in knowledge and
liberty, which must in the end inevitably sweep away these “cumberers of
the soil.”  No society in which the sound principles of policy are at all
understood, would consent to maintain a numerous body of idle,
unproductive, useless members in opulence and luxury, (at the expense of
the active and the laborious,) merely because they had chosen to decorate
themselves with peculiar insignia—to let their beards grow, or to shave
their heads; and though the progress of civilization in Spain has been
greatly retarded, or rather it has been compelled to retrograde under the
present system of despotism, yet, that great advances have been made
since the beginning of the late Revolution, is happily too obvious to be
denied. {4a}

That Revolution, in fact, has produced, and will continue to produce, a
very favourable influence on the ecclesiastical government of Spain.
Leaving out of consideration the immense number of priests and friars who
perished during the atrocious invasion of their country, the destruction
of convents, the alienation of church property, and the not unfrequent
abandonment of the religious vow, unnoticed amidst the confusion and
calamities of active war, more silent, but more extensive changes have
been going on.  The Cortes, when they decreed that no Noviciates should
be allowed to enrol themselves, {4b} gave a death-blow to the monastic
influence, and since the re-establishment of the ancient despotism, the
chasm left by this want of supply has not been filled up, nor is likely
to be; for, the greater part of the convents (except those very richly
endowed) complain that few candidates propose themselves, except from the
lower classes of society, who are not likely to maintain the credit or
add to the influence of the order.  Examples are now extremely rare of
men of family and fortune presenting themselves to be received within the
cloisters, and offering all their wealth and power as the price of their
admission.  Another circumstance, the consequence of the Revolution, has
tended greatly to lessen the influence of the regular clergy, where it is
most desirable it should be lessened, among the lower classes.  Driven
from their cells by the bayonets of _enemies_, or obliged to desert them
that their convents might become hospitals for their sick and wounded
_friends_, they were compelled to mingle with the mass of the people.  To
know them better was to esteem them less, and the mist of veneration with
which popular prejudice had so long surrounded them, was dispersed, when
they became divested of every outward distinction, and exhibited the same
follies and frailties as their fellow-men. {4c}  He who, in the imposing
procession, or at the illumined altar, appeared a saint or a prophet, was
little, was nothing, when mingling in the common relations of life he
stood unveiled before his undazzled observers.  For the first time it was
discovered that the monks were not absolutely necessary for the
preservation even of religion.  Masses were celebrated as before: the
host paraded the streets with its accustomed pomp and solemnity: the
interesting ceremonials which accompany the entrance and the exit of a
human being in this valley of vicissitude, were all conducted with their
wonted regularity.  Still less were they wanted to implore the blessing
of Heaven on the labours of the husbandman, whose fruits grew and were
gathered in with unvarying abundance.  Without _them_ the country was
freed from the ignoble and degrading yoke of the usurper, while success
and martial glory crowned the arms of their military companions, (the
British,) who cared little for “all the trumpery” of “friars white,
black, or grey;” and if the contagion of their contempt did not reach
their Catholic friends, they lessened, at least, the respect with which
the inmates of the convent had been so long regarded.

But in anticipating a period in which the Spaniard shall be released from
monkish influence, it must not be forgotten how interwoven is that
influence with his most delightful recollections and associations.  His
festivities, his romerias, {5a} his rural pastimes, are all connected
with, and dependent on the annual return of some saint’s-day, in honour
of which he gives himself up to the most unrestrained enjoyment.  A mass
is with him the introductory scene to every species of gaiety, and a
procession of monks and friars forms a part of every picture on which his
memory most delights to dwell.—And a similar, though, perhaps, a stronger
impression is created on his mind by the enthusiastic “love of song,”
{5b} so universal in Spain.  He lives and breathes in a land of poetry
and fiction: he listens with ever-glowing rapture to the Romanceros, {5c}
who celebrate the feats of his heroes, and surround his monks and hermits
with all the glories of saints and angels: he hears of their mighty
works, their sufferings, their martyrdom; and the tale, decorated with
the charms of verse, is dearer to him than the best of holy writ.  The
peculiar favourites of the spotless Virgin, their words fall on his ear
like the voice of an oracle, their deeds have the solemn sanction of
marvellous miracles.  To them he owes that his country is the special
charge of the queen of angels, the mother of God; and in every convent he
sees the records of the wondrous interpositions of heaven, which has so
often availed itself of the agency of the _sainted_ inmates, while every
altar is adorned with the grateful offerings of devout worshipers,
miraculously restored to health or preserved from danger.  He feels
himself the most privileged among the faithful.  On him “our Lady of
Protection” (del Amparo) smiles; to him the Virgin of Carmen {6a} bows
her gracious head.  In his eye ten thousand rays of glory encircle the
brow of his patron-saint, the fancied tones of whose voice support,
assure and encourage him: he believes that his scapulary {6b} (blessed by
a Carmelite friar) secures him from every evil: his house is adorned with
the pope’s bull of indulgences—a vessel of holy water is suspended over
his bed, and what more can he want, what danger can approach him?  His
mind is one mass of undistinguishing, confiding, comforting faith.
_That_ faith is his religion, his Christianity!  How difficult will it be
to separate the evil from the good, if, indeed, they can be separated!
What a fortress must be overthrown before truth and reason can advance a
single step!  What delightful visions must be forgotten, what animating
recollections, what transporting hopes!  Have we a _right_ to rouse him
from these blessed delusions?  This is indeed the ignorance that is
bliss.  Is it not folly to wish him wise?

But, alas! this is only one side of the picture! for, however soothing,
however charming the contemplation of contented ignorance may be to the
imagination, in the eye of reason the moral influence of such a system is
baneful in the extreme.  All error is evil; and the error which
substitutes the external forms of worship for its internal influence on
the heart, is a colossal evil.  Here we have a religion, if such it may
be called, that is purely ceremonial.  Its duties are not discharged in
the daily walk of life, not by the cultivation of pure and pious and
benevolent affections, but by attending masses, by reciting Paternosters
and Ave Marias, by pecuniary offerings for souls in purgatory, and by a
thousand childish observances, which affect remotely, if they affect at
all, the conduct and the character.  The Spaniard attends his parish
church to hear a service in an unknown tongue; {6c} he bends his knees
and beats his bosom at certain sounds familiar to his ear, but not to his
sense; he confesses and communicates with undeviating regularity; {6d}
and sometimes, perhaps, he listens to a sermon in the eloquent style and
beautiful language of his country, not, indeed, instructing him in the
moral claims of his religion, but celebrating the virtues and recounting
the miracles of some saint or martyr to whom the day is dedicated.  He
reads his religious duties, not in a Bible, but an Almanack; and his
Almanack is but a sort of Christian mythology.  His saints are more
numerous than the deities of the pantheon; and, to say the truth, there
are many of them little better than these. {7a}

He is told, however, that his country exhibits the proudest triumphs of
orthodox Christianity.  Schism and heresy have been scattered, or at
least silenced: and if in Spain the eye is constantly attracted, and the
heart distressed, by objects of unalleviated human misery; if the
hospitals are either wholly unprotected, or abandoned to the care of the
venal and the vile; if the prisons are crowded with a promiscuous mass of
innocence and guilt, in all its shades and shapes of enormity {7b}—what
does it matter?  Spain, Catholic Spain, has preserved her faith
unadulterated and unchanged, and her priests assure us that an error in
creed is far more dangerous, (or to use their own mild language,) far
more damnable, than a multitude of errors in conduct.  A depraved heart
may be forgiven, but not an erring head.  This is, in fact, the fatal
principle, whose poison spreads through this strongly-cemented system.
To this we may attribute its absurdities, its errors, its crimes.  This
has created Dominicks and Torquemadas.

In a word, intolerance, in its widest and worst extent, is the foundation
on which the whole of the Spanish ecclesiastical edifice rests.  It has
been called the main pillar of the constitution, and is so inwrought with
the habits and prejudices of the nation, that the Cortes, with all their
general liberality, dared not allow the profession of any other religion
than the “Catolica Apostolica Romana unica Verdadera.” {7c}  The cry of
_innovation_ there, as elsewhere, became a dreadful weapon in the hands
of those who profess to believe that errors become sanctified by age.
Too true it is, that if long usage can sanction wrong, persecution might
find its justification in every page of Spanish history, from the time
when Recaredo, the gothic monarch, abandoned his Arian principles (with
the almost solitary exception of the tolerant and ill-treated Witiza).
Long, long before the Inquisition had erected its frightful pretensions
into a system, or armed itself with its bloody sword, its spirit was
abroad and active.  Thousands and tens of thousands of Jews and Moors had
been its victims, and its founders did no more than obtain a regal or a
papal licence, for the murders which would otherwise have been probably
committed by a barbarous and frenzied mob, excited by incendiary monks
and friars.

The Inquisition has, no doubt, been greatly humanized by the progress of
time; as, in order to maintain its influence in these more enlightened
and inquiring days, it has availed itself of men of superior talent,
these have softened the asperity, or controlled the malignity and petty
tyranny of its inferior agents.  Its vigilance and its persecutions are,
indeed, continually at work, yet, I believe its _flames_ will never again
be lighted.  Its greatest zeal is now directed against Freemasons, of
whom immense numbers occupy its prisons and dungeons.  I have conversed
with many who have been incarcerated by the Inquisition, and they agree
in stating that torture is no longer administered. {7d}  But its
influence on literature is perhaps greater than ever; for though Spain
possesses at the present moment a great number of admirable writers, the
press was never so inactive.  The despotism exercised over authors {8a}
and publishers is so intolerable, that few have courage voluntarily to
submit to it.  Often after authorizing the publication of a work, they
order it to be suppressed, and every copy to be burnt, and never think of
reparation to those who are so cruelly injured.  Their presumption in
condemning whatever they cannot understand, {8b} their domiciliary
visits, their arbitrary decrees, against which there is no security and
no appeal, make them fearful enemies and faithless friends.

With the difficulty, delay, expense and frequent impossibility of
obtaining a licence for the publication of any valuable work, may be well
contrasted the ridiculous trash which daily issues from the Spanish
press.  Accounts of miracles wrought by the different virgins, {8c} lives
of holy friars and sainted nuns, romances of marvellous conversions,
libels against Jews {8d} and heretics and Freemasons, histories of
apparitions, and so forth, are generally introduced, not by a mere
licence of the inquisitor, but by long and laboured eulogiums.

It is no novel observation, that the most cruel and intolerant
persecutors have often been men wholly devoid of religious principle;
men, who consider the religion of the state only as a part of its civil
policy, and who treat the denial of a national creed with the same
severity as the infraction of an established law, or rather as a species
of treason against the supreme authority.  No plea of modest inquiry, of
conscientious doubt, or honest difference of opinion, is allowed to
oppose for a moment their sanguinary and despotic sway.  There are no
terms of safety but those of unresisting, instant, absolute prostration.
Such men are generally the prime movers of the gagging engine of
religious intolerance; and such men are to be found too abundantly in
Spain.  Others there are who imagine they see in the pomp and parade of
the Romish ritual, a system of delusion admirably adapted to beguile, or
even to bless the ignorant.  They fancy themselves beings of a higher and
nobler order, and that, while they bask in the sunshine of intellect and
knowledge, they may be well content that the uninstructed mass should
trudge on in darkness below.  Why should they throw their pearls to
senseless swine; or shower down truth and virtue on those who fatten on
vice and error?

But perhaps a larger class, which would include too the majority of the
learned clergy of Spain, are they whose honest opinions are made up of
heresy and infidelity; but their worldly interests are so inwrought with
the existing system, that the thought of sacrificing those interests to
the higher claims of right, has never occurred to them; or, if it has
occurred, has never obtained a moment’s attention.  To them it is a
glorious and gold-giving superstition.  If they can persuade themselves
that, on the whole, it is harmless, they are satisfied.  They do
more—they say it is beneficial, and they have repeated this so often,
that they, perhaps, almost believe it is true.  Would they look round
them they might see the melancholy effects which superstition and
intolerance have produced in their hapless country.  What is Seville—the
once renowned Seville, with its hundred and twenty-five churches and
convents?  The very shrine of ignorance.  It was there that the Spanish
chart of liberty was trampled under foot, amidst ten thousand shouts of
“Live the King and the Inquisition!”  “Perish the Constitution!”  Or
Cordoba, so long the cradle of the arts, the favourite seat of retiring
wisdom?  It is become the chosen abode of vice and barbarism!  The press,
which was established there in the short era of Spanish liberty, has been
torn in pieces by a frantic mob, who, excited by the monks, paraded the
streets of this unfortunate capital, threatening death to every
individual whose name had been connected with that of liberty.  How many
a town and city, once illustrious, has sunk into nothingness! {9a}  “What
remains of their ancient glory?  The ruins of palaces, of fabrics, of
store-houses and dwellings; and undilapidated churches and monasteries
and hospitals, outliving the misery of which they have been the cause.”
{9b}

One might surely expect that in a country possessing eight archbishops,
more than fifty bishops, and more than a hundred abbacies, with a
jurisdiction almost episcopal; “in which,” to use the language of a
Spanish writer, “there are more churches than houses, more altars than
hearths, more priests than peasants;” in which every dwelling has its
saint, and every individual his scapulary;—one might expect to see some
benefits, some blessings resulting from this gigantic mass of
ecclesiastical influence.  Let us, then, look upon a picture drawn by the
hand of an acknowledged master.

    “Our universities {10a} are the faithful depositaries of the
    prejudices of the middle age; our teachers, doctors of the tenth
    century.  Beardless noviciates instruct us in the sublime mysteries
    of our faith; mendicant friars in the profound secrets of philosophy;
    while barbarous monks explain the nice distinctions of metaphysics.

    “Who goes into our streets without meeting cofradias, {10b}
    processions or rosaries; without hearing the shrill voice of eunuchs,
    {10c} the braying of sacristans, the confused sound of sacred music,
    entertaining and instructing the devout with compositions so exalted,
    and imagery so romantic, that devotion itself is forced into a smile?
    In the corners of our squares, at the doors of our houses, the
    mysterious truths of our religion are commented on by blind beggars
    to the discordant accompaniment of an untuned guitar.  Our walls are
    papered with records of ‘authentic miracles,’ compared to which, the
    metamorphoses of Ovid are natural and credible.

    “And ignorance has been the parent, not of superstition alone, but of
    incredulity and infidelity.  The Bible, the argument and evidence of
    our Christian faith, has been shamefully abandoned, or cautiously
    buried beneath piles of decretals, formularies, puerile meditations,
    and fabulous histories.

    “Monkish influence has given to the dreams and deliriums of foolish
    women, or crafty men, the authority of revealed truth.  Our friars
    have pretended to repair with their rotten and barbarous scaffolding,
    the eternal edifice of the gospel.  They have twisted and tortured
    the moral law into a thousand monstrous forms, to suit their passions
    and their interests.  Now they describe the path to heaven as plain
    and easy,—now it is difficult,—to morrow they will call it
    impassable.  They have dared to obscure with their artful
    commentaries the beautiful simplicity of the Word of God.  They have
    darkened the plainest truths of revelation, and on the hallowed
    charter of Christian liberty, they have even erected the altar of
    civil despotism!

    “In the fictions and falsehoods they have invented to deceive their
    followers, in their pretended visions and spurious miracles, they
    have even ventured to compromise the terrible majesty of heaven.
    They shew us our Saviour lighting one nun to put cakes into an oven;
    throwing oranges at another from the _sagrario_; tasting different
    dishes in the convent-kitchens, and tormenting friars with childish
    and ridiculous playfulness.  They represent a monk gathering together
    the fragments of a broken bottle, and depositing in it the spilt
    wine, to console a child who had let it fall at the door of the
    wine-shop.  Another, repeating the miracle of Cana to satisfy the
    brotherhood, and a third restoring a still-born chicken to life that
    some inmate of the convent might not be disappointed.

    “They represent to us a man preserving his speech many years after
    death, in order to confess his sins; another throwing himself from a
    high balcony without danger, that he might go to mass.  A dreadful
    fire instantly extinguished by a scapulary of Estamene.  They shew us
    the Virgin feeding a monk from her own bosom; angels habited like
    friars, chanting the matins of the convent, because the friars were
    asleep.  They paint the meekest and holiest of men torturing and
    murdering the best and the wisest for professing a different
    religious creed.

    “We have indeed much _religion_, but no Christian charity.  We hurry
    with our pecuniary offerings to advance any _pious work_, but we do
    not scruple to defraud our fellow-men.  We confess every month, but
    our vices last us our lives.  We insist (almost exclusively) on the
    name of Christians, while our conduct is worse than that of infidels.
    In one concluding word, we fear the dark dungeon of the inquisition,
    but not the awful—the tremendous tribunal of God!” {11a}

This is the representation of a Spaniard.  Though the colouring is high,
it is a copy from nature, and the shades might have been heightened had
he witnessed the conduct of numbers of the monastic orders during the
late convulsions of Spain.  There are, indeed, few examples of such
infamous want of principle as was exhibited by many of them on the king’s
return.  Those who had gone about preaching the rights of man,
proclaiming the wisdom and exalting the blessings of the new
constitution; exhorting their hearers, often with a vehemence little
becoming their situation, to live and die for its preservation, and
hurling their bitterest anathemas against those who dared to question the
wisdom of a single article,—when the king refused to sign that
constitution, became the eulogists of every act of tyranny, the
persecutors of the _liberales_, and the chosen friends of Ferdinand.
{11b}  They have had their reward: and though a few of them have occupied
the vacant sees, and have been caressed and recompensed with no sparing
hand, the finger of hatred and of scorn points them out to the execration
of betrayed and suffering millions, while their names will go down to
posterity, accompanied with reproaches, curses and infamy.  If those be
forgiven who have gone on in one consistent career of servitude and
degradation; who have betrayed no cause of liberty—for they are by habit
and by election slaves; who have sacrificed no manly principles—for manly
principles they had none;—still no charity can wash away the stains of
those traitors to freedom, to humanity, to Spain, who so atrociously
deserted the banners of their country’s welfare, to range themselves
around the standards of a profligate and unexampled tyranny.

The most notorious of those, however, who co-operated to establish that
fatal and ferocious despotism which now degrades and oppresses Spain,
have already become its victims.  In their sorrow and suffering and
exile, let the unshaken friends of constitutional liberty, who are
scattered over Europe, console themselves with remembering that their
personal fate is no more severe than that of the base tools of a wretched
monarch, who have nothing to accompany their wanderings but sadness,
shame and self-reproach, dark and barren prospects, and desolate
remembrances; while _those_ shall receive from all around them, the
smiles and the praises of the wise and good.  They may look back on the
“bread” of virtue which they have “cast on the waters,” and forward in
the confident hope that they “shall find it again after many days:” but
they who sacrificed their country to their cold-hearted and selfish
avarice, have wholly erred in their calculations.  Their country is
fallen indeed, but they, too, have been buried in its ruins.  Ferdinand,
who has just as much of gratitude as of any other virtue, {12} has
already trampled on the miserable tools of his early tyranny.  It were
well if those who “put their trust in princes,” would study the many
impressive lessons which the reign of the Spanish tyrant affords.

It is consolatory to turn from the profligacy and vice so often prominent
amidst extraordinary political revolutions, to the spirit of truth and
liberty which they always elicit; and Spain has had a most triumphant
list of patriots.  Their names must not be recorded: for, to receive the
tribute of affection and gratitude from any hater of a tyrant, would be
sufficient to subject them to his merciless ferocity.  How wretched that
country where no meed of applause may follow the track of talent or of
virtue—where knowledge and the love of freedom are pursued and persecuted
as if they were curses and crimes!  Otherwise, with what delight should I
speak of some who, buried in the obscurity of the cloister, or retiring
into solitude from the noisy crowd, sigh in secret and silence over the
wretched fate of the land of their birth, their admirable powers of body
and mind fettered and frozen by the hand of despotism!  All around them
is slavery and ignorance; to them remain alone the joy of holding
converse with the wise and the good of departed time, and the ecstatic
hope that their country will one day burst from its death-like slumbers,
and spring forth “into liberty and life and light.”

And let those illustrious exiles, the martyrs of truth and freedom, who
have been driven by an ungrateful and cruel tyrant from their homes and
their country, and doomed “to wander through this miserable world,” take
heart; for a brighter and better day is about to dawn upon Spain.  I have
expressed a hope, it should rather be a conviction, that this period
cannot linger long.  If the extreme of evil brings with it its own
remedy; if human endurance will only support a certain weight of
despotism; if “there is a spirit in man;” if there is a strength in
virtue or in liberty—the intolerable fetters _must_ be broken.

    ¿Que es esto, Autor eterno
    Del triste mundo? tu sublime nombre
    Que en el se ultraja á moderar no alcanzas?
    —¿ á infelices venganzas
    Y sangre y muerte has destinado el hombre?
          ¿A tantas desventuras
    Ningnu termino pones?  ¿ó el odioso
    Monstruo por siempre triunfará orgulloso?

                                                               _Melendez_.

                                * * * * *

The object, for which the foregoing observations were written, made it
necessary to exclude some particulars, which perhaps deserve record.

A correct idea of the state of learning in Spain might be formed from the
general decline of the public _colegios_ and universities, and the almost
universal ignorance of those to whom the important business of education
is intrusted.  At Alcalá de Henares, where there were formerly four or
five thousand students, there are now less than three hundred, and the
number is yearly declining.  A similar decay may be observed elsewhere.
I found every thing in a melancholy state of derangement and dilapidation
at Bergara, though this, I believe, is now the only public school which
has been able to maintain itself.  The philosophical and mathematical
instruments had been destroyed by rust, or rendered useless by violence,
and every thing connected with instruction appeared conducted as if the
dreadful apprehension that _too much_ wisdom might be communicated, were
constantly present to the _enlightened_ directors.

There are few objects more touching, more humiliating, than those scenes
sacred once to liberty and to literature, and associated with the names
of the noblest and “the wisest of our race;” but now become the
fortresses of ignorance, profligacy and despotism.  Who would not sigh
over Cordoba?

    When I remember what thou wert of old,
       Birth-place of Senecas;—nurse of arms and arts;
       When to thy schools from earth’s remotest parts
    The nations crowded—while thy sons unroll’d
    Thy chronicles of wisdom;—when I see
       The spot Averröes lov’d, and tread the sod
       Maimonides and Abenezra trod;
    Or seek the umbrage of some rev’rend tree,
       Beneath whose shade Mena or Cespedes
       At noon-tide mus’d:—when I remember these
    Or other hallow’d names, and see thee _now_
       Shrouded in ignorance and slavery:—
       O Cordoba! my spirit weeps o’er thee,
    And burning blushes kindle on my brow. {13}

While the majority of the most distinguished writers of Spain have been
expatriated, it may be supposed literature is at a very low ebb there.
Melendez and Estála have died in exile,—while Moratin and Llorente will
probably never again revisit their native land.  Marina, Quintana,
Argüelles, Gallego, and other estimable men, occupy the hopeless dungeons
to which tyranny has consigned them; while this island, in particular,
has had the honour of welcoming and of sheltering many a generous patriot
and many an enlightened scholar, whose virtues and talents are lost to a
country which has so much reason to deplore their removal.

I trust, however, that a work which has been so long a desideratum, viz.
a History of Spain under the dominion of the Moors, compiled from Arabic
documents, will, ere long, be published, by Don José Antonio Conde, the
learned Orientalist, whose erudition and diligent research promise a most
valuable and interesting narration.

The Spanish Academy are now printing, at Madrid, a new edition of Don
Quixote, in five volumes, which will be prefaced by a Life of Cervantes,
by Navarrete.  This piece of biography will be peculiarly gratifying, as
many documents connected with the history of Cervantes have lately been
discovered, especially the records of the proceedings against him, before
his imprisonment. {14a}

Herrera’s celebrated work on Agriculture is also being printed by the
Academy.  The biographical notices are written by Don Mariano Lagasca,
whose name is a sufficient pledge for their excellence.

The Spanish Drama had been in a progressive state of decay from the death
of Candamo, till Moratin’s {14b} attempts to introduce the regularity and
unity of the Parisian theatre were crowned with complete success.  It is
a different, and will be considered as a lower order of merit, by all who
place Nature and Shakespeare above Art and the French Drama.  If,
however, Calderon and Lope, Moreto and Montalvan, Solis and Candamo,
seldom occupy the Spanish stage, it is because the national taste, or the
national indifference, has chosen to sanction or permit the puerile
trifles imported from the other side of the Pyrenees, to occupy the seats
which might be so much more honourably filled by native genius.  An
active controversy is going on as to the respective merits of the French
and Spanish theatres; but it does not seem to excite much interest beyond
the immediate circle of combatants.  A new dramatic writer (Gorostiza
{15}) has lately appeared, and his first effort, “Indulgencia para
todos,” in spite of some improbabilities in the story, and some
vulgarisms in the style, gives fair hopes for the future.

By way of conclusion, I would remark, that ultra-royalism and bigotry may
receive from the present wretchedness of Spain a _salutary_ and
_corrective_ lesson.  They may there see the unalloyed triumph of their
principles, and study the consequences in the degradation, the
disquietude and the wretchedness of a once renowned and illustrious
nation.  They have there a king reigning in “all the glory” of
uncontrolled majesty, and a state-religion undisturbed by heretics or
schismatics;—there is the dull death-like silence of abhorred submission,
unbroken by any hated shouts of liberty—“the prostration of the
understanding and the will,” that neither dares nor wishes to inquire.

As to the character of Ferdinand, it has been greatly misunderstood or
greatly misrepresented.  It has been well said of him, that he has all
the crimes and none of the merits of his ancestors.  He appears to care
little about the church or the clergy, except inasmuch as he can make
them the instruments of civil despotism. {16}  His habits are gross and
licentious; yet he is inaccessible to any sentiment of benevolence or
generosity.—He never forgave a fancied enemy, and perhaps he never
possessed a real friend.—From his very childhood his untameable and
barbarous propensities made him the object of fear and dread; and
adversity (that touchstone of character) has served only to excite and
heighten the dark ferocity of his disposition.  What, indeed, could be
expected from an ingrate, who rewarded those that replaced in his
worthless hand the sceptre he had cast away, with persecution and exile,
imprisonment and death?

    Was it for this through seven long years of war
       We bore the miserable wants of woes
       Pour’d on our naked heads by barb’rous foes,
    While thou a patient captive—absent far,
    Nor heard’st our cries, nor saw’st the bloody star
       That o’er our helpless, hapless country rose?
    Did we not break the intolerable bar
       Forged by the master-tyrant?  Interpose
    To rescue—not our country—but mankind?
    Did we not break thy prison-doors, unbind
    Thy fetters, and with shouts of joy that rent
    The very arches of the firmament
    Receive thee?—And is this our destiny?
    Insults and slavery, and a wretch like thee!

                                * * * * *

                                * * * * *

                     G. SMALLFIELD, Printer, Hackney.




FOOTNOTES.


{3a}  Antillon—I cannot mention this illustrious name without a tribute
of admiration and gratitude.  A life devoted to virtue and literature, an
unwearied struggle in the cause of civil and religious liberty, rewarded
by the fatal blow of a hired assassin, leaves behind it an impress on the
hearts of the generous and the good which will not and cannot be erased.

{3b}  It cannot be denied that the seclusion of the convent is so
friendly to contemplation and research, that, literature has been, and
still is, greatly indebted to it.  A glance at the columns of Nich.
Antonio’s Biographical Dictionary will give striking proof of this.

{3c}  There are many convents in which no book could be found but the
service of mass or the rules of the order.  In others, there are
excellent libraries, of whose value friars have no idea whatever.  In the
convent of San Miguel de los Reyes, near Valencia, I examined some of the
most interesting MSS. in existence, which are in charge of a brotherhood
of unlearned Geronomites.  The librarian refused to shew me a celebrated
MS. of the Roman de la Rose, “because” (he said) “it was the work of a
heretic;” though he added, he had written some verses in it to frighten
any inquirer who might accidentally open it.  He had been recommending
_the burning_ a noble illuminated MS. of the “Divina Commedia,”
apparently contemporary with Dante, as “the wretch had dared to send even
Popes to hell.”  Ancient copies of Virgil, Livy and others, are in some
danger, should our zealous friar stumble on their history, and learn that
they never went to mass.

{3d}  Montalvan.

    Es Purgatorio—
    Toda dicha, comparada
    Con la de un frayle, cifrada
    Desde el coro al refectorio.

The whole description is admirable, and I am tempted to introduce it
here.

    Friend, thou art right!  A world like this
    Hath nothing equal to the bliss
    Enjoyed by yonder lazy friar,
    Between refectory and choir!
    The morning pass’d in sacred song,
    (The task is short—the triumph long!)
    Why should our portly friar repine?
       Enough for him—good man! to see
    His cellar stor’d with rosy wine,
       His table pil’d with luxury.
    Come now, come with me, and partake
       Our friar’s _poor_ and _modest_ board:
    Meek sufferer—for Jesus’ sake!
       Self-sacrific’d—to please the Lord!!
    And is this rich and gay domain
    His place of penury and pain?
    That table _his_, where rang’d in state
       I see so many jovial brothers,
    Each with his fingers in his plate,
       And his eyes fix’d upon another’s?
    O ’tis indeed a lovely sight
    To see thus earth and heav’n unite;
    And what an enviable union
    Of church and kitchen in communion!
    While, hark! a voice at intervals,
    The _pious_ grace devoutly bawls
    Gratias tibi, Domine!
    While up and down their arms are moving
       Like engines in a factory:
    Thus most indisputably proving
       How calm and meek and patiently
    These pious souls submit to all
       The _sorrow_, _suff’ring_ and _privation_
    Which may an earthly saint befal:
       O unexampled resignation!!

                                                      Principe Perseguido.

{4a}  Much was apprehended from the recalled Jesuits: they came—not the
learned, the illustrious fathers of former days, but a handful of
ignorant, helpless old men, incapable of good, and, I trust, incapable of
evil.  Father Juan Andres died in Rome in 1817.

{4b}  They enacted this under the pretence that all young men were wanted
for the defence of the country.  Even the friars were obliged to be
silent against such a plea.

{4c}  Nor are there wanting instances of friars atoning on the scaffold
for crimes of the deepest dye; and I could mention examples of fraud,
violence and murder committed since the king’s return by individuals
among them, whose monstrous atrocity it would be difficult to parallel.

{5a}  Romerias.  That these acts of devotion are always attended with
shameful profligacy is sufficiently known.  Even Calderon bears testimony
to their danger:

       — Todos los concursos
    De varias romerias,
    Tal vez en zelo empiezan
    Y acaban en delicia;
    El verse unos con otros
    Conmuevese á la alegria,
    La alegria al banquete
    El banquete á la risa,
    La risa al bayle, al juego
    A la vaya, á la grita
    Escollos en que siempre
    La devocion peligra.

                                                       A Maria el Corazon.

So, indeed, says the old proverb, “Quien muchos romerias anda tarde ó
nunca se santifica.”

{5b}  The Roman Catholic Church has made a glorious league with the fine
arts, each of which has been made subservient to its purposes, and has
maintained its mighty influence.  Poetry, painting and music can never
pay the immense debt they owe to the gorgeous machinery of the Romish
ritual.

{5c}  Perhaps I may be allowed to introduce a few specimens of the style
of the Romanceros.  For instance, their praises of the Virgin:

    La reyna de los cielos
    Emperatriz soberana
    Fuente de amor y dulzura
    Rio de bondad y de gracia
    Pielago de perfecciones
    Tranquilo mar de gracias
    Iris de serenidades
    Lucero de la mañana
    Del cielo norte seguro.

                                                               San Onofre.

    Sagrada Virgen Maria
    Antorcha del cielo empireo
    Hixa del eterno Padre,
    Madre del supremo bixo
    Del sacro espiritu esposa.

                                                       Jayme del Castillo.

    Hermosisima Maria
    Preciosisima açucena
    Que con tu divina gracia
    Nos libertais de la pena,
    Florida y hermosa rosa
    Palma, cipres, virgen bella
    Lirio, olivo, torre hermosa
    De encumbrada fortaleza
    Cielos, sol y luna hermosa
    Fuente llena de clemencia
    Que con tu divina gracia
    Triunfos y lauros aumentas:
    Gran Señora del Carmelo
    Suplicote, sacra reyna
    Que abogada y protectira
    Con el rey de gracias seas.

                                                          Judio de Toledo.

Great, however, as is their devotion, it is less than their bombast.

    Paren en sus movimientos
    Ayre, fuego, tierra y ondas
    Sol, luna, estrellas, luceros
    Los planetas y la Aurora
    Mientras mi pluma remonta
    Su vuelo al mas sacro asunto
    De la estacion dichosa
    Quando vino la Cruz de Grao.

                                                             Cruz de Grao.

    Remonte el vuelo mi pluma
    Hasta la region mas alta
    Del viento donde lucida
    Brille, dando á aquesta plana
    Y principio al suceso
    Mas admirable de que narra
    En sus anales el tiempo
    Y las historias pasadas.

                                                          Jayme de Aragon.

{6a}  The Carmelites will have it that Elias (whom Thomas Waldenses calls
the first virgin among men, as Mary is among women), dedicated a temple
to “the mother of God” on Mount Carmel, nine hundred years before her
birth.  Those who wish to be acquainted with the wonderful miracles
wrought by the “Virgen del Carmen,” may consult an immense list published
by Friar Juan Serrer, most of which are certified by notaries, priests,
magistrates and friars.

    {6b}  El bendito Escapulario
    Que al infierno lo amedrenta.

                                                                  Romance.

{6c}  It may, however, be noticed, that great numbers are drawn away from
the religious services of the regular clergy, by the greater parade with
which the friars attract their devotees to the convent chapel.

{6d}  Spain is a striking example of the influence of the habit of
confession on public morals.  It has there, no doubt, given the full
reins to licentiousness.

{7a}  Feijoo, a Benedictine monk, says that his order has fifteen
thousand canonized saints.

{7b}  Of the numerous banditti, for which Spain has been always
distinguished, there is, perhaps, not an individual who neglects any of
those ceremonies which are considered binding on all faithful Catholics.

       — These murderous bands
    In holy water wash their hands;
    They never miss a mass—they wear
    A rosary and scapulaire:
    They damn all heretics, and say
    Their pious Aves twice-a-day;
    They bend at every virgin’s altar;
    And can such saints deserve a halter?

{7c}  The absurdity of introducing such an expression into a
constitutional code could not be unnoticed by the illustrious body of
deputies, to whom the Cortes had confided its arrangement.  It is
believed their object was to remove any suspicion as to their thorough
orthodoxy, in order that they might effect hereafter some plans of
ecclesiastical reformation.

{7d}  Torture has been abolished in Spain for many years.  However, that
monster in the form of man, Elio, the captain-general of Valencia, has
dared to employ it; and when I was in that capital I was informed, (and
the fact has had abundant confirmation,) that it had been applied a few
days before to no less than 147 individuals, whose cries and shrieks were
heard by all the inhabitants of Murviedro, where they were confined.
This tiger might allege, indeed, the example of his royal master, who
caused numbers to be tortured in Madrid, after the last conspiracy there.

{8a}  Don Gonzalez Carbajal, a poet of no common merit, whose verses have
been well compared with those of Fr. Luis de Leon, is now publishing a
metrical version of the Psalms.  The MS. was sent to the inquisitorial
censors, who replied, that, though they saw nothing absolutely
objectionable in the work, they deemed it very extraordinary and very
suspicious that no allusion was made in it to the Sumo Pontifice!

{8b}  I will mention one of a thousand instances of ignorance which I
have individually witnessed.  As I did not choose to expose myself to be
annoyed by inquisitors, I travelled without any English books, except a
small collection of hymns.  They pounced upon it at Miranda del Ebro,
where there is a rigid examination: there was some dispute whether or not
it should be condemned, when some word like the name of a Spanish town,
caught their eye: “O, ’tis a book of roads,” said our learned scrutineer,
and he returned it to me.

{8c}  Of the “different virgins” who divide the adoration of the devout
in Spain, (each individual choosing his favourite,) it would be difficult
to say which has the pre-eminence in general estimation.  I believe “our
Lady of Montserrat,” in Catalonia, and “our Lady of the Pillar,” of
Zaragoza, have amassed for their guardian friars the largest piles of
wealth.

{8d}  As an instance of the fraud, the falsehood and the folly of those
who sway the minds of the lower classes, I would quote, from among many
examples, the “Centinela contra Judios,” a book of great popularity,
introduced by several pages of inquisitorial praises.  It gives the
following account of the crimes and punishments of the twelve tribes:

    “The tribe of Judah treacherously delivered up our Lord, and thirty
    of them die by treason every year.

    “The tribe of Reuben seized our Lord in the garden, and therefore the
    curse of barrenness is on all they sow or plant, and no green thing
    can flourish over their graves.

    “The tribe of Gad put on the crown of thorns, and on every 25th of
    March, their bodies are covered with blood from deep and painful
    wounds.

    “Those of Asher buffeted Jesus, and their right hand is always nearly
    a palm shorter than the left.

    “Those of Naphthali jested with Christ about a herd of swine, since
    when they are all born with tusks, like wild boars.

    “The tribe of Manasseh cried out, ‘His blood be on us and on our
    children,’ and at every new moon they are tormented by bloody sores.

    “The tribe of Simeon nailed our Lord to the cross, and on the 25th of
    March, four deep and dreadful wounds are inflicted on their hands and
    feet.

    “Those of Levi spat on the Saviour, and the wind always blows back
    their saliva in their faces, so that they are habitually covered with
    filth.

    “The tribe of Issachar scourged Christ, and on the 25th of March
    blood streams forth from their shoulders.

    “The tribe of Zebulon cast lots for the garments, and on the same day
    the roof of their mouth is tortured by deep wounds.

    “The tribe of Joseph made the nails for crucifying Jesus, and blunted
    them to increase his sufferings; and therefore their hands and feet
    are covered with gashes and blood.

    “Those of Benjamin gave vinegar to Jesus; they all squint and are
    palsied, and have their months filled with little nauseous worms,
    which, in truth, (adds our author,) is the case with all Jewish women
    after the age of 25, because it was a woman who intreated the tribe
    of Joseph not to sharpen the nails used for the crucifixion of our
    Lord.”

This is a fair specimen of a book of 220 pages.

{9a}  Seville, Cordoba, Santiago, Burgos, Toledo—in a word, all the
places where ecclesiastical authority is most active, have been the most
strenuous opposers of the progress of civil, to say nothing of religious
liberty.  And these, too, are universally the most barbarous of the
Spanish cities.  How the clergy at Santiago frustrated the attempts of
the heroic Porlier to establish the Constitution, is notorious.

{9b}  Informe de la Sociedad de Madrid sobre la Ley agraria, § 166.

At every step one finds in Spain enough to excite the most melancholy
recollections.  I went to Alcalá de Henares to visit the house in which
Cervantes was born.  (If I had undertaken a pilgrimage I could not have
repaid the enjoyment, the delight, I have received from the works of this
wonderful genius!)  It had been destroyed, that a herd of friars might
enlarge their kitchen-garden!  I inquired for the MSS. of Ximenes
Cisneros: they had been cut up for sky-rockets to celebrate the arrival
of some worthless grandee!

{10a}  Some of the Professors of the Spanish universities, those
especially of civil law and medicine, and perhaps even some of theology,
are enlightened men and lovers of liberty.  This is decidedly the case at
Salamanca and Alcalá, and partially so at Valencia.  To the rest the text
may safely be applied.

{10b}  Cofradias—assemblies for religions objects.

{10c}  Eunuchs are not now common in Spain.  The inhuman practice, once
so frequent, is now prohibited by law.

{11a}  Translated from a little tract called “Pan y Torus,” attributed to
Jovellanos.  It was written before the Revolution.

{11b}  Such men as Father Martinez, (Mercenario) who has been appointed
one of the preachers of the royal chapel, should be held up to public
detestation.

    “¡Grande epoca de nuestra felicidad y de nuestra regeneracion!
    Rubricad la constitucion con un juramento inviolable, selladla con la
    sangre de vuestras venas.  Sus legisladores han sido inspirados por
    la Sabiduria divina—¡Gloriosa instalacion de las Cortes!  Feliz
    transito de una casi mortal agonia á una vigorosa robustez politica.
    Mejor de los gobiernos—Cortes! precioso nombre qui despierta en
    nuestra alma todas las ideas de la antigua libertad y grandeza
    Española!  Solo remedio de nuestros males, suspirados por todo
    Español, amante de su patria.  Constitucion sabia y liberal—excelsa
    fabrica!  ¿Que ofrecen Grecia y Roma comparable á nuestro augusto
    congreso y á su codigo tan completamente acabado?  ¡Nacion sabia y
    entendida, que proclama con voz enérgica su libertad, su
    independencia y soberania!  Libre é independiente, y no el patrimonio
    de ninguna familia ó persona.  _El Rey no puede_.  _El Rey no puede_.
    Avergüenzense los brutales idólatras del Atila ó Gengis Khan de la
    Europa—la España tiene una barrera firmisima contra el despotismo.
    Emancipados Españoles—segunda vez, loor sempiterno, himnos de
    bendicion á nuestros sabios legisladores!  Leyes fundamentales,
    liberales y sabias—despues del catecismo de la religion estudialas,
    meditalas, canonizalas—á la par del catecismo de la religion pon en
    las manos de tus hixos y nietos el codigo constitucional.  Pronunciad
    con entusiasmo el juramento inviolable que va á ser rubricado con la
    sangre del divino cordero, y que los angeles habrán ya escrito en las
    columnas del empíreo.  Los corazones Castellanos dicen mucho mas que
    lo que los labios pronuncian; ardientemente desean que al lado de
    aquella ara augusta se erija una pirámide, donde sea escrita en
    letras de oro esta inscripcion sencilla, _Juramos ser fieles á la
    constitucion_: _por ella vivirémos gloriosos_: _y por ella_, _si
    menester_, _fuére_, _gloriosamente morirémos_.”  Sermon preached in
    Valladolid, 13th September, 1812.

This recreant friar in a letter to the Patriarch of the Indies, dated
20th February, 1815, thus writes:

    Of the Cortes: “Hiciéron publicar y jurar con la mas escandalosa
    premura una constitucion ignorada.  Su formacion fué viciosa é
    ilegal; el codigo fué hecho por los amaños y malas artes de una
    faccion de anarquistas.  Cortes—nombre hoy de infausto agüero—Junta
    de cabalas Gaditanas.”

    Of the constitution: “Se la publicó casi en la forma qui se publicó
    el Alcoran todo por sorpresa, todo premura y todo militar.  ¡Sus dias
    de terrorismo!  Juré un odio eterno á los principios democraticos de
    la llamada constitucion y las ideas anarquicas é irreligiosas del
    partido liberal.”

    Of Ferdinand: “Nuestro idolatrado rey.  Nuestro suspirado monarca, el
    mas justo de los reyes.”

    Of himself: “Mi conducta me granjeó el favor de todos los buenos de
    Galicia, que me mirában como una columna del partido servil.  El
    consejo de Castilla me honró confiándome la censura de varios papeles
    qui califiqué de sediciosos, subersivos é injuriosos á la soberania
    de S. M.  El primer nombrado por la Junta de Obispos por la censura
    de todos los escritos revolucionarios é impios fué el Padre Martinez
    _nemine discrepante_.  El ayuntamiento de Santiago me comisionó que
    diere gracias á S. M. por el reestablecimiento de la Inquisicion
    pidiendo á S. M. por los P.P. Jesuitas.  ‘El Rey en atencion al
    distinguido merito y servicios del Padre Martinez’ me nombra su
    predicador supernumerario: y despues, ‘S. M. en consideracion á la
    solida literatura de V. S. y á los servicios hechos á su real
    persona, la religion y al estado,’ le nombra Consexero de la Suprema
    de la Inquisicion!”

    Of the above sermon: “Hablé con la ligereza y superficialidad de un
    orador que habla de lo que no entiende.  Era poco instruido en el
    derécho publico Español.  Hablé constitucional y por conseqüente
    disparatadamente.  Sermon de adornos, flores, y exâgerados
    hiperboles, sedicioso, subersivo é injurioso á la soberania de S. M.”

Another disgraceful example may be quoted in that of Father Velez, the
present Bishop of Ceuta, who has lately published a book, entitled
Defensa del Altar y del Trono, so infamous, so full of outrages, insults,
and shameless mendacity, that the very Inquisition refused to license its
impression; and our mitred libeller delivered a copy to the king, whose
taste it so admirably suited, that he issued an immediate mandate, signed
by his royal hand, ordering its instant publication.  I believe it is the
only book which has been printed for years without the Inquisition’s
authority.

{12}  The title of _Ingrato_ is, in fact, the Spanish despot’s right _par
excellence_.  A few more such examples would dissolve the spell which
holds so many slaves in bondage, and lead them to doubt whether

    “_Such divinity_ as doth hedge a king,”

can really be of celestial origin.

{13}  I know of no city honoured with so proud a list of illustrious men
in so many departments of literature, as Cordoba.  Strabo (Cap. iii.)
speaks of the learning of its inhabitants, and so does Cicero (Orat. pro
Archiâ).  The two Senecas and Lucan among the Romans; Averröes; his rival
Avicenna, and Abenzoar, distinguished Arabic writers; the three most
famous Hebrew Rabbies, Abenezra, Kimki and Maimonides; Ferdinand the
logician; Juan de Mena, the father of Spanish poetry; Arias Montano,
Nebrixa, Gongora, the poet, and Cespedes, the every thing—were all
natives of Cordoba.  Repeated attempts have been made to revive the
spirit of learning in this interesting capital, and the literary
societies there have published several striking appeals on the subject;
but Cordoba continues without even a bookseller’s stall;—a striking
monument of the triumphs of monkery and ignorance over all that is great,
good and generous in the human character.

{14a}  Notwithstanding the many discussions as to the birth-place of
Cervantes, and the numerous copies that have been made of the register of
his baptism, since the claims of Alcalá to the honour of his birth-place
have been admitted, it is surprising that no one should have remarked
that the name of his father is spelt _Carvantes_ in the original parish
record, which I consulted.  It is in the oldest of the registers of the
church of St. Mary Mayor, at page 192.

Fray Jayme Villanueva mentioned a curious circumstance to me at Valencia,
connected with Cervantes;—that among the ecclesiastical documents he had
examined at Tarragona, there were a great number of letters addressed to
the Cabildo, relating various acts of robbery and murder committed by
Roque Guinart and his band, (vide Don Quixote, Vol. IV. Par. ii. Cap.
60,) and imploring their assistance to rid the country of these
freebooters: these letters are dated 1614.  Now the second part of Don
Quixote was published in 1615.  How soon did Cervantes avail himself of
these events, and how rapid must his composition have been!

    Cervantes! idol of my happiest hours!
       Generous and joyous spirit! who hast brought
       From thy rich storehouse of romantic thought
    Wisdom and truth and valor!—All the powers
    Of Poetry and Music fill thy bowers.
       Proud is the monument thy hands have wrought,
       And beautiful the lesson thou hast taught;—
    And now the muse of many nations showers
    Garlands upon thy tomb:—yet thou wert poor
       And desolate in life—of all bereft,
       In misery and melancholy left
    To fix thy dim eye on a prison door!
    Shame on the world!  No other star shall shine
    Upon that world with such a light as thine!

    “Se engendró (el Quixote) en una carcel donde toda incomodidad tiene
    su asiento y donde todo triste ruido hace su habitacion.”

                                                _Prologue_ to Don Quixote.

{14b}  Moratin’s translation of Hamlet is as unworthy of the Spanish as
of the British bard; but any prose rendering of the beautiful poetry of
this extraordinary tragedy must be intolerable to an English ear.

{15}  As none of his writings have probably reached England, I shall be
excused for introducing a specimen of his verses from the above comedy.
Take, for example, the description of a gaming house:

                                _Don Carlos_.

    ¿Aun la colera se dura?
    ¿Que viste tan malo alii
    Que asi te altera?

                                _Don Severo_.

                                  Yo vi
    Un infierno en miniatura
    Y no merece otro nombre,
    Porque se deja al entrar
    Cuanto puede recordar
    Los privilegios del hombre.
    En un ahumado aposento,
    Anegado en porqueria,
    He visto en un solo dia
    Lo que no pudiera en ciento.
    Sobre una mesa ó bufete
    Alii un mandil se descubre,
    Que mas empuerca que encumbre,
    Y al que se llama tapete.
    Yace encima un mal belon
    Moribundo, desdichado,
    Quien, á pesar de su estado,
    Manifestó la intencion
    Que de alumbrarnos tenia;
    Mas le faltó un requisito,
    Y fue el aceite maldito,
    Que estaba en Andalucia.
    Pues de esta mesa al redor,
    Y por tal luz alumbrados,
    Encontramos ya sentados,
    Esperando un redentor,
    A una percion de estafermos,
    Que por ser desaliñados,
    Flacos, puercos y estropeados,
    Me parecieron enfermos.
    Pero ¡ai Dios y que sudores
    Tuve!  ¡Que susto me diste
    Cuando al oido me dijiste
    Estos son los jugadores;
    Luego descubri al banquero
    Fumando su cigarrito,
    Manejando aquel librito,
    O recogiendo dinero.
    A bosquejar no me atrevo
    Ni sus dedos, ni sus uñas,
    No se quejen las garduñas,
    O chille un Cristiano nuevo:
    Pero añadiré sencillo,
    Que si le encuentro en la calle,
    En lugar de saludalle
    Le doi mi capa y bolsillo.
    ¡Qué juramentos!  ¡Qué por vidas!
    Y otras voces conocidas
    Tan solo entre jugadores.
    Acá gana una _judia_,
    Alli las sotas _se dan_,
    Piérdese un buen _ganarán_
    O quiebra _contra judia_.
    Alli sin soga, se _amarra_,
    Se _apunta_ sin escopeta,
    Sin necesidad _se aprieta_.
    _Se mata_ sin cimitarra:
    Tambien _se entierra_ sin ser
    Doctor ni sepulturero,
    Y en fin se pierde el dinero
    Sin oir, sin hablar, sin ver.
    Estos, amiguito, son
    Los primores, que sin tasa
    Se encuentran en esa casa,
    Que llamas de diversion.
    Y no siento, ciertamente,
    Haber jugado y perdido,
    Sino el haber conocido
    Pocilga tan indecente.

{16}  I have seen him join the religious processions at Madrid, but with
evident indifference and impatience.  In the really interesting
solemnities of the 2nd of May, (to commemorate the earliest victims of
the Revolution,) in the presence of the Court, the Nuncio, and the
dignified ecclesiastics of Spain, he played idly with his wax taper and
his pocket handkerchief, and walked out of church in the middle of mass.
If he ever amused himself with embroidering garments for the Virgin,
(which I do not believe,) or feigned a special devotion in the
ecclesiastical ceremonies of his country, he has not thought it necessary
to wear the mask of hypocrisy any longer.