Spain in 1830, vol. 1

by Henry D. Inglis

In married life, I have reason to think that infidelity is more universal than in Italy; but the origin of it is different, and the thing is differently managed in the two countries. It is a great error to imagine—as some old writers upon Spain, and accurate writers in other respects, have asserted—that there is any connivance in Spain on the part of the husband: Spanish husbands, with few exceptions, are too proud to bargain for their own dishonour. While I was in Madrid, two instances occurred, in which husbands murdered their wives in fits of jealousy: in neither of these cases was the thing sifted to the bottom; because it was known that in doing this the villany of two priests would have been brought to light. The Cortejo of Spain is by no means the Cisesbeo of Italy. The liaison in Spain is a secret one; it has not originated in interest or vanity, but in passion; and the greatest pains are taken to conceal it from the husband, and even (intimates excepted) from the world. There are not in Madrid the same opportunities for the formation and prosecution of intrigue, as in Seville and the cities of the south. In these, the gardens and summer houses,—the walls of both forming a part of the street,—are particularly favourable to the serenade, the billet-doux, and their recompense. In Madrid, opportunities are more precarious: the mass, the street, the balcony, are the only places of rendezvous; and of these, the latter is the most prized. Walking the streets, while all the world enjoys the siesta, wakeful señoras and señoritas are here and there seen behind the curtains that fall over the balconies, and which are supposed to shade the light from the eyes of the sleeper; and now and then some medium of intelligence is seen fluttering downward, to be picked up by a cloaked cabalero. There is another important difference between the gallantries of Spain, and of Italy or France: in Spain, they are not confined to married women: improper liaisons are not unfrequently formed by unmarried ladies; and those whom one sees on the balconies, are much more frequently señoritas than señoras.

Intrigue is not confined in Madrid to the upper, or even the middle classes of society; but is found also among the trades people. Sometimes during the hours of sleep and silence, I have ventured, in passing along the street, to draw aside the curtain that is meant to secure an uninterrupted siesta to the inmates of the embroiderers, perfumers, or dress-makers’ shops; and I have more than once interrupted a tête-à-tête. It is fair to add, however, that I oftener found the señorita fast asleep. It is well understood in Madrid, that during the time of siesta, no one enters a shop where a curtain is drawn; but a stranger may sometimes do unpermitted things, under pretence of ignorance.

The lower orders in Madrid cannot be characterized as grossly immoral: they are not drunken and brutal, like the mob of London; nor ferocious and insolent, like the canaille of Paris. In walking the streets of Madrid, it is rarely that one sees either quarrelling or gambling; and I believe it might be possible to walk through any part of the city with the corner of a handkerchief hanging out of the pocket, and to return with it in its place: petty larceny, a Castilian thinks beneath him. Between the character of the Castilian and the Andalusian, there is as marked a distinction as that which exists in the characters of any two people inhabiting different kingdoms; but I will not anticipate.

I suspect that among the upper and middle ranks in Madrid, religion is as low as morals: among them, priestcraft exercises very little influence; and, indeed, ridicule and dislike of all orders of religion, form a very common seasoning to conversation. There can be no doubt that the occupation of the Peninsula by the French army, has gone far towards diminishing the respect in which the priesthood was formerly held by the great majority of all classes in Spain. In Madrid, I have never heard one individual above the rank of a small tradesman, speak with respect, of religion,—or with affection, of the priesthood. There cannot be the smallest doubt that, in the capital at least, both the clergy and the friars are sensible of a great diminution in the power which they formerly enjoyed; and their tone and bearing are altered accordingly. At present, they, at all events the regular clergy, yield a little to the tide that has set in against them. I have been surprised to hear the freedom with which some of the priests have spoken of the state of Spain. I have heard them particularly lament the difficulties that stand in the way of publishing books, and admit the oppressive nature of the enactments that regard education. The clergy have not the same interest as the friars, in supporting the present system, because they have not the same fears. A revolution that might possibly chase every monk from the soil, and which would, at all events, despoil them of their possessions and terminate their dominion, would probably but slightly affect the clergy of the church; and I have observed that since the French revolution, their fears have diminished. The example of France, in the respect it has shewn for the rights of the church, they look upon as a guarantee of their own security; and perhaps justly. Government still seeks for support in the influence of the church, and endeavours, by every means, to keep up this influence. This, it may easily be supposed, is attempted through the medium of education, which, throughout Spain, may be said to be a government concern. The schools in Madrid are all conducted by Jesuits; and the education received in them, is such as might be expected from their heads. This surveillance commenced when the king returned to the head of the government, in 1824. The colleges were then remodelled; and all the public seminaries, even those destined for military education, were placed under Jesuit heads. I have frequently met in the streets of Madrid, long lines of students of the Colegio Imperial, and of the Semmario de Nobles, some in military uniform, and each company headed by a priest. And no choice is left to the people, as to the education of their children: the only choice is, the government school, or no school; for obstacles, almost insurmountable, are thrown in the way of private tuition. Before a family dare employ a tutor, the permission of government must be obtained; and the tutor must provide himself with a license: this implies minute inquiries into character, political and religious opinions, &c.; so that, in fact, no tutor is ever licensed, unless there is a perfect security that the system of education to be pursued by him,—intellectual, political, and religious,—shall be precisely the same as that taught in the public seminaries: there is nothing therefore gained by private tuition. Whether the priesthood may possibly regain any part of its lost influence, owing to the present system of education, may admit of a question. If Spain should remain in its present condition, without revolution or change, it is probable that the growth of liberal opinions may be retarded; the thousands now educated on jesuitical principles, and denied the means of real knowledge, were not old enough during the existence of the constitution, to have caught a glimpse of the light which at that time dawned upon the darkness of Spain; nor have they had opportunities of being influenced by French principles, during the time of the occupation of the Peninsula. The policy of the Spanish government, therefore, with respect to its surveillance of education, is not unworthy of a government that desires to maintain itself by the blindness of the people.

The influence of the friars is much greater than that of the priests; though this also diminishes daily. I speak of Madrid only. In many of the other cities of Spain, of which I shall afterwards speak more in detail—particularly in Toledo, Seville, Granada, Lorca, and Murcia, and in most of the smaller towns, I think it almost impossible that the influence of the friars could ever have been much greater than it is. In Madrid, less attention is paid to religious ceremonials and processions, than in any other city of Spain: and one sees fewer external proofs of the veneration of the people for the character of friar. A Franciscan may pass from one end of Madrid to the other, without having one claim made upon his paternal blessing by a grown-up person. I have seen the Virgin of St. Rosalio, and an image of St. Thomas, carried through the streets, with some hundreds of friars accompanying them, without any one being excited to a greater act of devotion than raising the hat from the head: and during my morning walk, when I invariably looked into the churches belonging to whichever of the convents that happened to lie in my way, I seldom saw more than half a dozen persons at their devotions. All this is very different at Toledo and Seville; and judging by the difference I have observed in the proofs of bigotry apparent in the different Spanish cities, I feel myself justified in believing that the influence of the friars, as well as that of the priests, has sensibly diminished in Madrid. But it is far from being small: it still exists, with less or more force, among all ranks: and the breast of a friar is still the favourite depository of family secrets. From my house, I could see the regular visits made by friars to several houses within the range of my window; and little children may at all times be seen in the street, running after the monk of any order, to kiss his hand and beg his blessing.

There are many reasons why the influence of the friars should decline more slowly than that of the priesthood: as the first of these may be mentioned, the greater immorality of the lives of the latter. This immorality is notorious throughout Spain; and, indeed, they take little pains to conceal,—I will not say their pecadillos,—but the opportunities and temptations to commit them, which they create for themselves; and they obtain full credit for yielding to these temptations. Perhaps it is doing wrong to the clergy to assign to the friars greater purity of life than to them; but whatever may be the immoralities of the monks, they have more the art, and they possess better opportunities too of concealing them. Priests live in the world, and have worse opportunities of concealment than other men, because their profession lays them open to scrutiny; but friars live in a world of their own, fenced round, not only by walls of stone, but by a more impenetrable wall of prescriptive veneration,—and they are very daring eyes that pry into the secrets of the cloister. But strange, and even dreadful events, occasionally occur, to lay open the hidden scenes that are transacted within a convent’s walls. One such occurred last September, while I was in Madrid. One morning, the Superior of the monastery of San Basilio was found in bed murdered,—his throat cut, his hands tied, and several stabs in his body. There could be no doubt that the murder had been committed by the friars; and as no pretence could be found against instituting an inquiry, a commission was accordingly appointed to investigate, and sat during several days. Strange disclosures were made: it appeared that the superior had been a good man, and remarkably strict in the observances enjoined upon the order,—too much so for the inclination of the friars, who had been accustomed to commit every kind of excess, and to transgress in the most essential points, the rules of the convent; particularly in being absent during the night. The superior used to reprove this laxity, and exerted his authority to restrain it; and dislike towards him was naturally produced. In these circumstances, no doubt, rested in the mind of any one, that the murder was committed by the monks; but it had been resolved, that in some way or other the affair should be got rid of. The porter of the convent, who, previous to the appointment of the commission, had declared that no one had entered, so qualified his words before the commissioners, that through his evidence, they found a loop-hole by which justice might ooze out:—he said, that he had some recollection, when half asleep, of having seen a person enter; but besides the impossibility of any one entering, unless the porter had been so much awake as to open the gate, the murder could not have been committed by one person. The result was, that the commission broke up without coming to any decision; but as a sacrifice to public opinion, three of the friars were committed to prison on suspicion. It was well understood that the affair would never go further; and I was assured by the wife of a person holding a high official employment, that in a few months the imprisoned monks would be found again in their convent. When the king returned to Spain in 1823, he hanged a friar for a murder; but this was done at that particular juncture to please the Constitutionalists; and while the investigation I have mentioned was proceeding, every one knew that his majesty dared not venture upon a repetition of this.

A few years ago, a curious exposé was made at Cadiz, which, as I am upon the subject of friars, I shall mention in this place. There was, and still is, a banker named Gargallo, one of the richest men in Cadiz, whose magnificent dwelling-house is separated from the wall of the Franciscan monastery only by one small house; and this house also belonged to Sr. Gargallo, although it was not inhabited. The master of the house, who though a rich man, looked closely into his affairs, perceived that his cook’s bill greatly exceeded the sum necessary for the subsistence of the family; and after bearing this during a considerable time, he at length discharged his cook. The cook applied for service elsewhere; and upon his new master applying to Gargallo for a character, he refused to give one, alleging as a reason, the dishonesty of his servant: the cook enraged at this injustice, and more solicitous to preserve his own good character than that of the friars, returned to Gargallo’s house, taking witnesses along with him; and aloud in the court-yard told this story: that every day he had carried a hot dinner into the house adjoining, where Gargallo’s wife and daughter entertained a select party of Franciscan friars; and what was worse still, his late master’s money had been expended in the support of three children and a nurse, who all lived in the adjoining house. The truth of this story was easily put to the test; the three children and a nurse were found in the house, and the whole affair was brought to light. The especial favour of the ladies was reserved for only two of the friars: the very reverend father Antonio Sanches de la Camissa, Sacristan Mayor, was the favourite of the wife; and another, whose name I forget, but who was next in rank to the prior, and had formerly been confessor in Gargallo’s house, was the selection of his daughter. These had the entrée of Gargallo’s house at all hours; and in order to keep quiet a few others, who were supposed to be in the secret, a savoury dinner was provided every day for the self-denying Franciscans. Gargallo married his daughter to an old apothecary, at Chiclana, where she now lives a widow; and he confined his wife during two years in an upper room in his own house; but she now lives again with her husband. At the first disclosure of the affair, he wished to send both offenders to the Penitentiary; but the captain-general of the province interfered, to prevent so much publicity in an affair compromising the character of the Franciscans. No notice whatever of this disgraceful transaction was taken in the convent. Both reverend fathers continued to bear the character of good Franciscans; and doubtless returned for a time, to the austerities of the order,—and when I was in Cadiz, one of them every day accompanied Manuel Munoz, the superior, and Cerillo, who had been banished to Seville, in an evening walk.

But these immoralities of the friars, although some such are occasionally brought to light, and although much that exists is hidden, are yet far more rare than the immoralities of the priests; and, it is without doubt, the greater immorality of the clergy, and the greater belief in that immorality, that are the primary reasons why the influence of the friars diminishes more slowly than that of the priesthood.

Several other reasons might be given, why the influence of the friars maintains itself better than that of the clergy, in the minds of the people,—especially the lower orders: one may be stated to be, the known austerities practised by some of the orders, particularly by the Franciscans, the Capuchins, and the Carthusians; another, the greater alms given by the convents than by the church; another, the mystery that involves the lives and habits of the friars,—for mystery recommends any thing to the ignorant; and a fourth, which addresses itself to all classes, is, the direct tax which the support of the clergy imposes. The friars, whether poor or not, have the semblance of poverty; at all events, the sources of their revenues are not seen to flow into their treasury; and, although the nation at large groans under the weight, individuals feel no part of it. Such are a few of the causes which, in my opinion, operate in supporting the influence of the friars; and in diminishing that of the clergy.

Comparatively with the rest of Spain, there is little attention paid to the ceremonials of religion in Madrid. I often strolled into the churches at all hours; and, excepting at time of mass, few were to be seen at prayer. One morning I walked into the collegiate church of St. Isodro, and found the pulpit occupied by a priest, who was exclaiming, apparently extempore, and with great vehemence, against the sin of religious infidelity. St. Isodro is the principal church of Madrid, and yet I do not believe there were 300 listeners to the discourse; and of these at least five-sixths were women. It is a curious spectacle to see the women all sitting upon the ground à la Turque, on little round mats, and every fan in quick motion. The entrance of a stranger into a church during mass, always creates a sensation: a hundred eyes may at any time be withdrawn from the contemplation of either a preacher or an image, by the slightest possible cause.