In Spain I Passed Five Years, Which, If Not The Most Eventful,
Were, I Have No Hesitation In Saying, The Most Happy Years Of My
Existence.
Of Spain, at the present time, now that the daydream
has vanished, never, alas!
To return, I entertain the warmest
admiration: she is the most magnificent country in the world,
probably the most fertile, and certainly with the finest climate.
Whether her children are worthy of their mother, is another
question, which I shall not attempt to answer; but content myself
with observing, that, amongst much that is lamentable and
reprehensible, I have found much that is noble and to be admired;
much stern heroic virtue; much savage and horrible crime; of low
vulgar vice very little, at least amongst the great body of the
Spanish nation, with which my mission lay; for it will be as well
here to observe, that I advance no claim to an intimate
acquaintance with the Spanish nobility, from whom I kept as remote
as circumstances would permit me; en revanche, however, I have had
the honour to live on familiar terms with the peasants, shepherds,
and muleteers of Spain, whose bread and bacalao I have eaten; who
always treated me with kindness and courtesy, and to whom I have
not unfrequently been indebted for shelter and protection.
"The generous bearing of Francisco Gonzales, and the high deeds of
Ruy Diaz the Cid, are still sung amongst the fastnesses of the
Sierra Morena." {0}
I believe that no stronger argument can be brought forward in proof
of the natural vigour and resources of Spain, and the sterling
character of her population, than the fact that, at the present
day, she is still a powerful and unexhausted country, and her
children still, to a certain extent, a high-minded and great
people. Yes, notwithstanding the misrule of the brutal and sensual
Austrian, the doting Bourbon, and, above all, the spiritual tyranny
of the court of Rome, Spain can still maintain her own, fight her
own combat, and Spaniards are not yet fanatic slaves and crouching
beggars. This is saying much, very much: she has undergone far
more than Naples had ever to bear, and yet the fate of Naples has
not been hers. There is still valour in Astruria; generosity in
Aragon; probity in Old Castile; and the peasant women of La Mancha
can still afford to place a silver fork and a snowy napkin beside
the plate of their guest. Yes, in spite of Austrian, Bourbon, and
Rome, there is still a wide gulf between Spain and Naples.
Strange as it may sound, Spain is not a fanatic country. I know
something about her, and declare that she is not, nor has ever
been; Spain never changes. It is true that, for nearly two
centuries, she was the she-butcher, La Verduga, of malignant Rome;
the chosen instrument for carrying into effect the atrocious
projects of that power; yet fanaticism was not the spring which
impelled her to the work of butchery; another feeling, in her the
predominant one, was worked upon - her fatal pride.
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