CVII
Barcelona, November 10, 1845.
Here I am, having reached the end of my long journey without encountering either brigands or impassable rivers, which is still more unusual. I was cordially received by the registrar, who had my work-table and my record books already arranged for me, and where I shall certainly lose the little eyesight that still remains to me. To reach his despacho, one has to pass through a Gothic room, built in the fourteenth century, and a marble court-yard, where there are orange trees as high as our roofs, all laden with ripe fruit. It is most poetic, as is also my apartment, which, in point of luxuries and comforts, reminds me of the caravansaries of Asia.
One is, however, more comfortable here than in Andalusia, but the natives are in all respects inferior to the Andalusians. They have, moreover, one crowning fault in my eyes, or, rather, in my ears; that is, that I can not understand one word of their jargon. While at Perpignan I saw two superb gipsies shearing some mules. I spoke to them in caló, to the great horror of the Colonel of Artillery who was with me; but he discovered that I was more familiar with it than they, and that they bore striking testimony to my knowledge, of which I was not a little proud.
To sum up the results gained from my journey, I feel that they were not worth the trouble of travelling so far to get, and that I might just as well have finished my story without coming to disturb the venerable dust on the archives of Aragon. This is an admission of honesty on my part, of which my biographer, I hope, will take account. On my journey, when I was not sleeping, that is to say, for nearly the whole route, I built thousands of air castles, which lack only your approval. Reply immediately, and write the address in very large and legible characters.
CVIII
Madrid, November 18, 1845.
I have been here a week or more. It is extremely cold, with occasional rains, a climate quite like that of Paris. The only difference is that I look out daily on mountains whose summits are hidden in snow, and that I am living on familiar terms with several very beautiful Velasquez paintings. Thanks to the unspeakable slowness of the people of this country, I began only to-day to poke my nose into the manuscripts which I came to consult. An academic deliberation was necessary to grant me permission to examine them, and I can not say how much stratagem in order to obtain information of their existence. After all, it seems a very small matter, and not worth the trouble of such a long journey. I think I shall have concluded my researches in good time, which is to say, before the end of the month.
I find everything here wonderfully changed since my last visit. People who were friends when I left have become mortal enemies. Many of my former acquaintances are now great lords, and are excessively overbearing. In short, I care less for Madrid in 1845 than in 1840. People think aloud, and no one inconveniences himself for another. Their frankness is most astonishing to us Frenchmen, and to me especially, whom you have accustomed to something so different. You should make a journey to the other side of the Pyrenees in order to learn a lesson in veracity.
It would be impossible for you to imagine the expression of their faces when the object of their affections fails to put in a prompt appearance at the place of rendezvous, or the clamorous noise of their sighs, which they have no hesitation in uttering aloud; one is so accustomed to such scenes that there is no gossip or scandal about them. Every one knows that he will do the same on Sunday. Is it right, or is it wrong? I ask myself this question every day, without coming to a decision. I see happy lovers abusing the intimacy and the confidence of their relations. One tells what he has eaten for dinner, another describes his cold, giving every disgusting detail. The most romantic lover of them all has not the slightest conception of what we mean by gallantry. Lovers here are, properly speaking, only husbands unsanctioned by the Church. They are the drudge, the scapegoat of the legal husbands; they attend to all of madame’s errands, and take care of her when she is ill.