I interposed, however, and after some trouble I succeeded in rescuing the priest, who was then allowed to pass, as I believe, as a set-off against the blows he had received.

Squillace was sent to Venice as Spanish ambassador, and in Venice he died at an advanced age.  He was a man designed to be an object of intense hatred to the people; he was simply ruthless in his taxation.

The door of my room had a lock on the outside but none on the inside.  For the first and second night I let it pass, but on the third I told Senor Andrea that I must have it altered.

“Senor Don Jacob, you must bear with it in Spain, for the Holy Inquisition must always be at liberty to inspect the rooms of foreigners.”

“But what in the devil’s name does your cursed Inquisition want . . . ?”

“For the love of God, Senor Jacob, speak not thus! if you were overheard we should both be undone.”

“Well, what can the Holy Inquisition want to know?”

“Everything.  It wants to know whether you eat meat on fast days, whether persons of opposite sexes sleep together, if so, whether they are married, and if not married it will cause both parties to be imprisoned; in fine, Senor Don Jaimo, the Holy inquisition is continually watching over our souls in this country.”

When we met a priest bearing the viaticum to some sick man, Senor Andrea would tell me imperatively to get out of my carriage, and then there was no choice but to kneel in the mud or dust as the case might be.  The chief subject of dispute at that time was the fashion of wearing breeches.  Those who wore ‘braguettes’ were imprisoned, and all tailors making breeches with ‘braguettes’ were severely punished.  Nevertheless, people persisted in wearing them, and the priests and monks preached in vain against the indecency of such a habit.  A revolution seemed imminent, but the matter was happily settled without effusion of blood.  An edict was published and affixed to the doors of all the churches, in which it was declared that breeches with braguettes were only to be worn by the public hangmen.  Then the fashion passed away; for no one cared to pass for the public executioner.

By little and little I got an insight into the manners of the Spanish nation as I passed through Guadalaxara and Alcala, and at length arrived at Madrid.

Guadalaxara, or Guadalajara, is pronounced by the Spaniards with a strong aspirate, the x and j having the same force.  The vowel d, the queen of letters, reigns supreme in Spain; it is a relic of the old Moorish language.  Everyone knows that the Arabic abounds in d’s, and perhaps the philologists are right in calling it the most ancient of languages, since the a is the most natural and easy to pronounce of all the letters.  It seems to me very mistaken to call such words as Achald, Ayanda, Almanda, Acard, Agracaramba, Alcantara, etc., barbarous, for the sonorous ring with which they are pronounced renders the Castilian the richest of all modern languages.  Spanish is undoubtedly one of the finest, most energetic, and most majestic languages in the world.  When it is pronounced ‘ore rotundo’ it is susceptible of the most poetic harmony.  It would be superior to the Italian, if it were not for the three guttural letters, in spite of what the Spaniards say to the contrary.  It is no good remonstrating with them.