Travels into Spain (Volume 93) (The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe: The Toronto Series) 1649590571, 9781649590572

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Marie-Catherine Le Jumel de Barneville, baronne d’Aulnoy

Travels into Spain EDIT ED AND T R ANS LAT ED B Y

Gabrielle M. Verdier

The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe: The Toronto Series, 93

TRAVELS INTO SPAIN

The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe: The Toronto Series, 93

SENIOR EDITOR

Margaret L. King SERIES EDITORS

Jaime Goodrich Elizabeth H. Hageman EDITORIAL BOARD

Anne Cruz Margaret Ezell Anne Larsen Elissa Weaver

MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY

Travels into Spain •

Edited and translated by GABRIELLE M. VERDIER

2022

© Iter Inc. 2022 New York and Toronto IterPress.org All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America

978-1-64959-057-2 (paper) 978-1-64959-058-9 (pdf) 978-1-64959-059-6 (epub)

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Aulnoy, Madame d’ (Marie-Catherine), 1650 or 1651-1705, author. | Verdier, Gabrielle, editor, translator. Title: Travels into Spain / Marie-Catherine Le Jumel de Barneville, Baronne D’Aulnoy ; edited and translated by Gabrielle M. Verdier. Other titles: Relation du voyage d’Espagne. English Description: New York : Iter Press, 2022. | Series: The other voice in early modern Europe: the Toronto series ; 93 | Translation of “Seguin’s 2005 critical edition”--Note on This Translation. | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Summary: “The best-selling collection of fifteen letters written to a fictional correspondent describing the journey through Spain and attendance at the Spanish royal court by the notorious seventeenth-century aristocrat Madame d’Aulnoy, popular author of fairy tales, histories, and historical novellas”-- Provided by publisher. Identifiers: LCCN 2021057404 (print) | LCCN 2021057405 (ebook) | ISBN 9781649590572 (paper) | ISBN 9781649590589 (pdf) | ISBN 9781649590596 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Aulnoy, Madame d’ (Marie-Catherine), 1650 or 1651-1705--Travel--Spain. | Spain-Description and travel. Classification: LCC DP34 .A9213 2022 (print) | LCC DP34 (ebook) | DDC 914.604/53--dc23/ eng/20220103 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021057404 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021057405

Cover Illustration Women from Galicia at the Window, ca. 1655–1660 (oil on canvas) / Murillo, Bartolome Esteban (1618–82) / National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC / Bridgeman Images XOS158108.

Cover Design Maureen Morin, Library Communications, University of Toronto Libraries.

Contents Acknowledgments

vii

Illustrations

ix

Introduction: Madame d’Aulnoy, “Adventuress,” Authority? The Other Voice D’Aulnoy’s Life and Works Revisited Controversies: Did She or Didn’t She? Reading Travels through a Twenty-First-Century Lens Note on This Translation

1 1 4 14 18 27

Travels into Spain Dedication To the Reader

31 33 35

First Letter:

February 20, 1679, from San Sebastián

37

Second Letter:

February 24, 1679, from Vitoria

51

Third Letter:

February 27, 1679, from Burgos

65

Fourth Letter:

March 5, 1679, from Lerma

81

Fifth Letter:

March 9, 1679, from Aranda de Duero

105

Sixth Letter:

March 13, 1679, from Buitrago

123

Seventh Letter:

March 15, 1679, from San Augustín

133

Eighth Letter:

March 28, 1679, from Madrid

147

Ninth Letter:

April 27, 1679, from Madrid

171

Tenth Letter:

May 29, 1679, from Madrid

187

Eleventh Letter:

June 27, 1679, from Madrid

209

Twelfth Letter:

July 25, 1679, from Madrid

223

Thirteenth Letter: 

August 30, 1679, from Madrid

241

Fourteenth Letter: 

September 30, 1679, from Madrid

255

Fifteenth Letter: 

September 28, 1680, from Madrid

265

Bibliography

273

Index

281

Acknowledgments Translating Marie-Catherine d’Aulnoy’s Relation du voyage d’Espagne has been a gratifying personal and professional journey. Besides France, Spain is the European country I have visited the most since the mid-1960s, and Travels into Spain brought back memories of dusty country roads and sublime paintings of royalty and ragamuffins of the Golden Age at the Prado. My interest in marginalized writers and genres in French literature led me to focus on women and the fairy tale, so despised by the rule-givers of the French Classical period, and to discover Madame d’Aulnoy, who dared to break so many social and literary rules. Generous colleagues have provide guidance and help in completing this volume. Volker Schröder, Professor of French at Princeton University, shared his very recent archival discoveries that elucidate some mysteries in d’Aulnoy’s biography and refute centuries of false assumptions about her tumultuous past. Henriette Goldwyn, Clinical Professor of French Literature, Thought and Culture at New York University, drew my attention to the remarks made on d’Aulnoy by her friend, Madame DuNoyer, an exiled Huguenot and the first French female journalist with an international reputation. Historian Olivier Blanc raised genealogical questions that confirmed the hazards of d’Aulnoy’s Protestant connections. Professor emerita Patricia Lunn (Michigan State University), specialist in Romance Linguistics, untangled ambiguities in  Travels  due to d’Aulnoy’s—and my—imperfect command of the Spanish language. Over the years, dear departed seventeenth-century scholars Eglal Henein and Donna Kuizenga encouraged me to continue studying non-canonical male and marginalized female writers. My deep gratitude also goes to Kathryn Scholz, Senior Lecturer in Translation and Interpreting Services at University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, who edited the first version of my manuscript, correcting many typos due to my imperfect eyesight, rudimentary control of MS Word, and occasional confusion of French and English syntax. Cartographer Donna Genzmer, Coordinator of the GIS Certificate Program at University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, undertook the task of supervising graduate student Sue Borchardt in creating the map of Spain for this volume, made more difficult for both by connectivity issues during the pandemic when the American Geographical Society library at UWM had to close and all the cartography work had to be done remotely.  Finally, an immense thank you to The Other Voice Series editor Professor Margaret King for her patience and encouragement over the years. 

vii

Illustrations Cover.

Women from Galicia at the Window, ca. 1655–1660 (oil on canvas) / Murillo, Bartolome Esteban (1618–82) / National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC / Bridgeman Images XOS158108.

Figure 1.

Marie-Louise d’Orleans, dite Mademoiselle d’Orleans, ainsi que “Mademoiselle” Marie Louise of Orleans (1662–1689), Queen of Spain, ca. 1679 (oil on canvas) / Hidalgo, Jose Garcia (1645– 1717) / Museo del Prado, Prado, Madrid / Photo © Fine Art Images / Bridgeman Images FIA5401603.

Figure 2.

Baroque: Charles II d’Espagne, dit l’Ensorcelé – Portrait of Charles II of Spain, 1677–1679 (oil on canvas) / Carreno de Miranda, Don Juan (1614–85) / Ayuntamiento de Sevilla, Seville / Photo © Fine Art Images / Bridgeman Images FIA5406082.

Figure 3.

Map of d’Aulnoy’s travels in Spain. Map created by Sue Borchardt, Cartography & GIS Center, University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee.

Figure 4.

View of the Royal Palace and the Bridge of Segovia, Madrid, Spanish School, 17th century (oil on canvas) / Caylus Anticuario, Madrid / Bridgeman Images CAY82431.

Figure 5.

Auto de Fe in the Plaza Mayor, Madrid, 1683 (oil on canvas) / Rizi or Ricci, Francisco (1608–85) / Prado, Madrid / Bridgeman Images XOS3247805.

Figure 6.

Queen Mariana of Austria, in mourning, Spanish, 17th century (oil on canvas) / Carreno de Miranda, Don Juan (1614–85) / Private Collection / Bridgeman Images XAM68601.

ix

Introduction: Madame d’Aulnoy, “Adventuress,” Authority?* The Other Voice Marie-Catherine Le Jumel de Barneville, baronne1 d’Aulnoy (1652–1705) was the most celebrated and prolific author of fairy tales (conteuse) in France, publishing in 1697 and 1698 two best-selling collections of tales, a genre especially associated with women.2 Yet she had first earned an international reputation as an author of historical works, which were considered male preserves.3 French women began rescripting history in historical novels and memoirs in the 1660s, as official historiographers were crafting the image of Louis XIV as the Sun King.4 D’Aulnoy was the first to publish historical (as opposed to autobiographical) memoirs: in 1690, Mémoires de la cour d’Espagne, translated into English, German, and Dutch; and in 1695, Mémoires de la cour d’Angleterre, also translated into English.5 D’Aulnoy was also the first Frenchwoman before the Romantic period to publish a travel account for its own sake, not as an episode in memoirs of her life. Her Relation du voyage d’Espagne appeared in 1691, at a time when the road was certainly “no place for a lady.”6 Until the 1870s, Travels would serve as the * This introduction greatly expands an earlier essay: Gabrielle Verdier, “Mme d’Aulnoy as Historian and Travel Writer,” in Teaching Seventeenth- and Eighteenth-Century French Women Writers, ed. Faith E. Beasley (New York: Modern Language Association of America, 2011), 212–21. 1. Though often called “countess,” even by herself, she was, having married a baron, a baroness. 2. “Few forms of writing are as closely associated with women and femininity as the fairy tale.” See Enchanted Eloquence: Fairy Tales by Seventeenth-Century French Women Writers, ed. and trans. Lewis C. Seifert and Domna C. Stanton, The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe: The Toronto Series 9 (Toronto: Iter, Inc. and Centre for Reformation and Renaissance Studies, 2010), 1. Two of d’Aulnoy’s twenty-five tales are included in this anthology. 3. Natalie Zemon Davis analyzed the constraints that impeded early modern women from writing general history. See “Gender and Genre: Women as Historical Writers, 1400–1820,” Beyond Their Sex: Learned Women of the European Past, ed. Patricia H. Labalme (New York: New York University Press, 1980), 153–82. 4. See Faith E. Beasley’s groundbreaking study, Revising Memory: Women’s Fiction and Memoirs in Seventeenth-Century France (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1990). 5. Memoirs of the Court of Spain: In Two Parts, Written by an Ingenious French Lady. Done into English by T. Brown (London: T. Horn, F. Saunders, and T. Bennet, 1692). Memoirs of the Court of England. In two parts, by the Countess of Dunois. Now made English, trans. J.C. (London: Bragg, 1707). 6. See Barbara Hodgson, No Place for a Lady: Tales of Adventurous Women Travelers (Berkeley, CA: Ten Speed, 2002). Modern women’s travels are still viewed in gendered terms. See Kate Elizabeth Cantrell, “Ladies on the Loose: Contemporary Female Travel as a ‘Promiscuous’ Excursion,” M/C Journal [S.l.] 14, no. 3 (June 2011); https://doi.org/10.5204/mcj.375.

1

2 Introduction authoritative source of information on Spain, inspiring Victor Hugo and many others. Particularly celebrated in England, it was translated immediately, first as The Lady’s Travels into Spain (1691), then as The Ingenious and Diverting Letters of the Lady’s Travels into Spain (1692).7 In the first half of the eighteenth century, this “Celebrated French Wit” was more popular in England than were any of her French contemporaries.8 Such was her reputation that in 1698, the prestigious Ricovrati Academy of Padua (founded in 1599) elected d’Aulnoy as its seventh female member from France and named her Clio, muse of history. D’Aulnoy’s historical novels, memoirs of royal courts, travel account, and best-selling fairy tales, which inspired nineteenth-century ballets, guaranteed her fame for many decades.9 Yet she virtually disappeared from the literary scene, to be rediscovered only in the late twentieth century, a common fate for early modern women in France. Joan DeJean demonstrated how female writers of the seventeenth century, who developed new literary sensibilities in their salons and invented the modern novel and other prose fiction without classical models, were gradually written out of French literary history.10 As the Sun King’s court displaced the salons as the locus of culture under the absolute monarchy and the recently founded academies imposed neoclassical centralization, female writers were marginalized while their private lives were increasingly scrutinized. After the French Revolution in of 1789, the canon of “classic” French authors studied in the new 7. No copies of the first edition (1691?) have been found. The second was printed in London for Samuel Crouch, 1692. 8. See Melvin Palmer, “Madame d’Aulnoy in England,” Comparative Literature 27, no. 3 (1975): 237–53. See also Christine A. Jones, “Madame d’Aulnoy Charms the British,” Romanic Review, 99, no. 2 (2009): 239–56. Cross-Channel cousins, France and England had close dynastic and cultural relations in the seventeenth century. Charles I of England married Henrietta Maria, daughter of Henri IV of France; their son Charles II, exiled in France after his father’s beheading (1649) and restored to the throne after Cromwell’s fall (1660), was Louis XIV’s first cousin. Charles’s sister, Henrietta of England, wed Louis XIV’s brother, Philippe d’Orléans, her first cousin. Their daughter, Marie-Louise d’Orléans, was forced to marry Carlos II of Spain, her grandmother’s half-brother. D’Aulnoy follows Marie-Louise’s travails in her Spanish Memoirs and Travels (henceforth referred to as Memoirs and Travels). 9. For example, in Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty, the bad fairy Carabosse, Bluebird, and White Cat are all based on d’Aulnoy’s tales. 10. To avoid the sexual and verbal harassment in the French court, which was full of soldiers following the Wars of Religion, women of quality gathered in private homes. The hostesses invited writers, artists, and scientists, compensating for the education women were denied because schools were for boys only and instruction was in Latin. Their conversations set the standards for language, literature, and style. See Joan DeJean, Tender Geographies: Women and the Origins of the Novel in France (New York: Columbia University Press, 1991). Salon culture and women’s collaborative literary activity have been studied by several other scholars: Faith E. Beasley, Salons, History, and the Creation of 17th-Century France: Mastering Memory (Aldershot, UK: Ashgate, 2006); Anne E. Duggan, Salonnières, Fairies, and Furies: The Politics of Gender and Cultural Change in Absolutist France (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 2005); and Allison Stedman, Rococo Fiction in France, 1600–1715: Seditious Frivolity (Lewisburg: Bucknell University Press, 2013).

Introduction 3 secular secondary schools—exclusively for boys until 1880—emphasized virile virtues. It included only one woman, Mme de Lafayette (1634–1693), a dutiful wife considered irreproachable (though she settled in Paris while her husband stayed in the provinces) and her most famous historical novel La Princesse de Clèves (1678) (though it provoked a literary quarrel in its day).11 D’Aulnoy’s literary fortunes are an extreme example of such erasure from the Republic of Letters. Her tales, written for adults, were simplified and relegated to anthologies for children. Her Memoirs and Travels were labeled fakes. Worse, she was condemned as the most egregious of the “adventuresses,” those brazen women in late-seventeenth-century France who flouted their (often forced) marriage vows and dared to write about their lives, thereby threatening the very foundations of marriage and the patriarchal order, according to the guardians of morals and literature. They included Catherine Desjardins, Madame de Villedieu (1640–1683), and Cardinal Mazarin’s nieces, Marie Mancini, Princess of Colonna (1639–1715), and Hortense Mancini, Duchess of Mazarin (1646–1699), who fled their abusive husbands and spent most of their lives on the run. The “Mazarinettes” appear in d’Aulnoy’s Travels and in her Spanish and English memoirs.12 Another was Henriette Julie de Castelnau, Comtesse de Murat (1670–1716), who also wrote fairy tales and whose fictional memoirs were attributed to d’Aulnoy.13 Finally, in 1962, the leading historian of seventeenth-century literature, Antoine Adam, dismissed all the conteuses, who also wrote histoires secrètes—secret histories that revealed the scandalous behavior of kings and aristocrats—as unworthy of attention.14 D’Aulnoy, a “would-be husband killer,” was judged to be the worst.15 11. Madame de Sévigné (1626–1696) also entered the canon, but her familiar letters were considered an example of women’s “natural” eloquence, not literature. 12. Madame de Villedieu: See Memoirs of the Life of Henriette-Sylvie de Molière, a Novel, ed. and trans. Donna Kuizenga, The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004). Marie Mancini and Hortense Mancini: See Memoirs, edited and translated by Sarah Nelson. The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008). 13. Aggravating Murat’s case was that she was reputed to be a lesbian. Murat’s La défense des dames, ou les mémoires de Madame la comtesse de M*** (Paris: C. Barbin, 1697) appeared in English in 1707, in vol. 1 of The Diverting Works of the Countess D’Anois, titled The Memoirs of Her Own Life. The adventures of Murat’s heroine were used to fill the gaps in d’Aulnoy’s early biography by literary historians and recently by Fernande Gontier in her novel, Histoire de la Comtesse d’Aulnoy (Paris: Perrin, 2005). Gontier, however, acknowledges the borrowings. 14. Adam rejected their secret histories as fade but was surprised that such “dull” works were written by “brazen adventuresses.” Recent scholars are exploring the disruptive effect of this decried genre. See The Secret History in Literature, 1660–1820, ed. Rachel Carnell and Rebecca Bullard (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2017). 15. In Tender Geographies (158, 263n58), DeJean translates Adam’s comment as follows: “Madame d’Aulnoy was born into one of the best families in Normandy. Married to the Baron d’Aulnoy, she wanted to get rid of him and, with her mother’s help, she plotted a scheme destined to have him

4 Introduction Although recent reevaluations of d’Aulnoy’s fairy tales highlight her exuberant imagination and lively style, her other works remain neglected, tainted by stories of her life. In 2000, Miguel Ángel Vega, the latest translator of Travels into Spanish, called her “esta parricida frustrada,” (“this frustrated husband-killer”), this “Mata Hari avant la lettre” for spreading with her inventions and diatribes the “black legend” of Spain’s decline. He judges her observations on high society in her “anti-Spanish” works worthy of the celebrity gossip magazine Hola!16 How can such an immoral woman be truthful about Spain?

D’Aulnoy’s Life and Works Revisited “Quite a disturbing person full of surprises, this countess d’Aulnoy, as famous among her contemporaries for the scandals of her private life as for her works on Spain and her best-selling novel, Histoire d’Hypolite, comte de Douglas.” That is how Mary Elizabeth Storer introduces d’Aulnoy in her 1928 study that rediscovered the fairy tale in France. The rest of her chapter, however, applauds the author’s imagination and wit.17 The undisputed facts of d’Aulnoy’s life are few; the rest is speculation, often tainted by biases.18 She was born in Barneville-La-Bertrand, Normandy,19 to noble parents, the only daughter of Nicolas-Claude Le Jumel (ca. 1599–1662), seigneur de Barneville, and Judith-Angélique Le Coutelier de Saint-Pater (1629–ca. 1701), a member of the Beringhen family, aristocratic, influential, and Huguenot (French Calvinist Protestants). A prominent Beringhen uncle and cousin probcondemned to death for high treason. But he was acquitted, and the two women’s accomplices were executed. The novelist retired to a convent.” Antoine Adam, Histoire de la littérature française au XVIIe siècle, vol. 5, 315, no. 1 (Paris: Del Duca, 1962). 16. Miguel Ángel Vega, introduction, Relación del viaje de España, by Madame d’Aulnoy, trans. Pilar Blanco and Miguel Ángel Vega, Como nos vieron 5 (Madrid: Cátedra, 2000), 9–40. The Spanish “Black Legend” antedates d’Aulnoy’s writings by two centuries. This form of propaganda distorts a country’s history and culture, presenting it as negatively as possible in order to disqualify its moral authority. Spain’s leyenda negra emphasizes the atrocities of the Inquisition, the brutal colonization of the Americas, its religious intolerance, and the negative aspects of Spaniards’ “character”: haughty, superstitious, lazy, and so on. 17. Mary Elizabeth Storer, La mode des contes de fées (1685–1700), 1928 (Geneva: Slatkine, 1972), 18. 18. For updated biographical information based on archival documentation, see Jacques Barchilon’s introduction to a scholarly edition of d’Aulnoy’s tales: Madame d’Aulnoy, Contes I, ed. Philippe Hourcade (Paris: S.T.F.M., 1997), v–xxv. See also Nadine Jasmin, “Marie-Catherine Le Jumel de Barneville, Baroness d’Aulnoy, (1650/51?–1705),” in The Teller’s Tale: Lives of the Classic Fairy Tale Writers, ed. Sophie Raynard, 61–68 (Albany: SUNY Press, 2012). Allison Stedman provides an excellent overview of her life and works in the Dictionary of Literary Biography, Seventeenth-Century French Writers, ed. Françoise Jaouën, vol. 268 (Detroit, MI: Thomson Gale, 2003), 12–18. 19. A few kilometers from the English Channel, near Honfleur in the Calvados department.

Introduction 5 ably protected Judith-Angélique and Marie-Catherine in their flight and exile.20 After her father’s death, Marie-Catherine may have been educated by a Beringhen aunt, who introduced her to salon culture and literature. Her mother remarried a certain Michel de Salles, Marquis of Gudane (in southwestern France, spelling varies), and was widowed again, but thereafter known as la Marquise de Gudane. The year of Marie-Catherine’s birth, 1650 or 1651, was uncertain until Volker Schröder posted his findings on the blog Anecdota in March 2019. Schröder discovered d’Aulnoy’s baptismal record, dated October 1, 1652, in the parish of Barneville. She was thus thirteen years and five months, not fifteen or sixteen, when she was wed to rich, handsome but forty-plus-year-old Baron d’Aulnoy, on March 8, 1666. Schröder’s other discovery, d’Aulnoy’s note in the margins of a 1469 scribal copy of Arnoul Gréban’s Mystery of the Passion (1453–1454) owned by her family, confirms her birth year. Already “Dame Donoy,” she expresses her feistiness with unusual eloquence. Marie Catherine le Jumel de Barneville-La-Bertran, Dame Donoy, Barneville, Pandepie, and other places, wrote this at the age of 13 years and 8 months. Written in Barneville in the present month of July 1666. It has been almost 200 years since this book was made, and whoever will have this book should know that it was mine and that it belongs to our house. Written in Normandy near our house. Adieu, Reader, if you have my book and I don’t know you and you don’t appreciate what’s inside, I wish you ringworm, scabies, fever, the plague, measles, and a broken neck. May God assist you against my maledictions.21

20. Judith-Angélique’s Huguenot grandfather, Pierre de Beringhen, was the first valet de chambre (gentleman of the bedchamber) and confidant of King Henri IV, whose conversion to Catholicism (1593) ended the Wars of Religion in France. Her uncle, Henri de Beringhen (1603–1692), was first equerry and confidant of Louis XIII. Her cousin, Jacques-Louis de Beringhen (1651–1723), was first equerry of Louis XIV and a prominent art collector. Her great aunt, Marie Bruneau, Dame Des Loges (ca.1585–1641), opened the first salon in Paris in 1603, attracting leading writers. Judith-Angélique was baptized in a Huguenot church, but Marie-Catherine and her children were baptized Catholic. D’Aulnoy’s Huguenot background may explain her interest in religious conflicts and her friendships. Historian Olivier Blanc observed to me that a number of French female writers labeled “adventuresses” had Protestant connections. Persecution of Protestants intensified after 1685, when Louis XIV revoked Henri IV’s Edict of Nantes (1598), which had granted Huguenots the right to gather and worship in France. 21. Anecdota (blog, Princeton University); “The Birth and Beginnings of Madame d’Aulnoy,” By Volker Schröder, posted March 29, 2019. The scribal copy is kept today in the Bibliothèque nationale de France. Thank you, Volker Schröder, for bringing this discovery to my attention.

6 Introduction The mismatched newlyweds lived in Paris in the Saint-Gervais Parish (the Marais, 4th arrondissement). François de la Motte (ca. 1625–1700) had acquired his title, Baron d’Aulnoy, in 1654. He had risen in the service of César, Duke of Vendôme, probably as lover, certainly as valet de chambre, and finally comptroller general of his household.22 Vendôme’s death in October 1665 and La Motte’s financial dealings with Nicolas Fouquet, Louis XIV’s disgraced superintendent of finances, imperiled his fortune, hence the need for a rich wife. The baron began dissipating his wife’s fortune as well. Before age seventeen, Marie-Catherine had given birth at eleven-month intervals to three children, two of whom died in infancy, and she was pregnant with her fourth. As her husband grew increasingly violent, she took refuge with her mother on rue de l’Université (7th arrondissement today). Furious at her son-in-law for many reasons (perhaps also for his refusal to cover her gambling debts), in September 1669, Gudane plotted with her lover, Jacques Antoine de Crux, Marquis of Courboyer (1615–1669), a Protestant, and two other accomplices to entrap the baron into speaking against the king— lèse majesté, a capital offense. The plot failed. Although the loudmouth La Motte had railed against the king in Normandy, he watched his words when the accomplices engaged him in conversation in the Luxembourg gardens on September 23, 1669, and then made false accusations. He proved his innocence, was exonerated, and, after paying taxes and fines, was discharged from the Bastille in January 1670, financially ruined. Courboyer was tortured (being a Protestant did not help) and executed publicly with one accomplice on December 13, 1669. The ladies disappeared. After some time in Italy, where she served as a spy for Spain, Gudane ended up in Madrid, becoming a pensioned personality as well as double agent for France.23 D’Aulnoy probably spent a short time in the Conciergerie prison and then in a convent with her one-year-old, the newborn Judith-Henriette (November 1669) having been sent to a wet nurse.24 Biographers disagree on the extent of d’Aulnoy’s involvement in the plot against her husband, some blaming the wayward wife more than the evil mother-in-law. No one considered the abuse suffered by the child bride. The testimonies of one accomplice and of La Motte himself, however, blame Gudane for the machination and minimize the role of the teenager, dominated by her

22. Legitimized son of King Henri IV of France and his mistress Gabrielle d’Estrées. His Hôtel de Vendôme was “popularly known as the Hôtel de Sodome” for the Duke’s well-known sexual proclivities. See Louis Crompton, Homosexuality and Civilization (Cambridge, MA: Belknap, 2003), 339. 23. Some letters to France attributed to Gudane were published by A. Martin, “Lettres de la Marquise de Gudannes, 1693–1696,” Revue Hispanique 47 (1919): 383–541. 24. Jeanne Roche-Mazon, “Madame d’Aulnoy et son mari,” (1930) in Autour des contes de fées (Paris: Didier, 1968), 143–50.

Introduction 7 “debauched” mother. Whatever the truth, this plot was certainly cleverer than using poison or a hitman to get rid of an abusive husband.25 Estranged from her husband, d’Aulnoy was free again by 1672, but her whereabouts until 1685 remain uncertain. She may have traveled to Flanders (1672–1673)26 and England (1675). It is plausible that she served as an informant for the French crown, like her mother. But she was in Paris in October 1676 and again in 1677, when her fifth and sixth children were baptized in Saint-Sulpice parish, fathers marked “absent.” In her English Memoirs and Spanish Travels, d’Aulnoy asserts that she sojourned in England and Spain and frequented the highest circles.27 She probably did travel to Spain around 1679 to bring two daughters to their grandmother Gudane, who raised them and married JudithHenriette handsomely. By 1685, d’Aulnoy had obtained permission to return to France and lived in a convent (probably by royal order), where she began composing her works. D’Aulnoy burst upon the literary scene in 1690. She had published at least eleven books in various genres by 1703. Her first, Histoire d’Hypolite, Comte de Duglas (The History of Hypolitus, Earl of Douglas), followed in the vein of shorter fiction set in recent history,28 a genre pioneered by women in the 1660s, especially Villedieu and Lafayette.29 Often titled “Histoire de . . . ,” these short novels supplanted the multivolume romances of the Baroque era, set in antiquity and glorifying heroic deeds and sentiments. Instead, the nouvelles historiques uncovered the sway of the passions and the power of women in politics. Hypolite announced 25. Recourse to love philters and poisons was frequent during Louis XIV’s reign, at a time when divorce did not exist but husbands could confine their wives in convents. In the sensational Affaire des poisons (1677–1682), members of the court and even the king’s mistress, Madame de Montespan, were implicated. 26. D’Aulnoy wrote Nouvelles et Mémoires historiques contenant ce qui s’est passé de plus remarquables dans l’Europe . . . 1672–1679. Par Madame D*** (Paris: Claude Barbin, 1693), which focus on Louis XIV’s Dutch wars. 27. In the opening paragraphs of her English Memoirs, the narrator mentions knowing the Dukes of Monmouth and Buckingham, the Earls of Saint Albans and Cavendish, whom she had met in Paris, the Duchesses of Richmond and Rochester, Madam Hyde (her principal informants), French exiles, the free-thinking philosopher Saint-Évremond (a friend of her father), and Hortense Mancini, Duchess of Mazarin. The modern translators give credence to her account and even suggest that the archetypal Restoration rake, George Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham (1628–1687), could have fathered d’Aulnoy’s last two daughters. Memoirs of the Court of England in 1675. By Marie Catherine Baronne d’Aulnoy, trans. Mrs. William Henry Arthur with annotations by George David Gilbert (London: John Lane, 1913), xv. 28. See Madame d’Aulnoy, Histoire d’Hypolite, Comte de Duglas, edited with an introduction in English and French by Shirley Jones Day (London: Institute of Romance Studies, University of London, 1994). 29. Villedieu started receiving critical attention only in the 1970s. Marie-Madeleine de Lafayette, Zayde, a Spanish Romance, ed. and trans. Nicholas D. Paige. The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006).

8 Introduction some of d’Aulnoy talents and tastes: its action is set mainly in England, as are two subsequent works.30 It also includes the first literary fairy tale published in France, “Ile de la Félicité.”31 Recent scholars consider that imbedding the tale in the novel mirrored the discursive setting of a genre developed by women in the salons.32 A few months later, d’Aulnoy launched her Spanish series: the two-volume Spanish Memoirs (November 1690) and the three-volume Travels (April 1691), both printed by the popular Parisian bookseller, Claude Barbin.33 Immensely successful, they were quickly translated into English: first, Travels, titled The Lady’s Travels into Spain, and in the second edition, The Ingenious and Diverting Letters of the Lady—Travels into Spain, and published the same year, Memoirs of the Court of Spain: In Two Parts; Written by an Ingenious French Lady (1692). D’Aulnoy’s reputation as travel writer was used to introduce the English translation of her fairy tales in 1707, published as part IV of The Diverting Works of the Countess D’Anois, Author of Ladies [sic] Travels to Spain.34 After she was released from her convent confinement, not in 1690 but around 1695–1696, d’Aulnoy opened a literary salon at her rented home on the street known today as rue Saint-Benoît, near the famous Café de Flore and the church of Saint-Germain-des-Prés. Although her salon was reputed to have been frequented by other conteuses, Mme de Murat and Mlle l’Héritier, princes, and aristocrats, including the exiled James II of England and his Catholic supporters 30. The English Memoirs and Le Comte de Warwick, par Madame d’Aulnoy (1703; The Earl of Warwick, 1708). Anne E. Duggan considers that these works set in England mirror the absolutism and religious intolerance in France, which could not be criticized directly. See Duggan, Salonnières, Furies, and Fairies, 165–200. 31. The anonymous translation titled The Story of Adolphus, Prince of Russia and the Princess of Happiness was published in England independently in 1691, well before Hypolitus, in 1708. 32. Volker Schröder argues, however, that the narrative frame does not resemble a salon: Hypolite tells the tale to the abbess in whose convent his beloved is imprisoned. Rather, it suggests the author’s “solitude” in the convent following her years in foreign courts, which d’Aulnoy mentions in dedicating Hypolite to the princess of Conti. Marie-Anne de Bourbon, Louis XIV’s eldest, legitimized— and favorite—daughter with his first mistress, Louise de la Valière, was married to Louis Armand de Bourbon, Prince of Conti, a junior member of the Bourbon royal family. That “solitude” allowed d’Aulnoy to admire Marie-Anne—pleasing her father, the Sun King—and to write. Schröder uncovered notarized documents signed by d’Aulnoy between 1688 and 1695 in the convent of the Hospitalières de la Miséricorde de Jésus, on rue Mouffetard (Paris) indicating that her confinement lasted almost a decade and corresponds to her most productive period. “Madame d’Aulnoy’s Productive Confinement,” Anecdota, May 2, 2020. 33. A successful printer and bookseller from 1656 until his death in 1698, Barbin published not only works by Molière, Racine, La Fontaine, and the “Classics” but also more than sixty works by fourteen female writers, including Lafayette, Villedieu, and d’Aulnoy. Though not learned, he recognized good writing and changing literary tastes. See Nathalie Grande, “Claude Barbin, un libraire pour dames?” Revue de la BNF 3, no. 39 (2011): 22–27. 34. London: Printed for John Nicholson . . . John Sprint . . . Andrew Bell and for Samuel Burows, 1707.

Introduction 9 as well as English Protestants in Paris, its days of glory were shorter than originally thought. The illustrious poet Mme Deshoulières and Mme de Sévigné had already died. Mme Du Noyer, however, is full of praise for d’Aulnoy’s conversation, even wittier and more charming than her prose.35 There is no mention of her “adventures” in contemporary accounts. It probably helped that she had produced two religious meditations on the psalms: In Sentiments of a Penitent Soul, d’Aulnoy repents her sinful past, a trope of the genre, and thanks God for his mercy; in The Return of a Soul to God, she begs God to guide her in her new literary endeavors and regrets not having devoted her talents to His glory earlier.36 Literary historians had long thought that she had circulated them in manuscript before they were published in one volume, in 1698. But very recently Volker Schröder discovered three copies of the first edition of Sentiments, printed by no other than Claude Barbin in 1691, the same year as Travels.37 Devotional writing was in vogue during the Sun King’s austere old age, influenced by his pious morganatic wife, the Marquise of Maintenon.38 D’Aulnoy’s fame in the 1690s thus seems based on her success as a writer, not on past notoriety. With her flair for trends and marketing as well as the encouragement of Barbin, d’Aulnoy published six books in a variety of genres in just five years. Several are dedicated to a member of the royal family, and each refers back to her most successful books for publicity purposes. Hypolite was so admired by the princess that she requested another historical novel. Histoire de Jean de Bourbon, 35. Born into a Calvinist family in Nîmes, Anne-Marguerite Petit (1663–1719) resisted converting to Catholicism after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. She fled France, but, pressured by relatives and forced residencies in convents, she finally abjured and married Guillaume Du Noyer, a Catholic mainly interested in her fortune. They eventually moved to Paris, where she probably frequented d’Aulnoy’s salon. Finally, wishing to marry her daughters to Protestants and disgusted with her husband’s gambling and womanizing, she reembraced Calvinism and fled to Holland with her two daughters, supporting them by her writing. She became the most famous French female journalist of the early eighteenth century. Du Noyer mentions d’Aulnoy several times in her multivolume Lettres historiques et galantes and in her Mémoires. I am grateful to Henriette Goldwyn for bringing Du Noyer’s comments on d’Aulnoy to my attention. See Goldwyn’s “Inscription d’un lectorat féminin dans une des Lettres historiques et galantes de Mme Du Noyer,” Lectrices d’Ancien Régime, ed. Isabelle Brouard-Arens (Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2003): 93–101. See also Goldwyn’s edition of Du Noyer’s Mémoires. 36. Sentiments d’une âme pénitente, on the Miserere me Deus (1691), Le Retour d’une âme à Dieu, on the Benedic anima mea. 37. Schröder, “Sentiments of a penitent soul,” Anecdota, January 11, 2021. At least seventeen editions followed before 1830, with additional pious writings by others. D’Aulnoy’s meditations were also attributed to Du Noyer. 38. Devotional literature could be sincere and/or politically motivated. Such luminaries as Charles Perrault (A Christian Epistle on Penitence, 1684) and Jean de La Fontaine (Paraphrase of Dies Irae, 1693) composed religious meditations. In d’Aulnoy’s case, they may have been a condition of her rehabilitation and they helped establish her reputation as a serious writer.

10 Introduction Prince de Carency, is set in France, Spain, North Africa, and Turkey in the late fourteenth century. But writing the novel was interrupted by more pressing concerns—Spain, whose future was critical to France and all of Europe. So she produced the Spanish Memoirs, also dedicated to Conti, and Travels, dedicated to Philippe II, duc de Chartres, Louis XIV’s nephew and half-brother of the late queen of Spain, Marie-Louise d’Orléans. The Spanish memoirs and travels became a promotional signature. Jean de Bourbon, “by the author of the Spanish Memoirs and Travels,” appeared in 1692; a few months later came Nouvelles Espagnoles, par Madame D***. (Nouvelles meant “news” as well as reality-based “short narratives.”) Comprising three novellas, a two-part novel, and a seventyletter epistolary novel, this collection was the first of her works to include “by Madame D***” in the title, identifying the author as the expert on Spain. It was immediately reprinted (pirated?) in truncated form in the Hague (Jean Alberts, 1692) under the title Histoire nouvelle de la cour d’Espagne (New History of the Court of Spain). Lest her representation of the sexual mores of the Spanish aristocracy appear too cynically French, perhaps, d’Aulnoy then published Nouvelles et Mémoires historiques (1693). Due to her success, so many spurious works were being attributed to “Madame D***” that in the preface of those annals, d’Aulnoy gave a list of the books actually written by her. In her next book, printed on December 1, 1694, d’Aulnoy returns to England, the object of great curiosity ever since the Glorious Revolution (1688) had ousted James II and put on the throne the Dutch Protestant William of Orange with his Stuart wife, Mary II, as co-monarch. The Memoirs of the Court of England in 1675 (dedicated to the Duke of Maine, Louis XIV’s favorite legitimized son), less politically focused than the Spanish memoirs, are primarily an account of the amorous intrigues of historical figures, including Charles II, at the height of the licentious Restoration era, when d’Aulnoy probably lived in England. Though witty and chatty, the style remains above reproach, however, unlike many histoires secrètes or galantes, racy chronicles so popular at the time and often misattributed to d’Aulnoy.39 After d’Aulnoy’s first literary fairy tale in Hypolite and another in Travels (Mira’s tale, Letter 3), a few writers published tales individually or embedded in a novel. In January 1697, Charles Perrault produced the first collection of eight fairy tales based on folklore, along with the three tales in verse already published, 39. See Gabrielle Verdier, “Memoirs, Publishing, Scandal: The Case of Mme D***[D’Aulnoy],” Women Writers in Pre-Revolutionary France: Strategies of Emancipation, ed. Colette Winn and Donna Kuizenga (London: Garland, 1997), 397–414. In England, Charles II’s political and religious enemies produced secret histories to discredit the Stuart dynasty and denounce aristocratic degeneracy. D’Aulnoy’s fame was used to market them. Indeed, booksellers appended Delarivier Manley’s shocking The Lady’s Packet of Letters to the second edition (1708) of d’Aulnoy’s Memoirs of the Court of England. See note 14, and Michael McKeon, “Historicizing Patriarchy: The Emergence of Gender Differences in England, 1660–1760,” Eighteenth-Century Studies 28, no. 3 (Spring 1995): 321n64.

Introduction 11 under the title Histoires ou contes du temps passé, avec des Moralitez (Stories of Times Past with Moralities), also known as Contes de ma mère l’oie (Tales of Mother Goose), published by Barbin. D’Aulnoy had been composing fairy tales all along because, in early April 1697, Barbin published the first two volumes of her Contes des fées, containing nine long tales; in the next two volumes, six tales are imbedded in two Spanish novellas, “Don Gabriel, Ponce de Leon” and “Don Fernand de Toledo”—the name of her main traveling companion—recalling her Nouvelles espagnoles and Travels. The tales were so well received that d’Aulnoy published another four-volume collection in 1698, Contes nouveaux ou les Fées à la mode (New Tales, or Fairies in Fashion). D’Aulnoy spent her final years in Paris, probably in semi-seclusion after a scandal involving a friend who frequented her salon. Mme Angélique Tiquet was accused of hiring assassins to kill her husband. He survived, but she was beheaded in June 1699 and her alleged accomplice hung.40 In August 1700, the penniless Baron d’Aulnoy died, formally disinheriting his long-estranged wife, though he had nothing to leave her. In 1703, she published her last historical novel, Le Comte de Warwick, par Madame d’Aulnoy, the only work she signed with her full name on the title page. In the dedication to her cousin, the Marquis of Pirou-Bressey, she lists the works she has actually written because it was too easy for publishers to use D*** to take advantage of her fame.41 D’Aulnoy died on January 12 or 13, 1705, aged fifty-two, at her house on rue Saint-Benoît. She was buried in her parish, Saint-Sulpice, and survived by her four daughters. When d’Aulnoy’s life is assessed, her friends Tiquet and Du Noyer seem to cast a shadow on her image of Christian repentance. Both women also defied their husbands, Du Noyer openly contesting the absolute monarchy and the allpowerful Catholic establishment in print. They remind us of the “maledictions” hurled by the defiant, newly married Marie-Catherine when she was thirteen.

40. Rich young heiress Angélique-Nicole Carlier married older Claude Tiquet, a councilor at the Parlement of Paris, who had deceived her about the scale of his fortune. See Jeffrey S. Ravel, “HusbandKiller, Christian Heroine, Victim: The Execution of Madame Tiquet, 1699,” Seventeenth-Century French Studies 32, no. 2 (2010): 120–36. 41. The Earl of Warwick, by Madame d’Aulnoy. She mixes descriptive and exact titles, seeming to group them by country and genre: “The account of my Travels into Spain, Memoirs of the same Court, Nouvelles Espagnoles, Hipolite (sic), Jean de Bourbon, eight volumes of fairy tales, Mémoires Historiques, those of the Court of England, two paraphrases on the Psalms.”

12 Introduction

Figure 1. Marie-Louise d’Orleans, dite Mademoiselle d’Orleans, ainsi que “Mademoiselle” Marie Louise of Orleans (1662–1689), Queen of Spain, ca. 1679 (oil on canvas) / Hidalgo, Jose Garcia (1645–1717) / Museo del Prado, Prado, Madrid / Photo © Fine Art Images / Bridgeman Images FIA5401603.

Introduction 13

Figure 2. Baroque: Charles II d’Espagne, dit l’Ensorcelé – Portrait of Charles II of Spain, 1677–1679 (oil on canvas) / Carreno de Miranda, Don Juan (1614– 85) / Ayuntamiento de Sevilla, Seville / Photo © Fine Art Images / Bridgeman Images FIA5406082.

14 Introduction

Controversies: Did She or Didn’t She? In 1926, prominent Hispanist Raymond Foulché-Delbosc concluded his study, “Madame d’Aulnoy et l’Espagne” with the statement: “Madame d’Aulnoy never went to Spain.”42 Though startling, this conclusion is not entirely unexpected if we consider the rise and fall of Travels, from the authority on all things Spanish to “hoax” and “fake.” Spain fascinated and frightened seventeenth-century readers in France and elsewhere. Under the Habsburg dynasty (1516–1700), Spain was critically important in European power struggles but remained exotic with its Moorish influences: a land of extremes, fabulous riches from the New World and abject poverty; Golden Age literature and fanaticism; Cervantes and the Inquisition. Foulché-Delbosc found one hundred and nine travel accounts to Spain since the Middle Ages—all male—before d’Aulnoy’s.43 Neighbors France and Spain had an especially fraught love-hate dynastic relationship, fueled by centuries of warring interrupted by royal marriages to consolidate peace treaties.44 D’Aulnoy’s Spanish Memoirs and Travels coincide with the Franco-Spanish royal marriage to seal the Treaties of Nijmegen (1679) ending the Franco-Dutch War. Marie-Louise d’Orléans, daughter of Louis XIV’s brother Philip and his first wife (and first cousin) Henrietta of England, was married to “Bewitched” Carlos II of Spain, disabled and disfigured due to Habsburg inbreeding. Carlos was the son of Philip IV and his second wife (and niece), Mariana of Austria. She had been betrothed to Philip IV’s son and heir, Baltasar Carlos, but when the Infante died in 1646, Philip IV, then forty, married fourteen-yearold Mariana himself. When Queen Marie-Louise died, childless, on February 12, 1689, at age twenty-seven, rumors of poisoning spread—again.45 42. Raymond Foulché-Delbosc, “Madame d’Aulnoy et l’Espagne,” Revue hispanique 67 (1926) 1–152. This article served as the introduction to his critical edition of the Relation du voyage d’Espagne (Paris: Klincksieck, 1926) and appeared in English (abridged) to introduce the reprint of the 1692 Travels (Broadway Travellers Series, London: Routledge, 1930, 2004). References to Foulché-Delbosc’s study, Madame d’Aulnoy et l’Espagne (abbreviated F-D), include page numbers (French original) and Roman numerals (English translation). 43. Raymond Foulché-Delbosc, Bibliographie des voyages en Espagne et en Portugal (1896), Reprint (Amsterdam: Meridian, 1969). 44. See Jean-Frédéric Schaub, La France espagnole: Les racines hispaniques de l’absolutisme français (Paris: Seuil, 2003). Henri II’s daughter Elizabeth deValois was married to Philip II of Spain to seal the peace of Cateau-Cambrésis in 1559 and died in 1568 at age twenty-three. In 1615, the double marriages of the French and Spanish-Habsburg royal siblings were arranged for political reasons: Spanish Anna of Austria wed Louis XIII of France, his sister Elisabeth of Bourbon wed Anna’s brother, Philip IV of Spain. Their children, Louis XIV and Maria Teresa of Spain, twice first cousins, were married in 1660 to cement the Treaty of the Pyrenees. 45. Marie-Louise’s mother, Henrietta of England, had also died suddenly in 1670 at age twenty-seven, perhaps of poison. In 1689, rumors of poisoning spread across Europe, understandably so since Spain

Introduction 15 D’Aulnoy’s Spanish works capitalize on readers’ interest in this latest royal tragedy: another French princess sacrificed to dynastic politics with worldwide implications. The witty French lady’s Travels parallel the reluctant bride’s journey to meet her Spanish royal spouse. The first half of Memoirs provides the background, focusing on the Queen Mother, Mariana of Austria, and the second half details events of the marriage until 1681. Both were published soon after MarieLouise’s death. The decline of Spain also worried the rest of Europe. If Carlos did not produce an heir (likely) with his second wife, Austrian Maria Anna of Neuburg (who arrived in Spain in May 1690), then who would rule Spain, the Spanish Netherlands, the Kingdoms of Naples, Sicily, Sardinia, and the far-flung Spanish colonies, from the Philippines to Peru? Would it be a French Bourbon or an Austrian Habsburg?46 The fate of the world seemed at stake. Historical relevance alone cannot explain the success of d’Aulnoy’s Travels, however. The enticing subtitle of the 1692 English translation expresses what else attracted readers: The Ingenious and Diverting Letters of the Lady—Travels into Spain— Describing the Devotions, Nunneries, Humours, Customs, Laws, Militia, Trade, Diet and Recreations of that People: Intermixed with Great Variety of Modern Adventures and Surprising Accidents; Being the Truest and Best REMARKS Extant on that Court and Country. Subject matter, both lofty and homely—Laws, Diet; Variety, both Humours and Surprising Accidents; Style, Ingenious and Diverting; Perspective—a Lady’s—at a time when “the road was no place for a lady.” No wonder, then, that Travels remained the most important source of information on Spain for travelers and writers for nearly two centuries. Victor Hugo drew on d’Aulnoy for his romantic drama Ruy Blas (1838), the tragic story of Carlos’s second wife, Queen Maria Anna of Neuburg, and her love for a commoner.47 Nineteenth-century French historian Hippolyte Taine marveled: “You can needed a fertile queen. Marie-Louise was overeating and had fallen off a horse, riding and food her only pleasures. Although she consumed iced foods thought to favor pregnancy, the childless marriage was due to the “Bewitched” Carlos’s congenital sterility. She also regularly ingested theriac and other antidotes to poison. The battery of remedies her doctors gave for her stomach pain only made it worse. See John Langdon-Davies, Carlos: The King Who Would Not Die (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1963), 142–52. Modern doctors believe that Marie-Louise died of appendicitis or acute indigestion. 46. On his deathbed (Fall 1700), the childless Carlos II named as successor Philip d’Anjou, the grandson of his half-sister, Marie-Thérèse d’Autriche, and Louis XIV. At the end of the War of the Spanish Succession (1714), Bourbon Felipe V retained the Spanish throne but was obliged to renounce claim to the French throne. He is the ancestor of Felipe VI, the present king of Spain. 47. After Carlos’s death, Maria Anna went into exile in Bayonne and allegedly married a barrelmaker. Hugo’s dashing Ruy Blas became a symbol of anti-monarchical sentiments after the French

16 Introduction see, you can touch” the strange customs; the figures painted by Lope, Calderon, Murillo, and Zurbaran really did roam the roads of Spain.”48 Some of d’Aulnoy’s anecdotes and descriptions in Travels had seemed exaggerated, but not until the later nineteenth century was her veracity really challenged. In 1861, William Stirling published a manuscript of memoirs of the court of Spain he had discovered, coinciding with the period described by d’Aulnoy in the Memoirs and Travels (1679–1681). Stirling attributed the manuscript to Pierre de Villars, French ambassador to Spain.49 Unbeknownst to Sterling, the manuscript had already been published anonymously in 1733. Foulché-Delbosc determined later that it was written by a secretary, so it is now referred to as “Pseudo-Villars.” Villars arrived in Madrid on June 21, 1679, to prepare for Marie-Louise’s marriage to Carlos.50 Joining Villars, his wife wrote thirty-seven lively letters describing the Spanish court and the mis-matched newlyweds, from November, 1679 to May 1681, a period not covered by Travels.51 Noticing resemblances between d’Aulnoy’s and Villars’s memoirs, historians concluded that the baroness drew much of her information from the ambassador, even though her works on Spain were published more than forty years before his memoirs. Although d’Aulnoy was somewhat discredited, Mme B. Carey remarked that she had added innumerable details to the ambassador’s account and esteemed that, for their style, Travels and Memoirs deserved a critical edition, which she published in 1874 and 1876.52 In 1893, however, Hispanist A[lfred] Morel-Fatio discovered and published a longer version of the Villars memoirs. This long version is actually the earlier one and is very critical of Spain and of Marie-Louise for not following the ambassador’s advice; the short version attenuates or eliminates harsh judgments, as did d’Aulnoy. Morel-Fatio declared that d’Aulnoy’s memoirs were just a copy and an amplification of Villars, casting additional doubt on her Travels. Foulché-Delbosc also uncovered that, in March and April 1690, just thirteen months after Marie-Louise’s death, the Mercure Galant—the periodical favored by fashionable, modern readers (mondains), many of them women, as opposed Revolutions of 1789 and 1830. 48. See Maria Susana Seguin, “Introduction” Relation du Voyage d’Espagne, ed. Maria Susana Seguin (Paris: Desjonquères, 2005), 8. 49. Mémoires de la Cour d’Espagne sous le règne de Charles II, 1678–1682: Par le Marquis de Villars, ed. William Stirling (London: Trübner & Co., 1861). 50. Villars had served France in Spain in 1668 and as ambassador from 1671 to 1673. 51. See Bellefonds-Villars, Marie Gigault de, marquise de. Letters from Spain: A Seventeenth-Century French Noblewoman at the Spanish Royal Court, ed. and trans. Nathalie Hester. The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe: The Toronto Series 80 (New York and Toronto: Iter Press, 2021). 52. La Cour et la ville de Madrid vers la fin du XVIIe siècle (The Court and City of Madrid Toward the End of the Seventeenth Century), vol. 1, Relation du voyage d’Espagne (Paris: Plon, 1874); vol. 2, Mémoires de la cour d’Espagne, ed. M Carey (Paris: Plon, 1876). My remarks on the Spanish memoirs reference the Carey edition.

Introduction 17 to classically educated, mostly male partisans of the ancients—had published parts of the anonymous short version of the “Memoirs of the court of Spain.” But at the end of the April issue, the Mercure announced: “The person who wrote these memoirs will publish them and give them to the public with two volumes of travels.”53 Who planted, then interrupted, publication of the first third of the Pseudo-Villars short version in the Mercure? Was it d’Aulnoy, Claude Barbin, or both? Did she have a copy of Villars? Had she seen the long version, so critical of Marie-Louise, which d’Aulnoy is not? Whatever the case, it was a brilliant marketing strategy that prepared the best-selling Mémoires de la cour d’Espagne, which readers could buy seven months later. Although Pierre de Villars was still alive, no one denounced d’Aulnoy’s Spanish memoirs as “literary piracy” at the time. Aside from the “Pseudo-Villars” assertion, Foulché-Dubosc argued that half of d’Aulnoy’s information in Travels came from published sources: earlier travel accounts, principally by Antoine de Brunel and François Bertaut;54 periodicals (Mercure Galant, Gazette); and private letters (Mme de Villars, etc.). What he could not identify, he attributed to oral sources, d’Aulnoy’s mother and daughters who lived in Spain. Concluding that her anecdotes were mere fiction inspired by Spanish novels and plays, Foulché-Dubosc removed the four inset stories, categorizing them as works of “pure imagination” and “heartrending sentimentality,” like her 1692 Spanish novellas.55 Those stories, however, narrated by people the French lady meets, are precisely the “Modern Adventures and Surprising Accidents” that her French and English readers so enjoyed! While conceding that he was not able to find sources for many of her observations, Foulché-Delbosc concluded that Travels, too, was just a clever compilation. In its 1930 reprint of the 1692 translation, Routledge accepted FoulchéDelbosc’s conclusions. But the book’s current listing on both Google Books and Amazon.com is accompanied by the following tag from the Saturday Review: Of all the literary fakes this is surely the most impudent, ingenious, and successful. The Comtesse d’Aulnoy was never in Spain (but) she was a born traveller. Not without reason have the editors of the Broadway Travellers included her fiction in their library of fact. For despite its falseness, it is intellectually the real thing.56 53. Foulché-Delbosc, Madame d’Aulnoy Travels into Spain, 27–29; xiv–xvii. 54. Antoine de Brunel, Voyage d’Espagne, . . . fait en l’année 1655, anonymous (Paris: Charles de Sercy, 1665); François Bertaut, Relation d’un voyage d’Espagne, anonymous (Paris: Barbin, 1669). Both were reprinted several times in Cologne and Amsterdam. 55. Foulché-Delbosc, Madame d’Aulnoy Travels into Spain, 19, x. 56. Amazon; “Travels into Spain (Broadway Travellers),” https://www.amazon.com/Travels-intoSpain-Broadway-Travellers/dp/0415344719. Google; Google Books; “Travels into Spain,” https:// books.google.com/books/about/Travels_Into_Spain.html?id=q9IHhRaiF44C.

18 Introduction Others are persuaded that d’Aulnoy did go to Spain. Her biography makes this trip plausible, and contemporary readers never doubted it. Indeed, a document in the Gironde archives discovered in 1936 records a stopover d’Aulnoy made on her way to Spain.57 In his 1944 book on the “fantasies and realities” of Travels, Spanish historian Gabriel Maura Gamazo affirms that she resided in Madrid for twenty months and, when she observed closely, recorded with “photographic accuracy.”58 Why wait ten years before publishing Travels? D’Aulnoy may not have had access to Parisian booksellers until she returned to Paris in the late 1680s. But she must have jotted notes and consulted sources of information (as we consult Lonely Planet before presenting our latest trip). So when Spain was in the headlines again, she produced her memoirs and travels in record time. After MarieLouise’s sudden death, in February 1689, French periodicals published accounts of the funeral ceremonies while rumors of poisoning grew, as did readers’ curiosity.

Reading Travels through a Twenty-First-Century Lens History or hoax? Astute observation or adroit compilation? Both, and more. In the last century, criticism challenged the radical dichotomies of nineteenth-century positivism, which opposed “scientific” history and fiction. Recent theorists have exposed the tropes and emplotment that structure even seemingly objective modern history.59 Numerous studies have shown that the boundaries of history and fiction were blurred in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries: historical writing was governed by rhetoric; novels gained legitimacy by imitating history, passing as authentic memoirs and correspondence.60 Female writers in particular consciously blurred the line between fiction and history, thus creating an “arena of experimentation, of play with alternative plots and possibilities for women.”61 More ancient than the novel, travel accounts proliferated with printed books in the early modern era. Voyages of exploration fed the taste for movement and discovery over stability, expressing dramatically the European “crisis 57. Melvin D. Palmer, “Madame d’Aulnoy’s Pseudo-Autobiographical Works on Spain,” Romanische Foschungen 83 (1971): 221. 58. Gabriel Maura Gamazo, Fantasías y realidades del viaje a Madrid de la Condesa d’Aulnoy (junto con Agustín Gónzalez-Amezúa) (Madrid: Saturnino Callejo, 1944), 341. 59. Hayden White, Metahistory: The Historical Imagination in Nineteenth-Century Europe (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1973). 60. Michael McKeon, The Origins of the English Novel, 1600–1740 (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1987); Günter Berger, “Genres bâtards: Roman et histoire à la fin du XVIIe siècle,” XVIIe siècle 2002/2, no. 215, 297–305. 61. Donna Kuizenga, “Madame de Villedieu: A Woman on her Own,” introduction, Madame de Villedieu, 13.

Introduction 19 of consciousness” that challenged so many traditional categories—religious, geographical, philosophical, social.62 Travel writing included allegories, imaginary voyages, and forgeries as well as eyewitness narratives. Even authentic accounts were hybrid texts that incorporated tales and hearsay and relied on previous narratives to bolster the memory.63 Despite their essential role in developing the novel, women are mostly absent from lists of travel writers until the nineteenth century. This is unsurprising, given that respectable women managed the household while their husbands traveled, unless they were “adventuresses” or displaced and illiterate. In rediscovering female travelers, Anglo-American scholars usually begin with Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. She refashioned the journals and letters she wrote between 1716 and 1718 when accompanying her husband, British ambassador to the Ottoman Empire, on his travels. Her text was published posthumously in 1763, against the objections of her family. It became known as “The Turkish Embassy Letters.” By contrast, at the start of her career seventy-two years earlier, d’Aulnoy had her Travels published immediately—anonymously but revealing her gender, a stunning move. The permission to publish is in the name of Madame B*** D***, as are her Spanish memoirs; the dedication to the Duc de Chartres, the late Spanish queen’s half-brother, is signed in the feminine, “Votre . . . très obéissante Servante.” Indeed, she claims to be responding to his request to inform him about the “characters” and “customs” of Spain that are concealed from foreigners, suggesting that, as a woman, she could enter women’s spaces forbidden to men. She traveled without a husband and handled her own finances. Highlighted in the English title, the author’s gender helped make the Lady’s Travels a huge best seller. By 1740, it had been reprinted eleven times in French and fourteen in English, including two serializations. Still, d’Aulnoy rarely appears on lists of French-language female travel writers rediscovered by Francophone scholars, following the lead of Anglo-Americans. These lists begin with nineteenth-century voyageuses, when social norms and advances in transportation made traveling to faraway destinations easier for women.64 Percy Adams, following Foulché-Delbosc, ranks d’Aulnoy among the most successful “travel liars.” The “traveler as liar” is an ancient tradition, and authentic travel accounts also follow narrative patterns. Adams shows that differences between the exaggerations of authentic travelers and the imaginings of travel liars, 62. Paul Hazard, La Crise de la conscience européenne, 1680–1715, 1935 (Paris: Fayard, 1961), trans. The European Mind, the Critical Years,1680–1715, 1952. 63. Travel writing, however, emerged as an academic field only in the 1970s, in the wake of postcolonial studies. See introduction, The Cambridge Companion to Travel Writing, ed. Peter Hulme and Tim Youngs (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002). 64. See Bénédicte Manicat, Itinéraires de l’écriture au féminin: Voyageuses du 19e siècle (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1996).

20 Introduction both of whom exploited the craze for travel accounts after the Renaissance, are a matter of nuance.65 Some thirty years later, Peter C. Mancall stated unequivocally: “Travelers lie. They spin stories of exotic places. They exaggerate the timidity or ferocity of the people they have encountered.”66 D’Aulnoy’s French title, Relation du voyage d’Espagne, signals that it is the (du) not an (d’un) authentic account, thus dismissing her predecessors, Brunel, Bertaut, and others. “Relation” was a juridical term designating deposition in court and was appropriated by eyewitness travelers.67 At the same time, in her innovative “To the Reader,” she anticipates criticism and justifies her Travels in terms that recognize the hybrid nature of the travel genre, as highlighted by recent scholars. She thus positions herself as the authoritative French female writer she was, and by her use of literary vocabulary, she lays claim for her travel writing to be considered travel literature.68 D’Aulnoy combines patterns of travel, letter, and fiction writing in innovative ways. She mentions the reason for the journey, the destination, and the recipient: the French lady is traveling with her daughter to visit her female relative (parente, never identified as “mother”) in Madrid. She organizes Travels into fifteen long letters written to a female cousin in France. Letters 1–7, February 20– March 15, 1679, recount the three-week trip from Bayonne to Madrid, with stops in San Sebastián, Vitoria, Burgos, Lerma, Aranda de Duero, Buitrago, and San Agustín, and contain the stories told by persons she meets. Letters 8–14, March 28–September 30, 1679, describe events in Madrid, including preparations for the new queen. The short Letter 15, September 28, 1680, dated one year later, summarizes Marie-Louise’s arrival in Spain and refers to the Spanish Memoirs for details. Critics chide that it was impossible to write hundreds of pages in less than a month while traveling hundreds of miles in a litter, on mules, and staying in dreadful Spanish inns.69

65. Percy G. Adams, Travelers and Travel Liars, 1660–1800 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1962), 97–100. 66. Peter C. Mancall, “Introduction,” Travel Writing in the Early Modern World, Huntington Library Quarterly 70, no. 1 (2007): 1–10. 67. Andreas Motsch, “La relation de voyage: Itinéraire d’une pratique.” @nalyses (revue de critique et de théorie littéraire) 9, no. 1 (2014): 215–68. Relation was the term Jesuit missionaries used for the reports to their superiors on their progress in converting heathens. 68. See Nathalie Hester’s important article, “Travel Writing and the Art of Telling the Truth: MarieCatherine d’Aulnoy’s Travels to Spain,” Travel Writing in the Early Modern World, Huntington Library Quarterly 70, no. 1 (2007): 87–102. 69. The driving distance from Bayonne to Madrid today, through Burgos, is about 315 miles (507 km), but d’Aulnoy’s caravan had to cross rugged terrain in winter, often with hardly a path, at times turning in circles during snowstorms.

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22 Introduction Letters, however, have been a frequent way of organizing travel accounts ever since Columbus described his first voyage in a letter to Ferdinand and Isabella in 1493. Explorers, merchants, and missionaries reported back to their sponsors in the form of letters, culled from notes, memory, and other accounts, even long after their return.70 D’Aulnoy innovated by fusing the travel letters by men with the familiar letters pioneered by female writers in the seventeenth century. According to Robert Day, Travels “initiated a type of fiction in which the author tells . . . the story of a journey in a series of letters,” leading to the epistolary novel in England and France and appealing to readers’ increasing preference for realism over historical romance.71 Unfettered by academic rules and thus able to reveal private information and express emotion more freely, women were thought to excel in the familiar letter, especially when writing to other women. D’Aulnoy’s tone in the letters to her (probably literary) cousin is conversational, witty, and occasionally full of indignation and horror. She provided a window into a world from which men (and certainly foreigners) were excluded. She could meet ladies in underwear in their bedrooms, titillating for readers because women were reputed to be so secluded in Spain that men were lucky to catch a glimpse of a face under the mantilla or a foot under petticoats. Two passages in particular dramatize these gender disparities. While in San Agustín, a French acquaintance tells d’Aulnoy about his romantic misadventures in Madrid. Having fallen in love with an alluring, mantilla-covered Spanish lady, Daucourt attempts to meet her face-to-face only to discover, after embarrassing and expensive tribulations, that she is a clever old prostitute (letter 7). In the next letter, the narrator and her companions pay a visit to Don Agustín Pacheco and his seventeen-year-old third wife and grand-niece, Doña Teresa de Figueroa. Since Teresa gets up much later than seventy-year-old Agustín, the gentlemen wait in the hall until she emerges from her apartment, fully dressed. The French lady, however, is allowed in, admires Teresa’s nightgown and tiny feet, and watches as her maids dress her and apply strange-looking make-up, and they chat (letter 8). Agustín and Teresa are composites of historical figures and contemporaries d’Aulnoy met in Spain. Indeed, many characters in Travels are enhanced, which makes them unforgettably real, if not factually so. Travel accounts were expected to include information on scenery, roads, lodging, and so on, which d’Aulnoy provides, emphasizing what a challenge traveling in Spain is for women. Without male supervision, she travels with her young daughter, several maids and valets, and her French cook, who shields his boss lady, 70. See Percy G. Adams, Travel Literature and the Evolution of the Novel (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1983), especially chapters six and seven. 71. Robert Adams Day, Told in Letters: Epistolary Fiction Before Richardson (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1966) 42–43. See also Palmer, “Madame d’Aulnoy in England,” 237–53.

Introduction 23 used to butter-based Normandy cuisine, from the excessive garlic, saffron, and spices in Spanish cooking. She must negotiate money matters with her crooked Spanish banker, customs officials, and innkeepers. The inns were especially difficult for women, who were viewed as prostitutes when on the road without male supervision. Even in the nineteenth century, female travelers considered Spain to be a dangerous, transitional space, civilized and savage, Christian and Moorish, European and African, full of gypsies and bandits.72 D’Aulnoy was the first to publish a woman’s perspective on standard subjects—Holy Week, bullfights, and so on. She adds much original material, both comical, such as the seductive mandarina cows used to lure the most “carnagecapable” bulls, and tragic, the cross-dressed village girl gored by a bull while shielding her peasant lover, an aspiring toreador (letter 10). Nothing is funny in her long passage on the Inquisition and the torture of heretics and Jews, except for the self-importance of the numerous grandees and inquisitors. Carlos II offered the auto-da-fé (act of faith) on June 30, 1680, to his new bride as a wedding gift. D’Aulnoy relates the 1680 auto twice, proof of its fascination for her and her readers. In Travels, prospectively, Don Fernand reads the official scenario (letter 13) and in Memoirs d’Aulnoy recounts the event, adding an episode ridiculed as pure fiction, since it was absent from either Pseudo-Villars.73 During the sadistic fourteen-hour-long religious ceremony (also a test of sickly Carlos’s stamina, boosted by chewing raw garlic), a Jewish girl pleads with the queen for help. But the horrified Marie-Louise can do nothing to save the girl from being burned alive. Even the queen was powerless in the patriarchal system, although the absolute monarch in declining Spain was embodied by the pitiful Carlos, deformed and drooling. The most criticized features of Travels, her “imaginary” travel companions and “fictional novellas,” add richness and complexity to d’Aulnoy’s narrative. The four sophisticated gentlemen from different regions tell her about places she does not visit, as her travels are limited to north central Spain.74 The lead native informant, Don Fernand of Toledo, is from central Spain; Don Esteve of Carvajal, 72. See Manicat, Itinéraires de l’écriture au féminin, 16–17. Literary and musical masterpieces such as Carmen (Prosper Mérimée’s novella, 1845, and Georges Bizet’s opera, 1875) spread this image of exotic Spain. 73. Foulché-Delbosc, Madame d’Aulnoy Travels into Spain, 27–29, 97, lxvii; Mémoires, Carey, ed., 238–39. On the auto-da-fé, see Langdon-Davies, Carlos, chapter 14. On written reports and the 1683 painting of the auto by Francisco Rizi (reproduced in this volume), see Francisco Bethencourt, “The Auto da Fé: Ritual and Imagery,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 55 (1992): 155–68; and Helen Rawlings, “Representational Strategies of Inclusion and Exclusion in José del Olmo’s Narrative and Francisco Rizi’s Visual Record of the Madrid Auto de Fé of 1680,” Romance Studies 29, no. 4 (November 2011): 223–41. 74. Foulché-Delbosc traced some of their information to published sources, including letters that the Gazette published separately in 1679. See Madame d’Aulnoy Travels into Spain, 48–50, xxxi–xxxiii.

24 Introduction Andalusia; Don Sancho Sarmiento, Galicia; and Don Frederic of Cardonne, Catalonia. They describe the glories and miseries of their region and its fraught history with the dominant houses of Castile and Aragon, which united Spain under a single monarchy at the expense of regional autonomy. Don Frederic’s account, for example, reveals the deep roots of the Catalan independence movement (letter 3). They frequently banter with the future fairy-tale writer about preposterous superstitions in Spain. Although passages may echo information published elsewhere, d’Aulnoy brings these materials together and inserts them in conversations, the most original literary feature of Travels. Usually sparse in travel writing, dialogue was essential for the exchange of ideas in literature emanating from the salons. Conversations allow the French lady to interrupt, raise questions about Spain, and discuss news from France with some irony, while expressing her wit. The interlocutors range from the humble—a superstitious mother who believes in the Evil Eye and covers her ailing child in amulets (letter 7)—to the grand. The Archbishop of Burgos, full of gravitas but fascinated by French ladies, gives d’Aulnoy’s daughter a pet monkey but cannot offer her his excellent stew because his cook refuses to unlock the silver pot, complaining that the order was an affront to his honor as an Old Christian. This comic scene follows pages listing the fabulous revenues of the dioceses and monasteries in the Spanish empire (letter 6). The conversational setting thus enlivens the information and multiplies perspectives. The lady’s naivesounding remarks uncover prejudices taken for granted in both countries and raise curiosity about the church’s institutions in France. Concentrated in the first seven letters, the four “romances” also have a function. All are love stories but told by narrators from different places. D’Aulnoy herself witnesses the first at an inn near the border when she hears two French girls lamenting their fate as two young Spaniards rush in to save them from forced marriages, a common practice in both countries (letter 1). Then she sees a hermit from Sardinia and learns how he repented after provoking his best friend into murdering his own wife out of jealousy (letter 2). Next, an unexpected roommate at a miserable village inn relates her story. This beautiful young widow from Andalusia reveals why she is so depressed: a young man she loved abandoned her to a Barbary corsair and married her best friend (frequent in fiction and perhaps in life); she was harassed into marrying a benevolent but old aristocrat, after whose death her double-crossing first lover started pursuing her again. She hopes to find peace in a convent (letter 4), but d’Aulnoy also offers a glimpse of nuns’ busy social lives. Finally, a sophisticated Frenchman admits to being outwitted by wily Spanish women and gives d’Aulnoy a good laugh (letter 7). Only the first “romance” has a conventionally “happy” ending. Centering on women’s fate, limited resources, and clever expedients, situations in the novellas reappear in the second half of Travels, March through September 1679, when the author enters her relative’s world in Madrid and

Introduction 25 surrounding areas. Visiting many churches, she learns how closely guarded wives manage to slip out and meet their lovers and how the finest gentlemen express their gallantry by splattering their mistresses with blood while flagellating themselves during Holy Week—performances, she suggests, meant to impress their rivals even more (letter 9). Although descriptions of bullfights, scorching summers, and so on, had been published, discussions of upper-class women and their maids enduring those conditions was entirely new. D’Aulnoy herself wears the torturous Spanish court dress, with farthingales and dozens of underskirts, walking on perilously high pattens and following crippling etiquette in the heat of August (letter 13). But the fascination is mutual; Spanish women are so curious about French ladies’ fashions that they nearly tear d’Aulnoy’s outfit to shreds. Travels develops a pattern incipient in Memoirs: the anecdotes about women added by d’Aulnoy disrupt official accounts. The first part of Memoirs follows the chronology of Philip IV’s young widow, dominated by her ill-chosen advisors as she struggles to protect her profoundly disabled son. Carlos II was only three when Mariana became Regent at thirty, after having given birth to five children (two survived) since marrying at age fourteen. In Travels, the French lady finally meets the Queen Mother in August 1679. Exiled in the Alcazar of Toledo, she wears a nun’s habit like all royal widows. Her literary portrait is as powerful as Claudio Coello’s painting (ca. 1685–1695) reproduced in this volume, sobering next to the red-cheeked but unhappy young Mariana in resplendent dress by Velázquez (ca. 1652).75 The Queen Mother is pale, resigned, but welcoming. She does not seem inclined to persecute her new French daughter-in-law, though she had wanted an Austrian princess for her son (letter 13). Courtiers of various factions, however, expected and encouraged their female rivalry, which did not occur. As Travels prepares for Marie-Louise’s arrival, d’Aulnoy’s readers could not help but recall an arresting episode of her future life as queen of Spain, already recounted in Memoirs. Her tormentor was not the Queen Mother, also a foreigner, but her terrifying camarera mayor, the Duchess of Terranova, bent on crushing any freedoms Marie-Louise had enjoyed in France. When Terranova hears Marie-Louise’s two pet parrots chatter in French, she wrings their necks. D’Aulnoy develops a mention of parrots in Pseudo-Villars into a dramatic episode. The young queen gives the old camarera two resounding slaps; Terranova, her family, and four hundred ladies complain to the king. But when Marie-Louise tells Carlos that her slaps might be the cravings of a pregnant woman (she does not mention the parrots), he is overjoyed and tells Marie-Louise to go on smacking her.76 Terranova would be replaced by a less rigid camarera, who, according to 75. “Queen Mariana of Austria.” Museo del Prado, last modified January 16, 2020, https://www. museodelprado.es/en/the-collection/art-work/queen-mariana-of-austria/1a32172a-5ffd-4da2-9df4998f99f6176e. 76. Pseudo-Villars, ed. Morel-Fatio, 161. D’Aulnoy, Mémoires, ed. Carey, 217–19.

26 Introduction long-version Pseudo-Villars, accommodated vapid, irresponsible Marie-Louise’s whims to such an extent that the queen lost all respect in Spain. On the contrary, d’Aulnoy highlights the young queen’s “great courage, courtesy, candor, and natural goodness.”77 After many pages on Spain’s economic collapse, the Memoirs end with a scene of feminine harmony, the author’s farewell audience with the queen, in May 1681. Marie-Louise graciously promises to protect d’Aulnoy’s daughter and honors her countrywoman with her bejeweled portrait, a frequent gesture in salon women’s writings.78 On the other hand, the last letter of Travels (September 28, 1680) brings the reader back to Marie-Louise’s arrival in Madrid, facing Carlos in the royal carriage, both unable to communicate. It recounts strange events, interpreted by superstitious Spaniards as predicting her early death—which did occur—and gives more information on palace etiquette and mind-numbing entertainments that would shorten her life. These passages illustrate the limitations that traveling female writers faced. If they confirmed men’s accounts, they were plagiarists; if they deviated, they were discredited. Women who had the chance to experience other cultures were also constrained by their own culture, of course, as are all travelers. However, lacking institutional authority, women could also better understand the life experiences they shared with other women beyond the scope of cultural boundaries. In the parrot episode, the queen could justify herself not by appealing to reason but with respect to her only function at the time, reproduction. The French author lavishes praise on her cleverness, the only defenses they had. D’Aulnoy was not responsible for the Black Legend, centuries old, but the success of Travels did spread information on Spain, mostly negative in the twilight of Habsburg rule. Although culture and class certainly influenced the gaze of this French aristocrat, her own unsettled life prepared her to appreciate (and imagine) otherness.79 She praises many aspects of Spain: extraordinary landscapes and architecture; excellent fruit, fish, and chocolate; women more naturally beautiful than the French but sallow and emaciated, very witty but uneducated; such heroic men but suicidal in their disdain of economic survival. Disparaging remarks on Spain, common to other travelers, also raise questions about her own country. The Inquisition is an extreme example of religious intolerance, which d’Aulnoy conveys with horror, and is also suffered by characters in her English works and evokes the persecution of Protestants in France after 1685. Travels could be considered the “real life” antithesis of fairy tales, which brought such fame to d’Aulnoy and the conteuses. As Lewis Siefert and other scholars have shown, however, in their contes de fées gender roles are unstable and patriarchal structures disturbed 77. Terms used to characterize the queen in a review of Memoirs “by an English Lord” but probably written by d’Aulnoy herself. Mercure Galant, March 1692, 131–43. 78. Mémoires, ed. Carey, 380. 79. As evidenced by the proliferation of bizarre and amusing creatures in her fairy tales.

Introduction 27 by dysphoric and dystopian elements.80 D’Aulnoy meets grotesquely mismatched couples in Spain, whose age difference is even greater than hers and her husband’s. But the child brides’ sacrifices to patriarchy are framed by Marie-Louise’s painful journey to wed poor Carlos in Spain so as to satisfy the dynastic ambitions of the Sun King and his fellow monarchs. Meanwhile, those jolly oarswomen in Biscay, freer than the royal princess, can refuse a husband and they put d’Aulnoy’s roving Gascon cook in his place (letter 1).

Note on This Translation Seguin’s 2005 critical edition is my source text. Faithful to Barbin’s 1691 original, it modernizes spelling and punctuation only when necessary for comprehension today.81 I have included most of Seguin’s notes and some information from Foulché-Delbosc’s annotations, abbreviated F-D. My additional explanatory notes for Anglophone readers are designated GV. All translations from French and Spanish sources are mine, except when otherwise indicated. I aim to convey d’Aulnoy’s voice as a woman, with her lively personality, natural style, wit, and humor, which delighted centuries of readers and the modern translators of her English memoirs: “The work has something of the fresh sparkle of a favorite champagne; something of the swing and gaiety of Mozart’s operas.”82 But she observes a broader swath of society in Spain than does the opera buffa of randy aristocrats in Restoration England. Her frequent tone of shock and pathos announces a dramma giocoso, like Mozart’s Don Giovanni, and makes her Travels so believable. Above all, my translation privileges the gaze of the female traveler, so different from that of men who have explored the world from time immemorial. Rather than an image of the author or of Spanish royalty, the cover shows Murillo’s Two Women at a Window (ca. 1655/1660).83 A younger and an older woman gaze in amusement at what is going on outside their window. Though sequestered, they seem active, unlike Velázquez’s official portrait of the sullen, adolescent Mariana of Austria, whose motionless, bejeweled hand adorns the cover of Seguin’s edition. Indeed, d’Aulnoy is fascinated with how cleverly Spanish women manage to peer out of shutters, observe and send signals to their lovers, or 80. Lewis C. Siefert, Fairy Tales, Sexuality, and Gender in France, 1690–1715 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1996); Patricia Hannon, Fabulous Identities: Women’s Fairy Tales in Seventeenth-Century France (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1998). 81. Late-seventeenth-century French sounds more modern than the 1692 English translation, perhaps due to the French Academy’s (founded in 1635) regulating effect on the language. 82. Arthur and Gilbert, “Introduction,” Memoirs of the Court of England, xvi. 83. Also known as A Girl and Her Duenna, at the National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC, by Spanish Baroque painter Bartholomé Esteban Murillo (1617–1682).

28 Introduction discourage foolish suitors. Because of her gender, her narrator can enter women’s private spaces and have intimate conversations about matters they would never reveal to their husbands or lovers. And, as a worldly French lady, she can hold her own in discussions with any man, from her banker to the Archbishop of Burgos. This translation summarizes (in italics, with Seguin’s page numbers) some descriptions of places and lengthy passages on Spanish religious and political matters that d’Aulnoy borrowed from sources that Foulché-Delbosc identified. Although meant to add gravitas to a comprehensive account of late-seventeenthcentury Spain, they are tedious for a modern reader. In contrast, the narrator’s personal observations, more than half of the text, and the four embedded stories are translated in their entirety, as are the conversations. For readability, I have introduced subheadings, divided long paragraphs, and simplified sentences with multiple coordinate clauses and semicolons, in accordance with twenty-firstcentury American conventions. Names are especially tricky. D’Aulnoy Gallicizes Spanish names and titles, but in this translation, they must be rendered in English while keeping the flavor of the French as well as the original Spanish. In most cases, the name in its English version is sufficient: for example, the Duchess of Terranova. Names of French personalities are kept in French, whether they are born French or became famous in their French role: for example, Marie Louise d’Orléans, the French queen consort of Carlos II, and Marie Thérèse d’Autriche, the Spanish wife of Louis XIV. The “bewitched” last Habsburg King of Spain is called Carlos II to avoid confusion with the English Restoration monarch Charles II. Chevalier, belonging to an order of knighthood, is “knight” in English, caballero in Spanish; whereas cavalier in French is a “horseman” or “rider” in English, caballero in Spanish; caballero is also used for a “gentleman” or “man-about-town.” I have used “knight” for the genuine article and the Spanish caballero, as d’Aulnoy herself often calls them, for the more numerous horsemen, dandies, and city slickers. • Travels is regaining its rightful place in travel literature. Selections figure prominently in the 1998 Bennassar anthology of French-speaking travelers in Spain, sixteenth though nineteenth centuries.84 Recent editions, reprints, scholarly articles, and even a novel invite a thorough reconsideration of d’Aulnoy’s immense

84. Le Voyage en Espagne, Anthologie des voyageurs français et francophones du XVIe au XIXe siècles, ed. Bartolomé et Lucile Bennassar (Paris: Robert Laffont, 1998). The nearly 1,300-page volume of some eighty-four travelers includes just four women after d’Aulnoy. The editors strongly affirm that she did travel to Spain (1201).

Introduction 29 contribution.85 New technologies facilitate such studies. The Spanish Travelers Project at Marquette University provides a corpus of one hundred digitized, searchable texts with the aim of mobilizing “the capacity of historical GIS and 3D visualization to facilitate a better understanding of the chronotopes of travel literature vis-à-vis the times and routes of travel.”86 Although it focuses on travelers of all nationalities in the long nineteenth century, the corpus includes d’Aulnoy as an illustrious precursor. Her descriptions of food, fashion, people, and places can now be compared easily with those of many men and a few women who explored Spain. This sophisticated Frenchwoman with an adventurous past, a piercing gaze, and a seductive voice transforms her travels into a landmark in the history of women and, more broadly, gender.

85. Seguin’s French critical edition, Blanco/Vega’s Spanish translation, the Routledge reprint of the 1692 English translation. In addition to Hester’s article, see Mary Ekman, “Concealing Identities, Revealing Stories: Mary-Catherine d’Aulnoy’s Relation du voyage d’Espagne,” Cahiers du dix-septieme: An Interdisciplinary Journal 10, no. 2 (2006): 49–63; Melissa Guenther, “Spain under the Gaze of a French Woman: The Relation du voyage d’Espagne (1691) by Mme d’Aulnoy,” Revista de Teoría de la Literatura y Literatura Comparada, 492 F. 129–36; Enriqueta Zafra, “Travels to Spain (1691): Madame d’Aulnoy’s Perceptions of Spain,” eHumanista 41 (2018): 183–92. Fernande Gontier, Histoire de la comtesse d’Aulnoy (Paris: Perrin, 2005). 86. Project created by Eugenia Afinoguénova and carried out jointly with the American Geographical Society (AGS) Library at the University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee Libraries and Marquette University Visualization Lab (MARVL): http://www.archive.org/stream/ladystravelsint00aulngoog#page/n3/ mode/2up.

TRAVELS INTO SPAIN

To His Royal Highness Monseigneur, Duke of Chartres1 Monseigneur, The sublime genius that earns you the admiration of the whole court gives Your Royal Highness such a noble desire to learn everything a great prince should know that your mind does not neglect the least matters arousing curiosity. Your genius drew you to cast your eyes on my Travels into Spain, which I dare to offer you and very humbly beseech you to accept. You wished to know a country whose Queen, your sister, was both the sovereign and the source of its felicity.2 You wished to understand characters and customs seldom communicated to foreigners; for your keen insight, this was the effort of a moment. Your Royal Highness comprehends everything so naturally that nothing escapes your mastery. All those who have the honor of approaching you agree and are charmed by your command of the highest matters of the mind. And you will, Monseigneur, give us new virtues to admire. The noble boldness shining in your eyes—the royal blood of so many kings that drives your heart and inspires your heroic will—holds the promise of marvelous deeds to come. And how could Your Royal Highness not fulfill the rightful expectations all France has of you since you will learn the art of war from the greatest and wisest King of the Universe?3 Our enemies will be alarmed by the sight of you, remembering that, in the plains of Cassel, His Royal Highness Monsieur punished reckless forces such as theirs.4 Memorable for the famous battle he won, a victory added to his other triumphs, an eternal monument to his virtue and valor, this site holds even more laurel wreaths and palms of victory for Your Royal Highness. Worthy son of this great prince, worthy son of an illustrious princess, we will see you return covered in glory. But of all your subjects who wish for this, no one will feel greater joy than I, who is, with the most profound respect, Monseigneur, Your Royal Highness’s Most humble and most obedient servant.5 1. The seventeen-year-old Philippe Charles d’Orléans (1674–1723), Duke of Chartres, son of Monsieur, Philippe I, Duke d’Orléans, younger brother of Louis XIV. His mother was Monsieur’s second wife, Elizabeth Charlotte, Madame Palatine. Inheriting the title of Duke d’Orléans in 1701, he became regent for five-year-old Louis XV after Louis XIV’s death in 1715. GV 2. Marie Louise d’Orléans (1662–1689), daughter of Monsieur and his first wife, Henrietta of England (who died in 1670), and thus the half-sister of the Duke of Chartres. GV 3. Louis XIV. GV 4. In the Battle of Cassel, April 10–11, 1677, Louis XIV’s armies opposed the coalition (armies of Spain, the Low Countries, and the German Empire) led by William of Orange. The French, led by the Duke of Luxembourg and Philippe d’Orléans, won this decisive confrontation and incorporated a large area known as Maritime Flanders. 5. In French, the e in the feminine form, servante, clearly marks the author’s gender. GV

33

To the Reader: It is not sufficient to write true things; they must also be plausible to be believed.1 For this reason, I was tempted to remove the stories2 from my account, but I was prevented from doing so by persons of such distinguished birth and mind that it seems to me I cannot fail by following their judgment. No doubt some others will accuse me of hyperbolizing, as they claimed concerning the Memoirs of the Court of Spain. But those who are most vehement in asserting that the work is not exact could be convinced by most of the information I collected from the letters they themselves had sent to the Court. I may also have learned things that they did not know or thought inappropriate. A fact is not false because it has not been made public or does not please someone. I wrote only about what I saw or what I learned from persons of indisputable integrity. I cite no unknown names, nor people whose death could have allowed me to invent their adventures. One must also note the country, the temperament, and the character, in general, of the people I write about. Those remarks will help explain why some events seem familiar in some places but may not happen in others.3 Finally, without untangling their causes, I am happy to assure that what is in my Memoirs and what you will find in this Relation is very exact and conforming to the truth.4

1. In d’Aulnoy’s text, choses vraies (true things) must also be vraisemblables to be believed. The adjective derives from la vraisemblance—plausibility, likelihood, or, in literary terms, verisimilitude. This essential principle of French classicism was often opposed to le vrai, truth, which can be stranger than fiction. GV 2. Histoire in French means “story” or “history.” The 1692 translation renders histoires as “romances,” emphasizing their fictionality. GV 3. An early expression of cultural relativism. What is plausible in some cultures may seem preposterous in others. GV 4. D’Aulnoy’s wording, “très exacte et très conforme à la vérité,” is more nuanced than the 1692 translation, “an exact and most true account.” Conforme leaves more room for interpretation. GV

35

FIRST LETTER

February 20, 1679, from San Sebastián Since you’d like to have news of everything that happens to me and what I observe during this trip, my dear cousin, you’ll just have to put up with reading many useless things in order to find a few entertaining ones. You have such good and delicate taste that you’d only want to hear select adventures and pleasant details. I, too, would rather not tell you anything else. But when you report faithfully on things as they happened, it’s often hard to find them as you’d wish. In my last letter I reported on what happened to me before Bayonne. As you know, it’s a city in France on the Spanish border. Bayonne is at the confluence of the Adour and Nive Rivers, where the tides wash in to enrich the city’s port and its commerce. I traveled there from Dax by water and noticed that the boatmen of the Adour have the same customs as those on the Garonne. When passing one another, they start shouting insults, and they’d rather miss out on a fare than miss a chance to yell jeers at each other, though this surprises people who are not used to them. There are two castles strong enough to defend the city and in several areas some very pleasant walks.

Ladies in Bayonne When I arrived, I asked the Baron of Castelnau, who had accompanied me from Dax, to have me meet some pleasant women with whom I could pass the time while awaiting delivery of the litter beds1 to be sent from San Sebastián. Being an honorable gentleman with a fine reputation in Bayonne, he had no trouble meeting my request. The very next day, he brought several ladies to visit me. In this country, it’s customary to go meet newly arrived ladies when you find out who they are. Women begin showing the effects of the scorching sun here. Their complexion is a bit dark, they have sparkling eyes, they are charming and affectionate, they have a quick wit, and I could better describe their liveliness if I had understood what they were saying. Not that they don’t speak French, but they break into their regional dialect and had quite long conversations of which I didn’t understand a word. Some who came to see me held little suckling pigs under their arms, as we carry our little dogs.2 True, the pigs were very clean, and a number of them had collars of multicolored ribbons. But you’ll have to admit that it’s a strange inclination, and I’m convinced that many of these ladies of good taste are disgusted by 1. A portable bed, open or enclosed, mounted on two poles and carried at each end by porters or by animals. GV 2. Seguin found no evidence of this “tradition.”

37

38 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY this custom. When they danced, they had to let these nasty beasts run around the room, and they made more grunts than goblins. The ladies danced at my request, the Baron of Castelnau having sent for flutes and tabors. Let me explain: a musician plays at the same time a sort of fife and a tabor, which is a wooden instrument in the shape of a long triangle, similar to a marine trumpet,3 with a single string that produces a rather odd drumlike sound when hit with a little stick. Each gentleman took the lady he had brought, and they started dancing the branle in a round, all holding hands.4 Then the men had rather long canes brought to them and formed couples by holding their lady’s handkerchief, which separated them from one another. Their melodies are cheerful yet quite distinctive; the high-pitched sound of the flutes mixing with the martial-sounding tabors seems to fire them with a kind of passion that they couldn’t moderate. It seemed to me that it must resemble the pyrrhic dance of the ancients,5 for the gentlemen and the ladies made so many turns, jumps, and capers, throwing their canes in the air and catching them so adroitly, that it’s impossible to describe their lightness and agility. I really enjoyed watching them, but it lasted a little too long. I started tiring of this disorganized dance when the Baron of Castelnau, who noticed this, had large bowls of beautiful, candied fruit brought in. The Jews who live in Bayonne and pass themselves off as Portuguese import this confection from Genoa and supply the whole country.6 A lot of lemonade and other cold waters were served. The ladies drank them down heartily, and soon the party was over. The next day, they took me to visit the Jewish synagogue in the Holy Spirit neighborhood;7 I found nothing remarkable about it. Monsieur of S. Pé, the king’s lieutenant, came to see me, even though he was suffering from the gout, and invited me to have dinner at his home. The meal was very lavish and refined, as this region is renowned for its good food. There is an abundance of everything at very low prices. I met ladies of quality, very attractive, that he had invited to keep me company. Facing the river, his castle has a beautiful view and always a strong garrison. Imagine my surprise, when I returned to my lodging, to find pieces of fabric that were sent by the ladies who had visited me, along with boxes full of candied 3. A monochord stringed instrument that makes a brassy sound. Still played in the eighteenth century, it consists of a body and neck in the shape of a truncated cone resting on a triangular base. 4. A French dance of rustic origin popular from the sixteenth century to the present. GV 5. A war dance simulating armed combat, traditional in Sparta and Crete. 6. Since the fifteenth century, Bayonne welcomed the Jews expelled from Spain and Portugal by the Inquisition. In the seventeenth century, nearly one resident in four was Jewish, and Bayonne is one of the main Jewish cities of Europe. 7. At the time, Holy Spirit was a suburb of Bayonne and not subject to the rules of the city, which was dedicated to the Virgin and thus forbidden to Jews. One can still visit the synagogue (reconstructed in the nineteenth century), the Jewish cemetery, and the oldest ritual baths of France.

First Letter 39 fruit and candles. Their manners toward someone they had known for only three or four days seemed very polite indeed. But I shouldn’t forget to tell you that you can’t find more beautiful linen than what they make in this region, some finely embroidered, some plain. The cloth is made of thread finer than hair. Beautiful linen is so common that when crossing the landes of the Bordeaux region,8 deserts where you only see miserable thatched cottages and pitifully poor peasants, I found that they had napkins as fine as people of quality have in Paris. I returned the favor by sending the ladies little presents I thought they would enjoy. I’d noticed that they were crazy about ribbons and wear many on their head and ears, so I sent them plenty of ribbons and added several beautiful fans. They, in turn, gave me gloves and very fine stockings of lisle thread. When sending them, they also invited me to attend the compline service at the preaching friars’ church, not far from my house.9 They knew I loved music and wanted to treat me to the best in town. But though they had beautiful voices, you couldn’t really enjoy listening to them because they lack method and a beautiful style of singing. I noticed that in all of Guyenne and toward Bayonne, there are beautiful natural voices—all they need are good teachers.

Challenges: Litters and Customs Officials Finally, the litters I was expecting from Spain arrived, and I prepared to leave. But I can tell you that I’ve never seen anything more expensive than this sort of transport. Each litter is accompanied by a master who has the gravity of a Roman senator. He rides one mule and his valet another, and they alternate once in a while with the mules carrying the litters. I had two of them: I took the bigger one for me and my child.10 In addition, I had four mules for my servants and two others for my luggage. Leading them were two more masters with one valet apiece. What a pain to have to pay so many useless people to go to Madrid, and then to return, because they charge the same for the way back! But you have to put up with their customs and ruin yourself with them, for they treat the French, as they say, like the Turks treated the Moors.11 Without leaving Bayonne, I found Turks and Moors, and maybe worse—the customs officials. I had my trunks weighed in Paris on purpose in order to have 8. In this context, lande, a common noun, means a large expanse of flat, sandy, and marshy land. Les Landes was established as a department during the French Revolution. Maritime pines were planted only after 1850. GV 9. Dominican friars. 10. It’s hard to know which of d’Aulnoy’s daughters accompanied her to Spain in 1679. It may have been Marie-Anne, born in 1668, or more likely Judith-Henriette, born in 1669, who lived in Spain with her grandmother, the two other daughters being probably too young to make such a trip. 11. A comparison with the harsh and pitiless way the Turks treated the Moors in North Africa.

40 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY nothing to do with the customs. But they were cleverer, or rather more stubborn, than I, so I had to give them everything they demanded. I was still very upset when the drums, trumpets, violins, flutes, and tambors of the town came to drive me to despair! They followed me much farther than Saint Anthony’s Gate, the one you take when going to Spain through Biscay. They each played in their own way and all at the same time, without tuning up. It was a complete racket. I had some money given to the musicians, and since that’s all they wanted, they went away quickly. As soon as we left Bayonne, we entered a barren countryside where all we saw were chestnut trees. But afterward, we traveled down the seacoast where the sand makes the path smooth and the view is very pleasant. We arrived quite early in Saint-Jean-de-Luz. Two paragraphs describing the pretty town, fine meal, terrible beds, and toll collectors. (Seguin 37)

Border Disputes All I wanted was to sleep in Irún, which is only three short leagues from SaintJean-de-Luz, and I had left in the afternoon. But the dispute we’d had with the toll collectors, the difficulty we had passing the Behobia mountains in bad weather, and a few other difficulties, caused us to arrive at the banks of the Bidasoa, the river that separates France and Spain, at night. Usually the Bidasoa is very small, but the melting snow had swelled it to the point that we had no trouble crossing, some in boats, others swimming on their mules. The moon was shining so brightly that they were able to point out, on the right of Conference Island,12 where the marriage of our king with Marie-Thérèse, Infanta of Spain, was concluded. Soon afterward, I saw the Fontarabia fortress,13 which belongs to the king of Spain. It’s situated at the mouth of this little river and is bathed in the ebb and flow of the sea. Our kings claimed that it belonged to them and so did the Spanish kings. It was so disputed, especially between the Fontarabia and Hendaye inhabitants, that they fought over it several times. That’s why Louis XII and Ferdinand finally agreed that it should be jointly owned by both countries. France and Spain share the toll collection.14 The Spaniards collect 12. Also known as Pheasant Island, in the middle of the Bidasoa River, it is an important site for diplomacy dating back to 1463, when Louis XI met Henry IV, king of Castile. In 1659, it was established as a condominium by the Treaty of the Pyrenees, under the joint sovereignty of France and Spain. It was the theater of negotiations leading to the marriage between Louis XIV and Marie-Thérèse, daughter of Philip IV of Spain, on June 9, 1660, in Saint-Jean-de-Luz. In 1679, Carlos II of Spain met his first bride there, Marie-Louise d’Orléans, the French princess whose arrival d’Aulnoy eagerly awaits. GV 13. Ancient castle built by the king of Navarre Sancho II (tenth century) and finished by Charles V in the sixteenth century. 14. A privilege accorded to these provinces because of their extreme poverty.

First Letter 41 the tax of those entering Spain, and the French, of those entering France, but they both make you pay a ransom, coming and going. War doesn’t impede commerce on this border. It’s true that their lives depend on it. They would die of hunger if they didn’t help one another. This country, called Biscay,15 has many high mountains full of iron ore. The Biscayens climb up the rocks as quickly and nimbly as deer. Their language—if you can call their gibberish a language—is so poor that a single word signifies several things.16 Only the natives can understand it, and I was told that in order to make it more private, they don’t use it for writing. They make their children learn to read and write in French or in Spanish, depending on the king whose subjects they are. It’s true that as soon as I crossed the little Bidasoa River, no one understood me unless I spoke Castilian. What’s odd is that less than a quarter of an hour earlier, I wouldn’t have been understood if I hadn’t spoken French.

My Clever Spanish Banker On the other side of this river, I found a banker from San Sebastián to whom I was recommended. He was waiting for me with two of his relatives. They were dressed in Schomberg-like outfits,17 French-style but ridiculous-looking. Their doublets are short and wide; the sleeves stop at the elbows and are open in front; the shirtsleeves are so large that they fall lower than the doublet. They wear flaps without doublet collars, wigs with more than enough hair for four more nice wigs, and hair so frizzled that it looks like horsehair for stuffing. You can’t imagine worse-looking hair. Those who wear their own hair keep it long and straight, parting it on the crown and tucking some behind their ears. But, my God, what ears! I don’t think that Midas’s ears were any bigger.18 And I believe that, to lengthen them, they must stretch them when they are little. They probably find some sort of beauty in them. My three Spaniards made me very long and boring compliments, in bad French. We crossed the borough of Irún, which is about a quarter of a league from the river, and then arrived in the town of Irún, another quarter of a league away. This small city is the first you come across when leaving France. It’s badly built. Its streets are crooked, and there isn’t much else you can say about it. We entered the inn through the stable where you take the stairs to your room on the upper 15. Biscay is a historical territory of the Basque Country, since 1833 a province of Spain. GV 16. The Basque language, considered primitive at the time. 17. A fashion introduced by French Marshall Charles of Schomberg (1610–1656), viceroy of Catalonia in 1648. His influence is especially evident in the uniforms of the young Carlos II’s regiment of personal guards. 18. Apollo punished King Midas of the golden touch for preferring Pan’s music to his by having Midas grow a pair of donkey ears. GV

42 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY floor; that’s the custom in this country. This house seemed very well lit, with many candles no bigger than matchsticks. I found at least forty in my room, attached to little pieces of wood. In the middle they had put a brazier of burning olive pits to prevent headaches. They served me a great supper, which my Spanish gallants had ordered for me. But the food was so full of garlic, saffron, and spices that I couldn’t eat any of it. And I would’ve had a very bad meal if my cook hadn’t made a little ragout out of whatever he could find. The next day, since I wanted to go to San Sebastián, which is only seven or eight leagues away, I thought I should have lunch before leaving. I was still at table when one of my women brought me my watch to wind at noon, as I usually do. It was a repeater watch from England made by Tompion, which chimes the hours and cost me fifty louis.19 My banker was curious to see it, so I handed it to him with customary politeness. That’s all it took. My man gets up, makes me a low bow, and says “that he did not deserve such an important present, but that a lady like me could not give anything less, that he engaged his faith and his word that he would keep my watch his entire life, and that he was extremely obliged to me.” He kissed it in finishing this fine compliment and stuck in his pocket, which was deeper than a sack. You’ll think me very dumb not to have said a word. I agree, but I can tell you that I was so surprised by his behavior that the watch had disappeared before I could figure out what to say or do. My women and my other servants who were present stared at me, and I stared back at them, red-faced with shame and grief for having been taken for such a fool. I would not have been duped for long because, thank goodness, I do know very well how to refuse what you don’t want to give. But I thought and remembered that this man would have to pay me a big sum of money to complete my trip and send money back to Bordeaux, where I had taken some. I also thought that I had letters of credit for him, which he could use in case of problems to make me wait a long time and then charge me twice the value of the watch. So I let him keep the watch and tried to give myself credit for accepting something that upset me a lot. Following this little adventure, I learned that it’s the custom in Spain that if you present something to someone who kisses your hand, that someone can claim that something if they want it. Quite an amusing fashion! Now that I’m wise, it’ll be my fault if I’m duped again.

19. Gold coin worth about twenty-four pounds sterling (£), so fifty louis amounted to 1,200 pounds. Clockmaker Thomas Tompion’s repeater pocket watch, which chimes the time, was all the rage when d’Aulnoy was in London in 1675. GV

First Letter 43

Biscay Oarswomen versus Gascon Cook I left this hostal where they ruined me completely. Everyone is a crook in this country, and they’d all like to get rich at the expense of their neighbors. Then we entered the Pyrenees, so high and steep that when you look down you’re terrified by the precipices all around. We continued like this until Renteria. Don Antonio (my banker) went ahead, and, for my comfort, he had me leave my litter because many higher mountains lay ahead. He had me take a little boat that he had prepared to go down the Hendaye River until it reaches the sea, where we saw the galleons of the king of Spain.20 There were three of them, quite big and beautiful. Our little boats were decorated with several painted and gilded streamers and operated by very skillful and charming girls, two rowing and the third holding the rudder. These girls are tall, slender, tanned, with beautiful teeth and shiny jet-black hair. They braid it, tie it with ribbons, and let it fall on their shoulders. On their head they wear a sort of little veil made of muslin and embroidered with flowers of gold and silk, which flutters and covers their breast. They wear gold and pearl earrings and coral necklaces, and they have a sort of bodice with very tight sleeves, like our gypsies. I found them very charming. I was told that these girls with very good sea legs could swim like fish and don’t tolerate among them either women or men. It’s like a little republic to which they come from all over, and their parents send them quite young. When they want to get married, they go to Mass at Fontarabia, the closest town. That’s where young men go to choose a woman who pleases them. The one wanting to marry goes to his beloved’s parents to declare his intentions, settle everything with them, and, when it’s all arranged, the girl is informed. If she’s satisfied, she returns to her parents, where the wedding is celebrated. I’ve never seen a more cheerful expression than the one on their faces. The girls have little houses along the shoreline, and they are under the authority of old maids whom they obey as they would their mothers. They were telling us these details in their own language and we were listening to them with pleasure, when the devil, who never sleeps, caused us trouble. My cook, a Gascon with the lively temperament of people from that region, was in one of the boats behind us, sitting near a young Biscay girl who seemed very pretty. He didn’t want to just tell her that; he tried to lift her veil, and tried hard. She was not one to stand such mockery, so without saying a word she struck him on the head with an oar and its lock. After performing this feat, she panicked and threw herself into the water even though it was extremely cold. At first she swam very fast, but with all her clothes on and far from shore her strength began to fail. Several girls on the bank jumped into their boats to go to 20. D’Aulnoy crossed the Oyarzun River, which she confuses with the Hendaye River north of the Pyrenees.

44 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY her rescue. Meanwhile, those who had stayed with the cook, fearing the loss of their companion, threw themselves on him like two furies, wanting to drown him. The little boat was rocked as well, almost overturning two or three times. We were watching this squabble from our boat, and my people had a hard time separating and appeasing them. I assure you that the reckless Gascon was so badly beaten that he was bloody all over. And my banker told me that these Biscay girls, when provoked, are fiercer and more dangerous than little lions. Finally we landed, and we had hardly disembarked when we saw that the girl had been saved just in time because she had begun swallowing water when they pulled her out. She came to meet us followed by fifty others, each with an oar on her shoulder. They marched in two long lines, headed by three girls playing tambors to perfection. The designated speaker advanced, calling me Andria, which means Madame, several times (that’s all I remember of her speech) and making me understand that they would skin my cook alive unless the damage to their companion’s clothes was paid for. As she finished speaking, the drummers started beating their tambors even harder. These pretty pirates shouted at the top of their lungs and then performed the oar drill, jumping and dancing with remarkable skill and grace. To compensate for the watch he had snatched from me (I speak of it often, but it really means a great deal to me), Don Antonio tried to pacify things. He thought that my cook, considering himself sufficiently beaten, would be right not to give anything, so he distributed some silver coins to this maritime troop. Seeing this, they let out even louder and longer shouts than before, and they wished me a pleasant trip and a prompt return, each of them dancing and singing with their Basque tambors. From there, we entered onto a very rough path and ascended for a long time along trails so narrow and bordered by precipices that I was very terrified that the mules carrying my litter would stumble. D’Aulnoy arrives in San Sebastián and describes the site, the commerce, and the city, which she finds quite pleasant. (Seguin 43–44)

Sophisticated San Sebastián and Don Fernand de Toledo Everything is as expensive in this city as in Paris. You can eat very well, the fish is excellent, and I was told that the fruit was wonderfully delicious and beautiful. I stayed in the best inn, and some time after I arrived, Don Fernand of Toledo sent his gentleman to ask whether he could visit without bothering me.21 My banker, 21. A central character in Travels, probably fictional. A model of Spanish nobility, Don Fernand of Toledo gives d’Aulnoy a great deal of information on Spain. He reappears in the first frame narrative of the Contes des fées. GV

First Letter 45 who knew him and was in my room at the time, told me that he was a very distinguished Spanish gentleman, the Duke of Alba’s nephew, and was traveling from Flanders to Madrid. I received him with the civility befitting his rank and soon added particular consideration for his personal qualities. He is handsome, witty, polite, obliging, and pleasant. He speaks French as well as I do, but since I know Spanish and would like to improve, we spoke only in that language. I remained very satisfied with his manners. He told me that he’d traveled by post carriage from Brussels and, if I agreed, he would join my convoy and my retinue. I thought he was joking, so I responded with a laugh. But he added that the roads were so snow-covered that it would be impossible for him to continue by post, though he could travel faster on horseback than by litter, the honor of accompanying me, etc. . . . I realized that he was very honorable and exemplified the natural gallantry of Spanish gentlemen. I also thought that it’d be very useful to have a man of this rank, from Spain, able to make himself understood and, moreover, obeyed by the mule drivers who have heads of iron and souls of mud. . . . Since it was already late, he took his leave of me, and I went to bed after a good supper; for I am not, my dear cousin, one of those heroines of novels who never eats.

Middle-of-the-Night Adventures: Two Young Couples Win I was falling asleep when I heard someone speak French so close to me that at first I thought it was my chambermaid. But, listening more closely, I realized that it came from a room separated from mine by a partition made of thin, badly jointed boards.22 Drawing my curtain to the side of the space between the bed and the wall, I saw light between the boards and made out two girls, the oldest appearing to be seventeen or eighteen years old. Neither one was a perfect beauty, but they were so attractive, their voices so pleasant, and with such a sweet expression on their faces that I was charmed. The younger one, who seemed to be continuing the conversation, was saying to the other: “No, my sister, there’s no cure for our troubles. We have to die or get them out of the clutches of this despicable old man.” “I am determined to do anything,” said the other one with a deep sigh, “even if it should cost me my life. What do we have to lose? Haven’t we sacrificed everything for them?” Then, dwelling on their misfortunes, they kissed each other and began weeping very sorrowfully. After consulting and exchanging a few words 22. As Mary Ekman notes, d’Aulnoy embeds this first novella in a clever way, having the narrator first witness the commotion in the next room, then shelter the two brothers coming to rescue their mistresses, and finally hear their story the next day. “Concealing Identities, Revealing Stories: MarieCatherine d’Aulnoy’s Relation du voyage d’Espagne,” Cahiers du dix-septième: An Interdisciplinary Journal 10, no. 2 (2006): 55–56. GV

46 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY I could hardly make out because of their sobs, they concluded that they had to write. Each one wrote something, and here is more or less what they read to each other: “Don’t judge my love and my gentleness by my words. I don’t have any that can truly express my feelings. But remember that you’ll lose me if you don’t take extreme measures against our tormentor. He just sent word that if I delay leaving he would have us arrested. Judge what he deserves from his shameful treatment of us and remember that you owe me everything because you owe me my heart.” It seems to me that the other note went along these lines: “If I could secure your peace and quiet by losing mine, I love you enough to sacrifice them for you. Yes, I would flee from you if you could be happy without me. But I know your heart too well to believe this. However, you remain as calm in your prison as if you saw me all the time. Break your chains without delay. Punish the enemy of our love, and my heart will be your reward.” After having sealed these notes, they went out together, and I admit that I was worried about these pretty girls and very curious to know what had happened to them. That prevented me from going back to sleep and I waited for them to return, when all of a sudden we heard a commotion in the house. At that moment, I saw an old man burst into the room, followed by several servants. He was holding one of the girls by her hair, twisted around his arm, and dragging her like a miserable victim. Her sister was treated as cruelly by the men leading her. “You treacherous bitches,” he was saying to them, “you’re not satisfied with the irreparable harm you are doing to my nephews; you want to persuade them to be my executioners. If I hadn’t caught you with those seductive notes, what would have happened? What deadly consequences would there have been for me? But you will pay once and for all. As soon as day breaks I will have you punished as you deserve.” “Ah, sir,” said the one he was still holding, “consider that we are young ladies of good quality, and marriage with us could not dishonor you. Your nephews gave us their faith and received ours. At such a young age, we left everything to follow them. We are foreigners and abandoned by everyone. What will become of us? We don’t dare return to our parents, and if you force us to do so or put us in prison, why not just kill us right on the spot?” The tears she was shedding touched me greatly. And if the old man had been as moved as I was, he would soon have granted them freedom and happiness. My women, who’d heard such a loud noise so near my room, got up fearing I’d had some sort of accident. I motioned to them to come to the boards and look at this sad scene. We were listening to what he was saying when two men, swords in hand, strode into my room, whose door my women had left open. Despair was painted on their faces and their eyes were full of fury. I can’t tell you how afraid I was. They looked at each other without saying anything, and when they heard the old man, they rushed toward his room.

First Letter 47 I didn’t doubt that it was our two lovers, and in fact they are the ones that burst into the room like lions. The rascally servants were so terrified that not one of them dared to defend his master while the nephews came close to him and put a sword to his throat. “You barbarian,” they said to him, “how can you treat girls of quality we will marry in this way? Though you are our guardian, do you have the right to be our tyrant? And isn’t it taking our lives to separate us from the ones we love? We could punish you severely right now but are incapable of seeking revenge against a man your age who is no longer able to defend himself. Give us your word and swear on all that’s most sacred that in gratitude for the life we leave you, you will contribute to our happiness and let us fulfill what we promised them.” The pathetic old man was so numb with fear that he couldn’t utter a word. He swore to do all they had asked and more. He knelt down, and he kissed his thumb placed on another finger to form a cross in the Spanish manner, more than a hundred times. Yet he told them that in everything he had done, he had thought only of their interests. Had it not been for this goal, he’d be completely indifferent to them marrying according to their whims and, this having been decided, he would not pose the slightest opposition to their marriages. Two of the servants took him under the arm and dragged him rather than helped him walk away. Seeing themselves free, our two knights threw themselves into their beloved’s arms and said to one another whatever grief, love, and joy inspire on such occasions. But actually, you’d have to have a heart as touched and happy as theirs to repeat all those things. They’re appropriate to people more tenderhearted than you, my dear cousin, so please excuse me from tiring you with it. I was so tired myself from not having slept that I only heard confusing words. So as to not hear them at all, I sunk into my bed and threw the blanket over my head. The next day, Don Fernand of Toledo sends fine presents. The young couples offer their apologies and thanks. D’Aulnoy asks them to tell their story. (Seguin 48–49) “Madame, we are two brothers born in Burgos into one of the best families. We were still quite young when we were left under the guardianship of an uncle who took care of our education and our property, which is considerable enough for us not to envy anyone else’s. Don Diego (our uncle) has long been the close friend of a gentleman who lives near Blaye. His merits far exceed his wealth; he is called Monsieur of Messignac. Since our uncle had decided to send us to France for some time, he wrote to his friend, who offered his house, which our uncle was happy to accept. He had us set off, and a year ago they gave us a warm welcome. Madame of Messignac treated us like her own children. She has several of them, but of her four daughters, the ones you see, Madame, are the loveliest. It would

48 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY be very difficult to see them every day, to spend time with them, without falling madly in love. “At first, my brother hid his growing passion from me, and I hid mine from him. Both of us were deeply depressed; the anxiety of unrequited love, the fear of displeasing the ones who inflamed our passion, all of this tortured us. But a new pain increased our suffering—it was the jealousy we felt toward each other. My brother saw clearly that I was in love, and he thought I loved his mistress. I also looked at him as my rival, and we started hating each other so much that we would have become violent. One day, when I could no longer stand not knowing my fate without dying of grief, I decided to reveal my feelings to Mademoiselle of Messignac. But since I wasn’t bold enough to express them directly, I wrote a few verses for her on a small tablet that I slid into her pocket; she didn’t notice it. My brother, who was always observing me, did notice and, while joking with her, managed to take it and discovered that it declared my timid and respectful adoration for her. He kept it until the evening, when, after I’d gone into my room, terribly worried, he came in to see me. Kissing me tenderly, he told me that he was very glad to hear that I was in love with Mademoiselle of Messignac. “I remained thunderstruck. When I saw my tablet in his hands, I was convinced that she had ‘sacrificed’ it to him and that he’d come to mock my misfortune. He read my thoughts in my eyes and face. “ ‘Don’t believe it, brother,’ he continued, ‘she didn’t hand over your tablet to me. I took it without her having time to see it. I’d like to serve you in winning her, but, my dear brother, help me win her older sister.’ Hearing this, I embraced him and promised everything he asked. And so, we helped each other. Our mistresses, who hadn’t yet experienced the power of love, became used to hearing about it. “We don’t want to bore you, Madame, by telling you in detail how we managed to win their hearts with our care and constancy. What happy times! What beautiful days! Seeing the one you love all the time, being loved, and being together in the countryside where the unspoiled life in the fields lets you enjoy all the pleasures of growing passion. Bliss beyond words! Winter was arriving, so Madame of Messignac went to Bordeaux where she had a house, and we accompanied her. Since this house was not big enough to accommodate all of us with her family, we took one nearby. Even though we were separated only at night, we resented it bitterly. Because we could no longer meet at any time, our visits became somewhat ceremonious, which alarmed us. But our alarm only increased when we saw two rich and well-built men court the Messignac young ladies and begin to attack our fortress. These men declared their intention of marriage, and the father and mother listened to them favorably. Oh, God, what did we become? Their business proceeded quickly, and our dear mistresses, sharing our despair, shed their tears with ours every day. Finally, after having tormented ourselves and tried to devise a thousand useless strategies, I decided to go meet Monsieur of Messignac. I spoke with him and said all my

First Letter 49 passion could inspire to persuade him to postpone these marriages. He said that he received the offers my brother and I made with gratitude, but since we were still underage, what we would do now could be canceled later. Being a man of honor even though he wasn’t wealthy, he would be happy as long as he could remain beyond reproach. My uncle, who had entrusted us to him, would be justified in accusing him of having us seduced, and so, in a word, we should forget all thoughts of love. “I withdrew in a state of inconceivable affliction, which I shared with my brother. We were in terrible distress. To crown our misfortune, Monsieur of Messignac wrote to our uncle, telling him what had happened and begging him to order us to leave. He did so immediately. And so, not finding any way out of our troubles, my brother and I went to see the young ladies of Messignac. We threw ourselves at their feet. We told them whatever could sway already predisposed hearts, we swore our faith and made promises signed with our blood. Finally, love conquering all, they consented to their abduction. We were able to plan our departure, and our trip was successful until we arrived here. But two days ago, when entering this house, the first person we saw was Don Diego. He was impatient for us to return and so, to stop worrying, he came to get us himself. What did we become at this horrible turn of events? He had us arrested like criminals. Forgetting that the Messignac young ladies were his best friend’s daughters and persons of quality, he heaped insults on them and showered them with threats because he’d heard from one of my servants of our plan to travel incognito to some relatives in Madrid, where we would wait until we had full freedom to declare our marriage. He locked us in a room near his, and we were there when these ladies came by moonlight and coughed under our windows. We heard them and ran down. They showed us their letters, and while we were thinking of ways to help them out of there, my uncle was warned about what was going on. He came down silently with all his servants and, before our eyes, he affronted these delightful ladies. In our despair, my brother and I must have become stronger. We broke down the doors that had imprisoned us and were rushing to help them when very recklessly, Madame, we burst into your room.” The gentleman stopped speaking at this point, and I found that he’d told his little story with spirit.23 I thanked him and offered these ladies my friends’ and my assistance to appease their family. They accepted very gratefully. Some ladies from town would like me to stay here. They’re proposing a visit to some nuns whose convent is at the top of the hill. They’re also offering to have me admitted with a promise that the view from there is wonderful—you can take in the sea and ships, as well as the surrounding towns, woods, and fields. They praise the voices, the beauty, and the friendliness of these nuns. Let me add that the weather has become so bad and so much snow has fallen that no one advises 23. D’Aulnoy pokes fun at the melodramatic tone of the story. GV

50 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY me to set out on the road. I hesitated a bit, but I am so impatient to get to Madrid that I dismissed these considerations and am leaving tomorrow. I received the money I needed from my banker. I shouldn’t forget to tell you that the inhabitants of this city have a special privilege, which they boast about a lot. It happens that when they conduct any business with the king of Spain, and with him directly, he must speak with them bare-headed. No one could explain the reason for that.24 I was warned that I should stock up on provisions so as not to starve in some places we have to traverse. Since hams and pork tongues are famous in this region, I had many bought, and we didn’t forget anything else. But today is mail day, and I don’t want to miss giving you news, my dear cousin, and all my love.

24. When they were annexed by Castile, the Basque provinces of Álaya, Biscay, and Gipuzcoa had stipulated their privileges. The Basques, who had never been conquered by the Moors, were considered like hidalgos. They didn’t pay taxes to the king and couldn’t be judged by any court other than their own. They enjoyed entire freedom of commerce with their neighbors, even in wartime.

SECOND LETTER

February 24, 1679, from Vitoria

Perilous Peaks, Deadly Precipices I continue telling you about my travels without further ado, my dear cousin. When we left San Sebastián, we took another very rough road that leads to the San Adrian mountains, which are so steep and scary that you can’t ascend without climbing up. All you see are precipices and rocks on which a desperate lover could surely kill himself if he felt like it. Extraordinarily high pine trees crown the tops of these mountains. As far as the eye can see, nothing but deserts cut with streams clearer than crystal. Toward the top of San Adrian mountain, there’s a very tall rock that seems to have been placed in the middle of the path to block the passage, thus separating Biscay from Old Castile. By very long and painful work, a vault has been drilled into the rock. You walk forty or fifty steps underneath, seeing daylight only through the openings at either end, which are closed off by huge doors. Under this vault is an inn, abandoned in the winter because of the snows. There’s also the small chapel of St. Adrian and several caverns that serve as hideouts for thieves, so it’s dangerous to cross without defenses. After going through this rock, we went up a little higher and arrived at the very top of the mountain, considered to be the highest in the Pyrenees. It’s covered with forests of beech trees. What a beautiful wilderness! Springs run here as in valleys, and the view is limited only by bad eyesight. Silence and shadows reign, with echoes responding from every side. Then we started to descend. In some places you can see barren little plains, a lot of sand, and, from time to time, mountains covered with huge rocks. No wonder that when passing so close, you’d fear that a big rock will drop off and crush you, for you see some fallen from the top that have been blocked on the way down by other rocks, and those without obstacles would give travelers a very bad time. I was mulling this over because I was alone in my litter with my child, and discussing this with my little girl would not have helped much. A river named Urola, quite big, swollen by torrents and melted snow, flows along the way and collects here and there into pools of water and cascades that fall with incredible noise and force, a very pleasant sight.1 Here you don’t find those beautiful châteaux that line the Loire River and make travelers call it the land of the fairies. You find only mountains, some shepherds’ huts, and a few small hamlets so remote that those who wish to reach them have to search long and hard. Still, all these natural objects—though awful—have something very beautiful about them. The snows were so high that we always had 1. The Urola is a river in Gipuzkoa, Basque Autonomous Community, that flows into the Bay of Biscay, Spain. D’Aulnoy expresses a pre-Romantic appreciation of untamed nature. GV

51

52 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY twenty men clearing the paths for us with shovels. You probably think that this cost me a lot, but orders are so well established and observed that the inhabitants of a village are obliged to meet travelers and lead them until they find the inhabitants of the next village. Since there is no obligation to give them anything, the smallest tip satisfies them. To this service they add another; they ring the bells ceaselessly to warn travelers where they can find shelter in such bad weather. But weather like this is rare. I was told that there hasn’t been this much snow for forty years. So they considered this weather extraordinary because in many winters it doesn’t even freeze here.

New Traveling Companions Our group was so big that we could have rivaled those famous caravans that go to Mecca. Without counting mine and Don Fernand of Toledo’s, several others joined us in San Sebastián: three knights and their attendants returning from their Commandership of Santiago, two belonging to this order, and the third, a knight of Alcántara. The first two wore their red cross in the form of a sword embroidered on their shoulder,2 and the Alcántara one, a green cross.3 They belong to very good families in Andalusia, Galicia, and Catalonia. The Andalusian’s name is Don Esteve of Carvajal, the Galician’s, Don Sancho of Sarmiento, the Catalan’s, Don Frederic of Cardona.4 Attractive and sophisticated, they showered me with consideration, and I find something French in their manners. It’s true that they’ve traveled all over Europe, which has made them very polished. We spent the night at Galareta, a small town not far from the San Adrian mountains, located in a little Spanish province I’ve just spoken about, Alava,5 in the Biscay region. The accommodations were very bad. From there to San Sebastián it’s about eleven leagues.

2. The Order of St. James of the Sword, orden de Santiago, was instituted in 1161 by Ferdinand III, king of Leon, to protect the pilgrims going to Santiago of Compostella from the Moors. Confirmed by the Pope in 1175, from 1493 the order’s grand master was the king of Spain. It was secularized in 1835. Its habit consisted of a white cloak with a red cross in the form of a sword. 3. The religious and military order of Alcántara, originally called the Knights of St. Julian, was founded in 1156 to combat the Moors and confirmed by Pope Alexander III in 1177. It won renown in 1217 by defending Alcántara. In gratitude, King Alphonse IX awarded the city to the order, which took its name. In 1492, Pope Alexander VI invested the Catholic King Ferdinand of Aragon with the grand mastership of Alcántara for life. 4. These traveling companions come from three important geographical regions of Spain, the south, the northwest, and the northeast, with Don Fernand of Toledo representing the center. GV 5. An ancient county enjoying the same privileges as the other Basque provinces. Today it’s a province of the Spanish Basque Country, whose capital is Vitoria.

Second Letter 53

Who’s Afraid of Hobgoblins? From Galareta to Vitoria, the road was better than the day before. Farmlands yield abundant wheat and grapes, and villages are close together. There we met the customs officials who make you pay the king’s duties when you go from one kingdom to another, and kingdoms in Spain are not very big. This duty is imposed on the clothes and the money you bring with you. But they said nothing to us for a very good reason—we were stronger. That evening, Don Fernand of Toledo told me that along the way we would be able to see the Guevara castle, which was said to be haunted by a spirit. He added a hundred extravagant tales that the local people believe and are so convinced of that no one wants to stay there. On the contrary, I was eager to go to this place, for though I’m as cowardly as anyone else, I’m not afraid of spirits. And even if I had been fearful, our group was so big that I understood there was nothing to risk. We veered a little to the left and went to the town of Guevara, where an innkeeper had the keys of the castle. While leading us there, he told us that the duende, or hobgoblin, didn’t like company, and even if there had been a thousand of us, he would beat us enough to leave us for dead. I began to tremble. Don Fernand of Toledo and Don Frederic of Cardona, who held me by the hand, noticed this and burst out laughing. I was a bit ashamed, pretended to be reassured, and we entered the castle, which could have been considered one of the most beautiful if it had been well maintained. There was no furniture, except in a great hall that had a very old tapestry representing the loves of Don Pedro the Cruel and Doña Maria of Padilla.6 On one side she was portrayed sitting like a queen surrounded by her ladies, with the king placing a crown of flowers on her head. In another scene, she sat in the shade of a wood, the king showing her the hawk on his wrist. In another, she was dressed like a warrior, and the king, in full armor, was presenting her with a sword, which made me think that she must have accompanied him on a military expedition. She was very badly drawn. Don Fernand said that he had seen some portraits of her. I gather she had been the most beautiful and the most wicked person of her century, but the figures in this tapestry didn’t look at all like her and the king. His name, royal cypher, and coat of arms were everywhere. We went into the keep, above which was a smaller tower where the hobgoblin lived. Apparently he was traveling, because we certainly did not see or hear any 6. Peter I the Cruel, also known as the Just (1334–1369), king of Castile and Leon from 1350 to 1369. Maria of Padilla (1334–1361) was his mistress from 1352 until her death in 1361. They had four children, whom he legitimized after the death of his wife, Blanche of Bourbon (1339–1361). He had been coerced to marry Blanche, cousin of the French king, in 1353 for political reasons, but imprisoned her three days after the wedding and later had her killed. Padilla died the same year, possibly of the plague. Whether Peter was Cruel or Just mostly depends on the historian, French or Spanish. GV

54 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY evidence of him. And so, after having gone all over this big building, we left it to continue our journey.

Snowball Fights and Comedias in Vitoria In approaching Vitoria, we rode across a very pleasant plain that ends at the city.7 Vitoria is the capital of the province and the first city in Castile. It’s enclosed by two walls, one old, one modern, but not fortified beyond that. After I had rested, my companions proposed going to a play. While waiting for it to begin, I had the great pleasure of seeing four troupes of young men arrive in the main square, preceded by drums and trumpets. They paraded around several times, then launched into a melee, throwing snowballs so fiercely that never has there been such a pelting. More than two hundred waged this little war. It’s impossible to describe who fell, who got up, who was doing the tackling, who was getting tackled, and who raised the loudest racket—to say nothing of the booing of the crowd. But I had to leave this ridiculous combat to go see the play. When I entered the theater, there was a great shout of “mira! mira!” which means “look, look.” The decoration of the theater was not magnificent. The stage was raised on barrels and badly arranged planks, and the windows were wide open because they don’t use torches. You can image what this takes away from the beauty of the show. They were playing The Life of St. Anthony.8 Whenever the actors said something that pleased the audience, everyone shouted, “Victora! Victora!”9 I learned that it’s the custom in this region. I also noticed that the devil was not dressed differently from the others; he was distinguished only by his fieryred stockings and the horns on his head. This play consists of only three acts, and they all have the same format. Each serious act was followed by one full of farce and jokes in which the character they call el gracioso, a buffoon, makes lots of bad jokes, mixing in a few that are a little less lame. These interludes were interspersed with dances to the sound of harps and guitars. The actresses played castanets and wore little hats, customary when they dance. When they’re dancing a saraband, they don’t seem to walk but glide very lightly. Their style is very different from ours. They move their arms too much and often pass their hands over their hat and face with a certain pleasing grace. They do play the castanets admirably well. Anyway, don’t think, my dear cousin, that these small-town actors are very different from the ones in Madrid. I was told that the king’s were slightly better, yet both perform what is called las comedias famosas, that is, the finest and most

7. Vitoria, which is in the center of the Alava province, was founded on a hill and surrounded by walls in the twelfth century. 8. Probably a medieval miracle play, still being performed in Spain in the seventeenth century. 9. Probably a variation on the word victoria, “victory.”

Second Letter 55 famous plays, which are, really, most of them very ridiculous.10 For example, when St. Anthony delivered his “I confess,” which he did quite often, all the spectators fell to their knees and gave themselves such rough mea culpas that it was enough to beat the breath out of their lungs. This would be a time to describe the way they dress, but please, you’ll have to wait until I reach Madrid. To avoid overwhelming you with descriptions, I’ll just give you the best. But I can’t help telling you that all the ladies I saw in this gathering wore so much rouge, which begins under their eyes and goes from their chin to their ears, shoulders, and hands, that I’ve never seen boiled lobsters of a more beautiful color. The wife of the governor of the town drew near me. She touched my clothes and pulled her hand back quickly, as if she’d been burned. I told her in Spanish not to be afraid. She became accustomed to me easily and said that her timidity did not come from fear but from apprehension of displeasing me. She added that she’d already seen French ladies and, if allowed, she’d like to follow their fashion. She ordered some chocolate, which she offered me, and there’s no denying that it’s better here than in France. When the play ended, I took my leave, thanking her for her civilities.

Tragic Loves: The Story of the Hermit The next day, as I was entering church to hear Mass, I saw a hermit who seemed a man of quality begging for alms with such humility that it took me aback.11 Noticing this, Don Fernand, came up to me and said: “The person you’re looking at, Madame, comes from an illustrious family and is of great merit, but his fate has been very unhappy.” “You arouse great curiosity in me to know more,” I said, “would you please satisfy it?” “I want nothing more than to please you,” he said, “but I’m not sufficiently informed of his adventures to undertake relating them to you. It would be better for me to urge him to tell you his story himself.” The hermit refuses to reveal his past, a disgrace to the habit he wears, but brings a friend to tell his story. (Seguin 59–60) 10. At the time, the expression “famous comedy” was grammatically linked to the title of plays and immediately identified their type. In this context, the label seems to apply to the entire dramatic corpus of the Golden Age, which made Spain famous in the eyes of both the Spanish and the French. 11. The second embedded novella develops a universal theme: two best friends who rival over the same woman. A model for d’Aulnoy may be Cervantes’s novella, “El curioso impertinente,” embedded in Don Quixote, part I, ch. 33–35. To test his wife’s fidelity, the husband asks his friend to seduce her but ends up deceived by the adulterous lovers. By contrast, d’Aulnoy’s heroine, though in love with her seducer, remains virtuous but ends up stabbed to death by her husband. A significant difference. GV

56 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY The narrator of the hermit’s story begins: “I’m very happy, Madame, that my friend chose me to satisfy your desire to hear his adventures, but I fear that I won’t carry this out as well as I would like. The person whose history you’d like to learn was one of the finest men in the world. It’s hard to imagine this now that he’s enshrouded, so to speak, in his hermit’s habit. He was handsome, grand, well built, and had all the manners of a fine gentleman—in addition to all this, he was very witty, brave, and generous, too. He was born in Cagliari, capital of Sardinia, in one of the most illustrious and richest families of that island.12 “He was raised alongside one of his first cousins, the Marquis of Barbaran, and there was such compatibility in their disposition and tastes that they were much closer friends than blood brothers would be. They had no secrets from each other. Even after his cousin was married, their friendship continued as before. “His cousin married the most beautiful and accomplished young woman in the world. She was only fourteen and the heiress to a very rich and noble family. Every day, the marquis discovered new charms in the wit and appearance of his wife, which only increased his passion. He spoke ceaselessly of his happiness to his cousin Don Louis of Barbaran, my friend. When any business obliged the marquis to leave her, he begged Don Louis to stay with the marquise and console her in his absence. But—oh, God!—how difficult it is when you are young and inexperienced to see such a beautiful, young, and amiable woman, and to see her with indifference! “Don Louis was already madly in love with the marquise and still thought he loved only for her husband’s sake. While he was thus mistaken, she fell dangerously ill. He was violently distressed but realized, too late, that his state was caused by a passion that would cause all the misfortune of his life. Finding himself in this state and no longer able to resist, he forced himself and resolved to flee in order to escape a place where he risked dying of love or betraying the bonds of friendship. The cruelest death seemed easier than carrying out his resolve. However, when the marquise began to recover, he went to her to say goodbye, never to see her again. “She was busy choosing the most beautiful gems among her very expensive pieces for a new jewelry collection. Don Louis had just entered her chamber when she asked him, with the familiarity we have for our close friends, to get the other gems that remained in her cabinet. He hurried there, and by chance he found among the stones the marquise’s portrait in enamel, surrounded with diamonds and threaded with a lock of her hair. It was so true to life that he didn’t have the strength to resist the urge to steal it.13 12. The Kingdom of Sardinia was under Spanish rule from 1323 to 1708. GV 13. Stealing the beloved’s portrait is a frequent motif in early novels. GV

Second Letter 57 “ ‘I’m going to leave her,’ he told himself. ‘I’ll never see her again. I sacrifice all my peace of mind to her husband. Alas! Isn’t that enough? Is it a crime to find such an innocent consolation for my pain?’ He kissed the portrait several times, and hiding it carefully under his arm, he brought her the other gems. He announced to her, trembling, that he had decided to travel. She seemed astonished and blushed deeply. Looking at her at that moment, he had the pleasure of noticing this, and their knowing looks spoke more than their words. “ ‘Oh, Don Louis, what can make you leave us?’ she said. ‘Your cousin loves you so tenderly, and I esteem you. We’re delighted to see you; he won’t be able to live without you. Haven’t you traveled already? You must have another reason to leave. But at least don’t hide it from me.’ “Pierced through with sorrow, Don Louis couldn’t help heaving a deep sigh. He took one of her beautiful hands and touching his lips to it, said: ‘Alas, Madam, what are you asking me? What do you want me to say, and what indeed can I say in the state I’m in?’ So violently did he try to suppress his feelings that he became very weak and fell half dead at her feet. Troubled and confused, she made him sit next to her. She didn’t dare lift her eyes to look at him, but let him see the tears she couldn’t help but shed or hide from him. “They had barely endured the flood of emotion caused by the stirrings of the heart when the marquis entered the chamber. He embraced Don Louis in perfect friendship and was broken-hearted when he learned his cousin was leaving for Naples. He said everything he could think of to dissuade him, and he expressed all his sorrow, to no avail. Louis did not relent. He took his leave of the marquise immediately and didn’t see her again. The marquis left and stayed with him until his departure, but his presence only increased Don Louis’s pain. He would have preferred to be alone to give vent to his sorrow. “Their separation touched the marquise deeply. She had noticed that he loved her even before he realized it himself and found such distinction and merit in him that she also had fallen in love with him without knowing it. But she realized it only too late, after he had left. As she was overcoming a serious illness from which she had not yet recovered, this added sorrow caused her to fall into a state of languor that soon rendered her unrecognizable. Her sense of duty, her reason, and her virtue persecuted her equally. She was extremely grateful for her husband’s kind attentions, and the fact that another man occupied her thoughts and filled her heart caused her unbearable pain. She no longer dared to mention the name of Don Louis and never asked for news of him. She made it her indispensable duty to forget him. Her continual constraint over her feelings caused her to suffer agonies. “She confided her secret to a lady-in-waiting she cherished. ‘Am I not terribly unhappy?’ she said to her. ‘I must wish never again to see a man toward whom it’s impossible for me to be indifferent. The thought of him is always present in my mind. So clever am I in making myself suffer that I imagine I see him when

58 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY I look at my husband. The resemblance between them only enflames my tender feelings for him. Oh, Marianne, I must die to atone for this crime, even though it’s beyond my control. My last resort is to get rid of a passion I cannot control. Alas! What haven’t I done to stifle this passion, which is still dear to me?’ While speaking she sighed a thousand times, and she melted into tears. Even though the lady-in-waiting was clever and very attached to her mistress, she couldn’t find the words to console her. “Every day, however, the marquis criticized his wife for her indifference to Don Louis. ‘I can’t bear that you no longer remember the man I love most in the world, and one who extended so much kindness and friendship for you. I have to say that your hard feelings make me question the goodness of your heart. You must admit, Madame, that he hadn’t even left yet when you’d already forgotten him.’ “ ‘What good would my remembering be to him?’ the marquise kept saying with a charming languidness. ‘Don’t you see that he’s avoiding us? Wouldn’t he still be with us if he had really loved us? Believe me, my lord, he deserves to be a little neglected in return.’ Whatever she said couldn’t put off the marquis. He hounded her ceaselessly to write to Don Louis and ask him to come back. One day, when she entered his study as usual to discuss some business, she found him busy reading a letter he’d just received from his cousin. “She tried to withdraw, but he seized on this moment to compel her to do what he wished. He said to her very seriously that he could no longer bear his cousin’s absence. He had resolved to go find him. Don Louis had left two years ago without showing any desire to see his country or his friends again. The marquis was sure that Don Louis would find her pleas more persuasive than his own, so he begged her to write to his cousin. He said she could choose either to give him that satisfaction or to resolve to see him leave for Naples, to join Don Louis. She was surprised and embarrassed by this proposal but knew that he was waiting very anxiously for her to make up her mind. “ ‘What would you like me to ask him, my lord?’ she asked sadly. ‘Dictate this letter to me. I’ll write it. That’s all I can do, and I even think that it’s more than I should do.’ Thrilled, the marquis embraced her tenderly. He thanked her and made her write these words in front of him: “ ‘If you are our friend, don’t delay your return. I have urgent reasons for wishing this. I resent that you thought so little about coming back. It returns our feelings for you with uncharacteristic indifference. Come back, Don Louis, I wish it, I beg you, and if I had the right to use more pressing terms, I might say that I order you to return.’ “The marquis put this fatal letter into a single envelope so that Don Louis would not think that he had ordered the marquise to write it. After sending it to the courier, he awaited the outcome with desperate impatience. What effect did such a precious and unexpected order have on the lover? Even though he had

Second Letter 59 noticed tenderness in the looks this lovely woman gave him, he wouldn’t have dared to promise himself that she would desire his return. His reason revolted against his joy. “ ‘How unhappy I am,’ he kept saying. ‘I adore the most lovable of all women, and I don’t dare want to please her. She’s kindly disposed toward me. Honor and friendship prohibit me from taking advantage of this. What shall I do, O Heavens, what shall I do? I’d presumed that absence would cure me. Alas! What a useless remedy! I’ve never cast my eyes on her portrait without feeling more in love and more miserable than when I saw her every day. I must obey her. She ordered me to return, she would be happy to see me again, and she can’t be unaware of my passion. When I took my leave of her, my eyes expressed my heart’s deepest secret, and when I remember what I saw in hers, at that moment all my considerations became useless. I resolved to die at her feet rather than live far from her.’ “He left Naples without waiting a single day, without saying goodbye to his friends. He had one of his gentlemen give his excuses and settle his affairs. He was so eager to see the marquise again and made such haste that he alone could have done it. Arriving in Cagliari, he learned that the Marquis of Barbaran and his wife were staying at a magnificent country house where the viceroy was visiting them with all his court. He also learned that the marquis was preparing a great celebration for the viceroy, which included a cañas joust in the ancient Moorish manner. The marquis was the defending champion and had to maintain the principle that A husband who is loved is happier than a lover. “A number of people who did not share this opinion prepared to challenge him for the prize that, at the vice-queen’s entreaty, the marquise was to award the victor. It was a scarf she had embroidered herself with her emblem. Everyone had to appear masked and disguised so that all could be more free and gallant. “Don Louis felt a secret pique in realizing the marquis was so satisfied. ‘He’s loved,’ he said to himself. ‘I can’t help but view him as my rival, and as a happy rival. But I must try to trouble his bliss by triumphing over his vainglory.’ Having made this design, he didn’t want to appear in town. He had an outfit made of green and gold brocade, and he wore green plumes so that all his liveries were of the same color to reflect his new hopes. Resplendent, Don Louis enters the lists and notices the beautiful marquise’s downcast air. He wins the joust with the marquis and receives the prize from the marquise’s own hands, without being recognized. The whole court returns to Cagliari. (Seguin 66). “Then Don Louis showed up. He claimed to have just arrived and did not appear to know anything that had happened in the field. The Marquis of Barbaran was transported with joy at seeing him, and absence had in no way altered the affection he had for his dear cousin. It wasn’t difficult for Don Louis to find a favorable

60 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY moment for a conversation with his beloved marquise. He was as free in her house as in his own, and you can well judge, Madame, that he didn’t forget to mention the prize he had received from her fair hands. “ ‘How unhappy I am,’ he said, ‘that you didn’t recognize me! Alas, Madame! I prided myself that some secret feelings would warn you that no one but I could champion with such passion the cause of lovers over husbands.’ “ ‘No, my lord,’ she said with a rather haughty air so as to dash his hopes, ‘I didn’t want to have an inkling that you would support such a base cause, and I wouldn’t have believed that you could have become so deeply attached in Naples that you would come all the way to Sardinia to triumph over a friend who was defending my interests as well as his own.’ “ ‘I would die of grief,’ interrupted Don Louis, ‘if my actions displeased you. If you were more favorably disposed, and I dared to confide in you, I would persuade you easily that Naples is not where I left the object of my desires.’ Since the marquise dreaded that he would say more than what she wished to hear, and since he seemed deeply touched by her reproach, she took on a more playful air. Turning the conversation jokingly, she responded that he was taking what she had said too seriously. He didn’t dare take advantage of the situation to declare his love. If he loved her more than anything in the world, he also respected her above all. “As soon as he’d left her, he started blaming himself for his timidity. ‘What! Shall I always suffer without seeking some relief for my pain?’ He failed to find a favorable opportunity for some time because the marquise took pains to avoid him. But one evening he found her alone in her inner room. Its ceiling was all painted and gilded. Tall mirrors lined the walls. The candles in the crystal chandelier and crystal sconces cast all their light around her, making her appear the most beautiful person in the world. She was reclining on a lovely day bed, her negligee was magnificent, and her hair, tied with knots of diamonds, fell casually to her breast.14 The turmoil she felt in seeing Don Louis showed on her face and made her even more beautiful. He approached her with a shy and respectful air. He fell to his knees and looked at her for a while without daring to speak. “Becoming a bit bolder, he said: ‘If you would consider, Madame, how you reduced me to a pitiful state, you will easily understand that I am no longer able to remain silent. I could not ward off the unavoidable blows you have given me. I adored you as soon as I saw you. I tried to cure myself by fleeing you. I tore myself in two in tearing myself away from the pleasure of being with you, but my passion became even more violent. You reminded me, Madame, of my involuntary exile, and I die a thousand times a day, wondering what my destiny will be. If you are cruel enough to deny me your pity, after learning of my passion, allow me at least to die of sorrow at your feet.’ 14. The description recalls that of the princess of Cleves in her garden pavilion. GV

Second Letter 61 “For some time, the marquise could not bring herself to answer him. Finally, feeling reassured, she spoke. ‘I admit, Don Louis, that I already knew part of your feelings, but I persuaded myself that they were the effects of innocent tenderness. Don’t make me complicit in the crime you commit when you betray the friendship you owe my husband. For God’s sake, you’ll only be punished too severely for it. I know that duty forbids you to love me. As for me, not only does duty forbid me to love you, it orders me to flee from you. I will do it, Don Louis, I will flee you and don’t know whether I shouldn’t hate you. But, alas, it seems to me that this would be impossible.’ “ ‘Oh, what are you doing, Madame?’ he interrupted in sorrow and despair. ‘What are you doing, cruel woman, when you pronounce my death sentence? You could not hate me, you claim. Don’t you hate me, and don’t you do me all the harm you can when you resolve to flee from me? Finish, Madame, finish me off, don’t allow your vengeance to remain imperfect. Sacrifice me to your duty and to your husband. If you take away all hope of pleasing you, life can only be hateful to me.’ “She looked at him at this moment with eyes full of tenderness. ‘Don Louis,’ said she, ‘you reproach me for things that I wish I deserved.’ Saying these words, she got up. She feared that her tenderness would triumph over her reason and, despite his efforts to hold her back, she passed into her chamber where all her women were waiting. “She thought she had gained control over herself in ending this conversation without responding as favorably as her heart would have wished. But love is a seducer that should never be heeded if you want to protect yourself from it. From that day on, Don Louis began thinking himself happy although he lacked many rewards of total bliss. Indeed, the marquise had a steadfast virtue that always opposed itself successfully to her lover’s desires. “Don Louis no longer had those scruples of friendship for the Marquis of Barbaran that had so greatly disturbed his peace of mind. Love had entirely banished friendship, and he even secretly hated his cousin. “Don Louis flattered himself that he could perhaps find the right moment to move the marquise to pity. He searched for it carefully and found it one very hot day. Knowing that the marquise usually retired to nap in the afternoon, as people do in that country, he came to her, confident that everyone would be asleep. “She was in a ground floor room that looked onto the garden. Everything was closed, but in the dim light he could distinguish the lovely creature on her bed. She was in a deep sleep and half undressed. He had the time to discover charms that only fueled his passion. He approached her so softly that she didn’t awake. He was gazing at her for a few moments with such supreme rapture when, seeing her naked breasts, he couldn’t resist stealing a kiss. She woke up suddenly. Her eyes were still half closed, the room was dark, and she would never have thought that Don Louis could be so bold. I have already said, Madame, that he looked a lot like

62 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY the marquis of Barbaran, so she didn’t doubt that it was he. Calling him several times my dear marquis and my dear husband, she kissed him tenderly. “He fully realized the mistake. Whatever pleasure she gave him, he wished it had come only from her love as his mistress. But, O Heavens! What a terrible mishap! The marquis came in at this dangerous moment, and with great fury he saw the liberties Don Louis was taking with his wife. At the noise he made when entering, she glanced toward the door. Seeing her husband—whom she thought next to her—come in, her surprise and affliction at finding herself in the arms of someone else were beyond words. “Don Louis, despairing of this incident, flattered himself that perhaps the marquis hadn’t recognized him. He slid into the gallery and, finding a window that opened onto the garden, he jumped out and disappeared through the back door. The marquis ran after him without managing to catch up. Unfortunately, retracing his steps, he found the marquise’s portrait, which had fallen off Don Louis’s arm as he was running. At once he thought the worst. A tête-à-tête between Don Louis and his wife at an hour when ladies receive no one, this portrait tied with her hair that he had dropped, finally, having seen the marquise kiss him, all gave him cause to doubt her virtue. “ ‘I am betrayed,’ he cried out. ‘I am betrayed by all I loved in the world. Who can be as miserable as I?’ Uttering these words, he went back into his wife’s room. She threw herself at his feet and, bursting into tears, she tried to justify herself and show her innocence. But he was so possessed by the demon of jealousy that he pushed her away violently. He heeded only his own fit of rage and his despair. Looking away to avoid seeing this lovely, beloved creature, he had the barbarity to plunge his dagger into the breast of the most beautiful and most virtuous woman in the world. She let herself be slaughtered like an innocent victim, and her soul left her body with a stream of blood.” “Oh God,” I cried out, “Oh, careless Don Louis, why did you abandon this charming woman to the fury of a husband in love but fiery and jealous? You could’ve rescued her from his cruel hands.” “Alas, Madame,” said the gentleman. “He left without thinking, and if he could’ve foreseen such a misfortune, what wouldn’t he have done? “As soon as the unfortunate marquise breathed her last, her executioner locked her apartment, took all the jewels and money, got on his horse, and fled with great haste. Don Louis, worried and more besotted than ever, returned to her place in the evening, at the risk of all that could happen to him. He was surprised when he was told that she was still sleeping, her room was still closed, and her husband had left on horseback. A secret premonition made him fear the worst. He rushed into the garden and, through the same window that he had found open earlier, he reached the gallery and then the room. It was so dark that he groped his way. When he bumped into something that almost knocked him over, he bent down and recognized that it was a dead body. He let out a wild shriek, and no

Second Letter 63 doubting that it was his dear mistress, swooned with grief. Some of the marquise’s ladies were strolling beneath the windows of her apartment where they heard Don Louis’s cries. They climbed easily through the same window and entered. What a tragic sight, good God! Can you imagine it? The beloved dead, her lover ready to die. I cannot find words to express the state he was in. He had no sooner recovered his senses thanks to various remedies when his grief, his rage, and his despair burst out with such violence that no one believed anything could ever console him. I’m convinced that he wouldn’t have survived the person whose death he had caused if he were not driven by the desire for revenge. “He charged off like a madman to hunt for the Marquis of Barbaran. He searched everywhere without finding him. He covered Italy, crossed Germany, went to France. He was assured that the marquis was in Valencia, Spain. He searched there but didn’t find him. For three years, he had not be able to sacrifice his enemy to the spirit of his mistress. Finally, divine grace, all powerful especially over noble souls, touched him profoundly, transforming his desire for vengeance into the serious desire to find salvation and leave the world. “Filled with this spirit, he returned to Sardinia. He sold all his properties, which he distributed to a few of his friends who, though poor, were very worthy. He became so poor that he reduced himself to begging for his living. “When visiting Madrid in the past, he had seen a place very suitable for a hermitage (it’s near Mont Dragon).15 This mountain is almost inaccessible; it can be reached only through an opening in the middle of a big rock. It’s closed off when it snows, and the hermitage is buried for more than six months of the year. Don Louis had one built at that spot. He often retired there for years, seeing no one. He made provisions, has good books, and has stayed alone for years in this dreadful isolation, seeing no one. But this year he was forced to come here because of a serious illness that nearly killed him. He has been leading such a spiritual life—so different from the one he was born into—for four years already, so it’s with great difficulty that he sees people who know him. “As for the Marquis of Barbaran, he left Sardinia, where he can never return. I found out that he married again in Antwerp, the widow of a Spaniard named Fonseca. He himself confessed all the details of his crime to a friend of mine. Racked with remorse, the marquis still believes he sees his dying wife reproaching him, and his imagination is so disturbed that he fell into such a deep melancholy that everyone fears he will either die soon or lose his mind completely.” The narrator of the hermit’s story ends.

15. Probably Mondragon, Gipuzkoa Province, about eighty kilometers south of San Sebastián on the road between the Basque Country and Madrid.

64 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY The gentleman fell silent. I couldn’t help but weep at the tragic end of such a lovely lady. Noticing this, Don Fernand of Toledo teased me, saying gallantly that he was delighted to see me prone to pity and that I would soon find reasons to express it. Rather than answer him, I preferred to thank the gentleman who had been willing to entertain me with such an extraordinary adventure. I asked him to give the hermit my best regards and two pistoles [gold coins] since he received alms. Don Fernand and each gentleman gave the same amount. “Here’s enough to make the poor people of Vitoria rich, for Don Louis doesn’t accept such great charity for himself,” replied the gentleman. We said that he was in command of it and could dispose of it as he wished.

Useless Passports But, getting back to my adventures. Even though I have a passport from the king of Spain, both very specific and as general as possible, I was obliged to take a customs ticket because without this precaution, they would have confiscated all my belongings. “What’s the use of a passport from the king?” I said to them. “No use at all,” they replied. The customs clerks and agents didn’t bother to look at my documents. They say that the king himself had to come to assure that the order came from him. When you don’t go through the formality of getting this ticket, they confiscate everything you have. It’s useless to apologize that you’re a foreigner and not well informed of the customs of the country. They reply dryly that the foreigner’s ignorance makes the Spaniard’s profits. Bad weather kept me in this place for two more days, during which I saw the governor’s wife and went to the theater. A brief description of Vitoria, a pleasant city. (Seguin 73) Well, it’s time for me to end this long letter. It’s late, and I have told you so much about what I saw that I’ve said nothing about my feelings for you. It’s not because I don’t love you, dear cousin, and I do believe that your heart understands.

THIRD LETTER

February 27, 1679, from Burgos My letters are so long that it’s hard to believe I still have more to write, my dear cousin. But I never send one without thinking that there’s still so much more to say that it would fill yet another letter. If I had only to describe my friendship for you, there’s an inexhaustible subject. You can judge this by my willingness to do whatever you wish. You wished to know all the details of my trip, so I’ll continue to tell you about them. I left Vitoria quite late because I stopped to see the governor’s wife, and then we spent the night at Miranda.1 The countryside is very pleasant as far as Arigny.2 Afterward, we took a difficult path along the Urola River, whose noise is amplified because it is filled with huge rocks against which the water dashes, bounces off, drops, and forms natural waterfalls in several places. We continued to climb the high mountains of the Pyrenees, where we faced a thousand different dangers. We saw the ancient ruins of an old castle, haunted by as many goblins as the one in Guevara. It’s close to Gargançon where we had to stop to show my passport, because you pay customs fees to the king there.3

The Tale of Mira4 The alcalde of the town, who came toward my litter for conversation, told me that people here believe that long ago there lived a king and a queen who had a daughter, a princess so beautiful and charming that she was considered a divinity rather than a mere mortal. She was called Mira, and from her name came the mira in Spanish, which means look, because every time they would see her, everyone would shout Mira, mira. Here’s an etymology drawn from far enough. No one could see this princess without falling madly in love with her, but her pride and indifference killed off all her lovers. Not even the deadly basilisk5 killed more people than the beautiful and bewitching Mira. That’s how she depopulated her father’s kingdom and all the neighboring lands; only the dead and the dying were left in her wake. After having pleaded with her, they pleaded with heaven to ask for justice against her pride. The gods became irritated, and the goddesses were not slow to anger. To punish her, the scourges of heaven completely ravaged her father’s kingdom. In this general affliction, the king consulted the oracle, which told him that all these misfortunes would not end until Mira atoned for all 1. Miranda de Ebro, in the province of Burgos, on the border with the Alava province. 2. D’Aulnoy’s French transcription of Ariñez, a village in the province of Alava. 3. D’Aulnoy gallicizes Puebla de Arganzón, on the Zadorra river, in the province of Burgos. 4. The third embedded story, a good example of d’Aulnoy’s tongue-in-cheek style. GV 5. A legendary reptile said to cause death with a single glance or breath. GV

65

66 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY the troubles her gaze had caused and that she should leave the kingdom. Destiny would lead her to the fateful place where she would lose her peace of mind and her liberty. The princess obeyed, believing that it was impossible for her to feel tenderness. She left taking only her nursemaid with her. She was dressed like a simple shepherdess, fearing she would be recognized on land or sea. She covered twothirds of the world, committing three or four dozen homicides every day, for her beauty was in no way diminished by the rigors of the journey. Eventually she arrived near this old castle, which belonged to a young count named Nios, endowed with a thousand perfections but extremely fierce and reserved. He spent his life in the woods. As soon as he saw a woman, he would flee from her, and out of everything he saw in the world, he would hate her most of all. Beautiful Mira was resting one day under a few trees when Nios passed by, wearing a lion’s skin and a bow at his waist and holding a club. His hair was all tangled, and his face as dirty as a coal man (this circumstance is in the tale). Nevertheless, the princess found him the most handsome and charming of men. She ran after him like a madwoman; he ran away like a madman. She lost sight of him, and she did not know where to find him. She fell into despair, crying day and night with her nurse. When Nios went hunting again, she saw him and wanted to follow after him. As soon as he saw her, he reacted as he had before and, once again, Mira cried bitterly. But her passion suffused her with strength, so she outran him. She stopped him by grabbing his long hair and begged him to look at her. She thought that would be enough to touch his heart. He glanced at her with as much indifference as if she were made of wood. Never was a girl so surprised. She didn’t want to leave him; in spite of him, she came to his castle. As soon as she entered, he left her there and disappeared. Poor Mira, inconsolable, died of grief. From that time on, they say that long wailing sounds can be heard coming from the Nios castle. The young girls in the region would bring her little gifts of fruit, milk, and eggs, leaving them at the door of a cellar where no one wants to enter. They said that it was to console her, but this custom has been abolished as a superstition. Even though I did not believe a word of what I was told about Mira and Nios in Garançon, I still enjoyed listening to this tale. And I omit a thousand details for fear of boring you. My daughter was so delighted by the story that she wanted us to retrace our steps in order to leave at the cellar door some red partridges that my people had just bought. She understood that the princess’s ghost would be quite consoled to receive this testimony of our good will. But I understood that I would be more pleased than she to have those partridges for supper. A short description of the town of Miranda de Ebro. (Seguin 77)

Third Letter 67

Conversation about Catalonia The three knights I’ve already mentioned had arrived there before me and already given the orders for the supper, so we ate together. Though it seemed to be far into the night because days are very short at this time of year, it wasn’t really late, so these gentlemen, who are very polite and considerate toward me, asked me how I would like to pass the time. I proposed that we play ombre and I’d go halves with Don Fernand.6 They agreed to play. Don Frederic of Cardona said he’d rather chat with me, so the three others started the game. I stopped to watch them with great pleasure, for their way of playing is completely different from ours. They never say a word; I don’t mean in order to complain (that would be beneath Spanish gravitas) but to ask for a gano,7 or to cut higher, or to show that they enjoy some other advantage. In a word, they look like statues activated by a spring, and it’s true that they would blame themselves for making the slightest gesture. After watching them, I headed for the brazier, and Don Frederic sat down next to me. Frederic asks d’Aulnoy to describe the state of affairs in France and expresses his admiration for Louis XIV. She agrees, giving as an example the treaty of Nijmegen ending the Dutch War (1678), and Louis’s reduction of his cavalry and infantry, proof of his respect of the treaty. Frederic responds that his master, the king of Spain, was equally disposed. But the king never responded to the pleas that the principality of Catalonia and the kingdom of Valencia had made to withdraw the Spanish troops, which were in winter quarters in those regions. Crushed by the violence of the Castilians, the Catalan people had sought the protection of the king of France in 1640. They were happy for a few years, but during the civil wars in France, the king of Spain regained dominance over Catalonia. (Seguin 78–79.)8 He then told me that there were two rather singular things in this duchy.9 One is a mountain of salt, part of which is white as snow and the other part lighter and more transparent than crystal. It has blue, green, violet, rosy pink, and orange tints, and a thousand other colors, but it loses its hue and becomes pure white when it’s washed. It forms and grows continually, and even though it’s salty—and 6. Ombre (from Spanish hombre, “man”) is a fast-moving seventeenth-century trick-taking card game from Spain for three players (originally four). Its trump-cards are called matadors. 7. Bid for the ace of spades, the winning card. 8. The 1692 English translation omits this section, as it does passages in praise of Louis XIV. Much of this information had appeared in the Gazette, 1679. GV 9. Cardona, in the principality of Catalonia. GV

68 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY places where there is salt are so sterile that even grass doesn’t grow—tall pine trees and excellent vineyards grow here. When the sun beats down on this mountain, it seems to be made up of the most beautiful precious stones in the world. And, best of all, it brings in a sizable revenue.10 The other curiosity he mentioned is a fountain whose water is very good and has a color like claret wine. “No one told me about that one,” I interrupted, “but one of my relatives who had been to Catalogne assured me that he’d seen one near Balut11 whose water is its natural color but everything you put into it looks like gold.” “I’ve seen it, Madame,” continued Don Frederic, “and I remember that a man who was miserly and deranged would throw his silver coins in every day because he thought they would turn into gold. But he was ruining himself instead of getting rich, because some peasants, cleverer and more skillful than he, having seen what he was doing, waited downstream and gathered the coins. If you return to France through Catalonia, you’d see this fountain.” “That’s not what attracts me,” I said, “but I would make a longer trip in order to pass by Montserrat.”12 “It’s near Barcelona,” he said, “and is a place of great devotion. It seems as if the rock is sawed through the middle.”13 The chapel is very high up, small, and dark. In the light of ninety silver lamps, you can distinguish the image of the Virgin, which is very brown and considered to be miraculous.14 The altar cost Philip II thirty thousand crowns, and every day you can see pilgrims from all parts of the world. This holy place is full of hermitages inhabited by recluses of great piety. Most of them are persons of high birth, who left the world only after they had experienced it fully and who seem enchanted by the sweetness of their retreat—even though staying there is awful and it would have been impossible to reach had they not cut a path in the rock. Still, you find some beautiful things there, a wonderful view, springs, well-kept gardens cultivated by the monks themselves, and everywhere an air of solitude and devotion that touches all who go there.

10. The rock salt mine of Solsona, in the province of Lerida, Catalonia. 11. D’Aulnoy frenchifies Balouta, Catalonia. 12. The sacred mountain of Monserrat is a Marian devotion since the Middle Ages. First hermits came there, then Benedictine monks founded a monastery. The monks’ learning, the region’s riches, and the pilgrims’ fervor gave Montserrat its power. Over the centuries, many buildings filled with masterpieces were added to the main building. 13. Indeed, the stone blocks piled on steep cliffs are probably at the origin of the name Montserrat, meaning “sawed mountain” in Catalan. 14. The Black Virgin, also called the Moreneta, is a wood statue, polychrome, probably twelfth century, believed to have been found by shepherds in a cave. She’s exhibited above the main altar.

Third Letter 69 “We have another very well-known shrine,” he continued. “Nuestra Señora del Pilar. She’s in Saragossa, in a chapel, on top of a marble pillar.15 Our Lady holds the Baby Jesus in her arms. They claim that the Virgin appeared on the same pillar to St. James, and the image is venerated with tremendous respect.16 You can’t see her very well because she is so high up in such a dark place that, without the torches, she couldn’t be seen at all. Fifty lights are alight at all times, gold and precious stones shine brilliantly on all sides, and pilgrims come here in droves. But I can say without partiality that Saragossa is one of the most beautiful cities you can see. It lies along the Ebro River, in a vast countryside. It’s adorned with great buildings, rich churches, a magnificent bridge, beautiful squares, and the prettiest women in the world—pleasant, lively, who love the French nation, and who would omit nothing to oblige you to speak well of them, if you pass by there.” I told him that I had already heard a lot of positive things about it. “But,” I remarked, “that region is very barren, and soldiers have a very difficult time subsisting.” “Indeed,” he replied, “either the air is bad or they are lacking something. The Flemish and the Germans can’t live there, and if they don’t all die, they try to find ways to desert. The Spaniards and the Neapolitans are even more inclined to desertion than they are. The former pass through France and return to their country. The others travel in the Pyrenees, along Languedoc, and reenter Castile by Navarre or Biscay. The old soldiers don’t miss taking this route. The new ones perish in Catalonia because they aren’t used to it, and surely, nowhere is war more difficult for the king of Spain. He maintains his troops there at great expense, and his enemies’ advantage over him cannot be small. I also know that in Madrid they are more sensitive to the slightest loss in Catalonia than to the greatest in Flanders, Milan, or elsewhere. But at present we’ll be calmer than in the past. We hope at court that the peace will last because there’s talk of a marriage that will form a new alliance. The Marquis de Los Balbazès,17 plenipotentiary at Nijmegen, was ordered to go to France in order to ask the Most Christian King for Mademoiselle d’Orléans. We don’t doubt that the marriage will happen, and we’re already thinking of the offices in her household. True, we’re surprised that Don Juan of Austria would consent to this marriage.”18 15. Saragossa was the capital of the kingdom of Aragon. 16. The present-day sanctuary of “Our Lady of the Pillar” was designed by Francisco Herrera around 1677. It houses the chapel of the Virgin, who is believed to have appeared to St. James. The Gothic statue of Mary made of wood has been deeply venerated in Spain for centuries. 17. Pablo Spinola de la Cerda, Marquis of Los Balbazès (1631–1699), the king of Spain’s ambassador, participated in negotiating the peace of Nijmegen and the marriage of Carlos II with MarieLouise d’Orléans, daughter of Monsieur (Philippe d’Orléans, brother of Louis XIV) and Henriette d’Angleterre. 18. Juan José of Austria (1629–1679), illegitimate son of King Philip IV and the actress Maria Calderona, not to be confused with the famous Juan of Austria (1545?–1578), illegitimate son of

70 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY “You’d give me great pleasure,” I interrupted, “if you gave me some details about the prince. It’s natural to be curious about persons of his character. And when you go to a court where you’ve never been, you need some information so as not to appear a complete novice.” He said he’d be pleased to tell me things he’d learned and began thus.

Don Juan José of Austria (Don John of Austria the Younger) Narration of Don Frederic of Cardona begins: “Please don’t be irritated, Madame, if I start from the beginning. This prince was the son of one of the most beautiful women of Spain, named Maria Calderona.19 She was an actress, and the Duke of Medina de Las Torres fell madly in love with her. This gentleman had so many qualities above all the others that la Calderona loved him no less than she was loved. In the heat of this affair, Philip IV saw her and preferred her to one of the queen’s ladies. This lady, who truly loved the king and had a son by him, was so distressed at the king’s change of heart that she retired from the world and entered the Descalzas Reales, where she became a nun.20 As for Calderona, who loved the Duke of Medina above all, she didn’t want to listen to the king unless she knew that the duke would consent. “She spoke to the duke about this and offered to withdraw secretly where he wished. But the duke feared to fall out of the king’s favor and replied that he was ready to let the king have a possession that he was in no position to dispute. She reproached him bitterly. She called him a traitor to his love, ungrateful toward his mistress, and she added that he was lucky to dispose of his heart as he pleased, but she was not in the same circumstances, so he absolutely had to continue their affair or get ready to see her die of despair. Touched by so great a passion, he promised her that he would feign a trip to Andalusia but stay with her, hidden in a closet. Indeed, he left the court and then hid in her place, as they had agreed, no matter what he risked by such foolhardy conduct. The king, meanwhile, was very much in love and satisfied with Calderona. During that time, she gave birth to Don Juan of Austria, and his resemblance to the Duke de Medina persuaded Charles V. The choice of a French princess didn’t please all the members of the Council of State owing to the war between France and Spain in which Don Juan José played a big part. They feared that his influence over his disabled half-brother, Carlos II, would subject Spain to the will of Versailles. MarieLouise was not loved by the Spanish people and her death went almost unnoticed. 19. La Calderona was an actress famous for her beauty but especially for her affair with the king. In the Life of Maria Calderona (Geneva, 1690), there’s no mention of her affair with the Duke of Medina de Las Torres, which d’Aulnoy relates. 20. The “Monastery of the Barefoot Royals,” the famous convent of Poor Clare (Franciscan) nuns in Madrid, founded by Joanna of Austria, Charles V’s daughter, in 1559. It attracted noble ladies who wanted to, or had to, retire from the world. It’s now a museum and a national monument.

Third Letter 71 some that he could be the child’s father. Even though the king had other bastard children, and particularly the bishop of Malaga, good fortune favored Don Juan and he was the only one recognized.21 “Don Juan’s partisans say that this happened because Calderona’s son and Queen Elizabeth’s son had been exchanged. A tale explaining how this exchange came about has been fabricated to impress people, but, in my view, it’s baseless. They claim that the king, being madly in love with this actress, got her pregnant at the same time as the queen. Seeing that the king’s passion was so great that she could expect anything, Calderona managed to have him promise that if the queen had a son and she had one as well, he would put hers in his place. ‘Sire,’ she said, ‘won’t it always be your son who reigns, with this difference: that loving me as you say, you will also love him more?’22 She was very witty, and the king had a great weakness for her. He agreed to what she wanted. Indeed, the affair was conducted so skillfully that, both women having given birth to a son,23 the exchange was made. The one who was supposed to reign, who went by the name of Balthazar, died at fourteen years of age. The king was told that he’d become overheated while playing tennis, but the truth is that young libertines had been allowed to take charge of the Prince, and they led him into misfortune. Some even claim that Don Pedro of Aragon,24 his tutor and the Chief Gentleman of his chamber, contributed more to his dissolution than anyone else, letting the prince bring a woman he loved into his apartment. After this visit, he came down with a high fever. Not knowing the circumstances, the doctors thought they could treat him with frequent bloodletting, but this only robbed him of whatever strength he had left, and thus hastened his death. The king, learning what had happened but too late, exiled Don Pedro for neither preventing these excesses nor discovering them early enough. “However, Don Juan of Austria, who was being raised like a natural son, didn’t change his status even though it ought to have been if indeed he were the legitimate son. In spite of this, his creatures claim that he looks so exactly like Queen Elizabeth that he’s her living portrait. This opinion doesn’t fail to impress the common people, who run after every new thing and loved this great queen 21. Don Juan grew up far from the court, in Ocaña, and received a princely education in view of an ecclesiastical career. Upon the advice of the Duke of Olivares, who feared a gap in the legitimate succession of Philip IV, the King legitimized Don Juan in 1642. He was made prince but was never recognized as Infante, which would have given him the right to inherit the throne. After an illustrious military career, Don Juan settled at court and had a great influence on his half-brother, Carlos II. 22. This legend was probably spread by Don Juan’s partisans in order to support his claim to the throne despite his bastardy. 23. Prince Balthazar Carlos was born in October 1629. Don Juan was born in April 1629, six months before his half-brother, which makes the exchange hard to believe. 24. Pedro Antonio of Aragon (1611–1690), lieutenant of Catalonia, presided over the Council of Aragon.

72 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY so passionately that they still mourn her as though she has just died. Very often, her eulogy is delivered for no other reason than to venerate her memory.25 It’s true that if Don Juan had wished to take advantage of the favorable disposition of the people, he could have found many occasions to advance his fortune. But his only desire is to serve the king and to keep his subjects within the bounds of the loyalty they owe him. “Returning to Calderona, one day the king caught the Duke of Medina de Las Torres with her and, in a fit of anger, ran toward him dagger in hand. He was about to kill him when she stepped between them, saying that he could strike her if he wished. Since the king had a great weakness for her, he couldn’t help but forgive her and was content to exile her lover. But having learned that she continued to love him and write to him, his only thought was to find a new passion. When he had one strong enough to resist Calderona’s charms, he ordered her to retire to a convent, as is the custom when the king leaves his mistress.26 This one did not delay; she wrote a farewell letter to the Duke, and she received the religious veil from the Apostolic nuncio, who has since become Pope Innocent X.27 It seemed apparent that the king didn’t believe that Don Juan was anyone else’s but his own since he loved him dearly. One thing that might seem odd to you is that when a king of Spain has natural sons whom he has recognized, they don’t enter Madrid during his lifetime. Thus, Don Juan was raised at Ocaña, which is a few leagues away. The king his father often went there, and he had his son meet him at the gates of Madrid. This custom owes something to the fact that the grandees of Spain quarrel over the rank that these princes want to hold. This one, before going to Catalonia, usually lived at the Buen Retiro, a royal palace just outside a gate of the city.28 And he showed himself so little that he was never seen at a public celebration during the life of the late king. But times have changed since then, and his fortune is now on a very different footing. 25. Queen Elisabeth (Isabel, in Spain), oldest daughter of Henry IV of France, was married by proxy in 1610 at age eight to the five-year-old Prince of Asturias, who became King Philip IV of Spain in 1621. The double, diplomatic marriage of the French and Spanish siblings—Louis XIII and Anne of Austria, and Philip and Isabel—was celebrated in 1615. Isabel had eleven pregnancies (including two miscarriages), but only two children survived beyond infancy: Balthazar and Marie-Thérèse of Austria, who was married to Louis XIV, twice her first cousin, in 1660. Renowned for her beauty, intelligence, and noble personality, Elizabeth served very ably as regent during Philip’s military campaigns. She died in 1644 at age forty-one, giving birth to her ninth baby, stillborn. GV 26. When a king died, the queen entered the Descalzas Reales, as did the mistress when the king left her. 27. Giovanni Batista Pamphili, pope from 1644 to 1655. See the magnificent portrait of this pope by Diego Velazquez, 1650. GV 28. Little is left of this palace built by Philip IV in what is today a famous park in Madrid, except for the building that houses the Army Museum and the Casón del Buen Retiro, now an annex to the Prado Museum.

Third Letter 73 “While Queen Mariana of Austria, sister to the emperor and mother of the king, governed Spain and her son was not of age to rule, she insisted that Don Juan be kept far from the court. Besides, she felt very capable of governing and also had a strong desire to relieve the king of the burden of ruling for a long time. She was not too worried that he didn’t know anything that might give him a desire to rule. She took great precautions to avoid making him feel that he lived under a rather annoying tutelage, and she tried not to let anyone she couldn’t trust get close to him, but this didn’t prevent a few of the king’s faithful servants from risking everything to make him understand what he could do to gain his liberty. He decided to follow their advice and, at last, having taken appropriate steps, he slipped away one night and went to Buen Retiro. He immediately sent an order to the queen, his mother, not to leave the palace. “Don Juan is of average height, well built, with regular features, dark and lively eyes, very handsome, polite, generous, and brave. He is ignorant of nothing befitting his birth and is well versed in the arts and sciences. He writes and speaks five languages very well, and he understands even more. For a long time he studied judicial astrology. He is well versed in history. There’s no musical instrument he doesn’t play, like the best masters. He does lathe-work, forges arms, paints well. He used to enjoy mathematics, but ever since he was charged with governing the state, he’s had to lay aside all his other occupations.”

King Carlos II “Don Juan arrived at Buen Retiro at the beginning of 1677 and immediately had the Queen Mother sent to Toledo because she had declared her opposition to him and was preventing his return to the king. Don Juan was overjoyed to receive, from the king himself, the order to oversee everything and to manage all the affairs of the kingdom. It’s understandable that he entrusted all to Don Juan because Carlos still knew nothing about the art of governing. The reason given for such a slow education was that the king, his father, was dying when he was conceived. When he was born, they had to put him in a box full of cotton because he was so delicate and so small that he couldn’t be swaddled. Furthermore, he was brought up until the age of ten in the arms and on the laps of the palace ladies without ever putting his feet on the ground to walk. Afterward, the Queen, his mother, who had all sorts of reasons to protect the only heir of the Spanish royal branch, dreading to lose him, didn’t dare allow him study for fear that too much effort would weaken his health which, in truth, was very feeble. It was also observed that all those women who surrounded the king and reprimanded him sharply for his every mistake inspired such a great dislike in him that every time he knew that a lady awaited anywhere he was to pass, he took a secret stairway or locked himself in his room all day long. The Marquise of Los Velez, who had been his governess,

74 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY told me that she had tried to speak with him for six months, to no avail. Finally, when by chance they managed to reach him, he would take the petition from their hands and turn his head away for fear of seeing them. His health has since become so strong that after his marriage to the archduchess, daughter of the Emperor,29 was broken off by Don Juan because it had been arranged by the Queen Mother, he wished to marry Mademoiselle d’Orleans. The circumstances of the peace of Nijmegen made him cast his eyes toward this princess whose excellent qualities, Madame, are better known to you than to myself. “It’s difficult to believe that with dispositions so removed from gallantry he could have fallen in love with the queen so suddenly only upon hearing about her virtues and seeing her portrait. He won’t let go of it. He puts it against his heart and whispers sweet nothings to it, which astonishes all the courtiers because he’s never spoken that language before. His passion for the princess inspires in him a thousand thoughts that he can’t confide to anyone. It seems to him that no one understands his impatience, and in his desire to see her he writes to her ceaselessly and sends special couriers almost every day to deliver letters and bring back news of her. When you’re in Madrid, Madame, you’ll hear many details that no doubt happened since I left and will probably satisfy your curiosity better than I can. Narration of Don Frederic of Cardona ends.

True Character of the Spaniards According to Catalan Don Frederic of Cardona “You’re so kind,” I said. “But do me the honor of describing the true character of the Spaniards. You know them, and I’m convinced that nothing has escaped your knowledge. Since you’ll characterize them without passion and without selfinterest, I’ll be able to trust what you tell me.” “Why do you believe, Madame,” he went on with a smile, “that I’ll speak more sincerely than someone else? There are reasons that could make me suspect. The Spaniards are my masters, so I should speak of them carefully. And if I’m not politic enough to do so, the distress at the thought of being forced to obey them would be enough to give me some ideas contrary to the truth.” “Regardless,” I interrupted, “please tell me what you know about them.” “The Spaniards have always passed as proud and glorious. This glory is mixed with gravity, and they carry it so far that you can call it extravagant 29. The Archduchess Marie Antoinette of Austria was the daughter of Emperor Leopold and the Spanish Infanta Marguerite of Austria, who was the daughter Mariana of Austria and was thus Carlos II’s older sister. Carlos, then, would have married his niece, as had Leopold, who married his sister’s daughter, Marguerite. Mariana concluded her son Carlos II’s marriage when he acceded to the throne at age fourteen, following the endogamous policy of the Habsburg dynasty. This marriage would have strengthened Mariana’s power but reduced that of Don Juan, enemy of the Queen Mother.

Third Letter 75 pride. They’re brave without being rash; they’re even accused of not being daring enough. They’re choleric and vindictive without showing rage, generous without ostentation, moderate in eating, too presumptuous in prosperity, too groveling in bad times. They adore women and are so biased in their favor that their mind doesn’t participate enough in the choice of their mistresses. They’re excessively patient, obstinate, lazy, private, and philosophical. Apart from this, they are honorable people, keeping their word at the risk of their lives. They’re very witty and lively, understand easily, and explain themselves succinctly. They’re careful, excessively jealous, disinterested, wasteful, secretive, superstitious, great Catholics, at least in appearance. They write verses well and with ease. They’d be capable of higher sciences if they deigned to apply themselves. They have a nobility of soul, high-mindedness, natural seriousness, and a respect for women that can be found nowhere else. “Their manners are studied and full of affectation. They are stubbornly persuaded of their own merit and rarely acknowledge it in others. Their bravery consists in valiantly staying on the defensive, without backing down or fearing peril, but they don’t seek it out and are not naturally prone to it, which is due to their judgment rather than their timidity. They recognize danger and avoid it. Their greatest fault, in my view, is their passion for revenge and the means they use to satisfy it. Their maxims in this respect absolutely contradict Christianity and honor. When they receive an affront, they have the offender assassinated. They’re not satisfied with this, for they also have those whom they have offended assassinated, apprehending that the others will strike first, and knowing well that if they don’t kill, they will be killed. They claim to justify themselves, claiming that their enemy having taken the first advantage, they must secure the second. Failure to do so would damage their reputation. Furthermore, you don’t fight with a man who has insulted you, so you must seek to punish him without running half the risk. Moreover, impunity authorizes this conduct because churches and convents in Spain have the privilege of giving safe haven to criminals. So, as far as they’re able, they commit their crimes near a sanctuary so as to have the shortest walk to the altar. Often you can see an altar being embraced by a villain, still holding his dagger, covered with blood from the murder he has just committed. “As for their physical appearance, they’re very lean, small, slim waisted, handsome, with regular features, beautiful eyes, straight teeth, and a yellowish, tanned complexion. They want everyone to walk lightly, have big legs and little feet, not to wear heels, not to powder the face, to part their hair on the side, cut straight and tucked behind the ears. They wear a big hat lined in black taffeta, a golille30 uglier and more uncomfortable than a fraise, and an outfit that’s always black. Instead of a shirt, they wear sleeves made of black taffeta or tabby cloth, a 30. High collar made of cardboard and covered in black taffeta, typical of Spanish dress; a fraise was a ruff made of cloth and lace and worn around the neck.

76 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY curiously long sword, a black frieze cloak over this, very narrow breeches, hanging sleeves, and a dagger. Really, this dress spoils the looks of a man to such an extent, however handsome he may be, that they seem to prefer the ugliest clothing. Your eyes just can’t get used to it.” Don Frederic would have continued speaking, and I was so pleased to hear him that I wouldn’t have interrupted. But he interrupted himself, having noticed that the game was over, and since he feared that I wished to retire to prepare for our early departure the next morning, he left with the other gentlemen. Account of travel along a river, up a steep hill, across a plain, to Bibiesco. (Seguin 89–90)

Spanish Inns and Food on the Road I was so tired that I went to bed and only saw Don Fernand and the other gentlemen the next day at Castil de Peones. But I must tell you something about these inns, and they’re all alike. When you arrive, very tired, roasted by the sun or frozen by the snow (for there are few temperatures between these two extremes), you don’t find beef stew or washed dishes. You go in through the stable and from there you climb up. This stable is full of mules and muleteers who make beds out of the pack saddles and use them as tables during the day. They eat like good friends with their mules and fraternize with them. The stair you climb is very narrow and looks like a rickety ladder. The señora de la casa greets you with her dress tucked up and her sleeves hanging down. She has just enough time to put on her Sunday best while you get out of your litter, and she never fails because they’re all very poor and very proud. You’re ushered into a room whose walls are whitish and covered with a thousand little devotional pictures, very badly done. The beds are without curtains, the blankets of tufted cotton, reasonably clean, the sheets as big as towels, the towels like little pocket handkerchiefs. You have to be in a big city to find three or four of them because elsewhere there are none, nor are there any forks. There is only one cup in the whole house, and if the muleteers get a hold of it first, which always happens if they wish it (for they are served with more respect than the people they bring), you must wait patiently until they have finished using it, or drink out of a pitcher. It’s impossible to warm yourself in the kitchen without suffocating, because they don’t have chimneys. All the houses on the road are the same. They make a hole in the plank ceiling and the smoke escapes from it. The fire is in the middle of the kitchen. They put whatever they want to roast on tiles on the ground, and when it’s well grilled, they turn it on the other side. If it’s a big piece of meat, they attach it to a long rope hanging above the fire and then they turn it by hand, the smoke making it so black that it’s even hard to see.

Third Letter 77 I don’t think you can depict hell better than showing those kitchens and the people in them. In addition to the horrible smoke that blinds and suffocates, there are a dozen men and as many women, blacker than devils, stinking and dirty like pigs, and dressed like beggars. Someone is always shamelessly scraping an old guitar and singing like a hoarse cat. The women are all so disheveled that you’d take them for wild and drunk bacchantes. They wear necklaces made of glass beads as big as walnuts, wrapped around their necks five or six times to hide their skin, the ugliest in the world. They’re all bigger thieves than owls are, and they rush to serve you only when they can steal something, even a pin. They consider it fair and square when taken from a French person. Before anything, the mistress of the house brings you her little children, who are bare-headed in the depths of winter even if they’re one day old. She makes them touch your clothes, she rubs your clothes on their eyes, their cheeks, their throat, and their hands. We seem to have become relics and to heal all ills. After these ceremonies, they ask you if you want to eat, and even if it’s midnight, they must send to the butcher, the market, the tavern, the baker, all over town to put together a really bad meal. For though their mutton is very tender, the scarcity of butter forces them to fry it in boiling oil, which doesn’t suit everyone. Big red partridges are very plentiful, but they’re a bit dry. To this natural dryness they add another that’s much worse—roasting them until they’re reduced to coals. The pigeons are excellent, and in a few places you find good fish, especially besugos,31 which taste like trout and are made into pasties that would be very good if they didn’t have so much garlic, saffron, and pepper. The bread is made of Indian wheat, what we call in France Turkish wheat.32 It’s quite white and seems to be kneaded with sugar because it’s so sweet. But it’s so badly made and undercooked that it’s like lead in the stomach. It’s in the shape of a flat cake no thicker than a finger. The wine is quite good and, in fruit season, the muscat grapes are big and delicious. The figs are just as tasty. You can also certainly count on the desserts. They eat salads made of such sweet and refreshing lettuce that we have nothing close to it. Don’t think, my dear cousin, that you can just say “go find me such things” in order to get them, because very often they don’t find anything. But let’s suppose you have found what you like. You have to start by giving money. So, without having eaten anything yet, your bill is added up and you pay because the innkeeper is allowed only to provide lodging. The reason they give is that it’s not right for just one person to make a profit from travelers, and it’s better to spread the money around. You don’t go into a place for dinner. You carry your provisions and stop at the edge of a stream where the muleteers feed their mules. It’s oats or barley with 31. Sea bream. 32. Maize or corn.

78 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY chopped straw that they keep in big bags; they don’t give them hay. Women and girls are not allowed to stay at a roadside inn for more than two days unless they have obvious reasons for doing so. So that should be enough information on the inns and how you’re received there.

Curiosities and Wonders in Castile that the Lady Will Not See After supper, the gentlemen played ombre, and since I’m not good enough to play against them, I conversed with Don Frederic of Cardona, and Don Fernand of Toledo joined me next to the brazier. He said that he would’ve wished I had the time to pass by Valladolid, the most pleasant city in Old Castile. For a long time, it had been the residence of the kings of Spain, and they have a palace there that’s befitting their grandeur.33 Don Fernand said that he had female relatives who’d be delighted to entertain me. They would surely show me the Dominican church, which the Dukes of Lerma had founded.34 It’s very ornate and its portal is singularly beautiful because of the figures and bas-reliefs that adorn it. In the school of the same convent, the French can view with satisfaction all the walls decorated with fleurs-de-lis, and they say that a bishop who reported to the King of France had them painted.35 He added that his relatives would’ve taken me to the convent of the nuns of Saint Claire to see the tomb of a Castilian gentleman, that they claim emits moans and groans every time anyone in the family is about to die.36 I smiled at this as if doubting something that, in fact, I don’t believe. “You don’t believe what I tell you,” he continued, “and I don’t want to assure you that it is incontestably true, either, even though everyone is fully persuaded of it in this region. But it’s certain that there is a bell in Aragon, in a town called Vililla on the Ebro river, which is ten fathoms around. Sometimes the bell starts ringing by itself, without any observable movement by the wind, by an earthquake, in a word, by anything visible. At first it rings, and then, at various intervals, it peals, day and night. When you hear it, you don’t doubt that it’s announcing a sinister event. That’s what happened in June 1601, on Thursday the thirteenth until Saturday the fifteenth. It stopped ringing at that point, but it began again on Corpus Christi 33. Starting in the twelfth century, the itinerant court of the kings of Castile often resided in Valladolid. Anne of Austria, Louis XIV’s mother, and her brother Philip IV, Carlos II’s father, were born there. 34. The chapel of the San Gregorio School (middle school), built by the architects Juan Guas and Juan de Talavera, commissioned by Fray Alonso of Burgos, founder of the school. Built on the site of an old Dominican chapel, it was completed in 1490. In the sixteenth century, the Duke of Lerma, Philip III’s favorite, added magnificent sculptures imitating the splendor of the Royal Chapel at L’Escorial. 35. The portal of St. Gregorio College is one of the best examples of Spanish art. The fleurs-de-lis figure on the coat of arms of Fray Alonso of Burgos. 36. Old palace built by Alfonse XI in 1350 and converted into a convent by Peter the Cruel to house his mistress, Maria of Padilla.

Third Letter 79 as they were about to start the procession.37 It also rang when Alfonso V, King of Aragon, went to Italy to take possession of Naples.38 It sounded at the death of Charles V. It marked the departure to Africa of Don Sebastián, King of Portugal, the last days of Philip II, and the death of his last wife, Queen Anne.” “You’d like me to believe you, Don Fernando,” said I. “Perhaps I seem too stubborn to give in, but you’ll admit that there are details one might doubt.” “Rather confess, Madame,” he replied playfully, “that it’s your lack of faith in me, for I haven’t told you anything that isn’t known to everyone. But perhaps you’ll sooner believe Don Esteve of Carvajal in a thing as extraordinary in his country.” At the same time, he called him and asked whether it was true that there was a bell in the convent of the preaching friars in Cordova, which never fails to ring every time a religious is to die, so they know the time, give or take a day. Don Esteve confirmed what Don Fernand said, and if I wasn’t entirely convinced, at least I pretended to be. “You’re traveling through Old Castile so quickly,” continued Don Fernand, “that you won’t have time to see anything remarkable. Everyone is talking about a portrait of the Holy Virgin which was found mysteriously stamped on a rock. It belongs to the Augustine nuns of Avila, and many people go there out of devotion. But people are as curious about salt mines nearby, in a village called Mangraville.39 You go down more than two hundred steps underground and enter a huge cave, formed by nature, whose top is supported by a single pillar of rock salt of surprising size and beauty. Not far away, in the city of Soria, there’s a big bridge without a river, and a big river without a bridge, because the bed of the river shifted due to an earthquake.” “But if you come as far as Medina del Campo,”40 he added, “I’m sure that the inhabitants would give you a grand entry for the simple reason that you are French, and they take pride in liking them in order to distinguish themselves from other Castilians. Their city has so many privileges that the king of Spain doesn’t have the power to name officers in it, nor does the pope have the right to confer benefices. That right belongs to the burghers, and they often fight among themselves for the election of churchmen and magistrates. “One of the things that foreigners find most beautiful in this region is the Segovia aqueduct, which is five leagues in length.41 It has more than two hundred arches, extraordinarily high, although in certain places they stand one atop another. It’s built in freestone, without mortar or cement joining them. It’s be37. A festival in honor of the Eucharist, celebrated on the Thursday after Trinity Sunday (the Sunday after Pentecost). GV 38. In 1421. GV 39. D’Aulnoy seems to be the only one to mention this name. GV 40. City close to Valladolid, in Castile. 41. About 5.5 kilometers or 3.5 miles. GV

80 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY lieved to have been made by the Romans, or at least worthy of them.42 The river at the outskirts of the city surrounds the castle built on rock and serves as a moat. Among several remarkable things, you can see the portraits of the Kings of Spain that have ruled all the cities of the kingdom throughout the centuries. Coins are minted only in Sevilla and in Segovia. The pieces of eight made in the latter are considered more beautiful than the others. The river there powers several mills that turn out and stamp the coins. You can also find rustic walks along a meadow planted with elms, whose foliage is so dense that the blazing heat of the sun can’t penetrate it.” “I don’t lack curiosity,” I said, “for all things that deserve it, but at present I lack the time to see them. However, I’d be very pleased to arrive early in Burgos so that I can visit the city.” “This means, Madame,” Don Fernand replied, “that it’s time to let you retire for the night.” He alerted the other gentlemen, who stopped their game, and we separated. I got up before dawn this morning, and I’m finishing this letter in Burgos where I’ve just arrived. And so, my dear cousin, I won’t send you anything else today. But I’ll take advantage of the first opportunity to send you my news.

42. Built in the first century CE, this aqueduct transported water from the Rio Fria to the city of Segovia. It has two levels of arches and measures 818 meters long and 28 meters high at its highest point.

FOURTH LETTER

March 5, 1679, from Lerma

City of Burgos When we arrived in Burgos, we noticed that it’s certainly colder than any of the other cities we passed. They say that you never endure the long and excessive heat waves here that kill in other parts of Spain. The city is built on the slope of a mountain and stretches out into the plain to the river, which washes up to the foot of the city’s walls. The streets are very narrow and uneven. The castle, which is not great but strong, can be seen atop the mountain.1 A little lower is the triumphal arch of Fernando Gonçales, which onlookers find extremely beautiful.2 This city was the first reconquered from the Moors, and the kings of Spain resided here for a long time. It’s the capital of Old Castile and the most important city of the two Castiles, although Toledo disputes that rank.3 Among the city’s fine buildings, the palace of the Velascos is one of the most magnificent.4 At all the crossroads and in the squares there are gushing fountains with statues, some of which are well executed. But what’s most beautiful is the cathedral.5 It’s so big and vast that Mass can be sung in five different chapels simultaneously without one interrupting another. Its architecture is so delicate and exquisitely wrought that it can be considered a masterpiece of art among Gothic buildings. And that’s all the more remarkable because they don’t build very well in Spain. In some places it’s due to poverty, in others, lack of stones and lime. I was told that even in Madrid you can 1. Only the ruins of the castle remain today. 2. D’Aulnoy refers to the Arco de Santa Maria (St. Mary’s gateway), actually a fourteenth-century crenelated gate. It was modified in the sixteenth century to make a triumphal arch in honor of the emperor Charles V. It represents famous historical figures of Burgos, including Count Fernán González, the first autonomous count of Castile (ca. 910–970), and Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar (ca. 1043–1099)—“The Cid” in Arabic—legendary hero of the Reconquista, the military campaigns against the Moors lasting nearly eight centuries by which the Christians reclaimed the Iberian peninsula. The deeds of the Cid and his wife, Doña Jimena, have been immortalized in numerous plays, films, folktales, songs, and even video games. Their tombs lie in the Burgos Cathedral. GV 3. Alfonso III the Great, king of León, reconquered Burgos in the middle of the ninth century. Burgos became the capital of the united kingdom of Castile and León in 1037 and remained the capital until 1492. Toledo was reconquered in 1085, and the Christians gradually reoccupied territory that encompassed the provinces of Ciudad Real, Cuenca, Guadalajara, Madrid, and Toledo. First known as the Kingdom of Toledo, it was later called New Castile. GV 4. Palace of the Velascos, dukes of Frías. The House of Velasco was one of the most powerful and influential noble Castilian families in the Middle Ages and the beginning of the modern era. Duke of Frías is a hereditary title created in 1492 by King Ferdinand II of Aragon. GV 5. The Burgos cathedral is the third largest in Spain. It was built in several stages, in distinct Gothic and early Renaissance styles. Its construction began in 1221 and continued off and on until 1567. It was declared a World Heritage Site by UNESCO in 1984. GV

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82 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY see earthen houses, and the finest are made of bricks with mud mortar rather than lime. To go from the city to the suburbs of Bega, you cross three stone bridges. The gate corresponding to St. Mary’s arch is very high, with the image of the Virgin on top. This suburb includes most of the convents and hospitals. You can also see a very large hospital founded by Philip II to receive the pilgrims to Santiago de Compostela and to house them for a day.6 The magnificent abbey of Mille Flores is not far away.7 You can also see in this suburb several gardens watered by fountains and streams of running water. The river serves as a channel, and in a great park surrounded by walls you can find walks year-round. I wished to see the holy crucifix in the convent of the Augustines.8 It’s in a chapel of the cloister, quite large and so dark that you can barely distinguish it in the glimmer of lamps that are always lit. There are more than a hundred of them, some gold, some silver, so massive that they cover the entire vault of the chapel. There are sixty silver candlesticks, taller than the tallest men and so heavy that two or three men are needed to move them. They line the floor on both sides of the altar, and the ones on top are solid gold. Between them you can see gold crosses set with precious stones and crowns hanging over the altar adorned with diamonds and pearls of great beauty. The chapel is covered with very thick gold cloth. It is so loaded with rarities and votive offerings that there’s hardly any room to put them all, so a large number are kept in the Treasury. The holy crucifix stands on the altar and is almost life-size. It’s covered with three curtains, one atop the other, and all are embroidered with pearls and gems. When they’re opened—which happens only after very elaborate ceremonies and for distinguished persons—several bells are rung, and all fall to their knees. You have to agree that this place and this sight inspire profound respect. The Crucified One is a beautifully made sculpture, with very natural flesh tones. It’s covered from waist to feet with a fine cloth, tightly pleated, forming a kind of skirt that—at least in my opinion—doesn’t suit it. It’s commonly held that Nicodemus is the one who made the crucifix, but those who prefer the supernatural claim that it was delivered from heaven miraculously. I was told that some monks of this town once absconded with it, but it was found the next day in its usual place in the chapel. Then the good monks took it away by force a second time, and it came back again. In any case, it works miracles and is one of the main objects of devotion in Spain. The religious say it sweats every Friday. 6. The Hospital del Rey (King’s Hospital) was founded by Alfonso VIII in 1195 and rebuilt during the Renaissance. It’s now the central campus of the University of Burgos, founded in 1994. GV 7. The Miraflores Charterhouse, a Carthusian monastery, stands on the site of a palace built for Henry III (1401). The church was finished in 1484, during the reign of Isabella I of Castile, and is a treasure of Isabelline Gothic style. GV 8. The Christ of Burgos (anonymous, fourteenth century), made of buffalo hide and human hair, beard, and eyebrows, is now venerated in the Burgos cathedral.

Fourth Letter 83 I was about to go into the inn when we saw Don Pedro Cardona’s valet running after us as fast as he could. He was wearing boots and three religious were following him, very agitated. At that moment I came to a rash conclusion, for I couldn’t help believing that he had stolen something in this rich chapel and had been caught in the act. When his master (who was with me), asked why he was running so fast, the valet said that he had entered the chapel of the Holy Crucifix and was the last one there. Then the religious locked him in to force him to give money. He had escaped after receiving a few punches in the face, but they were still chasing after him, as we just saw. Apparently, you can’t wear spurs in the chapel, or at least it costs you something.9 The city isn’t very big; it has a beautiful square lined with high pillars that support fine houses. Bullfights are held here, for the people really enjoy this type of entertainment. There’s also a very well-built bridge, long and wide. The river that flows beneath waters a meadow, on the edge of which you see trees that form very pleasant groves. In the past, trade was considerable, but it’s now quite diminished. The best Castilian is spoken here, and the men are naturally soldiers. Whenever the king needs some, he finds the soldiers here more brave and numerous than elsewhere. In the conversation by the brazier, Don Sancho Sarmiento (from Galicia) complies with d’Aulnoy’s request for an eye-witness account of the bloody repression of the people of Messina, Sicily, by the viceroy of the king of Spain, the Marquis de Las Navas (1674–1678). Don Sancho is troubled by the violence. (Seguin 98–101)

Views of Galicia “Please tell me instead about some of most the remarkable things in your country,” I said. “Ah, Madame,” he cried out,” “you mean to insult me, for I don’t doubt you know that Galicia is so poor and plain that there’s nothing to brag about. It’s true that the city of Santiago de Compostela is quite considerable. It’s the capital of the province, and few in Spain are superior in greatness and riches. Its archbishopric is worth seventy thousand crowns of income per year, and its chapter as much. It’s situated in a pleasant plain surrounded by low hills, and it seems that nature put them there to protect the city from deadly winds that blow from other mountains. There’s a university, beautiful palaces, great churches, public squares, and one of the largest and best-equipped hospitals in Europe. It has two extraordinarily large courtyards with buildings on all four sides and fountains in the center.10 Several 9. The valet was probably wearing spurs. GV 10. Founded in 1486 by Isabella I of Castile and Ferdinand II of Aragon as a hostel and hospital for pilgrims, it was converted in 1954 into a five-star Parador hotel, the Hostal Dos Reis Católicos. GV

84 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY Knights of St. James live in this city, and the metropolitan cathedral, dedicated to this saint, conserves his body.11 It’s extremely beautiful and prodigiously rich. They claim that at his tomb you can hear a clanking as if arms were striking, a noise that is heard only when the Spanish are about to suffer some great loss. The saint’s statue stands on the altar, and pilgrims kiss it three times and put their hat on its head as part of the ceremony.12 They have another rather odd ritual; they climb on top of the church, which is covered by flat stone slabs. On that spot is an iron cross to which pilgrims attach a few shreds of their clothing. They pass under this cross by a passage so narrow that they have to slide across the pavement on their stomachs, and those that are not slender are ready to burst. But there have been such simpleminded or superstitious pilgrims who forget, so they walk back four or five hundred leagues just to do this, for you see pilgrims from all parts of the world. France has a chapel, very well cared for. They assure that the kings of France are great benefactors, from time to time. The underground church is more beautiful than the upper one.13 You can see superb tombs and very ancient epitaphs that arouse the travelers’ curiosity. The archbishop’s palace is great, vast, and well built, and its antiquity contributes to its beauty rather than detracts from it.”14 “A man I know, a passionate seeker of etymologies,” I said, “is convinced that the city of Compostela was thus named because Saint James must have been martyred where he would see a star appear in a place called Campo-Stella.”15 “It’s true,” he continued, “that some people allege this. But people’s zeal and credulity goes much further. At Padion, near Compostela, they exhibit a hollow stone and claim that it was the little boat on which St. James arrived after crossing so many seas, where, without a continual miracle, the stone would have surely sunk to the bottom.” “You don’t seem to believe this,” said I. He smiled and continued. 11. Built between 1075 and 1211, the Santiago de Compostela cathedral replaced an ancient basilica built on the tomb of the apostle St. James the Great. When pilgrimages to the Holy Land became dangerous due to the Turkish invasion in the eleventh century, pilgrimages to the cathedral’s shrine of St. James became as meritorious as those to Jerusalem and Rome (earning the pilgrims a plenary indulgence) and extremely popular. In 1985, the city’s Old Town was designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site. 12. A thirteenth-century statue of St. James, sumptuously decorated, hangs above the main altar. Pilgrims can kiss the saint’s cloak by climbing a stair behind the altar. 13. The eleventh-century crypt, built to make up for the difference in height and support one of the porticos, is actually a small Romanesque church in the form of the Latin cross, with beautiful columns and elaborate capitals. 14. D’Aulnoy refers to the Gelmírez palace, whose oldest parts date back to the twelfth century. 15. According to another legend, at the beginning of the ninth century, a star revealed to some shepherds the place where the tomb of St. James was to be found, and that place became known as the campus stella. However, recent research claims that the name comes from the Low Latin compostela, which means “cemetery.”

Fourth Letter 85 Don Sancho Sarmiento then describes the bedraggled Galician militia, the peasants so proud to bear arms that they neglect their fields, and their frequent stand-offs with a Portuguese town across the border. He speaks of natural curiosities, such as boiling and freezing springs and tides in a river far from the sea. They part for the night. (Seguin 103–4)

Another Misadventure in a Spanish Inn When I wanted to go to bed, I was led to a dormitory full of beds like you see in hospitals. I said that this was ridiculous, and that, needing only four beds, it was not necessary to give me thirty and put me in a hall where I would freeze. They answered that it was the cleanest place in the house, and I had to put up with it. I had my bed made, but hardly was I lying down when someone knocked softly at my door. My women opened it and were very surprised to see the master and mistress followed by a dozen wretches, so poorly dressed that they were almost naked. At the noise they made, I opened my curtain, and I opened my eyes even wider at the sight of this noble company. The mistress came up to me and said that these were honest travelers who were going to sleep in the empty beds. “What! Sleep here?” said I. “I think you are losing your mind!” “I would be losing it indeed,” said she, “if I were to leave so many beds unoccupied. You must, Madame, pay for them or else these gentlemen stay here.” I can’t tell you how angry I was; I was tempted to send for Don Fernand and my knights, who would have thrown them out the windows rather than the door. But, all things considered, this would have been a great uproar for a dozen miserable mats. And so I calmed down and agreed to pay twenty sols for each of the beds.16 They are hardly more expensive at Fontainebleau when the court is there. These illustrious Spaniards, or more precisely, these rascals who had the insolence to enter this dormitory, withdrew immediately after bowing and scraping many times. The next day I thought I would die laughing, even if it was at my expense, when I learned how cleverly my hosts ruined me. First of all, let me tell you that those supposed travelers were their neighbors, and they are used to this ploy when they see foreigners. But when I tried to count the beds to pay for them, they rolled them all into the middle of the dormitory and started to pull out planks lining the wall that were hiding holes full of straw, not even good enough bedding for dogs. However, I still paid twenty sous for each of those. Four pistoles ended our little dispute.17 I didn’t even have the strength to get angry, so strange I found it all. I 16. The sol or sou during the Old Regime was worth 1/20 of a livre or pound (which became the franc in 1795). The value of currency fluctuated over the years. Under Louis XIV, a bad meal at an inn could cost five sous; a day laborer would earn around thirty sous per day. GV 17. A pistole is the French name for a Spanish gold coin, worth approximately ten livres. Thus, the four pistoles d’Aulnoy paid amounted to eight hundred sous. GV

86 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY would not tell you about this little incident if it didn’t serve to give you an insight into the character of this nation.

The Marquise de los Rios, Widows and Nuns It was quite late when we left Burgos. The weather was so bad and it had rained so much during the night that I waited as long as I could, hoping it would stop. Finally, I decided to leave and climbed into the litter. Not yet far from the city, I already regretted having left. No track could be seen, especially the one over the big mountain, very high and steep, which we had to take. One of our muleteers who went ahead of us took such a steep slope that he fell into a kind of precipice, cracked his head, and dislocated his arm. Since it was the famous Philip of San Sebastián, who’s more intelligent than all the others and usually leads people of quality to Madrid, everyone was concerned and we stayed a very long time to pull him out. Don Fernand kindly gave him his litter. Night fell quickly, and we would’ve been satisfied to return to Burgos, but this was impossible. The paths were as covered with snow in that direction as in the others. So we had to stop at Modrigalesco, which has fewer than a dozen houses, and I can say that we were besieged without having enemies. This adventure caused us some concern even though we had brought provisions for several days. The best house in the village was half uncovered. Shortly after I’d settled in, an old man asked for me on behalf of a lady who had just arrived. He paid me a compliment, saying that she had discovered this was the only place where you could be less uncomfortable than elsewhere, so she kindly requested that I allow her to stay with me. He added that she was a person of quality from Andalusia, recently widowed, and he had the honor of being in her household. Don Esteve of Carvajal, who is from the same region, didn’t fail to ask her name. The old gentleman told him that it was the Marquise de los Rios. Hearing this name, he turned toward me and spoke of her as person whose merit and birth were equally distinguished. I accepted this good company with pleasure. She immediately came in her litter, which she hadn’t yet left because she hadn’t found a house that could offer her lodging. Her outfit seemed very odd to me. You had to be as beautiful as she is to look charming wearing it. She had a bodice of black fabric and a skirt of the same and, over that, a kind of surplice of batiste cloth that came down below the knees. The sleeves were long, tight around the arms, and fell down to her hands. This surplice was attached to the bodice, and since it was not pleated in front, it looked like a bib. On her head she wore a piece of muslin that surrounded her face and looked like a nun’s wimple except that it was too crumpled and too light. It covered her breast and fell below the bottom of her skirt. Her hair couldn’t be seen at all; it was all hidden by this muslin. She wore a big mantle of black taffeta that covered her

Fourth Letter 87 to the floor, and over the mantle she had a hat with a very wide brim, tied under the chin with silk strings. I was told that they only wear this hat when they travel. Such is the outfit of widows and dueñas, awful in my eyes. And if at night you run into a woman dressed like this, I’m convinced that you could be scared without being called a coward. However, I have to admit that this young lady was marvelously beautiful in this ugly mourning outfit. They never take it off unless they marry again, and with all of the customs widows must observe in this country, they’re obliged to weep over the death of a husband they hardly loved when he was alive. I learned that they spend the first year of mourning in a chamber hung in black where they don’t see a single ray of sun. They sit cross-legged on a little mattress of Holland linen. When this year is over, they retire into a chamber hung in gray where they can’t have paintings, or mirrors, or cabinets, or fine tables, or any silver furnishings. They don’t dare wear jewelry and even less colors. However modest they are, they must live in such retirement that their soul already seems to be in the other world. This great constraint motivates very rich ladies who have beautiful furniture to remarry in order to have the pleasure of using it. After the first greetings, I asked the beautiful widow where she was going. She told me that for a long time she hadn’t seen a friend of her mother who was a nun at Las Huelgas de Burgos, a famous abbey where there are one hundred and fifty nuns, most of them daughters of princes, dukes, and titled persons.18 The abbess exercises secular authority over fourteen big cities and more than fifty other places, where she names governors and magistrates. She is the superior of seventeen convents, bestows benefices, and disposes of twelve commanderships in favor of whomever she pleases. The widow told me that she intended to spend some time in this monastery. “Would you be able to get used to such a retired life as in a convent?” I asked. “It won’t be difficult for me,” she said. “I even think that I saw fewer people at my house than I will see there. Indeed, except for within the cloister, these nuns have a great deal of freedom. Usually the best-looking girls of a family are put there. These poor children enter so young—as early as six or seven years old and even earlier—that they don’t understand what they must forfeit or what they must accept. They’re made to take vows. Very often it’s the father, mother, or close relative who pronounces them while the little victim plays with sweets and lets them dress her as they wish. Still the deal holds; they can’t think of going back on 18. The Abbey of Santa María la Real de Las Huelgas was founded in 1187 by Alphonso VIII of Castile and his wife, Eleanor of England, daughter of Eleanor of Aquitaine and King Henry II of England. Huelgas, which today means “labor strikes,” meant “fallow lands” in the twelfth century, and this land was used for the king’s pleasure. The Cistercian nuns were all of royal or noble birth, and the abbess enjoyed great authority and prerogatives. The king and queen also created the affiliated Royal Hospital, subject to the abbess, for pilgrims to Santiago de Compostela. GV

88 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY it. Apart from this, they have everything they can wish for according to their rank. There are some nuns in Madrid called the Ladies of St. James. Properly speaking, they’re canonesses who must prove themselves, like the knights of this order. Like them, the ladies wear a sword made in the shape of a cross, embroidered in crimson silk. They have them on their scapula and on their great mantles, which are white. Their house is magnificent, and all who come to visit enter without difficulty. Their apartments are very beautiful, as well furnished as they would be in high society. They receive generous pensions, and each has three or four women to serve her. It’s true that they never go out and that they see their close relatives only through several grates. This might displease in other countries, but in Spain they’re used to it. “In some convents, nuns see more cavaliers than do women living in the world. They’re also hardly less charming. It’s impossible to have more wit and delicacy than they, and, as I’ve already told you, Madame, there are more beauties here than in the outside world. But it must be acknowledged that among them, some resent very deeply having been sacrificed so early. They consider the pleasures they’ve never tasted as the only ones that can bring happiness. They spend their life in a state of dignified misfortune, saying all the time that they are only there by force, and that the vows they were made to pronounce at age five or six should be regarded like children’s games.” “Madame,” I said to her, “it would’ve been a great shame if your relatives had destined you to live like this and, in seeing you, one observes that not all beautiful Spanish women are nuns.” “Alas, Madame,” she said with a heavy sigh, “I don’t know what I’d like to be. I seem to have a twisted mind not contented with my fortune, but sometimes we have sorrows that the full force of reason can’t overcome.” She cast her eyes to the ground and fell into such deep thought that I could judge easily she had great reasons to be distressed. However curious I was to find to out why, we’d only just met so I didn’t dare ask her to confide in me. But to draw her out of her melancholy mood, I entreated her to give me some news of the Spanish court, since she was coming from Madrid.19

Latest News of the Spanish Court She regained her composure with effort. She then told us that there was a light show and great festivities to celebrate the Queen Mother’s birthday. The king had sent one of his gentlemen of the chamber to Toledo to compliment her on his behalf, but this display of filial piety didn’t prevent the Marquis of Mancero, 19. The information the Marquise de los Rios gives is actually taken from the Gazette of 1679. Since d’Aulnoy was traveling at the time, she could not read the Gazette but probably checked it later when writing Travels. GV

Fourth Letter 89 the queen’s majordomo, from also receiving the king’s order to withdraw twenty leagues away from the court, which upset the queen greatly.20 The marquise informed us that the fleet carrying troops to Galicia had unfortunately shipwrecked on the coast of Portugal; that the little Duchess of Terranova21 was to marry Don Nicolo de Pignatelli, prince of Monteleon, her uncle; that the Marquis de Leganez had refused the vice-royalty of Sardinia because he was in love with a beautiful woman and could not bring himself to leave her. She added that Don Carlos Omodeï, Marquis of Almonazid, was deathly ill out of despair that he had been refused the honors of grandee of Spain, which he claims, because he married the heiress of the house and grandeeship of Castel Rodrigo. What afflicted him most was that Don Ariel de Guzman, the lady’s first husband, had enjoyed this honor. Thus, he regarded the difficulties they made for him as a personal insult, another cause of his sorrow.22 “Really, Madame,” I said to her, “I’ve a hard time understanding how a noble-hearted man can become so depressed over things of this nature. Anything that attacks neither honor nor reputation should not be a mortal offense.” “Our ambition is not so well ordered in Spain,” the beautiful widow went on with a smile, “and, as you can see, Madame, here’s the proof.” Don Frederic of Cardona, who took great interest in the duke of Medina Celi, asked her for news of him.23 “The king,” she said, “just made him president of the Council of the Indies.24 The Queen Mother wrote to the king, following the rumors that he wanted to marry. She expressed surprised that his marriage plans were so advanced and he had not informed her. In addition, her letter advised him to make a trip to Catalonia and Aragon while waiting for the ceremony. Don Juan of Austria understands the need for this, and he presses the king to comply in order to satisfy 20. The Queen Mother was born on December 24, 1634. Don Juan of Austria exiled her from Madrid in 1677. This palace coup was due to dissatisfaction at court with her support for her favorite, Fernando de Valenzuela, rumored to be her lover. She went to Toledo but returned to Madrid upon Juan’s death on September 17, 1679. GV 21. The Duchess of Terranova inherited an immense fortune from her great grandfather Hernán Cortés. She had married Andrea Pignatelli, seventh Duke of Monteleon, with whom she had a daughter, married to the Duke d’Hijar, and a son who died, leaving several children, including a daughter who married at a very young age her great-uncle, Nicolo Pignatelli. 22. Carlos Homoide, also the Grand Commander of the Order of Christ, Viceroy and General Captain of Catalonia, Grand Equerry to Queen Marie-Louise-Gabrielle of Savoie, was the second husband of Leonor de Moura y Moncada, fourth Marquise of Castel Rodrigo. Her first husband was Ariel de Guzmán, who had been Viceroy of Sicily. 23. Juan Francisco Tomás de la Cerda, Duke of Medinaceli, was one of the most influential men in Europe. He succeeded Don Juan José of Austria at the head of the government, more for his family’s fame and riches than for his abilities as head of state. He was forced to resign in 1685. 24. Created by Queen Isabel, this institution was to advise the monarch.

90 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY the people of Aragon by swearing an oath, as is the custom of new kings, to maintain all of their ancient privileges.” “Madame,” I interrupted, “do the Aragonese have different privileges than the Castilians?” “Yes,” she went on, “they have quite particular ones. And since you are a foreigner, I think you’d appreciate some information on this matter. Here’s what I have learned.”

Special Privileges of the Aragonese25 “The daughter of Count Julian, named Cava, was one of the most beautiful women in the world. The king Don Rodrigo fell so madly in love with her that his passion and his fury knew no limits. The father, in Africa at the time, was informed of his daughter’s rape and only breathed vengeance. He dealt with the Moors and gave them the means to enter Spain and to cause, for several centuries, all the disorder that history speaks of at length.26 “The Aragonese were the first to shake off the shackles of these barbarians. Not finding a prince descended from the line of the Gothic kings, they agreed to elect one and cast their eyes on a lord of this land named Garcia Ximenes. But, since they had the power to impose laws on him and he was only too happy to command them under whatever conditions they stipulated, they gave very strict limits to his power.” The Marquise de Los Rios describes these limits and their history in Aragon. If the king failed to respect these laws, he lost his power and the people had the right to choose another king. They established a sovereign magistrate, the Justicia, who watches the king’s actions and can only be sanctioned by the Cortes (parliament). The king must pay homage to the Justicia. Over the years, several kings fought against these restrictions to their powers. The law of Manifestation demonstration, a singular law that still remains, allows an individual to appeal the decision of a judge to the Justicia, who can punish the judge at fault by taking his estate or his life. Nevertheless, the unjust judge’s decision 25. According to Foulché Delbosc (240n2) for this information on Aragon given by the Marquise de los Rios, d’Aulnoy drew upon Antoine de Brunel, Voyage d’Espagne (1655), 1666 edition, Cologne, Pierre Marteau, 300–309. GV 26. Legend has it that Don Julian facilitated the Muslims’ entry into the Iberian peninsula in 711 out of revenge against Don Rodrigo, the last Visigoth king, for raping his daughter. Julian is said to have accompanied the Muslim troops when they crossed the strait of Gibraltar in 711. Rodrigo died during the Battle of Guadalete in 711 or 712. Historians still do not agree on the causes or chronology. GV D’Aulnoy’s note: This happened in 714, after the battle on St. Martin’s day when Don Rodrigo lost his life; others say that he fled to Portugal and died there in a town named Viscii.

Fourth Letter 91 is executed, and the plaintiff may also lose his life, though innocent. (Seguin 112–13) The Aragonese have the custom of distinguishing the crime committed by the type of torture used as punishment. For example, a cavalier who kills another in a duel (for dueling is forbidden) is beheaded from the front, but the one who assassinates is beheaded from the back. This is to distinguish the one who behaved like a gentleman from the traitor. The Marquise de los Rios added, speaking generally of the Aragonese, that they have a natural pride difficult to suppress. But, to be fair, you have to acknowledge that among them you find higher mindedness, good taste, and such noble sentiments that they distinguish themselves favorably from all the other subjects of the king of Spain. They’ve never been without great men, from their first king to Ferdinand—and they counted so many of them that it seemed a great exaggeration. It’s true, however, that they became very praiseworthy for their valor and their spirit. Description of the dry land, the Ebro River, Saragossa, the archbishopric, the vice-royalty, and the harsh Inquisition. (Seguin 114) “But that doesn’t prevent this kingdom from producing great bands of robbers, called bandoleros, who spread across Spain and give no quarter to travelers.27 Sometimes they kidnap women of quality and then hold them for ransom so that their family would buy them back, but when they are beautiful, the kidnappers keep them. This is the worst misfortune that can befall victims because they spend their lives with the most evil people in the world, who keep them in horrible caves or carry the women with them on horseback. The bandoleros are furiously jealous. One of the captains, fatally wounded by soldiers sent into the mountains to capture him, had his mistress with him (she belonged to the family of the Marquis de Camaraza, grandee of Spain). When she saw him in such a state, her only thought was to take advantage of the moment to escape. Though he was dying, he grabbed her by the hair and plunged his dagger into her breast, saying that he did not want anyone else to possess property that had been so dear to him. That’s what he admitted to the soldiers who found him and saw this sorry sight.”28 The beautiful Marquise de Los Rios fell silent at that point and I thanked her, as much as I should, for having been kind enough to inform me of such curious things that I might not have ever known. 27. Indeed, bands of brigands roamed most of the Spanish roads, especially in Aragon and Catalonia, where the mountainous terrain provided natural shelters. 28. Brunel does mention the vandoleros ([sic], p. 312). But d’Aulnoy adds the description of their kidnapping of women and their murderous jealousy. GV

92 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY “I didn’t think, Madame,” she said to me, “that you owed me any thanks. Rather, I feared that I deserved criticism for such a long and boring conversation, but this is a failing that one can fall into without realizing it when talking about something extraordinary.” I didn’t allow her to eat elsewhere, and I invited her to share my bed because she didn’t have hers. My honest and courteous behavior won her over. She assured me of this in such friendly terms that I had no doubts, for I have to say that Spanish women are more affectionate than we, and they have much more tender and considerate manners than ours for expressing what pleases them. Finally, I couldn’t help saying to her that if she had all the friendship she expressed for me, she could also have the kindness to tell me what distressed her, for I had heard her sighing at night. She was dreamy and melancholic, and if she could find some relief in sharing her sorrow with me, I would be happy to serve her as a faithful friend. She embraced me tenderly and said that she would satisfy my curiosity without delay. And she began speaking in these words.

The Story of Mariana de Los Rios29 Narration of the Marquise de Los Rios begins: “Since you’d like to know me, Madame, I must disguise nothing and admit my weaknesses. I hope that by my sincerity I’ll prove deserving of your very kind curiosity. “My birth is not a distinguished one. My father’s name was Davila and he was just a banker, but respected and well-off. We are from Seville, capital of Andalusia, and have always lived there. My mother knew the world and saw many people of quality and, since I was her only child, she raised me with great care. I was well behaved and fortunate so that when people saw me they wished me well. “We had two neighbors who came to our house very often and were welcomed by my father and mother. Their rank and age were very different: one was the Marquis de Los Rios, rich and of noble birth, a widower advanced in years; the other was the son of a great merchant who traded in the Indies, young, handsome, witty, and very well bred. His name was Mendez. It wasn’t long before he fell so passionately in love with me that he did everything to please me and encourage me to respond. “He was present everywhere I went; he spent the entire night under my window giving me concerts or singing verses he had composed for me that he accompanied very well on his harp. In a word, he neglected nothing that could please me and express his passion. But, seeing that his fervor didn’t have all the effect he expected—and having spent quite a long time without daring to speak to 29. This is the third embedded story, omitted in the F-D edition. GV

Fourth Letter 93 me of his feelings—he finally decided to take advantage of the first opportunity to have a conversation with me. “I started avoiding him after talking it over with one of my friends who had more experience and knowledge of the world than I. I had felt that Mendez’s presence gave me joy, and my heart felt something for him that it did not feel for the others. When his business or our visits prevented me from seeing him, I was worried. Since I was very fond of this friend and I was equally dear to her, she had noticed that I was less cheerful than usual and that sometimes my eyes would fix on Mendez. One day when she was teasing me about this, I said to her very innocently. “ ‘My dear Henriette, don’t refuse to explain the feelings I have for Mendez. I don’t yet know whether I should fear them and resist them. But I think that I’d be very sad to do so and that those feelings give me pleasure.’ “She began to laugh, gave me a kiss, and said, ‘My dear child, there’s no doubt, you’re in love.’ “ ‘In love!’ I cried out in fear. ‘You’re wrong. I don’t want to be in love.’ “ ‘That doesn’t always depend on us,’ she continued more seriously. ‘Our star decides this before our heart. But deep down, what frightens you so much? Mendez’s rank is equal to yours. He has many admirable qualities. He is goodlooking, and if his business continues as successfully as before, you can expect to be happy with him.’ “ ‘And who said,’ I interrupted, ‘that he’ll be happy with me, and even that he thinks of it?’ “ ‘Oh, take my word for it,’ she said. ‘All he does has a purpose, and no one spends his nights under windows and his days following a person he’s indifferent to.’ After a few more speeches of this nature, she left me, and I resolved, despite the reluctance I felt, not to give Mendez a chance to speak to me in private. “But one evening as I was taking a walk in the garden, he came to meet me. I was embarrassed to be alone with him, and he noticed this from my expression and the way I received him. This did not discourage him from having a conversation with me. ‘How happy I am, lovely Mariana,’ he said to me, ‘to find you alone. But should I say happy? Perhaps I’m wrong and should fear you don’t wish to hear a secret that I’d like to confide in you.’ “ ‘I’m still so young,’ I said, blushing, ‘that I’d advise you to say nothing to me unless you’d like me to share it with my girlfriends.’ “ ‘Hey!’ he continued, ‘what if I said to you that I adore you, that all my happiness depends on your feelings toward me, and that I can no longer live without some certainty that I may please you some day? Would you tell that to your friends?’ “ ‘No,’ I answered with great embarrassment. ‘I’d consider this secret to be joke, and, not wanting to believe it, I wouldn’t risk having others believe it.’ “We were interrupted as I was finishing these words. It seemed to me that he was not pleased with my response, and soon afterward he found an opportunity to reproach me.

94 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY I couldn’t bear to hear his complaints, and instead I listened to the tenderness I had for him. Everything he said seemed particularly graceful in his mouth, and he had no trouble persuading me that he loved me more than anything in the world. “Meanwhile, the Marquis de Los Rios found me so well bred and my behavior so appealing that he only thought of pleasing me. He was very considerate; he couldn’t bring himself to own me solely by virtue of my parents’ authority. He well knew that they’d be honored by the intentions he had for me, but he wanted me to consent before speaking to them. “With this in mind, he spoke to me one day and said all the most endearing things he could imagine. I replied that I would always consider it my essential duty to obey my father but, because of the difference in our ages, I advised him not to think of me. I would be eternally grateful for the flattering feelings he had expressed for me and would grant him my highest esteem, but I could only feel respect for him. Having heard me, he remained silent for a while, then made a very generous offer. “ ‘Charming Mariana,’ he said to me, ‘you could have made me the happiest man in the world, and if you had ambition, I could have satisfied it. Nevertheless, you refuse me and desire to belong to someone else, and I agree to it. I have too much love to hesitate in choosing between your happiness and mine. I thus sacrifice it entirely to you and withdraw forever.’ Finishing these words, he left me and seemed so distressed that I couldn’t help being moved. “Mendez arrived shortly afterward and found me sad. He insisted so much on having me reveal the cause that I couldn’t refuse him this proof of my favor. Anyone else would’ve been obliged to me for declining his rival. But far from valuing it, he said that he saw in my eyes that I already regretted refusing a suitor who could elevate me to a higher rank than his and that my behavior was quite cruel. I tried in vain to make him understand his own injustice but, whatever I said, he kept on blaming me for my inconstancy. I was surprised and saddened by his attitude and for several days didn’t want to talk to him. “He finally realized that he had no reason to complain. He came to see me; he apologized and said he was very sorry for not having controlled his jealousy. He blamed, as do all lovers, the force of his passion. I was so weak that I was willing to forget the pain he had caused me. We reconciled, and he continued to court me very attentively. “Having learned of the passion he had for me, his father thought that a better marriage couldn’t be arranged for son. After speaking to him about it, his father came to see my father to propose the marriage. They’d been friends for a long time, so he was well received, and my father granted what he desired with pleasure. “Mendez delivered the news to me with such enthusiasm that it would seem ridiculous to anyone but a mistress. My mother ordered me to be obliging toward

Fourth Letter 95 him. She told me that this matter was to my advantage. She said that we would conclude the marriage as soon as his fleet—in which he had a considerable investment—arrived from the Indies. “While this was happening, the Marquis de Los Rios had withdrawn to one of his estates and hardly saw anyone. He was wasting away. He still loved me but refrained from telling me and comforting himself in this innocent way. Finally, his body could no longer resist his deep depression, and he fell dangerously ill. Hearing from the doctors that there was no hope, he made an effort to write a most touching letter in which he willed his fortune to me if he died. My mother was in my room when a gentleman gave me his package, and she wanted to see what it contained. “I couldn’t help but tell her what had happened, and we were both surprised by the marquis’s extraordinary generosity. She sent him word that I would go with my family to thank him for a donation that I in no way deserved, and privately she scolded me for having made a mystery of what had taken place. I fell to her feet and tried to apologize as best I could. I expressed such sorrow to have displeased her that she forgave me easily. Leaving my room, she went to see my father and told him what had happened. They decided to go see the marquis the next day and to take me with them. “That evening I told Mendez about this and my fear that my parents would want me to marry this old man in case he survived. As sad as I seemed, he became so upset and blamed me so harshly that you had to love him as much as I did not to break off with him. But he had such an influence over my will. Even though he was most unfair, I considered him the most reasonable of men. “We went to see the Marquis de Los Rios, whose country house was just two leagues from Seville. Though dying, he received us with such joy that we noticed it easily. My father told him how sad he was to see him in such a state. He thanked him for the donation he had made to me and assured him that if he could find plausible reasons, he would break off the word he had given to Mendez. If this was successful, he would give his word to the marquis, and I would be his forever. The marquis accepted this assurance as it assured perfect happiness, but he knew well my sorrow. I turned pale, my eyes filled with tears, and when we were about to leave the marquis asked me to come closer to him. “With a dying voice he said, ‘Don’t fear, lovely lady. I love you too much to displease you. You will belong to Mendez since he has touched your heart.’ I told him that I had no particular penchant for Mendez but that I had been ordered to regard him as a future husband. Finally, I entreated him to recover. “It seemed to me that offering this assurance was the least I could do for someone to whom I owed so much. He seemed quite satisfied and, making an effort to take my hand and kiss it, he said, ‘Please remember that you commanded me to live and, since my life is your work, you will be obliged to preserve it.’

96 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY “When we returned home that evening, the impatient Mendez was waiting to shower me with new reproaches. I took them, as usual, as proof of his passion. And after justifying myself, I asked him whether there was any news of the fleet. ‘Alas!’ he said to me, ‘my father received some news that drives me to despair. I don’t dare tell you.’ “ ‘Are you hiding something from me?’ I asked, looking at him tenderly. ‘And can you believe that I’d take back my word to you?’ “ ‘I’m only too happy,’ he continued, ‘that you have such favorable dispositions, and indeed, since I can’t keep secrets from you, I have to confess that the galleon that held our entire fortune split open and ran aground. Most of its cargo is lost, but I would be much less upset, whatever share I had in it, if I didn’t foresee the serious of misfortunes this loss creates for me. Your presence will have restored health to the Marquis de Los Rios. Your family knows the feeling he has for you. He is rich and noble, but I will become miserable, and if you abandon me, my dear Mariana, my only hope will be a speedy death.’ “I was pierced with sorrow at such distressing news. I took one of his hands and holding it in mine, I declared: ‘My dear Mendez, don’t think that I’m able to love you and change by the effects of your good or bad fortune. If you’re able to make an effort to resist change, believe that I’ll be able to do the same. I call on Heaven to attest,’ I continued, ‘provided that you love me and are faithful to me, may he punish me if ever I change.’ “He expressed all the emotion he ought to at my moving assurances, and we resolved not to divulge news of this accident. “I withdrew very sad and shut myself in my private room, pondering the consequences that such a huge loss of property might bring. I was still there when I heard a faint knock on my window shutters (for I lived in a ground-floor apartment). I came closer and saw Mendez in the moonlight. “ ‘What are doing here at this hour?’ I said. “ ‘Alas,’ he said, ‘I came to try to speak to you before leaving. My father just received news of the galleon. He wants me to leave right away and go to the shipwreck to try to save whatever I can. It’s far from here, and it’ll be a long time before I’ll see you again. Ah! my dear Mariana, will you be true to what you promised me? May I hope that my dear mistress will remain faithful to me?’ “ ‘If you may hope,’ I said, interrupting him. ‘Mendez, what have I done to make you doubt it? Yes,’ I continued, ‘I will love you, should you be the most unfortunate of all men.’ “It would be trying your patience, Madame, to tell you everything we said in this painful separation. Though there seemed no danger, our hearts were so stricken that we already had a premonition of the tribulations we would face. Daybreak was near, and we finally had to say farewell. I saw him shed tears, and I was all wet with my own.

Fourth Letter 97 “I threw myself on my bed, mulling over a thousand dreadful thoughts, and I looked so downcast the next day that my father and my mother were afraid that I’d fall dangerously ill. “Mendez’s father came to see them to apologize that his son had gone without taking his leave of them. He added that it was such an urgent matter that he didn’t have a moment to spare. As for me, Madame, I had no more joy, I had no feelings, and if anything could give me some relief it was conversing with my dear Henriette, with whom I could complain freely about Mendez’s long absence. “Meanwhile, the Marquis de Los Rios was out of danger, and my father visited him often. I noticed one day that the expression on my mother’s face had changed dramatically. She and my father met for a long time behind closed doors with two clergymen who had come to see them and, after having conferred, they called for me for reasons I was not able to guess. “I was so upset when I went in that I didn’t know myself. One of these good fathers, venerable by his age and habit, spoke to me of the resignation we should have for God’s will, of His providence in what concerns us. His speech concluded with the news that Mendez had been captured by Algerians. He was taken as a slave and, unfortunately, these corsairs had found out that he was a rich merchant’s son, so they were asking an extraordinary ransom for him.30 The clergymen were in Algiers when he arrived, and they would have brought him back, but the money they had brought for all the captives was not even enough for his ransom alone. Returning home, they went to Mendez’s father to tell him the terrible news. They learned that he had left, and that losing a galleon carrying all his goods without having salvaged anything forced him to flee his creditors who were searching everywhere to have him put into prison. Things were in such a state that they saw no remedy for poor Mendez’s troubles. He was in the hands of Meluza, the most famous and self-serving of all corsairs. If I followed their advice and that of my parents, I would think of making another marriage. “I had listened to this fateful news so numb with fear that I could only interrupt them with heavy sighs. But when he told me that I must think of another match, I burst out and made such pitiful cries of regret that my father, my mother, and these good clergymen felt compassion for me. They took me to my room like a girl closer to death than life. They called for Doña Henriette, who was pained to see me so distressed and unhappy. I fell into a very deep depression. I tormented myself day and night; nothing could diminish the memory of my dear Mendez. “Having heard what had happened, the Marquis de Los Rios conceived such strong hopes that he was soon well enough to come ask my father, and even me, 30. D’Aulnoy calls the captors “corsairs”—privateers—rather than “pirates.” Although they were both bandits of the seas, in literature “corsairs” suggested more nobility than infamous pirates. See Sylvie Requemora-Gros, “Généalogie de la figure littéraire du pirate du XVIIe au XIXe siècle,” in La piraterie au fil de l’histoire; Un défi pour l’état, ed. Michèle Battesti (Paris: Presses de l’Université Paris-Sorbonne, 2014), 439–57. GV

98 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY about the state of the promise we had given him. I tried to explain that I had not taken back my word from Mendez, that he was suffering, but that I was no less promised to him. He listened to me without being convinced and said that I had as much desire to destroy myself as others had to save themselves. He added that it was concern for me as much as for himself that made him act. And, delighted to have a pretext that seemed plausible, he put such forceful pressure on my father that he consented to everything the marquis desired. “I can’t tell you, Madame, the depths of grief I fell into. ‘What happened, my lord, to the scrupulous consideration you had in not wanting my heart unless I gave it to you? If only you gave me some time to forget Mendez, maybe his absence and his discredit would make me indifferent to him. But at this time, as preoccupied as I am by the cruel accident that tears him away from me, you add new sorrows to what I have already suffered. And you believe that with my hand I could willingly give you my love!’ “ ‘I don’t know what I believe,’ he kept saying to me, ‘nor what I hope for. I know well that my consideration for you almost cost me my life. And if you’re not destined for me, another will possess you. But Mendez, by the state of his fortune, can no longer aspire to you. Finally, since your father and mother would like to settle your marriage, you’re very hard-hearted to refuse me. You can’t deny what I’ve done to please you. My behavior should be an assurance of my feelings. Who would be able to match a heart made like mine?’ “Days went by in arguments, entreaties, and continual affliction. “The marquis made steadier progress in my father’s mind than in mine. Finally, my mother sent for me and said that there was no more hesitating; my father insisted that I obey his orders. My pleas, my tears, my reproaches, my sorrow, my entreaties, all this was useless and just provoked harsher treatment. “They prepared everything necessary for my marriage. The marquis wanted everything to be magnificent and worthy of his nobility. He sent me a casket full of jewelry, worth one hundred thousand pounds of precious stones. The fatal day for our wedding was set. Seeing myself reduced to this extremity, I made a decision that will surprise you, Madame, but one that shows a great passion. I went to Doña Henriette, the friend who had always been so faithful to me, and threw myself at her feet. I surprised her by this extraordinary action. “’My dear Henriette,’ I said to her, bursting into tears, ‘there’s no more remedy to my troubles, and if you have pity for me don’t abandon me, I beg you, in my pitiful state. They want me to marry the Marquis de Los Rios tomorrow. I can’t possibly avoid it any longer. If the friendship you promised me is unfailing and makes you capable of courageous action, you’ll not refuse to follow my fortune and come with me to Algiers to pay Mendez’s ransom and rescue him from cruel slavery. You see me at your knees,’ I continued, embracing them (for whatever efforts she made, I would not rise). ‘I won’t let go until you give me your word to do what I wish.’

Fourth Letter 99 “She was so upset to see me at her feet I that stood up to make her answer me. She immediately embraced me with great marks of tenderness. ‘I will never refuse you anything, my dear Mariana,’ she said to me, ‘were it to be my own life. But you’re going to ruin yourself and me along with you. How can two girls carry out your plan? Our age, our sex, and your beauty will expose us to danger the thought of which is enough to make me shudder. What’s certain is that we will cover our families with shame. If you had given this serious thought, you couldn’t possibly have resolved to do this.’ “ ‘Ah! barbarian,’ I cried out, ‘more barbarous than the one who imprisons my lover. You’re abandoning me, but though I am alone, I won’t stop carrying out my plan. In any case, the help you could give me wouldn’t be of much use. So stay, stay, I agree. It’s for me alone to face the peril with no assistance. I admit that such an initiative is fit only for a desperate girl.’ “My reproaches and my tears moved Henriette. She said that my interest as well as her own had obliged her to speak to me as she did. But if I persisted in my resolve and nothing could divert me from it, she was resolved not to abandon me. If I wanted her advice, we would cross-dress as men. She would take care of getting two men’s outfits, and I would be responsible for providing all the rest. I kissed her with a thousand marks of gratitude and tenderness. “Never have two girls been better disguised than we were in cavalier’s clothes. We left that very night, and we embarked without a single obstacle. But after a few days at sea, we were overtaken by such a violent storm that we thought there was no hope for us. In this commotion and peril, I felt much less fear for myself than sorrow for not having freed Mendez and having engaged Henriette to follow my ill fortune. “ ‘It’s me,’ I was saying to her. ‘It’s me, my dear friend, who stirred up this storm. If I were not on the sea, it would be calm. But my misfortune follows me everywhere I go, and I drag the ones I love after me.’ Finally, after we spent one day and two nights in continual panic, the weather cleared up and we arrived in Algiers. “I was so delighted to be in a position to deliver Mendez that I considered all the dangers I underwent as nothing. But, Oh, God! What desperation I felt when disembarking and, after searching everywhere, I realized that there was no hope of finding the casket in which I had put my most precious things. I was so grief-stricken that I thought I would breathe my last before leaving the boat. This casket, which was small and neglected by me during the storm, probably fell overboard or was stolen. Whatever happened, it was a great loss, and all I had left was about two hundred pistoles’ worth of jewelry that I had kept just in case and was wearing at the time. “I decided to approach Mendez’s owner with what I had left. As soon as we arrived in town, we asked about his house. We were given the directions easily (for Meluza was well known) and went there still dressed as cavaliers.

100 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY “I can’t express, Madame, how agitated I was in approaching this house where I knew that my dear lover was languishing in chains. What sad thoughts I mulled over! Alas! what became of me when I entered the corsair’s house and saw Mendez chained with several other captives who were being taken to the countryside to polish marble. I would’ve fallen to his feet if Henriette hadn’t helped me up. I no longer knew where I was or what I was doing. I wanted to speak with him, but my grief so weighed on my heart and tied my tongue that I couldn’t utter a single word. As for him, he didn’t look at me. He was so downcast and depressed that his eyes saw no one. You had to love him as much as I did to recognize him, so much he had changed. “After some time recovering from this violent agitation, I went into a low room where I was told I could find Meluza. I greeted him and told him the reason for my trip. I said that Mendez was my close relative, that he had been ruined by the loss of his galleon and his captivity, and that I was using my own fortune to pay his ransom. The Moor seemed indifferent to everything I said. Looking at me disdainfully, he replied that he did not care where I got the money but that he knew for certain that Mendez was rich. Nevertheless, to indicate that he would not take full advantage, he set the ransom at only twenty thousand crowns. “Alas! that would have been little if I had not lost my precious stones! But it was too much in my present situation. Finally, after several long disputes, all in vain, I made a sudden decision that could only be motivated by extreme love. ‘This is all I have,’ I said to the pirate, forfeiting my diamonds. ‘They’re not worth what you are asking.31 Take me as your slave and be assured that you will not keep me for long. I am the only child of a rich banker in Seville. Keep me as hostage and let Mendez go. He’ll return soon to take me back.’ “The barbarian was surprised to find me capable of such a generous and tender resolution. ‘You’re worthy,’ he said to me, ‘of a better fate. All right, I accept the deal you offer. I’ll take care of you and will be a good master. You must remove those clothes and dress in a manner suitable to your sex. You’ll even keep your gems if you like. I can wait for the whole sum rather than part of it.’ “Doña Henriette was so confused and distraught by the deal I had just concluded that she couldn’t sufficiently express her displeasure to me. In the end, despite all my reprimands and her entreaties, I stood firm, and Meluza had slaves’ clothes brought to me, which I put on. He led me to his wife’s room and, after telling her what I was doing to free my lover, gave me to her. She seemed touched and promised that she would make my servitude easier by treating me as well as she could. “That evening when Mendez returned, Meluza called for him and said that, since he was from Seville, Meluza would like him to see a slave he had bought because he might know her. I was brought in immediately and, seeing me, Mendez 31. Mariana and Meluza use the familiar tú form in speaking to each other, disdainfully. But the Barbary corsair, a Moor, is generous, unlike the Spanish (and Christian) suiter Mendez, a traitor and a stalker. GV

Fourth Letter 101 lost his composure and fell at my feet, taking my hands, kissing them tenderly, wetting them with his tears, saying the most tender and touching words. Meluza and his wife enjoyed seeing the different emotions of joy and sadness, love and pain that racked us. Finally, he told Mendez what he owed to me and that he was free but I would stay in his place. Mendez did as much as anyone could to dissuade me from carrying out such a plan. “ ‘What!’ he said. ‘You want me to load you with my chains! My dear mistress, can I be free when you are not? I’ll thus do for you what you just did for me: I’ll sell myself and buy you back with this money. Consider that, even if I were in a position to find help and come bring you back as soon I return to Seville, I still couldn’t resolve to leave you. So please think about whether I could do that when I’m destitute and the most miserable of all men.’ To all his arguments I replied that my father’s love would not let me remain a slave upon discovering where I was. In a word, I used all the power I had over his mind to make him take advantage of what I was doing for him. “What can I tell you, Madame, about our separation? It was so painful that words can’t express what we felt. I obliged Henriette to leave with him so that she would appeal to my parents and urge them to do their duty toward me. “Meanwhile, my father and my mother were inconsolable. When they realized I had fled, they almost died of grief. They blamed themselves ceaselessly for having forced me to marry the Marquis de Los Rios. He himself was no less distressed. They had searched for me everywhere they imagined I could have hidden. “Two whole years passed without my receiving news or help from Mendez, which made me believe that he and Henriette had probably perished at sea. I had given them all the gems that Meluza had left me. I regretted neither their loss nor the loss of my freedom, but the loss of my dear lover and my faithful friend haunted my memory and caused unbearable pain. I couldn’t sleep; my health was wrecked. I cried day and night. I refused to leave slavery, neglecting to write to my father and mother about my sorry fate. I wished only for a speedy death, and I would’ve liked it to come put an end to my pain and suffering. “Meluza and his wife felt sorry for me. They didn’t doubt that Mendez had perished. They treated me less cruelly than people like them usually treat the unfortunates that fall into their hands. “One day returning from pirating, Meluza brought back several people of both sexes he had captured, among them a young lady of quality from Seville whom I knew. The sight of her renewed my grief. She was very surprised to find me in this sad place. We kissed each other tenderly, and since I remained in a deep silence, she said to me: “ ‘What! Beautiful Mariana, are you so indifferent to your relations and country that you’re not at all curious to have news of them?’ I lifted my eyes to heaven, and, with a deep sigh, I begged her to tell me whether people knew where Mendez and Henriette had perished.

102 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY “ ‘Who told you they had perished?’ she asked. ‘They’re in Seville, where they have a very happy life. Mendez reestablished his business and is happy and honored to publish everywhere how extremely obliged he was to Henriette. Maybe you are unaware,’ she continued, ‘that Mendez had been captured and made a slave by Algerians. This generous young lady disguised herself and came here to buy him back, but he was not ungrateful. He married her. They have a charming union, marriage did not banish love.’ As she was speaking, she noticed that my expression changed so much that I seemed to be dying. My strength drained away, my eyes closed, and I fainted between her arms. She was terribly frightened. She called my companions, who put me on a bed and tried to revive me. When I regained consciousness, I started to moan. I uttered sighs and sobs that could move someone even more barbarian than a pirate. “Indeed, Meluza was moved by the story of such an astonishing betrayal and, without saying anything to me, he asked his new slave what my father’s name was. He wrote to him immediately, telling him all he knew about my misfortunes. “These letters almost killed my mother. She could not begin to imagine without shedding a torrent of tears that at age eighteen I was in irons. But what increased her grief was my father’s business problems. Several big bankruptcies had ruined him. He was no longer in trade, so it was impossible for him to find the twenty thousand crowns Meluza wanted as ransom for me. “The generous Marquis de Los Rios heard this news and came to offer my father all that was at his disposal. ‘I’m not doing this,’ he said, ‘to force your daughter’s inclinations when she returns. I’ll always love her, but I’ll never displease her.’ Since my father had no other recourse, he accepted the offer gladly and, after expressing his gratitude for such rare generosity, he set sail and arrived in Algiers at the time when I thought only of dying. “He spared me all the blame I deserved. At my entreaty, he even bought back the nice young girl from Seville for a moderate ransom. We returned together, and my mother was so overcome with joy to see me that it’s beyond the power of words to express. I responded as well as I could but, Madame, my heart still felt the fatal wound that had injured it so badly. Nothing my reason presented could wipe out of my mind the image of that traitor, Mendez. “I saw the Marquis de Los Rios again. He didn’t dare speak of the feelings he still had for me, but I had such pressing obligations toward him that, out of gratitude, I did for him what my feelings would have made me do for another. I offered him my hand, and he gave me his with as much passion as he would have if he had no cause of complaint against me. I finally married him. Since I dreaded seeing Mendez, that ingrate who caused me such horror and for whom I had so little, I begged the marquis to live in a country house he had near Seville. “He always wanted what I wanted, with great kindness. He even wished that my father and mother would retire there. He softened the sad state of their affairs by his liberal generosity. I may truly say that never has there been a greater

Fourth Letter 103 soul. Judge, Madame, how I blamed my heart for not being as tender to him as he deserved. But this was a crime to which only my misfortune contributed. It was not in my power to forget Mendez, and I always felt new displeasure whenever I heard of his happiness with Henriette. “After spending two years watching over myself so that I did nothing that wasn’t agreeable to my husband, heaven took this generous husband away. And he did for me, in his last moments, what he had always done. He gave me his whole estate with expressions of esteem and tenderness that enhanced this gift even further. He made me the richest widow of Andalusia, but he couldn’t make me the happiest. “I didn’t want to return to Seville, where my parents wanted me to come. To stay away, I gave the excuse that I had to visit my lands to oversee their management. I left, but there is such a particular fatality in all that concerns me that, in arriving at the inn, the first thing I saw was the faithless Mendez. He was in full mourning clothes, and he hadn’t lost what had made him so attractive to me. I shivered, I turned pale, and, wanting to leave immediately, I felt so weak and trembling that I fell at his feet. Although he hadn’t recognized me yet, he hastened to help me up. The great mantle covering me fell open and, when he saw me, what became of him? He was no less distraught than I. He wanted to get closer, but casting a furious look on him, I said: “’Will you dare, traitor, will you dare come near to me? Don’t you fear the just punishment for your treachery?’ For a moment he didn’t answer me, and I was about to leave when he stopped me. “ ‘Heap your reproaches on me, Madame,’ he said. ‘Call me the most despicable names. I’m worthy of all your hatred, but my death will soon avenge you. Yes, I’ll die of grief for having betrayed you and displeased you and, if I regret anything in dying, it’s that I have only one life to lose to atone for the crimes you can rightly accuse me of.’ He seemed very moved in saying these words and would to God that a traitor’s repentance were really true! I didn’t want to risk having a longer conversation with him. I left him without deigning to respond, and he was probably more sensitive to this expression of contempt and indifference than to all the reproaches I could have heaped on him. “He had lost his wife some time ago, that unfaithful woman who had helped him rebel against all the obligations of love, honor, and gratitude. From that day on, he followed me everywhere. He was like a plaintive shadow attached to my footsteps, for he became thin, so pale, so changed that he was no longer recognizable. Oh God! Madame, how I had to force myself to continue to mistreat him! I finally felt that I no longer had the strength to resist the weakness of my heart and the influence that this wretch has on me. Rather than make such a shameful mistake and forgive him, I left for Madrid. I have relatives there and sought among them a refuge against my own inclinations.

104 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY “I wasn’t there long before Mendez found out and came to find me. I have to admit that I was not angry at what he was still doing to please me. Despite the penchant that I have for him, I made a firm resolution to avoid him since I couldn’t hate him. And without anyone knowing, I took the road to Burgos, where I’m going to retire into the convent with one of my friends who’s a nun. I flatter myself, Madame, that there I will find more peace of mind than I’ve had until now.” Narration of the Marquise de los Rios ends. The beautiful marquise fell silent, and I expressed my special gratitude for the honor she’d done me. I assured her that I shared in her displeasure and begged her to write and let me hear from her in Madrid. She promised this in the most obliging manner.

The Travels Continue The next day, we learned that it was impossible to leave because it had snowed all night, and no beaten track could be seen on the ground. But the fine company was enough to make up for the disappointment, and we passed the time playing ombre and conversing. After spending three days with the Marquise de Los Rios without noticing the time go by—thanks to the pleasure I had in hearing and seeing her (for she is one of the most pleasant women in the world)—we separated with genuine sadness, promising to write and see each other again. The weather improved, so I continued on my journey to Lerma. We crossed some horrifying mountains called Sierra de Cogollos, and we had a very hard time getting to Lerma. This town is small; it gave its name to the famous Cardinal of Lerma, Philip III’s prime minister.32 Philip IV took away the great revenues Lerma had received from his father, Philip III. There’s a castle I’ll see tomorrow and will write about in my next letter. They tell me that an express courier has just arrived and will leave tonight. I take advantage of this opportunity to send you news and end this long letter, for I’m really tired of the long trip and of writing. But believe me, my dear cousin, I’ll never tire of loving you.33

32. Francisco de Sandoval y Rojas, Duke of Lerma (1553–1625). Very ambitious, this king’s favorite ran the country for twenty years (1598–1618), until he was replaced by his own son, the Duke of Uceda. To avoid proceedings against him for embezzlement, he had himself named cardinal before being ordained to the priesthood a year later. Very rich, he retired to the town of Lerma, which he beautified, making it one of the rare examples of classical Spanish urbanism. 33. End of volume 1.

FIFTH LETTER

March 9, 1679, from Aranda de Duero My last letter was so long, and I was so tired when I finished it that it was impossible for me to add certain details that might not have displeased you. I’ll continue to recount them, dear cousin, since you desire it.

The Lerma Ducal Palace I arrived in Lerma quite late, so I decided to see the castle the next day. The Spaniards think so highly of it that they praise it as a marvel second only to the Escorial, and truly, it’s a beautiful place.1 The Cardinal of Lerma, Philip III’s favorite, commissioned it. It stands on the side of a hill and, to reach it, you must pass through a large square surrounded by arcades with galleries above them.2 The castle consists of four main buildings that form a perfect quadrangle with rows of porticos within the courtyard. Nearly as high as the roof, they prevent the apartments from having a view on that side. The porticos provide needed passageways through vestibules, staircases, pantries, and entrances to the courtyard. The windows of all the rooms face outward toward the countryside. But what detracts from the effect of the whole are little pavilions on the sides of those large buildings. Shaped like little towers that end in spires, they spoil all the rest rather than enhancing it with their ornamentation. It’s customary in this region to put such trinkets everywhere. The rooms are spacious, the bedrooms beautiful and very gilded. There’s a prodigious number of them, and all seem well furnished. Behind the castle is a great park than extends into the plain. A river and several streams flow through it.3 Great trees forming rows line the river, and nearby there are woods that must be charming in good weather. The castle’s concierge asked me if I would like to visit the nuns whose convent is attached to the castle.4 I told him I’d be very pleased, so we passed through a gallery that led to a very tall grate, from top to bottom. The abbess had been informed of our visit and came with several nuns more beautiful than the daystar, affectionate, cheerful, young, and speaking very sensibly about all sorts of things. I wasn’t at all tired of being with them when a little girl came in. She whispered to the abbess, who then told me that there was a very noble lady who had retired 1. The ducal palace is located in the upper part of town on the Plaza Mayor. Commissioned by the Duke of Lerma, its construction began in 1601. It is considered the masterwork of Francisco de Mora, architect for the nobility. Today the palace is a parador. 2. The square measures almost 7,000 square meters (75,347 square feet) and is one of the biggest in Spain. GV 3. The Arlanza River. 4. The convent of San Blas.

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106 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY in their house, the daughter of Don Manrique of Lara, Count of Valencia, and eldest son of the Duke of Nájera. She was the widow of Don Francisco Fernandez of Castro, Count of Lemos, grandee of Spain, and Duke of Tauresano.5 Whenever she learned that French ladies or anyone from France were in Lerma, she would entreat them to come visit her and, if I agreed, she’d like to have a conversation with me for a few moments. I said I would be very honored, and the little girl who had delivered her message so well gave her my reply.

The Ancient Countess of Lemos This lady came soon after, dressed like Spanish women a hundred years ago. She had chapines,6 a kind of sandal into which you slip your shoe, thereby raising you up so prodigiously that you can’t walk without leaning on two people. She was thus leaning on two daughters of the Marquis Del Caprio;7 one is blond, which is quite rare in this country, and the other has jet-black hair. Really, I was surprised by their beauty. All they lacked, in my opinion, was a little plumpness, but this is not considered a defect here for they like skin-and-bones thinness. The peculiarity of the Countess of Lemos’s outfit was so extraordinary that it seemed like a new style to me. She had a sort of bodice of black satin, cut out over gold brocade and buttoned with large rubies of considerable value. This bodice came down from the neck like a doublet. Its sleeves were tight, with large wings over her shoulders and another set of sleeves hanging as low as her gown, which were fastened on each side with roses of diamonds. An awful farthingale,8 which prevented her from sitting anywhere but on the floor, held up a skirt of black satin, quite short, slashed unevenly over gold brocade. She wore a ruff and several chains of big pearls and diamonds, with charms attached, that cascaded in rows down her front. Her hair 5. According to Seguin (383n5), this character was invented by d’Aulnoy. There had indeed been a Countess of Lemos; however, her father was not the Count of Valencia but the Duke of Osuna. She died in 1648. 6. Chapín (chopine) was a kind of women’s platform shoe designed to protect the foot from the cold by raising it above the ground. Some were twenty inches high, and they were worn mostly in the winter. GV 7. D’Aulnoy is mistaken. The Marquis Del Caprio, Count-Duke of Olivares, had only one daughter, Doña Catalina de Haro y Sotomayor Guzmán de la Paz, who married the Duke of Alba in 1688. (Seguin 383n7). But the blond and the raven-haired sisters enhance the grand entrance of the composite Countess of Lemos and pique the readers’ curiosity. GV 8. Vertugadin in French, diminutive of vertugade, from the Spanish vertugado. This was a large roll worn by noble ladies under the skirt below the waist, or a hoop skirt, popular in the sixteenth and early seventieth centuries. The fashion spread from Spain to France and Tudor England. The pejorative diminutive indicates that it was quite out of style in France later in the century. Spanish princesses continued to wear them, however, as seen in the portraits of Mariana of Austria and Marie Thérèse d’Autriche by Velázquez. GV

Fifth Letter 107 was completely white, so she hid it under a little black lace veil. Old as she was, for she was more than seventy-five, it seemed to me that she must have been extraordinarily beautiful. Her face does not have a single wrinkle and her eyes are still shining. The rouge she wears brightens up her complexion and suits her quite well. Her daintiness and vivacity are unmatched; her wit and her personality, as I’ve been told, made quite a stir in society. I regarded her as a beautiful antique. She told me that she’d had the honor of accompanying the Infanta when she had wed Louis XIII;9 she was one of her youngest meninas.10 And she had kept such a favorable image of the French court and loved everything that came from there that she was always delighted when she could speak of it. She prayed me to give her the latest news of the king and queen, and Monseigneur and Mademoiselle d’Orléans.11 “We will see this princess,” she added joyfully. “She’ll become ours, and we can say that France will enrich Spain.” I answered with everything I could to satisfy her curiosity, and she seemed pleased. They share information about the Count of Fiesque [d. 1658] and his widow. The Countess of Lemos had been a friend of the Count of Fiesque when he represented the Prince of Condé in Madrid. The Countess of Lemos continues. (Seguin 137)

Queen Christina of Sweden “I had the honor of meeting this prince [Condé]12 during the time he was in Flanders and the queen of Sweden came there.” “You’ve seen this queen?” I asked, interrupting her. “Well, Madame, would you please give me some information about her personality?” 9. On November 24, 1615, the Spanish princess Anne of Austria was married to the young king of France, Louis XIII, while Louis’s sister, Elizabeth of France, was married to Anne’s brother, Philip IV of Spain. GV 10. Lady-in-waiting. The 1692 English translation of Travels (123) omits the praise of the French court that follows. GV 11. Monseigneur, appearing without a proper name, referred to the Dauphin, the heir apparent to the crown. Monseigneur was first applied to Louis XIV’s son, Louis of France (d. 1711). Monsieur was the king’s younger brother, in this context Philip, Duke of Orléans. Mademoiselle is the honorific given to Monsieur’s eldest daughter, here Marie-Louise d’Orléans, promised to Carlos II of Spain. GV 12. Louis de Bourbon, Prince of Condé (1621–1686), a cousin of Louis XIV, became known as le Grand Condé for his military victories during the Thirty Years’ War. Monsieur le Prince, his title after his father’s death, led the French nobility in the revolt known as the Fronde against Cardinal Mazarin and the young Louis XIV. In 1652, he allied with Spain against France and was pardoned only under the Treaty of the Pyrenees (1659). Condé and Christina, arguably the most talked-about personalities in Europe at the time, met in Brussels in 1655. GV

108 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY “I know some quite singular details,” she said. “I’d be pleased to tell you about them.”13 Narration of Countess of Lemos begins: “The king of Spain sent Antonio Pimentel as ambassador to Stockholm to discover as much as he could about the intentions of the Swedes.14 For a long time, they had been opposed to the house of Austria and were expected to obstruct the emperor’s design to have his son elected king of the Romans. Pimentel was charged with conducting this affair very delicately. He was handsome, gallant, and witty, and he succeeded much better than could have been hoped. He first discovered the queen’s inclinations and easily became her confidant. He figured out that novelty had a great appeal for her, and of all the foreigners she attracted to the court, she would favor the newest arrival. He made a plan to please her, and he won her good graces so completely that she informed him of the most secret affairs that she should have most hidden from him. But one can exploit such advantages once one has found the way into the heart. The queen’s heart was so taken by him that he became the sole arbiter of this princess’s wishes. By this means, he was soon able to write such positive and pleasing reports to the emperor and the electors that they could easily see that the Queen’s Council had no part in the declaration she made in favor of the king of Hungary. “After this intrigue, it was thought that the king would recall Pimentel because there was no other business that required the presence of an ambassador. But if his presence in Stockholm was useless for the king of Spain, it was a different matter for the queen, and she did all she could to retain him. He then began following her everywhere she went, and many people who are fooled by appearances judged that when she left the crown to her cousin,15 she did so with pleasure, because she was dry-eyed and had the courage to harangue the estates with great force and eloquence. But the public was wrong about the secret motives of this princess. Her soul, at that very moment, was pierced by the deepest distress. She was in despair about ceding the scepter to the Prince Palatine, the scepter she felt worthy of wielding all alone and of which she was the legitimate heiress. 13. Queen Christina of Sweden (1626–1689), daughter of Gustav II Adolf, was queen regnant (monarch in her own right) from 1632 until her abdication in June 1654. She converted to Catholicism in December 1654. Christina aroused great curiosity across Europe by her unconventional lifestyle, her intellectual and artistic pursuits, and her masculine dress. She died in April 1689, two months after Spanish Queen Marie-Louise. These deaths revived interest in them both and may explain why d’Aulnoy included information about Christina in Travels. GV 14. Don Antonio Pimentel de Prado (1604–1671/72), a general, and the Spanish envoy to Sweden beginning in 1652. 15. Christina abdicated in 1654 in favor of her cousin, Charles-Gustav (1622–1660), crowned under the name Charles X. Pimentel, and several other courtiers, including the French doctor Bourdelot, played a major role in this matter.

Fifth Letter 109 “This prince was clever enough to have it declared that if she wanted to marry, she would choose him as her husband. As soon as this declaration was made, she began to suffer from the constraint imposed upon her. On the other hand, the people were not adapting to being governed by an unmarried woman. They focused more on her faults than on her merits. The prince contributed to this in an underhanded way. The queen, who was perceptive, realized this, noticing that the people favored him and wished that he were on the throne. She became jealous and began to nurture a secret hatred that she couldn’t contain. The prince’s presence became so unbearable to her that, perceiving it himself, he retired to an island he’d been given as a privilege. He did so, however, only after leaving behind good memoirs for his loyal creatures impugning the queen’s conduct. “When she saw herself delivered from an object painful to her sight, she no longer treated the nobility or the affairs of her kingdom with serious consideration. She followed her penchant for belles-lettres, and she applied herself completely to study. Her marvelous mind made admirable progress in the most profound sciences, but these were less necessary to her than good conduct for managing her fame and her interests. Often, after spending several days in her study, she would later appear disgusted. She treated authors as ignoramuses whose minds were rotten and who spoiled the minds of others. When the nobles of her court saw her in this state of mind, they approached her with more familiarity. Then all that mattered to her was enjoying the pleasures of love, theater, balls, tournaments, hunting, and promenades. She would throw herself into them; nothing could tear her away. Unfortunately, she added to this defect that of enriching foreigners at the expense of her state. “The Swedes started to murmur their disapproval. The queen was informed. Their complaints seemed unjust and disrespectful to her. She resented them and was so clumsy in response that the revenge she took ended up harming herself. Indeed, at a time when it was least expected and when she could still have found less drastic solutions, all at once she abandoned her crown and her kingdom to her cousin—to this cousin, I say, whom she disliked, to whom she wished so much ill, yet to whom she did so much good. She didn’t believe that her motives could be fathomed. She pretended by this great stroke of generosity to distinguish herself as equal to the heroines of ancient times. In fact, her conduct afterward only diminished her stature and reputation. “She was seen leaving Sweden dressed in a bizarre manner, with a sort of justaucorps,16 a short skirt, boots, cravat, a hat covered with feathers, a wig, and, under this wig, a round of braided hair like well-coiffed ladies wear in France, which looked ridiculous. She forbade any of her women from following her; she chose only men to serve and accompany her. She would even say that ordinarily she didn’t like men because they were men, but she liked them because they were not women. It seemed that she had renounced her sex in abandoning her 16. A fitted knee-length coat worn especially by men in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. GV

110 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY estates, although sometimes she showed such weaknesses as would make the least of women feel ashamed. “The faithful Pimentel passed into Flanders with her and, as I was there at the time, I saw him arrive. He procured me the honor of kissing her hand, and all his credit was needed to attain this favor because she had sent word to all the ladies of Brussels and Antwerp that she didn’t wish them to come to her. She received me very well, and the little she said to me seemed very lively and full of wit. But at any moment she would begin swearing like a soldier, and her speech and actions were so free, not to say lacking in decency, that her person would have hardly been regarded were it not for the respect one owed to her rank. “She would say to everyone that she passionately desired to see the Prince of Condé, that he had become her hero, his great deeds had charmed her, and she wanted to learn the trade of war under him. The Prince had no less curiosity to see her than she showed for him. In the middle of this shared impatience, the queen balked unexpectedly at some formalities and protocols that she refused to follow when he would come to greet her. Thus, he was prevented from seeing her with the usual ceremonies. But one day, when the queen’s chamber was full of courtiers, the prince slipped in. Whether she had seen his portrait or whether his martial air distinguished him from all others, she singled him out and recognized him. She tried to express her welcome right away by extraordinary civilities. He withdrew at once, and she followed, allowing him to lead the way. Then he stopped and contented himself with saying, ‘All, or nothing.’ A few days later, a meeting between them was arranged in the mall in the Brussels park, where they spoke together with great civility and great coolness. “As for Don Antonio Pimentel, the favors she’s had for him have made enough noise to reach you. If you don’t know already, Madame, I don’t think I should tell you details of which I have perhaps been misinformed.”17 Narration of Countess of Lemos ends. She fell silent. I took advantage of this moment to thank her for so kindly telling me about a queen I’d always been so curious about. She said very politely that I was thanking her for no good reason and then asked whether I had seen the Lerma castle.

Death of Philip III “The one who built it,” the countess said, “was the favorite of Philip III, whose death was caused by the cautiousness of the Spanish court. I’ve always said that such an incident would never have happened to the king of France.” 17. The Marquise of Lemos’s account of events that occurred in the early 1650s (before d’Aulnoy was born) is largely based on Brunel, 220–35 (see F-D, 255–62, 262n1). But d’Aulnoy shortens the diplomatic details considerably and focuses dramatically on Queen Christina’s feelings and reactions. GV

Fifth Letter 111 “Philip III, whom I spoke to you about,” she continued, “was writing his dispatches in his study. As it was so cold that day, a large brazier was placed next to him. Its heat struck his face so strongly that he was drenched in sweat as if water had been poured on his head. His gentle disposition prevented him from complaining or even speaking about it, for he never found fault with anything. The Marquis of Pobar, having noticed that the high heat caused the king extreme discomfort, warned the Duke of Alba, gentleman of the chamber, so that he would have the brazier removed. He responded that it was not his responsibility and that he had to inform the Duke of Uceda, sommelier de corps.18 Pobar, worried to see the king suffer but not daring to ease his pain for fear of infringing of another’s duties, left the brazier where it was. He had the Duke of Uceda sent for but, unfortunately, he had gone near Madrid to see a magnificent house he was building there. When he received this information, Pobar again appealed to Alba to remove the brazier. But he found the Duke inflexible in this matter, and so he preferred to have couriers go seek Uceda across the countryside. Before Uceda arrived, the king was almost consumed by the heat. By evening, his temperature caused a violent fever, accompanied by erysipelas, which inflamed and degenerated into purpura, and the fever caused his death.”19 “I confess,” she added, “that having seen other courts than ours in my travels, I can’t help but blame these ceremonious airs and strict formalities that prevent taking one step faster than the other in urgent circumstances such as the one I’ve just related.20 And I praise heaven that we’ll have a French queen who’ll bring us more reasonable customs. I even set aside my widow’s weeds to put on bizarros and gala outfits to express my joy.” I’ll tell you, my dear cousin, that these terms bizarros and gala signify gallant and magnificent.21 The old Countess of Lemos loved to talk, and she continued: “Who could fail to rejoice in the hope of seeing on the throne a second queen Elizabeth,22 whose kindness made all the other nations jealous of Spain? I had a close relative who knew her great merit well; it was the Count of Villamediana.”23 18. The officer of the royal household in charge of the more intimate and inner rooms of the king of Spain. 19. Erysipelas: An acute infection, typically with a skin rash, usually on any of the legs and toes, face, arms, and fingers. Fièvre pourpre, or Purpura: literally, the purple or livid disease, an eruption of small, distinct, purple specks and patches, attended with languor, general debility, and pains in the limbs. GV 20. The English translation omits the following five sentences in praise of the French queens. GV 21. The Dictionary de la Real Academia Española, 1726, confirms the meaning of these terms. 22. Elisabeth of Bourbon (1603–1644), daughter of Henry IV of France and spouse of Philip IV of Spain. 23. Don Juan de Tassis y Peralta, second Count of Villamediana, the king’s Correo-Mayor (postmaster general), like his father. A man of letters, he frequented the literary salons in Madrid, where he met

112 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY

Royal Dalliances in Spain “That name, Madame, isn’t unfamiliar to me,” I said, interrupting her. “I heard that one day, when he was in the Church of Our Lady of Atocha, seeing a monk begging for the souls in purgatory, he gave him a four-pistoles coin. ‘Oh, my Lord,’ said the good father, ‘you have just delivered a soul.’ The count pulled out another coin like the first and put it in the cup. ‘Here’s another soul delivered,’ the religious said. He proceeded to give him six coins, one after another, and with each coin the monk exclaimed, ‘The soul just left purgatory!’ ‘Do you assure me of that?’ said the count. ‘Yes, my Lord,’ affirmed the monk. ‘They’re now in Heaven.’ ‘Well then, give the four-pistoles coins back to me,’ he said. ‘Because it’s useless for you to keep them, and since the souls are already in heaven, there’s no fear that they will return to purgatory.’ ”24 “The incident happened as you’ve said,” added the countess, “but he didn’t take back his money, for in this country this would give us serious qualms. Devotion to the power of Masses and to souls in purgatory seems most commendable to us. But this is sometimes carried too far, and I knew a very well-born gentleman who, though in great financial difficulty, still wanted fifteen thousand masses said for him when he died. His last wishes were executed, so that this money was taken for Masses rather than to pay his poor creditors, for, however legitimate his debts to them, they can receive nothing until all the Masses specified in the will are said. That’s what gave rise to this common expression: Fulano ha dejado su alma herdera, which means, ‘So and so made his soul his heir.’ By this we understand that he left his estate to the Church to say prayers for him. “King Philip IV ordered that one hundred thousand Masses be said for him, and specified that if he no longer needed them, they would be for his father and mother. If they were already in heaven, they would apply to the souls of those who died in the Spanish wars. “What I’ve already said about the Count of Villamediana reminds me that one day, when I was in church with Queen Elizabeth, whom I’ve just mentioned, he saw a pile of money on the altar, which had been given for the souls in purgatory. He came closer and took it, saying: ‘My love will be eternal; my suffering will also be eternal. The pains of the souls in purgatory will end. Alas, mine will not end. Hope consoles them; whereas, I’m without hope or consolation. Thus, these alms destined for them are better due to me than to them.’ Lope de Vega and Góngora. He was suspected of having a romantic relationship with Queen Elisabeth of Bourbon. His mysterious death by an unknown assassin could have been ordered by the vengeful king, as the Countess of Lemos reports. 24. Anecdote taken from Brunel (47–49) but also found in other sources (F-D 264–65). D’Aulnoy’s retelling is pithier and more dramatic. GV

Fifth Letter 113 “However, he didn’t take anything. He only took the opportunity to speak of his passion before this beautiful queen, who was present. Indeed, his passion for her was so intense that there’s reason to believe she would have been touched if her austere virtue had not protected her heart against the count’s merits. He was young, handsome, well-built, brave, magnificent, gallant, and witty. No one knows that he appeared to his misfortune in a carousel in Madrid with a suit embroidered with new silver coins called ‘reales,’ and that his motto was: Mis amores son reales, alluding by the word ‘reales,’ which means ‘royal,’ to the passion he had for the queen. This is the finest Spanish and means in French: ‘My loves are royal.’ “The Count-Duke of Olivares, the king’s favorite but a secret enemy of the queen and the count, brought to his master’s attention the temerity of his subject who dared to declare, in the count-duke’s very presence, the feelings he had for the queen. In that moment, he persuaded the king to take revenge. They waited for an opportunity that wouldn’t cause a stir, but this is what hastened his ruin. Since the Count of Villamediana used all his talents to entertain the queen, he wrote a play that everyone found beautiful. The queen more than anyone discovered such moving and delicate features in the play that she wished to act in it herself on the king’s birthday. The amorous Villamediana was managing all the festivities. He had the costumes made, and he ordered the theatrical machinery that cost him more than thirty thousand crowns. He had a thick cloud painted, under which the queen was hidden inside a machine. He stood very close to it and, at his signal, a loyal servant set fire to the canvas work of the cloud. The whole house, worth a hundred thousand crowns, was almost burned down. He consoled himself, however, by taking advantage of the favorable opportunity. He took his sovereign in his arms, carried her to a little staircase, stole some favors from her and, what’s especially remarked upon in this country, he even touched her foot. A little page who saw him informed the count-duke, who, when he saw the fire, didn’t doubt that it was an effect of the count’s passion. He made such a careful investigation that he presented clear evidence to the king. His evidence so greatly enraged the king that he had Villamediana shot with a pistol one evening when he was in his carriage with Don Luis de Haro.25 It can be said the Count of Villamediana was the most perfect cavalier, in body and soul, that the world has ever seen, and his memory is still invoked among unhappy lovers.”26 25. Luis Mendez de Haro y Guzman (1598–1661), a nephew of Count-Duke Olivares, succeeded him as Philip IV’s favorite. The pistol-shot story was quite well known and appears in Vanel’s Abrégé nouveau de l’Histoire d’Espagne, Paris, 1689. 26. The information d’Aulnoy had was not entirely accurate. Villamediana’s play, La Gloria de Niquea, was presented at Aranjuez on May 15, 1622, in honor of the king’s birthday on April 8. The queen did play a part but not in the middle of a cloud, because that part, Aurora, was acted by Doña Maria de Aragón. The fire started a little later, during the second act of Lope de Vega’s Vellocino de oro (Seguin 384n19). It could be, however, that d’Aulnoy collapsed several consecutive events in order to make the Elizabeth-Villamediana relationship more dramatic. GV

114 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY “What a very dreadful end,” I said, interrupting her. “I hadn’t even considered that the king’s orders had contributed to it. I’d heard that the shot had been fired by the parents of Doña Francisca de Tavara, who was Portuguese, a lady-inwaiting, and much loved by the count.” “No,” continued the Countess of Lemos, “the incident happened as I’ve told you and—while speaking of Philip IV—I can’t help but tell you that one of the women he loved with the greatest passion was the Duchess of Albuquerque. He couldn’t find a favorable moment to have a conversation with her. The duke, her husband, guarded her well, and the more the king met obstacles, the more his desire increased. But one evening when he was gambling for high stakes, he pretended to remember that he had an extremely urgent letter to write. He called the Duke of Albuquerque, who was in his room, and told him to take his place in the game. Immediately, he went into his private closet, took a coat, left by a hidden staircase, and went to the young duchess with the count-duke, his favorite. The Duke of Albuquerque, who was thinking more about his domestic problems than the king’s game, believed that his master would not have entrusted the gambling to him without a secret motive. So he started to complain of a violent colic and, making frightful screams and grimaces, he handed the cards to someone else and rushed to his house.” “The king was just arriving with no retinue. He was still in the courtyard when, seeing the duke arrive, he hid. But no one is as clear-sighted as a jealous husband. This one saw the king and, not wanting torches to be brought so as to avoid recognizing the king, he rushed toward him with a big stick he usually carried, and shouted: ‘Ha, ha, rascal,’ he said, ‘you’ve come to steal my coaches!’ and with no other explanation he beat him as hard as he could. The count-duke was not spared, and fearing it would get worse, he shouted several times that it was the king in order to stop the duke’s fury. Far from stopping, he redoubled his blows, both on the king and his minister, crying out that it was the greatest insolence to use the names of His Majesty and his minister in such an occasion. He intended to take them to the court of law because the king would surely have them hung. During all this racket, the king didn’t say a word, and he finally ran away, half-mad for having received so many blows but not a single favor from his mistress. The duke was spared any negative consequences. On the contrary, the king, no longer in love with the duchess, joked about this later.”27 “I don’t know whether I’ve tried your patience by such a long conversation,” added the Duchess of Lemos, “and I certainly show the defects of my age by talking incessantly about the olden days.” I saw that she wished to retire, and after having thanked her again for the honor she gave me, I took my leave and returned to my inn. 27. Philip IV’s love affairs are mentioned in several places by Brunel, Bertaut, and others (F-D 268–70). By focusing on the Albuquerque affair, d’Aulnoy juxtaposes the tragic outcome of the queen’s attraction to Villamediana with the comic outcome of the king’s various affairs. GV

Fifth Letter 115

Out on the Road and Back to the Inn The weather was so awful that we had a hard time setting forth. Having resolved to do so, however, we continued as long as it was daylight, falling and getting up again as we could. We could hardly see a few steps ahead of us. The storm was so great that huge rocks fell from the mountains onto the path, even wounding one of our people. He would have been killed had he not stepped aside in time. Finally, after traveling more than eight leagues, as far as we could tell, we were very surprised to find ourselves at the gates of Lerma again, without having advanced or moved back. We had just circled around the city as if by enchantment without seeing it, sometimes farther, sometimes closer. We were very upset to have made so much effort for nothing. Delighted to see us again, the hostess—who wished with all her heart that we’d traipse around like this all day only to come back and sleep at her place every night—was waiting for me at the top of her little steps. She said that she was very sorry she couldn’t give me my room, but she’d give me another one just as comfortable. Mine was occupied by a very grand señora of Spain. Don Fernand asked who she was, and she said that her name was Doña Eleonor of Toledo. He told me right away that she was a close relative of his but couldn’t understand why she would be in this place.

Doña Eleonor of Toledo and Spanish Titles: To Cover the Head or Not To clarify matters and to satisfy the duties of kinship, he sent his gentleman to deliver his compliments and ask whether his visit wouldn’t bother her. She replied that she was very pleased by this happy meeting and would be honored to see him. He went to her room right away and learned several details that concerned her. Then he came to see me and very civilly reported that if Doña Eleonor were not sick and very tired, she’d come to visit me. I thought that I should take the first steps toward a person of her quality and a close relative of a gentleman from whom I received such consideration, so I kindly requested him to lead me to her room. She received me in the most obliging manner, and I noticed in the first moments of our conversation that she had a great deal of wit and politeness. She was dressed in casual magnificence (if that can be said); she wore nothing on her head. Her hair, black and lustrous, was separated on each side into two braids that joined a third one down her back. She had a Neapolitan camisole with gold embroidery and other colors, quite tight around the body and the sleeves, and embellished with emerald and diamond buttons. Her skirt was green velvet, covered with Spanish needlepoint lace. On her shoulders she wore a fire-colored

116 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY velvet mantilla, lined in ermine. That’s how Spanish ladies are in negligee. These mantillas have the same effect as our black taffeta scarves except that they’re more becoming, wider and longer so that they can cover a lady’s head and face when she wishes. I found her very beautiful; her eyes were so lively and sparkling that it was difficult to bear their brightness. Don Fernand told her who I was and that I was going to visit a close relative in Madrid. Her name was not unknown to Doña Eleonor, nor was her person. She even told me that a short time ago, the king had named her titulada and Marquise of Castile. “I’d be obliged to you, Madame,” I interrupted, “if you’d tell me the meaning of this title because she spoke about it in her letters but didn’t explain it, nor the titles grandat and mayorazgo. I’ve heard several people mention them, but either they were ignorant or didn’t want to bother to tell me, so I’ve never been well informed.” “I’d be happy to tell you what I know,” Doña Eleonor continued. Eleonor explains the origins of Spanish noble titles, which go back to the ricos-hombres (12th century). (Seguin 148) “His Majesty granted the nobility these prerogatives by official documents, and the titulados of today are the same as those called ricos-hombres in the past, but their privileges are not as broad, and most of these honors have been reserved for the grandees of Spain. The titulados may have a canopy in their chamber, in Madrid they are allowed a coach and four horses with los tiros largos, long traces of silk that attach the last horses to the first. At bullfights, they are given balconies in the large square where their wives are regaled with baskets filled with gloves, ribbons, fans, silk stockings, and sweets, with magnificent snacks offered by the king or the city, depending on which is hosting the festivities. They have their designated seat set out in ceremonies, and when the king makes a titulado marquis of Castile, Aragon, or Granada, he enters the Estates of those kingdoms.28 “As for the grandees, there are three different ranks, distinguished by the way the king speaks to them. The first are those whom he bids to cover their heads, without adding any other privileges. The grandeur is attached to their person only, not handed down to members of their family. “Others, whom the king qualifies with the title of one of their lands—for instance, duke or marquis of such and such place, saying ‘cover yourself for you 28. Castile, Aragon, and Granada had been independent kingdoms in medieval Spain until the dynastic union of the Catholic Monarchs, Isabella of Castile and Ferdinand of Aragon, in 1469. The Moorish Emirate of Granada, the last Muslim kingdom, fell to the Catholic Monarchs in 1492 and Granada became a vassal state of Castile. Each region retained its political and judicial structure, including the Cortes, composed of three Estates, nobility, clergy, and bourgeoisie. GV

Fifth Letter 117 and for yours’—benefit more than the previous rank of grandees because the grandeur, being attached to their lands, passes down to their eldest son or, if they don’t have one, to their daughter or their heir. This means that in a single house, there can be several grandee titles, and we have heiresses who bring six or seven titles to their husbands, who become grandees because of their wife’s lands. “In the last rank, they cover themselves only after having spoken to the king, and a distinction is made between this rank and others by saying, ‘They are grandees for life, or in their race.’ Note that there are some to whom the king says to cover themselves before they speak to him, by saying ‘cubridos,’ and so they speak and hear the king speak with their head always covered. Others cover themselves only after speaking to him and hearing his response. And the third cover themselves only after having withdrawn from the king, facing toward the wall. But when they’re all gathered together in public functions or in the chapel, there’s no difference between them. They sit down and are covered before the king; and when he writes to them, he addresses them as if they were princes. They are given the title of Excellency. Some great lords make do by addressing them with Your Lordship, but this is less polite and rarely used. When their wives go see the Queen, she receives them standing up, and instead of being seated only on the foot cloth, they’re presented with a cushion to sit on.29 “As for the mayorazgos, it’s a kind of substitution made for most of the great estates that belong to the high born, since a non-noble who owns one of those lands wouldn’t enjoy the mayorazgo privilege.30 But if it’s a person of quality, whatever his debts, he can’t be forced to sell his mayorazgo lands if he doesn’t want to, and he almost never does. So his creditors only have the recourse to claim his income. This is very slow because, before they can recover a penny, the judges order an appropriate pension, according to his rank and accounting for his children, his table, his wardrobe, his servants, his horses, and even his entertainment. Usually this uses up all the income and the creditors have no right to complain, though they suffer greatly.” “Here, Madame,” Doña Eleanor continued, “is what you wished to know, and I’m happy to have satisfied your curiosity.” I assured her that she had greatly added to the enjoyment I might have had in just a simple account, and I would always make a big difference between what I learned from her and information others gave me. She asked me whether I knew the person the king of France had named to be his ambassador to Spain. I told her that no one had written to me about it yet. 29. The information corresponds to the accounts given by Bertaut (117–118) and Brunel (54–56), (F-D 276) but d’Aulnoy adds many concrete details and attributes the information to a female source. GV 30. F-D does not indicate a source for the information on the mayorazgos. The term is the ancient form of majorat or primogeniture, the inalienable right attached to a noble title and transmitted with it. GV

118 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY “I didn’t find out who it was before leaving Madrid,” she added. “But I daresay that not everyone would suit us. We wish for someone with good character and high birth. We wouldn’t suffer a man of average merit and rank being clothed with a dignity that raises him so far above others when he represents a great monarch and speaks on his behalf to our sovereign. We want him to bring as much honor to his office as his office honors him.”

Are the Spaniards Softhearted? Or the French Biased? She then informed Don Fernand of Toledo that the Marquise of la Garde, his aunt, had died recently and that the Count of Medellín, her brother, had died the next day.31 Several people believed that it was caused by grief for his sister’s death. “What, Madame,” I said interrupting her, “are Spaniards so softhearted? It seems to me that their gravity does not accord with their tenderness.” She laughed at my question and said that I was like all French ladies, who are easily biased against the Spaniards, but she hoped that once I came to know them I would have a better opinion. She had the civility to invite me to rest for a few days at a house she owned near Lerma. I thanked her for her kindness and said that I would have accepted with pleasure if I had less urgent reasons to go to Madrid. I assured her that, once she was there, I would make sure to visit her. We spent the rest of the evening together, and when it was time to retire, I bid her adieu and asked her to give me her friendship.

Bread and Mail on the Road I got up before daybreak because we had a furious day of travel ahead in order to sleep in Aranda de Duero. The temperature was milder, and there was a dense fog mixed with rain. When arriving that night at the inn, the host told us that we would be very comfortable but we wouldn’t have any bread. “It’s something hard to do without,” I responded. Indeed, this news upset me. I asked what was causing this food scarcity. He said that the alcalde-mayor of the town (he’s the one who orders everything and who serves as both governor and judge) had sent for the bread and flour from the bakeries and had it delivered to his house in order to make a distribution according to the needs of each individual. This collection and distribution were necessary because the Duero River, which circles the town, had frozen, and the Leon, Suegra, Burgos, Tormes, and Salamanca Rivers, which flow into it, had also ceased flowing. As a result, the mills could no longer grind, and famine was feared. This obliged us to address ourselves to the alcalde-mayor in order to get the bread we needed. Don Fernand sent one of his

31. This news had been published in the Gazette of 1679.

Fifth Letter 119 gentlemen in the name of all of us. Immediately, he sent us so much bread that we had enough to give some to our host and his family, who needed it badly. We weren’t yet at table when my servants brought several packets of letters they’d found on the stairs of the inn. Because the mail carrier had drunk more than he should and fallen asleep, all these packets lay exposed to the curiosity of passersby. This country is very badly organized for communication. When the French courier arrives in San Sebastián, they give all the letters he brings to men who walk quickly and relay them to one another. They put the envelopes in a big bag attached to their shoulders with flimsy ropes, and it often happens that the secrets of your heart and your house are prey to the first curious fellow who makes this miserable pedestrian drunk. That’s what happened on this occasion. Don Frederic of Cardona, having looked at the outside of several letters, recognized the handwriting of a lady he was apparently interested in. At least that’s what I could see from the emotion on his face and his eagerness to open the envelope. He read the letter and was willing to show it to me but not to tell me who wrote it and to whom; he promised to inform me in Madrid. Finding the letter well written, it occurred to me that you’d enjoy seeing the style of a Spanish lady when she writes to her beloved. I begged Don Frederic to let me make a copy, but I’m afraid that translation diminishes much of the charm. Here it is:

A Spanish Lady’s Love Letter “Everything distresses me in the unfortunate mission you’ve undertaken, not to mention that distance poisons the closest friendships. I can’t flatter myself that some dispute between the sovereigns may shorten the length of your absence and restore to me a joy without which I would cease to live. Of all the princes of Europe, the one to whom you’re sent is the most united with us. I don’t foresee a war against him. And this scourge by which heaven punishes the guilty would be to me a thousand times sweeter than peace. Yes, I’d agree to bear all the disasters of war, to see all my lands ruined, my houses in flames, to lose my estate and my liberty, provided we remain together and—without making you share in my tribulations—I might have the pleasure of seeing you. From such a disposition you can judge my state of mind when I think that you’ll really leave, that I should stay in Madrid without daring to follow you, that my duty immediately stifles any projects I could undertake to console myself—in a word—that I lose you at the same time that I find you the most worthy of my tenderness—at a time when I have more reason to be persuaded of your feelings and feel more strongly your expression of them. I should hide my grief and not add to yours, but how can I weep and weep without you? Alas, alas! I’ll soon be reduced to weeping all alone. Aren’t you afraid that such a deep affliction can kill me, and couldn’t you pretend to be sick so as not to abandon me? Think of all the benefits that are included in

120 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY this proposal. How crazy I am to make it to you; you prefer the king’s orders to mine, and it’ll only bring me new sorrows to put you to such a test. Adieu, I ask you nothing because I have too much to ask. I’ve never been so distressed.”

A Provincial Dandy As I completed translating this letter, the alcalde’s son came to see me. He’s a young man who thinks highly of himself, a true guap.32 Don’t let this Spanish word confuse you, my dear cousin; guap means dashing, gallant, and even swaggerer. His hair was parted in the middle and tied in the back with a blue ribbon, about four fingers wide and two yards long, which hung down its full length. He wore black velvet breeches buttoned above the knee with five or six buttons, without which it would be impossible to take them off without tearing them to pieces, so tight they wear them in this country. He had such a short vest that it scarcely reached below his pockets, and a long black scalloped velvet doublet with hanging sleeves four fingers wide. The doublet’s sleeves were of white satin with jet-black embroidery, and instead of linen shirt sleeves he wore puffed-out black taffeta ones with similar cuffs. His cloak was of black cloth and, since he was a guap, he wrapped it around his arm—because this is more gallant—and in his hand he held a broquel,33 a very light shield with a steel pike in the middle. They carry them at night when they go out for their good or bad adventures. In the other hand, he held a sword longer than a half pike, and the iron in its guard would be enough to make a little breastplate. Since this sword is so long that only a giant can pull it out of its sheath, the sheath opens when you press on a little spring. He also had a dagger with a narrow blade attached to his belt against his back. His cardboard golille, covered with quintin,34 held his neck so straight that he couldn’t bend or turn his head. Nothing is more ridiculous-looking than this neck lift because it’s neither a ruff, nor a rabat collar, nor a necktie. This golille looks like nothing but is very uncomfortable and disfiguring. His hat was prodigiously large, low, lined in black taffeta with a large crêpe wound around it, like the one a widower in mourning would wear. I was told that this crêpe is the most unmistakable sign of the finest gallantly. Those who pride themselves on being well dressed don’t wear brimmed hats, feathers, or gold and silver ribbons; they adorn themselves with a wide and thick crêpe, and no fancy styles can counter this view of fashion. His shoes were made of the fine Morocco leather used for gloves and, all carved out and tight despite the cold, they seemed glued to the feet, having no heels. Upon entering, he made me a Spanish-style 32. The word is actually guapo, a handsome guy. 33. Broquel, from the French bouclier, is a defensive weapon, a round, wooden shield to protect against knife attacks. 34. A starched collar covered in cloth.

Fifth Letter 121 bow, crossing one leg over the other and lowering himself gravely, as do women when they greet someone. He was very perfumed, as they all are. His visit wasn’t long, and he had some knowledge of society. He didn’t fail to tell me that he often went to Madrid, and there were no bullfights where he did not put his life at risk. Since I was upset about the careless way letters were treated in Spain, I spoke to him about the courier that my people had found sleeping on the stairs. He told me that it was due to the negligence of the great postmaster, or rather that he wanted to be paid too much and, if the king was informed, he wouldn’t allow it. This name of great postmaster made me ask him whether anyone rode post in Spain.35 He said yes, provided they had the permission of the king or the great master, who’s always a man of distinguished birth, and, unless you have a duly signed and completed order, they wouldn’t give you horses. “But,” I asked, “a man who has just fought a duel or has other reasons to make haste, what does he do?” “Nothing, Madame,” he replied. “If he has good horses he uses them, and if he doesn’t, he’s in trouble. But when you want to travel by post and don’t leave directly from Madrid, you just have to take a note of permission from the alcalde, the governor of the towns you go through.” My curiosity satisfied on this matter, the gallant Spaniard withdrew, and we dined together as usual.

Near Drowning on the Fourth Floor of the Inn I’d been in bed and asleep for some time when I was awakened by the sound of bells and a cacophony of horrifying voices. I didn’t yet know the cause when Don Fernand and Don Frederic, without knocking, burst into my room, calling out at the top of their lungs to find me (for they had no light). Both came toward my bed and, throwing my dress on me, they carried me and my daughter as fast as they could to the top of the house. I can’t tell you how surprised and terrified I was! I finally managed to ask them what had happened. They told me that the thaw had started so suddenly and with such violence that the rivers, swollen by torrents falling from all sides of the mountains surrounding the town, had overflowed and flooded it. Water had already reached my room when they arrived to rescue me, and everything was a terrible mess. They didn’t have to explain anything else, because I heard awful cries and the water was shaking the house. I’ve never been so frightened, and I tenderly missed my dear country. “Alas,” I was saying, “I’ve traveled a very long way to end up drowning on the fourth floor of an inn in Aranda.” All bad jokes aside, I thought I was dying and was so upset that I was ready to ask Messieurs of Toledo or Cardona to hear my confession twenty times over. I think that later they would’ve laughed at this even harder than I. Until daybreak 35. Travel with relays of horses. GV

122 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY we were in a state of continual alarm. But the alcalde and the inhabitants of this town worked so quickly and efficiently to divert the torrents and drain them off that all we really suffered was fear. Two of our mules were drowned, and my litter and clothes were so soaking wet that we had to stay a whole extra day for them to dry. And this wasn’t very easy because the inns don’t have fireplaces. They heated the oven and put all my clothes inside. I can assure you that I gain nothing in this miserable flooding. I went to bed after this or, should I say, I got into my bath, my bed being as wet as the rest. Our traveling companions thought I should have some rest, so I spent part of the day writing to you. Adieu, dear cousin, it’s time to finish. I am more yours than is anyone else in the world.

SIXTH LETTER

March 13, 1679, from Buitrago I so want to be accurate in relating things worthy of your curiosity that I inquire about details that I would’ve neglected if you hadn’t told me that they please you and that you like to travel without leaving your study. We left Aranda during a thaw that warmed the air but made the paths much worse to travel. We soon reached the Samosierra Mountain, which separates Old and New Castile,1 and we crossed it with difficulty as much because of its height as the snow filling the hollows where we fell, sometimes precipitously, thinking the path was even. They call this pass puerto.2 It seems that this name should be reserved only for a port where you embark for a trip on the ocean or a river, but this is how they refer to passing from one kingdom to another. As always, traveling is costly because the customs officers who collect the king’s fees wait for travelers on the main roads and charge them something before they can proceed to the border. Arriving in Buitrago,3 we were as wet as on the night of the flood in Aranda. Even though I was in a litter, I was hardly less exposed to bad weather than I’d have been on foot or on horseback. In this country, the litters are so poorly made and closed that when the mules cross a stream they throw water up into the litter and it pools there, so that upon arrival I had to change my linen and clothes. After that, Don Fernand, the three gentlemen, my daughter, and my women went with me to the castle that I had heard so much about.

Castle of Buitrago, Princess of Eboli, and Doomed Royal Lovers It seemed to me as regularly built as the one in Lerma, a little less grand but more pleasant. The apartments are better disposed, and the furnishings have something more sumptuous and original about them by virtue of their antiquity and magnificence. Like the Lerma castle, this one belongs to Don Rodrigo de Silva de Mendoza y Sandoval, Duke of Pestrana and l’Infantado. His mother’s name is Doña Catalina de Mendoza y Sandoval, heiress of the duchies of Infantado and Lerma. The castle has been passed down from father to son from Ruy Gomez de Silva, who was made Duke of Pastrana and Prince of Eboli by King Philip II.4 This 1. Somosierra is a mountain pass in the Sierra de Guadarrama range north of Madrid in Spain. Old Castile roughly corresponded to the autonomous community of Castile and Léon; New Castile, to Castile-La Mancha. GV 2. This is the Spanish word, still used today. 3. A commune situated in the Sierra Norte, seventy-six kilometers from Madrid. 4. Ruy Gomez de Silva, Prince of Eboli (1516–1673), was a Portuguese noble in the service of the king of Spain. Member of the Council of State, Treasury Intendant, First Majordomo of Prince Carlos, Duke of Pastrana, and grandee of Spain, he exercised considerable influence on Philip II.

123

124 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY Princess of Eboli,5 so celebrated for her beauty, was his wife, and the king was very much in love with her. I was shown her portrait, which must have been done by an excellent painter.6 She is represented life-size, seated under a tent attached to some tree branches. She seems to be rising, for she is wearing only a fine linen cloth, which allows part of her body to be seen. If it was as beautiful as it seems in the portrait, and if her features were as regular, she must be considered the most charming of all women. Her eyes are so bright and full of spirit that it seems she is about to speak to you. Her throat, arms, feet, and legs are naked. Her hair falls on her breast, and little cupids, shown on all the corners of the picture, are hastening to serve her. Some hold her foot, slipping on a buskin, others string flowers in her hair or hold up her mirror. In the background, you can see some sharpening her arrows while others fill her quiver with them and bend her bow. A faun peeks at her through branches. Noticing him, she shows him to a little Cupid leaning on her knees and crying as if afraid, at which she seems to smile. The frame is made of carved silver, gilded in many places. I looked at it for a long time with great pleasure, but my hosts had me move into another gallery where I saw her again. Here she figures in a huge painting, attending Queen Elisabeth,7 daughter of Henry II, king of France, whom Philip II, king of Spain, married instead of giving her to his son Prince Don Carlos, to whom she had been promised. The queen made her entry on horseback, as was the custom, and I found the Princess of Eboli less brilliant next to her than she had seemed to me when alone. From this you can judge what charms the young queen had. She was dressed in a blue satin gown, but for the rest, just as the Countess of Lemos described. The king watched her pass by from a balcony. He was dressed in black, wearing the collar of the Golden Fleece.8 His hair was red and white, and his face was long, pale, old, 5. Ana Mendoza de la Cerda, Princess of Eboli (1540–1592), belonged to one of the leading noble families of Castile. Soon after her husband’s death, in 1573, she became a prominent member of the pacifist party in Philip II’s court. Close to the king’s secretary, Antonio Perez, whose mistress she is reputed to have been, she shared in his disgrace and was arrested. She lost the custody of her children (she had ten children, five of whom survived infancy GV) and was exiled in Pastrana, where she died. 6. It’s hard to know whether d’Aulnoy actually saw a portrait of the Princess of Eboli. What’s certain is that the woman she describes bears little resemblance to the only known authentic portrait of the princess, attributed to the painter Sánchez Coello. She was one-eyed and wore a silk eyepatch. 7. Elisabeth of Valois (1546–1568), daughter of Henri II of France and Catherine de’ Medici. She had originally been betrothed to the Infante. But after the death of Mary Tudor of England, Philip’s second wife, the Cardinal of Granvela, and his councilors in the Low Countries (ruled by the Spanish Habsburgs since 1556) determined Philip to stipulate in the Peace of Cateau Cambrésis (1559) that Elisabeth would become his third wife, rather than being wed to his son Carlos. 8. Orden del Toisón de Oro (Order of the Golden Fleece) is an order of chivalry founded in Bruges by Philip III, Duke of Burgundy, in 1430 to celebrate his marriage to the Portuguese princess Infanta Isabella of Portugal, daughter of King John I of Portugal. It became one of the most prestigious orders in Europe. The Grand Master of the Order of the Golden Fleece was the king of Spain. GV

Sixth Letter 125 wrinkled, and ugly.9 The Infante Don Carlos accompanied the queen. He was very fair, blond and blue-eyed, and he looked at the queen so languidly and touchingly that the painter seems to have penetrated the secret of his heart and wanted to express it. His clothes were white and embroidered with precious stones. He wore a [cut] doublet, with a little hat raised on the side and covered with white feathers. In the same gallery, I saw a portrait that had a powerful effect on me. It was the Prince Don Carlos dying. He was seated in an armchair, his arm leaning on the table before him with his head resting on his hand. He held a quill pen as though he intended to write. In front of him was a vessel with some remains of dark liquid in it, apparently poison. A little farther away, you could see the bath being prepared, where his veins would be opened. The painter perfectly captured the state of mind of someone facing such a dreadful fate. Since I had read his story and was touched by it, it seemed to me that I really saw him at the moment of death.10 I was told that all the paintings I saw were of great value. I was then led into a room whose furnishings had belonged to Archduchess Margaret of Austria,11 governess of the Spanish Low Countries. They claim that she made for herself a bed covered in gauze with appliqués of bird feathers of all colors forming grotesques, plumes, flowers, and little animals. There is a tapestry quite similar, and the different nuances of the feathers are very pleasing. This is what I found most exceptional in the Buitrago castle. As it was already quite late, we left.

9. Elisabeth was fourteen, a few months older than fourteen-year-old Carlos. Philip was actually only thirty-two years old. GV 10. This account of Don Carlos’s death is a product of legend according to which the Infante, in love with Elisabeth, was killed due to his father’s jealousy. In reality, Carlos exhibited symptoms of madness at an early age, and his crises became so violent that his father had to have him locked up. Intermarriage may have been the cause of Carlos’s disorders. His parents, Philip II and Maria of Portugal, were first cousins and had common grandparents on both paternal and maternal sides. D’Aulnoy’s representation of the doomed love of Carlos and Elisabeth was inspired by the historical novella of César Vichard de Saint-Réal, Dom Carlos (1672). The idea of King Philip confining and murdering his own son later played a role in establishing the anti-Spanish Black Legend. It formed the basis for Friedrich Schiller’s tragedy, Don Karlos, Infant von Spanien (1787). Schiller’s play was adapted into several operas, most notably Giuseppe Verdi’s Don Carlo (1867). The sacrificed French princess, Elisabeth of Valois, also prefigures the fate of Marie-Louise d’Orléans, married off to the disabled Carlos II. GV 11. Margaret of Austria (1480–1530), Duchess of Savoy and governor of the Habsburg Netherlands, was the daughter of Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian I and Mary, Duchess of Burgundy. She married Prince John, son of the Catholic Monarchs. When her brother Philip “The Fair” died at a young age in 1506, her father, Maximilian, appointed her governor of the Low Countries and guardian of her young nephew (and godson) Charles—the future Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor—whose mother Joanna “The Mad” had been deemed mentally ill. Margaret was a shrewd politician and a great patron of the arts. GV

126 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY

Profitable Commanderships and Military Orders Since I hadn’t had the pleasure of watching a game of hombre for several days, I had a deck of cards brought in. Don Fernand and two of the gentlemen began a game. I was interested as usual, as was Don Esteve of Carvajal. After having watched for a few minutes, I asked him which of the three knights had the commandership from where they were returning when I met them. He replied that it didn’t belong to any of them but that they’d gone to visit one of their common friends who’d had a bad hunting accident. While on the subject of commanderships, I asked whether the orders of Saint James, Calatrava,12 and Alcántara were ancient ones. He answered that they’ve been in existence for more than five hundred years and that in the past the Calatrava order was called the Gallant, the St. James was called the Rich, and the Alcántara was called the Noble. The explanation for those names was that ordinarily only young cavaliers could enter into Calatrava, St. James was richer than the two others, and to be received into Alcántara, candidates had to prove four races or quarterings of nobility rather than two, as in the other orders. In the first years after these two orders were established, the knights made vows, lived a regimented life in the religious community, and bore arms only to fight the Moors. Later, the greatest noblemen of the realm entered the orders and obtained the freedom to marry on the condition that they request an express dispensation from the Holy See. Now they have to present a certificate from the king, proof of their nobility, and also prove that they are descendants of cristianos viejos,13 to show that no Jews or Moors had entered the families of their father and mother. In 1489, Pope Innocent VIII gave to King Ferdinand and his successors the disposal of all the commanderships of these three orders, which are called military. Indeed, the king of Spain disposes of them under the title of perpetual administrator, and he enjoys three great Masterships, which are worth more than 400,000 crowns of income per year. When he holds a chapter as Grand Master of the Order or any other assembly, the knights have the privilege of being seated and covered in his presence. Don Esteve added that the Calatrava order had thirty-four commanderies and eight priories, worth 120,000 ducats a year; Alcántara had thirty-three commanderies, four alcaldías, and four priories worth 80,000 ducats; and the eighty-seven commanders of St. James, both in Castile and the Kingdom of León, 12. The first military order founded in Castile in 1157. It owes its name to the castle of Calatrava-laVieja (Ciudad Real), the first place defended by members of this order. Its mission was to protect the roads that led from Toledo to Andalusia from invading Moors. 13. Literally, “Old Christians.” In 1492, the Catholic Monarchs, Ferdinand and Isabella, defeated the Emirate of Granada, the last Moorish stronghold in Spain. The same year, they expelled the Jews. The Jews and Muslims who remained in Spain had to convert to Christianity but were called cristianos nuevos, “New Christians,” and suspected of apostasy. They were discriminated against and persecuted by the Inquisition. GV

Sixth Letter 127 were valued at 272,000 ducats.14 “You can judge by this, Madame,” he continued, “that resources are available for poor Spanish gentlemen.” “I agree,” I said to him, “that this would be very advantageous for them if they were the only ones admitted into these three orders. But I believe you just told me that the greatest lords possess the best commanderies.” “This is because of a general rule whereby material goods should go to the richest, though it would be just to give others a share. The eldest sons of the noblest families might be satisfied with obtaining the Order of the Fleece, which confers great distinction upon those to whom the king grants the honor. However, since this honor does not bring any revenue and is not obtained easily, few people seek it, so usually the Order of the Golden Fleece goes to princes.” “If you know who instituted it,” I said, “I’d be much obliged if you’d inform me.” “They claim,” he replied, “that in the days when the Moors occupied the best and the largest part of Spain, a villager who lived according to God’s rule was praying fervently one day for God to deliver the kingdom from the infidels. He perceived an angel coming down from heaven who gave him a fleece of gold and ordered him to use it to gather troops because, at the sight of it, no one would refuse to follow him and fight the enemies of the faith. This holy man obeyed, and several gentlemen took up arms after hearing him speak. The success of this venture fully delivered on its promise, so that Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, instituted the Order of the Golden Fleece in 1429 in honor of God, the Virgin, and St. Andrew. The very day of his nuptials with Isabella, daughter of the king of Portugal, was chosen for this ceremony. It took place in Bruges. He ordered that the Duke of Burgundy would be the perpetual chief of the order because St. Andrew is the patron of Burgundy. Members of the order are called Cavalleros del Tuzón, Knights of the Fleece, which distinguishes them because when speaking of the others, they say Fulano es Cavallero de la orden de Santiago, or de la orden de Calatrava, meaning so-and-so is a knight of the order of St. James or the order of Calatrava.”

Conversation with the Archbishop of Burgos: Royal and Religious Revenues While we were conversing, we heard a loud noise, like that of a coach stopping. After a moment, Don Frederic’s valet entered my room to tell his master that the archbishop of Burgos had arrived.15

14. According to F-D (289–90), d’Aulnoy draws on Bertaut (264–76) for information on commanderies. But the conversation that follows on the inequity of the distribution is not found in other sources. GV 15. Enrique de Peralta y Cardenas, Archbishop of Burgos, died in 1679, so d’Aulnoy may well have met him in March 1679.

128 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY “That’s a lucky meeting for me,” he said to me, “because I’d left Madrid intending to see him and, not having found him in Burgos, I was quite upset.” “Good fortune is always on your side,” Don Sancho said with a smile, “but to avoid delaying your pleasure in seeing your illustrious relative, we’ll stop our game.” Don Frederic said that he would be happy to finish the game and that his impatience would always yield to their satisfaction. Don Fernand and Don Sancho stood up. “Apparently,” said Don Esteve, “Don Frederic won’t be with us this evening.” “I don’t share your opinion,” Don Fernand interrupted. “The archbishop is the most courteous person in the world. As soon as he finds out that a French lady is here, he will want to come see her.” “He’d honor me greatly,” I said, “but with all this it would be a bit awkward for me because we have to dine and go to bed early tonight.” Hardly had I said these words when Don Frederic returned. “As soon as the archbishop learned that there was a foreign lady in Buitrago,” he said to me, “he no longer thought of me. If you’re willing, Madame, he’ll come and offer you anything that is in his power to grant in this country.” I answered this civility as I ought to, and Don Frederic, having returned to the archbishop, brought him to my room a few moments later. I found him full of civility. He spoke little and observed the gravity suitable to his character and to the Spanish nation. He felt sorry for me for taking such a long trip at such a bad time of year. He entreated me to command something in which he could obey me. That’s the type of compliment they make in this country. Over his habit, he wore a short cassock of purple velvet with very high ruffled sleeves that went up to his ears, and a pair of spectacles on his nose. He had a little monkey brought in that he wanted to give to my daughter. Even though this troubled me, I had to consent in the face of his urging and my daughter’s desire to have it. Every time his Excellency the archbishop took tobacco, which he did quite often, the little monkey held out his paw and some tobacco was put on it, which the monkey pretended to take.16 This prelate told me that the king of Spain was very impatiently awaiting the response that the Marquis of Los Balbazès would bring about the request he made to the Most Christian King for the hand of Mademoiselle. “If he doesn’t obtain it,” he added, “I don’t know what would happen, for he’s very sensitive about his rank and merit. By all appearances, if you consider the greatness of the Most Catholic King, this marriage will be wished for. When the sun sets in one part of his dominions, it rises in another. And this monarch 16. Parrots and monkeys, exotic animals from the new colonies, were favorite pets at court. The archbishop’s monkey announces the heroine of d’Aulnoy’s “Babiole” (Trifle), the tale of the infant princess transformed into a cultured she-monkey who falls in love with a prince (Fairy tales, 1697). Fascinated by animal/human hybridity, d’Aulnoy centers half of her fairy tales on metamorphosis. In Letter 12, her daughter gives the monkey to their sweet and talented nine-year-old black slave, perhaps a princess in her African country. GV

Sixth Letter 129 does not enjoy his grandeur all alone; he’s pleased to share it with his subjects. He’s in a position to reward them, to make them happy, to put them in lofty positions that satisfy all their ambitions, where they receive the same honors as sovereigns. Isn’t this also what a monarch should desire, to be in a position to reward magnificently the services rendered him, to preempt by his favors and force an ingrate to become grateful? It’s amazing the number of commissions in the military, dignities in the Church, and offices in the judiciary that His Majesty bestows every day.” “Several people have spoken to me about this as you have, Your Grace,” I said. “And I hope to be perfectly informed in Madrid.” “I’m able to shed light on at least some of what you’d like to know,” he replied. “For various reasons, I was obliged to have a little report written up, which I even think I have on me.” He gave it to me right away, and since I kept a copy— and it’s rather curious—I’ll translate it for you here, my dear cousin.17 Vice-Royalties Which Depend on the King of Spain: Naples, Sicily, Valencia, Navarra, Sardinia, Catalonia, and in New Spain, Peru. Governments of Kingdoms and Provinces: The States of Flanders, Milan, Galicia, Biscay, the isles of Majorca and Minorca. Seven governments in the West Indies, namely the Madeira Islands, Cape Verde, Mina, Saint-Thomas, Angola, Brazil, and Algarve.18 In Africa, Oran, Ceuta, Mazagan. In the East, the Philippines. Bishoprics and Archbishoprics Nominated by the Most Catholic King: Ever Since Pope Adrian VI Ceded the Right to Nominate Them: The lengthy passage lists forty-two archbishoprics and bishoprics, starting with the richest, Toledo, worth 350,000 crowns for the archbishop and 400,000 crowns for the clergy, down to the bishopric of Jaca, worth 6,000 crowns. (Seguin 164–65) I shouldn’t fail to mention that the Cathedral of Córdoba is extraordinarily beautiful;19 it was built by Abderhaman, who ruled over all the Moors of Spain. It served them as a mosque in 787, but the Christians having taken Córdoba in 1236, they made a church out of this mosque. It has twenty-four great gates, all of them carved with sculptures and ornaments of steel. It’s six hundred feet long and fifty feet wide, with twenty-nine naves and eight hundred columns, most of them 17. This list contains several errors and includes lands that Spain had lost long before, especially the lands in Portugal. This suggests that d’Aulnoy used a list prior to 1640. Seguin chooses to reproduce the list as it appeared in the original edition of Travels. GV 18. An error. Mina and Angola are in Africa, Algarve is in Portugal. According to Seguin, this casts serious doubt on the veracity of d’Aulnoy’s meeting with the archbishop of Burgos. 19. She refers to the famous Mosque of Córdoba, built on the site of a Visigothic Catholic church, then transformed into a cathedral during the Christian reconquest.

130 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY of jasper and the rest of black marble, a foot and a half in diameter. The vault is beautifully painted and gives us an example of the Moors’ taste for magnificence. It’s hard to believe, after all I’ve written about the Cathedral of Córdoba, that the one in León is even more remarkable.20 But nothing is truer, and that’s what gave rise to the saying that the church of León is the most beautiful in Spain, Toledo’s the richest, Seville’s the grandest, and Salamanca’s the strongest. The Málaga Cathedral is wonderfully adorned and of appropriate size. The choir stalls alone cost 150,000 crowns, and all the rest is equally magnificent. List of archbishoprics and bishoprics in the principalities of Catalonia, the kingdoms of Naples, Sicily, Majorca, Sardinia, in Milan, Africa, and the East Indies. (Seguin 166–67) From all these archbishoprics and bishoprics, the Pope gets nothing from the bishop when he dies nor while the benefice is vacant. It would be difficult to list the number of abbeys and other dignities to which the king of Spain presents. Now we must talk about the six archbishoprics and thirty-two bishoprics of New Spain, its islands, and Peru. List of the above and their revenue. (Seguin 167–68) After I had read the Archbishop of Burgos’s report and had a copy made, he withdrew, entreating me to allow him to send me his oille because it was ready and I’d have nothing better for supper.21 I thanked him and said that I refused for the same reason, because without it he would eat as badly as we would. However, Don Frederic had already gone for the oille and came back with a large silver cooking pot. But he was fooled when he found the pot locked; that’s the custom in Spain. He wanted to get the key from the cook, who was offended that his master would not eat his stew, so he said the key fell in the snow and he didn’t know where to find it. Angry, Don Frederic went against my wishes to tell the archbishop, who ordered his steward to have it found. He threatened the cook, and the scene took place so near to my room that I could hear everything. But what I liked the best were the cook’s answers: No puedo padecer la riña, siendo cristiano viejo, hidalgo como el Rey y poco más, which means, I cannot suffer being reprimanded, I who am of the race of Old Christians, as noble as the king and even a little more so.

20. Built during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries in a very homogenous Gothic style, the León cathedral is the only one in Spain to have adopted the French style, at least in the tall and slender naves filled with light. 21. A stew of seasoned vegetables and meats made in an olla, a covered ceramic pot.

Sixth Letter 131 It’s usually the way Spaniards think of themselves. This one was not only vainglorious, he was also stubborn and, whatever they could say or do, he didn’t give up the key to the pot, so that the oille remained inside it, untasted by us. We went to bed quite late. And since I didn’t get up early, all I could do before leaving was to finish this letter. And tomorrow, I’ll begin another in which I’ll tell you about the rest of our trip. Please continue, my dear cousin, to be interested in it. That will make it happy and pleasant.

SEVENTH LETTER

March 15, 1679, from San Augustín

Inns near Madrid It’s very easy to tell that Madrid is not far off. The weather’s good despite the season, and we no longer need fire. But one rather surprising thing is that in the inns nearest the city you’re more badly treated than in ones a hundred leagues away. You’d think you’re entering deserts rather than coming closer to a city where a powerful king resides. And I can assure you, my dear cousin, that on the road I didn’t see a single pleasant house or nice castle. I’m amazed because I thought that in this country, as in ours, I’d find beautiful walks and enchanted palaces,1 but all you can see here are a few trees that manage to grow in bad soil. At this very moment, even though I’m only ten leagues from Madrid, my room is on the same level as the stables; it’s a hole that needs a light at noon. But, good God, what a light! It’d be better not to have one at all, for it’s a lamp that kills all joy by its sad light and your health by its stinking smoke. We went everywhere, even to the parish priest, to get a candle, but there were none to be found, and I doubt there are any wax candles in his church. This place looks very poor. Don Fernand of Toledo, noticing my surprise, assures me that I’ll see very beautiful things in Madrid, but I can’t help myself from telling him that I’m not persuaded. It’s true that Spaniards wear their indigence with an imposing air of gravity. Even the peasants walk in carefully measured steps, yet they’re so curious about news that it seems their very happiness depends on it. They entered my room unceremoniously, most of them shoeless with just a nasty piece of felt tied to their feet by a string. They begged me to tell them what I knew of the court of France. After I spoke to them about it, they considered what I’d just said and then made surprisingly sharp and sensible comments on it among themselves. This nation never ceases to show something superior to others.

The Evil Eye Along with the others, a rather pretty middle-class woman came in. She carried her son in her arms, who is dreadfully thin. More than a hundred little hands, some in jet, others in carved ceramic, were attached to his collar and stuck on him everywhere. I asked his mother what this meant. She answered that this was a practice used to guard against the eye illness.2 1. A bit of playful irony here from an author of fairy tales. GV 2. Le mal des yeux. The ambiguity of this passage is based on the polysemy of the noun mal. In French it can mean “evil, harm, ache, sickness, trouble.” But “evil eye” in French is mauvais oeil; in Spanish, mal de ojo or el aojo. GV

133

134 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY “What,” I said, “do these little hands prevent eye aches?” “Certainly, Madame,” she replied, “but it’s not what you think. For you must know, if you please, that there are people in this country who have such poison in their eyes that when they stare at someone, especially a young child, they make him waste away to death. I saw a man who had an evil eye—that’s the name it’s given—and because he did harm when he looked with this eye, they made him cover it with a large bandage. His other eye had no malignancy, but sometimes when he was with friends and saw a large brood of hens, he would say, ‘Choose the one you would like me to kill.’ When they chose one, he took off his plaster, stared at the hen, and it soon spun around several times, all dizzy, and dropped down dead.” The woman also claims that there are magicians who look at people with evil intentions and give them a wasting disease that makes them become skinny as skeletons. Her own child, she said to me, has been stricken. But these little hands, which usually come from Portugal, are the remedy. She also told me that when you see someone looking at you attentively, and the person has a nasty enough appearance so as to make you fear they3 could give the mal de ojo (thus called because it is done by the eyes), the custom is to show them one of those jet hands, or your own hand, closed, and to say toma la mano, which means take this hand. In response, the one you suspect must say Dios te bendiga, God bless you. If they don’t say it, we can judge that they have evil intentions and, with that, you can denounce them to the Inquisition. Or, if you’re stronger, you can beat them until they say Dios te bendiga. I can’t confirm that the hen story is positively true, but people here are absolutely convinced that there are those who can harm you by looking at you. You can even make pilgrimages to certain churches to seek a cure. I asked this young woman whether there appeared to be anything extraordinary in what they call “mischievous eyes.” She told me no, except that they are so vivacious and sparkling that they seem to be on fire, and you feel they could pierce you like a dart.

The Inquisition She added that recently the Inquisition had an old woman arrested who was accused of being a witch. The young woman thought that she was the one who had put her child in the piteous condition I saw him in. I asked her what they would do to this woman. She replied that if there were strong enough proofs, she would certainly be burned or be left with the Inquisition. The best outcome for her would be to pull through with a flogging in the street. They either tie these witches to 3. In French une personne could be a man or a woman, but the grammatical gender of the word is feminine, as it is in Spanish. The 1691 English edition used the pronoun she although nothing in d’Aulnoy’s text specifies that the suspicious personne is a woman. GV

Seventh Letter 135 a donkey’s tail or have them ride the animal, and put on her head a paper miter painted in many colors with a written list of all the crimes she has committed. In this nice fashion they are led down the streets of the town where everyone is free to hit them or throw mud at them. “But,” I asked, “what makes you say that if they stay in prison their condition would be worse?” “Oh, Madame,” she said to me, “I can see that you’re not yet informed about the Inquisition. Nothing one can say comes close to describing the harshness of its treatments. They arrest you and throw you into a dungeon, where you stay for two or three months—sometimes more, sometimes less—without anyone speaking to you. After that, they bring you before judges who with a terrible look ask you why you’re there. Quite naturally, you answer that you have no idea. They say nothing more, and they send you back into this horrible dungeon where every day you suffer pains a thousand times crueler than death itself. But you don’t die of them, and sometimes you stay a whole year in that state. At the end of that time, they bring you back before the same judges, or others because they change or go to different countries. Again, the judges ask you why you are detained. You answer that you were arrested but you don’t know why. They send you back to the dungeon without saying another word. Really, sometimes you spend your whole life there.” I asked her whether it was common that you would accuse yourself, and she said that for some people it was the best and shortest strategy, but that the judges only accepted this procedure with those against whom they didn’t have strong enough evidence. Usually when someone accuses another of capital crimes, the informer must stay in prison with the criminal, and that’s why they are a little more moderate. She related particulars, tortures and all of their varieties that I don’t want to put in this letter—nothing is more horrible. She also said that she had known a Jew named Ismaël who was thrown into the Inquisition prison in Seville with his father, a rabbi. They had been there for four years when Ismaël, having made a hole in the wall of his cell, climbed to the top of a tower and used ropes he had prepared to slide down the wall in a very dangerous move. But once he reached the ground, he blamed himself for having abandoned his father. Without considering all the risks he faced—since he and his father had already been condemned and were to be taken to Madrid in a few days with several others to suffer the greatest torment—he didn’t hesitate to make up his mind. He climbed up to the tower, went down to the dungeon, pulled out his father, helped him escape first, and then escaped after him. I found this action very brave and worthy of serving as an example to Christians in an age when our hard hearts flout the most essential obligations of nature.4 I was continuing this pleasant conversation with this good Spanish woman when Constance, one of my women you know, came to tell me very excitedly that 4. An excellent example of d’Aulnoy’s open mind. GV

136 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY she had just seen Monsieur Daucourt and, if I wished, she would go call him. He’s a rich gentleman I’d met in Paris, well bred, well spoken, and good-looking. I know he has a brother in Madrid in the entourage of Don Juan of Austria. I was happy to speak with him, so Constance found him and brought him to me. After the first civilities, I asked for news of my relative, whom I believed he knew, then asked him to tell me his own news and whether he was satisfied with his journey. “Oh, Madame, don’t speak to me about my journey,” he cried out. “Never has there been a more unfortunate one, and if you’d arrived a few days earlier, you would’ve seen me hung.” “What!” I exclaimed. “What do you mean?” “I mean,” he said, “that I had the fright of my life, to put it mildly, and that this is the most unpleasant country in the world for foreigners. But, Madame, if you have some spare time and would like to know more, I’ll relate my adventure. It’s unusual and will fully prove what I’ve had the honor to tell you.” “I’m delighted to hear it,” I said to him, “we’re in a place where any news, pleasantly told, will be a great help.” He began speaking at once:

The Story of a Double-Crossed French Lover5 Narration of Monsieur Daucourt begins: “Some personal business and the wish to see my brother who’d been gone for several years obliged me, Madame, to make the trip to Madrid. I didn’t know much about the customs of this country. I thought you could visit women without fuss, play cards, and have meals with them, but I was surprised to learn that each one of them is more secluded in her house than a Carthusian in his cell. There are some people who’ve been in love for two or three years but have never been able to speak with each other. Such odd manners made me laugh; I told all the good and bad jokes about them that came to mind. But I treated this matter more seriously when I learned that these women, so locked up, were more pleasant than any in the world. They’re refined and vivacious and have manners that are unique to them. With them, love always seems new, and you’d never leave a Spanish woman unless it were for another Spanish woman. I was in despair about how difficult it was to meet them. One of my friends, named Belleville, a good-looking fellow who made the trip with me, was as frustrated as I was. My brother, afraid we’d get into an unfortunate scrape, kept on telling us that husbands in this country were very jealous, great murderers, and no more reluctant to crush a man than a fly. But this didn’t sit very well with two men who are not yet tired of living. “We went to all the places where we thought we would see ladies. We saw some, indeed, but didn’t get satisfaction. All the bows we made them led to 5. The fourth novella, omitted in the F-D edition (308). GV

Seventh Letter 137 nothing, and we both came home at night very tired and disgusted by our useless promenades. “One night, Belleville and I went to walk around the Prado.6 It’s a promenade adorned with tall rows of trees and several gushing fountains whose water cascades into basins and flows onto lanes to water them and make them cooler and more pleasant. That night, I tell you, was the most beautiful you could wish for. After arriving, we sent back our coach and went for a leisurely walk. We followed several alleys, then sat down on the side of a fountain and began to make our usual complaints. “ ‘My dear Belleville,’ I said to my friend, ‘will we ever be happy enough to find a Spanish lady that’s as witty and attractive as they’re said to be?’ “ ‘Alas,’ he said, ‘I desire it too much to hope that it will happen. Until now, we’ve only seen those ugly creatures who chase after men, just making them lose hope. And under their white mantillas they are more sallow and disgusting than gypsies. I admit I find them most unattractive and, despite their vivacity, I can’t make myself have a conversation with them.’ “As he was finishing these words, we saw two women emerge from a neighboring door. They had taken off their outer skirts, which are always very plain and, when they opened their mantles, the moonlight made them look all sparkling with gold and precious stones. ‘God’s truth!’ exclaimed Belleville. ‘These are fairies, at least.’ “ ‘Watch what you say,’ I replied. ‘They’re at least two angels!’ Seeing them come closer, we stood up and made them the deepest bow we have ever made. They strolled by slowly and looked at us, with one eye then the other, with those little simpering airs that suit Spanish women so well. They walked away a bit, and we wondered whether they would retrace their steps or whether we were supposed to follow them. While we were deliberating, we saw them approaching. They stopped when they were close to us, and one of them asked us if we could speak Spanish. “ ‘I can see by your clothes that you’re foreigners, but tell me, please, what country you are from.’ We answered that we were French and spoke Spanish quite badly but really wanted to learn it well. We were convinced that to do so you had to fall in love with a Spanish woman, and it wouldn’t be our fault if we didn’t find a woman who wanted to be loved. “ ‘This is a delicate matter,’ continued the other lady who hadn’t spoken yet, ‘and I would pity the lady who would embark on it, for I’ve heard that Frenchmen are not faithful.’ “ ‘Ah, Madame,’ Belleville exclaimed, ‘someone wanted to give you a bad opinion of them, but it’s just malicious gossip that can be easily discredited. And

6. Famous promenade in Madrid since the sixteenth century.

138 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY even though I can give my heart to a pretty woman, I feel that I could not take it back easily.’ “ ‘What!’ interrupted the one who’d spoken to me first. ‘Are you capable of committing yourself without thinking, at first sight? If so, I would have a less favorable opinion of you.’ “ ‘Ah, Madame,’ he cried out, ‘why lose such precious time? If loving is good, it’s good to begin as soon as possible. Hearts born for loving get worn out and spoiled when they have no love.’ “ ‘Your maxims are gallant,’ she said, ‘but they seem dangerous to me. Not only should we avoid following them, but, I declare, even hearing them.’ “Indeed, they tried to withdraw when we entreated them, very insistently, to stay a few more minutes in the Prado. Belleville and I said all we could think of to persuade them to reveal their identity and give us the satisfaction of seeing them without their mantles. The conversation was quite lively and pleasant. They were infinitely witty and, since they knew how to manage their charms, they showed us their hands quite casually while fixing their hair, and these hands were whiter than snow. Despite the care they seemed to take to hide themselves, we could see that they had a beautiful complexion, bright eyes, and quite regular features. We lingered with them as long as we could and begged them to come back to the promenade sometime or to grant us permission to call on them. They didn’t agree to anything and, indeed, we went to the Prado several times in a row, always near the fountain where we had seen them for the first time, without catching sight of them. “ ‘This is a big waste of time,’ we told ourselves. ‘How can we spend our lives in such idleness? We have to give up on these ladies so out of our reach!’ “That was our intention, but it didn’t last long. Hardly had we expressed it when we saw the same unknown ladies leave from the same door. We approached them respectfully, and our honest manners didn’t displease them. Belleville took the shorter lady by the hand and I the taller one. I tried to make her understand how impatient I’d been to see her. I blamed her a little, which seemed to concern her a bit and, becoming more daring, I spoke to her of the feelings she had inspired in me, assuring her that it was up to her to engage me for the rest of my life. She seemed very reserved about giving me the least sign of favor. “As our conversation went on, she told me that she was the heiress to a rather large estate, her name was Ines, her father had been a Knight of the Order of Saint James, and he was of distinguished birth. The lady with her was named Isabelle and they were cousins. All these details pleased me because I found in her a person of quality, and that flattered my vanity. When leaving, I begged her to give me the permission to go see her. “ ‘What you desire is a custom in your country,’ she said to me, ‘and if I lived there I would be happy to follow its customs. But ours are different, and even though I do not commit a crime in granting your request, I feel obliged to observe

Seventh Letter 139 rules of propriety that I do not want to transgress. I will find another way to see you, trust me, and do not resent me for refusing something I don’t completely control. Adieu,’ she continued, ‘I will think about what you desire and will let you know what I can do.’ I kissed her hand and left, very touched by her manners, her wit, and her conduct. “As soon as I was alone again with Belleville, I asked him whether he was satisfied with the conversation he’d just had. He told me he was, and that Isabelle seemed sweet and pleasant. ‘You’re lucky,’ I said, ‘to have already found her sweet. Ines didn’t show any of that in her personality. She’s playful, she turns everything I say into a joke, and I despair of having a more serious relationship with her.’ For several days we didn’t see them or receive messages. Then, when I was at Mass one morning, an old woman hidden under her mantle came up to me and gave me a note that said as follows: “ ‘You seem too pleasing for me to see you often, and I admit that I rather distrust my own heart. If yours is really touched by mine, marriage must be discussed. I have told you that I am rich, and I told you the truth. The offer I make you is not a bad one. Think about it. This evening I will be on the banks of the Manzanares,7 where you’ll be able to share your thoughts.’ “Since I wasn’t in a place that allowed me to give her an answer, I just wrote a few lines to her on my tablet-book:8 “ ‘You have the power to make me undertake whatever journey you please. I’m very aware that I love you too much for my peace of mind, and I should distrust my own weakness much more than you need to distrust yours. However, I will come to the Manzanares, resolved to obey you—whatever you command.’ “I gave my tablets to her honest messenger, who looked as though she was ready to steal their plates and clasps before delivering them. I asked Belleville to let me go alone to my rendezvous. He said he was happy to do so because Isabelle had let him know that she wished to speak to him in private at La Florida.9 We waited very impatiently for the assigned time and left after wishing each other a successful adventure. “As soon as I arrived on the banks of the river, I scrutinized all the coaches passing by, but it would have been hard for me to discover anything because they were closed with double curtains. Finally, one came and stopped, and I could see two women who signaled me to approach, which I did very quickly. It was Ines, even more hidden than usual and whom I could distinguish from the others only by the sound of her voice.

7. A park on the banks of the Manzanares River, which flows down the westernmost part of Madrid. 8. Tablets: a flat slab of stone or wood, covered with wax and used especially for an inscription. GV 9. Promenade of San Antonio de la Florida on the banks of the Manzanares, in northwest Madrid.

140 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY “ ‘How mysterious you are,’ I said to her. ‘Do you think, Madame, that to never see you yet to desire the sight of you so violently isn’t enough to make me die of grief?’ “ ‘If you’d like to come with me,’ she said, ‘you’ll see me, but I want to blindfold you here.’ “ ‘Really,’ I said to her, ‘until now you’ve seemed very pleasant, but these mysterious airs inspire nothing in me but suffering, which does not suit me. If I’m unfortunate enough for you to believe that I’m a dishonest man, then you should never trust me. If, on the contrary, I’ve earned some of your respect, you should show it by treating me more frankly.’ “Interrupting me, she said, ‘You should understand that I have compelling reasons for acting this way because, despite what you’ve just said, I won’t change my resolution. This depends on you, however. As for me, I won’t allow you to come into my coach except under that condition.’ “Since Spanish women are naturally obstinate, I chose to be blindfolded rather than break off with her. I admit that these appearances of female conquest fed my vanity, and I imagined that I was with a princess who didn’t want to reveal her identity at this time but who would turn out to be one of the most perfect and wealthy in Spain. This vision prevented me from opposing her wishes any longer. I told her that she had the power to blindfold me and even to gouge out my eyes if this gave her pleasure. She tied a handkerchief around my head so tightly that she caused me a lot of pain. Then I sat next to her. It was night, so I didn’t know where we were going, and I gave myself up entirely to her will. “Ines had two other girls with her, and the coach made so many turns that we went through most of the streets of Madrid. Ines entertained me with such witty conversation that I didn’t notice how long we were traveling. I was charmed to listen to her when, all of a sudden, our wretched coach, which was badly hitched up, was caught by another and overturned. We found ourselves in what is called the marée, one of the biggest and nastiest ditches in the city. I was never so upset in my life. The three señoras fell on top of me, suffocating me with their weight and deafening me with their screams. I was still blindfolded, and my face was turned in such a way that I couldn’t cry out without swallowing stinking water. “That’s when I made some reflections on the setbacks of life. While I loved Ines dearly, I found that I loved myself more and wished never to have met her. Without knowing exactly what happened, I felt relieved of the weight crushing me and, when I got on my feet with the help of some people who pulled me out, I couldn’t find Ines or her companions. The people surrounding me laughed like crazy at the sight of me blindfolded and so soaked in black water that I looked as if I had been thrown into an inkwell. I asked the coachman where his mistress was. He told me that the lady I was with was not his mistress, and she had left cursing at me. She was covered in muck, he didn’t know her, and all she said when she left was that I would pay.

Seventh Letter 141 “ ‘And where did you pick her up?’ I asked.10 “ ‘At the Descalzas Reales gate,’ he said. ‘An old woman came for me and brought me to this one.’ “For my money, I made him drive me home. I waited for Belleville with impatience mixed with grief. He returned very late and very satisfied with Isabelle, whom he found quite good natured and full of wit. “I related my adventure to him, and all he could do was to burst out laughing. He was so full of joy and made a hundred jokes at my expense that it put me in a very bad mood. It was daylight before we went to bed, and I got up only to take a walk in the Prado with him. As we were passing by some low windows, I heard Ines say, ‘Caballero, don’t go so fast. It’s quite proper to ask you how you feel after your accident last night.’ “ ‘But you, fair Ines,’ I said to her coming up to the window, ‘what became of you? And wasn’t I pitiful enough without having to suffer losing you?’ “ ‘You wouldn’t have lost me,’ she continued, ‘but a lady relative passing by at that moment recognized my voice and, against my will, I was obliged to get into her coach because I didn’t want her to see that we were together.’ “Even though the coachman had given me another account, I didn’t dare clarify the matter for fear of displeasing her, and I asked her very tenderly when I’d have the opportunity to tell her, freely, how great was my passion and respect for her. “ ‘It’ll be soon,’ she said, ‘because I’m beginning to believe that you love me, but time must confirm this opinion.’ “ ‘Oh, you cruel woman,’ I said, ‘you can hardly love me if you’re always postponing what I ask you so insistently.’ “ ‘Admit the truth,’ she answered, ‘and tell me whether you want to marry me.’ “ ‘I want to marry you if you wish,’ I said, ‘but I’ve never really seen you and haven’t had the opportunity to get to know you.’ “ ‘I am rich,’ she added. ‘I am well born, and they say I have some personal merits.’ “ ‘You have everything I could wish for,’ I said to her, ‘to please me more than anyone in the world. Your wit enchants me, but at times you make me despair, and sometimes I’d rather die at once than suffer so much.’ “She started laughing and, from that point on, I was able to have a conversation with her every evening in the Prado, in the Manzanares, or in some houses I didn’t know where she had me driven. To tell the truth, I never went into the room with her and spoke with her only through Venetian blinds, where I would stand for four hours like the biggest fool in the world. I admit that you must be in Spain to adjust to these manners, but I truly loved Ines. I found in her something lively and captivating that surprised and touched me. 10. Daucourt uses the familiar tu form in speaking to the coachman, his social inferior. GV

142 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY “At her invitation, I’d gone to meet her in a garden where she had been kinder to me than usual. Since she saw it was late, she ordered me to leave. I obeyed her reluctantly and was going down a very narrow street when I saw three men with swords attacking a single man defending himself valiantly. I couldn’t bear to see such an unequal fight, so I ran to assist him. But, as I drew near, they struck him and he fell on me like a dead man. These assassins fled very quickly, but the noise attracted a crowd of people who, seeing me sword in hand, didn’t doubt that I was one of the attackers. They were about to seize me and, realizing this, I fled to safety rather than trying to prove my innocence. I was closely pursued, and I was cut off wherever I turned. As a last resort I slipped into a half-open door unseen and groped my way up to a very dark room. I glimpsed a bit of light around a door and was hard-pressed to decide whether I should open it and what I should say if there were people inside. I look afraid, I said to myself, and they will think I’m a man who just committed a crime and is looking for ways to commit another one. I deliberated for a long time. I listened for voices very attentively and, hearing none, I finally took the risk. I opened the door very quietly and didn’t see anyone. I looked to see where I could hide. It seemed to me that the tapestry stuck out in some places and, indeed, I was able to hide behind a little corner. I was there for a short time when who should come in but Ines and Isabelle. “I can’t tell you, Madame, how pleasantly surprised I was to find myself in my mistress’s house. I didn’t doubt that fortune was favorable to me at last. I no longer feared my pursuers, and I was ready to throw myself at her feet when I heard Isabelle begin the conversation. “ ‘What did you do today, my dear Ines? Did you see Daucourt?’ “ ‘Yes,’ said Ines, ‘I saw him and I’ve reason to believe that he loves me madly, unless all my rules are wrong. He talks very seriously of marrying me. What bothers me is that he wants to see me and get to know me.’ “ ‘How can you avoid this?”’ continued Isabelle. “ ‘No, I don’t mean to avoid it,’ Ines replied, ‘but I’ll highlight my best features as much as I can. I won’t stand in full daylight with all the curtains open. I’ll insist that the curtains be drawn and that the windows let in just a glimmer of light that flatters me. As for my birth, I’ve had an authentic genealogy drawn up. It costs only a bit of old parchment gnawed by mice. As for the cash, you know that my lover, the faithful Don Diego, will lend me some. When Daucourt has received and counted it, he’ll not suspect that thieves will steal it the very night of our marriage. Today I rented a nice apartment, all furnished. So you must agree that I’ve not neglected anything to make this business I desire so much so advantageous for me.’ “ ‘Your precautions seem wise,’ said Isabelle. ‘Nevertheless I fear your comedy’s conclusion.’ “ ‘But you, my dear,’ Ines interrupted, ‘what are you doing?’

Seventh Letter 143 “ ‘Much less progress marriage-wise,’ said Isabelle, ‘but really, that’s not my goal. I find Belleville to be an honest man, and I feel that I love him. I wish only to possess his heart, and I believe I’d be angry if he wanted to marry me.’ “ ‘Your taste is bizarre,’ said Ines. ‘Your fortune is not the best; you’d be happy with him, and yet you don’t desire to be his wife.’ “ ‘And who told you I would be happy with him?’ Isabelle interrupted. ‘Love is so fickle that barely the first few moments of marriage are pleasant. Love, I say, needs something that stings and arouses it. It thrives on novelty, and how can a wife be always new?’ “ ‘And how,’ Ines cried out, ‘can a mistress be new either! Come on, my Isabelle, your fashionable maxims aren’t reasonable.’ “ ‘What you propose,’ Isabelle continued, ‘is much less so in my view, and if you want my advice, you’ll reflect seriously on your age. Frankly, you are old— very old. Is it right at sixty years old to hoodwink a man of thirty? He’ll be enraged at you. He’ll most surely leave you, or else he’ll leave you only after beating you black and blue.’ “Ines was sharp and quick. She took what Isabelle said about her age as bloody criticism and gave her perhaps the most furious slap across the face that’s ever been given. Isabelle, naturally impatient, gave her back two of them. Ines retaliated with a dozen punches, which were soon repaid in kind. And thus, my two champions entered the field of battle. They began such a comical single combat that I was doubled-up laughing in my corner and had a terrible time stopping myself from roaring out loud. As you can imagine, Madame, I no longer cared about the outcome after what I’d heard about the trick they were playing with so much malice. It was quite natural for me to look on Ines as no more than the worst sort of hussy. Isabelle, who knew her enemy’s weak points very well and was younger and stronger, took advantage so nimbly that she tore off Ines’s hairdo and left her completely bald. I’ve never been more surprised in my life to see hair fall off, hair that seemed very beautiful to me and entirely her own. But that was just a prelude; with one punch Isabelle knocked out several of her opponent’s teeth and the two little cork balls that helped plump up her sunken cheeks.11 The scuffle ended there because their chambermaids, who’d heard the racket, rushed in and separated them, with a lot of trouble. They hurled some last insults, even threatening to denounce the other to the Inquisition for the awful crimes they accused each other of. “Finding herself alone with her servant, Ines looked at herself in a large mirror for a long time and protested that she’d stop at nothing to be revenged on Isabelle for the insults she’d received. Then she sat down and rested a bit. They 11. In the eighteenth century, these facial enhancements were called cork plumpers and placed between the gums and the cheeks. Valerie Cumming, C. W. Cunnington, and P. E. Cunnington, The Dictionary of Fashion History (Berg: Oxford, 2010), 159. GV

144 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY brought her a little table, on which she put the enamel eye that filled the space of her missing one.12 Then she wiped off so much white makeup and so much rouge that, without exaggeration, it could’ve made a complete mask. It would be hard to express, Madame, how extraordinarily ugly this woman was, who had seemed so beautiful until now. I was rubbing my eyes; I was like a man who believes he’s dreaming and having a nightmare. Finally, she undressed and was almost naked. Here I won’t depict to you the details of this hideous carcass, but surely there’s never been a better cure for love. She had cavities everywhere others have elevations. She seemed like a skeleton wound by a spring to run around the room. She was in a skirt with a white mantle over the shoulders, her head bald, and her thin little arms all bare. “She remembered that during the scuffle her pearl bracelets became unstrung. She wanted to pick them up and had a hard time finding them, so her chambermaid helped her search for them. They counted the pearls together and found them all except for two, which were very cursed for me. Ines swore by St. James, patron of Spain, that she would not go to bed before finding them. She and her chambermaid looked everywhere, moving tables, knocking down chairs, and throwing here and there anything that got in their way, for Ines was in a foul mood. As I saw her coming toward my corner, fear of being found by such a fury made me retreat as far as I could. Unfortunately, in moving back I knocked over several bottles that were sitting on the floor and made a lot of noise. Ines, who thought that her cat had made the mess, started screaming gato, gato at the top of her lungs and raising the tapestry straight away to punish the cat. She caught sight of me with such surprise and rage that it almost killed her. She threw herself at my hair and pulled it out and hurled a thousand insults at me. She was like a madwoman, the veins in her neck so swollen and her wrinkles so awful that I thought I saw Medusa’s head. In my fright I was pondering my retreat when I heard a loud noise in the staircase that made me even more alarmed. Ines left me and ran to see what was happening; at the same time, the whole house was filled with screams and cries. “Police officers found the young man I told you about, Madame, lying on the pavement, which is why they were so hotly pursuing me. After several inquiries, they learned that he was the son of a lady who lived in this very house. They were bringing him back full of stab wounds and all bloody. At this sight, the mother collapsed in despair. I’d mentioned my misadventure to Ines to explain my presence in her room, and the shrew didn’t keep my secret. Instead, to take revenge and punish me for discovering her tricks, she dared to denounce me. 12. The old woman masking her decrepit state to seduce a young man is a frequent literary motif, found, for example, in Cervantes’s novella “The Deceitful Marriage,” in his Novelas exemplares (1613). Daucourt’s misadventures are in no way an example of “nauseating sentimentality,” as F-D labeled the inset stories, but instead are a comic treatment of cultural biases and misunderstandings in which the arrogant young Frenchman is the biggest fool. GV

Seventh Letter 145 “ ‘I have the murderer in my power,’ she cried out, ‘come, come with me, I will hand him over to you.’ “Right away she opened the door to her room and, followed by a troop of alguazil (they serve as policemen in this country), she handed me over with all the necessary evidence to speed up my trial. ‘I saw this wretch,’ she said, ‘who was still holding his sword all bloody from the last wound he’d given. He burst into my room to save himself and threatened me with death if I revealed him.’ “All I could say to justify myself was useless. They didn’t want to hear me; they tied my hands and were dragging me to jail like a miserable criminal while the charitable Ines and the mother and sister of the wounded man pummeled me with curses and blows. They had me put in a dungeon where I stayed several days without having the liberty to alert my brother and my friends of what was happening. As for them, they were beside themselves with worry, not doubting that I’d been assassinated in one of my late-night rendezvous. “Finally, Belleville, who continued to see Isabelle, mentioned his concern and begged her to help him discover at least what had been done with my body. She was so careful in gathering information that Ines’s chambermaid, who’d been quite badly treated by her mistress, revealed the secret of the story even though this good lady had expressly forbidden Isabelle to say anything. Hearing this information, my brother went to beg the king to have pity on me and to order that I be removed from this dungeon that looked more like hell than a prison. I fainted as soon as I saw daylight. I was so weak and exhausted that I looked frightening. However, I couldn’t get out of prison for some time due to various formalities. You can guess, Madame, what I meditated against that perfidious Ines, but I still didn’t know whether I’d be able to carry out all my plots for just vengeance because the gentleman that had been wounded was still very ill and his life hung in the balance. Mine depended on his to such an extent that I made ardent wishes for his recovery, and I passed many unpleasant hours in this agonizing uncertainty. But my brother was convinced of my innocence and did everything he could to find those who had committed this crime. “My brother finally found out that this young, wounded cavalier had a rival. He followed this trail so carefully that he learned with certainty that the blow had come from this rival. He was able to have him apprehended and the rival confessed to his crime, which got me out of trouble. So I was freed and was so happy that I fell ill for several days. In other words, my illness was caused by the foul air I’d breathed in prison. “That nasty Ines, for her part, who was not very prepared for what could befall her after the low trick she played on me, heard that I’d been set free and was now in a position to have her arrested. She packed up her bags and left one night without anyone knowing where she’d gone. When I tried to denounce her as a cheating hussy, it was impossible to find her. I consoled myself because, by nature, I don’t like to harm women. But the fear that they could harm me more

146 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY made me leave Madrid, at least to avoid Spanish women. I am returning to France, Madame, where I’ll deliver your orders if you honor me with them.” Narration of Monsieur Daucourt ends. Even though I was sad about what had happened to this gentleman, I couldn’t help but laugh at the circumstances of his adventure, and I thought, my dear cousin, that you wouldn’t be annoyed if I shared the tale with you. I won’t write again until I arrive in Madrid. I hope to see things there more worthy of your curiosity than what I’ve sent you until now.

EIGHTH LETTER

March 28, 1679, from Madrid Please don’t scold me, my dear cousin, for not having sent news as soon as I arrived in Madrid. I thought it better to wait until I was able to give you more detailed information. I knew that my relative was planning to come meet me in Alcovendras, which is only six leagues from Madrid. As she hadn’t yet arrived, I wished to wait for her, and Don Frederic of Cardona proposed that we dine in a very pretty house whose master he knew well. And so, rather than stopping in this little town, we passed it and, going down a rather beautiful avenue, I arrived at Don Augustín Pacheco’s house.1

Don Augustín’s Horticultural and Literary Tastes This gentleman is old. He recently married his third wife, Doña Teresa of Figueroa, who’s only sixteen or seventeen and so pleasant and clever that we were charmed by her wit and her person. It was only ten o’clock when we arrived. Spanish women are naturally lazy; they like to get up late, and this one was still in bed. Her husband greeted us with such frankness and civility that he showed how much our visit pleased him. He was walking in his gardens, which are quite as well tended as ours. I went there first, for the weather was beautiful and the trees are as full in this country in the month of March as they are in France at the end of June. It’s by far the most charming time to enjoy what they call la primavera, the beginning of spring, because, when the sun becomes hotter, it burns and withers the leaves as if fire were passing through them. The gardens I speak of were adorned with bowling greens, fountains, and statues, and Don Augustín didn’t neglect to show us all their beautiful features. He’s very attached to his gardens and spends money on them freely because he’s very rich. He guided us into a gallery with cedar shelving filled with books. He led me to the largest shelf and told us that it held priceless treasures and that his collection included all the plays of the best authors. “In former times,” he declared, “virtuous persons couldn’t bring themselves to see plays. They were viewed as merely displays insulting to modesty, speeches violating liberty, actors making upstanding people feel ashamed. They glamorized vice and derided virtue, fighting bloodied the stage, the weaker was always crushed by the stronger, and customs sanctioned crime. But since Lope de Vega successfully reformed Spanish 1. Pacheco is another semi-fictional character, as is his wife, Doña Teresa. D’Aulnoy was inspired by a couple she had written about in her Mémoires de la cour d’Espagne: Don Frederic Pedro de Aragon, over seventy, who married as his third wife his seventeen-year-old grandniece, a daughter of the Duke of Medina Celi. Augustín Pacheco’s name appears in the Gazette of 1679 as Commander of the Besançon Citadel.

147

148 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY theater, there’s nothing on stage contrary to good morals.2 The confidant, the valet, or the villager, keeping their natural simplicity and endearing themselves with their simple cheerfulness, have found the secret to cure our princes and even our kings of the illness of turning a deaf ear to truths, to which their own faults have contributed. He’s the one who prescribed rules to his students and taught them to write plays in three jornadas, or acts. Since then, we have seen many playwrights thrive: the Montalvanes, Mendozas, Rojas, Alarcones, Velez, Mira of Mescuas, Coellos, Villaizanes.3 Finally, Don Pedro Calderón excelled in both the serious and the comic, surpassing all his predecessors.”4 I couldn’t help telling him that in Vitoria I saw a play that seemed quite bad to me and, if I might be allowed to express my opinion, I don’t like mixing tasteless and useless jokes into tragedies on religious subjects that demand respect and dignified treatment. He responded that he knew, from what I said, the character of my country. He hardly ever met a French person who approved of what Spaniards did. Since this thought bothered him, I assured him that we had no natural antipathy against any nation, and we even prided ourselves in doing justice to our enemies. As for the play I didn’t like, I assured him that many others were probably much better. My manner of speaking calmed him a bit, so he invited me to enter his wife’s apartment at the end of the gallery.

Getting Out of Bed: Doña Teresa’s Morning Rituals Don Fernand and the three gentlemen remained in the gallery because Spanish custom doesn’t allow men to enter a lady’s room when she’s in bed. A brother has the privilege of doing so only when his sister is sick. Doña Teresa greeted me as warmly as if we had been friends for a long time. I must say in praise of Spanish women that their caresses are free from familiarity that indicates a lack of good breeding. With much civility, and even eagerness, they know very well the degree of respect due to others and, at the same time, what is due to themselves. 2. Felix Lope de Vega y Carpio (1562–1635) renewed Spanish dramatic literature. At the request of the Madrid Academy, he composed The New Art of Writing Plays (1609). He wrote some five hundred plays, eighty of which are considered masterpieces. 3. Antonio Hurtades de Mendoza (1586–1644), Spanish playwright, author of many comedies including La Celestina. Pedro Soto de Rojas (1584–1658), poet, disciple of Góngora. Juan Ruiz de Alarcón y Mendoza (1581–1639), Mexican-born playwright known for his psychological acumen, author of La verdad sospechosa (1634), the model for Pierre Corneille’s 1644 comedy Le menteur (The Liar). Luis Vélez de Guevara (1579–1644), disciple of Lope de Vega, author of numerous plays in the satirical and Baroque style. Antonio Mira de Amescua (1574–1644), author of more than a hundred plays, from historical to biblical. 4. The plays of Pedro Calderón de la Barca (1600–1681), considered the culmination of the Spanish Golden Age for their formal perfection and masterpieces of world theater for their philosophical depth. Among them, La vida es sueño (Life Is a Dream, 1635).

Eighth Letter 149 She was in bed without a bonnet or a cornet.5 Her hair was parted in the middle, tied in the back with a ribbon and wrapped in crimson-colored taffeta. Her nightgown was very fine and so large that it looked like a surplice. Its sleeves were as wide as men’s and were fastened at the wrist with diamond buttons. Instead of backstitches at the collar and sleeves, there were blue and flesh-colored silk embroidered flowers. She wore cuffs of white taffeta découpage, and she had several pillows laced with ribbons and trimmed in broad, fine lace as well as a flowered quilt of Spanish needlepoint in gold and silk that seemed very beautiful to me. Her bed was made of gilded copper with round ivory and ebony finials. The headboard was adorned with four rows of small rail posts of very finely carved copper. She asked my permission to rise, but when it was time to put her shoes on, she had the key to her room removed and the door bolted. I asked her why she barricaded herself in this way. She told me that she knew there were Spanish gentlemen with me, and she would rather die than let them see her feet. I burst out laughing and begged her to let me see them since I was so unimportant. It’s true that being so small they were unusual, and I have seen six-year-old children who had feet the same size. As soon as she got up, she took a cup full of rouge with a big brush and not only applied it on her cheeks, chin, under the nose, above the eyebrows, and on the earlobes but also smeared it inside her hands and on her fingers and her shoulders. She told me that they put in on every evening when going to bed and in the morning when getting up. She would’ve liked to stop using rouge, but it was so customary that they couldn’t avoid it. However beautiful your complexion is, you always looked pale and sick next to others when you don’t wear rouge. One of her women perfumed her from head to toe with excellent pastilles, waving the smoke toward her.6 Another applied roussia, that’s the term, which means that the servant put rose-water in her mouth and, clenching her teeth, she sprinkled it on Doña Teresa like rain. She told me that nothing spoiled the teeth more than this manner of sprinkling, but the water smelled even better. I certainly doubt that and would find it very unpleasant to have an old woman like the one I saw there spitting water from her mouth onto my face.

Better in Portugal? Having heard from one of his wife’s criadas7 that she was dressed, Don Augustín bypassed custom and led Don Fernand and the gentlemen into her room. Conversation didn’t remain general for long, and we divided into groups. As for 5. A cone-shaped headdress in the French manner. 6. Pellets of aromatic paste. GV 7. Female servants. GV

150 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY me, I conversed with Doña Teresa. She told me that she was born in Madrid but had been brought up in Lisbon by her grandmother, who was the sister of Don Augustín Pacheco, so she was her husband’s grandniece—and such alliances are common in Spain. She spoke at length about the young Infanta of Portugal and praised her wit very highly. She added that if I wanted to enter her private room, I could judge the princess’s beauty by the portrait she had. I went in immediately and was surprised by the charms I found in this princess. Her hair was cut and curled like the wig of an abbot, and she wore such a big garde-infant, or farthingale, that placed atop it were two baskets of flowers and little vases of medicinal earth,8 which they eat a great deal of in Portugal, even though it’s a soil with very little taste. Doña Teresa showed me the skin of a snake that she said her husband had killed in the Indies, and, however dead it was, it still scared me. This species is extremely dangerous, but it seems that Providence wanted to protect human beings, because the heads of these have a type of rattle on them that makes a noise when they move and warns travelers. Loving Portugal so much, this young lady spoke very highly of it. Description of Lisbon: its setting, walls, castle, fortress, public squares, fountains, fairs, and markets. Description of Alcántara, where she had lived, Belem and its wonderful citrus trees, and some customs in Portugal. (Seguin 193–94)9 “But what’s most astonishing,” she added, “is the Strella mountain lake where they sometimes find debris of ships, broken masts, anchors, and sails even though the sea is more than twelve leagues away and the lake is on top of a tall mountain. They don’t understand where all these things could have come from.” I was listening to Doña Teresa with great pleasure when her husband and the rest of the company came and interrupted us. Don Augustín was a man of wit and very pleasant for his age. “If my curiosity isn’t indiscreet,” he said to me, “please tell me, Madame, what this child conversed about with you.” “Mi tío,” she spoke up again (tío means uncle), “you may well believe that it was about Portugal.” “Oh, I already guessed as much,” he exclaimed. “That’s where she always chooses her battlefield.” “Dear God,” she said, “we each have our own, and once you are in your Mexico, no one can pull you out.” 8. Terre sigillée in the French text means a clayey soil used in the past as an absorbent or an antiseptic. In Spain, they made vases called búcaros out of it, used to perfume water. It seems that some women ate this clayey soil to preserve their beauty. 9. According to F-D (313–18), d’Aulnoy draws this description largely from A. Jouvin, Le Voyageur d’Europe (Paris, Denys Thierry, 1672, 213–23). GV

Eighth Letter 151 “You’ve been to the Indies,” I went on, “and Doña Teresa showed me a snake that she told me you killed.” “It’s true, Madame,” he continued, “and I would speak to you about what I saw if it weren’t time for dinner.10 But,” he added, “I have to go to Madrid, and if you allow me I will bring Doña Teresa to see you. Indeed, that’s where I will return to my battlefield and will inform you of things which I believe you wouldn’t be unwilling to know.” I assured him that I’d be very pleased to receive such a mark of his kind regards and would be delighted to see the lovely Doña Teresa and to hear him speak of the Indies—he who spoke so admirably of everything.

Dinner at the Pachecos He took my hand and led me down to a sitting room paved in marble with cushions arranged around it and paintings on the wall instead of tapestries. Placesettings were laid on a table for the men, and on a carpet on the ground, there was a cloth with three place settings for Doña Teresa, my daughter, and me. I was surprised at this fashion, not being used to dining in this way. However, I said nothing and wanted to try it. I’ve never been so uncomfortable. My legs ached horribly; at times I leaned on an elbow, at times on a hand. Finally, I gave up eating, but my hostess didn’t notice because she thought that ladies ate on the floor in France as they do in Spain. But Don Fernand, noticing my discomfort, got up with Don Frederic, and they insisted that I should sit at the table. I was quite willing as long as Doña Teresa did so as well. She didn’t dare to because men were present, and she only raised her eyes to them when unobserved. Don Augustín told her to come without fuss, for they had to show me how happy they were to have me in their home. But it was rather funny that, when this little lady sat on a seat, she was no less ill at ease than I was on the carpet. She admitted to us with charming innocence that she’d never sat on a chair and had never thought of doing so. Dinner was very cheerful, nothing could have enhanced the kind manner in which I’d been entertained in this house. I gave Doña Teresa some ribbons, hairpins, and a fan. She was delighted and thanked me more excessively than she should have for a valuable gift. Her thanks were not common and had nothing low or self-interested about them. Truly, they have sharp minds in this country, and this appears even in least trifles.

Strange Coaches and Meeting the Relative Hardly an hour after I’d left this house, I saw two coaches hitched up with six mules each, galloping faster than the best horses could. I would’ve had a hard time 10. The main meal of the day, around midday.

152 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY believing that mules could run at this pace, but what surprised me even more was the way they were hitched up. These two coaches and their gear took up almost a quarter-league of space. One of them had six rather large windows, made like ours except that the upper deck is very low and thus uncomfortable. Inside, it has a molding of gilded wood so big that it seems better suited to a room. The coach was gilded on the outside, which is permitted only to ambassadors and foreigners. Their curtains are made of damask and wool sewn together. The coachman rides on one of the mules in front and, although there is a seat, he doesn’t use it. When I asked Don Frederic why this was so, he answered that he’d been assured that this custom dates from the coachman of the Count-Duke of Olivares, who overheard an important secret his master told one of his friends and then revealed it. This matter caused a disturbance at court because the count accused his friend of indiscretion, although he was innocent. Since then, they’ve always taken the precaution of having the coachman ride on the lead mule. Their leads are made of silk or hemp so extraordinarily long that one mule is three ells away from the next.11 I don’t understand why they don’t all break when they run as they do. True, if they run fast in the countryside, they go very slowly in the city. It’s the most annoying thing, to go as if counting the steps. In Madrid, though, they only have four mules and they always have a postillion. My relative was in the first coach with three Spanish ladies. The squires and the pages were in the second, which wasn’t made the same way. It had doors like the ones on our old coaches. They could be detached and their leather is open underneath so, when ladies want to come down (the ones who don’t want to show their feet), this door can be lowered to the ground to hide the shoe. There were mirrors twice as big as your hand attached to the shutters, one in front, one behind, to call the footmen. Nothing looks more like our little garret windows. The upper deck of the coach is covered with a thick gray wool cloth, and the big curtains are of the same material. They hung down outside the leather, drawn around, very long, and fastened with buttons and loops. The effect is very ugly, and you’re locked up in there as in a trunk.

The Perils of Multilingualism My relative was dressed in a half French, half Spanish style. She seemed delighted to see me, and I was no less happy to see her. I didn’t find her changed as far as her looks, but I couldn’t help laughing at her way of speaking. She hardly knows French anymore even though she still speaks it, and she loves it so much that she finds it impossible to learn another language perfectly. So she mixes Italian, English, and Spanish with her native language, which results in a language that 11. Aune, in English ell, is a former measure of length (equivalent to six hand breadths) used mainly for textiles, typically about forty-five inches. Three ells equal a little more than eleven feet. GV

Eighth Letter 153 surprises those who know, as I do, that she masters French in all its purity and was able to give lessons to even the most advanced speaker. She doesn’t want people to say that she’s forgotten it and, indeed, she can’t believe it herself, because she didn’t stop speaking French at home with her women or with the ambassador and foreigners, most of whom know the language. Nevertheless, she speaks it badly because, if you’re not at the source, it’s very difficult to speak a language that changes every day and continually makes progress. I found the ladies with her very pretty, and I can assure you that there are very beautiful and pleasant women in this country. We gave each other many hugs and returned to Madrid.

First Impressions of Madrid Before arriving, we had to cross a sandy plain four leagues long, so uneven that we would tilt into holes, making the coach bump along and slow down. This bumpy path extended to a little village called Manes, only half a league from Madrid. The countryside is dry and very open; you hardly see a tree anywhere. Madrid is in the center of Spain, in New Castile. More than a century ago, the kings of Spain chose it as their court because of its pure air and excellent water. Indeed, it’s so good and light that when the Cardinal-Infant was in Flanders, he would drink no other water and had it transported by sea in tightly sealed stoneware pitchers. The Spaniards claim that the founder of Madrid was a prince named Ocno Bianor, son of Tiberino, king of the Latins, and Manto, a queen more renowned for the science of astrology, which she possessed perfectly, than for her rank.12 They believe that Madrid must be situated in the heart of Europe because the little town of Pinto, which is only three leagues away, was called Panctum in Latin and it’s in the center of Spain. The first thing I noticed is that the city is not surrounded by either walls or ditches. The doors, so called, are closed only with latches, and I’ve already seen several that were completely broken. There are no defensive structures, no castle, nothing that could even withstand pelting with oranges and lemons. But it would be useless to fortify this city; the mountains surrounding it serve to defend it. I’ve passed through places in the mountains that can be blocked off with a big rock and, with only a hundred men, can prevent a whole army from passing. The streets are long, straight, and quite wide, but nothing could be more badly paved. However slowly you ride, you are jolted to pieces, and there are more ditches and 12. Since the sixteenth century, when the Cortes was moved to Madrid, historiographers tried to give Madrid an origin that went back almost to the Flood, ten centuries before the founding of Rome. Plagiarizing the origin that Virgil gave to Mantua, they affirmed that Madrid was founded by the legendary Prince Ocno-Bianor, son of Tiberino, king of Tuscany, and the divine Manto, daughter of Tiresias (Seguin 388). The French also claimed a mythological origin for their country, supposedly founded by Francion (or Francus), son of Hector of Troy. GV

154 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY mud than in any other city in the world. It covers horses to their bellies. Coaches drive down the middle so it splatters all over you, and you’re lost unless you pull up the windows or draw the big curtains I mentioned to you. Water comes into the coach through the bottom of the doors, which aren’t closed. The houses don’t have carriage entrances, or at least they’re rare, and houses that do have them are without a courtyard. The doors are quite large, and as for the houses, they’re beautiful, spacious, and convenient, though they’re only built of earth and brick. I find them at least as expensive as in Paris. The first story they build belongs to the king, and he can rent or sell it unless the owner of the building buys it, which he almost always does, and this brings the king considerable revenue. Their houses usually have ten or twelve large rooms on the same level. A few have as many as twenty, or even more. They have summer and winter apartments and often autumn and the spring ones as well. Since they have such a prodigious number of servants, they must house them in neighboring buildings that they rent specially for them.

Surplus of Servants, Shortage of Food You shouldn’t be surprised, my dear cousin, that they have so many servants. Two reasons account for this. The first is that Spaniards give them only two reales per day for food and wages, which amount to no more than seven and a half sols together.13 I say Spaniards because foreigners pay them at the rate of four reales, which equal fifteen sols in our money. The Spaniards give their gentlemen only fifteen écus14 per month with which they must support themselves and wear velvet in winter and taffeta in summer. So they live on onions, peas, and other cheap food, which makes the pages better thieves than monkeys. But I shouldn’t say more about pages than other servants because, in this matter, they all have the same inclination, whatever wages they’re given. Things have gone so far that when bringing dishes to the table, they eat more than half of what’s inside. They swallow morsels so hot that their teeth are all rotten. I advised my relative to have a silver pot made with a padlock, like the one I saw at the house of the archbishop of Burgos, and she did so. In that way, after the cook fills the pot, he looks through a little grate to see whether the soup looks good, and now the pages only get the steam. Before this invention, when we’d want to pour soup on our bread, most often we’d find neither meat nor broth. For you must know that if the Spaniards are frugal when they spend, they are not so when they live at someone 13. The Spanish real and the French sol were coins of very low denomination whose value fluctuated over the centuries. Two reales would amount to sixpence in late seventeenth-century England. A sol or sou is translated in American English today as a penny. GV 14. The écu was worth about sixty sous in the second half of the seventeenth century. GV

Eighth Letter 155 else’s expense. I saw people of the highest quality eat like wolves at our table, they were so famished. They even commented on this themselves and begged us not to be surprised, claiming that they found stews prepared in the French style to be very delicious. At almost every corner, there are public kitchens with big cauldrons that boil on trivets. People go there to buy all sorts of nasty things, broad beans, garlic, leeks and a little broth, in which they dunk their bread. The gentlemen of a household and the maidservants go there like anyone else because the daily meal is only cooked for the master, the mistress, and their children. They’re surprisingly restrained as to wine. The women never drink any, and the men drink so little that a quarter pint a day is enough for them. You couldn’t insult them more than to accuse them of being drunk. So here’s a great deal of information to explain the first reason why they have so many servants. Here’s the other one. When a great lord dies, if there are a hundred servants, his son keeps them without reducing the number he already has in his house. If the mother dies, the women, just the same, enter the service of her daughter or her daughter-in-law, and that can go on to the fourth generation because they never dismiss anyone. The masters put them up in those neighboring houses I spoke about and pay their rations. The servants show up from time to time, more to show that they’re not dead than to perform any service. I went to the Duchess of Ossone’s house (she’s a very great lady), and I was surprised at the number of girls and dueñas; all the reception rooms and bedrooms were filled with them. I asked her how many she had. “I only have three hundred left,” she said, “but a short time ago I had five hundred.” If private individuals observe the custom of keeping so many people, the king, who does the same, has infinitely more of them. This is extremely costly and is a great burden on his finances. I was told that in Madrid alone he gave rations to more than ten thousand persons, including the pensions he pays. The kings have pantries where one can collect certain provisions that are assigned according to one’s quality. They distribute meat, poultry, game, fish, chocolate, fruit, ice, coal, candles, bread, in short, everything that’s necessary for life. Ambassadors also have pantries, as do certain grandees of Spain. They have people who sell, at their house, everything I’ve just mentioned, without paying any customs or taxes. This brings them considerable revenue, for the customs duties are excessive.

On Retinue, Carriage Rules, and Parking Problems Only ambassadors and foreigners are allowed to have a great many pages and lackeys in their retinue. According to the Pragmatic (that’s what they call the edicts of reformation promulgated by the sovereign), Spaniards are forbidden to have more than two lackeys follow them, and so they feed four or five hundred

156 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY people in their household just to be accompanied by three. The third one is a groom who goes on foot close to the horses to prevent them from entangling their feet in their long leads, and he doesn’t carry a sword as the lackeys do. But you have to admit that those three men are old enough to make them respectable, for their age if nothing else. I’ve seen fifty-year-old lackeys but never one under thirty. They’re unattractive, sallow, and dirty looking. They cut the hair on top of their head and keep only a little round of hair that’s quite long, very greasy, and rarely combed. The hair they cut on the crown gives them the look of a boar’s head. They carry large swords with a shoulder belt and a cloak over it. They wear blue or green, and their cloaks of green cloth are often lined in blue cut velvet. Their sleeves are made of velvet, satin, or damask. This should make for handsome uniforms, but nothing is more badly put together, and their sickly look dishonors the livery they wear. They put on flaps without doublet collars, which is ridiculous. On their lapels, they wear neither gallons nor tufted buttons and loops; they have no decorations at all. Their gentlemen and their pages always travel in a coach that follows. In all seasons, they’re dressed in black. In winter, they wear velvet with rather long wool cloaks, but which drag on the ground when they’re in mourning. They don’t carry swords while they’re still pages; most of them have only a little dagger hidden under their jackets. In the summer, they’re dressed in taffeta or damask with very light black woolen cloaks. Only great lords and titulados (titled gentlemen) may have their coaches drawn in the city by four mules with those long silk or rope leads. If a person who was not distinguished wanted to travel in this way, however rich, they would insult him in the middle of the street by cutting his traces and making him pay a big fine. It’s not enough to be rich; you must also be a person of quality. The king alone can have six mules draw his coach, and six as well for the coaches that follow. They don’t look like the others and stand out because they’re covered with a green oil cloth and are round on top like our big stage coaches, except that they’re not made of wicker. Their carvings are very coarse and badly made, and the doors slide down so it’s all very ugly. I don’t know how such a great king can be satisfied without better-looking coaches. I was told that this way of making coaches was used in Spain before Charles V, and his were the same. So, imitating such a great emperor, none of the kings who reigned after him wanted anything else. There must be some very strong reasons for this, because the king does have some of the most beautiful coaches in the world, some made in France, the others in Italy and elsewhere. The great lords also have magnificent ones, but, following the king’s example, they use them fewer than four times a year. All the coaches park in big courtyards that have enclosed sheds. You can see up to two hundred in a single yard, and here are several such yards in every neighborhood. They park

Eighth Letter 157 their coaches in those places because there is no other space for them, and their houses, as I’ve just said, don’t have courtyards or carriage entrances. Recently, it became fashionable to use horses instead of mules. Anyone would agree that these horses are extremely beautiful. They have no flaws, and it would be difficult for even the greatest painters to paint more perfect ones. But it’s murder to hitch them up to those coaches, heavy as a house. The cobblestones are so uneven that the horses wear out their hoofs in less than two years. They’re very expensive and are not strong enough for coaches. But I saw them pulling pretty little carriages, all painted and gilt with bellowed tops like the ones in Holland.15 Nothing is more charming and swift, and holding their heads so high the horses look like stags. As soon as you leave the city, you’re allowed to hitch six horses to your coach. Their harnesses are very neat and their manes, which reach the ground, are decorated with ribbons of different colors. Sometimes they cover their crests with puffs of silvery gauze, which has a very nice effect. The mule harnesses are made of straps of leather, very flat and wide, covering them almost entirely.

Spanish Gallantry at Its Best Two days ago, I went with my relative for a walk outside the St. Bernardine’s Gate (that’s where they go in winter). Don Antonio of Toledo,16 son of the Duke of Alba, was there, along with the Duke of Uceda17 and the Count of Altamira.18 He had a team of horses called isabelle19 that seemed so beautiful to me that I couldn’t help but speak to him about it when his coach came near ours. He said to me, according to custom, that he laid them at my feet. That evening when we got home, 15. Folding top of a carriage. GV 16. Antonio Sebastián de Toledo, 2nd Marquis of Mancera (ca. 1622–1715). He was Viceroy of New Spain and Councilor of State (1691). After defending the succession of the House of Austria, he backed Philip d’Anjou, who retained him in his government. GV 17. This could not be Cristobal Gomez de Sandoval y Rojas, Duke of Uceda, who died in 1624. Scholars have not been able to identify this Spanish nobleman, who could be a fictional character (Seguin 388n27). However, he could be Juan Francisco Antonio Alonso María José Domingo Pacheco Téllez-Girón (1649–1718), a Spanish nobleman (Viceroy of Sicily and ambassador to Rome) who married the Duchess of Uceda (Isabel María de Sandoval y Girón) in 1677 and acquired the title of Duke consort of Uceda. GV 18. Luis de Moscoso Osorio Messía de Guzmán Mendoza y Rojas (1657–1705), Count of Altamira, Monteagudo de Mensoza, and Lodosa and Marquis of Almazán and Posa. Spanish ambassador to Rome. GV 19. A pale fawn color also known as “isabelline.” According to one legend, the color’s name comes from Isabelle of Spain (1566–1633), daughter of Philip II. She made a vow in 1601 not to change her undershirt until her husband, Archduke Albert of Austria, was able to take the city of Ostend in Flanders. She expected a speedy victory, but the siege lasted three years. The white shirt turned a tawny yellow, and the color became very fashionable. GV

158 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY I was told that his gentleman asked to speak with me. He paid me a compliment and told me that his master’s six horses were in my stable. My relative started laughing and told him for me that I had arrived in Madrid so recently that I didn’t know that you must not praise anything belonging to a caballero as gallant as Don Antonio, but it was not the fashion to accept presents of such value, and she kindly asked him to take them back. That’s just what he did not want to do. We sent them back right away. He returned them, and we sent them back again. Finally, I foresaw the hours that we would spend that night in going back and forth. After all that, we were forced to write him a letter and even show irritation in order to convince him that we would not accept them. I was told that once the king has used a horse, out of respect, no one would ride it ever again. It happened that the Duke of Medina Las Torres had bought a horse for 25,000 crowns, the handsomest and noblest ever seen. The duke had him painted and, after seeing the painting, King Philip IV wanted to see the horse. The duke begged him to please accept the horse, but he refused because, he said, he would seldom ride it, and since no one would use it after him, this horse would lose all its strength.

Of Dwarfs and Rosaries Well-born and pretty young girls are placed with ladies. They usually spend their time doing embroidery with gold, silver, or different colors of silk to decorate the edge of their collars and the sleeves of their chemise. If they were allowed to follow their natural inclination, they would work very little and talk a lot. They also have male and female dwarfs that are very unpleasant looking. The female dwarfs in particular are awfully ugly. Their head is bigger than their whole body, and they always wear their hair loose and falling to the ground. When these little figures appear, at first you don’t know what you’re seeing. They wear magnificent clothes, they are their mistresses’ confidants, and, for this reason, they get whatever they want. In every household at certain designated hours, all the women accompany the lady to the chapel to recite the rosary. They don’t use books to pray to God, or if they have them, it’s very rare. The Count of Charny,20 who is French, goodlooking, a man of worth, and a general in the king of Spain’s cavalry in Catalonia, told me that at Mass the other day, he was reading his prayer book when an old Spanish woman pulled it out of hands and, with great indignation, threw it on the ground: “Leave this,” she said, “and use your beads!” It’s really something to see, the way they use their rosary continually. All the ladies have one attached to their belt and so long that it almost drags on the ground. They say it endlessly, in the street, while playing ombre, while conversing, and even while making 20. The illegitimate son of Gaston d’Orléans, Louis XIII’s younger brother.

Eighth Letter 159 love or telling lies and malicious gossip. Because they mumble this rosary all the time, even when they’re in a large group, this doesn’t prevent them from carrying on. You can image how devoutly they say it, but custom is very powerful in this country.

Ladies’ Fashions: Outer Wear, Under Wear, and Foot Fetish A few years ago, women wore prodigiously wide garde-infants.21 This was uncomfortable for them and for others. No doors were wide enough for them to go through. Then they stopped wearing them and only put them on when they appear before the queen or the king. In town, they usually wear sacristains, which are, strictly speaking, the children of vertugadin. They are made of thick brass wire that goes around the waist, where ribbons are tied to it supporting another round that is wider and lower. There are five or six hoops that go down to the floor and support the skirts. They wear a surprising number of them, and it’s hard to believe that creatures as small as Spanish women can bear such a load. The outer skirt is always made of coarse black taffeta or of gray goat-hair fabric, with a large truss or bundle of fabric above the knees around the skirt. When you ask them what this is for, they say that it’s to lengthen the skirt since it wears out. The Queen Mother and others have them on all their skirts, and the Carmelites wear them in France as well as in Spain. But for the ladies, this is a fashion rather than a savings, for they are neither miserly nor frugal housewives. Many of them have two or three new skirts made every week that are so long in front and on the sides that they drag everywhere except in the back. They wear them just above the ground but want to walk on them so that no one can see their feet, which is the part of their body they hide most carefully. I’ve heard that after a lady has given all possible kindnesses to her gallant, she confirms her tenderness by showing him her foot, and here this is called the ultimate favor. You have to admit that, in this category, nothing is prettier. I’ve already told you that the feet of Spanish ladies are so small that their shoes are like our dolls’ shoes. They favor shoes made of Morocco leather lined with colored taffeta, without heels and as tight as a glove. When they walk, they seem to fly. Even in a hundred years, we would not learn to move in this way. They hold their elbows tight against their body and move without lifting their feet, as when you slide. But to get back to their dress—under this plain skirt, they have a dozen more, each more beautiful than the others, made of very rich fabrics, brocaded with braid 21. D’Aulnoy uses this French derivation of the Spanish gardainfante, meaning “guard the Infanta”— from unwanted touching or to conceal changes in size. This term replaced the Spanish term vertugado. These and the sacristain are types of farthingales, for which English has one term. The shape of farthingales, with their hoops, bum rolls, and other structures to support the skirt, evolved in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. GV

160 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY and lace in gold and silver up to the waist. When I say a dozen, please don’t think I exaggerate. During the excessive heat of the summer they wear only seven or eight skirts, some of which are velvet and heavy satin. Under them all, they always wear a white skirt they call sabenaguas.22 It’s made of that beautiful English lace or muslin embroidered in gold, and so ample that they are four ells around.23 I’ve seen some costing five or six hundred crowns. At home, they don’t wear the little sacristain or the pattens. These are a kind of little sandal made of brocade or velvet decorated with gold plates that raise them half a foot. When they wear them, they walk very badly and are always in danger of falling. There are few whale bones in their stays,24 and the biggest ones are onethird the usual width. Nowhere else can you see such small women. The bodice is rather high in the front but dips so low in back that it comes up only to the middle of the back. This isn’t very attractive because they’re all frightfully skinny and would be very upset to be plump, which is one of their essential failings. Also, they are very olive-skinned so that this black skin on the back is unattractive, naturally, to those not accustomed to it. They put rouge on their shoulders as they do on their cheeks that are all covered with it. They also use white and, though it’s very nice, few of them know how to apply it so that you notice it at first glance. I’ve seen some with a bright and natural complexion. Almost all of them have regular and delicate features. Their looks and manners have a little coquettish air about them that their disposition does not deny. They consider it beautiful not to have a bosom, and they take precautions early on to prevent it from growing big. When the breasts begin to appear, they put little sheets of lead on them and bind themselves like swaddled babies. Indeed, their chest is almost as flat as a sheet of paper except for the depressions caused by thinness, and there are always many of them. Their hands have no defects; they are small, white, and well-shaped. Their wide sleeves, which they attach at the wrist, make them look even smaller. These sleeves are made of taffeta of all colors, like those of Egyptians, with ruffles of broad lace. The bodice is usually of gold and silver cloth mixed with bright colors. Their sleeves are very narrow, and silk sleeves appear instead of their shift. People of quality wear very fine underwear, but all the others wear almost none. It’s expensive and rare and, moreover, Spaniards have the silly vanity of wanting it to be very fine. So such-and-such, who could have six slightly coarser shifts, would rather buy just one very fine one and stay in bed while it’s being laundered or dress without it, which happens quite often. This fine underwear is very badly treated when they launder it. The women 22. The Spanish word is enagua, or “petticoat” in English. GV 23. Ells—the distance between the fingertip and the elbow, a former measure of length (equivalent to six hand breadths) used mainly for textiles—are locally variable but typically about forty-five inches. Thus, the underskirt was 180 inches, or five yards, in width. GV 24. A type of corset. GV

Eighth Letter 161 lay it on sharp stones and beat it hard with sticks, so much so that the stones shred it into a hundred pieces. There’s no choosing between the best and the worst laundress. All these creatures are equally clumsy. I return to ladies’ clothing, which I departed from several times to digress about things I remembered. I will tell you that around the neckline they have a lace of linen thread embroidered over red or green silk, gold, and silver. They wear belts entirely made of medals and reliquaries. Quite a few churches do not have as many of them. They also wear the cord of some order, either of Saint Francis, the Carmelites, or others. It’s a thin cord of black, white, or brown wool that’s worn over their bodice and falls in front to the edge of the skirt. It has several knots that are usually adorned with precious stones. They represent the vows they make to the saints by wearing their cords. But, very often, what’s the reason for those vows?

On Jewels and Other Adornments They have many precious stones, the most beautiful you can see. They’re not in favor of one set of jewelry, as most of our French ladies have. They can have up to eight or ten of them, some of diamonds, others of rubies, emeralds, pearls, turquoise—in a word, of all sorts. But the settings are very bad. They cover most of the diamonds so they can hardly be seen. I asked the reason for this, and they told me that gold was as beautiful as precious stones. But I think that their jewelers don’t know how to set gems well. All except for Verbec, who could do this beautifully if he wanted to take the trouble. At the top of their bodice, the ladies wear a broad cluster of precious stones from which fall strands of pearls or ten to twelve knots of diamonds, which are attached on one of the sides of the bodice. They never wear a necklace, but they do wear bracelets, rings, and earrings longer than your hand and so heavy that I don’t know how they can bear them without tearing their earlobes. They attach to them anything they find pretty. I’ve seen some attach rather large watches, others padlocks of precious stones, and even finely wrought English keys, or little bells. They put some agnus25 and little images on their sleeves, their shoulders, and everywhere. Their heads are covered with hairpins, some made of diamonds shaped like flies, others like butterflies, whose gems show the colors. They have different hairstyles but are always bareheaded. They part their hair on the side and draw it on a slant across the forehead. Their hair is so shiny that, without exaggerating, you can see yourself in it as in a mirror. At other times, they attached a tress of false hair, of the worst quality you could ever see. This hair falls loosely on their shoulders to avoid tangling their own beautiful hair. They usually make five braids which they adorn with bows or pearls and tie together at the waist. In the summer, 25. Originally, a medal of white wax blessed by the Pope and stamped with an effigy of a lamb. The term is also used for little pious images.

162 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY when they’re home, they wrap them in a piece of colored taffeta trimmed with bone lace. They don’t wear bonnets, during neither the day nor at night. I’ve seen some who had their heads dressed with feathers, like little children. These feathers are very fine and flecked with different colors, making them so much more beautiful. I can’t imagine why we don’t do the same in France.

Visiting a Preteen Princess-Bride and a Terrifying Old Duchess Young ladies or the newly married have magnificent outfits, and their overskirts are in vibrant colors and embroidered in gold. I went to visit the princess of Monteleone. She’s a little person not yet thirteen, and she’s just been married to her first cousin, Don Frederic Nicolo Pignatelli. Her mother is the daughter of the Duchess of Terranova,26 named to be the camarera major of the new queen.27 They all live together, that is, the Duchesses of Terranova, Hijar, and Monteleone, with the young princess of that name and her younger sisters. The Duchess of Terranova must be sixty years old. My relative is a good friend of hers, and she received us with a graciousness that is not usual for her, for she is the proudest person in the world and certainly looks it. The sound of her voice is harsh, and she speaks little, though she affects some kindness. But if what they say is true, she does not have any kindness in her heart at all. No one can have more wit and a more penetrating judgment than she. She spoke to us at length of the responsibilities she would fulfill in the household of the queen. “I will forget nothing,” she said, “to make myself agreeable to her. I will discover everything that could give her any pleasure. I know that a young princess who is born French must have a little more freedom than does a Spanish Infanta raised in Madrid. And I would not be the one who would make her feel that there was any difference between her country and this one.” She gave me a rosary of palo de águila, a rare wood that comes from the Indies.28 To tell you the truth, when I hold the rosary, it falls to the floor. It has two tufts of little green taffeta ribbons, and each tuft is about three hundred ells long. She also gave me some bucaros from Portugal—vases made of Samian earth and adorned with filigree work—and she treated me with several very pretty pieces of jewelry. 26. Juana de Aragon, Carrillo de Mendoza y Cortés, 5th Duchess of Terranova (1619–1692), was a descendant of the conquistador Hernán Cortés. She married Hector Pignatelli, 5th Duke of Monteleone, who had at least five other titles and was a descendant of the Italian house of Pignatelli, dukes of Monteleone. After arguing that d’Aulnoy never traveled to Spain, F-D acknowledges that she includes details about Terranova that are not found in other sources and speculates that she must have had private information (338n1). GV 27. The First Lady of the Bedchamber was the official of the royal household in charge of the person and the rooms of the queen of Spain. GV 28. The West Indies, Mexico. GV

Eighth Letter 163 It would be hard to find a more sumptuous house than theirs. They occupy the upper apartments, which are all hung with tapestries adorned with raised gold embroidery. In the grand chamber, longer than it is wide, you can see glass doors that lead into apartments or chambers. First the Duchess of Terranova’s room, with gray walls and bed coverings and the rest decorated very plainly. Next door is the bedroom of her daughter, the Duchess of Monteleone, a widow, whose room is furnished like her mother’s. Then the princess of Monteleone’s room, no bigger than the others but with a bed covered in gold and green damask, lined with silver brocade, and trimmed with Spanish embroidery. The sheets are adorned with two feet of English lace. Across the gallery are the rooms of the little Monteleone and Hijar girls, all furnished in white damask. They’re all designated as maids of honor to the new queen. Then comes the Duchess of Hijar’s little room, furnished in crimson velvet upon a gold background. Their rooms are separated only by partitions of aromatic wood, and they told me that six of their women slept in the rooms on beds they brought in for the night. The ladies were gathered in a large gallery covered with very rich carpets. All around there are crimson-colored velvet cushions with gold embroidery, longer than they are wide; large cabinets of inlaid wood with precious stones not made in Spain; silver tables between them; and mirrors, wonderful for their size and their rich frames, the least of which are done in silver. What I found most beautiful were the escaparates. These are a kind of little cabinet of curiosities closed by a mirror and full of all the rarities you can imagine, either in ambergris, or porcelain, rock crystal, bezoar stone, branches of coral, mother of pearl, filigree of gold, and a thousand other things of value. I saw a fish head upon which there was a little tree. It was composed neither of wood nor of moss, and it grows on the fish’s skull, which is quite small. It all seems very curious to me. There were more than sixty ladies in this gallery, and not a single miserable hat. They were all seated on the floor, cross-legged. This is an old Moorish custom they kept. There was only one armchair of Morocco leather stitched with silk, and very ugly. I asked for whom it was intended. They told me that it was for the prince of Monteleone, who only came in after all the ladies had withdrawn. I couldn’t remain seated the way they do, so I sat on some cushions. They were in groups of six or seven gathered around a brazier full of olive pits to prevent them from swooning. When a lady arrived, the female or male dwarf announced her arrival, getting down on one knee. Immediately they would all rise, and the little princess went to the door first to receive the one who came to congratulate her on her marriage. In greeting each other they do not kiss. I believe it’s because they don’t want to rub off the plaster they have on their faces, but they do extend their hand with their glove off. In speaking, they use the familiar tú and toi, and don’t address each other as Madame or Mademoiselle, Highness, or Excellency, but just as Doña

164 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY Maria, Doña Clara, Doña Teresa. I asked why they were so familiar and was told that it was to avoid any cause to get angry with each other. Since there are many ways of speaking to distinguish great differences in quality and rank, if they wish, and since all those differences are not easy to express without offending one another sometimes, they have chosen to speak to each other without ceremony to avoid giving offense. It must be added that they don’t marry beneath their rank, so they are always persons of quality. Wives of nobles of the robe don’t even visit wives of court nobility, and a man of noble birth always marries a girl of noble birth. In this country you don’t see commoners grafting onto the nobility as they do in France.29 Thus, these women risk nothing when they socialize. If a hundred ladies come in one after another, you have to rise every time and proceed to greet them in the antechamber as in a procession. This tired me out so much the first day that I was in a very bad mood. They were all very dressed up, and, as I’ve already said, they have magnificent clothes and very beautiful jewels. There were two tables of ombre where they were playing for high stakes in silence. I understand nothing about their cards; they are as thin as paper and painted very differently from ours. It feels as though you’re holding only a folded letter when you have a whole deck in your hands. It would be very easy for a card sharp to whisk away several cards or a whole deck.

In Praise of Spanish Ladies, with Slight Criticism They were talking about all the news of the court and the city. Their conversation is free and pleasant, and we must admit that they have a liveliness we cannot match. They’re affectionate, they like to give praise, and they praise in a noble manner, full of wit and discernment. I’m surprised that they have such a good memory with such a fiery spirit. They have tender hearts, even more than they ought to. They don’t read much and hardly write. However, the little they read benefits them and the little they write is both exact and concise. Their features are regular and delicate, but their excessive thinness is shocking to those who are not used to it. They are olive-skinned, their complexion is very even, and smallpox doesn’t seem to afflict them as much as it does elsewhere, for I’ve hardly seen any who were scarred by it. Their hair is darker than ebony and very lustrous, even though there’s reason to believe that they comb themselves with the same comb for a long time. 29. In France, nobles, artists, and honnêtes gens, honorable and refined persons, even those of bourgeois origin, would meet in the salons. Impoverished noble families would marry their sons to the daughters of rich bourgeois. See Carolyn C. Lougee, Le Paradis des Femmes: Women, Salons and Social Stratification in Seventeenth Century France (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1976), and Faith E. Beasley, Salons, History, and the Creation of Seventeenth-Century France (Aldershot, UK: Ashgate, 2006). GV

Eighth Letter 165 Indeed, the other day at the house of the Marquise d’Alcañizas30 (the sister of the Constable of Castile, whose first husband was the Count-Duke of Olivares), I saw her dressing table. Even though this lady is one of the most fastidious as well as richest, her toiletries, spread out on a little silver table, consisted of a piece of calico, a mirror no bigger than your hand, two combs and a pin cushion, and some egg white with candy sugar in a porcelain cup. I asked one of her women what she did with it. She told me that it was to clean herself and make her face shine. I’ve seen some women whose forehead was so gleaming that it was surprising. Their faces look varnished and their skin so tight and pulled in such a way that I don’t doubt it hurts them. Most of the women pluck their eyebrows, leaving only a thin line. Nothing is uglier, in my view, but what’s even worse is that they paint the middle of their brow so that their eyebrows appear connected. They find this look to be incomparably beautiful. There are many, however, who don’t have this inclination. I’ve found some Spanish women to be more naturally beautiful than our French ladies, despite their crooked hairdos and their lack of attractive makeup. You could say that their faces are like hors d’oeuvre, without hair, headgear, or ribbons, but then, where can you see eyes like theirs? They are so lively, so witty, they speak a language that is so tender and intelligible, that if they had only these charms they could seem beautiful and steal many hearts. Their teeth are even and could be quite white if they took care of them, but they neglect them. Apart from the fact that sugar and chocolate spoil their teeth, the women have the bad habit, and the men as well, of cleaning them with a toothpick regardless of the company they’re in. That’s one of their ordinary behaviors. They don’t know about having their teeth fixed by skilled people There is no such trade here, and when a tooth has to be pulled, the surgeons do it however they are able.31

Eyeglasses for Status When coming to visit the princess of Monteleone, I was surprised to see several very young ladies with a big pair of glasses on their nose, attached to their ears. What surprised me even more was that they were doing nothing that necessitated the use of glasses. When they chatted and didn’t take them off, I started to worry and asked the Marquise de la Rosa (with whom I have become very friendly) why this was so. She’s a pretty, young woman, a Neapolitan, who knows manners and 30. The dowager Marquise d’Alcañices, Doña Juana of Velasco. Her first husband was not the CountDuke of Olivares but his natural son Julian Valcarcel, ennobled under the name Don Frederic Enrique Felípez de Guzmán. Her third husband was Don Frederic Juan Enrique de Almansa Borja, Inca y Loyola, 7th Marquis d’Alcañices. 31. Chirurgiens. In the early modern period, surgical procedures were usually performed by barbers because medical doctors considered that using their hands was beneath their station. GV

166 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY has a good mind. She laughed at my question and replied that it was for gravity, and that they don’t wear them for seeing but to command respect. “Do you see this lady?” she said, pointing out someone close to us, “I believe that in the last ten years she has only taken them off to go to bed. Without exaggeration, they wear them when they eat, and in the street, and in society you will meet many women and men who always have their glasses on. While we’re on this subject, I must tell you that some time ago the Jacobin friars32 had a very important lawsuit. They were so worried that they neglected nothing in preparing for it. A young brother in their friary had relatives of the greatest quality who, upon his request, hired a solicitor on behalf of the friars. The prior had assured him that there was nothing the young friar could not expect in gratitude if, through his credit, they won the suit. Finally, they did win the lawsuit, and the young friar, wild with joy, ran to give the prior the news and was getting ready to ask him for a favor he was dying to receive. The prior, after embracing him, said to him in a serious tone: ‘Hermano, ponga las ojalas,’ which means, ‘Brother, put on the glasses.’ This permission filled the young friar with honor and joy. He felt so well rewarded for his efforts that he did not ask for anything else.” “The Marquis d’Astoria, Viceroy of Naples,” she added, “had his bust made in marble and did not fail to have his fine glasses added. It’s so common to wear them, and I’ve heard that glasses have differences just like ranks. As you go up in rank, you have them made bigger and wear them higher up on the nose. The Spanish grandees wear glasses as big as your hand, which are called ocales33 to distinguish them. They attach them behind their ears and take them off as seldom as they do their ruffs. They used to import the glass from Venice. But then came the Marquis de La Cuevas’s venture, called the Triumvirate. Three Spanish noblemen attempted to set fire to the arsenal in Venice by using burning glass and, by this action, enable the king of Spain to take the city.34 In retribution, the Venetians had 32. In this context, Dominican friars. In French, the Dominicans were called jacobins because their convent was on rue St.-Jacques (latin: jacobus). During the French Revolution, a century after d’Aulnoy’s Travels, Jacobin was used to describe members of the Jacobins, the most famous revolutionary political club, which originally met in the Dominican convent on rue St.-Jacques. GV 33. Ojales and ocales: barbarisms, or nonstandard words, possibly a variation on the Italian occhiali, meaning “glasses.” The enormous glasses worn by the grandees are called ocales to distinguish them from the ojales worn by less noble people. 34. This weirdly comical plot, at least in d’Aulnoy’s retelling, was hatched in 1618 by Alfonso de la Cueva-Benavides y Mendoza-Carrillo, Marqués de Bedmar, Spain’s ambassador to the Republic of Venice under the reign of Philip III, not Philip II, as Seguin asserts (389n38). The Spanish Habsburgs had dominion over much of present-day Italy—the Kingdom of Naples, Sicily, Sardinia, and the Duchy of Milan—and wished to counter the influence of the Papal States, Venice, Genoa, Florence, the Netherlands, and France. Apparently unknown to Philip III, Bedmar enlisted his Spanish colleagues the Marquis of Villafranca, Governor of Milan, and the Duke d’Osuna, Viceroy of Naples. They planned a naval invasion to bring the city closer to the Spanish sphere of influence, and burning the

Eighth Letter 167 a great number of ojales made, which they sent to their ambassador in Madrid. He presented them to the whole court, and all who put them on almost became blind because they were made of burning glass, so well-crafted and set in such combustible frames that the least rays of sun set everything on fire. One Council day, a window was open in the place where they were assembled, and so the shining sun, hitting their glasses, caused a kind of fireworks very dangerous for the eyebrows and the hair. All was burned, and we can hardly imagine what terror was felt by those venerable old men.” “I’d really like to believe this story,” I said to the Marquise, “because I find it very amusing.” “Since I didn’t see it,” she answered with a smile, “I can’t positively assure you that it’s true, but the Jacobin affair I told you about is what I heard from original sources. Since then, I’ve noticed people of quality in their coaches, either alone or with others, their noses loaded with those glasses—scary-looking to me.”

Snacking with the Princess The princess offered us a collation. Her women came, eighteen of them, each holding a great silver basin filled with sweetmeats wrapped in specially cut gilded paper. In one there are plums, in another cherries or apricots, and so on. This seems very neat to me because you can serve yourself and take some away without dirtying your hands or your pocket. Some old ladies stuff themselves until they almost bursting and then fill five or six handkerchiefs they’ve brought for the purpose. Though the others see this, they pretend not to notice. They’re kind enough to let them take all they want and provide more. The ladies attach those handkerchiefs with strings all around their little farthingales. It looks like the hook of a larder on which you hang wild game. Next, they served chocolate, each porcelain cup on a little saucer made of agate set in gold, with sugar in a box to match. There was iced chocolate, hot chocolate, and another with milk and eggs. You drink chocolate with a biscuit or a small piece of bread as hard as if it had been toasted on purpose. Some women drink up to six cups one after the other, two or three times a day. It’s no surprise they’re so dry, because nothing is hotter arsenal and the city was part of the plan. The plot was revealed by the French. Bedmar, protected by his position from arrest, left Venice; he was created cardinal in 1622. The Venetians arrested and executed Bedmar’s agents without even complaining to the king of Spain. Although obscure today, the incident was familiar to d’Aulnoy’s readers. Cesar Vichard de Saint Réal, author of the historical novella Dom Carlos (1672), had published the historical account Conjuration des Espagnols contre la République de Venise en l’année M. DC. XVIII in 1674 (A Conspiracy of the Spaniards Against the State of Venice, London, 1675). The second part, the revenge of the Venetians, is pure invention according to Seguin. It was probably wishful thinking by the Marquise de la Rosa from Naples, which had been chafing under Spanish rule since 1442. Indeed, the ladies find the burning eyeglasses anecdote very amusing. GV

168 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY than this beverage. What’s more, they eat everything so full of pepper and spices that it’s impossible for them not to be burned by it. Several of them ate pieces of medicinal earth. I’ve already told you that they are crazy about this earth, which usually causes an intestinal obstruction. Their stomach and belly swell up and become hard as a rock, and they become as yellow as quince. I wanted to have a taste of this stew, so valued and so value-less, but I would rather eat sandstone. If you want to please them, you have to give them some of those bucaros they call barros.35 Sometimes their confessors give them no other penance than to spend a day without using them in their food or drink. They say that this substance has many therapeutic properties and that is good to use against poison and to cure several diseases. I have a big cup made of it that holds a pint. Wine in it tastes awful but water is excellent. It seems to boil when it’s inside the cup, or at least you see the water move or shiver (can that be said?), but when you let it sit for little while, the cup seems to empty, so porous is this clay—and it smells very good. We were served very well-conditioned waters, the coolest anywhere. They use only snow and claim that it cools much better than ice. The custom here is to drink very cool water before taking chocolate, otherwise they think it would be unhealthy. After the snack, they brought the torches. A little fellow, all in white, came in. He was the governor of the pages, and around his neck he had a big gold chain with a medal. This was the gift he had received at the wedding of the prince of Monteleone. He knelt down on one knee in the middle of the gallery and announced: “Praised be the Most Holy Sacrament,” to which everyone replied, “For ever.” They follow this custom when light is brought in. Next, twenty-four pages entered two by two, following one another, and knelt, putting the same knee on the ground. Each carried two great torches or one belon,36 and when they had placed them on the tables and the escaparates,37 they withdrew, performing the same ceremony. Then the ladies made a low bow to one another, accompanying it with a blessing, as when you sneeze. I must tell you that these belones are lamps set high up on a silver column with a very large base. They have eight or twelve pipes (sometimes fewer) through which the wick passes, making for a surprising brightness. And to increase the light, the lamp has a silver sheet that reflects it. You’re not bothered by the fumes because the oil they burn is as good as the oil from Provence we put in our salads. I found this fashion very nice. Once all the torches were in place in the gallery, the young princess of Monteleone told her women to bring her wedding outfits so that I could see them. They fetched thirty silver baskets, as wide and deep as big hampers in which place settings are carried. They were so heavy that they needed four ladies to transport 35. Literally, mud. 36. Roman oil lamps placed on a base, more or less high. 37. A display case.

Eighth Letter 169 each one. In them was everything this country considers to be the richest and most beautiful, among other things, six justaucorps in gold and silver brocade made into little jackets to wear in the morning, each with six dozen buttons— some in diamonds, others in emeralds. The undergarments and the lace were as fine as the rest. She showed me her gems, which are admirable but so badly set that the biggest diamonds don’t look any better than one costing a mere thirty louis that you would have set in Paris. I won’t write to you very often, because I always want to have a big stock of news to send. This is not a crop I can harvest very quickly here. Please excuse the length of this letter and its lack of organization. I tell you things as they come to mind, and I tell them very badly. But since you love me, my dear cousin, I’m safe from all my faults.

NINTH LETTER

April 27, 1679, from Madrid I’m afraid you’re annoyed that I missed one post without writing to you. But, my dear cousin, I wanted to gather information on several matters that I can now include in this letter.

On Churches in Madrid First, I’d like to tell you about the churches in Madrid. I find them beautiful and very well kept. Ladies of quality hardly go to them because they all have private chapels in their houses, but on certain feast days they don’t miss going. Holy Week is one such time; they do the stations of the cross at church and sometimes go to confession there. The church of Our Lady of Atocha1—Our Lady of the Bush—is very beautiful. It’s located within the enclosure of a vast convent where there are a great many religious who, as one of their observances, almost never go out. Their life is very austere. People come to worship there from all over, and when the kings of Spain have achieved some notable success, it’s where they have the Te Deum sung. There’s a Virgin holding the Baby Jesus, who they say is miraculous. She is black; very often they dress her in widow’s weeds, but on great feast days she’s very richly dressed and so covered with jewels that nothing could be more magnificent. In particular, around her head she has a sun with rays of dazzling brightness. She always holds a huge rosary in her hand or attached to her waist. This chapel is adjacent to the nave of the church, in a place that would seem very dark if there weren’t more than a hundred gold and silver lamps always lit. The king has his balcony there with a jalousie blind in front of it. In all the churches, they use very clean round hassocks to kneel on, but when a person of quality or a foreign lady arrives, the sacristan lays a big rug before her on which he puts a prie-dieu and cushions, or else he has her enter a little closet, all painted and gilded, surrounded by windows and very comfortable. Every Sunday, the altar is illuminated by at least a hundred large wax candles. The church is adorned with a prodigious number of silver objects, as are all the churches in Madrid. The lawn and flowerbeds they cultivate are made lovelier by many fountains whose water falls into basins of silver, marble, or porphyry. Around them, they place big orange trees, as tall as a man, in very fine planters, and they release birds that perform a little singing contest. This goes on for most 1. Devotion to Our Lady of Atocha, first patroness of Madrid, goes back to the Middle Ages. The reconquest of Madrid by Alfonso VI is credited to her intercession. Several kings of Spain visited the sanctuary dedicated to her, included the Catholic Kings, who commissioned the construction of a new sanctuary and a convent. This was carried out under Charles I, who entrusted it to the Dominicans.

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172 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY of the year, as I’ve described, and churches are never without orange trees and jasmine, much better perfume than incense. In the chapel of Nuestra Senora de Almudena,2 you can see a Virgin that they say Saint James brought from Jerusalem and hid in a tower within the walls of Madrid. When the Moors besieged the city, the population was decimated by famine and considered surrendering, but then they found this tower full of wheat, in such abundance that it could only be explained by a miracle. This incited the rapturous population to take heart anew and defend itself so well that the Moors, tired out by this long resistance, withdrew. Then they found the image of the Virgin, and, in gratitude, they built a chapel in which they painted frescos to commemorate this event. The altar, the baluster, and all the lamps are solid silver. Nearby, the Minimes Friars have a church that houses the chapel of Nuestra Señora de la Soledad, where they say the Salvation every evening. It’s a place of great devotion—I mean for the truly devout—because many people go there for their rendezvous. The St. Isidore chapel is the most beautiful of all.3 He’s the patron of Madrid and was only a poor laborer. The walls of the chapel are all inlaid with marble of many colors, as are the columns and statues of a few saints. His tomb is in the center and surrounded by four porphyry columns that support a marble crown representing flowers in their natural colors. Nothing is more finely crafted, and you would agree that art has surpassed nature here. Outside, figures of the twelve apostles adorn the dome of the chapel. I saw in St. Sebastian church4 (my parish at present) a canopy that the Queen Mother commissioned to bring the Holy Sacrament to sick people in bad weather. It’s made of crimson velvet embroidered in gold, covered with a type of shagreen rawhide and nailed with gold nails. It’s decorated all around with big mirrors, and in the middle of its upper deck there’s a little tower of sorts full of little gold bells. Four priests carry the canopy when a person of quality is sick and asks to receive Our Lord, and all the people at court follow behind. It’s lit by more than a thousand torches of white wax, with various musical instruments, and, on its way, the procession stops in the great squares. The people come and, kneeling, receive the Benediction while the musicians chant and play the harp 2. In 1679, when d’Aulnoy was in Spain, the image was kept in the main chapel of the Church of Santa Maria. Today it is in Santa María la Real de La Almudena, the seat of the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Madrid, on the Almeria square, facing the royal palace. 3. The church of San Isidro, patron saint of Madrid, built by the Jesuit architects Pedro Sánchez and Francisco Bautiste, former church of the imperial college of the Society of Jesus, cathedral of Madrid from 1885 to 1993. It enshrines the remains of Saint Isidore and Santa Maria de la Cabeza, his wife. 4. The church of San Sebastián is located in the Muses district in the center of Madrid, which welcomed many important figures in the literary life of Spain, among them Cervantes and Lope de Vega. Their death certificates are carefully kept in the archives of this church.

Ninth Letter 173 and the guitar. Usually, the priests process with the canopy in the evening, with great ceremony and respect. When they celebrate a great feast day in a church, they plant great poles in the ground the night before, hanging from their tops big chaffing dishes filled with wood chips, sulfur, and oil. These burn for a long time and give off a lot of light. The poles form alleys and cast a very pleasing illumination. They use these for all public festivities as well.

How Ladies and Gentlemen Behave in Church Women who leave their houses to go to Mass, hearing a dozen of them, create so many distractions that you can well see they’re interested in other things than their prayers. They wear muffs that are more than half an ell long, made of the most beautiful sable imaginable and worth four or five hundred crowns. They have to spread their arms as far as possible just to reach the tips of their fingers to the opening of their muffs. I believe I told you that the ladies are very short, and these muffs are hardly less tall than they are. They always carry a fan, in winter and summer, and while Mass is said they fan themselves ceaselessly. In the church they all sit back upon their heels and take snuff continually without making a mess of themselves as usually happens, because for this and for everything else they have very neat and skillful manners. When the Blessed Sacrament is elevated, the women and the men beat their breast about twenty times, which makes such a noise that the first time I was very frightened, thinking they were having a fight. As for the caballeros (I mean those who profess to be gallant and wear a piece of crêpe around their hat), as soon as Mass is over, they place themselves around the font. All the ladies gather there and the gallants present holy water to them, at the same time making sweet talk. The ladies answer appropriately in just a few words, for we must admire that they say precisely what’s needed and don’t have to struggle to find words to express themselves. Their mind presents it straight away. But the papal nuncio forbade, under pain of excommunication, that men present holy water to women. They say that this prohibition was obtained at the request of several jealous husbands. Whatever the case may be, they observe it to such an extent that men do not even present holy water to each other.

Pregnant Women’s Cravings However noble, Spanish women neither have a cushion in church nor have their train carried. For us, when we enter the church in our French-style dresses, everyone gathers around to surround us. What bothers me greatly are the pregnant women who are much more curious than the others and are the most accommodated because they claim that when they are refused something they want, they will immediately succumb to an illness that makes them miscarry. So they

174 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY have the right to tug at people, pull off their gloves, and make them turn around as they wish. The first times this happened to me, I couldn’t take this sort of fooling around, and I spoke to them so sharply that some of them started crying and didn’t dare return. But others were not at all put off. They wanted to see my shoes, my garters, what I had in my pockets. As I wouldn’t stand for it, my relative said that if people saw me resist they would throw stones at us, so she told me I had to let them do it. My women were even more upset than I. I wouldn’t dare tell you how far the curiosity of these pregnant women goes. I’ve been told that one young man at court, madly in love with a beautiful lady closely guarded by her husband and finding no way to talk to her, disguised himself as a pregnant woman and went to her house. He spoke to the jealous husband, told him that s/he had l’antojo5 (that’s the term) to speak to his wife in private. The husband, duped by his appearance, didn’t doubt that it was a young pregnant woman and immediately gave “her” a long and pleasant audience with his wife. When pregnant women feel like seeing the king, they have him told of it. He has the goodness to appear on a grand balcony facing the palace court and stays there for as long as they wish. A little while ago, a Spanish woman just arriving from Naples sent to beg the king that she be allowed to see him. When she had looked at him long enough, moved by her zeal, she clasped her hand and said to him, “I beseech God, Sire, that in His grace He would favor you to become one day the Viceroy of Naples.” It is claimed that this scene was acted out to inform the king that the magnificence of the then-viceroy, who was not beloved, far surpassed his own. Very often, ladies we don’t know come to our place, and my relative receives them with great civility because they’re pregnant and should not be irritated.

Eating during Lent Thank heavens, Lent is over! Though I fasted only during Holy Week, it seemed longer than all of Lent in Paris because there’s no butter here. Whatever butter you find comes from thirty leagues away, wrapped like little sausages in pigs’ bladders. It’s full of worms and more expensive than butter from Vanves.6 You can make do with oil, for it’s excellent, but not everyone likes it. I, for one, can’t eat it without feeling sick. Add to this that fish is very scarce. It’s impossible to have fresh fish from the sea because Madrid is eighty leagues away. Sometimes they bring salmon that 5. A craving. D’Aulnoy should know, having given birth to six children. GV 6. Vanves, a township 3.5 miles southwest of the center of Paris. In the early modern period, it was known for its lush pastures, milk cows, and excellent butter. Born and raised in Normandy, d’Aulnoy was used to cooking with butter and disliked olive oil–based Mediterranean cuisine. GV

Ninth Letter 175 they make into little pastries, which are edible thanks to spices and saffron. There is little freshwater fish, and they don’t bother much with it since no one really keeps Lent, neither the masters nor the servants, because of how difficult it is to find the provisions you need to observe it. They seek an exception to the Papal Bull7 from His Excellency the Nuncio, which costs fifteen sous in our money. This allows them to eat butter and cheese during Lent and the extremities and innards of fowl on Saturdays all year long. I find it rather odd that they can eat the feet, head, and gizzards on those days, but they do not dare eat other parts of the same animal. Butcher shops are open during Lent, as they are on Carnival. The way they sell meat is quite inconvenient. The shop is enclosed in the butcher’s house, so you speak to him through a little window. You ask him for half a calf and whatever else, but he does not deign to answer or give you anything. You scale back to a loin of veal, for which he makes you pay in advance, and then through his small window gives you a leg of mutton. You give it back to him, saying that was not what you wanted. He takes it back and gives you instead a short rib of beef. You scream even louder to have the loin, but he is unmoved, throws your money back and closes the window. You get impatient, so you go to another butcher who does the same and sometimes worse. So the best is to ask them for the amount of meat you want, and then let them do as they please. This meat makes you sick to your stomach—it is so lean, dry, and black—but, such as it is, you need less of it than in France to make a good soup. Everything is so nutritious here that an egg nourishes you better than a whole pigeon elsewhere. I believe that it’s an effect of the climate. As for wine, it does not seem good to me. It’s not in this region that you drink excellent Spanish wine. It comes from Andalusia and the Canary Islands, which must cross the sea to acquire the body and smoothness that makes it so good. In Madrid it’s strong, and maybe too strong, but it doesn’t have a pleasant taste. In addition, they keep it in bags made of buckskin, so it always smells of pitch or burning. I’m not surprised that men don’t overindulge with such a liquor. They sell as little a quantity as anyone wants for one double or two,8 but the wine sold at this price to the poor becomes even worse because they let it stand all day in a large, open earthenware pot, out of which they pour some for those who want it. It turns sour and smells so strong when you walk by those taverns that the odor gives you a headache. Lent does not change their pleasures. They’re always so moderate, or at least those that they make so little noise that they enjoy them equally in all seasons. 7. The Bull of the Crusade was promulgated by the Pope during the war against the infidels. It granted indulgences to the Spaniards, among them permission to eat meat and entrails on certain days in Lent. This custom continued after the expulsion of the Arabs due to the lack of fish in certain towns. 8. A very small sum. GV

176 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY

Self-Flagellation with Style and Other Holy Week Ceremonies No one fails to make the Stations of the Cross during Holy Week, particularly between Wednesday and Friday. During those three days, very different things are done by true penitents, lovers, or hypocrites. There are ladies who never miss going, under pretense of devoutness, to certain churches where they know, from the previous year, that their lover will be. Even though they’re accompanied by a great number of dueñas, the church is so full and love gives them such finesse that they manage to slip away despite the Arguses.9 They go to a nearby house, recognizable from some prearranged sign and rented especially for this occasion. Later they return to the same church where they find their women busy looking for them. They are scolded for being so careless in following their mistress, and the husband, who had kept such close watch over his dear spouse the whole year, loses her at the very moment when she should be the most faithful to him. The heavy constraints they live under inspire the desire to free themselves, and their wit, sustained by their amorous nature, helps them find the means to carry out their desires. Seeing the disciplinants is very unpleasant indeed.10 The first I came across almost made me faint because I was not expecting this fine spectacle. Imagine a man who comes so near you that he splatters you all over with his blood; that’s one of their gallant moves. There are rules for self-flagellation with style, and there are masters who teach this art as others do dancing or fencing. They wear a sort of skirt of very fine batiste that falls to their feet. It is so tightly pleated that it calls for fifty ells of fabric. On their head they wear a pointed hat in the shape of a cone three times higher than a sugar loaf.11 It’s covered with Holland cloth,12 and a large piece of cloth falls from the top of this hat, which covers the face and the front of the body. They can see through two little holes, and there are two big holes at the shoulders on the back of their overshirts. They wear white gloves and shoes and many ribbons that fasten the sleeves of the overshirt and hang down without being tied. A similar ribbon is attached to their whip, usually a favor supplied by their mistress. To attract public admiration, they must not gesticulate but only move the wrist and the hand. The blows must not be hasty, and the blood that spurts out must not stain their outfit. They give themselves horrible slashes on the shoulders, 9. In classical mythology, Argus was a monster with a hundred eyes, used by Hera to watch over Io, a girl who had been seduced by Zeus and then turned into a cow. GV 10. Gallicism for disciplinante, the flagellants who mortify themselves during the Holy Week procession in order to commune better with Christ’s suffering or to thank God for a wish fulfilled or a grace given. 11. Sugar loaves could be up to thirty inches high. GV 12. A plain-woven linen. GV

Ninth Letter 177 from which two streams of blood run down. They walk in measured steps down the streets; they pass in front of their mistress’s window where they lacerate themselves with marvelous patience. The lady watches this pretty scene though the venetian blinds of her room, and by some sign she encourages him to flay himself alive. Thus, she makes him understand how pleased she is by this foolish gallantry. When they meet a nice-looking woman, the men beat themselves in a certain way that makes the blood splatter on her. That’s considered to be a very great mark of civility, and the grateful lady thanks them for it. Once they have begun to administer this self-discipline, they must, to maintain their health, practice flagellation every year. If they do not, they fall sick. They also have little needles inside sponges they use to prick their shoulders and sides with such fierceness, as if it didn’t hurt. But here’s something else: in the evening, the courtiers also take this walk. Usually these are young fools who tell all their friends about their plan. Immediately, they join their friend, very well armed. The Marquis of Villahermosa13 participated this year, and the Duke of Vejar, last year. This duke left his house around nine in the evening. He had one hundred torches of white wax carried two by two in front of him. He was preceded by sixty of his friends and followed by a hundred more, who all had their pages and their lackeys. It made a very long procession. They know when persons of such quality will be passing by. All the ladies are at their windows with rugs on their balconies and torches on the sides, in order to see and be seen better. The Knight of the Discipline passes by with this escort and salutes the fine gathering. But, what often causes clashes, is that another disciplinant, who prides himself in his bravery and good looks, parades down the same street with his great company. It happened in this way to the two I’ve just mentioned. Each wanted to have the upper hand and neither wanted to give in. The valets who carried the torches shoved them in the others’ faces, scorching one another’s beards and hair. Friends of the one drew their swords against friends of the other. Our two heroes, who had no weapons apart from their instruments of penance, searched one another out and, when they met, began a fierce single combat. After using their whips on each other’s ears and covering the ground with little bits of rope from the whips, they started throwing punches like any two crooks. However, this ridiculous performance isn’t always funny, because they really fight hard, get wounded, get killed, and old rivalries are revived and revenged. Finally, the Duke of Vejar yielded to the Marquis of Villahermosa. Their broken whips were picked up and repaired as much as possible. The tall pointed hat, which had fallen into the gutter, was cleaned up and put back on the penitent’s head. The wounded were taken home. The procession started marching again, more solemnly than ever, and covered half of the city. 13. It is difficult to identify Villahermosa and Vejar. In 1679, a duke of Villahermosa was the governor of the Low Countries, but neither his position nor his age would allow him to take part in such parades.

178 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY The next day, the duke was set on taking revenge, but the king sent orders, both to him and the Marquis, not to leave their houses. Returning to the topic of what they do on these occasions: please know that when these great servants of God return home, they find a magnificent meal with all sorts of meats, and don’t forget that this happens on one of the last days of Holy Week. But after such good works, they believe that they have permission to sin a little. First the penitent has his shoulders rubbed for a long time with sponges soaked in salt and vinegar, lest there should remain any bruised blood. Then he sits down to eat with his friends and receives their chorus of praise and applause, which he believes is well deserved. Each one tells him in turn that, in living memory, nobody has seen someone take discipline with such good grace. They exaggerate all his actions and, above all, the happiness of the lady for whom he performed this gallantry. The whole night is spent telling these sorts of tales, and sometimes it makes the celebrated disciplinant so sick that he cannot go to Mass on Easter. Do not think that I am embellishing the story to entertain you. All of this is literally true, and I tell you nothing that you could not verify with anyone who has been to Madrid. But there are true penitents who are very painful to see. They’re dressed like the other disciplinants, except that they are naked from the shoulders to the waist, and a thin mat swaddles and squeezes them so tightly that the skin you can see is all blue and bruised. The arms are extended and wrapped up with the same sort of mat. They wear up to seven swords piercing their back and their arms, which make wounds as soon as they move too much or fall, which happens frequently because they walk barefoot, and the cobblestones are so sharp that you can’t stand upright without cutting your feet. Rather than swords, others carry such heavy crosses that they are weighed down with them. And don’t think these are common people; some of them are of the highest quality. They have to be accompanied by several servants, with their faces covered and in disguise, lest they be recognized. The servants carry wine, vinegar, and other things they give from time to time to their master, who often falls as if dead from the pain and fatigue he’s suffering. Ordinarily, the confessors are the ones who impose these penances, and it is said that they are so hard to perform that the penitent often does not survive the year. His Excellency the Nuncio told me that he had forbidden all confessors from imposing them. Nevertheless, I have seen several such penitents who were apparently motivated by their own piety. From the first days of Holy Week until Quasimodo,14 you can’t go out without seeing an infinite number of penitents of all types, and on Good Friday they all come together in one general procession that includes all the parishes and all the religious in the city. On that day, the ladies are more dressed up than on their wedding day. They place themselves on their balconies, decorated with rich carpets and fine cushions, and sometimes there are a hundred women in a single 14. The first Sunday after Easter.

Ninth Letter 179 house. The procession starts at about four o’clock in the afternoon, and at eight it’s not yet finished. I can’t tell you the innumerable persons I saw: the king, Don Juan, the cardinals, the ambassadors, the grandees, the courtiers, and all the important people of the court and the city. Each one holds a candle and has many servants who hold torches or flambeaux. In the procession, all the banners and crosses are covered with crêpe. The many drums are covered as well, and they beat as at the death of a general. The trumpets sound sad tunes. The king’s guard, composed of four companies of different nations—Burgundians, Spaniards, Germans, and the Lancilla15—carry their arms covered in mourning cloths that drag on the ground. Theatrical machinery, raised up on stages, represent the mysteries of the life and death of Our Lord. The figures are life size, very badly made, and very badly dressed. Some are so heavy that a hundred men are needed to carry them, and a surprising number of them pass by, for each parish has its own. I noticed the Holy Virgin, fleeing into Egypt. She was sitting on a donkey that was decked out in its decorative covering, all embroidered with fine pearls. The machinery was big and very heavy. They’re afraid here that they’ll somehow miss making their devotions at Easter, so a priest from each parish goes to every house and asks the master how many of his people are taking Communion. Once he’s informed, he writes it down in his register. When people have received Communion, they are given a little printed certificate as evidence. On Quasimodo Sunday, the priests go to every house to gather the certificates that should be kept according to the register. If people cannot furnish them, a careful search is made of the person, male or female, who did not receive Communion. During this season, poor and sick people put a rug in front of their door, and Communion is brought to them in a very beautiful and a very devout procession.

On Funerals and Convents Since I’ve been in Madrid, I’ve hardly seen any magnificent funerals, except the one for the Duke of Medina Celi’s daughter.16 Her coffin was made of rare wood from the Indies, placed in a bag of blue velvet that was crossed by bands of silver moiré. Cords of silver thread and tassels of the same attach both ends of the bag, like a suitcase made of cloth. The coffin was placed in a hearse covered with white velvet, adorned all around with garlands and wreaths of artificial flowers. They were carrying her to Medina Celi, the capital of the duchy of the same name. Ordinarily, they dress the dead in the habit of some religious order and carry them, face uncovered, into the church where they are to be buried. Women 15. The royal guard of the house of Austria, created by Carlos II to replace the Dragons. 16. Doña Antonia de la Cerda, wife of the son of Villamanrique and daughter of the Duke of Medina Celi, actually died on August 15, 1680, as d’Aulnoy does not fail to mention in her Spanish memoirs.

180 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY are dressed in the Carmelite habit. This order is very venerated here, and the princesses of the blood retire to their convent. Even the queens, when they become widows, are obliged to spend the rest of their life there unless the king otherwise ordered before his death, as Philip IV did in favor to Queen Mariana of Austria, his wife. As for a queen who’s been repudiated, she too must enter religious life because, whether repudiated or widowed, they don’t have the freedom to remarry. The kings of Spain consider themselves so superior to other kings that they don’t want a princess who had been their wife ever to become the spouse of another, even if she were to have the greatest passion for him. Don Juan has a natural daughter who is nun, a Carmelite in Madrid. She’s admirably beautiful, and they say that she had no desire to take the veil, but that was her destiny. It’s the same for many others of her quality who are no happier than she. They are called the Descalzas Reales,17 which means the Shoeless Royals. This custom extends to the king’s mistresses, whether they are unmarried or widows. When he ceases to love them, they must become nuns. I saw some works by Saint Theresa, written in her own hand.18 Her penmanship is respectable, the characters large and legible. Her grandniece Doña Beatrix Carillo keeps them very preciously, and she’s the one who showed them to me. The letters have been gathered into a collection, and I don’t think they have ever been printed. They’re perfectly beautiful, and in all of them you feel an air of joy and sweetness that so marks the character of this great saint.

Street Preachers and Royal Prisons During Lent, and even at other times, you find preachers on every street corner making sermons, very badly composed and quite useless, but at least they satisfy both the speaker’s zeal and his desire to preach. Their most faithful listeners are blind people, who correspond here to our Pont Neuf singers.19 Every one of them, led very ably by a little dog, goes about singing romances and jácara (old stories or modern events that common people like to know).20 They play a little drum and a flute, and they often perform the song of King Francis I: “When the King went out of France, Oh the sorrow, he did leave, etc.” You surely know it, my dear cousin, who doesn’t? This song is sung in very bad French by people who 17. See Third letter, p. 80, note 20. 18. Teresa de Jesús, Saint Theresa of Avila (1515–1582), one of the most important mystics in the religious life of sixteenth-century Spain. 19. The Pont Neuf, finished in 1606, is today the oldest bridge crossing the Seine in Paris. But it was very modern at the time, the first bridge with sidewalks and without buildings. It attracted peddlers, hawkers, pickpockets, pamphleteers, street performers, musicians, and anyone interested in the latest news. GV 20. Jácaras are Spanish songs of Arab origin that often relate an extraordinary event. GV

Ninth Letter 181 don’t understand a single word. All they know is that the king was captured by the Spaniards and, since this capture brings them glory, they want to pass the memory on to their children.21 There is a fleur-de-lis, always well gilded, on the ceiling of the chamber where the king was held prisoner, and I shouldn’t forget to tell you that the prison is one of the most beautiful buildings in Madrid. Its windows are as big as those of other houses. True, they have bars, but they are all gilt and spaced far enough apart that you wouldn’t suspect they serve to prevent an escape. I was surprised by how seemingly pleasant such an unpleasant place could be, and I thought that the Spaniards wanted to contradict the French proverb that says, “There are no beautiful prisons nor ugly lovers.” Please excuse this digression, I don’t like proverbs enough to overwhelm you with them.

Furnishings Inside and Out All the pieces of furniture you see here are very beautiful, but not as well made nor as well designed as ours. They consist of tapestries, cabinets, paintings, mirrors, and silverware. The viceroys of Naples and the governors of Milan brought excellent paintings from Italy; the governors of the Low Countries, admirable tapestries; the viceroys of Sicily and Sardinia, embroideries and statues; the ones returning from India, gemstones and gold and silver tableware. Each of them returning with the riches of a kingdom, they can’t fail to enrich this city with many precious objects. They change the furnishings several times a year. The winter beds are made of velvet richly decorated with gold braid. They are so low to the ground with such high sides that you feel buried inside them. When you’re lying down, the valences on the sides fall almost all the way down to the bedspread, so that you can hardly be seen inside. In summer there are no curtains or anything else around your bed, which looks very bad. Sometimes they hang colored gauze to keep off the gnats. They spend the winter in the high apartments, sometimes up to the fourth floor, depending on the temperature. We are now staying in the summer apartments, which are lower and very comfortable. All the houses have many rooms on the same floor, so you can go through ten or fifteen rooms and chambers one after the other. Even the worst-housed people have six or seven of these rooms, each one usually longer than it is wide. The ceilings are neither painted nor gilded. They are made of plain plaster but dazzlingly white, for every year they 21. This song laments the disastrous defeat of Francis I by the forces of Emperor Charles V, in February 1525 in Pavia (Lombardy) Italy. The Spaniards imprisoned Francis in Madrid. He was liberated only after he signed the treaty of Madrid (January 1526) in which he renounced all of France’s claims on Naples and Milan, ceded Burgundy to Spain, and handed over his two sons, the Dauphin and the Duc d’Orléans, as hostages.

182 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY are scraped and whitewashed, as are the walls, so polished they look like marble. The floor tiles of the summer apartments are made of a certain material that, after they throw ten pails of water, dries in half an hour and leaves a pleasant coolness. Shortly afterward. they cover the floor with carpets of very fine rushes mixed with different colors. The walls of the apartment are covered with bulrush mats about forty-five inches high to prevent the coolness of the walls from bothering people who lean against them. Above these mats they hang paintings and mirrors. Cushions of gold and silver brocade are placed on the carpet with tables and beautiful cabinets, and silver containers filled with orange trees and jasmine bushes are placed here and there. To protect from the sun, they put straw mats on the windows and, in the evening, they take a walk in the gardens. Several houses have very beautiful ones, full of grottos and fountains, for the waters here are abundant and very good. Among the most beautiful houses are those of the Duke of Ossone,22 the Admiral of Castile, the Countess of Oñate, and the Constable of Castile.23 But I shouldn’t specify because, indeed, there are a considerable number of great houses. Anyway, it seems to me that with all the precautions I see them take, the heat, however excessive, can’t be too uncomfortable. We’ll see. Please don’t think that only the great lords occupy the lower apartments, though. Everybody wants to have one according to their status, and even though it may be a little cellar, they stay in it quite willingly. There are not many common people in Madrid, and you hardly see anyone but persons of quality except for seven or eight streets full of merchants. You’ll not find any shops in this city, only those that sell sweetmeats and liquors, iced waters, and pastries. I don’t want to omit telling you that a thousand people have a canopy here. For in addition to the counts and dukes, the titled (there are many) have one as well. The titled are those they call the grandees of Spain: the true marquis, the true counts. If they have thirty rooms on a single level, you will find thirty canopies. My relative has twenty of them in her house. The king has made her Marquise of Castile. You wouldn’t believe how well I keep my gravity under a canopy, especially when they bring me my chocolate. Three or four pages dressed in black like notaries serve me on their knees. It was hard for me to get used to this custom, because it seems to me that this sort of reverence should only be given to God, but it’s so typical here that if a cobbler’s apprentice presented a shoe to his master, he would put his knee to the ground. This quality of titulos imparts many of the privileges I’ve already mentioned, especially having a canopy. They do not put balusters around their bed. 22. Gaspar Téllez-Girón (1625–1694), fifth Duke of Osuna, Viceroy of Catalonia. 23. Ancient military title equivalent to captain general. In 1679, the Constable of Castile was Don Íñigo Melchor Fernández de Velasco, 7th Duke of Frias.

Ninth Letter 183 I’ve already told you, my dear cousin, we’re far from being as well furnished in France as are people of quality here, principally in silver vessels. It’s such a remarkable difference that you have to see it to believe it. They don’t use pewter dishes; they only use dishes of silver and earthenware. And you must know that their plates are hardly lighter than our platters in France, for everything here is surprising heavy.

Wealth, Spendthrift Ways, Chicanery The Duke of Albuquerque died some time ago already. I was told that they spent six weeks making the inventory of his gold and silver vessels and weighing them, working two hours per day. It was a very expensive undertaking. There were, among other things, fourteen hundred dozen plates,24 five hundred large platters, and seven hundred small ones. All the rest was in proportion to this, and there were forty silver ladders needed to climb to the top of this buffet, which was built in tiers like an altar and situated in a great hall. When I was told about the wealth of this private individual, I thought they were making fun of me. For confirmation, I asked Don Antonio of Toledo, son of the Duke of Alba, who was staying in the same house. He assured me that it was true and that his father, who did not consider himself rich in silverware, had six hundred dozen silver plates and eight hundred platters. All of this is not really necessary for their great feasts, except for weddings when everything is very lavish. But what explains this overabundance of silverware is that they bring it ready-made from the Indies and do not pay customs to the king. I must say that it’s no better made than their four-pistole coins, which are stamped on the galleons on their way back to Spain. Especially worthy of compassion are the spendthrift ways of the great lords. Many of them do not want to visit their Estates (that’s what they call their land, their towns, and their castles). They spend their lives in Madrid and for everything rely on their steward, who makes them believe whatever serves to enrich himself. They don’t even bother to find out whether he’s telling the truth or lying—that would be too precise and, therefore, beneath their dignity. Here’s one very considerable fault already; another is this profusion of vessels to serve two eggs and a pigeon. Those details are not the only things they neglect, however. They also neglect the daily expenditures of their household. They don’t know what it means to make provisions for anything. Every day they have their people go buy whatever they need at the bakery, the rotisserie, the butcher’s shop, and elsewhere, all on credit. They don’t even know what figures the merchants, who charge whatever price they want, record in their books. Nothing is examined or disputed. Often there are fifty horses in their stables that are dying of hunger for want of straw 24. A total of 16,800 plates! GV

184 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY or oats. And when the master is in bed, if he happens to feel ill that night, his household would be quite bothered because there is nothing left in his house, no wine, nor water, bread, meats, coal, candles—in a word, nothing at all. This is because, even though they buy more than enough provisions to avoid running out, the servants have the habit of taking the surplus home, and the next day they buy the same provisions again. They don’t behave any better with merchants. A man or woman of quality would rather die than bargain over a piece of cloth, lace, or jewels, or take the change from a gold coin. They give it to the merchant for the trouble he took to sell them something for ten pistoles that is not worth five. If they pay a reasonable price, it’s because the seller has enough of a conscience not to take advantage of their easiness in giving all they’re asked. And since they have credit for ten consecutive years without a thought given to payment, they end up riddled with debts. They rarely embark on lengthy lawsuits, and they let their properties be disposed of by decree. They take this on themselves, assembling their creditors and giving them a certain acreage of land that they can use for a while. Sometimes they give up everything and reserve only a pension for life, which cannot be stopped by creditors who could lend them something later on. To keep themselves from being deceived, the agreements between the lord and his creditors are posted. All legal paper is marked and costs more than regular paper. Lawsuits are distributed at certain times. Although they are instigated in Madrid, few are judged there. They put all the documents of one side of a lawsuit in a bag, with the opposing side’s documents in another bag, and documents of the investigation in a third. When it’s time to distribute the cases, they send them to some faraway courts of justice, so that your cause is often judged without your knowing anything about it. They write down where the lawsuit has been sent in a docket book and keep this very secret. When the judgment has been rendered, they send the result back to Madrid and the parties are informed. This spares a lot of trouble and appeals, which should, in my opinion, always be forbidden. As for business you can have here, it’s excessively long, whether at court or in the city, and ruins you in a short time. The Spanish legal practitioners are great rascals of their trade. There are several different councils, all composed of persons of quality, and most of them are councilors of the sword. The first is the Council of State, and the others are the Supreme Council of War, the Royal Council of Castile, the alcaldes of court, the Council of the Holy Inquisition, the Council of Orders, the Supreme Sacred and Royal Council of Aragon, the Royal Council of the Indies, the Council of the Chamber of Castilla, the Council of Italy, the Council of Finances, the Council of the Crusade, the Council of Flanders, the Chamber for the Duty of Houses, the Chamber for His Majesty’s Woods, and the Chamber of the Millions.

Ninth Letter 185 They have such a poor sense of economy here that when a father dies and leaves cash and minor children, they lock it in a safe and never use it to gain profit. For example, the Duke of Frias, whose widow is remarried to the Constable of Castile, left three daughters and six hundred thousand crowns in cash. These were put into three safes, with the name of each little girl. The eldest, who was only seven, is now married in Flanders to the prince of Ligne. The guardians always kept the keys to these safes and only opened the eldest’s to count out the money to her husband. See what a loss of interest! But they say it would be much worse if they happened to lose the principal, which is thought to be invested well but is actually not. And in a bankruptcy, all would be lost, so it is better not to earn anything than risk the fortune of their wards. It’s time for me to finish, my dear cousin. I fear tiring you with a longer letter. I beg you to keep all the letters I send you and to forgive me for taking such liberties. Adieu, I send you kisses and all my love.25

25. Volume 2 of the original edition ends here.

Figure 4. View of the Royal Palace and the Bridge of Segovia, Madrid, Spanish School, 17th century (oil on canvas) / Caylus Anticuario, Madrid / Bridgeman Images CAY82431.

186 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY

TENTH LETTER

May 29, 1679, from Madrid I was so happy to hear from you that you’re receiving all my letters! I was worried about the last two. And since you wish it, my dear cousin, I’ll continue to inform you of all that’s going on here and everything I see.

Royal Houses The royal palace1 is built on a hill that slopes down gently to the banks of the river called Manzanares. Views from the palace extend over the countryside, which is quite pleasant here. You arrive there on the Calle Major, “the Great Street.” Indeed, it’s very long and very wide, several mansions adding to its beauty. Before the palace, there’s a large square. People, whatever their quality, are not allowed to enter the court in a coach. You must stop under the great arch of the porch, unless there are fireworks or masquerade races, when coaches are let in. A very small number of halberdiers stand at the gate.2 When I asked why such a great king had so few people to guard him, “What,” a Spaniard said to me, “aren’t we all his guards?” He reigns so well over the hearts of his subjects that he doesn’t have to fear or distrust them. The palace is at the southern edge of the city, and it is built of very white stone. Two brick pavilions are at each end of the façade, but the rest is not regular. Behind the palace there are two square courtyards, each built up along the four sides. The first is adorned with two great terraces that tower over the rest. They’re elevated upon high arcades and bordered by marble balusters; busts in the same material embellish the balustrade. What I thought rather curious was that the statues of women have rouge on their cheeks and shoulders. You enter through two beautiful porticos that lead to the staircase, which is extremely large. There are apartments full of excellent paintings, admirable tapestries, very rare statues, magnificent furniture, in short, with all the things suitable to a royal palace. But several rooms are very dark. I’ve seen some that have no windows and get light only through the door. Rooms with windows are hardly lighter because the openings are very small. They say that the heat is so intense that they must prevent the sun from coming in as much as possible. It’s true, moreover, that glass is so rare and expensive that many other houses have windows without any glass. Thus, when they describe a house that lacks nothing, 1. The royal palace d’Aulnoy knew no longer exists; it was destroyed in a terrible fire on Christmas night 1734, while the royal family was staying at the Buen Retiro palace. Philip V ordered the Italian architect Filippo Juvara to build a new palace. The construction ended in 1764, under Charles III. 2. Guards armed with a halberd, a weapon having an axe-like blade and a steel spike mounted on the end of a long shaft. The Swiss Guards at the Vatican carry a halberd as well as other traditional arms. GV

187

188 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY they say, “In short, it is glazed.” This lack of window panes is not visible from the outside due to the venetian blinds. The palace is adorned with several gilded balconies that produce a very nice effect. All the councils sit there, and when the king wishes to attend, he passes through galleries and passages without being noticed. Quite a few people are convinced that the Château de Madrid, which Francis I had built near the Bois de Boulogne, was modeled after the palace of the king of Spain.3 But this is a mistake, as nothing is less alike. The gardens in Madrid are not worthy of the dignity of a palace. They’re not as vast or well cultivated as they should be. The terrain, as I’ve said, extends to the banks of the Manzanares. Everything is enclosed within high walls, and if these gardens are at all beautiful, it’s only due to nature. They’re working hard to make the young queen’s apartments ready for her arrival.4 All the officers of her household have been named, and the king is waiting for her with the greatest impatience. The Buen Retiro is a royal house near one of the gates of the city.5 At the beginning, the count-duke had a small house built that he called Gallinera6 to keep very rare hens he’d been given. Since he went to see them quite often, a very pleasant view from the slope of a hill at that location gave him the idea of undertaking a considerable building project. Four main buildings and four great pavilions make a perfect square. In the middle, there’s a flowerbed and a fountain whose statue throws a lot of water and, when needed, can spray the flowers and the crosswalks that go from one apartment to another. These buildings have the defect of being too low, though their apartments are vast, magnificent, and embellished with good paintings. Everything shines with gold and bright colors adorning the ceiling and paneling. In a great gallery, I noticed the entry of Queen Elisabeth, mother of the late queen.7 She’s on horseback, dressed in white, with a 3. After his release from captivity in Spain, Francis I found the old Louvre too uncomfortable. In 1527, he ordered a splendid Renaissance château to be built on the edge of a forest to the west of Paris, on land that later became the suburb of Neuilly-sur-Seine. At first, it was known as the Château de Boulogne, but later, whenever courtiers did not see the king, they began calling it “Le Château de Madrid,” alluding derisively to the months Francis spent in prison in Madrid. The château was designed and built by prominent Italian and French architects. In the eighteenth century, it fell into disrepair and was finally razed in 1792. D’Aulnoy’s opinion that Francis did not model his château on the Madrid Royal Palace is borne out by architectural history. Emperor Charles V started converting the Alcázar (fortress) in Madrid into a palace in 1537, intending to move the capital of Spain from Toledo to Madrid. This occurred in 1561 under his son Philip II, who continued the transformation of the palace. GV 4. The young queen: Marie-Louise d’Orléans. 5. At present, the Casón del Buen Retiro houses the annex of the Prado museum. 6. Gallinero means “chicken coop.” 7. Elisabeth of Bourbon, sister of Louis XIII, married to Philip IV of Spain in 1615. “La feu reine” refers to Elisabeth’s daughter, Marie-Thérèse of Spain, who was married to her first cousin Louis XIV in 1660 and died in 1683. D’Aulnoy refers to her as the “late queen” in a letter supposedly written in

Tenth Letter 189 ruff around the neck and a farthingale. She wears a little hat decorated with precious stones and a plume of feathers. She’s plump, fair-skinned, and very pleasant looking, with beautiful eyes and a gentle and intelligent demeanor. The room for theater is well designed, very large, and decorated throughout with sculptures and gilding. Fifteen persons can sit in each box without being uncomfortable. They all have venetian blinds, and the king’s is very gilded. There is no orchestra or amphitheater. You sit on benches on the floor. From the edge of the terrace, you can see the statue of Philip II mounted on a bronze horse, a piece of considerable value. Curious people enjoy drawing the horse. The park is more than one long league in circumference with several very pretty detached pavilions in which there are good apartments. With considerable expense, they brought in running water from springs to create a canal and an artificial lake on which the king has little painted and guided gondolas. He goes there during the heat wave of the summer because the fountains, the trees, and the meadows make this place cooler and more pleasant than anywhere else. There are grottos, waterfalls, ponds, shady areas, and in some parts a pleasant rustic charm preserves the simplicity of the countryside. The Casa del Campo8 serves as a menagerie. It isn’t big, but its location on the banks of the Manzanares is beautiful. The trees are tall and provide shade at all times. I speak of the trees in this country because there are only a few of them. There’s water in several places, notably a pond surrounded with great oak trees. The statue of Philip IV is in the garden. The place is a bit neglected, though. I saw some lions, bears, tigers, and other ferocious animals, which live a long time in Spain because the climate is hardly different from that of their natural regions. Many people go there to daydream, and ladies usually choose this place for their walks because it’s less crowded than others. But let me get back to the Manzanares. This is a river that does not flow through the city. At certain times, it’s neither a river nor even a stream, although it can become so high and swift that it carries along everything that stands in its path. In summer, you can ride your coach on the riverbed. The water is so shallow that you can hardly get your foot wet, while in winter it can flood the countryside very suddenly. This is because the snows covering the mountains start to melt, and huge torrents of water run down into the Manzanares. Philip II had a bridge built over it, called the Segovia bridge.9 It is 1679, a slip indicating that the letter was written or revised later. Possibly, d’Aulnoy is referring to the magnificent equestrian portrait of Elisabeth by Velázquez (ca. 1635) originally in the Buen Retiro, now at the Prado museum. In the portrait, however, the queen wears a dark outfit and sits on a white horse; see . GV 8. The Casa del Campo, a natural park on the banks of the Manzanares across from the palace. It was reforested by order of Philip II in 1559. 9. The Segovia bridge is the oldest bridge in Madrid, built between 1582 and 1584 and attributed to Juan de Herrera, the architect of El Escorial.

190 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY superb and at least as beautiful as the Pont Neuf, which crosses the Seine in Paris. When foreigners see it, they burst out laughing. They find it ridiculous to have built such a bridge in a place where there’s no water. One of them said jokingly that he advised them to sell the bridge in order to buy water. La Florida is a very pleasant house whose gardens are infinitely delightful.10 There are many Italian statues by the greatest sculptors. The waters make a soft and pretty murmur that charms the senses, along with the scent of the flowers chosen for their rarity and great fragrance. From there, you descend to the Prado Nuevo where there are gushing fountains and very tall trees. Though not on even ground, this walk is no less pleasant, the slope being so gentle you hardly notice it. There is also la Zarzuela, which only has country charm and a few cool rooms where the king comes to rest when returning from the hunt. The view makes it pleasing, though, and they could have added beautiful décor.

May Day Festivities, Incognito or Not, and Other Amusements To speak about something other than the king’s houses, my dear cousin, I’ll tell you that on the first of May they go for a ride outside the Toledo gate. It’s called el sotillo, and nobody misses the trip. So I went along, much more to see than to be seen, though my French dress made me very conspicuous and attracted many looks. The women of great quality only take rides once in all their life—I mean in public places—in the first year of their marriage. In this tête-à-tête with their husband, the lady sits in the back, the husband in front, with the curtains all open and she very dressed up. But it’s a very silly sight to see these two figures, sitting as straight as candles and looking at each other without saying a word for one whole hour. Certain days are designated for taking a walk or a ride. All Madrid goes and, though the king is rarely there, nobody but His Majesty and a small number of courtiers misses the occasion. What’s really bothersome are those long leads that take up so much space that all the horses get entangled. Many ladies not of the first rank go on these rides, their curtains all drawn. They can only see through little glasses attached to the side of the coach. And in the evening, ladies of the highest quality come incognito. They even have fun taking a walk in the Prado at nightfall. On their heads, they cover themselves with white mantillas, which are a kind of cape of woolen cloth embroidered with black silk. Only common women and those seeking adventures wear them, but sometimes, as I said, court ladies go about in this getup. The caballeros also alight and say sweet nothings to them, but they certainly meet their match in these ladies. The Count of Berka,11 German envoy, told me that while he was having supper the other day, his windows shut because of the cold, someone knocked hard 10. La Florida is located on the banks of the Manzanares. 11. The Gazette of 1679 confirms that the Count of Berca, the emperor’s envoy, was in Madrid.

Tenth Letter 191 on the venetian blinds of the dining room. He sent out to see who it was. They found three women covered in white mantillas who desired to have the windows opened in order to see him. He invited them to come inside where they would be more comfortable. They came in all hidden and stood in a corner while he was at table. He entreated them to sit down and eat some sweetmeats, but they would neither sit nor eat. After bantering with him for a while in a way that revealed their sparkling wit, they left. He had recognized them as the Duchesses of Medina Celi, of Ossone, and of Uceda (he had seen them at their houses for, at times, ambassadors have the privilege of making a formal visit to great ladies). But he wanted confirmation, so had them followed. They were seen entering their houses by a secret door, where some of their women were waiting. These little disguises are not always so innocent. As for the men, when night comes they take a walk in the Prado. They approach coaches where they see ladies and, leaning on the doors, they throw flowers and sprinkle perfumed water on them. When they receive permission, they climb into the coach with them. Returning to the May Day promenade, it’s a real pleasure to see the bourgeois and the common people sitting, some in fields of sprouting wheat, others on the banks of the Manzanares, some basking themselves in the sun, some in the shade, with their wives, their children, their friends, or their mistresses. Some eat a garlic and onion salad; others, hard-boiled eggs; a few, ham and even gallinas de leche (excellent fattened pullets). All drink water like ducks and play the guitar or the harp.

The King and the Spaniel The king comes to the May Day promenade with Don Juan, the Duke of Medina Celi, and the Duke of Pastrana. I saw only his coach of green oilcloth, drawn by six piebald horses—the most beautiful in the world—all decorated with gold frills and bows of rose-colored ribbon. The curtains of the coach were of green damask with a gold fringe but so well closed that you couldn’t notice anything except through the little glasses attached to the sides of the coach. The custom is that when the king passes by, everyone stops and, out of respect, draws their curtains. But we followed the French fashion and left ours open, just making a very low bow. The king noticed that I held a spaniel bitch that the Marquise of Alluye, a very kind lady, asked me to take to the wife of the Constable Colonna, and since I loved this dog, she sent her to me once in a while.12 The king sent the Count of 12. The Marquise of Alluye, born Mademoiselle of Fouilloux, was indeed a close friend of the Constable Colonna’s estranged wife, Marie Mancini, who had written memoirs justifying her separation from her husband, published in 1677. GV

192 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY Los Arcos, captain of the Spanish Guards, to ask me for her. He came to my coach on horseback, and I gave her to him immediately. The spaniel had the honor of being petted by His Majesty, who liked the little bells she had on a collar around her neck and the rings around her ears even more. He has a bitch that he adores and sent to ask whether I would let him take the bells and rings for Daraxa; that’s his dog’s name. You can well guess, my dear cousin, what I replied. He sent the spaniel back without the collar and the rings, but he had the Count of Los Arcos offer me a plain gold box full of lozenges that he had on him, asking me to keep it. It’s of little value but, coming from such a hand, I treasure it greatly.

Face to Face with Don Juan José de Austria It was Don Juan, a friend of my relative, who obtained this mark of the king’s favor toward me, for he knew that I was in Madrid, although I hadn’t yet had the honor of seeing him. Two days later, while I was alone in my apartment busy painting a small piece, I saw a man I didn’t know come in but who looked fine enough to me, judging by his appearance, to conclude that he was a person of quality. He told me that, not having found my relative, he decided to wait because he had a letter for her. After a few moments of conversation, he mentioned Don Juan and said that he didn’t doubt that I saw him often. I replied that, indeed, since I had arrived, this prince had come to see my relative, but he had not asked for me. “Perhaps,” he added, “it’s because you were sick that day.” “I haven’t been sick,” I replied, “and I would have been delighted to see and hear him, because I’ve been told good and bad things about him, and I’d like to unravel for myself whether they do him harm or justice. I said this to my relative, who told me it wasn’t possible; he’s so devout that he would not speak to any woman.” “Would it be possible,” he said smiling, “that his devotion made him lose his mind? As for me, I’m convinced that he asked for you and was assured that you had a fever.” “A fever,” I responded. “That seems quite concrete. Oh, please, how do you know that?” At that moment, my relative came in. She seemed very surprised to find Don Juan with me, and I was no less surprised for I didn’t know it was he. He told her several times that he couldn’t forgive the impression she had given me of him. He was not a bigot and was persuaded that true devotion ought not to make a person unsociable.

Tenth Letter 193 I found him to be good-looking, gallant, well bred, very intelligent, and quick-witted. Full of wit as well, my relative defended herself very well against his criticism of her, but when he left, she chewed me out for having said that I hadn’t had a fever. I tried to excuse myself by saying that I didn’t know she had told him that and couldn’t guess it. She responded that, at court, you have to know how to guess or else you look like an idiot. She asked the prince whether it was true that the Queen Mother had written to the king entreating him to allow her to see him and that he had refused. He admitted it was true and that it was the only reason that prevented the king from going to Aranjuez, for fear she would come find him, even though she had been forbidden to leave Toledo. “What, my Lord,” I exclaimed. “The king does not want to see his mother the queen?” “Say rather,” he replied, “that reasons of state forbid sovereigns from following their inclinations when they do not agree with the common good. We have a maxim in the Council of State always to consult the spirit of the Great Charles V in all difficult matters. We examine what he would have done in such or such circumstance, and we endeavor to imitate him. Along with many others, I found that he would not have seen his mother after having cause to exile her. The king is so persuaded of this that he answered her that it was not possible.” It wasn’t difficult for me to understand that Don Juan adapted the genius of Charles V for his own.

Does King Carlos II Have a Sense of Humor? The king went to the Buen Retiro, where I had the honor of seeing him for the first time at a play.13 He opened the blinds of his box to look into ours because we were dressed in the French fashion. The wife of the Danish ambassador was with us, dressed the same, and so beautiful that he said to the prince of Monteleone that we all pleased him, but it was too bad we didn’t have Spanish hairstyles and dresses. He said that, the more he looked at French ladies’ clothes, the more they seemed shocking, but men’s attire was less so. They were performing the opera Alcine.14 I didn’t pay much attention because I was always looking at the king in order to describe him to you. I can tell you that he has a delicate and fair complexion, a broad forehead, a very long and narrow face, very big lips—like all those of the house of Austria—a wide mouth, a very aquiline nose, a pointed and 13. D’Aulnoy confirms this information in her Spanish memoirs. This detail appears in the Gazette of May 16, 1679. 14. The zarzuela (a Spanish lyric-dramatic genre) El Imperio de Alcina, attributed to Juan Bautista Diamante (1625–1687). Based on a subplot of Ludovico Ariosto’s epic poem Orlando furioso (1516), it’s the story of Alcina, an enchantress, in love with the paladin Astolfo. GV

194 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY turned-up chin,15 and a lot of blond hair all straight and tucked behind the ears. He is rather tall, straight, and slender and has very small, thin legs. He’s naturally very kind, and he’s inclined toward leniency. From the various pieces of advice he receives, he chooses the one he believes to be most beneficial for his peoples, for he loves them. He’s not vindictive; he’s sober, generous, and pious. His inclinations tend toward the good, and he’s of even temper and easy access. He hasn’t had all the education needed to form the mind, yet he’s not lacking in intelligence. I’ll now note some traits of his I’ve been told, and even though they aren’t important, they’re still interesting. Not long ago, the Lady Constable of Colonna, who was in a religious house at St. Domingo, left this abbey, which she had entered and left several times. Tired of this behavior, the nuns resolved to receive her no longer. Indeed, the last time she wanted to reenter, they told her sharply that she could stay in the world or choose another religious house for her retreat. She was very offended by this refusal, which was not appropriate for a person of her quality and merit. She had her friends intervene with the king, and he sent orders to the abbess to reopen her doors to the Lady Constable. The abbess and all the nuns, persisting in their refusal, said that they wanted to explain their reasons to His Majesty and would come see him. When the nuns’ answer was reported to the king, he burst out laughing and said: “I’ll be very amused to see this procession of nuns who will come chanting, ‘Libera nos, Domine, de la Condestabile.’ ” They did not go, however, and chose rather to obey, which is always the best course.16 15. A product of generations of inbreeding, Carlos suffered from such an extreme form of prognathism, or the “Habsburg jaw,” that he could barely speak or chew. GV 16. Seguin seems to agree with traditional views of this controversial woman that put the blame on her for the misadventures of her life: “La connétable Colonna mena une vie scandaleuse en Italie et finit par se brouiller aver son mari” (392n17; [she] led a scandalous life in Italy and ended up estranged from her husband). Recent scholarship has revealed a much more complex figure: very cultured, intellectual, and an abused wife, who, along with her sister Hortense Mancini, was the author of the first memoirs in France published by women under their own names during their lifetimes. A niece of Cardinal Mazarin, Marie Mancini was the first love (apparently it remained platonic) of the young Louis XIV. To remove her from the court of France, Mazarin arranged a marriage for her in 1661 with Lorenzo Onofrio Colonna, Grand Constable of Naples and the head of the most powerful noble family in Rome. She and her husband became great patrons of the arts. She gave birth to three sons in three years. Due to Lorenzo’s infidelities and her fear of additional pregnancies, she refused conjugal relations and their marriage began to deteriorate. Fearing that her husband was plotting to kill her, Marie and her sister Hortense fled Rome in 1672. Marie led an errant life until the constable’s death in 1689, always pursued and sometimes imprisoned by her husband’s agents. After she escaped to Madrid, her husband had her incarcerated in the castle of Segovia, from which she escaped and sought refuge with her sister-in-law, the Marquise de Los Balbazes. Then she entered a convent, left, re-entered, then left again, each time seeking both safety and freedom. When apocryphal memoirs of her “scandalous” life were published in 1676, she responded by writing her own story and publishing it in 1677, in Spain: La Vérité dans son jour, ou les véritables mémoires de M. Mancini, connétable Colonne.

Tenth Letter 195 It was raining a few days ago, and the thunder was terrible. The king, who amuses himself at times by playing little tricks on his courtiers, ordered the Marquis of Astorgas to wait for him on the terrace of the palace.17 The good old man said, laughing, “Sire, will it be a long time before you come?” “Why?” asked the king. The marquis replied, “It’s just that Your Majesty might as well have a coffin brought to put me in, for it’s improbable that I’ll survive weather like this.” “Go on, go on,” said the king, “I’ll come find you.” The marquis left and, without hesitating, climbed into his coach and went home. Two hours later, the king said, “Surely the good man is soaked to the bones. Have him come down, I want to see him in this state.” They told the king that he had not exposed himself to the elements, upon which the king said that he was not only old but also very wise. Recently, near the palace, they stopped one of the most beautiful courtesans of Madrid, disguised as a man. She had attacked her lover, believing she had cause to complain. Recognizing the sound of her voice and the way she used her sword, this man didn’t want to use his to defend himself. Far from it, he opened his jubon, that’s a jacket, and made it easy for her to strike him. He thought maybe that she would not have enough anger or courage to do it. But he was wrong, and she dealt him a blow with all her strength so that he fell, severely wounded. Hardly had she seen his blood flow when she threw herself on the ground and made frightful cries, clawing at her face with her nails and pulling out her hair. The people gathered around her saw well from her appearance and long hair that it was a woman. Then the officers of justice arrested her. Some noblemen passing by saw this and told the king about it. Because he wished to speak to her, they brought her before him. “Is it you,”18 he asked, “who wounded a man close to the palace?” “Yes, Sire,” she responded, “I wanted to take revenge on an ingrate. He promised to give his heart to me, but I found out that he had given it to another woman.” “And why are you still so distressed since you took revenge?” “Oh, Sire,” she continued, “in seeking revenge I punished myself. I’m now in deep despair, I beg Your Majesty to command that I be killed, for I deserve the worst punishment.” The king took pity on her and, turning toward the people surrounding him, he said, “Truly, I have a hard time believing that there’s any worse state than loving without being loved. Go,” he continued, “you have too much love to have any reason. Try to be more sensible than you have been, and don’t misuse the freedom I return to you.” So she withdrew, without being taken to the jail where they lock up miscreants. 17. Ramiro de Guzmán, Marquis of Toral and of Astoria; he became Viceroy of Naples. 18. The king addresses her in the familiar tú; she responds in the formal vous. GV

196 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY

Theaters: On Stage and Off Everything I told you about the king made me forget the opera Alcine. When I saw it the first day, there were so many distractions that when I returned to see it again, it seemed completely new. Never has there been such pitiful stage machinery: they made the gods on horseback come down upon beams that reached from one end of the theater to the other. The sun was shining, thanks to a dozen oiled-paper lanterns in each of which was a lamp. When Alcine cast her spells and invoked the demons, they easily climbed up from hell on ladders. The gracioso, the buffoon, made a hundred insolent jokes. The musicians have pretty nice voices but sing too much in the throat. They used to let all sorts of people in, even though the king was present. This custom has changed, and now only great lords enter and titled persons or, at least, those with status of knights or of the three military orders. Anyway, the most beautiful play in the world—I mean, of those performed in the city—is very often praised or panned according to the whim of some ignorant wretch or another. Among others, there’s a cobbler who passes judgment and who has acquired such absolute power to do so that when authors finish their plays they go see him in order to seek his approval. While they read their plays to him, the cobbler puts on his grave expression and says a thousand rude and nonsensical things that they must put up with. After all that, when he is there on opening night, everyone’s eyes are riveted on the gestures and reactions of this fool. Young people imitate him, whatever their rank. If he yawns, they yawn; if he laughs, they laugh. Finally, he gets impatient and starts whistling on a little whistle he has brought. All at once, a hundred other whistles start blowing with such a shrill noise that it batters the brain of the spectators. So, here’s our poor author in despair, with all his sleepless nights and efforts at the mercy of the good or bad mood of a rascal. In this theater, there’s a certain part called la casuela (similar to an amphitheater). All the ladies of easy virtue sit there, and all the great lords come speak with them. Sometimes they make so much noise that you couldn’t hear the thunder above it, and they say such funny things that you die laughing because their liveliness is not impeded by any sense of propriety. Besides, they know everyone’s adventures and, if there’s joke to be made, even at the expense of Their Majesties, they would rather be hung on the spot than miss their chance to tell it. It’s safe to say that actresses are adored in this court. There isn’t one who’s not the mistress of a great lord, for whom several duels have been fought in which many men have been killed. I don’t know what they say that’s so irresistible but, really, they are the ugliest carcasses in the world. They spend an awful lot of money, and people would rather have their whole household die of starvation and thirst than allow a trampy actress lack for even the most superfluous trifle.

Tenth Letter 197

About Bullfights We’re now in a rather uncomfortable season because it’s customary to put the mules out to pasture, and almost everyone goes on foot. All you see is grass being transported everywhere. The greatest lords hardly keep two mules to draw them, so they often go on horseback. The sure-footed horses that appear in bullfights become very expensive and sought-after. Desiring this entertainment, the king ordered a bullfight for the twenty-third of this month. I was very pleased because, even though I had heard of them, I’d never seen one, and the young Count of Conismark, who is Swedish, wanted to tauriser for the daughter of a lady friend.19 So I was even more eager to get to the Plaza Major, where my relative, being a titulada of Castile, has a designated balcony arrayed with a canopy as well as the carpets and cushions of the crown.

Alluring Cows and Branded Bulls To inform you of all that happens during these types of festivities, I must first tell you that when the king orders a bullfight to take place, cows called mandarines are led into the mountains and the forests of Andalusia. It’s well known that the most furious bulls are to be found in those areas. And since these cows are disposed to dalliance (if I may say this), they disappear into the mountains. Seeing this, the bulls rush to pay court. The cows flee, the bulls follow, and the cows lead them into palisades put up along the roads, sometimes thirty or forty leagues long. Several men on horseback, armed with half-pikes, chase the bulls and prevent them from turning back, but sometimes the men are forced to fight them within these barriers, where they are often killed or wounded. People posted as watchmen along the roads give notice of the day the bulls will arrive in Madrid, where the same palisades are set up in the city so that the bulls cannot harm anyone. The mandarines, the most treacherous of females, always walk ahead, and those poor bulls quietly follow them into the area set aside for the bullfight, where a big stable is erected with planks to enclose them. Sometimes there are thirty, forty, or up to fifty of them. This stable has two doors; the mandarines enter through one and leave by the other and, when the bulls begin to follow them, a hatch is lowered to trap the bulls. After resting for a few hours, the bulls are led out of the stable, one after the other, into the large square where sturdy young peasants are waiting. Some take the bull by the horns, the others grab it by the tail, and because they brand it on 19. Conismark probably refers either to Philip Christoph von Königsmarck or his brother, Karl Johann, adventurous scions of an illustrious Swedish family. There is no record of their being in Madrid in 1679, however. The term tauriser, “bait the bull,” seems to have been invented by d’Aulnoy. GV

198 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY the buttocks with a hot iron and slit its ears, they are called herradores. This doesn’t always happen peacefully, and sometimes several people are killed. It’s a warm-up to the festivities and gives great pleasure to the common people, whether they like to see a lot of blood spilled or only wish to witness extraordinary things that may shock initially but give them something to reflect upon for a long time afterward. If they do reflect on the unfortunate accidents in this festival, they don’t seem to benefit from it because they’re always ready to risk their lives in any bullfights that take place. They feed the bulls, choose the best ones for the fight, and even distinguish them as the sons or brothers of those that were the best at carnage in preceding festivals. A long ribbon is attached to their horns, and everyone recognizes them and can recite the history of their ancestors based on the color of their ribbon. The grandfather or the great-great-grandfather of this one courageously killed so-and-so, and so no less is expected of their descendants.

Rectangular Bullring, Red Carpets, Grand Entrances When they’ve rested enough, the Plaza Major is covered with sand, enclosed by barricades as tall as a man, built, and painted with the arms of the king and his kingdom. This square seems bigger to me than the Place Royale.20 It’s longer than it is wide, with porticos on which identical houses are built, five stories tall and each with rows of balconies from which you enter through great glass doors. The king’s pavilion projects out farther than the others and is more spacious and gilded. It’s in the center of one of the sides of the plaza, with a canopy above it. Facing it are the balconies of the ambassadors who have a seat when he goes to chapel, that is: His Eminence the papal nuncio and the ambassadors of the emperor and those of France, Poland, Venice, and Savoy. The ambassadors of England, Holland, Sweden, Denmark, and the other Protestant princes do not hold this rank. List of the councils of territories controlled by Spain and of institutions (including the Inquisition), placed at the king’s right; then city officials and grandees, placed according to their rank on balconies rented by the king or the city. (Seguin 251) On behalf of the king, they offer a light meal to those I’ve named, served in very nice baskets and consisting of dried candied fruits and iced waters. To the ladies 20. D’Aulnoy refers to the oldest square in Paris, in the Marais, started under Henri IV and built between 1605 and 1612. It was renamed Place des Vosges in 1800. The Plaza Mayor in Madrid was built between 1617 and 1619, during Philip III’s reign. It was reconstructed in 1790 after a series of fires. The rectangular Plaza Mayor is not bigger, however, measuring only 130,284 square feet versus the square-shaped Place des Vosges at 211,600 square feet. GV

Tenth Letter 199 they also give gloves, ribbons, fans, lozenges, silk stockings, and garters. In sum, these festivities always cost more than 100,000 crowns, and this expense is drawn from the fines and forfeitures that are awarded to the king or the city. These funds would not be tapped, even to save the kingdom from the greatest peril. Doing so could cause a revolt, so enchanted are the people with this sort of entertainment. From the ground to the first balcony, they set up bleachers for the rest of the people. Balconies can be rented for fifteen or twenty pistoles, and there’s not a single one that’s not occupied and decorated with rich carpets and canopies. The common people aren’t seated under the king’s balcony; that space is filled with his guards. Only three gates are open for persons of quality to enter in their most beautiful coaches, especially the ambassadors, and they drive around several times before the king arrives. The cavaliers salute the ladies who are on the balconies without being covered with their mantles. They’re dressed up in all their jewels and most beautiful things. All you see are magnificent materials, tapestries, cushions, and carpets, all embroidered with gold. I’ve never seen anything more dazzling. The king’s balcony is hung around with green and gold curtains, which he draws when he doesn’t want to be seen. The king arrived at around four o’clock, and, immediately, all the coaches left the square. The French ambassador is usually the most noticed because he and all his retinue are dressed in the French fashion, and he’s the only ambassador allowed this privilege, for all the others follow Spanish style. But the Marquis of Villars21 hasn’t arrived yet. The king’s coach is preceded by five or six others, carrying the officers, the young gentlemen-in-waiting, and the pages of his chamber. Then comes the coach of honor with nobody inside, immediately in front of His Majesty’s, whose coachman and postilion always go bareheaded with a footman carrying their hats. The royal coach is surrounded by foot guards. Those called body guards carry pertuisanes and march right next to the coach.22 Pages are perched at all the doors, all in black and without swords, the only sign showing they are pages. Since the ladies-in-waiting to the young queen have already been named, they all entered in the king’s coaches under the conduct of the Duchess of Terranova. At their doors marched the most illustrious gentlemen, some on foot—in order to be closer—others mounted on the most beautiful horses, specially trained and called “movement horses.” To perform this gallant movement, the gentlemen must ask their mistresses for permission. Otherwise they would be severely reproached and even cause trouble with the lady’s relatives, who consider this liberty an attack on their honor. When the ladies are agreeable, they can make all the gallant niceties that these sorts of festivities occasion. But even if they’ve nothing to fear from the ladies or their families, there may be other difficulties. 21. Seguin mistakenly identifies (392n21) the ambassador as Claude-Louis-Hector de Villars (1653– 1734), but the diplomat was his father, Pierre de Villars (1623–1698). GV 22. A lance whose steel head can be separated from its wooden shaft.

200 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY For the dueñas de honor,23 of whom there’s an inconvenient supply in each coach, and the guardadamas,24 who are on horseback, are troublesome chaperones. Hardly has a little conversation begun when the old women close the curtain and the guardadamas tell you that the most respectful love is the most discreet. So you have to resort to speaking with your eyes and making such loud sighs that they can be heard from far away. When all is in place, the captains of the guards and the other officers enter the square riding magnificent horses, followed by the Spanish, German, and Burgundian guards. Colorful description of guards’ uniforms and horses. (Seguin 253–54) Then the people are allowed to cross the barriers and occupy the bleachers, and the square is sprayed with forty or fifty tons of water, brought in little carts. The captains of the guard come back to take their place under the king’s balcony and make a kind of human fence, standing very close together. Even though the bulls are sometimes ready to kill them, they are not allowed to pull back nor stir from their position. They can only raise the point of their halberd25 and defend themselves at great peril. If they kill one, it’s theirs to keep. I can assure you that this innumerable number of people (for everything’s full, including the roofs of the nearby houses), those balconies so well decorated, with so many beautiful ladies, this great court, the guards, and the whole square, make one of the most beautiful spectacles I’ve ever seen. As soon as the guards occupy the king’s quarter, six alguazils, or city bailiffs, enter the square, each holding a big white rod. Their horses are excellent, harnessed in the Moriscos style and loaded with little bells. The alguazil uniform is black. They wear feathers and keep the calmest composure they can while being scared to death because they’re not allowed to leave the arena. Their role is to fetch the cavaliers who must fight.

Rules of Bullfighting I have to tell you, before continuing this little description, that there are established rules for this sort of bullfight called duelo, which means duel, because a caballero attacks the bull and fights it in single combat. He must be born a nobleman and, known as such, to fight on horseback. You’re not permitted to draw your sword against the bull unless it has insulted you—they consider it an insult 23. The head dueñas accompanying ladies to make sure that no one comes near them. 24. An honorific office in the royal household that consisted in accompanying ladies when they went out and preventing anyone from approaching and speaking to them. 25. A pole weapon consisting of an axe blade topped with a spike mounted on a long shaft. GV

Tenth Letter 201 when it pulls the garrachon, the lance, out of your hand; or if it knocks off your hat or cloak; or if it wounds you, your horse, or anyone accompanying you. In that case, the caballero must charge the bull with his horse for committing this empeño, meaning an affront, which demands revenge or death. He must give it una cuchillada, or a back stroke on the head or the neck. But if the horse balks, the caballero dismounts immediately and advances courageously on foot toward the fierce animal. He’s armed with a very short spear, only three fingers wide. The other caballeros there to fight must also dismount and accompany their comrade who is in the empeño, but they must not assist him to gain any advantage against his enemy. They all advance toward the bull and, if it flees to the other end of the square instead of waiting for them or confronting them—after having pursued it for a while—they’ve satisfied the laws of the duel. When sure-footed horses that served in bullfights are in town, you borrow them from their owner, even if you don’t know him. If he doesn’t want to sell them or you don’t have the means to pay, still you’re never refused. If, by bad luck, the horse is killed, and you wish to pay for it, the owner wouldn’t bear the thought, for it would be a breach of Spanish generosity to accept money in such a circumstance. Nevertheless, it’s quite unpleasant to have a horse you have taken the trouble to train borrowed and killed by the first stranger who makes such a request without him suffering any consequences. This sort of combat is considered so dangerous that indulgences are made available in many churches on bullfighting days because of the massacre that takes place. Several popes have tried to abolish such barbarous fights, but the Spaniards made so many appeals to the court in Rome for them to be continued that the court has accommodated their wishes. Thus, the combats are still tolerated.

The Bullfighters’ Spectacular Entrance The first day I went, the alguazils came to the gate at the end of the lists to fetch the six caballeros (including the Count of Conismark) who appeared for the combat. Their horses were very beautiful and magnificently harnessed. Aside from the ones they rode, they each had twelve other horses led by grooms, and six mules apiece loaded with rejones or garrachons, which are, as I’ve already said, wooden lances made of very dry fir, four to five feet long, all painted and gilt, with highly polished ironwork. The mules had velvet covers in the colors of the combatants, with their coat of arms embroidered in gold. This practice isn’t observed in all the bullfights. When the city offers them, there’s much less splendor, but since the king had ordered it and the spectacle was in honor of his marriage, no expense was spared. The caballeros were dressed in black, embroidered in gold, silver, silk, or jet. They wore white plumes flecked with different colors that rose on the side of the hat, attached by a rich knot of diamonds and a hatband of the same. They wore scarves, some white, others crimson, blue, and yellow, embroidered with

202 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY old gold. Some wore them around their waist, others used them as shoulder harnesses or slung them on their arm. These last were short and narrow, probably gifts from their mistresses. Usually they compete to please them and demonstrate that there’s no danger they wouldn’t face for their entertainment. Over everything, they were wrapped in a black cloak, with the ends thrown back so it didn’t hinder their arms. They wore little white ankle boots with long gilt spurs that have only one point, in the Moorish style. They also ride the horse like them, with stirrups shortened, in a manner called cavalgar a la gineta. These caballeros were very well mounted and looked fashionable for this country; of illustrious birth, each was accompanied by forty lackeys, some dressed in gold moiré fabric trimmed with lace, others in crimson brocade striped in gold and silver, and the rest in some other style. Each was dressed in a foreign fashion, as Turks, Hungarians, Moors, Indians, or savages. Several lackeys carried combat beams of those garrachons I mentioned, and the effect was quite striking. They crossed the Plaza Mayor with all their attendants, led by six alguazils, to the fanfare of trumpets. They came before the king’s balcony, made a deep bow, and asked him for permission to fight the bulls, which he granted them in wishing them victory. At that moment, the trumpets began to sound from everywhere, like a challenge to the bulls. All the people shouted and repeated: Viva, viva, los bravos caballeros! They then separated and went to salute the ladies they knew. The lackeys left the arena, except for two who remained for each cavalier, carrying his rejones. They stood next to their masters, keeping close to the rump of their horses. Many young men, who’ve come from far away just to fight on those days, enter the square. Most are on foot and, since they’re not noble, no ceremony is made over them. When a caballero is fighting, the others withdraw, but not outside the barriers, and they don’t attack the bull that another has started fighting unless the bull charges them. The first man it aims at, when they’re all together, is the one who’ll fight it. When the bull has wounded the caballero, everyone shouts, Fulano es empeño, meaning that it’s a commitment for so-and-so to revenge the insult he received from the bull. Indeed, he’s honor-bound to attack the bull, either on horseback or on foot, and strike it with his sword, as I’ve just said, on the neck or the throat but nowhere else. After that, he can fight it however he wants and wound it wherever he can, but this can’t be done without risking losing his life a thousand times. After this first blow, if the caballeros are on foot, they can get back on their horses.

Baiting the Bulls When the king decided it was time to begin the baiting, two alguazils came under his balcony, and he gave the key to the stable where the bulls are locked to Don Juan. For the king keeps it, and when it has to be handed over, he puts it into the hands of the privado, or prime minister, as a favor. Straight away, the trumpets

Tenth Letter 203 sound, and then the timpani, fifes, oboes, flutes, and bagpipes all sound in turn. The alguazils, who are naturally big cowards, go all trembling to unlatch the doors of the bulls’ pen. A man hidden behind the door closes it quickly and scrambles up a ladder to the top of the stables because usually the bull, when charging out, looks behind the door and starts its expedition by killing, if it can, the man who’s there. Then it rushes the alguazils, who spur their horses to save themselves. Because they’re not allowed to go on the defensive, their only recourse is to flee. The men on foot throw arrows at the bull and little darts sharper than awls, all decorated with cut-out paper. Those darts strike the bull in such a way that its pain and its tossing make the iron enter deeper and the paper, which makes a noise when it runs and catches fire, irritates the bull intensely. Its breath forms a dense fog around it, fire pours out of its eyes and nostrils; it runs faster than a racehorse and holds itself straighter. Truly, this strikes terror. The caballero who’s to fight it draws near, takes a rejon, and holds it like a dagger. The bull comes to him, he parries its thrust, and strikes it with the iron of his garrachon. The bull thrusts it back and the wood, being weak, breaks. Immediately, the lackeys, who are holding ten or twelve dozen of them, hand him another weapon and the caballero thrusts it again into the bull’s body. The bull then bellows, grows angry, runs, leaps, and woe to anyone standing in its way. When it’s about to run on a man, they throw a hat or a cloak on the bull, which stops it; or else the man falls to the ground and the bull, who continues running, tramples him. They also have large figures made of cardboard to distract the bull and buy time to run away. What also helps is that the bull always closes its eyes before striking with its horns and, in that instant, most caballeros have the skill to dodge the blow. But this is not a certainty, since several of them perish. I saw a Moor holding a very short dagger who went straight to the bull when it was most furious and plunged the dagger between its two horns in the suture of the skull, a soft place, easy to pierce but smaller than a fifteen-sous coin. It was the most daring and skillful blow imaginable. The bull dropped dead on the spot. Immediately the trumpets sounded, and several Spaniards ran up, sword in hand, to cut into pieces this animal that could no longer do them any harm. When a bull is killed, four alguazils fetch four mules led by grooms dressed in yellow and crimson satin. The mules are covered with plumes and silver bells, and they attach silver leads to the bull that they use to drag it away. At that moment, the trumpets and the people make a great noise. Twenty bulls were baited the first day; a furious one wounded the Count of Conismark very seriously on his leg, yet he didn’t bear the full blow since his horse burst open under attack. The count promptly jumped to the ground and, although he isn’t Spanish, he didn’t want to neglect observing any laws. It was most pitiful to see the most beautiful horse in the world in this state. It was running around the ring with all its strength, its hooves producing sparks, and it killed a man by striking him with its head and breast. They opened a great barrier for it, and it left the arena. As for the count, as

204 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY soon as he was wounded, a beautiful Spanish lady who thought he was fighting in her honor came forward on her balcony and signaled to him by waving her handkerchief, apparently to give him courage, but he didn’t seem to need her help. He advanced proudly holding his sword. Though he was losing streams of blood and had to lean on the lackey holding him up, he didn’t fail to gravely wound the bull’s head. And straight away, turning toward the lady for whom he fought, he kissed his sword, collapsed, and his people carried him away, half dead.

The Bloodier the Better, But Not for a French Lady But you shouldn’t think that these sorts of incidents interrupt the festivities. They say that they will only stop by order of the king, so that when a caballero is wounded, the others accompany him to the barrier, then immediately return to fight. There was a fellow from Biscay so daring that he jumped on the bull’s back, grabbed its horns, and, whatever the bull did to throw him off, he managed to ride it for more than a quarter of an hour, breaking one of its horns. If the bulls defend themselves too long and the king wants to let others in (the new ones are very diverting because each fights in its own way), they bring in English mastiffs. They’re not as big as the usual ones. They’re a breed similar to the one the Spaniards took with them when they conquered the Indies. They’re small and low but so strong that once they seize the throat of a bull, they won’t let go, even if cut into pieces. There are always a few of them killed. The bull throws them on its horns and tosses them in the air as though they were balls. Sometimes they cut the bull’s hamstrings with crescent-shaped irons and mount its hocks on a tall pole, and this is called desjarretar al toro. Another cavalier was empeño because, while fighting, his hat fell off. He didn’t dismount. Instead he prepared his spear, and pushing his horse toward the bull that was expecting him, he gave it a blow on the neck. It was a light one, though, so the pain only enraged the bull. It pawed the earth with its hoofs, it bellowed, it leaped like a stag. I can’t describe this combat to you, nor the cheering of all the people, their clapping, the handkerchiefs they waved as a sign of admiration. Some shouted Victor, Victor!, the others, ha toro, ha toro! to further excite its fury. Neither can I adequately express my own fears, and how my heart was beating, when I saw those terrifying animals ready to kill those brave caballeros. Expressing all of that is equally impossible for me. A man from Toledo, young and nice-looking, was unable to avoid being butted by the bull. He was tossed very high in the air and died on the spot. Two others were mortally wounded, and four horses killed or fatally injured. However, they were all saying that it had not been a beautiful bullfight because there wasn’t much bloodshed; for such a grand festival, there should have been at least ten men killed on the spot. It’s hard to describe the skill of the caballeros in fighting and the horses in avoiding the bull. Sometimes they circle around the bull for a

Tenth Letter 205 whole hour and, though they’re merely one foot away, the bull is not able to get any closer. But when it hits them, it wounds them cruelly. The king threw fifteen pistoles to the Moor who’d killed the bull with his dagger, and he gave the same to the one who had subdued another, saying he’d remember the caballeros who had fought that day. I noticed a Castilian who, not knowing how to protect himself, jumped over the bull as light as a bird. These festivals are beautiful—grand and magnificent. It’s such a noble spectacle and so very costly that it’s impossible to give an exact description. You have to see a bullfight to understand them. But I must admit that all this does not please me, when you think that a man whose life you value is reckless enough to risk it against a raging bull, and for love of you (that’s usually the motive), only to see him return all bloody and half dead as a result. Can anyone approve any one of these customs? And even if you have no personal concerns, can you wish to be present at festivals that usually cost several people their lives? As for me, I’m surprised that in a kingdom where the kings have the title of Catholic, they allow such barbarous entertainment. I know it’s very ancient, since it comes from the Moors, but it seems to me that it should be totally abolished, as well as several other customs they inherited from those infidels. Seeing me so touched and worried during the bullfight, and noticing that I became as pale as a ghost for fear that someone would be killed, Don Fernand of Toledo said to me with a smile: “What would you have done, Madame, if you’d seen what happened a few years ago? A noble caballero was passionately in love with a girl who was only the daughter of a jeweler but was perfectly beautiful and probably very rich. This caballero, having learned that the fiercest mountain bulls had been caught and believing that vanquishing them would bring him much glory, decided to fight the bulls and asked his beloved for permission. She was so shocked by his proposal that she fainted and forbade him by all the power he had given her over himself to ever think of doing that. Despite her order, he believed that he could not give her a greater proof of his love, and secretly he had everything he needed prepared. However he tried to hide his plan from his mistress, she learned of it and did everything she could to dissuade him. When the day of the bullfight finally arrived, he begged her to be present. He said that her presence was enough to make him victorious and bring him the glory to be even more worthy of her. “ ‘Your love,’ she said, ‘is more ambitious than it is tender, and mine is more tender than ambitious. Go where glory calls you; you want me to be there, you want to fight in front of me. Yes, I’ll be there. I promise, and maybe my presence will disturb you more than challenge you.’ “He finally left her and went to the Plaza Mayor where everyone was already gathered. Hardly had he started defending himself against the fierce bull attacking him, when a young villager hurled a dart at the fearsome animal, which pierced it and caused great pain. It immediately turned away from the cavalier and, with a

206 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY great bellow, rushed the one that had just hit it. Panicked, the young man tried to flee. Then the cap covering his head fell off and the longest and most beautiful hair cascaded down, revealing that it was a girl, fifteen or sixteen years old. Fear caused her to tremble so much that she could not run or avoid the bull. It gave her a terrible blow on the side at the same moment that her lover, who was the toreador and had recognized her, ran to rescue her. Oh, my God! What grief he felt when he saw his beloved mistress in such a deadly state! He was so overwhelmed by passion that he no longer spared his own life and, more furious than the bull, he did almost incredible things. He was mortally wounded in several places. That was the day they found the fiesta supremely beautiful. They carried the two unfortunate lovers to the girl’s unhappy father. The lovers wanted to be in the same chamber and begged to be married for the few hours of life they had left. Since they could not spend their lives together, they wished to share the same tomb in death.” This story greatly increased the aversion I had for this sort of festival. I said this to Don Fernand after thanking him for bothering to tell it to me.

The Spanish Language and Other Interesting Matters I haven’t yet told you anything about the Spanish language, in which I’m trying to make some progress. It pleases me immensely; it’s expressive, noble, grave. Love can find its words with ease and can banter pleasantly. The court people speak more concisely than others. They have such abstract comparisons and metaphors that, unless you’re used to hearing them, you don’t understand half of their thoughts. I’ve learned several languages—at least the first rudiments of them—but of all, only ours seems more beautiful to me than Spanish. I’ve just seen ten galleys arrive, which is quite surprising in a city eighty leagues from the sea. But if there are seahorses and dogs, why not land galleys? They have the shape of a chariot but are four times longer. Each has six wheels, three on each side, but they’re hardly less bumpy than a cart. The underside is round and quite similar to a galley’s. They’re covered with canvas and can contain forty people who sleep and cook there; it’s a house that moves. Eighteen or twenty horses are needed to pull it. This vehicle is so long that it can only be turned in a big field. They come from Galicia and La Mancha, country of the brave Don Quixote. Eight, ten, or twelve travel together so that they can help each other if necessary. For when a galley tips over, there’s a great crash and the best you can expect is to break an arm or a leg. They need more than a hundred men to raise it up again. Inside they transport all sorts of provisions because the countryside is so very poor. In these mountains eighty leagues long, the biggest tree you find is a little wild thyme. There are no inns or innkeepers. You sleep in the galley, and it’s a very miserable area for travelers.

Tenth Letter 207 M. Mellini, the Apostolic Nuncio, consecrated the Patriarch of the Indies on Trinity Sunday, and the king came.26 I saw him enter, dressed in black with gold silk embroidery and little pearls around the flowers. His hat was so big that the brim, which they never turn up, fell on both sides and did not make a good impression. During the ceremony, I noticed that he was eating something they held for him on a piece of paper. I asked what it was. I was told that it must be garlic or little shallots, because he eats them quite often. I was too far away to see him well. He didn’t go back to the Buen Retiro due to the feast of the Holy Sacrament, which he wanted to attend. When I left the church, I recognized a French gentleman named du Juncas from Bordeaux where I had seen him. I asked him how long he had been in town. He replied that it was only recently and that he would’ve paid me a visit right away had he not promised in Bayonne not to lose a moment in hunting down a villain that they thought was hiding in Madrid. He hadn’t come to the Jeronomites (also known as the Daughters of the Conception) out of curiosity to see the consecration of the Patriarch of the Indies. But, having asked to speak with a nun, he had been told that she couldn’t be seen until the king had left. “She’s one of the most beautiful young women in the world,” he added, “and she caused great unhappiness in Bayonne in M. de la Lande’s family.” I remember having seen her in passing, and I begged him to tell me what this was about. “It’s too long and dreadful to relate here,” he said to me, “but if you’d like to see the young nun in question, I’m certain she wouldn’t displease you.” I gladly agreed to his proposal because I’d always heard that women are even more witty in monasteries than in the world. We went up to the parlor, which had three horrible gates topped with iron spikes that startled me. “What!” I said to him. “I was assured that in this country nuns were very amorous, but I’m convinced that love is not daring enough to enter through these long spikes and tiny holes, where he would surely perish.” “You’re deceived by appearances, Madame,” du Juncas exclaimed, “and if the lady who’s about to come can spare the time, you’d learn here and now what a Spanish friend told me on my first trip to this country.” The beautiful Doña Isidora enters, weeps, and they talk. (Seguin 265)27 I’m all yours, most dear cousin, please be assured of it.

26. The first Sunday after Pentecost. In St. Jerome Church in Madrid, Monsignor Mellini consecrated Don Antonio Benavides y Bazan Patriarch of the Indies, the highest ecclesiastical dignitary of Spain’s American colonies. 27. The text calls for another inserted novella, focused on Isidora’s adventures, but d’Aulnoy seems to have decided to exclude it without removing the frame narrative.

ELEVENTH LETTER June 27, 1679, from Madrid

Heat in June One has to love you as much as I do, my dear cousin, to write when it’s so horribly hot. Everything I was told and everything I could imagine is nothing compared to what I feel. For some relief, I leave all the windows open all night long without fearing the wind from Galicia, which can cripple you. I sleep bareheaded, and I put my hands and my feet in snow. One could die of this, but I believe it’s better to die than to stifle as we do here. Midnight chimes without our feeling the least breath of gentle air. I believe it’s not any hotter under the equator. When we go for a ride, we’re really at a loss. If we roll down the windows of the carriage, we’re so suffocated by the dust filling the streets that we can hardly see them. Even though the windows of the houses are closed, dust still comes in and ruins all the furniture. The bad smells of winter and the dust of summer tarnish the silverware and everything else to such an extent that it’s impossible to keep anything in good condition. Whatever you do, your face is always covered in sweat and dust, like those wrestlers depicted in the rings.

Feast of Corpus Christi, an Impertinent Auto, and the Bakers’ Feast Day I have to tell you that I witnessed the Feast of the Holy Sacrament, which is very solemn here.1 They form a general procession, including all the parishes and all the monasteries, which are very numerous. The streets that the Eucharist and the procession travel down are hung with the most beautiful tapestries in the world. And I am not just speaking of the royal tapestries you see; thousands of private individuals here have excellent ones. They remove the Venetian blinds and cover their balconies with rich carpets, cushions, and canopies. They hang twill across the streets to protect from the sun, and they throw water on the twill to cool it. The streets are spread with sand, watered, and strewn with flowers so that they walk on nothing else. The monstrances are extraordinarily large and very magnificent. Women don’t participate in the procession. The king was there, dressed in lustrous black taffeta, with a blue and white silk embroidered shoulder belt marking his waist. He had white taffeta sleeves that were very long and open at the front and trimmed in blue silk and jet beads. He had smaller hanging sleeves that 1. Also called Fête Dieu in French, Dia del Corpus in Spanish, and Corpus Christi in Latin and in English. The feast, which falls on the Thursday after Trinity Sunday (the first Sunday after Pentecost) and eight weeks after Easter, celebrates the tradition and belief in the body and blood of Jesus Christ and His Real Presence in the Eucharist. GV

209

210 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY fell to the waist, his coat wrapped around his arm, and his great collar of gold and precious stones from which hangs a little diamond sheep. He also wore diamond buckles on his shoes and his garters, as well as a great hatband that shone almost as brightly as the sun. A large knot lifted the brim of his hat, and from it hung a pearl they call La Peregrina,2 which is as big as a russet pear and of similar shape. They claim that it’s the most beautiful pearl in all of Europe and that its color and form are perfect. The whole court, without exception, was following the Holy Sacrament. The councils marched without order of precedence but just as they happened to be, holding white wax candles. The king held one and went first after the tabernacle in which the Sacrament was kept. It’s surely one of the most beautiful ceremonies to be seen. I noticed that all the noblemen of the chamber carried a great gold key at their sides. It’s the key to the king’s chamber, where they can enter at will. It’s as big as a key to a cellar door. I saw several Knights of Malta, who all wear a Maltese cross made of Holland cloth and embroidered on their cloak. At nearly two in the afternoon, the procession had not yet returned. When it passed by the palace, they fired rockets and other flares. The king went to meet the procession at Santa-Maria, a church near the palace. All the ladies wear their summer finery on that day. They are all dressed up on their balconies, which are filled with baskets full of flowers or bottles of perfumed water that they throw on the procession as it passes. Usually, the three companies that guard the king are newly attired. When the Holy Sacrament enters the church, everyone goes home to eat so as to be at the autos,3 tragedies on religious subjects, rather strangely performed. They’re staged in the courtyard or in the street of each president of a council to whom they are due. The king comes, and all people of quality are given tickets to attend the night before. And so, we were invited. I was surprised that they lit an extraordinary number of torches while the sun was blazing down on the actors’ heads and melting the candles like butter. They performed the most impertinent play I’ve ever seen.4 Here is the plot. The Knights of Santiago are assembled. Our Lord comes to entreat them to admit him into their Order. A few of them are willing, but the elders represented 2. Meaning “the Pilgrim,” La Peregrina was found in the mid-sixteenth century by an African slave on one of the Pearl Islands in the Gulf of Panama. It was presented to Philip II of Spain, who offered it to his future consort, Mary Tudor of England. It was the largest pearl ever found, weighing 55.95 carats, and was worn by several queens of Spain. In 1969, actor Richard Burton bought it for his wife, Elizabeth Taylor. After her death in 2011, it was auctioned by Christie’s for more than eleven million dollars. GV 3. Auto sacramental, sacred tragedy in verse whose main subject is the sacrament of the Eucharist, a dogma represented by means of allegorical figures (Faith, Hope, Charity, Divine Grace, etc.). 4. Importante in the Seguin edition (268), but impertinente in the original and the 1692 translation, which better corresponds to the context. GV

Eleventh Letter 211 to them what harm they would do to their rank by admitting such a low-born person. Saint Joseph, his father, was just a carpenter, and the Holy Virgin worked as a seamstress. Our Lord is very nervous waiting for the decision. They agree with some difficulty to refuse his request but, at the same time, they consider a proposal to found the Order of Christ especially for Him and, by this expedient, everyone is satisfied. This is an order in Portugal. Nevertheless, they don’t do things out of malice and would rather die than show lack of respect toward religion. The autos last for a month. I’m so tired of them that, whenever possible, I look for excuses not to go. They serve a lot of sweetmeats and iced waters, which you really need because you die of heat and suffocate from the dust. At the president of the Hacienda’s residence,5 I was delighted to find Don Augustín Pacheco and his wife (I’ve already told you about them). They had gone there because they’re relatives. We were seated near one another, and after the party, we went for a ride in the Prado in the French style, that is, men and women in the same carriage. Don Frederic of Cardona was with us, and our curtains remained closed while it was crowded because of the pretty little Spanish lady. Since we stayed later than others, the papal nuncio and Frederic Cornaro came close in their carriage and chatted with us, but all of a sudden, we saw great lights all along the avenue. At the same time, sixty cardinals appeared, sitting on mules with their habits and red hats. Then came the Pope. He was carried on a sort of conveyance covered with big carpets. He sat under a canopy on an armchair, the tiara and Saint Peter’s keys upon a cushion, and with a holy water font filled with rose water that he sprinkled on everyone. The cavalcade advanced solemnly. When they arrived at the end of the Prado, their Eminences the Cardinals started performing a thousand acrobatic tricks to amuse His Holiness. Some threw their hats above the trees and managed to have their hat fall back on their head. Others stood on their saddle and made their mules run as fast as they could. A great number of people joined the cortege. We asked the nuncio what all this meant; he told us he had no idea, and he found nothing good in such jesting. He sent someone to inquire where this Sacred College had come from. We learned that it was the bakers’ feast day, and every year they put on this fine ceremony. The nuncio felt a great urge to disrupt it with a salvo of blows. He had already ordered his attendants to pick a fight, but we interceded for these poor people who only wanted to celebrate their saint. However, someone who heard the orders to disturb the peace alerted the Pope and the cardinals. That’s all that was needed to throw the celebration into disorder. Everyone ran away as he could, and their fear put an end to our entertainment. In France, we wouldn’t tolerate such masquerades, but many things are indulged in one country that would not be tolerated in another.

5. La Real Hacienda was the institution responsible for managing the finances of the kingdom.

212 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY

Conversation at a Dinner Party Knowing how courteously I had been received by Don Augustín Pacheco, my relative invited him to dinner. I asked him to remember that he had promised to tell me what he knew about the Indies. “I will describe what they call the West Indies,” he said, “which include part of America.” Don Augustín launches into a seven-page report that includes the following: the discovery of America; the kings of Spain’s claims to America; the chambers governing the territory; a list of the governors and viceroys; Spanish galleons and riches from the gold mines; Peru, Puerto Rico, Mexico. (Seguin 270–76) “The idolatrous Indians are not subject to the Inquisition in the Indies. It was established against heretics and Jews. They don’t allow foreigners to go there, and if a few do they must have special permission, very rarely granted.” “How can I describe,” continued Don Augustín, “how beautiful Mexico City is! The churches, palaces, public squares, the riches, abundance, magnificence, and delights of a city so perfectly situated that it enjoys perpetual springtime in all seasons, where the heat is not excessive, and you never feel the rigors of winter! The countryside is no less charming. In all seasons flowers bloom and trees bear fruit. There is more than one harvest during the year, the lakes are full of fish, the prairies of livestock, the forests of excellent game and wild animals. The earth seems to open only to give you the gold it conceals; you discover mines of precious stones and find pearls off its coasts.” “Oh,” I exclaimed, “let’s go live in that country and leave this one. Your description charms me, but since it’s such a long trip, please, Madame,” I said to Doña Teresa laughing, “let’s have dinner before we leave.” I took her hand and we entered the room where I had gathered the best musicians who, in my opinion, are quite bad and can only be recommended for their high price. My cook prepared several French stews, which Doña Teresa liked so much that she asked for recipes. Don Augustín also requested some larding needles; indeed, they’re nowhere to be found in Spain. We remained together until very late, for in this season they stay up until four or five in the morning because of the heat, and the best temperature is at night.

Crossing the Manzanares River Bed by Coach On certain days of the year, everyone rides on the bridges that cross the Manzanares, but, at present, coaches enter the riverbed. The gravel and a few rivulets help make it quite cool. Horses suffer on these sorts of rides. Nothing wears

Eleventh Letter 213 out their hoofs more than always walking on those stones. We stop at certain spots on this river and stay until two or three in the morning. At times, there are more than a thousand carriages; some people bring food, others sing and play instruments. All this is very pleasant on a beautiful night. Some people bathe there, but, really, that’s very unpleasant. The ambassador of Denmark’s wife has been doing this for a few days. Shortly before she arrives, her servants dig a big hole in the gravel, which fills with water. The ambassadress gets in. So there, as you can imagine, is a very fine bath, but it’s the only one to be had in the river. You’d probably be interested to know that to prove your nobility here you must show that you descend from cristianos viejos—that is, Old Christians—both on your father’s side and on your mother’s side. The stain you fear is that a family of Jews or Moors entered the bloodline. Since the people of Biscay and Navarre were protected from barbarian invasion by their high and rugged mountains, they all consider themselves to be caballeros, even the water-carriers. In Spain, children sometimes take their mother’s name if it’s more illustrious than their father’s. It’s quite certain that there are few families that have not been interrupted and whose name and nobility was not carried by an only daughter into another family. The Velasco family isn’t in this category, for their house includes ten constables of Castile, passed down from father to son.6 One rather singular thing that, I think, doesn’t exist in any other country is that foundlings are considered noble, bear the title of hidalgo, and enjoy all the privileges of the nobility. But they must prove that they were found and have been raised in the hospital where they place such children.7 Some great families in Spain possess most of their estates by virtue of the mayorazgo. If all those carrying the name and their closest male relatives are dead, then natural sons, if any, inherit. If there are no natural sons, the oldest servant takes the name and the arms of his master and inherits his estate. That’s why younger sons of other houses, equally noble and illustrious, don’t disdain to enter their service, and their hopes are quite well founded, for families often die off because Spanish women have fewer children than women in any other country.

An Honor Killing Avenged Recently, a dreadful misfortune happened to a young lady of quality named Doña Clara. She couldn’t defend her heart from the charms of the Count of Castrillo, a

6. The Velasco name merges with the history of Spain. The first of the line, Velasco el Gascón, governed Pamplona in the eighth century. The family supported the Catholic Kings, then the house of Austria, especially Charles V. 7. They could then claim the title of hidalgo notario, a name they share with those who couldn’t prove their noble birth with certainty.

214 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY very witty and handsome courtier.8 This gentleman managed to please her without meaning to. He was unaware of her feelings and did nothing to increase his good fortune. Even though her father was away, she didn’t have more freedom because her father had entrusted her to her brother, Don Henriquez, who watched her behavior very closely. She couldn’t speak to the one she loved, so she suffered without complaint, and not sharing her pain with the one who caused it was additional agony. Finally, she decided to write to him and find a way to deliver her letter. Since this matter was so vital to her, she hesitated in choosing a confidante and delayed for a while, until she saw one of her friends who had always been affectionate toward her. Without further thought, she wrote a very moving letter to the count. She was going to her friend’s house to beg her to deliver it to this gentleman when she saw him pass by her sedan chair. The sight of him increased her desire to inform him of her feelings. Making up her mind at once, she threw the letter she was holding toward him, pretending that it was a letter he himself had given her. “Know, my Lord,” she said loudly with an angry air, “that it’s not to me that you should address designs such as yours. Here’s your note, I don’t even want to open it.” The count was too clever not to understand this beautiful lady’s favorable intentions and picking up the paper with care, he said: “You will not complain, Madame, that I did not profit from your advice.” He withdrew immediately to read a letter that could only give great pleasure. He thus learned Doña Clara’s intentions and what to do in order to see her. He neglected nothing; he fell madly in love with her and believed himself to be, with good reason, one of the most fortunate caballeros in Spain. They waited, impatiently, for Doña Clara’s father to return to propose a marriage that should please him immensely. Whatever precautions they took to start and continue a relationship that was the joy of their lives, the suspicious and overly vigilant Henriquez discovered their love affair. He believed it was criminal and, in a state of excessive rage, without giving any sign or making a stir, he came one night into poor Doña Clara’s bedroom while she was sound asleep and strangled her with inconceivable barbarity. Nevertheless, though it was well known that he was the perpetrator of such an evil deed, Don Henriquez was not prosecuted because he was so important. The poor girl had no relatives who were not also her brother’s, and the family did not want to increase their misfortunes, already very great. After this wicked crime, Henriquez pretended to become very devout. He no longer appeared in public; he had Mass said in his house and saw very few people. He took these precautions fearing that the Count of Castrillo—who hadn’t hidden his grief but expressed it very forcefully— would finally avenge his

8. The hero of this adventure is the son of the Count of Castrillo, who played a central role in Philip IV’s government and during the infancy of Carlos II.

Eleventh Letter 215 mistress. Indeed, he was looking carefully for any opportunity, and, after exhausting all the means he could imagine, he found one that proved successful. He disguised himself as an aguador, the type of water carrier who loads huge jugs on his donkey and carries them around town. They wear coarse homespun, their legs are bare, and they wear cut-out shoes or simple soles attached with strings. Thus disguised, our lover spent the whole day leaning against a public fountain whose waters he increased with his abundant tears. This fountain was in front of the house where he had so often seen his beautiful and beloved Clara, where also lived the cruel Henriquez. As the Count had his eyes glued to this house, he noticed a half-open window and, at the same time, saw his enemy come up to it, holding a hand mirror and looking at himself. Immediately the sham aguador threw cherry stones at him, as if joking, some of them striking him in the face. Offended by the insolence of a seemingly miserable aguador and carried away by anger, Don Henriquez went out alone to chastise him. He had hardly arrived in the street when the count revealed his identity and, drawing the sword he had hidden for this purpose, cried out: “Traitor, think of defending your life.”9 Surprise and fear so overwhelmed Don Henriquez that he could only beg for mercy but couldn’t obtain it from this enraged lover, who avenged the death of his mistress on her cruel murderer. The count would have had a hard time escaping after killing a man of note in front of his own house with many servants nearby. But, just as all of Henriquez’s men were coming down to seize the count, he was lucky that the Duke of Uceda passed by with friends. They jumped out of their coach so quickly that he was saved, and we still don’t know where he is. This interests me because I know him, and he is a very honest man.

Honorable Assassinations It’s quite common in this country for an assassin to avoid punishment for various reasons that are even authorized by custom. For example, when it can be proved that a man slapped another, or hit his face with a hat, a handkerchief, or a glove, or insulted him, either by calling him a drunk or by defaming his wife’s virtue, such offenses can only be avenged by assassination. As justification, they say that after such insults, it would be unjust to risk one’s life in single combat with equal arms when the offended man could be killed by the aggressor. They’ll harbor revenge against you for twenty years if they can’t find an opportunity to carry out their revenge before then. If they happen to die before avenging themselves, their children inherit their feud along with their estate. The best choice for a man who has insulted another is to leave the country for the rest of his life. I was told recently that, after having spent twenty-five years in the Indies to avoid the injury that someone he had offended wanted to inflict on him, an important man thought 9. The count uses tú, insolent in this context. GV

216 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY he was finally safe upon hearing that his enemy as well as his son had died. He returned to Madrid after changing his name to avoid being recognized, but this could not protect him. Soon after his return, the grandson of the man he had offended had him assassinated, even though he was only twelve years old. To carry out these evil deeds, they usually call on men from Valencia, a city in Spain whose inhabitants are extremely wicked. There’s no crime they won’t commit for money. They carry stilettos and arms that fire noiselessly. There are two types of stilettos: some are as long as a little dagger and thinner than a big needle, made of fine steel, square, and sharp on all four sides. They cause wounds that are mortal because, penetrating deep but making a hole no bigger than a needle prick, no blood comes out; you can hardly see where you have been stabbed. It’s impossible to bandage, and victims almost always die. The other type of stilettos are longer and as thick as your little finger, so strong that I have seen them strike through a heavy walnut table with a single blow. Carrying such arms is forbidden in Spain, as are bayonets in France. Those little pistols that fire without noise aren’t allowed either, but in spite of the prohibition, many people use them. I was told that a man of quality, thinking he had reason to have one of his enemies killed, spoke to a bandolero of Valencia and gave him money to assassinate the man. But then he made peace with his enemy and, wanting to deal with him in good faith, the first thing he did was to inform the bandit to call off the killing. Seeing he was no longer needed, the bandit offered to return the money he had received, but the man of quality asked him to keep it. “Well,” he said, “I’m a man of honor; I’ll keep your money and I’ll kill your guy.” The other one begged him not to do anything since they had reconciled. “All I can do,” said the bandit, “is to let you choose, you or him, because to earn the money you gave me in good conscience I have to kill someone.” Whatever entreaties the other one made, he fully executed his plan. They could have had the man arrested, but that was too dangerous because there is such a gang of bandoleros that they would quickly avenge the execution of any one of them. These wretches keep a list of all the murders and crimes they have committed as a matter of honor. When you hire them, they show you the list and ask whether you want the death to be slow or sudden. They’re the most pernicious people in the universe. Truly, if I wanted to relate all the tragic events I hear every day, you’d agree that this country is the theater of the most terrible scenes in the world. Love is often the cause: to please or punish, Spaniards will stop at nothing. Nothing is beyond their courage or their tenderness. It’s said that jealousy is their dominant passion but that there’s less love in it than resentment and pride. They can’t stand to see someone else preferred over themselves, and anything they consider an affront drives them to despair. In any case, whatever emotion compels them, in this respect it’s certainly a furious and barbarous nation. Women don’t socialize with men; but it’s true that they know how to write very well for the rendezvous they want to arrange, however great the danger it poses for them, their lovers, and the

Eleventh Letter 217 messenger. In spite of the danger, they manage to trick the most cunning Argus with their wit and their money.10

Superstition and Delusions of Grandeur It’s difficult to understand how men who do everything to satisfy their desire for vengeance and commit such great crimes can be so fearfully superstitious. At the same time that they are going to stab their enemy, they have novenas said to the souls in Purgatory and carry relics they often kiss, imploring them not to let their undertaking fail. I don’t claim to attribute this characteristic to the whole nation; certainly, there are also people as good as anywhere else and endowed with greatness of soul. I’ll give you a few examples that you might consider to be follies, for everything has a good and a bad side. The Constable of Castile is truly one of the most land-rich noblemen of the court, but since he’s as negligent as others like him who pay no attention to any of their financial interests, he’s not at all rich in cash. The pensions that the king gives him to serve as Head of the Council of State, Constable of Castile, and Grand Falconer are so considerable that they could make up for all he lacks, but he’s so proud he refuses to accept anything. When a subject has enough to live on, the constable insists, he must not be supported by his lord. He should serve him and consider himself fortunate, because to be paid like a mercenary is to become a slave. The Duke of Arcos, alias Aveïro, has a very different obstinacy.11 He claims that the king of Portugal usurped the crown from members of his family and, for this reason, when he speaks of him he only calls him Duke of Braganza.12 Meanwhile, he has forty thousand crowns of income per year in Portugal that he does not enjoy because he refuses to kiss the king’s ring or pay him homage. The king of Portugal sent him word that he would exempt him from coming in person as long as he sent one of his sons in his place, either the older or the younger, as he wished. The king would then allow him to receive his income and would pay him the arrears, which amount to huge sums. The Duke of Aveïro doesn’t even want to hear of it. He says that after losing the crown, it would be shameful to submit to a usurper for an income of 40,000 crowns a year, that great ills keep one from feeling little ones, and that the king would derive greater glory from the duke’s 10. In Greek mythology, the many-eyed giant sent by Hera to guard the heifer-nymph Io from Zeus. GV 11. Rodrigo Ponce de León, Duke of Arcos (1602–1672) was Viceroy of Valencia and Naples. He had wed the Duchesse of Aveïro, daughter of George of Portugal, bastard son of King John II, which explains his pretensions to the throne. But the Duke of Arcos died before d’Aulnoy visited Spain; she probably met Joaquin Ponce de León of the same family. 12. Peter of Braganza, king of Portugal, under the name Peter II (1648–1706).

218 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY homage than the profit he would gain from his own revenue. He would always blame himself for having done him an honor he did not owe him. The one I keep for last is the prince of Stigliano. He has positions and commissions to distribute at the Contratación of Seville,13 amounting to an income of eighty thousand crowns per year. But he’d rather lose this amount than sign the necessary dispatches himself, saying that it is below the station of a gentleman like him to bother signing his name for so little. For the eighty thousand crowns of income are not paid in one sum; there are more than thirty disbursements. And when his secretary presents a dispatch to sign worth four or five thousand pounds, he refuses it, alleging his quality and always saying, ésto es una niñería:14 this is a trifle. The king is not as difficult in this matter, for he’s the one who steps in for the prince, signs, and reaps the profits. You’ll tell me that the Spaniards are crazy with their delusions of grandeur. Maybe you’re right; but as for me, knowing them quite well, I don’t judge them in this way. I agree, nevertheless, that the difference to be found between the Spaniards and the French is all to our credit. Of course, I shouldn’t meddle in deciding the matter because I am too interested to speak of it impartially. But I’m convinced that hardly any reasonable persons would not make the same judgment.

What Tourists Should Know and Venereal Disease Fewer foreigners come to Madrid than to any other city in the world, and they’re right, for if they don’t know someone who can find them an apartment in a private house, they run the risk of having very bad lodging. Spaniards are not eager to offer their houses to anyone because of their wives, of whom they’re very jealous. In all this city, I know of only two inns, and only one in which you can eat French style, but as soon as they’re full (and they fill up quickly, being so small), you don’t know what to do. In addition, you don’t find transportation easily. There are very few coaches for hire. There are as many sedan chairs as you want, but it’s not customary here for men to be carried in one unless they’re very old or disabled. But, after all, why would foreigners want to come to Madrid? What’s most beautiful and delightful is always hidden—I mean the ladies. Foreigners wouldn’t be able to meet them, and those women they can see are so dangerous for their health that they have to be very eager indeed to satisfy their curiosity in such a risky way. Despite this, the only pleasure and the only preoccupation of Spaniards is to have an attachment of this sort. Boys of quality who have plenty of money begin as young as twelve or thirteen to entertain an amancebada, a mistress concubine, 13. A government agency of the Spanish Empire established to control all Spanish exploration and colonization. 14. Childishness. GV

Eleventh Letter 219 for whom they neglect their studies and steal as much as they can from their father’s house. But soon after starting the relationship with these creatures, they find themselves in a state that makes them repent their bad behavior. What’s horrifying is that few people in this country, men or women, even the most distinguished, are free from this malignant influence. Children carry the ill effects of this evil from their mother’s womb or catch it suckling their wet nurse. A virgin can be suspected of carrying it. They hardly want to be cured because they’re so certain of catching it again. But it mustn’t be as dangerous in Spain as elsewhere, because people keep their beautiful hair and teeth. They even talk about this illness before the king and among ladies of the highest rank, just like a fever or a migraine, and they grin and bear it without being the least bit bothered. Since they don’t know whether the most virtuous lady or a little child may have it, they never bleed people in the arm, always the foot. A three-week-old baby’s blood will be drawn in its foot. This custom is so established that surgeons, who are not skilled, don’t even know how to do bloodletting in the arm. I was not feeling well, and I had to call the French ambassador’s valet to let blood in my arm. From all I’ve said, you can easily conclude that this is the wedding present a Spaniard gives to his wife. And even though they marry, they don’t leave their mistress, however dangerous she may be. Every time these mistresses have their blood let, their lovers are obliged to give them a whole new outfit, and please note that they wear up to nine or ten skirts at the same time, so this isn’t a trivial expense. The Marquis of Liche,15 hearing that his mistress had been bled and being unable to wait until the tailor made the outfit he wanted to give her, sent her one that had just been delivered to the Marquise of Liche, who is extremely beautiful. He is fond of saying that to be the happiest of all men, he would only wish for a mistress as pleasant as his wife. The great lords, who return very rich from their governorships—upon which they embark very poor and where they pillage as much as they can because they stay five years at the most—do not use their money to buy lands. They keep it in their safes and, as long as it lasts, they spend lavishly because they consider it beneath their rank to have their money work for them. It’s very difficult, by this method, not to have the greatest treasures run out. But the future doesn’t worry them much because each of them expects a vice-royalty or some other post that will restore their dilapidated fortunes all at once. One has to admit that the king has the means to satisfy his subjects’ ambitions and reward their services. Indeed, many subjects fill the places of several sovereigns who were the most important men of their age.

15. The Marquis of Liche married Doña Teresa Enriquez de Cabrera, daughter of Admiral D. Gaspar, in 1671.

220 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY

Education, Then and Now There are very important differences between those sovereigns of the past and Spaniards of today. They are less different in birth than in merit, for the families of the great lords are very illustrious, many of them descended from the kings of Castile, Navarre, Aragon, and Portugal. This does not prevent several (I make one exception) from contradicting the virtue of their ancestors. But then how are they raised? They don’t study. No one bothers to give them good teachers, and as soon as they’re destined for the sword, no one cares whether they learn Latin or history. They should at least be taught what concerns their occupation: mathematics, fencing, horseback riding. They don’t even think of it. There are no academies or masters here that teach such things. Young men spend the time they should devote to instruction in pitiful idleness, going for rides or courting ladies. Despite this, they’re convinced that no one in the world is more worthy of public admiration than they. They believe that Madrid is the very center of all glory, sciences, and pleasures. When dying, what they wish for their children is Paradise, and then Madrid. In so doing, they raise Madrid even above Paradise, so happy are they to live here. That’s what keeps them from even wanting to visit other courts to acquire the civility they don’t have and don’t know about. That’s what makes them speed up their return to Madrid, wherever the king sends them, whatever their rank, whatever honors they receive, whatever riches they pile up. Love of country and partiality for it dominates them so much that they would give up everything and prefer to lead a very ordinary life beneath anyone’s notice, without retinue, without pomp, without distinction, provided it’s in Madrid. A father very rarely has his son travel abroad; he keeps him at home and lets him pick up whatever habits he pleases. You can imagine they’re usually not the best ones, for at a certain age, youths care only about trying out new pleasures. They lead each other on, and what should be sternly corrected is tolerated by the example of those on whom they depend. Add to all this that they are married off, so to speak, as soon as they leave the cradle. They establish a little man at sixteen or seventeen in his household with a little wife who’s only a child, and the result is that the young man learns even less than he should know and becomes more debauched because he’s his own master and can spend his life sitting by the fireplace like a decrepit old man. Because this noble loafer is from an illustrious family, he will be chosen to go govern people who suffer because of his ignorance. What’s even more pathetic is that such a person believes himself to be a great man and is guided solely by his own incompetence without consulting anyone, so he gets everything wrong. His wife probably has no more brains nor skill. Her greatest claim to fame is her insufferable glory, in which she takes great pride. Often, people of the highest capacity must submit to those creatures installed as their superiors. On the other hand, let’s render to Caesar what is Caesar’s. One has to agree that when a Spaniard has been favored enough by Heaven to receive a good

Eleventh Letter 221 education, to travel, and to see the world, he makes use of this better than anyone else. Nature has been less stingy toward them than they are toward themselves. They are playful with more natural wit than others; they are very lively when being phlegmatic; they speak and express themselves easily; they have an excellent memory, write clearly and concisely, understand very quickly. It’s easy for them to learn whatever they want. They understand politics very well, and they are sober and hardworking when necessary. Great qualities can certainly be found among them, generosity, discretion, friendship, bravery, in sum all of those noble feelings of mind that make a virtuous gentleman. It seems to me that this is a good place to end this letter and inspire you to esteem them. I wouldn’t be reluctant to obtain this advantage for them, because I don’t decry manners as harshly as those who condemn them without examining and getting to know them. For my part, I say that there’s both good and bad here, just like in all other places in the world.

TWELFTH LETTER

July 25, 1679, from Madrid

The Most Christian King Gives Mademoiselle to the Most Catholic King Everything is joyful here since the Marquis of Los Balbazès’s secretary arrived on the thirteenth of this month, bringing assurances that the Most Christian King had granted Mademoiselle to the king of Spain. He was awaiting the news so impatiently that he kept asking whether the post could be seen, and, as soon as it arrived, he went to hear the Te Deum at Our Lady of Atocha. Since ladies don’t go there, they make do with dressing up and standing at their windows. That’s what I resolved to do, but I almost suffocated and ruined my eyes, so great was the dust. I saw the king in his coach of green oil-cloth with a door like the ones we used to have in France. He had a small retinue: around twenty halberdiers dressed in yellow with trussed breeches, like pages, walked before and behind him. But the coaches following him were so numerous because of the courtiers accompanying him that they couldn’t be counted. The people, on all sides and from the rooftops, were shouting: Viva el Rey, Dios le bendiga, and several added: Viva la Reina, nuestra señora.1 No houses or streets were without a dining table. Everyone held an onion, some garlic, and chives, whose smell perfumed the air they breathed. And they used water extravagantly to drink to the health of their Majesties. To repeat what I’ve already said, dear cousin, no people are as sober as they, especially with wine. And they’re so horrified by those who violate this temperance that, when producing a witness in a legal matter, there are laws barring anyone from testifying if it can be proven that he got drunk even once, whereupon he’s dismissed after a formal reprimand by the court. If a man is called borracho,2 this insult is avenged by assassination. On the evening the king went to Atocha, houses were lit with big torches of white wax called hachas.3 They’re longer than those we use on coaches in Paris to light the way at night and much more expensive because the wax is imported. Huge quantities are used in Spain. When they make illuminations, they’re not satisfied with four or six torches; they attach two to each balcony and two to each window up to the top floors. Some houses need four or five hundred of them. Torches were lit everywhere, and we went to the palace to see the masquerade of 150 nobles that were expected. I don’t know why they give this name to these entertainments, because no one wears masks. They usually choose the 1. Long Live the King; May God bless him. Long live the Queen, our Sovereign. 2. Drunkard. 3. Large church candle made of four long candles melded together and covered with wax, squareshaped and with four wicks.

223

224 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY darkest night. All the courtiers ride their most beautiful horses, covered with silver gauze and blankets embroidered in gold and pearls. The caballeros’ outfits, ugly mantle and golille, Turkish riding style. (Seguin 291) To get back to the masquerade, they usually assemble at one of the city gates. The streets they traveled on were sanded and illuminated on both sides by braziers mounted on poles as well as the white-wax torches. They hung transparent painted lanterns at all the windows, which created a fine effect. Each caballero had many lackeys dressed in silver and gold cloth. They marched next to their masters, carrying torches. The masters rode four in a row, also holding blazing torches. They crossed the whole city to the sound of trumpets, timbals, bagpipes, and fifes. And when they arrived at the palace, all lit up and the courtyard covered with sand, they made several turns and charged to make each other fall. Prince Alexander of Parma, who is tremendously fat, fell in this way. He made as much noise as a small mountain avalanche. They had a hard time carrying him off because he was all bruised up. Several caballeros had large spectacles, but especially the Marquis of Astorgas, who doesn’t just wear them for gravitas; he’s old and he needs them. In spite of this, he’s always gallant. He’ll be the head majordomo to the young queen. He’s a grandee.

Cashing in on Grandeeships Speaking of Spanish grandees, the other day Don Fernand of Toledo told me something rather amusing. His father-in-law, the Marquis of Palacios, is a terrible spendthrift because he’s one of the professed gallants of the palace ladies. To reach this status, they must have a great deal of wit and magnificence. I mean a very particular sort of wit, delicate, precious, with an uncommon style. They must know how to write in prose and verse better than others. In sum, they must speak and act differently in palace gallantry than in town. To get back to the Marquis of Palacios, the king had invited him to a palace festival, but he didn’t have a cent to appear in style. He owns several towns, so he came up with the idea of going there by mail post, and upon arriving in the first town, he had an announcement posted saying that all those who wanted to be named grandee should come see him. There wasn’t a judge, bourgeois, or merchant that didn’t feel the urgent aspiration for a grandeeship. His house filled with all sorts of people. He negotiated with everyone in private, and he got as much as he could out of each. Then he had them all cover their head before him, just as the king does when he grants a grandeeship, and gave them formal patent letters. This worked so well in the first town that he tried it again in the second. He found the same disposition to give him money and receive, through his means, a grandeeship. In this way, he raised

Twelfth Letter 225 a considerable sum and spent it to shine at court. But, since everyone has enemies, a few people wanted to use this joke to make him fall out of favor with the king. He was warned and justified himself easily by saying that all those to whom he had given permission to cover their head before him—having been born vassals—respected him too much to take this liberty without his consent. Thus, he had made them grandees only before himself. After that, all anyone did was laugh about it. This marquis visited us often. Since he belonged to the old court, he told me yesterday that when a famous astrologer was on the palace terrace with the late king, the king asked how high “that place” was. He looked at the sky and named a certain height. The king ordered secretly that the terrace pavement be raised by three or four inches, and his people worked on it all night. The next morning, he called the astrologer, and bringing him to the terrace, he said: “I was speaking last night of the height you had told me, but others said that you were mistaken.” “Sire,” he answered, “I dare to think that I was not mistaken.” “Think about it,” said the king, “and then we will shame those who boast they are more able than you.” Immediately, the astrologer started to make his observations again. The king saw him change color and seem very embarrassed. Finally, he said to the king: “What I told your Majesty yesterday was true, but today I find that either the terrace has gotten higher or the sky a little lower.” The king smiled and revealed the joke he had played on him. Information about the king’s three grand officers: the Mayor-Domo Mayor, the Sommelier of the Body, and the Master of the Horse. The forty Gentlemen of the Chamber; at least eight majordomos. Three companies of guards, Flemish, German, and Spanish, each of one hundred halberdiers. The government: the prime minister, the secretary of state, the various councils: State (seventeen members), Inquisition, War, Orders, Aragon, Indies, Italy, Hazienda, Crusades, Flanders. (Seguin 293–95)4

Political Profiteering and Other Money Matters Don’t think, my dear relative, that the salaries and profits here are modest. For example, the counselors of the Council of the Indies make eighteen to twenty thousand crowns of income per year from their office. Speaking of offices, it’s believed here that they aren’t sold, at least it’s not evident. It appears that all is awarded according to merit and birth. However, they make such huge underhanded gifts that to obtain certain vice-royalties, they give up to five thousand pistoles and sometimes even more. What’s called buying in other places is called in Madrid 4. Similar information, with more detail, appears in Pseudo-Villars 6–9, 313–19 (F-D 459–62). GV

226 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY making un regalo, a present, and they are equivalent, with this difference: an office or a government you buy is yours for life and is sometimes inherited by your children, either by natural right or by concession of the sovereign. But in Spain, they enjoy an office that cost them a lot of money for only three or at most five years. It’s plain to see that those who advance such sums know well how to reimburse themselves, both principal and interest. The people suffer greatly from this. They always find themselves with a new viceroy or new governor who has just drained his own coffers and sometimes those of his friends in order to give the court all of his cash. Thus, he arrives starving and has to be made rich very quickly, so the poor people are pillaged from all sides, with no complaints heard.5 It’s quite different than in the Indies, where gold is so common, and they are so far from the king and the ministers. It’s certain that they bring back immense sums, as I’ve already noted. Even the religious who go there to preach come back with forty or fifty thousand crowns they’ve amassed in three or four years so that, despite their vow of poverty, they discover the secret of getting rich and can enjoy the fruit of their mission for the rest of their lives. Monasteries have another strategy that’s usually successful. When a religious becomes an only son in a rich family, his father is persuaded to leave his estate to the monastery where his son has taken the habit, on the condition that the son will enjoy the revenue while he lives and, upon his death, the convent will inherit it and pray to God for the father and the son. Therefore, some simple friars have an annual income of thirty or forty thousand pounds at their disposal. This wealth, in a country where reason hardly rules the heart, does not always serve to sanctify them. And if a few use it wisely, many more of them abuse it. It’s known that every two years, more than one hundred million pounds come from the Indies, without a fourth of it entering the king’s coffers. These treasures spread all over Europe, with the French, the English, the Dutch, and the Genoese profiting the most. It hardly seems a suitable policy for a monarchy as refined as the Spaniards’ to wear out their own subjects digging up gold in their mines just to let nations they are very often at war with enjoy the profits. But the natural laziness that keeps them from working and creating manufactures in Spain forces them to rely on other countries to provide them with the merchandise they need. Since foreigners don’t venture to go to the Indies because they risk punishment by hanging, they put their goods under the name of Spanish merchants, who are quite trustworthy. If the king wanted to, he could not prevent foreigners from receiving their share. For Spaniards, in this case, would rather lose their own share than see any wrong done to others. Something peculiar is that when the fleet 5. Bertaut (212) also mentions the nefarious effects of this corruption in Spain, contrasting it with the legal sale of offices in France (F-D 463n1). But d’Aulnoy’s discussion is more vivid and ironic, conveying real indignation at the way the people were treated. GV

Twelfth Letter 227 drops anchor in Cádiz, professionals are there to help defraud the king’s tariffs on the import of silver and merchandise. It’s their trade, just like a banker manages his bank. They are called metadors,6 and however rascally they are with the king, one has to admit that they are not so with individuals who sign a contact with them, by which, for a certain fee, they guarantee all their silver in the town named in the contract. It’s such a safe deal that you never hear of any of them breaking their word. These people could be punished for cheating the king, but there could be many more effects harmful to trade than income generated by punishing them. And so the governor and the judges turn a blind eye. There could be a rather easy solution to prevent the king from losing his share in these circumstances: to lower part of these customs, which are very high. In this way, what is given to those metadors—and even more—would be paid to the Contratación, because, naturally, merchants don’t like fraud, and they’re always afraid to have to pay in a lump sum what they have avoided ten times. But Spaniards want all or nothing, and often they get nothing.

Justice? As for Madrid, you can’t find bigger thieves than the members of the legal profession and law enforcement. They’re the ones who appropriate the king’s rights with impunity and who cheat him in such a way that it’s not surprising he needs money so often. They’re not satisfied with harming their sovereign; they don’t spare the people either. Even though the country’s laws are very good and even very fair, no one feels their effects. Those who control them and are appointed to execute them are the first to corrupt them. Just by giving some money to an alcalde or an alguazil, you can have the most innocent person in the world arrested, thrown into a dungeon, and starved to death, without any proceedings or trial, without orders or decrees. And if you get out of prison, don’t even think of taking to task that despicable law officer who was responsible. Such people are usually self-interested everywhere, but here it’s really beyond the pale, and good judges are more scarce here than in any other country. Thieves, murderers, poisoners, and people capable of the worst crimes remain safe and sound in Madrid, provided they’re not rich. But if they are, they’re sure to be harassed for their money. Justice is rendered only two or three times a year. They have the hardest time giving the death penalty to a criminal who, they say, is just a man like they are, their compatriot and the king’s subject. They sentence almost all to the mines or the galleys. When they have some poor wretch hung, they sit him on an ass, facing the tail. He’s dressed in black; they lead him to a scaffold so that he may harangue the people, who are on their knees and in tears, fervently beating their 6. The word is metedores, meaning “smugglers.”

228 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY breasts. After he has spent the time he wants to speak, he is dispatched with gravity. Since these examples of justice are so rare, they make a lasting impression on those who witness them. However rich the great lords are, however great their pride and their presumption, they obey the king’s least orders with an exactitude and a respect that can’t be praised highly enough. Upon the first command, they leave, they return, they go to prison or into exile, without complaining. Nowhere can be found a more perfect submission and obedience, a more sincere love than the Spaniards give to their king. That name is sacred to them, and to make the people accept what he wants, it’s enough to say, “The king wills it.” It’s in his name that they crush these poor people with taxes in the two Castiles. They don’t pay as much in the other kingdoms and provinces and boast, most of them, that they’re free and pay only what they want. I’ve already noted, dear cousin, that in everything they follow the policies of Charles V, without considering that circumstances change with the times. Even though they appear the same, what could be undertaken 120 years ago, under a flourishing reign, would be rash under a much less prosperous one. However, their natural vanity prevents them from considering that Divine Providence sometimes allows empires, as well as individual families, to have their revolutions and cycles, proportionally speaking. The Spaniards believe that they’re always the same. Without having known their ancestors, I dare to say they are fooling themselves.

Profligacy and Frugality Leaving aside further reflections, probably too serious and elevated for me, let me tell you that when the fleet from the Indies arrives, there’s general rejoicing in Madrid. Since they’re not inclined to save money, this abundance of riches arriving all of a sudden spreads over everyone. It seems to them that these huge sums cost nothing, and it’s just money they receive by chance. The great lords call their creditors and pay them so profusely that, without question, there’s something noble and generous about it. In few countries can you find such natural liberality as in this one, and I must add that their patience is really admirable. They’ve withstood very long and painful sieges when, despite terrible war fatigue, all they had to eat was bread made of spoiled wheat and they drank contaminated water, though no people are more fastidious about the quality of their water. They’ve been exposed to the worst weather, half naked, lying on the ground, and despite all this, they show themselves to be braver and prouder than in times of opulence and prosperity. It’s true that their natural temperance is a great help when they are reduced to hunger; they eat very little and hardly drink wine. Their custom of always being alone at table contributes to their frugality. Indeed, neither their wives nor their children eat with them. The master has his table, and the mistress sits on a rug on the floor with her children, in the style of the Turks and Moors.

Twelfth Letter 229 They hardly ever invite friends over for dinner, so they never overeat. Thus, they say that they eat to live, while other people only live to eat. Nevertheless, many reasonable persons think that this affectation is excessive. And since there’s no familiarity in their interactions, they’re always formal with each other without enjoying the freedom that unites people and opens the heart.

Jealousy and Revenge This great withdrawal nourishes a thousand illusions in them, which they call philosophy. They are singular, gloomy, dreamers, sad, and jealous. If they acted differently, they would be capable of everything imaginable because they have a wonderfully quick wit, a great memory, good taste, sound judgment, and patience. That’s all you need to become wise, to progress, to please in conversation, and to be distinguished among the most civilized nations. But, far from wanting to be what they could be naturally, if only they wanted to, they act indolent—what they call having a great soul. They neglect their more serious business and don’t think of increasing their wealth. Their future does not bother them at all. Only one thing can disturb their indifference—jealousy. They carry jealousy as far as it can go. The least suspicion is enough for them to stab their wife or their mistress. Their love is always furious, but women find this attractive. They say that whatever the risk of terrible misfortune befalling them, they would not like their lovers to be less sensitive to infidelity, that their despair is certain proof of their passion. And the women are no more moderate than the men when they’re in love. They will resort to anything to seek revenge against their lovers, should they leave without cause, so that great love affairs usually end in some deadly catastrophe. For example, recently a woman of quality, having cause to complain of her lover, found the opportunity to have him come to a house she owned. After heaping blame on him, which he answered lamely because he deserved it, she presented to him a dagger and a cup of poisoned chocolate, leaving him only the freedom to choose the type of death he preferred. He didn’t waste a minute in moving her to pity; he knew she was the strongest in this house. So, he took the chocolate coldly and drank it to the last drop. After having drunk it, he said: “It would’ve been better if you’d added more sugar because the poison makes it very bitter.” He then started convulsing violently. It was a very strong poison and he died within the hour. The lady, who still loved him passionately, had the barbarity not to stir from his side until he was dead. The Venetian ambassador, a very polite gentleman, was at home these last few days. They came to tell him that a lady, covered in a mantle, asked to speak with him. She was so well hidden that her face couldn’t be seen. She had with her two gentlemen squires and an adequate retinue. He invited her into his audience chamber; she entreated him to have everyone leave. When she was alone, she unveiled herself and appeared very beautiful.

230 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY “I am of an illustrious family,” she said to him. “My name is Doña Blanca de Gusmán. I have violated all the rules of propriety because of the passion I have for you. I’ve come to declare it, my lord, and to tell you that I want to stay here tonight.” Hearing such impudent words, the ambassador couldn’t doubt that she was some shameless hussy who’d borrowed a noble name to entrap him. Nevertheless, he said to her politely that never had he regretted serving his republic until now. He would have wished he were not an ambassador, so as to embrace the favor she offered him. But being one, there was no likelihood that he could have a person of such distinguished rank remain at his place. Since this would bring him no end of problems, he begged her to please withdraw. This woman immediately became a fury, and after showering him with insults and blame, she pulled out a stiletto and lunged at him to stab him. He easily prevented her, and, calling one of his gentlemen, he told him to give five or six pistoles to this woman. She so little deserved this generosity and was so calmed by it that she readily admitted that she was indeed the type of creature he had suspected. The reason she had been so desperate was that the gentlemen squires waiting for her were her gallants, and they would have beaten her up if she had come out empty-handed. She would also have to pay for the equipment they had rented for this performance, and she would rather die than face all those troubles. The ambassador found her confession so amusing that he had ten pistoles more given to her. “Because,” he said to her, “since you have to share with so many honest folks, your part would be too small.” She succeeded so well here that she went straight to the French ambassador’s place, but she wasn’t received as courteously. At her first outburst, she and her retinue narrowly missed being entertained with a whipping. He gave her not one penny. Happy enough was she to leave as she had entered, because everything had gone wrong.

Vainglorious All This morning we stopped at the Plaza Mayor to wait for an answer from a gentleman my relative had sent nearby. They sell fish in the plaza, and there was a woman selling little pieces of salmon that she said were very fresh. She was making horrible noise with her salmon, desperately calling passersby to buy some. Finally, a cobbler came, which I knew to be such because she called him Señor Çapatero.7 He asked for a pound of salmon (you’ll note that they buy everything by the pound here, even wood and charcoal). “You don’t ask the price,” she said to him, “because you think it’s cheap, but you’re wrong. It’s worth one crown per pound.” The cobbler, offended that she questioned his income, answered angrily: “If it had been cheap, I would only need one pound. Since it’s expensive, I want 7. Zapatero, meaning “shoemaker.”

Twelfth Letter 231 three.” He immediately gave her three crowns and, pulling down his little hat (tradesmen wear them as small as quality people wear them big) he turned up his mustachios boastfully. He also raised the tip of his formidable sword to his shoulder and looked at us haughtily, seeing that we were listening to his harangue and were foreigners. The beauty of all this is that maybe those three crowns were all this vainglorious guy had in the world—maybe all he earned this week—and tomorrow, he, his wife, and his little children would fast on less than bread and water. But such is the disposition of the people here. Some of them even take the legs of a capon and hang them over their mantle to make it look like they have a capon, when all they really have are the legs and feet. You don’t see a single carpenter, saddler, or other tradesman who isn’t dressed in velvet and satin, like the king, with his big sword, his dagger, and his guitar hung in his shop. They work as little as they can and, as I’ve already said several times, they are naturally lazy. Indeed, only dire necessity makes them do something, and then they work on Sundays and holidays without scruple, just like on any other day, to deliver their goods. If it’s a cobbler and he has two apprentices, he takes them both with him, each carrying a shoe. If he has three, hardly will he deign to stoop for you to try on the fruit of his labor when it’s delivered. He’ll go sit in the sun (which is called the Spaniard’s fire), with a bunch of loafers like him and, there, with sovereign authority, they determine matters of state and settle the interests of princes. Often, they quarrel about such topics. Some great politician, who thinks himself smarter than the others, wants everyone to accept his opinion, while some others, just as stubborn, will do nothing of the sort, so they end up in a big battle, no quarter given. Two days ago, I was with the Danish ambassadress when they brought in a poor fellow who had just been wounded in his street. He was a fruit merchant, and he had insisted that the Grand Señor would be a clumsy man if he didn’t have his brother strangled. Another fellow, who didn’t find this young prince so displeasing, tried to stand up for him, and, with that, they started fighting. But we must note that all these people speak of politics with enough knowledge to support what they say with good reasons.

Academies for Gambling and Conversing Several houses in this town are like academies where people gather to gamble or for conversation. They play very honestly and, whatever sum they lose, they keep their word and pay it within twenty-four hours. If they fail to do so, they lose their reputation and their honor. No reason can supersede this obligation to pay on time. They play for high stakes, very fairly, very quietly, and without showing any dissatisfaction. When they win, the custom is to give the barato (I think this is also observed in Italy), that is, you give some money to some of those that are present, more to some, less to others, whether you know them or not. The one to whom the barato is presented must never refuse it, be he a hundred times richer

232 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY or nobler than the one who gives it. They can also ask a winner to give barato, and he never fails to do so. Some people support themselves in this way. Nevertheless, this is not a good custom because sometimes the winner has hardly any winnings left and, if he gambles again, he often loses whatever he had. Besides, if it’s known that a man had cheated, he might as well give up on civil society, because no honest people would want to interact with him. If he was caught cheating, he would be thankful to get away with a some cuchilladas, that is, blows with the edge of the sword, not the point. As for the conversations they have in these academies, there are some very witty ones with very learned people. For they can be found here as elsewhere, and they write very well. What they call novellas here seem charming to me. They are plausible, the plot so well crafted, and the narration is concise and simple without being base or vulgar. We must grant that they have superior talent for such works. I’ll try to gather one of this type to translate and send to you so that you can judge for yourself. Since I’m incapable of discussing more lofty matters, I’ll say nothing about it until I learn the connoisseurs’ opinions and then will only echo them to you. It’s true, however, that I find their praises excessive, lacking in credibility. Their imagination, which is very lively, sometimes runs too fast. In a book I was reading the other day, the author, speaking of Philip IV, said that his virtues and his great qualities were so vast that there was not enough paper in the universe to write about them, an ordinary pen wasn’t worthy to describe such divine matters, and so the sun should write them with its rays on the surface of the heavens. You’ll admit that this is getting lost in the clouds and, in trying to exalt the hero, the poor author falls and breaks his neck. Their books are very badly printed, though. The paper is gray, and the binding is bad, usually made of cheap parchment or sheepskin leather.

Paying for Fake News and Rewarding Perseverance I don’t want to omit telling you something essential. The Spaniards would rather risk paying for a hundred pieces of bad information than miss the opportunity of receiving one true report. Neither the informants nor their country of origin appear suspect to them. They want to know everything and pay those who serve them generously. They don’t even wait to receive the service before advancing the reward. You won’t believe how much this habit has cost them. They have often been taken for dupes, but this has not put them off; in the end, they always get something out of it. It’s also true that, though their pretext to beg the king for a favor may be very flimsy—provided they don’t get discouraged by refusals and pursue their goal with perseverance—sooner or later, they obtain at least part of what they want. The ministers are convinced that it is beneath the greatness of such a powerful king to refuse in a small matter. And although it’s unjust to claim

Twelfth Letter 233 a favor that isn’t deserved for services rendered, nevertheless they can obtain it by asking relentlessly. I see examples of this every day.

Gifting Rituals I haven’t told you yet, dear cousin, that when I arrived here all the ladies did me the honor of visiting me. It’s the custom here to make the first visit to a foreign lady once they’re informed of her quality and her behavior. They are very fussy about both. When I returned their visit, each gave me a little gift, and in a single house I sometimes received a dozen because even four-year-old children want to give you a treat. Descriptions of gifts she received: gilt silver baskets, amber boxes, gloves, silk stockings, garters. Gifts Spanish ladies love: needles, pins, ribbons. (Seguin 306) They’re especially delighted with fake gemstones.8 Though they have so many real and beautiful gems, they still wear horrible ones, pieces of glass in a setting like the ones chimney-sweeps sell to provincial women who’ve seen nothing but their parish priest and their sheep. The greatest ladies are covered with this cheap glass jewelry, which they pay a lot for. When I asked them why they liked fake diamonds so much, they said that it’s because you can get them as big as you want. Indeed, in their earrings they wear stones as big as an egg, and all this comes from France or Italy for, as I’ve said, they don’t make much in Madrid; they’re too lazy. They are no good painters in this city. Most painters who work here are foreigners, Flemish, Italian, or French. They settle here but don’t get rich because [silver] money doesn’t circulate and doesn’t enter commerce. I’ve never seen less of it. My relative receives rather large sums, but it is all in quartos, copper coins as dirty and as ugly as our doubles.9 They come from the royal coffers, and they’re distributed by weight, since how else can you count this trash? Men haul them on their backs in big straw baskets. When the payment arrives, the whole household spends eight days counting the quartos. Out of 10,000 francs, there’s not one hundred gold or silver pistoles.

She Cost Me Twenty Pistoles They have many slaves here, Moors and Turks, bought and sold at high prices, up to four hundred or five hundred crowns. In the past, they had the power of 8. “Pierreries du Temple.” Colored crystal imitating diamonds, rubies, and so on, fabricated in the walled Temple enclosure in Paris. Formerly belonging to the Knights Templars, this area was not under the jurisdiction of the jewelers’ guilds. GV 9. Double tournois, the most common and least valuable coin. GV

234 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY life and death over their slaves. A master could kill his slave as he could his dog. But they found that this barbarity didn’t agree with the maxims of the Christian religion, so it’s now forbidden. Nevertheless, they beat them hard enough to break their bones without being held accountable. It’s true that hardly any masters resort to this extreme. When a master loves his slave and she consents to what he wants, she’s set free immediately. It would be dangerous to mistreat the other servants. Most of them claim to be of families as good as those of their masters, and if they were insulted, they would be capable of murdering or poisoning them in revenge. There have been several examples of this. They say that no one should insult their misfortune. Though they serve, they haven’t discarded their honor and would lose it if they endured blows from just anyone. Even the poor are proud, and when they ask for alms, it’s with an imperious and domineering air. If you refuse, it must be with civility, saying: Caballero perdone usted, no tengo moneda, which means, “Sir, please excuse me, I don’t have any change.” If you put them off, they begin arguing to prove that you don’t deserve the grace God gave you to make you rich, and they don’t give you a moment’s peace. But if you speak to them politely, they seem satisfied and leave. The Spaniards are naturally rather gentle. They marry their slaves and, if it’s to another slave, their children, like the parents, are not free but subject to the master. If those children marry, however, their children are no longer slaves. It’s the same if a female slave marries a free man; her children follow the condition of their father. The masters are very well served by these unfortunate people. They are more diligent and submissive than other servants. Few of them want to change their religion. I have one who’s only nine; she’s blacker than jet and must have been marvelously beautiful in her own country because her nose is all flat, her lips very thick, the white of her eyes flecked with red, and her teeth admirable in Europe as well as in Africa. She doesn’t know a word of another language than her own. Her name is Zayde.10 We had her baptized. This little Christian was so used to taking off her white cloak and standing naked when she was being sold that I had a hard time stopping her. When we were having many guests the other day, I called for Mademoiselle Zayde, who appeared with her little black body as naked as the day she was born. I am resolved to have her whipped to make her understand that this habit does not please me. That’s the only way to make her understand. Those who sold her to me said that she was a girl of quality, and very often, the poor child kneels at my feet, clasps her hands, weeps, and points toward her country. I would be very happy to send her back if she could be a Christian there, 10. In contemporary literature, exotic characters were often given names containing the letter z, like Lafayette’s Zayde. While we consider that buying a little slave girl is an example of ambient—but legal—racism, d’Aulnoy’s comments on the beauty, fragility, and personhood of Zayde reveal an appreciation of otherness often found in her writing. See Kimberly J. Lau, “Imperial Marvels: Race and the Colonial Imagination in the Fairy Tales of Madame d’Aulnoy,” Narrative Culture 3, no. 2 (Fall 2016): 141–79. GV

Twelfth Letter 235 but this impossibility obliges me to keep her. I’d like to understand her, because I think she’s very smart—all her actions show it. She dances in her own style so pleasantly that it delighted us. I put white taffeta patches on her face, which she loves.11 She has an outfit in the Moroccan style: a short skirt almost without pleats, large sleeves of very fine cloth with multicolored stripes like what our gypsies wear, a bodice that is just a band of crimson velvet on a gold background, fastened at the sides with silver buckles and buttons. She wraps herself in a mantle of very fine white wool, very wide and long, covering her head with one corner. This outfit is quite beautiful. Her short hair that looks like wool is sculpted in several places, on the sides like a half moon, a circle on the crown, on the front a heart. She cost me twenty pistoles. My daughter gave her the little monkey she received from the Archbishop of Burgos to take care of. I can assure you that Zayde and the monkey are made for each other and get along very well.

Treated Like a Saint On another topic, a man was brought here from the depths of Galicia; he’s a saint who, they say, performed miracles. The Marquise of Los Velez, former governess of the king, thought she was dying, so she sent for him. But the trip took so long that she recovered without him. They knew which day he would arrive, and while she was expecting him, Don Fernand of Toledo, her nephew who hadn’t seen her since his return from Flanders because of her illness, learned she was much better and came to her place at about the same time that the Galician saint was supposed to arrive. Seeing but not recognizing him because he had been gone for some years, the marquise’s people believed at first sight that he was the saint, without considering that there are few men of his age and looks blessed enough to work miracles. They threw open the portal and rang the bell, as the marquise had ordered. All the dueñas and the girls came to greet him, each holding a candle. Several knelt down and wouldn’t let him pass until he gave them his blessing. He thought he was going crazy, and, not knowing whether he was asleep or bewitched, he couldn’t imagine why this was happening. He tried to speak but no one listened, so great was the noise and the crowd. They made him touch rosaries, and the faraway ones threw theirs at him, with hundreds of medals. The most zealous started to cut his cloak and his clothes. At that point, he became terrified that they would start carving him into little pieces in order to multiply his relics. The Marquise of Los Velez, who was carried in a great armchair, came to meet the holy man. When she discovered the mistake and saw her nephew, she laughed so hard and so long that it far surpassed the strength people thought she had. Upon leaving her house, Don Fernand came to see us, still all tattered by those devout ladies. 11. French ladies put black taffeta mouches on their face to make their skin seem whiter. GV

236 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY

How Homebodies Eat I must tell you, dear cousin, that all is very secluded in this court. Here’s how private individuals live. Getting up in the morning, they drink iced water and then chocolate. At dinner time, the master sits at the table. His wife and his children, as I’ve already said, eat on the floor near the table, not out of respect I was told, but because the mistress can’t sit on a chair. She’s not used to it, and some old Spanish women have never sat on a chair in their whole life. The meal is light because they don’t eat much meat. The best they have are pigeons, grouse, and their olio stews, which are excellent. But the greatest lord is not served more than two pigeons and some disgusting ragout, full of garlic and pepper, then some fennel and a little fruit. After this little dinner, everybody in the house undresses and lies down on their bed, on which faded Spanish leather-skins are spread for coolness. At that hour you won’t find a single soul in the streets, shops are shut, business stops, and all seems dead. At two o’clock in winter and four o’clock in summer, they start getting dressed again, drink chocolate or iced waters, eat sweets, and then go out and about. Finally, they retire at eleven or midnight, at least people that live regularly. Then the husband and wife get into bed and a big tablecloth is spread, which they fasten under their chins. Male and female dwarfs serve a supper as frugal as dinner, consisting of stewed grouse or some pastry so peppered that it burns the mouth. Madame drinks all the water she wants, Monsieur hardly drinks wine and, supper over, each sleeps however they can.

How Lovers Visit Their Mistresses Bachelors or husbands neglecting their wives, after promenading in the Prado where in summer (very late) they’re half-undressed in their carriage, have a good meal then mount their horses, having their lackey jump on behind so as not to lose him. Galloping down streets on dark nights on his own horse, how can the lackey distinguish and follow his master? They also fear being attacked from behind. A lackey whose only job is to watch serves as a sentry and is ready to defend his master. Maybe some of them would, but most would run away if attacked, because they’re not brave. They make this nocturnal cavalcade to honor the ladies, to go see them, and they would not miss this opportunity for an empire. They talk to them through their jalousies; sometimes they enter their gardens and climb up, when they can, to the bedroom. Their passion is so great that they’ll face any danger; they’ll even go into a room where the husband sleeps. I’ve heard that lovers meet like this for years, not daring to utter a word for fear of being heard. Never in France have they learned to love as the Spaniards claim they do. Besides the cares, haste, thoughtfulness, and devotion until death (for the husband and parents give no quarter), what I find charming is their fidelity and secrecy. Never will a gentleman boast of having received a lady’s favors. They

Twelfth Letter 237 speak of their mistresses with such respect and consideration that she seems to be their sovereign. So these ladies don’t want to please anyone but their lover. They’re all preoccupied with him and, though they don’t see him in daytime, they find ways to devote several hours to him, either by writing to him, or speaking of him with a friend who’s in on the secret, or else by spending the whole day peering through jalousies to see him pass by. In a word, based on everything I’ve been told, I’d easily believe that Love was born in Spain.

Waste Disposal While the caballeros are with their mistresses, the lackeys look after their horses at some distance from the house. However, very unpleasant adventures happen to them often. Since houses don’t have commodes, that which I don’t dare name is thrown out the windows all night long, so the amorous Spaniard slinking down the street is sometimes drenched from head to toe, so that even though he perfumed himself before leaving, he has to rush back home to change his clothes. This is one of this city’s greatest inconveniences and makes it so stinking and filthy that you can’t walk outside in the morning. I say the morning because the air is so crisp and strong that all this nastiness is consumed before noon. When a horse or other animal dies, they leave it where it is in the street, even before a palace, and the next day it’s reduced to dust. They’re convinced that if they didn’t throw this refuse in the street, the plague would soon arrive in Madrid, but it never does.

How Ladies Visit One Another Besides seeing their mistresses as I’ve described, lovers have other means of rendezvous. Ladies visit one another very often, and nothing is easier for them than to wear a mantle, get into a sedan chair by the back door, and be carried wherever they wish. It’s all the easier because women keep their secrets inviolably. However much they may quarrel and be angry at each other, they never open their mouths to reveal anything. Their discretion can’t be praised enough. True, the consequences of indiscretion would be more dangerous here than elsewhere, because they assassinate upon mere suspicions. This is what happens when ladies visit one another. You don’t go see your friend when you feel like it; you have to wait until she entreats you to come. The lady who wants to receive friends writes a note in the morning to invite you. You are carried in your chair, which is extremely big and wide. To make them less heavy, they’re just constructed of material stretched over a wooden frame. These fabrics are always mixed with gold and silver and quite magnificent. There are three large windows; the top is made of very thin leather, covered like the rest, and

238 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY can be opened upward so that the lady can get in and out more easily. The lady is enshrined in her chair like a diamond in its setting. Four porters take turns; a lackey carries the head porter’s hat. A coach filled with squires and pages follows. Traffic jam with fifty sedan chairs and coaches bringing ladies to visit the Duchess of Uceda. The porters carry ladies into the antechamber and return for them late in the evening. (Seguin 313) Their visits are long enough to exhaust all patience. No man ever enters where the ladies meet. If a jealous husband were to come fetch his wife, they’d laugh at him and wouldn’t even bother answering; she’s here, or she isn’t. They’re clever, these good ladies, and they make good use of this liberty. For you’ll notice that there is not a single house that doesn’t have a back door through which they can slip out without being seen. Besides this, a brother lives at his sister’s, a son at his mother’s, a nephew at his aunt’s, so this is another excuse lovers have to see each other. Love is ingenious in this country. Nothing is spared to gratify their passion, and they are faithful to their mistress. Some affairs last a whole lifetime, even though they’re clinched in less than an hour. They take advantage of every moment and, as soon as they meet and like each other, nothing more is needed. A few days ago, I was at the house of the Marquise of Alcañizes, one of the grandest and most virtuous ladies of this court. In speaking of this, she told us all: “I have to admit that if a caballero was in a private conversation with me for half an hour without asking me all that a man can ask, I’d be so resentful that I’d stab him if I could.” “And would you grant him all the favors he could ask?” interrupted the Marquise of Liche, who’s young and beautiful. “That doesn’t follow,” said Madame of Alcañizes. “I even have reason to think that I’d grant him nothing at all, but at least I couldn’t reproach him with anything. Instead, if he made no advances, I’d conclude he despised me.” Hardly any ladies wouldn’t share the same feelings in this matter.

Caballeros, Wives, Mistresses, Concubines Something I find very strange and, I believe, unacceptable in a Catholic kingdom, is the tolerance they have for men who have mistresses so publicly that there’s no mystery. True, laws forbid this, but they flout the laws and only follow their inclinations, and no one calls them out on their fault. These mistresses are called amancebadas. Though a man is married, he must have one of these, and often the natural children are raised with the legitimate ones, before the eyes of a poor wife who suffers all this and doesn’t say a word. It’s very rare to see quarrels between

Twelfth Letter 239 husband and wife, and even more rarely do they separate like in France. Of the infinite number of people I know here, the Princess della Rocca is the only one who does not live with her husband but in a convent. The courts of justice aren’t overwhelmed here with domestic affairs. It seems extraordinary to me that a lady who is beloved and loves her caballero would not be jealous of his amancebada. She views her like a second wife who can’t be compared with her. So, a man has his wife, his amancebada, and his mistress. The last one is almost always a person of quality; she’s the one they visit at night and for whom they risk their lives. It happens sometimes that a lady, covered in her great, plain mantle and letting only half an eye be seen—dressed simply to avoid recognition, and not wanting to use a sedan chair— walks to the rendezvous. Not used to walking, her gait or, more often, her air make her conspicuous. A caballero follows and starts talking to her. Bothered by such an escort hard to get rid of, she speaks to the first passerby, and without making herself known, she says: “I beg you, prevent this annoying fellow from following me any longer. His curiosity may harm my affairs.” This request serves as a command for this gallant Spaniard. He asks the offender why he wants to bother a lady against her will and advises him to leave her in peace. But if he meets an obstinate type, swords must be drawn and sometimes they kill each other without even knowing for whom they risk their lives. While the men are fighting, the beauty keeps walking and arrives where she’s expected. An even better arrangement is when it’s the husband or the brother who takes up her cause and defends the lady from curious stalkers, which results in her enjoying the embraces of her lover. A few days ago, a lady who dearly loved her husband learned that his behavior was rather rakish. She disguised herself, took her mantle, and, stopping in a street he often took, allowed him to approach her. After he drew near, she addressed him as tú, which is usually the familiar way women in this country make their feelings known. He made a proposal, which she accepted under the condition that he wouldn’t try to see her or to know who she was. He gave her his word and took her to a friend’s place. When they parted, he assured her that he considered himself the happiest of men and had never been so fortunate. He gave her a beautiful ring and begged her to keep it to remember him. “I’ll treasure it and I’ll come back here when you want,” she said, “because I might as well have your jewels than another’s.” Saying this, she opened her mantle, and the husband, seeing his wife, felt the greatest confusion at his adventure. He thought that since she managed to leave the house to watch him, she could easily find a way to play a less pleasant trick on him. To protect himself, he appointed two dueñas never to leave her side. Sometimes, if a man happens to run into his mistress in a neighborhood far from his place, he enters someone’s house quite casually, whether he knows him or not. He asks him politely to leave his room because he has the opportunity to

240 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY entertain his mistress and, if he loses it, he won’t see her for a long time. That’s enough for the owner to offer his house to the lover and his mistress and, occasionally, I assure you, it’s the fool’s wife who goes out without fuss. Finally, they’re surprisingly bold in seizing the opportunity to see each other for just a quarter of an hour. It reminds me of a French lady, who said, speaking of a man with one of her friends: “Make him fall in love, and I’ll give him back broke.” This maxim is more firmly established here than anywhere else. A lover has nothing he can call his own. A lady doesn’t even have to give him a glimpse, not of real needs but just of fleeting wishes to have something. They never miss a chance to satisfy them; and their way of giving greatly increases the cost of their liberality. I find them much less pleasant than our Frenchmen, but it’s said they know better how to love. Besides, their behavior is a thousand times more respectful. This goes so far that when a man, of whatever quality, presents a jewel or a letter to a lady, he kneels on one knee and he does the same when he receives something from her. Why so many ladies in sedan chairs were going to see the Duchess of Uceda. The king had placed the duke her husband under house arrest for dueling over a mistress. When this occurs, the wives are not allowed to leave their houses either, sometimes for years. (Seguin 317) This custom is the reason they are so bored. It’s not only the Spanish ladies who are bored here; French women have little entertainment. We’re going in a few days to Aranjuez and Toledo to kiss the Queen Mother’s hand. I’ll describe my little trip in detail, dear cousin, and would like with all my heart to give you deeper marks of my affection.

THIRTEENTH LETTER August 30, 1679, from Madrid

In my last letter I told you, dear cousin, that we’d be kissing the Queen Mother’s hand. I’ve had this honor. But before having you meet her, I must tell you about something else.

The French Ambassador’s Entry and the Ladies Who Watch I didn’t want to leave Madrid before seeing the entry of the Marquis of Villars.1 He did so on horseback; it’s the custom here, and when a man is handsome, it’s advantageous for him. When the Venetian ambassador made his entry, he was lucky not to be in his coach. He had one worth twelve thousand crowns, which had overturned while leaving his place for the entry in winter. The marée (that’s the nasty black muck that makes channels running down the street through which a horse goes up to his girths) so spoiled the velvet on gold background and the rich embroidery that it could never be used again. I was surprised that for something as common as these entries all the ladies are on their balconies in their beautiful dresses and are as excited as they would be to see the greatest king on earth. But they have so little freedom that they happily take advantage of any occasions to show themselves. Since their lovers hardly ever speak to them, they don’t miss the chance to position their coach near the balcony, where their mistress can communicate with her eyes and hands. That’s a very useful way to make themselves understood, faster than if they used their voice. To me, this sign language seems quite difficult to understand unless you’re used to it, but they are. Just two days ago, I saw a little girl of six and a boy her age who already knew how to say a thousand pretty things to each other in this way. Don Frederic of Cardona, who saw them as well and understood them much better, was explaining everything, and if he didn’t embellish their conversation, then you have to admit that here they are born for love.

Road Trip Entertainments The Marquise of Palacios, Don Fernand’s mother, is one of my relative’s best friends. She has a fine house named Igariça on the banks of the Xarama.2 Though she’s already old, she’s never been there, despite its proximity just eight leagues from Madrid. They believe in this country that it’s beneath their grandeur to bother visiting their lands unless they are principalities or cities, and then they call them “their states.” I scolded this lady a bit for her laziness, and my relative 1. Though Villars arrived in Spain on June 17, the solemn entry occurred on August 9, 1679. GV 2. The Xarama or Jarama River crosses the Madrid region, flowing north to south.

241

242 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY engaged her to join the trip with her daughter Doña Mariquita, a young lady, fair, plump, and blonde. Those three qualities are equally rare here, and she’s admired by everyone who sees her. The young Marquise of la Rosa3 wanted to join us. Her husband came on horseback with Don Fernand of Toledo, Don Sancho of Sarmiento, and Don Esteve of Carvajal. Don Frederic of Cardona wouldn’t have missed this, but the Archbishop of Burgos had summoned him to come immediately. When he told me this, I asked him to go see the beautiful Marquise de los Rios at Las Huelgas. I gave him a letter for her in which I admonished her for her silence and asked for particular news of her. We left in two coaches on August 16, around ten at night, in the most delightful weather. It had been so hot that it was impossible to travel by day without risking your life. But the nights are cool, and in summer the coaches are completely open. The sides are raised, with fine curtains of Holland cloth trimmed with beautiful English lace and tied with knots of colored ribbons and, since they change them often, they look very nice. We were going so fast that I was scared to death that some part of our coach would break, for it’s certain that we could be killed a thousand times over before the coachman would take notice. I think they speed so much to make up for the slowness in Madrid, where even the slow gait of a mule is too fast because of the broken cobblestones, the potholes, the mud in winter, and the dust in summer that damages all the streets. The Marquise of Palacios wore a little hat trimmed with feathers, as Spanish ladies do when they go to the country. The Marquise of la Rosa was very pretty in her short vest, tight sleeves, and the rest of her outfit, on which we exclaimed that she was muy bizarra et [sic] muy de gala, meaning very gallant and very magnificent. I found it funny that these ladies made us stop and get off three times along the road to hear two gentlemen the Marquis of la Rosa had brought along to play the guitar for us. They were galloping with their guitars attached by a cord to their backs. Their little off-key music drew raves from the group, cheering the pleasures of the countryside on a beautiful night. I’ve never seen women so satisfied.

Aranjuez We arrived in Aranjuez at five in the morning.4 I was surprised by its marvelous location. Half a league away on this side of the Tagus River, we passed over a wooden bridge that can be closed, and then we went down avenues lined with elm and linden trees so tall, green, and fresh that the sun’s rays never penetrate 3. Probably a fictional character. 4. The royal palace of Aranjuez is situated around fifty miles south of Madrid. Brunel (87–89) and Bertaut (48–50) had described Aranjuez before d’Aulnoy (F-D 491–95), and the main points of her description largely concur with theirs. This does not mean, however, that she never visited this important site. This translation highlights the personal observations she makes in her colorful style. GV

Thirteenth Letter 243 through them. It’s extraordinary to find such perfect trees of their kind so close to Madrid because the earth is barren and trees don’t grow there. Water from the Tagus runs down trenches to irrigate the trees. Several alleys crisscross the avenues, forming star patterns. (Seguin 320) Indeed, I’ve never seen a more charming place. It’s true that the gardens are too close and several alleys too narrow, but walking there is delightful, and when we arrived I felt myself in some enchanted palace. The morning was cool, birds singing everywhere, waters murmuring, espaliers laden with excellent fruit, parterres covered with fragrant flowers, and I was in excellent company. We had an order from Don Juan to be lodged in the palace, so the alcayde5 received us with great civility and showed us carefully the most remarkable sights. Descriptions of the countless fountains with statues of gods and surrounded by gardens: Diana, Mount Parnassus with Apollo and the Muses, Pegasus, Ganymede, Mars, the Harpies, Cupid, and the three Graces. (Seguin 321) As the sun became too strong at eight o’clock, we went into the house, which is far from being as beautiful as it should be to correspond fittingly with all the rest. When the king goes there, his attendants are so badly housed that they must make do with rushing to pay court or go as far as Toledo, for there are only two miserable inns and very few private houses in the area. If we hadn’t the foresight to bring provisions, even bread, I’m certain we wouldn’t have had any unless the alcayde shared his. A note in passing, don’t confuse alcayde with alcalde. The first means the governor of a castle or place, the other, a bailiff. Though the most exquisite paintings are at the Escorial, I found some excellent ones in the king’s apartment.6 It’s furnished according to the season we’re in, the walls all white with a fine rush tapestry three feet high, above which mirrors and paintings are hung. This building has several little courtyards that diminish its beauty. We had breakfast together. They wanted to persuade me to eat a certain fruit called pimiento, which is as long as a finger and so violently peppery that the least bite puts your mouth on fire. They steep them in salt and vinegar to lessen the heat. This fruit comes from a plant in Spain, and I’ve never seen it in 5. The alcayde is charged with protecting a town or a castle in the name of the king or a great lord. Not to be confused with alcalde, a civil servant charged with administering justice in his jurisdiction. 6. The original palace, built in the fourteenth century, was one of the favorite residences of the Catholic Kings. Charles V enlarged the building. The palace d’Aulnoy visited was commissioned by Philip II and executed by the future architects of the Escorial. The Bourbons made it into a royal residence and beautified it, but a fire destroyed it in 1727. It was rebuilt in 1748.

244 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY other countries I’ve visited. We had an olio, partridge stews with oil, Canary wine, fat pullets, pigeons, which are excellent here, and extraordinarily beautiful fruit. When this meal, on par with a fine dinner, was finished, we went to bed and only went out for a walk at seven in the evening. I seemed to be seeing the beauties of this place anew, as if I hadn’t already seen them this morning, especially its charming situation, which I continued to admire wherever I cast my eyes. The king is safe here with a half dozen guards because you can only arrive by crossing bridges that can be closed, and the Jarama, which flows into the Tagus at this point, fortifies Aranjuez. After walking until ten o’clock, we came back to a grand hall with a marble floor and columns, illuminated by several chandeliers. Without telling us, Don Esteve had assembled musicians, which was a pleasant surprise; at least the Spanish ladies and my relative were delighted. As for me, I found that they sang too much through the throat, and their passages were so long they became boring. It’s not that they don’t have good voices, but their way of singing is not good, and it’s common to find that people in Spain don’t sing as they do in France and Italy. After supper we went to the Grand Canal, where there was a small galleon, painted and gilt. We boarded it and stayed until two in the morning, then disembarked and headed for Toledo. Leaving Aranjuez, I noticed that all we saw was heather, and yet the air was fragrant with the thyme and wild thyme covering the plains. I was told that there were many rabbits, stags, does, and fallow deer, but they couldn’t be seen at that hour. After some general conversation that lasted until we were two leagues from Aranjuez, I still hadn’t spoken to Don Fernand, who was sitting next to me. Wanting to use the time to educate myself thoroughly on the characteristics of the dreaded Inquisition, which he had promised to discuss, I asked him to describe it.7

A Splendid Auto-da-Fé The Pope established the Inquisition tribunals in the thirteenth century to combat heresy, charging the Dominican friars with the mission. Ferdinand and Isabella established the Inquisition to root out false converts from Judaism and Islam, naming her confessor, Tomás de Torquemada, Grand Inquisitor. Organization of the Spanish Inquisition; procedures of the tribunal; no means of defense for the accused; the Spaniards consider executions to be religious ceremonies in which the king proves his religious zeal, hence the name, autos-da-fé, acts of faith. (Seguin 323–26) 7. Don Fernand’s discourse on the Inquisition is taken, almost word for word, from the Gazette, no. 70, August 22, 1680, 437–42 (F-D 497–502). Because the history of the Inquisition is well known—and still debated—I only summarize the main points included in d’Aulnoy’s Travels. GV

Figure 5. Auto de Fe in the Plaza Mayor, Madrid, 1683 (oil on canvas) / Rizi or Ricci, Francisco (1608–85) / Prado, Madrid / Bridgeman Images XOS3247805.

Thirteenth Letter 245

246 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY Don Fernand continues: “The last auto-da-fé was in the year 1632, and now they’re preparing one for the king’s marriage. Since there hasn’t been one for a long time, they aim to make this one as solemn and magnificent as such ceremonies can be. One of the councilors of the Inquisition has already drawn up a plan for it, which he showed me. Here is what it says:8 Document specifying plans for the auto-da-fé begins: In the Plaza Mayor of Madrid, a theater shall be erected, fifty feet long. It shall be raised to the height of the king’s balcony, no higher. On the right of the king’s balcony, along the entire length of the theater, shall be raised an amphitheater of twenty-five or thirty steps designated for the Council of the Inquisition and the other Councils of Spain, above which shall be placed the Grand Inquisitor’s throne, under a canopy and much higher than the king’s balcony. On the left side of the theater and the balcony, a second amphitheater of the same size shall be constructed, for the criminals. In the middle of the great theater, there shall be a very small theater supporting two cages in which the criminals shall be put while their sentence is read. Three pulpits shall be placed on the grand theater for the readers of the sentences and the preacher, before whom an altar shall be erected. The places for their Catholic Majesties shall be disposed so that queen is on the left of the king and on the right of the Queen Mother. All the ladies of the two queens shall occupy the length of the same balcony on either side. Other balconies shall be prepared for the ambassadors and the lords and ladies of the court, as well as bleachers for the people. The ceremony shall begin with a procession from St. Mary’s church. A hundred coal men armed with pikes and muskets shall lead because they furnish the wood used for the torture of those sentenced to the stake. Then shall follow the Dominicans, processing behind a white cross. The Duke of Medina Celi shall carry the banner of the Inquisition, according to a privilege hereditary to his family. This banner is of red damask; on one side is represented a naked sword in a laurel crown, on the other the arms of Spain. After that, a green cross wrapped in black crepe shall be carried. Next shall march several grandees and other persons of quality of the Inquisition, covered with cloaks adorned with white and black crosses embroidered with gold thread. The march shall conclude with fifty halberdiers or 8. Most of this description is taken from the same issue of the Gazette, 442–44. Since this auto took place on June 30, 1680, but d’Aulnoy’s letter is dated August 30, 1679, she presents the scenario in the future tense. She relates the events that occurred during the ceremony/execution in Mémoires de la cour d’Espagne (Carey edition, 237–40). She probably witnessed this terrible wedding celebration along with the young French queen, so the tone is more passionate, expressing horror at the cruelty and admiration for the courage of the mostly Jewish victims. She did not go to the slow burning at the stake, which took place at midnight outside the Fuencarral gate. “I was so upset by having seen them during the day that I felt faint” (240). GV

Thirteenth Letter 247 guards of the Inquisition, dressed in black and white, commanded by the Marquis of Probar, hereditary protector of the Inquisition of the Kingdom of Toledo. After passing by the palace in this order, the procession shall continue to the Plaza Mayor. The banner and the green cross shall be fixed on the altar. The Dominicans alone shall remain in the theater and shall spend part of the night chanting. At daybreak, they shall celebrate several Masses on the altar. The king, the queen, the Queen Mother, and all the ladies shall appear on the balconies around seven in the morning. At eight, the procession shall begin, as it did the previous day, with the company of coal men, who shall stand to the left of the king’s balcony, and the guards to the right. Then, several men shall carry life-size cardboard effigies, some representing those who died in prison—whose bones shall also be carried in chests decorated with painted flames—the others representing prisoners who escaped and have been judged in absentia. These effigies shall be placed on one end of the theater; then their sentences shall read be read, and they shall be executed. Document specifying plans for the Inquisition ends. “But I should tell you,” added Don Fernand, “that the Supreme Council of the Inquisition is more absolute than all the others. It’s believed that the king himself doesn’t have the power to release those who’ve been denounced because this tribunal recognizes only the authority of the Pope. There have been times and occasions when the king’s power was weaker than the Inquisition’s. Don Diego Sarmiento is the Grand Inquisitor.9 He’s a great and good man, around sixty years old. The king nominates the president of the Inquisition and His Holiness confirms him. As for the various inquisitors, the Grand Inquisitor proposes them to the king and, after having received his approval, he appoints them to their positions. The jurisdiction of the tribunal extends to everything concerning the Faith, and it is invested absolutely with the authority of both Pope and the king. Its decisions are irrevocable. The twenty-two tribunals of the Inquisition, which are in all the States of Spain and are subordinate to the Supreme Council in Madrid, report every month on their finances and every year on their cases and criminals. But the tribunals in the Indies and other distant places send reports only at the end of each year. As to the positions in these inferior tribunals, they are filled by the Grand Inquisitor with the consent of his councilors. It’s hard to say exactly how many officers belong to the Inquisition, for in Spain alone there are more than twenty-two thousand familiares of the Holy Office. They are thus called because 9. Diego Sarmiento de Valladares (?–1695) had been bishop of Oviedo and Placencia, member of the Council of State. In 1669, he became Grand Inquisitor until his death. During his time in office, the spectacular auto-da-fé to celebrate the marriage of Carlos II and Mademoiselle d’Orléans took place, during which 118 prisoners were executed.

248 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY they are like spies spread everywhere, who constantly supply the Inquisition with true or false information on which it arrests those they accuse.”10

Magnificent Toledo and Its Cardinal While I was listening to Don Fernand with great attention, the Marquise of Palacios interrupted us to say that we were near Toledo, and the ruins we saw on a little mountain on the left were those of an enchanted palace.11 “Here we go again,” I whispered to Don Fernand, “back to the castles of Guebara and Nios.” “We are wherever you like,” he said, “but it’s certain that it’s a very old tradition in this region. They claim that there was a closed-off cellar and a prophecy threatening Spain with the greatest misfortunes if this cellar were opened. Fearing these threats, no one wanted to risk suffering the effects, so the place remained closed for centuries. But King Don Rodrigo, less credulous than others, had it opened, and terrible noises were heard. It seemed that all the violent elements were merging, and the tempest couldn’t be greater. But this didn’t prevent him from going down and, by the light of several torches, he saw human figures with extraordinary clothes and weapons. One of them was holding a copper blade on which was written, in Arabic, that Spanish desolation was approaching and that warriors represented in statues there would be arriving soon.” “I’ve never been anywhere,” I said laughing, “where fabulous tales are given such importance as in Spain.” “Say rather,” he replied, “that there’s never been a lady less gullible than you, and I made no attempt to change your opinion in telling you this story. But as much as one can ascertain things by men’s testimony, this story is credible.”12 It was light enough to notice all the delights of the countryside. We crossed the Tagus on the big and beautiful bridge I had heard of,13 and then I discovered Toledo all surrounded by the hills and boulders that dominate it. Description of Toledo: perched on a rock, beautiful houses, narrow streets, the Talavera hospital, the walls, the Gothic cathedral, the chapels, the treasure, the enormous yearly revenues. (Seguin 329–31)14 10. The preceding two paragraphs correspond closely to the description in the Pseudo-Villars (328–30; F-D 506). GV 11. The castle of San Servando, commissioned by Bishop Tenorio and built in the fourteenth century on the ruins of a Muslim fortress, itself built on a Christian monastery. Today it is restored. 12. Bertaut (50–51) tells the same legend (F-D 507), but d’Aulnoy’s banter on credulity makes it personal and ironic, since she herself would gain fame for her fairy tales. GV 13. The Alcántara bridge was built in the thirteenth century. 14. This description covers information also found in Bertaut (51–54) and Jouvin (128–29), (F-D 508–11). GV

Thirteenth Letter 249 We spent a great deal of time admiring the beautiful things that fill this cathedral. As we were leaving to return to the inn where we had left our coach, we found an almoner and a gentleman belonging to Cardinal Portocarrero15 who came to deliver his compliments and to assure us that the cardinal would not bear the thought that we would not stay at the archbishop’s palace. They chiefly addressed the Marquise of Palacios, his close relative, who urged us to go there. We demurred saying that we were untidy, not having slept all night, and were not appropriately dressed. She told her son to beg his Eminence the Cardinal to accept our excuses. Don Fernand soon returned, followed by many pages, some of whom carried parasols of gold and silver brocade. He said that His Eminence strongly desired us to come to his palace and was so upset by our refusal that he promised to bring us. The cardinal then ordered them to take parasols to protect us from the sun and to water the square we would have to cross from the church to the archbishop’s palace. Immediately we saw two mules pulling a little cart with a tub full of water. They told us that it was customary whenever the cardinal went to the church to cool the pavement with water. The archbishop’s palace is very ancient and grand, beautifully furnished and worthy of its occupant. We were brought to a fine apartment where we were first served chocolate and then all sorts of fruit, wine, iced waters, and liquors. We were so sleepy after eating a little that we begged the Marquise of Palacios to excuse us to the Cardinal for postponing the honor of seeing him, but we were dying to sleep. So, the young Marquise of la Rosa, my relative, our children, and I chose to go to bed, and in the evening we dressed to see the Queen Mother.

Dressing and Dining Spanish-Style The Marquise of Palacios had always been very devoted to the Queen Mother and had gone to the Alcázar (that’s what the castle is called)16 to pay her a visit while we were sleeping. The queen agreed to give us an audience at eight in the evening. For the first time, I dressed Spanish-style. I can’t imagine a more uncomfortable outfit. Your shoulders have to be so squeezed they hurt, you can’t raise your arms and can hardly get them into the sleeves. They put a frighteningly large farthingale on me (you must wear one before the queen). I didn’t know what had become of me in this strange contraption. You can’t sit down, and if I wore it all my life 15. Luis-Manuel Fernández de Portocarrero (1635–1709), archbishop of Toledo. Upon the death of Carlos II, he supported the candidacy of the Duke of Anjou to the Spanish throne, which is the reason why Philip V removed him from court. 16. Toledo’s Alcázar rises on its highest hill where stood a fortress dating back to Roman times. Charles V commissioned architect Alonso de Covarrubias to build his residence on the site (1538–1551). During the Spanish Civil War (1936–1939), the Alcázar, held by the Franco-led Nationalists, was the scene of a fierce siege by Spanish Republican forces. The incident became a central piece of Spanish Nationalist lore. GV

250 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY I couldn’t get used to it. They did my hair melena-style, all spread over the neck and tied at the end by a nonpareil ribbon.17 This get-up keeps you hotter than a palatine,18 so you can imagine how I felt in Spain in August. Still, this is ceremonial garb, inevitable on such an occasion. Finally, I wore their pattens, better designed for breaking your neck than for walking. When we were all ready to appear (my relative and my daughter also dressed Spanish-style), we were led into a state chamber where the Cardinal came to see us. His name is Don Luis Portocarrero. He’s around forty-two, very civil, gentle, obliging, having learned the polite manners of the Roman court. He stayed an hour with us. Then they served us the biggest possible meal, but everything was so amber-tinted by saffron that I’ve never tasted more extraordinary and less tasty sauces. I sat at this table like Tantalus, dying of hunger but unable to eat, for the dishes were either overly perfumed or full of saffron, garlic, onion, pepper, and spices. Finally, after searching, I found some jelly and delicious blancmange, which saved me.19 They also served ham from the Portuguese border, which was better than the mutton so vaunted in Bayonne and Mainz. But it was covered with a sugar coating we call nonpareil in France, which had melted into the fat. It was all larded with lemon peel, seriously diminishing its appeal. As for the fruit, it was the best and even the most entertaining thing to see. They had candied whole little trees, Italian-style, very small, of course: crystallized orange trees with little artificial birds; cherry trees, raspberry and gooseberry bushes, and others, each set in a little silver case.

The Queen Mother We rose from table promptly because it was almost time to visit the Queen Mother. We were taken in sedan chairs, though it is quite far and high up. The Alcázar is built on a tremendously high rock, and the view is marvelous. Before the portal is a great square, then a court 160 feet long and 130 feet wide, with two rows of porticos. Ten rows of pillars, each of a single rock, make up the length, eight rows the width—very impressive. But more beautiful still is the staircase at the end of the court, which is 130 feet wide, like the court. After a few steps, it separates into two, and truly it’s one of the most beautiful staircases in Europe. We went through a great gallery and such vast apartments with so few people that it didn’t seem we would ever find the Queen Mother. But she was in a salon with open windows overlooking the plain and the river. The tapestries, cushions, carpets, and canopy were all in gray. The queen stood leaning on 17. A very narrow ribbon. 18. A fur stole. 19. A gelatinous dish made with white meats and almond milk.

Thirteenth Letter 251 a balcony, holding a great rosary. When she saw us, she turned and received us rather cheerfully. We had the honor to kiss her hand, which is small, thin, and white. She is very pale, with a fine complexion, has a somewhat long and flat face and gentle eyes, and is of average height. She was dressed like all widows in Spain, a nun not showing a single strand of hair. Many of them (but not she) cut their hair upon their husband’s death to show their grief. I noticed that her skirt had tucks in order to lengthen it when it wore out. I’m not saying they would do that, but it’s the fashion here. She asked me when I had left France, and I informed her. She asked whether they were talking about her son the king’s marriage to Mademoiselle d’Orléans; I answered no. She wanted to show me the princess’s portrait, copied onto her son’s, and told one of her women, an ugly old dueña, to bring it. It was a miniature no bigger than your hand, in a black satin box with green velvet lining. “Do you think it looks like her?” she asked. I assured her that I didn’t recognize a single feature. Indeed, she seemed cross-eyed, with a crooked face, and nothing could look less than a princess as perfect as Mademoiselle. She asked me whether she was more or less beautiful than this portrait. I said that she was incomparably more beautiful. “The king my son will be pleasantly surprised,” she said, “because he believes this portrait is a perfect likeness and is as happy as can be. I found her crossed eyes troublesome but took comfort in thinking that she had great wit and other good qualities. Don’t you remember,” she said to the Marquise of Palacios, “having seen my portrait in the late king’s chamber?” “Yes, Madame,” responded the Marquise, “and I also remember that seeing Your Majesty we were surprised by how the painter had misrepresented you.” “That’s what I would have said to you,” she replied. “And when I arrived and saw the portrait they said was mine, I tried in vain to believe it; I could not.” A little barrel-sized dwarf shorter than a squash, all dressed in gold and silver brocade, with hair almost down to her feet, came in, knelt before the queen, and asked her if she pleased to have supper. We offered to leave, but she told us we could follow her, so we entered a room all in marble, illuminated by several belons on escaparates.20 She sat at table alone and we all stood around her. Her maids of honor came to serve her, with the camarera mayor looking quite cross. I could see a few of those girls who seemed very pretty. They spoke with the Marquise of Palacios and said that they were horribly bored and felt that Toledo was like a desert. They are called damas de palacios and wear pattens, but the little meninas wear flat shoes. The menins are boys of the highest quality who wear neither cloak nor sword.

20. D’Aulnoy means velónes, oil lamps, placed on sideboards. GV

252 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY

Figure 6. Queen Mariana of Austria, in mourning, Spanish, 17th century (oil on canvas) / Carreno de Miranda, Don Juan (1614–85) / Private Collection / Bridgeman Images XAM68601.

Thirteenth Letter 253 The queen was served several dishes; first, iced melons, salads, and milk, of which she ate a lot before eating meat that looked quite unappetizing. She has a good appetite and drank some wine, undiluted, to cook [break down] the fruit, she said. When she asked for a drink, the first pageboy brought her a goblet on a covered saucer. Kneeling, he presented it to the camarera, who also knelt when the queen took it from her hands. On the other side, a palace lady, kneeling, presented a napkin for the queen to wipe her mouth. She gave some candied fruit to Doña Mariquita of Palacios and my daughter, telling them they shouldn’t eat much because it spoiled little girls’ teeth. She asked me several times how the Most Christian Queen was and how she entertained herself.21 She told me that she had recently sent her some boxes of amber pastilles, gloves, and chocolate. She stayed more than an hour and a half at table, not saying much but seeming quite cheerful. We asked what orders she had for Madrid; she responded with kindly words, and then we withdrew. You can’t deny that this queen has a strong spirit and much courage and virtue to endure, as she does, such an unpleasant exile. I mustn’t forget to say that the first page carries the queen’s pattens and puts them on her. This is such a great honor here that he wouldn’t exchange it for the greatest offices of the Crown. When the ladies of the palace marry, with the queen’s approval, she adds fifty thousand crowns to their dowry and usually some government or vice-royalty is given to their husbands.

Six Delightful Nights and Days in Toledo and Environs When we returned to the cardinal’s palace, we found a theater erected in a huge hall, with many ladies on one side and caballeros on the other. What seemed odd to me was that a long damask curtain was strung the length of the hall, preventing the men and the women from seeing each other. They were waiting only for us to begin Pyramus and Thisbe.22 This was a new play, the worst I have yet seen in Spain. Afterward, the actors danced very well, and the show was not yet over at two in the morning. They served a magnificent supper in a grand salon with several tables. After placing us, the cardinal escorted the caballeros, who, on their side, were served as we were. They played excellent Italian music, for the cardinal had brought musicians from Rome to whom he gave large pensions. We could retire only at six in the morning. Since we had many things to see, instead of going to bed we went to the Plaza Mayor, known as Zocodover. The 21. Marie-Thérèse d’Autriche, queen consort of Louis XIV of France, the Most Christian King. Daughter of Philip IV of Spain, whose second wife was his niece Mariana of Austria, Marie-Thérèse was both the Queen Mother’s stepdaughter and her first cousin, only four years younger than she. GV 22. It could be Pedro Rosete’s comedia, Piramo y Tisbe, published in Madrid in 1668.

254 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY houses surrounding it are in brick, all alike, with balconies. Its shape is round, with porticos under which people walk, quite beautiful. We returned to the castle to visit it at leisure. The building is Gothic and very ancient, but it’s so grand that I’m not surprised Charles V preferred to stay there than in any other city under his rule. Four main buildings, with wings and pavilions, form a square. The whole court can be accommodated comfortably. They showed us a machine that was wonderful until it broke; it drew water from the Tagus up to the Alcazar. It’s still there even though it was built several centuries ago. You go down five hundred steps to the river. When water entered the reservoir, it flowed through channels to all the fountains in the city. That was very convenient, because today you have to climb down about 190 feet to fetch water. We went to Mass in the Los Reyes church. It’s beautiful and grand, full of orange and pomegranate trees, very tall jasmine and myrtles in planters that form alleys up to the high altar with its extraordinarily rich ornaments. Through all the green branches and multi-colored flowers, you see the gleam of gold, silver, embroidery, and great candles on the altar dazzling your eyes like rays of the sun. There are also colorful, gilt birdcages full of nightingales, canaries, and other birds singing a delightful concert. I wish we’d adorn our churches in France as they do in Spain. The exterior walls of this church are covered with chains and irons of captives ransomed from the Barbary Coast. I noticed that on most houses in this neighborhood there is an earthenware tile with the angelic greeting: Mary was conceived without original sin. I was told that those houses belonged to the archbishop, and only silk workers, numerous in Toledo, still live there. The two stone bridges that cross the river are very high, wide, and long. If they wanted to bother dredging the Tagus, boats could easily come to the city. This would be very convenient, but they are too lazy to consider that its advantages outweigh the trouble. We also saw Los Niños, the Foundlings Hospital, and City Hall, close to the cathedral. Finally, our curiosity satisfied, we returned to the archbishop’s palace and slept until evening, when we had another feast as splendid as the others. His Eminence ate with us and, after thanking him appropriately, we departed for the Igariça castle. The Marquis of Los Palacios was waiting for us with the rest of his family, and we were welcomed so warmly that nothing more could have been done to enhance the six days of fine dining and other pleasures we enjoyed, fishing on the Jarama River, hunting, strolling, and conversing. Everyone competed to be in the best mood, so it can truly be said that when Spaniards discard their gravitas, get to know you and like you, they contribute wonderfully to the delights of the mind. They become sociable, obliging, eager to please, and delightful company. That’s what I experienced during those six days, my dear cousin, and wouldn’t have given you such a detailed account if I weren’t sure you’d be pleased.

FOURTEENTH LETTER

September 30, 1679, from Madrid

How Ladies Witness Diplomatic Ceremonies The ceremony swearing to the peace treaty concluded by the crowns of France and Spain at Nijmegen took place here on the last day of August.1 I was very eager to see what would happen. But since women aren’t allowed to attend, the Constable of Castile promised to let us into the king’s chamber as soon as he entered the great hall. Madame Gueux, the Danish ambassador’s lady, and Madame Chais, the Dutch envoy’s lady, came as well. We went up secret stairs where a constable’s gentleman was waiting, and we stayed some time in a fine study filled with beautifully bound and very entertaining Spanish books. Among others, I found the History of Don Quixote, the famous Knight of La Mancha, in which the natural yet subtle expression, the strong proverbs, and what the Spaniards call el pico—the sharp yet delicate turns of language—are so much more evident than in our translations. I took so much pleasure in reading it that I almost forgot the ceremony. It began as soon as the Marquis of Villars arrived, and they opened a lattice window through which we saw what happened.2 The king stood at the end of the great gilt hall, one of the most magnificent in the palace. Description of the setting and the ceremony, less detailed than in the Gazette account.3 (Seguin 339–40) There were several other ceremonies, but I didn’t pay enough attention to report them to you. The king returned to his chamber, which we had vacated. We then waited in the same study. He was so nearby that we could hear him say that he had never been so hot and was going to remove his collar. Indeed, the sun blazes in this country.

Climate In the first days, I had a terrible migraine and couldn’t understand why. But my relative told me that I covered my head too much and that if I didn’t take care, I 1. On August 31, at Fontainebleau, Louis XIV signed the first of the Treaties of Peace of Nijmegen, ending the Franco-Dutch War (1672–1678). Carlos II signed in the palace in Madrid. 2. For Nathalie Hester, this passage is an excellent example of how “d’Aulnoy . . . weaves together personal experience and official political event to demonstrate her status as a French woman of letters,” capable of appreciating the qualities of great literature. See Hester, “Travel and the Art of Telling the Truth: Marie-Catherine d’Aulnoy’s Travels to Spain,” Huntington Library Quarterly 70, no. 1 (2007): 101. GV 3. Gazette, Madrid, September 19, 1679, 478–79 (F-D 523–24). GV

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256 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY could lose my eyesight. I immediately discarded my bonnets and cornets, and since then I haven’t had headaches. For my part, I can’t believe that there are more beautiful skies anywhere than those you find here. They’re so pure that you can’t see a single cloud, and I’m told that days in winter are as beautiful as days anywhere in the world. What’s dangerous is a wind from the mountains of Galicia. It’s not so violent, but it penetrates the bones and sometimes cripples an arm, a leg, or half the body for the rest of one’s life. It’s more frequent in summer than in winter. Foreigners think it’s the zephyr and are delighted to feel it but soon experience its wickedness. The seasons are much more pleasant in Spain than in France, England, Holland, and Germany. Besides, this sky is so incredibly pure that you can’t imagine anything more beautiful. From September to June it’s never cold enough to need a fire, and that’s why there are no fireplaces in their apartments, just braziers. This is really fortunate because, wood being so scarce in Spain, they don’t need any. Frost is never thicker than two crowns and not much snow falls. The nearby mountains provide ice to Madrid all year long. True, June, July, and August are excessively hot.

For Whom the Bell Tolls A few days ago, I was in a company of ladies who were very frightened. One of them said that she had received a letter from Barcelona saying that a bell only used in times of public calamity or for the most important matters had rung several times by itself. This lady is from Barcelona, and she assured me that when a great misfortune is to befall Spain or when someone of the House of Austria is near death, this bell starts tolling. For a quarter of an hour, the clapper strikes the bell with amazing speed as it turns. I would not believe it and don’t yet, really, but all the others confirmed what she said. If it’s a lie, more than twenty of them helped her tell it. They wondered who or what would be struck by the misfortune foretold by the omen, and since they’re quite superstitious, the lovely Marquise of Liche only increased their fears by announcing that Don Juan was very ill. In their deep mourning, they look like madmen, especially in the first days. The lackeys as well as their masters have long, trailing coats, and instead of their customary hats, they wear a very tall cardboard hat covered in crêpe. Their horses are all harnessed in black, with housings that cover the head and the rest of the body. Nothing is uglier. Their carriages are so badly draped that the cloth covering the top hangs down to the door. Anyone seeing this lugubrious equipage would believe that it’s carrying a corpse for burial. People of quality wear coats of black felt, very thin and miserable. The least thing tears it to pieces, but when in mourning it is considered distinguished to wear rags. I saw caballeros tear their clothes on purpose, and I can assure you that some even show skin, hardly a beautiful sight. For even though the children here are whiter than alabaster and so beautiful

Fourteenth Letter 257 they seem like angels, you have to admit that as they grow they change surprisingly. The sun’s heat roasts them and the air turns them yellow, so it’s easy to spot a Spaniard among other nationalities. Although their features are regular, still it’s not our look or our complexion. All students wear long robes with a thin linen border around the neck instead of a collar. They’re dressed more or less like Jesuits. Some of them are thirty or older, but their attire shows that they are still students.

More Views of Madrid To me this city looks like a big cage where they fatten poultry. For, really, from street level to the fourth floor all you see are blinds with very small holes, and there are even some on the balconies. Behind them you can always see poor shutin women who watch passersby, and only when they dare, they open the blinds and show themselves with delight. Not a night goes by without four or five hundred concerts being given all over the city. True, they’re inexpensive, and it’s enough for a lover to have his guitar or his harp—and sometimes both—accompany his hoarse voice, to waken a sleeping beauty and please her like a queen. When you don’t know what’s excellent and that you can’t attain it, you’re satisfied with what you get. I never even saw a lute or a harpsichord. In every street, at every house corner, there is a statue or image of Our Lady in local dress holding a rosary, with a lamp or candle burning before her. I’ve seen up to three or four in my relative’s stables, with other little devotional pictures. A groom has his oratory as well as his master, but neither of them pray much. When a lady goes to visit another in the evening, four pages holding great torches of white wax accompany her and bring her back, and while she’s getting into her sedan chair, they usually kneel on one knee. This is more magnificent than those small candles they carry in torches in France. There are houses intended for lewd women, like the Madelonnettes in Paris.4 They’re treated very harshly, and not a day goes by when they’re not whipped several times. They’re released after a certain time, worse than when they entered, and what they are made to suffer does not correct them. Most of them live in a certain part of town where virtuous women never go, but, should one happen to pass by, they run after her like an enemy; and if they are stronger, they maltreat her cruelly. As for the caballeros, when they pass by, they run the risk of being torn to pieces. To each her own. One pulls his arm, another his leg, yet another his head, and when he gets angry they pounce on him altogether, rob him, and even take his clothes. My relative has an Italian page who knew nothing of these wicked 4. The convent of Marie-Madeleine, located in what is now the third arrondissement of Paris, was founded in 1618 to take in repentant prostitutes, but it gradually became a house of correction. GV

258 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY women’s habits, and naively he entered their neighborhood. They really stripped him as thieves do in the woods. But you have to leave it at that; after all, is there anyone to call on for restitution?

Don Juan’s Portrait, Death, and Oblivion The Barcelona bell was all too truthful in its prediction. Don Juan was so ill on the first of this month that the doctors lost hope, and he was advised to prepare for death. He received this news with such calm and resignation that it persuaded people of what they already believed, that his displeasures made him prefer death to life. The king entered his room at all times and spent hours at the foot of his bed, however much Don Juan implored him not to risk catching his fever. He received the Holy Viaticum, made his will, and wrote a short letter to a lady whose name I did not learn. He charged Don Ortis, his first secretary, to deliver it to her with a small, locked casket, which I saw. It was made of China wood, light enough to make you think that it only contained letters and maybe some jewels. Since he was dangerously ill, a courier arrived bringing news of the king’s marriage to Mademoiselle.5 Joy filled not just the palace but the whole city, fireworks and illuminations lasting three days throughout Madrid. The king couldn’t contain himself. He ran into Don Juan’s room, and even though he was drowsy and greatly needed rest, the king woke him to tell him that the queen would arrive soon and urged him to think of nothing but healing so that he could contribute to her reception. “Oh, Sire,” the prince responded, “I will never have this consolation. I would die content if I had the honor of seeing her.” The king started to weep and said that seeing him in this condition was the only thing that could disturb his happiness. A bullfight had been scheduled, but the prince’s illness caused it to be postponed, and the king would not have allowed fireworks in the palace court had Don Juan not begged him to permit it despite the horrible headache he suffered. Finally, he died on the seventeenth of this month, much regretted by some, less so by others. This is the destiny of princes and favorites, as well as of ordinary people. Though esteem for him was already diminishing as the courtiers thought only of the Queen Mother’s return and the arrival of the new queen, still the indifference that greeted Don Juan’s illness and death was surprising. The next day, no one even spoke of it. It seemed that he had never existed.6 Oh, my God, my dear cousin, doesn’t this deserve a little thought? He governed all the kingdoms of the king of Spain. His name struck terror, he had the Queen Mother banished, he drove away the favorites Father Nithard and 5. The proxy wedding between Carlos II and Marie-Louise of Orléans was celebrated at Fontainebleau on August 31, 1679. The prince of Conti represented the king of Spain. 6. Indeed, the king and the nobles expressed little regret at Don Juan’s death.

Fourteenth Letter 259 Valenzuela.7 He was courted more regularly than the king. Twenty-four hours after his death, I saw more than fifty people of the first quality in several places who did not say one word about this poor prince, though several had many obligations to him. Furthermore, he had great personal qualities. He was of medium height, attractive, had regular features, lively black eyes, long and abundant black hair. He was courteous, full of wit, generous, very brave, benevolent, and capable of the most important affairs. He was well versed in everything suitable to his birth and in all sciences and arts. He wrote and spoke five different languages very well and understood even more. He knew history very well. He could make and play any instrument like the best musicians. He knew how use lathes, he forged arms, he painted well. He loved mathematics, but, having taken charge of the government, he had to leave all his occupations. The face of things changed in a moment. Hardly had his eyes closed when the king, heeding only his affection for his mother, rushed to Toledo to see her and beg her to return. She consented with as much joy as she had in seeing the king. Embracing, they cried for quite a long time, and we saw them return together.8 All the persons of quality went to meet Their Majesties, and the common people rejoiced. I would dwell on the return if I didn’t describe it in the private memoirs I’m writing.9 Don Juan laid three days on his bed of state wearing the clothes he had commissioned to greet the young queen. After that, he was carried to L’Escorial. The funeral procession had nothing magnificent. His officers and a few friends accompanied him. They put him in the vault near the Pantheon, which is reserved for princes and princesses of the royal household. It’s worth noting that only kings and the queens who have had children go into the Pantheon. The childless queens are put in the vault.

The Young Queen’s Twenty-Two Kingdoms and Her Subjects: An Overview In a few days, we will go to L’Escorial, to coincide with the king’s annual trip. He is so preoccupied by his young queen, however, that he can only think about 7. German Jesuit priest Johann Eberhard Nithard, Mariana’s mentor and confessor who accompanied the fourteen-year-old princess to Spain in 1649 to wed forty-four-year-old Philip IV; Fernando de Valenzuela, from Andalusia, became influential after marrying a lady-in-waiting. Nithard and Valenzuela were successively validos, favorites of the Queen Mother, acting as her prime ministers during her regency (1665–1675). When Don Juan took over the government, he orchestrated Nithard’s fall and exiled Valenzuela to the Philippines. D’Aulnoy describes the influence of these favorites at length in her Mémoires de la cour d’Espagne (Carey edition, 4–67). GV 8. The Queen Mother returned to Madrid on September 28, 1679. 9. See d’Aulnoy’s Spanish memoirs, Carey edition, 103–5. GV

260 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY traveling to the border to anticipate her. Everywhere I go, they proclaim loudly that she will be queen of twenty-two kingdoms. Apparently, there are eleven in the Indies, for I only know Old and New Castile, Aragon, Valencia, Navarre, Murcia, Granada, Andalusia, Galicia, Leon, and the Islands of Majorca. In those regions are many admirable places where it seems the sun wishes to spread its most benign influences. Others are so barren that there is neither wheat, herbs, vines, fruit, meadows, nor springs; and the barren lands outnumber the fertile kind. Generally speaking, the air is good and healthy, though excessively hot in certain places and unbearably cold and windy in others at the same time of year. Unnavigable rivers, hindering commence are described. Large but sparsely populated towns. Depopulation caused by the expulsion of the Moors and the Jews, the lure of the Indies, a low birth rate, hostility toward immigrants. Wheat imported from elsewhere. (Seguin 346–47) And how would wheat grow unless the earth produced it spontaneously, as in the Promised Land? Spaniards are too lazy to bother cultivating it. The least peasant is convinced he’s a hidalgo, a “gentleman.” In the least hut abides an apocryphal history, composed in the last hundred years, of the only inheritance left by the peasant to his children and nephews. In this fiction, all descend from ancient knights in wondrous times, and their ancestors Don Pedro and Don Juan performed such-and-such services to the Crown. Thus, they refuse to part with their gravedad or decendencia. That’s how they speak, and they’d rather endure hunger and other hardships of life than work like a mercenary, they say, which is fit only for slaves. It is pride, supported by sloth, that prevents most of them from sowing their fields unless foreigners come to farm them, which always happens by a strange quirk of Providence—and by the profit that these more hard-working foreigners find here. And so, a peasant sits on his chair reading an old romance while others work for him and drain all his money. No oats, scarce hay, very high and long mountain ranges, various sierras making travel and transport very difficult. (Seguin 347–48)10 I have been shown some of the patents the king grants. I’ve never read so many titles. Here they are: he calls himself king of Spain, Castile, León, Navarra, Aragon, Granada, Toledo, Valencia, Galicia, Seville, Murcia, Jaén, Jerusalem, Naples, Sicily, Majorca, Minorca, Sardinia, the East and West Indies, the islands and terra firma of the great ocean; Archduke of Austria; Duke of Burgundy, Brabant, Luxembourg, Gelderland, Milan; Count of Habsburg, Flanders, Tyrol, Barcelona; Lord of Biscay and Molina; Marquis of the Holy Roman Empire; Lord of Friesland, 10. Passages similar to the accounts of Jouvin (72–75) and Bertaut (191–92) (F-D 532–35). GV

Fourteenth Letter 261 Salines, Utrecht, Malines, Overyssel, Groeninghe; Great Lord of Asia and Africa. I was told that Francis I ridiculed them when he received a letter from Charles V listing all his magnificent titles. He answered simply calling himself Citizen of Paris and Lord of Gentilly. They don’t pursue advanced studies here because, as far as anyone knows, they turn everything to their advantage, so a little wit and a serious demeanor prevents them from seeming ignorant. When they speak, it always seems that they know more than they say; when they remain silent, they seem wise enough to solve the most difficult questions. However, there are famous universities in Spain, such as Saragossa, Salamanca, Alcalá, Santiago, Granada, Seville, Coimbra, Tarragona, Évora, Lisbon, Madrid, Murcia, Majorca, Toledo, Lérida, Valencia, and Occa.11 There aren’t many great preachers. You can find a few fairly moving ones, but, whether the sermons are good or bad, Spaniards beat their breast regularly with extraordinary fervor, interrupting the preacher with painful cries of contrition. There may be a bit of that, but certainly a lot less than they display. They don’t leave aside their sword, either for confession or for communion. They say they carry it to defend the religion; and in the morning, before donning it, they kiss it and make the sign of the cross with it. They have great devotion to the Holy Virgin and a special confidence in her. Almost all men wear her scapular or an embroidered image that has touched one believed to be miraculous. Though they don’t lead very virtuous lives, they still pray to her as the one to protect and save them from the greatest evils. They are very charitable, as much to be reputed generous as by a natural inclination to give and by the real pain they suffer when—due to poverty or some other reason—they must refuse to give what they are asked. They have the good quality of not abandoning their friends when they’re sick. Their care and zeal redouble when you most need friendship and comfort, so that persons who meet less than four times a year see each other two or three times a day when one is sick, and they become useful to one another. But when they’re cured, they go back to their habits before the illness. Don Frederic of Cardona reports on superstitions he came across during his travels, such as the miraculous powers of people born on Good Friday, lakes that forecast storms by their bellowing or roars, sheep that die if they graze before sunrise. (Seguin 350–51)12

11. Huesca today. D’Aulnoy’s list includes universities in Portugal (Coimbra, Évora), which was an independent kingdom in 1679. GV 12. These superstitions are found in other travel accounts (F-D 538–40). But d’Aulnoy embeds them in a witty conversation, raising doubts about their veracity. GV

262 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY We were interrupted by my relative returning from the city. She had spent part of the day with her lawyer, who was on his deathbed. He was very old and very clever in his profession. She told us that his children had gathered around his bed, and the only recommendation he gave was to preserve their gravity. Blessing them, he said: “What greater good can I wish for you, my dear children, than to spend your life in Madrid, and to leave this earthly paradise only for heaven?” “That shows,” she continued, “what preference Spaniards have for Madrid and what happiness they enjoy in this court.” “Really,” I said interrupting her, “I’m convinced that there’s a lot of vanity in the fondness they profess for their country, and deep down they’re too smart not to know that many places are more pleasant. Isn’t it true,” I asked Don Fernand, “that if you don’t talk like me you still think the same?” “What I think,” he said, laughing, “doesn’t matter to others, for since my return everyone criticizes me for no longer being Spanish. It’s certain that people are so infatuated with the delights and charms of Madrid that, not having to leave them during any season, no one thought of building nice vacation houses in the country. Thus, the surroundings of Madrid, which should be full of beautiful gardens and magnificent castles, look like little deserts. That’s why, in summer and winter, the city is equally crowded.”

L’Escorial Hereupon, my relative said that she wanted to take me to L’Escorial and that we’d leave in two days with the Marquises of Palacios and la Rosa. “Madame, your mother added you to our group,” she said to Don Fernand, “and I added Don Frederic.” Both gentlemen said they were delighted to make this excursion. The next day, we went to kiss the Queen Mother’s hand and to know her commands for L’Escorial. Indeed, before leaving Madrid, it’s customary to pay respects to the queen. She seemed more cheerful than she did in Toledo. She said that, though she had not planned to return so soon to Madrid, she now felt that she had never left. A giantess from the Indies was brought for entertainment, but the queen made her leave because she scared her. Her ladies-in-waiting wanted to make the colossus dance while she held on each hand two she-dwarfs playing castanets and a tambourine. All that was incredibly ugly. My relative noticed in the Queen Mother’s apartment many things that came from Don Juan, especially an admirable clock bejeweled with diamonds. He made her one of his heirs, apparently to express his regret for having tormented her so much. Pleasant trip to L’Escorial, stopping at El Pardo, a royal house near Madrid. (Seguin 353)

Fourteenth Letter 263 They showed us a little study that the late king [Philip IV] called his “favorite” because he sometimes met his mistresses there. This prince, outwardly so cold and serious, never seen laughing, was actually the most gallant and tender of all men.13 Then we went to a Capuchin monastery on the top of a hill. It’s a place of great devotion because of its image of the dead Christ detached from the cross who works miracles.14 After praying, we went down the other side of the hill to a hermitage where there was a recluse who would neither see nor speak to us; but he threw a note through his grate in which he wrote that he would recommend us to God. We were all exhausted because we had had to climb up the hill in the heat. At the bottom of the valley, we saw a cottage by a stream that runs among the willows. We headed in that direction and were still quite far away when we noticed a man and a woman, quite elegant, rise quickly from the foot of the tree where they were sitting, rush into the cottage, and close the door as if we were thieves. It was probably the fear of being recognized that made them flee. We went to the place they had just left and, sitting on the grass, we ate the fruit we had brought. It was so close to the cottage that we could be seen out the windows. A pretty peasant girl came out, holding a bulrush basket. Kneeling before us, she asked for some fruit for a pregnant woman who would die if we refused her. We immediately sent her the best fruit. A moment later, the girl returned with a golden snuffbox and said that the señora de la casilla—the lady of the cottage—begged us to take her tobacco in gratitude for our generosity. It’s customary here to offer tobacco as an expression of friendship. Night at La Zarzuela, another royal house, very dilapidated. Description of El Escorial: the rugged landscape, enormous size, imposing but austere architecture, seventeen cloisters, superb library, magnificent interiors, game-filled grounds, details on cost. Return to Madrid. (Seguin 354–58)

Who Is Going to Meet the New Queen? Arriving in Madrid, we learned that the queen’s household was leaving to meet her at the border. We went straight to the palace to say goodbye to the Duchess of Terranova and the other ladies. The king made them all ride horses to see how they’d look on the day she arrived. The doors and the gardens were closed and guarded so that no men would enter. The young court ladies looked fine but— good God! —you should have seen the Duchess of Terranova and Doña Maria 13. Philip IV is reputed to have fathered thirty-four children, thirteen of them by his two wives, four of which survived infancy. GV 14. The Cristo Yacente, a statue of the recumbent Christ by Gregorio Fernández (ca. 1614), is a masterpiece of Spanish sculpture.

264 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY of Alarcón, the governess of the queen’s maids! Each was on a mule, all frizzed and shod with silver, with a large black velvet cover like the ones doctors put on their horses in Paris. Dressed like widows, very old, very ugly, severe and imperious, these ladies wore a big hat tied with strings under their chin. Twenty-four gentlemen on foot surrounded and held them up lest they fall. They would never suffer being touched unless they feared breaking their necks. For you know, dear cousin, that though ladies have squires who accompany them everywhere, they never give them their hand. The squires walk by their sides and present their elbows wrapped in their cloaks, which makes their arms look monstrously huge. The ladies don’t come near them. Stranger still, if the queen should fall while walking and her ladies are not around to assist her, though the squires are there, she would struggle to get up by herself or stay on the ground all day before anyone would dare help her. We spent part of the afternoon watching these ladies. Their equipage is magnificent but poorly designed. The Duchess of Terranova alone had six embroidered velvet litters in different colors and forty mules with the richest coverings I’ve ever seen. My dear cousin, you won’t have more news from me until the queen arrives. While the king goes to meet her and the court is away, my relative wants to go to Andalusia where she has some business. I could send you a little account of our trip if you assure me that it would please you.15 I kiss you with all my heart.

15. D’Aulnoy would not write about her trip to Andalusia. The fifteenth and last letter of Travels is dated September 28, 1680, more than a year later. For an account of the French queen’s arrival and first year in Spain, d’Aulnoy refers the reader to her Mémoires de la cour d’Espagne.

FIFTEENTH LETTER

September 28, 1680, from Madrid

The Royal Couple’s First Meeting The whole court has returned, and in my memoirs, my dear cousin, you’ll find the details of the queen’s journey. I saw her arrive with the king in the same carriage, whose curtains were all open. She was dressed Spanish-style, and I found her no less fine than in her French attire. But the king was dressed à la Schomberg,1 which is the Spanish country style, and it’s almost like the French. I heard about the queen’s surprise when she had the honor of seeing him for the first time. He wore a very wide and short jerkin of thick gray wool, velvet breeches, and stockings of pelo (raw silk so loosely woven that you can see the socks through them) as fine as hair. The king tends to pull them on so quickly, though they’re very tight, that sometimes he tears up to twenty pairs. He wore a beautiful cravat that the queen had sent him, but the tie was a little too loose. His hair was tucked behind his ears, and he wore a grayish white hat. During the rather long journey, they sat face-to-face, not able to communicate except by a few gestures; for the king knows no French and the queen speaks little Spanish. Upon arriving in Madrid, they went to hear the Te Deum at Our Lady of Atocha, followed by all persons of quality and by all the common people, all shouting with joy. Then, Their Majesties went to Buen Retiro because the palace apartments were not yet ready, and the queen had to wait until her formal entry before residing in them. She must have found the time very long, for she saw nobody but the camerara mayor and her ladies. Her life is so restricted that she needs all her determination and sweetness just to bear it. She doesn’t even have the liberty to see the French ambassador; in short, it’s constant torment. Nevertheless, all the Spanish ladies love her and pity her in private.

Superstitions and Spit Some time ago, I was in a large gathering at the Countess of Villambrosa’s house when the Marquise de la Fuente arrived. Since they’re so superstitious in this country, she told us, all frightened, that she had been with the queen, who looking at herself in a large mirror had touched it lightly. Suddenly the glass cracked from top to bottom. The queen observed this calmly and even laughed at the ladies’ consternation, saying that it was weak-minded to get upset over things that could have natural causes. They discussed this for a long time and concluded, sighing, that their queen would not live long.2 1. See first letter, note 17. 2. Marie-Louise d’Orléans died without issue in 1689.

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266 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY She also told us that the queen had been much more upset by the camera mayor’s incivility. Seeing that a few curls were out of place on the queen’s forehead, the camera mayor spat into her hands and was about to smooth them. But the queen stopped her arm and pronounced majestically that the finest perfume was not good enough for this purpose; she took her handkerchief and scrubbed her hair where the old woman had wet it with her spit. It’s not unusual here to wet your hair in order to polish and smooth it. The first time my hair was done Spanishstyle, one of my relative’s women undertook construction of the masterpiece. She spent three hours tugging at my hair but, seeing that it was still naturally curly, without a word of warning she soaked two big sponges in a basin and baptized me so well that I had a cold for over a month. Getting back to the queen, it’s really pitiful to see how this old camarera treats her. I know that she can’t stand her having a single curl, or coming near the windows, or speaking to anyone. Yet the king loves the queen with all his heart; he usually eats with her, without ceremony, so that very often when the maids of honor set the table, the king and queen help them, just for fun. One brings the tablecloth, the other the napkins. The queen has her meals prepared Frenchstyle, the king, Spanish-style; he has a female cook prepare all his food. The queen tries to acquaint him with her dishes, but he refuses them. Don’t think that Their Majesties are surrounded by the court when they dine. In all, there are just some palace ladies, a few menins, and many male and female dwarfs. The queen made her entry on January 30.3 After all the avenues of the great road that leads to the Buen Retiro were closed and coaches were forbidden to enter, they built a triumphal arch with a mounted portrait of the queen. Description of the entry and procession to the royal palace: six triumphal doors with mythological and allegorical figures, the first representing the kingdoms of the Spanish empire, the second, institutions, including the Inquisition, the third, nature, and so on. Processions of magistrates, knights of the military orders, royal officials; the queen, the governesses, the ladies-in-waiting. (Seguin 362–65)4

Palace Etiquettes Speaking of palace matters, my dear cousin, I heard that there are certain rules established by the king and followed for more than a century, without the slightest deviation. They’re called the Palace Etiquettes. They specify that the queen of 3. The queen entered Madrid on December 13, 1679, not on January 30, 1680. 4. There are several accounts of this famous entry. Most detailed, Nouvelle relation de la magnifique et royale entrée qui a été faite par Marie-Louise de Bourbon, reine des Espagnes. Paris. A Chouqueux, 1680, 2–12, Gazette (F-D 553–59). GV

Fifteenth Letter 267 Spain shall go to bed at ten o’clock in summer and nine in winter. When the queen first arrived, she wasn’t aware of the assigned time and assumed that she should go to bed when she was sleepy. But soon it happened that while she was still dining, her women, without saying anything, would start to undo her hair, remove her shoes under the table, and then put her to bed with a speed that astonished her. The kings of Spain sleep in one apartment and the queens in another, but this one loves the queen too much to separate. Here’s what Etiquette dictates when the king goes to the queen’s chamber at night: he wears his shoes like slippers (for they don’t make mules here), his black cape covers his shoulders instead of a robe, which nobody wears in Madrid; a little shield hangs from one arm and a bottle from the other. (This bottle is not for drinking; it serves an opposite purpose altogether, which you will guess.) With all this, the king carries his long sword in one hand and his dark lantern in the other. He has to proceed all alone in this way to the queen’s chamber. Another matter of etiquette stipulates that after the king has had a mistress and leaves her, she must become a nun. I was told that the late king, in love with a palace lady, knocked one night on her bedroom door. Understanding who it was, she refused to open, just saying behind the door, “Vaya, vaya con Dios, no quiero ser monja.” That is, “Go, go, God be with you. I don’t want to be a nun.” There is also a rule that every time the king receives a favor from his mistress, he will give her four pistoles. You can see that this will not ruin his state, and what he spends for his pleasure is quite moderate. Since we’re on this topic, everyone knows the story that Philip IV, the king’s father, having heard about the beauty of a famous courtesan, sought her out at her place, and, as a religious observer of etiquette, he gave her just four pistoles. Furious at a reward so poorly proportioned to her merits but hiding her chagrin, she went to see the king, dressed as a caballero. After revealing herself and having a private audience with him, she pulled out a purse of four hundred pistoles and put it on the table. “Here,” she said, “is how I pay my mistresses.” She was claiming that this time the king was her mistress because she, in male garb, took the step to find him. From the dictates of etiquette, everyone knows exactly when the king must go to his vacation houses, such as L’Escorial, Aranjuez, and Buen Retiro. Thus, without awaiting his orders, his equipages are sent, and at dawn they wake him and dress him in the outfit prescribed by etiquette according to the season. Then His Majesty gets into his great coach and goes to whatever destination was prescribed several centuries ago. When the designated time to return arrives, even though the king enjoys his stay, he doesn’t hesitate to depart, out of respect for custom. They know when he must go to confession and perform his devotions. The confessor simply appears. When they enter the king’s chamber, courtiers and even ambassadors must wear little cuffs of Quintin linen that are attached quite flat on their sleeves.5 5. The town of Quintin, in Brittany, was known for making fine linen. GV

268 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY They rent them from shops in the Guards’ Room and return them upon leaving. Likewise, all the ladies must wear pattens in the queen’s presence. I remember telling you that these are sandals into which you slip your shoe, raising you up very high. If ladies appear before the queen without pattens, she would find it very offensive. The queens of Spain are surrounded only by widows and girls. The palace is so full of them, but you see them only through the blinds and on balconies. What I find quite odd is that a man—even a married man—is allowed to declare himself the lover of a palace lady and to act as a lovestruck fool and to spend as much money as he can on her without anyone finding fault. You see these gallants in the courtyard and the ladies at their windows, communicating all day long with their fingers alone. Let me assure you that their hands speak a very intelligible language. Obviously, if the signs were always the same, they would always have the same meaning. So, the lovers and their mistresses agree on certain private signs that others don’t understand. These love affairs are quite public. Indeed, they need to be very gallant and witty to undertake them and for a lady to consent, for they are very delicate. They don’t speak like other people. A certain ethos reigns in the palace, very different from that of the city, and so singular that you have to study it like a craft to master it. When the queen goes out, all the ladies—or most of them—go with her. Then the lovers, always on the alert, walk beside their lady’s carriage door to converse with her. It’s funny to see how dirty they get, for the streets are filthy, but the dirtiest is often judged the most gallant. When the queen returns late, they have forty or fifty white wax torches carried before their lady’s carriage, which can make for a beautiful light show since there are several carriages with several ladies in each. So, you often see more than a thousand torches, not counting the queen’s. When palace ladies are bled, the surgeon is careful to keep any cloth or handkerchief with a drop of the beauty’s blood.6 He never fails to offer it to the caballero, who, on this great occasion, literally ruins himself. Some are crazy enough to give the surgeon most of their silver tableware. Don’t think it’s just a spoon, a fork, or a knife, since we know some people have nothing more. Oh no, the costs can go as high as ten or twelve thousand pounds! It’s such an established custom here that a man would rather eat only radishes and chives all year than fail to perform what is expected on such occasions. Hardly any lady leaves the palace without being very advantageously married. There are also the queen’s meninas, or girls-in-waiting, who are so young when they come to her that some are only six or seven years old. They are children of the highest quality, and I’ve seen some more beautiful than the God of Love was ever painted.

6. Bloodletting was a common medical practice. GV

Fifteenth Letter 269 On certain ceremonial days, when the palace ladies go out or the queen grants an audience, each lady may place two caballeros by her side who don their hats before Their Majesties, though they are not grandees. They are called embevecido,7 or “drunk with love,” so taken with their passion and the pleasure of being with their mistress that they can think of nothing else. They are allowed to cover their heads just like madmen who flout the rules of decorum. But to appear this way, they must have their ladies’ permission; otherwise they wouldn’t dare.

Meager Entertainment and Delightful Dwarfs There is no entertainment at court other than plays, but during Carnival they drain eggs through a little hole, fill the shells with scented water, plug them with wax and, when the king comes to the theater, he throws them at everybody. Imitating His Majesty, people throw some as well. The perfumed rain fills the air with its fragrance and doesn’t fail to get everyone wet; this is one of their greatest pastimes. At that time of year, hardly anybody goes out without a hundred or so eggs filled with rose or ambergris water. Then, riding in their coaches, they throw them at each other’s faces. Common people also find their amusements. For example, they break a bottle in its wicker basket and attach the basket with the broken glass inside to the tail of a dog or a cat. Sometimes over two thousand people run after the animal down the streets. I’ve never seen anything prettier than the king’s dwarf named Louisillo. He was born in Flanders and is incredibly tiny, yet perfectly proportioned. He has a handsome face, an admirable head, more wit than you can imagine, but he is also wise and full of knowledge. When he goes out for a ride, a groom on horseback carries before him a dwarf horse, as perfect in its type as his master is in his. This little horse is carried to the place where Louisillo is to mount, for it would be exhausted if it had to walk that far. It’s such a pleasure to see the dexterity of this little animal and its master when he makes it perform the manège. I swear that when he is mounted, they are no higher than three feet. The other day he was saying very seriously that he wanted to fight a bull at the next bullfight for the love of his mistress, Doña Elvira. She’s seven or eight years old and wonderfully beautiful. In fact, the queen commanded him to be her gallant. This child was very fortunate to fall into the hands of the queen. Here’s how it happened. The Fathers of Mercy had set out to redeem some slaves whom they brought to Madrid. As they made the customary procession through the city, the queen saw a captive woman who held two little girls by the hand. They seemed to be sisters, but one was very beautiful and the other very ugly. The queen summoned

7. The modern spelling is embebecido, “lost in thought, fascinated.” Seguin (398) corrects embevecido to embebido, “absorbed, soaked up,” similar in meaning but more concrete. GV

270 MARIE-CATHERINE LE JUMEL DE BARNEVILLE, BARONNE D’AULNOY her and asked whether she was their mother. She answered that she was only the ugly one’s mother. “And how is it that you have the other one?” the queen asked. “Madame,” she replied, “we were on a ship with a great lady who was very pregnant. We didn’t know her but, judging by her retinue and magnificent clothes, she was a lady of quality. Our ship was captured after a fierce fight in which most of her people were killed, and she was so frightened that she gave birth and died immediately. I was by her side and, seeing this poor little creature without a wet nurse and ready to die, I resolved to nurse her, if possible, along with my own child. As soon as the two invading corsairs had control of our ship, they divided the booty, each taking his share to his ship. The lady’s remaining attendants were shoved to one side and I to the other; thus, I could never learn whose baby I had saved. I now consider her to be my own daughter, and she believes I am her mother.” “Such a charitable deed shall not go unrewarded,” the queen said. “I will take care of you and keep the little unknown girl.” Indeed, the queen loves her so much that she’s always magnificently dressed. The girl follows her everywhere and talks to her with a grace and freedom that has no scent of misery. Maybe one day we’ll discover who she is.8

More Etiquettes and Odd Customs Unlike at Versailles, they have none of those pleasant parties where ladies have the honor of eating with Their Majesties. Everything is very secluded in this court, so, in my opinion, it’s only the habits of mind you develop toward life here that can protect you from being very bored. Ladies who don’t live in the palace now only pay court when the queen summons them, and she is not allowed to summon them often. Usually she lives only in the company of her women. No life could be more melancholy. When the queen goes hunting (please note that she’s the first queen of Spain to have ever had this liberty) and arrives at the place designated to mount the horse, she must stand on the coach door and hurl herself onto her horse. Recently she had a rather skittish one that would start away as she leapt on him, and she had a bad fall. When the king is there, he helps her, but no one else dares touch a queen of Spain to help her on horseback. They prefer for her to risk her life and limb.9 8. Attack by pirates, mysterious origins, probable noble birth as evidenced by beauty and bearing are motifs found in many seventeenth-century romances. Siblings, one ugly, one beautiful, are often a stock situation of fairy tales, such as d’Aulnoy’s “Serpentin vert” (Green Serpent), in New Tales, or Fairies in Fashion (1698). GV 9. Was d’Aulnoy’s comment near the end of Travels meant to seem prophetic? During her ten years of confinement at court, Marie-Louise became obese, but horseback riding remained her only pleasure.

Fifteenth Letter 271 There are fourteen mattresses on her bed, but they don’t use horsehair bed bases or feather beds here. Their mattresses, made of Spanish wool—the best in the world—are less than three inches thick, so her bed is no higher than ours in France. They make thin mattresses in order to turn and shake them easily. And I have observed that they are less prone to sagging or hardening. It’s the custom in Madrid for the master or mistress of the house to walk in front of their guests. They consider this to be very polite because, they say, they leave everything within reach of the last person leaving the room. As for ladies, they don’t bow when greeting each other; they just extend their ungloved hand. There is another custom I find quite odd. When a daughter who is of age has found someone she wishes to marry, even if her father and mother are opposed, all she has to do is tell her parish priest of her intention. Immediately he removes her from her parents’ home and places her in a convent or with some devout lady where she stays for a short time. Then, if she perseveres in her resolution, the parents are obliged to give her a dowry proportionate to their standing and wealth, and she is married in spite of them. That’s partly the reason why such care is taken to prevent anyone from talking to girls and to keep them so secluded that it’s difficult for them to conduct an intrigue. Otherwise, provided the caballero is a nobleman, that’s sufficient, and he may marry his beloved even if she’s the daughter of a Spanish grandee. As long as I’ve been in this country, I don’t think I’ve neglected to inform you of anything worthy of your attention. So now I’ll finish writing my memoirs of the court of Spain, since you’ve liked the first ones I sent you. I’ll continue to send them as events worthy of your curiosity occur. I also promise to write the account that you’ve asked for.10 But in exchange for such trifles, my dear cousin, please grant me something much more important—something that I value greatly—your continued friendship.

She was taken ill after riding and died the next day, on February 12, 1689. GV 10. The Spanish memoirs appeared in late1690, shortly before Travels. The other account has not been identified. Did d’Aulnoy mean to write a continuation of the memoirs? In 1692, she published Nouvelles Espagnoles, which resemble the stories told in Travels. GV

Bibliography Works by Marie-Catherine Le Jumel de Barneville, Baronne d’Aulnoy Le Comte de Warwick, par Madame d’Aulnoy. 2 vols. Paris: Compagnie des libraires associés, 1703. Les Contes des Fées, Par Madame D***. 4 vols. Paris: Claude Barbin, 1697–1698. Contes nouveaux, ou les Fées à la Mode. 4 vols. Paris: Veuve de T. Girard, 1698. Histoire de Jean de Bourbon, Prince de Carency. Paris: Claude Barbin, 1692. Histoire d’Hypolite, Comte de Duglas. Paris: L. Sylvestre, 1690. Edited and introduction in English and French by Shirley Jones Day. London: Institute of Romance Studies, University of London, 1994. Mémoires de la cour d’Angleterre, par Madame D***. 2 vols. Paris: Claude Barbin, 1695. Mémoires de la cour d’Espagne. Paris: Claude Barbin, 1690. In La Cour et la ville de Madrid vers la fin du XVIIe siècle, vol. 2, edited by Mme B. Carey. Paris: Plon, 1876. Nouvelles Espagnoles, par Madame D***. 2 vols. Paris: Claude Barbin, 1692. Nouvelles et Mémoires historiques contenant ce qui s’est passé de plus remarquable dans l’Europe . . . 1672–1679, Par Madame D***. Paris: Claude Barbin, 1693. Relation du Voyage d’Espagne. 3 vols. Paris: Claude Barbin, 1691. Edition of reference: Compiled and introduced by Maria Susana Seguin. Paris: Desjonquères, 2005. Also in La Cour et la ville de Madrid vers la fin du XVIIe siècle, vol. 1, edited by Mme B. Carey. Paris: Plon, 1874. Sentiments d’une âme pénitente, sur le pseaume 50, Miserere me Deus (1691), Le Retour d’une âme à Dieu, sur le pseaume 102, Benedic anima mea. Accompagnés de réflexions chrétiennes (1692?). Par Madame D***. Paris: Veuve de T. Girard, 1698.

Selected English Translations of d’Aulnoy’s Works The Diverting Works of the Countess D’Anois, Author of Ladies [sic] Travels to Spain. Tales of the Fairies. London: Printed for John Nicholson . . . John Sprint . . . Andrew Bell and for Samuel Burows, 1707. The History of the Earl of Warwick. [. . .] By the Author of the Memoirs of the English Court. London: J. Woodward & J. Morphew, 1708. Hypolitus, Earl of Douglas. Containing some Memoirs [. . .] London: J. Woodward, 1708. The Ingenious and Diverting Letters of the Lady—Travels into Spain. London: Samuel Crouch, 1692. 273

274 Bibliography The Lady’s Travels into Spain. London: Samuel Crouch, 1691. Madame d’Aulnoy, Travels into Spain. Edited by Sir E. Denison Ross and Eileen Power. Introduction by Raymond Fouché-Delbosc. The Broadway Travellers. London: Routledge, 1930. Memoirs of the Court of England. In Two Parts, by the Countess of Dunois: Now Made English. Translated by J. C. London: Bragg, 1707. Edition of reference: Translated by Mrs. William Henry Arthur with annotations by George David Gilbert. London: John Lane, 1913. Memoirs of the Court of Spain. In Two Parts. Written by an Ingenious French Lady. Done into English. Translated by T. Brown. London: T. Horn, F. Saunders, and T. Bennet, 1692.

Spanish Translation of Travels Relación del viage de España. Translated by Pilar Blanco and Miguel Ángel Vega. Como nos vieron 5. Madrid: Cátedra, 2000.

Other Primary Sources Bellefonds-Villars, Marie Gigault de, marquise de. Letters from Spain: A Seventeenth-Century French Noblewoman at the Spanish Royal Court. Edited and translated by Nathalie Hester. The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe: The Toronto Series 80. New York and Toronto: Iter Press, 2021. Bertaut, François. Relation d’un voyage d’Espagne. Paris: Claude Barbin, 1669. Brunel, Antoine de. Voyage d’Espagne . . . fait en l’année 1655, anonymous. Paris: Charles de Sercy, 1665. Du Noyer, Anne-Marguerite Petit. Mémoires de Madame Du Noyer. Edited by Henriette Goldwyn. Paris: Mercure de France, 2005. Enchanted Eloquence: Fairy Tales by Seventeenth-Century French Women Writers. Edited and translated by Domna C. Stanton and Lewis C. Seifert. The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe: The Toronto Series 9. Toronto: Iter, Inc. and Centre for Reformation and Renaissance Studies, 2010. Lafayette, Marie-Madeleine. Zayde, a Spanish Romance. Edited and translated by Nicholas D. Paige. The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006. Mancini, Marie, and Hortense Mancini. Memoirs. Edited and translated by Sarah Nelson. The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008. Martin, A. “Lettres de la Marquise de Gudannes, 1693–1696,” Revue Hispanique 47 (1919): 383–541. Mercure galant. (March 1690): 69–178; (April 1690): 139–211, 332–33; (March 1692): 131–43.

Bibliography 275 Murat, Henriette-Julie de Castelnau, Comtesse de. La défense des dames, ou les mémoires de Madame la comtesse de M***. Paris: Claude Barbin, 1697. The Spanish Travelers Project at Marquette University. Created by Eugenia Afinoguénova and carried out jointly with the American Geographical Society Library at University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee Libraries and MARVL (Marquette University Visualization Lab). . Villars, Pierre de. (Pseudo-Villars) Mémoires de la cour d’Espagne de 1679 à 1681. Edited by Alfred Morel-Fatio. Paris: Plon, 1893. Long version. ———. (Pseudo-Villars) Mémoires de la Cour d’Espagne sous le règne de Charles II, 1678–1682. Par le Marquis de Villars. Edited by William Sirling. London: Trübner & Co., 1861. Short version. Villedieu, Madame de. Memoirs of the Life of Henriette-Sylvie de Molière, a Novel. Edited and translated by Donna Kuizenga. The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004. Le Voyage en Espagne: Anthologie des voyageurs français et francophones du XVIe au XIXe siècle. Edited by Bartolomé Bennassar and Lucille Bennassar. Paris: Laffont “Bouquins,” 1998.

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Index Page numbers in italics indicate illustrations. Alfonso III the Great (king of León), 81n3 Alfonso V (king of Aragon), 79 Alfonso VI (king of León and Castile), 171n1 Alfonso VIII (king of Castile), 82n6, 87n18 Alfonso XI (king of León), 78n36 alguazils, 145, 200, 201, 202, 203, 227 Alluya, Marquise of (formerly Mademoiselle of Fouilloux), 191 Almonazid, Don Carlos Omodeï, Marquis of (Carlos Homoide), 89 Almudena, Nuestra Senora de, Madrid, 172 Alphonso (kings of Spain). See specific entries at Alfonso Altamira, Luis de Moscoso Osorio Messía de Guzmán Mendoza y Rojas, Count of, 157 amancebadas, 238–39 Americas. See Indies; Mexico Andalusia, 264 St. Andrew, 127 Anne (queen of Philip II of Spain), 79 Anne of Austria (queen of Louis XIII of France), 14n44, 72n25, 107 Don Antonio (banker), 42, 43, 44–45 Don Antonio of Toledo (Antonio Sebastián de Toledo, 2nd Marquis of Mancera), 157–58, 183 Aragon, 90–91, 116 Aragon, Don Frederic Pedro de, 147n1 Aranda de Duero, 118–23 Aranjuez, 113n26, 193, 240, 242–44, 267

Abderhaman (Moorish ruler), 129 actresses, in Spanish theater, 196 Adam, Antoine, 3 Adams, Percy, 19 Adour, boatmen of, 37 “adventuresses,” 3, 5n20 Affaire des poisons, 7n25 African child-slave (Zayde) purchased by Aulnoy, 234–35 agnus jewelry, 161 aguador (water carrier), 215 Alarcón, Doña Maria de, 263–64 Alarcón y Mendoza, Juan Ruiz de, 148n1 Alava, 52 Alba, Duke of, 45, 106n7, 111, 183 Albuquerque, Duke and Duchess of, 114, 183 Alcañizas/Alcañices, Doña Juana of Velasco, Marquise of, 165 Alcañizes, Marquise of, 238 Alcántara (town), 150 Alcántara, order of (Knights of St. Julian), 52, 126 Alcántara bridge, Toledo, 248 alcayde, 243 Alcázar fortress, Madrid, 188n3 Alcázar fortress, Toledo, 249, 250, 254 Alcine (El Imperio de Alcina; zarzuela, attrib. Juan Bautista Diamante), 193, 196 Alcovendras, 147 Alexander III (pope), 52n3 Alexander VI (pope), 52n3 Prince Alexander of Parma, 224 281

282 Index Arco de Santa Maria, Burgos, 81, 82 Arcos/Aveïro, Rodrigo Ponce de León, Duke of, 217–18 Arganzón, Puebla de (Gargançon), 65, 66 Arigny (Ariñez), 65 Ariosto, Ludovico, 193n14 assassinations, 11, 75, 91, 112n23, 113–14, 142, 145, 215–17, 223, 237 Astorgas, Marquis of (Ramiro de Guzmán, Marquis of Toral and of Astoria), 195, 224 Atocha, Church of Our Lady of, Madrid, 112, 171, 223 Aulnoy, François de la Motte, Baron de (husband), 5, 6, 11 Aulnoy, Marie-Catherine Le Jumel de Barneville, baronne de, 1–29; as “adventuress,” 3; birth and early life, 4–5; daughters born to, 6, 7, 11, 17; fairy tales of, 1, 2, 4, 8, 10–11, 26–27, 128n16, 248, 270n8; final years and death of, 11; imprisonment/convent confinement of, 6–8; literary career, reputation, and legacy, 1–4, 7–11; map of Spanish travels of, 21; marriage, 5–6, 11; modern perspective on, 18–27; nature, proto-Romantic appreciation of, 51, 65, 147, 242–43; open-mindedness of, 135n4; as painter, 192; questions about reality of travels of, 3, 4, 14–18; salon of, 8–9, 11; spaniel petted by king, 191–92; Spanish language, knowledge/appreciation of, 45, 206; title of, 1n1; travels of, 6–7; as “wouldbe husband-killer,” 3–4, 6–7 Aulnoy, Marie-Catherine Le Jumel de Barneville, baronne de, works: Le Comte de Warwick, par Madame d’Aulnoy, 11; Contes des fées, 11,

44n21; Contes nouveaux ou les Fées à la mode, 11; Histoire de Jean de Bourbon, Prince de Carency, 9–10; Histoire d’Hypolite, comte de Duglas, 4, 7–8, 9, 10; Histoire nouvelle de la cour d’Espagne, 10; Mémoires de la cour d’Angleterre, 1, 7, 10; Mémoires de la cour d’Espagne, 1, 8, 10, 14–17, 20, 23, 25, 26, 35, 147n1, 246n8, 259n7, 259n9, 264n15, 271; Nouvelles Espagnoles, 10, 11, 271n10; Nouvelles et Mémoires historiques . . . , 7n26; The Return of a Soul to God, 9; Sentiments of a Penitent Soul, 9; The Story of Adolphus . . . , 8n31. See also Travels into Spain Aulnoy, mother of. See Gudane, Judith-Angélique Le Coutelier de Saint-Pater, later la Marquise de Aulnoy daughter in Travels. See daughter accompanying Aulnoy in Travels authority of king in Spain, 228 autos sacramentales, 210–11 autos-da-fé, 23, 244–48, 245 Aveïro/Arcos, Rodrigo Ponce de León, Duke of, 217–18 bakers’ feast day, mock procession of pope and cardinals at, 211 Baltasar Carlos (infante of Spain), 14, 71, 72n25 Balut (Balouta), 68 bandoleros, 91 banking, 23, 41–42, 50 barato, 231–32 Barbin, Claude, 8, 9, 11, 27 Barcelona, 68, 256 Barneville, Nicolas-Claude Le Jumel, seigneur de (father), 4–5

Index 283 barros (mud), 168 Basque language, 41n16 Basque (Biscay) peoples, 27, 41, 43–44, 50n24, 213 bathing in Manzanares river bed, 213 Bayonne, 37–40, 250 Beasley, Faith E., 1n4, 2n10 Bedmar, Alfonso, Marqués de, 166–67n34 beggars and begging, 234 Behobia mountains, 40 Belem, 150 bells, ringing by themselves, 78, 79, 256, 258 belones (oil lamps), 168, 251 Benavides y Bazan, Don Antonio (Patriarch of the Indies), 207 Bennassar, Bartolomé and Lucile, 28 Beringhen, Henri de (great-uncle), 5n20 Beringhen, Jacques-Louis (cousin), 5n20 Beringhen, Pierre de (great-grandfather), 5n20 Beringhen family, 4–5 Berka, Count of, 190–91 Bertaut, François, 17, 20, 114n27, 117n29, 127n14, 226n5, 242n4, 248n12, 248n14 besugos, 77 Bidasoa River (between France and Spain), 40, 41 Biscay/Biscayans (Basque country/ Basque peoples), 41, 50n24, 213 Biscay oarswomen, 27, 43–44 Black Legend, 4, 26, 125n10 Black Madonnas: at Monserrat, 68; at Our Lady of Atocha, Madrid, 171 Blanc, Olivier, 5n20 blancmange, 250 blind street singers in Madrid, 180–81

blonde hair, rarity of, in Spain, 106, 242 bloodletting, 219, 268 books and literature in Spain, 232 borracho (drunkard), 223 Bourdelot (French doctor), 108n15 bread, scarcity of, 118–19 broquel (shield), 120 Brunel, Antoine de, 17, 20, 90n25, 91n28, 110n17, 112n24, 114n27, 117n29 bucaros (clay/clay vases), 150n8, 162, 168 Buckingham, George Villiers, second Duke of, 7n27 Buen Retiro palace, Madrid, 72, 73, 187n1, 188–89, 193, 207, 265, 266, 267 Buitrago (town and castle), 123–25, 128 bullfights and bullfighting, 23, 25, 83, 116, 121, 197–206, 258, 269 Burgos (town), 80, 81–83, 86, 128 Burgos, Enrique de Peralta y Cardenas, Archbishop of, 24, 127–31, 235, 242 Burgos Cathedral, 81 Burton, Richard, 210n2 butchers, meat, and poultry, 175, 236, 250 butter, in Spain, 174 Cádiz, 227 Calatrava, Order of, 126, 127 Calderón de la Barca, Don Pedro, 148 Calderona, Maria, 69n18, 70–72 Calle Major, Madrid, 187 candied fruit, 38, 108, 250, 253 canopies, 116, 172–73, 182 capital punishment, 227–28 Capuchins, 263 Cardona, Don Pedro, 83

284 Index Carey, Mme B., 16 Carillo, Doña Beatrix de, 180 Don Carlos (infante of Spain; son of Philip II), 124, 125 Carlos I (king of Spain), 171n1 Carlos II (king of Spain): announcement of impending marriage to Marie-Louise, 223–24; appearance and character of, 193–95; arrival of Marie-Louise in Spain and, 26, 40n12, 265; authority of, 228; auto-da-fé offered to MarieLouise as wedding gift, 23, 246, 247n9; autos-da-fé, presence at, 246, 247; as “bewitched,” disabled, and disfigured, 14, 23, 25; birth and childhood of, 73–74; at bullfights, 197, 199, 202, 204, 205; at consecration of Patriarch of the Indies, 207; at Corpus Christi festivities, 209–10; death of Juan José of Austria and, 258; dress of, 207, 209–10, 265, 267; England, France, and Spain, dynastic relations between, 2n8; at l’Escorial, 262–63; heir, failure to produce, 15; jokes and tricks, fondness for, 194–95, 225, 269; Juan José of Austria and, 70n18, 73, 74, 89–90; love for Marie-Louise, 74, 259–60, 266, 267; marriages of, 14–15; military, judicial, and religious commissions awarded by, 129–30; Miranda portrait of, 13; mother, relationship with, 73, 74, 88–89, 193, 259; negotiation of marriage to Marie-Louise, 69, 128; Nijmegen, signing of Treaties of, 255n1; officials and government ministers under, 225; patents and titles of, 260–61; proxy wedding to Marie Louise, 258; spaniel of

Aulnoy’s petted by, 191–92; visit to queen’s bedchamber by, 267 Carlos III (king of Spain), 187n1 Carlos V (Holy Roman Emperor and king of Spain). See Charles V Carmelites, 159, 161, 180 Carnival, 175, 269 Carthusians, 82n7 Casa del Campo, Madrid, 189 Cassel, Battle of (1677), 33 Castelnau, Baron of, 37, 38 Castil de Peones, 76 Castile, 78–80, 81, 116, 123, 228 Castile, Constable of, 165, 182, 185, 217, 255 Castilian language, 41, 83 Castrillo, Count of, 213–15 Catalonia, 67–69 Cateau Cambrésis, Peace of (1559), 124n7 Catholicism. See religion Cava, daughter of Count Julian, 90 Cerda, Doña Antonia de la, 179n16 Cervantes, Miguel, 14, 55n11, 144n12, 206, 255 Chais, Madame (wife of Dutch envoy), 255 chapines, 106 Charles (kings of Spain). See specific entries at Carlos Charles I (king of England), 2n8 Charles II (king of England), 2n8 Charles V (Holy Roman Emperor and king of Spain), 40n13, 70n18, 70n20, 79, 81n2, 125n11, 156, 181n21, 188n3, 193, 228, 243n6, 249n16, 254, 261 Charles X (king of Sweden), 108–9 Charles of Schomberg, viceroy of Catalonia, 41n17 Charny, Count of, 158

Index 285 Chartres, Philippe II, duc de (later Philippe II, Duke d’Orléans), 10, 19, 33 Château de Madrid, Bois de Boulogne, Paris, 188 chocolate, 165, 167–68, 182, 229, 236, 253 Christ, Order of (in auto), 211 Christ of Burgos (crucifix), 82 Christina (queen of Sweden), 107–10 churches in Madrid, 171–73 Cistercians, 87n18 Doña Clara, honor killing of, 213–15 classes, separation between, 164 cloth. See textiles clothing. See fashion and dress coaches and carriages: in Madrid, 151–52, 154, 155–57, 187, 189, 190, 191, 199, 211, 212–13, 223, 236, 238, 241, 265, 268; travel by, 26, 45, 114, 116, 127, 137, 139, 140–41, 242 Coello, Claudio, 25 Colonna, Lorenzo Onofrio, 194n16 Colonna, Marie Mancini, Princess of, 3, 191n12, 194 Columbus, Christopher, 22 commodes, emptied into street at night, 237 Le Comte de Warwick, par Madame d’Aulnoy (Aulnoy), 11 concubinage. See prostitution and concubinage Condé, Louis de Bourbon, Prince of, 107, 110 Conference Island/Pheasant Island, Bidasoa River (between France and Spain), 40 Conismark, Swedish Count of, 197, 203–4 Constance (attendant of d’Aulnoy), 135–36

Contes des fées (Aulnoy), 11, 44n21 Contes nouveaux ou les Fées à la mode (Aulnoy), 11 Conti, Louis Armand de Bourbon, Prince of, 8n32 Conti, Marie-Anne de Bourbon, Princess of, 8n32, 9–10 Contratación, 218, 227 convents. See nuns, convents, and convent life conversation and gambling, “academies” for, in Madrid, 231–32 cook employed by Aulnoy, 22–23, 27, 42, 43–44, 212 Córdoba, Mosque/Cathedral of, 129–30 cork plumpers/cork balls, 143 Cornaro, Frederic, 211 Corneille, Pierre, 148n1 cornmeal/maize, 77 Corpus Christi, 78–79, 209–11 corsair, capture and enslavement by, 24, 97–102 Cortés, Hernán, 89n21, 162n26 Council of State, 184, 193 Council of the Indies, 89, 225 councils in Spain, 184, 247 Courboyer, Jacques Antoine de Crux, Marquis of, 6 covering/uncovering the head, 50, 117, 224–25, 255–56, 269 credit and debt, 117, 183–84, 228 cristianos viejos (Old Christians) versus cristianos nuevos (New Christians), 126, 130, 213 cross-dressing, 109, 174, 195, 206 crowns (coins), 68, 83, 100, 102, 113, 126, 129, 130, 158, 160, 173, 185, 199, 217, 218, 225, 226, 230–31, 233, 241, 253, 256 Crusade, [Papal] Bull of the, 175n7

286 Index customs officials and border crossings, 39–41, 54, 64, 65, 123 dancing, 38, 44 dandy or guap[o], 120–21 Daucourt, Monsieur, 22, 24, 136–46 daughter accompanying Aulnoy in Travels, 7, 20, 22; crossing Pyrenees with, 51; dining seated on the floor, 151; flooding in Aranda de Duero and, 121; giving pet monkey to slave girl Zayde, 235; identity of, 39n10; Marie-Louise and, 26; Mira, interest in story of, 66; pet monkey given by Archbishop of Burgos to, 24, 128; queen mother, visit to, 249, 250, 253 d’Aulnoy. See specific entries at Aulnoy Dax, 37 Day, Robert, 22 death penalty, 227–28 debt and credit, 117, 183–84, 228 DeJean, Joan, 2 della Rocca, Princess, 239 Denmark, Madame Gueux, wife of ambassador of, 213, 231, 255 Des Loges, Marie Bruneau, Dame (aunt), 5n20 Descalzas Reales (Poor Clares), convent of, Madrid, 70, 72n26, 141, 180 Deshoulières, Mme, 9 Diaz de Vivar, Rodrigo (the Cid), 81n2 Dom Carlos (César Vichard de SaintRéal), 125n10, 167n34 Dominicans, 39, 78, 79, 166, 171n1, 246 Don Carlo (Verdi; opera), 125n10 Don Karlos, Infant von Spanien (Schiller; play), 125n10

Don Quixote (Cervantes), 206, 255 doubles (coins), 233 drunkenness, Spanish abhorrence of, 223 du Juncas (French gentleman from Bordeaux), 207 Du Noyer, Anne-Marguerite Petit, Mme, 9n35, 11 Du Noyer, Guillaume, 9n35 duels and dueling, 91, 121, 196, 200–201, 240 dueñas, 87, 155, 176, 200, 235, 239, 251 Duero River, 118 Duggan, Anne E., 8n30 dwarfs, as servants, 158, 163, 236, 251, 269 ears, of Spanish bankers’ relatives, 41 Eboli, Ana Mendoza de la Cerda, Princess of, 124 Eboli, Ruy Gomez de Silva, Prince of, 123 Ebro River, 69, 78, 91 Edict of Nantes, revocation of, 5n20, 9n35 education: of Aulnoy, 5; of Carlos II, 73, 194; dress of students, 257; salon culture as substitute for women’s lack of, 2n10; in Spain, 220–21, 261; Spanish women’s lack of, 26 eggs filled with scented water, throwing, 269 Ekman, Mary, 45n22 Eleanor of Aquitaine, 87n18 Eleanor of England (queen of Alphonso VIII of Castile), 87n18 Doña Eleonor of Toledo, 115–18 Elisabeth (Isabel) of Bourbon (queen of Philip IV of Spain), 14n44, 71–72, 111, 112–13, 188–89

Index 287 Elisabeth of Valois (queen of Philip II of Spain), 14n44, 124–25 Doña Elvira (attendant of MarieLouise), 269–70 erysipelas, 111 escaparates (cabinet of curiosities), 163 l’Escorial, 78n34, 105, 243, 259, 262–63, 267 estates, Spanish nobility reluctant to visit, 183, 241 Don Esteve of Carvajal, 23–24, 52, 79, 86, 126, 128, 242, 244 etiquette and manners, 25, 26, 37, 42, 45, 52, 56, 75, 92, 110–11, 136, 138–39, 141, 160, 165, 173, 191, 196, 221, 250, 262, 263, 266–71 evil eye, 24, 133–34 eyebrows, plucking and painting, 165 eyeglasses, fashion for, 165–67, 224 fairy tales, Aulnoy as author of, 1, 2, 4, 8, 10–11, 26–27, 128n16, 248, 270n8 familiar form of speech, use of, 100n31, 141n10, 163–64 farthingales, 25, 106, 150, 167, 189, 249 fashion and dress, 25; in Bayonne, 39; of Biscay oarswomen, 43; bloodletting, new outfits after, 219; of bullfighters, 201–2; of Carlos II, 207, 209–10, 265; of carriage lackeys, 156; of Christina of Sweden in exile, 109; in church, 173; at Corpus Christi festivities, 209–10; for country visits, 242; court dress, Aulnoy wearing, 25, 249–50; in Daucourt’s romance novella, 137, 143–44; of dwarfs kept as attendants, 158, 251; Doña Eleonor of Toledo, negligee dress of, 115–16;

fake gemstones, fondness of Spanish for, 233; of Doña Teresa de Figueroa, en negligee, 22, 149; flat chest, fashion for, 160; French fashion, Spanish curiosity about, 173, 193; of guap[o] or dandy, 120–21; of Holy Week flagellants, 176; incognito, women going out in, 190–91; of Infante of Portugal, 150; inns, Spanish, women in, 76, 77; of Countess of Lemos, 106–7, 111; in masquerades, 224; mourning customs, 86–87, 251, 252, 256–57; pearl La Peregrina worn by Carlos II, 210; of queen’s household, 264; religious items, 158–59, 161, 162; in royal portraits, 124–25, 188–89; Schomberg outfits, 41; of Spanish caballeros, 75–76; of Spanish ladies, 159–64; of students, 257; Villamediana, suit embroidered with reales coins worn by Count of, 113; in Vitoria, 55; wedding outfits of princess of Monteleone, 168–69; of well-born ladies’ attendants, 158; wetting hair with spit/water to polish and smooth it, 266; of widows, 86–87, 251, 252; of Zayde (African child-slave purchased by Aulnoy), 234–35. See also textiles; specific items of dress or make-up Felipe. See specific entries at Philip Ferdinand II (king of Aragon), 40, 52n3, 81n4, 83n10, 91, 116n28, 126 Ferdinand III (king of León), 52n2 Don Fernand of Toledo: on autos-dafé, 244–48; in Madrid, 149, 151, 205–6, 224, 235, 262; traveling through Spain with Aulnoy, 23, 44–45, 52, 53, 55, 64, 78–80, 85,

288 Index 86, 115, 116, 118–19, 121, 126, 128; on trip to Aranjuez and Toledo, 241, 242, 244–48, 249 fiction and history, early modern blurring of line between, 18 fiestas, 236 Figueroa, Doña Teresa de, 22, 147, 148–51, 211, 212 finances and money, 23, 41–42, 50, 183–85, 217, 218, 219, 224–29. See also specific coins fireworks, 210 fish, scarcity of, in Madrid, 174–75, 230–31 flagellation, self-inflicted, in Holy Week, 25, 176–78 flooding, in Aranda de Duero, 121–22 floor, women sitting on, 151, 163, 228, 236 Fontainebleau, 85, 255n1, 258n5 Fontarabia (town and fortress), 40–41, 43 food and foodways: at Aranjuez, 243–44; Aulnoy’s enjoyment of, 45, 66; in Bayonne, 38–39; at bullfights, 198; Carlos II, garlic consumed by, 23, 207; cook employed by Aulnoy, 22–23, 27, 42, 43–44, 212; court meals, lack of, 270; formal meals served by archbishop of Toledo, 250, 253; frugality of Spanish regarding, 154–55, 228–29; home meals in Spain, 236; Lent, eating during, 174–75; Mariana of Austria (queen mother), meal eaten by, 253; Marie-Louise, overeating of, 15n45, 270n9; medicinal earth, consumption of, 150, 168; oilles or olios (stews), 24, 130–31, 236, 244; padlocked pots, 24, 130–31,

154; pantries for distribution of, 155; of penitents in Holy Week, 178; picnics on the banks of the Manzanares, 191; provisioning, in Madrid, 183–84; public kitchens, in Spain, 155; in San Sebastián, 44, 50; servants’ food and food theft, 154; snacks and snacking, 38–39, 167–68, 198; sobriety of Spanish, 223, 228; Spanish cuisine, Aulnoy’s discomfort with, 22–23, 42, 168, 174–75, 250; Spanish fondness for French cuisine, 154–55, 212; at Spanish inns, 76–78; teeth, chocolate and sugar spoiling, 165, 253; women and children dining seated on the floor, 151, 228, 236. See also specific types of food foot fetish, in Spain, 22, 113, 149, 152, 159 forced marriage novella, 24, 45–49 forks, 76 Foulché-Delbosc, Raymond, 14, 16–17, 19, 23n71, 27, 28, 90n25, 144n12, 162n26 foundlings (hidalgos), 213 Fouquet, Nicolas, 6 fraise (ruff), 75 Francis I (king of France), 180–81, 188, 261 Franciscans, 70, 161 Franco, Francisco, 249n16 Franco-Dutch War (1672–1678), 14, 255n1 Don Frederic of Cardonne/Cardona, 24, 52, 53, 67–76, 78, 89, 119, 121, 127–28, 130, 151, 152, 211, 242, 261, 262 French, character of, 118, 148 French Revolution (1789), 2–3, 166n32

Index 289 Frias, Don Íñigo Melchor Fernández de Velasco, 7th Duke of, 182n23, 185 Frias, Dukes of, 81n4 Fronde, 107n12 Fuente, Marquise de la, 265–66 funerals in Madrid, 179–80 furnishings: in Castle of Buitrago, 123; of Duchesses of Monteleone, Terranova, and Hijar, 162–64; in Madrid, 181–83; mattresses, 271; mourning customs and, 87 Galareta, 52–53 Galicia, 83–85, 89, 206, 209, 256 Galician living saint in Madrid, 235 gallantry, Spanish, 157–58, 224, 239 galleys (land), traveling in, 206 Gamazo, Gabriel Maura, 18 gambling and conversation, “academies” for, in Madrid, 231–32 garbage disposal, 237 Garcia Ximenes, 90 garde-infants, 150, 159. See also farthingales gardens: of Aranjuez, 243; in Burgos suburbs, 82; at Escorial, 262, 263; lovers visiting mistresses via, 236; in Madrid, 182, 188, 189, 190; at Monserrat, 68; of Don Augustín Pacheco, 147; in romance novellas, 60n14, 61, 63, 93, 142 garlic. See spices, in Spanish cooking Garonne, boatmen of, 37 garrachons, 201, 203 Gascon cook employed by Aulnoy, 22–23, 27, 42, 43–44, 212 Gaston d’Orléans, 158n20 Gazette (periodical), 17, 67n8, 88n19, 118n31, 147n1, 190n11, 244n7, 246n8, 255

Gelmírez Palace, Santiago de Compostella, 84n14 gender. See cross-dressing; sexuality; women and gender generosity of Spanish, 261 ghosts. See spirits and hauntings gifts and gifting, 233 glass windows, 187–88 glasses, fashion for, 165–67, 224 La Gloria de Niquea (Villamediana; play), 113n26 Glorious Revolution (1688), 10 Golden Fleece, Order of the, 124, 127 Goldwyn, Henriette, 9n35 golille (collar), 75, 120, 224 Gonçales, Fernando, 81 Góngora, Luis de, 112n23, 148n1 Gontier, Fernande, 3n13 government ministers in Spain, 225 Granada, 116n28 grandees and grandeeships, 116–17, 182, 224–25 Granvela, Cardinal of, 124n7 Gréban, Arnoul, Mystery of the Passion, marginal note of Aulnoy in, 5 Guadalete, Battle of (711/712), 90n26 guap[o] or dandy, 120–21 guardadamas, 200 Guas, Juan, 78n34 Gudane, Judith-Angélique Le Coutelier de Saint-Pater, later la Marquise de (mother): life of Aulnoy and, 4–7; made Marquise of Castille, 116, 182, 197; as relative of Aulnoy in Travels, 20, 24–25, 49, 116, 136, 147, 152–53, 157–58, 162, 182, 192–93, 197, 212, 241–42, 249, 250, 255–56, 257, 262, 264 Gudane, Michel de Salles, Marquis of, 5

290 Index guests, walking in front of, 271 Guevara (town and castle), 53–54, 65, 248 guitar players, 242 Gusmán, Doña Blanca de, 230 Gustav II Adolf (king of Sweden), 108n13 Guzman, Don Ariel de, 89 Habsburgs, 14, 15, 74n29, 193 hachas (torches), 223 hair/hairstyles. See fashion and dress Haro y Guzman, Luis Mendez de, 113 Haro y Sotomayor Guzmán de la Paz, Doña Catalina de, 106n7 hauntings. See spirits and hauntings headache, 255–56 Hendaye River, 40, 43 Henri II (king of France), 14n44, 124 Henri IV (king of France), 2n8, 5n20, 6n22, 72n25 Henrietta Maria (queen of Charles I of England), 2n8 Henrietta of England (wife of Philippe d’Orléans), 2n8, 14, 33n2, 69n17 Don Henriquez, honor killing of Doña Clara by, 213–15 Henry II (king of England), 87n18 Henry IV (king of Castile), 40n12 heretics, 23 hermit novella, 24, 55–64 herradores, 198 Hester, Nathalie, 255n2 hidalgos (foundlings), 213 Hijar, Duchess of, 162, 163 Histoire de Jean de Bourbon, Prince de Carency (Aulnoy), 9–10 Histoire d’Hypolite, comte de Duglas (Aulnoy), 4, 7–8, 9, 10 Histoire nouvelle de la cour d’Espagne (Aulnoy), 10

Histoires ou contes du temps passé, avec des Moralitez/Contes de ma mère l’oie (Perrault), 11 historical works by Aulnoy, 1, 7–8 history and fiction, early modern blurring of line between, 18 History of Don Quixote (Cervantes), 206, 255 holy water, presented by gallants to ladies, 173 Holy Week, 25, 171, 176–79 [h]ombre (card game), 67, 78, 104, 126, 164 Homoide, Carlos (Don Carlos Omodeï, Marquis of Almonazid), 89 homosexuality, male, 6 honor assassinations, 215–17 honor killing and its revenge, 213–15 horses and horseback riding: bandoleros carrying abducted women on, 91; in bullfighting, 197, 201, 202; carriages pulled by horses, 116, 151–52, 156, 157, 212–13; by couriers, 121; dead horses left in street, 237; dwarf horse of Louisillo (king’s dwarf), 269; French ambassador arriving on horseback, 241; king, horses previously ridden by, 158; lack of care for, 183–84; Manzanares river bed, riding in, 212–13; Marie-Louise d’Orléans and, 15n45, 270; in masquerades, 224; “movement horses,” 199; portrait of Elisabeth of Valois on horseback, 124, 188; queen’s household on horseback, 263–64; statue of Philip II on horseback, 189; travel by, 45, 121, 123 Hospital del Rey, Burgos, 82, 87n18 Hostal Dos Reis Católicos, Santiago de Compostella, 83

Index 291 Hugo, Victor, 15 Huguenots in France, 4–5, 6, 9n35, 26 Igariça (house of Marquise of Palacios), 241–42 El Imperio de Alcina (Alcine; zarzuela, attrib. Juan Bautista Diamante), 193, 196 incognito, women going out in, 190–91 Indies, 150, 151, 162, 179, 183, 204, 207, 212, 215, 226–27, 228, 260 Innocent VIII (pope), 126 Innocent X (pope), 72 inns, 20, 23, 24, 43, 76–78, 85–86, 115, 118–19, 121–22, 133, 218 Inquisition, 23, 26, 91, 134–36, 212, 244–48 Irún, 41–42 Isabel (Elisabeth) of Bourbon (queen of Philip IV of Spain), 14n44, 71–72, 111, 112–13, 188–89 Isabella I (queen of Castile), 82n7, 83n10, 116n28, 126n13 Isabella of Portugal, 124n8, 127 Isabelle of Spain (daughter of Philip II), 157n19 isabelline horses/color, 157 Isidora, framework for aborted narrative of, 207n27 Islam. See Moors; Turks Ismaël (Jew imprisoned by Inquisition), 135 jácaras, 180 Jacobin friars (Dominicans), 166 James II (king of England), 8, 10 St. James the Great, 84, 172 Jarama/Xarama River, 241, 244, 254 jealousy: of bandoleros, 91; Marquise de Los Rios, romance novella of, 92–104; as Spanish trait, 229–30

Jeronomites (Daughters of the Conception), 207 jewelry. See fashion and dress Jews: auto-da-fé at marriage of Carlos II and Marie-Louise, 23, 246n8; of Bayonne, 38; cristianos viejos (Old Christians) versus cristianos nuevos (New Christians), 126, 130, 213; Inquisition and, 23, 135, 244 Doña Jimena (wife of the Cid), 81n2 Joanna the Mad, 125n11 Joanne of Austria, 70n20 John I (king of Portugal), 124n8 John II (king of Portugal), 217n11 Jouvin, A., 150n9, 248n14, 260n10 Juan José of Austria (illegitimate son of Philip IV), 69–73, 74, 89–90, 136, 180, 191, 192–93, 202, 243, 256, 258–59 Juan of Austria (illegitimate son of Charles V), 69–70n18 Judith-Henriette (daughter of Aulnoy), 6, 7, 39n10 Count Julian, 90 justaucorps, 109 knightly orders, 126–27. See also Alcántara; Calatrava; Golden Fleece; Malta; Santiago Königsmarck (Conismark), Philip Christoph or Karl Johann von, 197, 203–4 La Cuevas, Marquis de, 166 La Florida, Madrid, 190 La Fontaine, Jean de, 9n38 La Mancha, 206 la Rosa, Marquise of, 242, 249, 262 la Valière, Louise de, 8n32 Ladies of St. James (cannonesses), 88 The Lady’s Packet of Letters (Manley), 10n39

292 Index Lafayette, Marie-Madeleine, Mme de, 3, 7, 8n33, 234n10 language/languages: Aulnoy’s knowledge/appreciation of Spanish, 45, 206; of Aulnoy’s slave girl, 234–35; in Bayonne, 37; Biscay (Basque), 41; Castilian, 41, 83; familiar/ formal forms of speech, use of, 100n31, 141n10, 163–64, 195n18, 216n9; Don Fernand’s knowledge of French, 45; multilingual mixing of Aulnoy’s mother, 152–53; el pico, 255; sign language, 241, 268; Z, exotic characters associated with names including, 234n10 Las Huelgas de Burgos (Abbey of Santa María la Real de Las Huelgas), 87–88, 242 laziness attributed to Spanish, 4n16, 75, 147, 231, 233, 254, 260 legal system, 184, 227–28 Leganez, Marquis de, 89 lemonade, 38 Lemos, Countess of, 106–14, 124 Lent, eating during, 174–75 León, Cathedral of, 130 Leopold (Austrian emperor), 74m29 Lerma (town and ducal palace), 104–6, 110, 115, 118, 123 Lerma, Francisco de Sandoval y Rojas, Duke/Cardinal of, 78, 104, 105 lesbians and lesbianism, 3n13 lèse majesté, 6 letter format of Travels, 20–22 l’Héritier, Mlle, 8 Liche, Marquis of, 219 Liche, Marquise of, 238, 256 The Life of St. Antony (play), 54–55 Ligne, Prince of, 185 Lisbon, 150

litters, 37, 39, 43, 44, 45, 51, 76, 86, 123, 264. See also sedan chairs Lope de Vega y Carpio, Felix, 112n23, 113n26, 147–48 Los Arcos, Count of, 191–92 Los Balbazès, Marquise of, 194n16 Los Balbazès, Pablo Spinola de la Cerda, Marquis of, 69, 128 Los Reyes church, Toledo, 254 Los Rios, Mariana, Marquise de, 86– 104; on Aragon and Aragonese, 90–91; Don Frederic of Cardona to visit, 242; friendship with Aulnoy, 91–92, 104; meeting with Aulnoy, 86; on nuns, convents, and convent life, 87–88; romance novella of, 24, 92–104; on Spanish court, 88–90; widow’s dress worn by, 86–87 Los Velez, Marquise of, 73–74, 235 Louis XI (king of France), 40n12 Louis XII (king of France), 40 Louis XIII (king of France), 14n44, 72n25, 107, 1158n20 Louis XIV (Sun King; king of France), 1, 2, 5n20, 7nn25–26, 8n32, 9, 10, 14n44, 33, 40, 67, 107n12, 194n16, 253n21, 255n1 Louis XV (king of France), 33n1 Louis of France (eldest son of Louis XIV), 107n11 Louisillo (king’s dwarf), 269 Louvre, Paris, 188n3 love/love affairs: amancebadas versus mistresses, 239; bullfighting and, 199–200, 204–6; courtesan attacking her lover dressed as a man, 195; devotion and fidelity in, 236–37; flagellation, self-inflicted, in Holy Week, sprinkling ladies with one’s blood in, 25, 176–78; honor killing and its revenge, 213–15; jealousy and revenge,

Index 293 as Spanish traits, 229–30; ladies visiting lovers, 239; of Philip IV of Spain, 263, 267; pregnant women, men pretending to be, 174; of queen’s attendants, 268, 269; sign language, lovers communicating via, 241, 268; Spanish lady’s love letter, 119–20; Spanish passion for, 216–17, 218–19; tolerance for men openly having mistresses and illegitimate children, 238–40; visiting one’s mistress, 236–40. See also romance novellas in Travels Madelonnettes, Paris, 257 Mademoiselle, as royal term, 107n11 Madrid, 133, 136, 147, 151–54; “academies” for gambling and conversation in, 231–32; behavior in church in, 173; churches in, 171–73; desire of nobles to live in, 183; fish, scarcity of, 174–75; formal entry of Marie-Louise into, 265, 266; funerals in, 179–80; furnishings in, 181–83; gardens in, 182, 188, 189, 190; Holy Week in, 176–79; May Day festivities in, 190–91; royal houses and palaces in, 187–90; scarcity of shops in, 182; Spanish belief in global centrality of, 220, 262; spendthrift lifestyle in, 183–85; street preachers and blind street singers in, 180–81; street views of, 257–58; theater in, 179, 189, 193, 196; travelers, lodging for, 218. See also specific locations within Madrid Madrid, Treaty of (1526), 181n21 mail/post, 45, 50, 111n23, 119, 121, 187 Maine, Duke of, 10 Mainz, 250

maize/cornmeal, 77 make-up. See fashion and dress Málaga Cathedral, 130 Malta, Knights of, 210 Mancall, Peter C., 20 Mancera, Don Antonio Sebastián de Toledo, 2nd Marquis of, 157–58, 183 mandarines, 197 Manes, 153 Mangraville, salt mines of, 39 Manley, Delarivier, 10n39 manners. See etiquette and manners Manto (mythological queen), 153 Manzanares River, parks, and promenades, 139, 141, 188, 189–90, 191, 212–13 Manzanares river bed, riding/driving carriages/bathing in, 212–13 Archduchess Marguerite/Margaret of Austria (Duchess of Savoy and governor of Habsburg Netherlands), 74n29, 125 Maria Anna of Neuburg (queen of Carlos II of Spain), 15 Maria of Padilla, 53, 78n36 Maria of Portugal (queen of Philip II of Spain), 125n10 Mariana of Austria (queen/widow of Philip IV of Spain): in Aulnoy’s Memoirs, 15, 25; autos-da-fé, queen mother’s attendance at, 246, 247; death of Juan José of Austria, return from exile after, 259; Eucharistic canopy commissioned by, 172; exiled to Toledo by Juan José of Austria, 27, 73, 74, 193, 258; goods inherited from Juan José of Austria, 262; in Madrid, 262; marriage of, 14; permitted by Philip IV to not retire to nunnery after his death, 180; portrait of, in

294 Index mourning dress, 252; as regent, 25, 73, 74; relationship of Carlos II to, 73, 74, 88–89, 193, 259; vertugadin worn by, 106n8; visited by Aulnoy, in Toledo, 240, 241, 249–53 Archduchess Marie Antoinette of Austria, 74 Marie-Anne (daughter of Aulnoy), 39n10 Marie-Louise d’Orléans (queen of Carlos II of Spain): announcement of impending marriage to Carlos II, 223–24; auto-da-fé offered by Carlos II as wedding gift, 23, 246, 247n9; bed time required of, 266–67; characterization in Travels, 25–26; dedication of Travels to brother (Duke of Chartres), 33; early death of, 18, 26, 108n13, 265, 270–71n9; Elisabeth of Valois as prefiguring of, 125n10; England, France, and Spain, dynastic relations between, 2n8; farewell audience of Aulnoy with, 26; first meeting with Carlos II, 265; formal entry into Madrid, 265, 266; Hidalgo portrait of, 12; horseback riding, fondness for, 15n45, 270; household of, 263–64; importance in Aulnoy’s history, 14–18; Countess of Lemos on, 107, 111; love of Carlos II for, 74, 259–60, 266, 267; as “Mademoiselle,” 107n11; Mariana of Austria (queen mother) on, 251; negotiation of marriage to Carlos II, 69, 128; number of mattresses on bed of, 271; overeating of, 15n45, 270n9; pet parrots of, 23; preparations for/arrival in Spain, 20, 25, 26, 40n12, 107, 188, 259–60, 263–65; proxy wedding

to Carlos II, 258; queen’s household and attendants, 263–64, 268; Duchess of Terranova and, 25, 162, 263–64; visit of king to bedchamber of, 267 Marie-Thérèse of Spain (queen of Louis XIV of France), 14n44, 40, 72n25, 106n8, 188n7, 253 marine trumpet, 38 Doña Mariquita of Palacios, 242, 253 marriage: age discrepancies in, in Travels, 22, 27, 92, 95, 147, 220; daughter’s freedom to contract, 271; d’Aulnoy, as “would-be husband-killer,” 3–4, 6–7; of d’Aulnoy, 5–6; of Mme Du Noyer, 9n35, 11; forced marriage novella, 24, 45–49; Marquise de Los Rios, romance novella of, 24, 92–104; of Mariana of Austria to Philip IV, 14; of queen’s attendants, 268; Sardinian hermit novella, murder of wife in, 14, 55n11; separation, rarity of, in Spain, 238–39; of Mme Tiquet, 11; tolerance for men openly having mistresses and illegitimate children, 238–40; widows in Spain, mourning customs and dress of, 86–87, 251, 252. See also Carlos II; Marie-Louise d’Orléans Mary I Tudor (queen of England), 124n7, 210n2 Mary II (queen of England), 10 Mary, Duchess of Burgundy (empress of Maximilian I), 125n11 masquerades, 223–24 Maximilian I (Holy Roman Emperor), 125n11 May Day festivities, 190–91 mayorazgos, 116, 117, 213 Mazarin, Cardinal, 3, 107n12

Index 295 Mazarin, Hortense Mancini, Duchess of, 3, 7n27, 194n16 Mazarinettes, 3 meat and poultry, 175, 236, 250 Medici, Catherine de’ (queen of Henri II of France), 124n7 medicinal earth, consumption of, 150, 168 Medina Celi, Duchess of, 191 Medina Celi, Juan Francisco Tomás de la Cerda, Duke of, 89, 147n1, 179, 191, 246 Medina de Las Torres, Duke of, 70–71, 72, 158 Medina del Campo, 79 melena-style hair, 250 Mellini, Monsignor (apostolic nuncio), 207, 211 Mémoires de la cour d’Angleterre (Aulnoy), 1, 7, 10 Mémoires de la cour d’Espagne (Aulnoy), 1, 8, 10, 14–17, 20, 23, 25, 26, 35, 147n1, 246n8, 259n7, 259n9, 264n15, 271 menagerie in Madrid, 189 Mendoza, Antonio Hurtades de, 148 Mendoza y Sandoval, Doña Catalina de, 123 menins and meninas, 107, 251, 268 merchants and tradespeople, 22, 92, 97, 182–84, 224, 226, 227, 230–31 Mercure Galant (periodical), 16–17 Messina, Sicily, 83 metadors, 227 Mexico, 148n3, 150, 162n28, 212 Mexico City, 212 migraine, 255–56 military orders, 126–27. See also Alcántara; Calatrava; Golden Fleece; Malta; Santiago Mille Flores, abbey of, Burgos (Miraflores Charterhouse), 82

Minimes Friars, 172 Mira, story of, 65–66 Mira de Amescua, Antonio, 148 Miranda de Ebro, 65, 66 mirrors, cracking, 265 Modrigalesco, 86 monastics and monasticism: cords of religious orders, lay people wearing, 161; funerals, dead dressed in habit of religious order for, 179–80; income of some monks, 226; military/knightly orders, 126–27 (See also Alcántara; Calatrava; Golden Fleece; Malta; Santiago). See also nuns, convents, and convent life; specific orders money and financial matters, 23, 41–42, 50, 183–85, 217, 218, 219, 224–29. See also specific coins monkeys, as pets, 24, 128, 235 Monseigneur, as royal term, 107n11 Monserrat, 68 Monsieur, as royal term, 107n11 Monsieur Philippe I, Duke d’Orléans, 2n8, 14, 33n1, 69n17, 107n11 Monteleone, Don Frederic Nicolo de Pignatelli, Prince of, 89, 162, 163, 168, 193 Monteleone, Duchess of, 163 Monteleone, Hector Pignatelli, 5th Duke of, 162n26 Monteleone, Princess of, 89, 162–64, 165, 167–69 Montespan, Madame de, 7n25 Moors, 39, 52nn2–3, 59, 81, 90, 126, 127, 129–30, 172, 213, 228, 244 Morel-Fatio, Alfred, 16 mother of Aulnoy. See Gudane, Judith-Angélique Le Coutelier de Saint-Pater, later la Marquise de mouches or patches, 235

296 Index mourning customs and dress, 86–87, 251, 252, 256–57 Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, 27 mules and muleteers, 39, 40, 44, 45, 76, 77–78, 86, 152, 156, 157, 197, 201, 211, 242, 264 Murat, Henriette Julie de Castelman, Comtesse de, 3, 8 Murillo, Bartolomé Esteban, 27 music: at Aranjuez, 244; in Bayonne, 38, 39, 40; of Biscay oarswomen, 44; blind street singers in Madrid, 180–81; guitar players, 242; Italian musicians kept by archbishop of Toledo, 253 Mystery of the Passion (Gréban), marginal note of Aulnoy in, 5 Nantes, revocation of Edict of, 5n20, 9n35 nature, Aulnoy’s proto-Romantic appreciation of, 51, 65, 147, 242–43 Navarre/Navarrese, 213 New Castile, 81n3, 123, 153, 228, 260 news and information, paying for, 232 Nicodemus (New Testament figure), 82 Nijmegen, Treaties of (1679), 14, 67, 69, 74, 255 Nios Castle, 66, 248 Nithard, Johann Eberhard, 258, 259n7 nobility in Spain, 116–18, 156, 182, 213 nonpareil, 250 Nouvelles Espagnoles (Aulnoy), 10, 11, 271n10 Nouvelles et Mémoires historiques . . . (Aulnoy), 7n26 novellas in Spain, Aulnoy on, 232 novellas in Travels. See romance novellas in Travels

nuns, convents, and convent life: child pledges to, 87, 88, 180; confinement of d’Aulnoy in convent, 7–8; Lady Constable of Colonna intermittently residing in convent, 194; separated women retiring to convents, 239; social life of, 24, 87–88, 207; Spanish queen dowagers and ex-mistresses consigned to, 70, 72, 180, 267; women living in, before marriage, 271. See also specific houses ocales/ojales (eyeglasses), 166–67 Ocaña, 71n21, 72 Ocno Bianor, 153 oilles or olios (stews), 24, 130–31, 236, 244 Old Castile, 51, 78, 79, 81, 123, 228, 260 Olivares, Marquis Del Caprio, CountDuke of, 71n21, 106, 113, 114, 152, 165 ombre/hombre (card game), 67, 78, 104, 126, 164 onion. See spices, in Spanish cooking Orlando furioso (Ariosto), 193n14 Don Ortis (secretary of Juan José of Austria), 258 Ossone, Duchess of, 155, 191 Osuna (Ossone), Gaspar TéllezGirón, Duke of, 182 Oyarzun River, 43n20 Pacheco, Don Augustín, 22, 147–51, 211, 212 painters and paintings, 124–25, 188–89, 192, 233, 243, 251 palace etiquettes, 266–69 Palacios, Marquis of, 224–25, 254 Palacios, Marquise of, 241–42, 248, 249, 251, 262

Index 297 palatine (fur stole), 250 Pantheon, Escorial, 259 El Pardo (royal house), 262 parking problems for coaches, 156–57 parrots, as pets, 23, 128n16 passports, 64, 65 Pastrana and l’Infantado, Don Rodrigo de Silva de Mendoza y Sandoval, Duke of, 123, 191 Patriarch of the Indies, consecration of, 207 pattens, 25, 160, 250, 251, 253, 268 pearl La Peregrina worn by Carlos II, 210 Pedro I the Cruel/the Just (king of León and Castile), 53, 78n36 Pedro Antonio of Aragon, 71 pelo (raw silk), 265 pentitential processions in Holy Week, 176–79 pepper. See spices, in Spanish cooking Peralta y Cardenas, Enrique, Archbishop of Burgos, 24, 127–31, 235, 242 La Peregrina (pearl worn by Carlos II), 210 Perrault, Charles, 9n38, 10–11 perseverance, as Spanish characteristic, 232–33 pertuisanes, 199 Peter II of Braganza (king of Portugal), 217 pets: monkeys as, 24, 128, 235; parrots as, 23, 128n16; pigs as, 37–38; spaniel of Aulnoy’s petted by Carlos II, 191–92 Philip II (king of Spain), 14n44, 68, 79, 82, 123–25, 157n19, 166n34, 188n3, 189, 210n2

Philip III (king of Spain), 78n34, 104, 105, 110–11, 166n34 Philip IV (king of Spain), 14, 25, 40n12, 70–72, 104, 112–14, 158, 180, 189, 214n8, 232, 253n21, 263, 267 Philip d’Anjou (Philip V of Spain), 15n46, 187n1 Philip VI (king of Spain), 15n46 Philip III the Good, Duke of Burgundy, 124n7, 127 Philip of San Sebastián, 86 Philippe II, Duke d’Orléans (previously duc de Chartres), 10, 19, 33 el pico, 255 Pierreries du Temple, 233n8 pigs, as pets, 37–38 Pimentel del Prado, Antonio, 108, 110 pimiento, 243–44 Pinto, 153 Pirou-Bressey, Marquis of, 11 pistoles (coins), 85, 99, 112, 183, 184, 230, 233, 235, 267 Place Royale (now Place des Vosges), Paris, 198 plague, 237 Plaza Major, Madrid, 197, 198, 201, 205, 230, 245, 246, 247 Pobar, Marquis of, 111 poison and poisoning, 7n25, 14–15n45, 18, 125, 134, 168, 227, 229, 234 political profiteering and bribery, 225–27 Ponce de León, Joaquin, 217n11 Pont Neuf, Paris, 180, 190 Portocarrero, Luis-Manuel Fernández de, Cardinal Archbishop of Toledo, 249, 250, 253, 254

298 Index Portugal, 89, 90n26, 129nn17–18, 134, 150, 162, 211, 217, 220, 261n11 post/mail, 45, 50, 111n23, 119, 121, 187 poultry and meat, 175, 236, 250 Prado, Madrid, 137, 138, 141, 191, 211, 236 Prado Nuevo, Madrid, 190 Pragmatic, 155–56 preachers and preaching in Spain, 180, 261 pregnant women: cravings and curiosity of, 173–74; men pretending to be, 174 pride and vanity, 65–66, 230–31, 234, 260 La Princesse de Clèves (Mme de Lafayette), 3, 60n14 processions in Holy Week, 176–79 prostitution and concubinage: amancebadas versus mistresses, 239; courtesan attacking her lover dressed as a man, 195; Monsieur Daucourt, on being fooled by Spanish prostitute, 22, 24, 136–46; four pistoles paid by tradition to king’s mistresses, 267; houses and districts for lewd women, 257–58; mistresses, ubiquity of keeping, 218–19; theaters, prostitutes attending, 196; tolerance for men openly having mistresses and illegitimate children, 238–40; woman presenting herself to Venetian ambassador, 229–30 Pseudo-Villars, 16–17, 23, 25, 225n4, 248n10 purgatory, 112, 217 purpura, 111 Pyramus and Thisbe (Pedro Rosete; play), 253

Pyrenees, crossing, 43–44, 51–52, 65 Pyrenees, Treaty of the (1659), 14n44, 40n12, 107n12 quartos (coins), 233 Quasimodo Sunday, 179 queen mother. See Mariana of Austria Quintin linen, 120, 267 rattlesnakes, 150 La Real Hacienda, Madrid, 211 reales (coins), 113, 154 Reconquista, 81nn2–3, 171n1 rejones, 201, 203 Relation du voyage d’Espagne (Aulnoy). See Travels into Spain relative of Aulnoy’s in Spain (mother). See Gudane, Judith-Angélique Le Coutelier de Saint-Pater religion: autos-da-fé, 23, 244–48, 245; bakers’ feast day, mock procession of pope and cardinals at, 211; behavior in church, in Madrid, 173; bishops and archbishoprics nominated by king of Spain, 129–30; bullfights, attempted church regulation of, 201; churches in Madrid, 171–73; conversion of Christina of Sweden to Catholicism, 108n13; conversion of Henri IV of France to Catholicism, 5n20; Corpus Christi festivities, 78–79, 209–11; cristianos viejos (Old Christians) versus cristianos nuevos (New Christians), 126, 130; devoutness, in Spain, 261; Galician living saint in Madrid, 235; holy water, presented by gallants to ladies, 173; Holy Week, 25, 171, 176–79; Huguenots in France, 4–5, 6, 9n35, 26; Inquisition, 23, 26, 91, 134–36, 212, 244–48; Juan José of

Index 299 Austria, devoutness of, 192; Lent, eating during, 174–75; medals and reliquaries, 161, 217; Patriarch of the Indies, consecration of, 207; preachers and preaching, 180, 261; registration of receipt of Communion, in Holy Week, 179; rosaries, 158–59, 162, 235, 250; statues of saints, ubiquity of, 257; street preachers in Madrid, 180. See also Jews; monastics and monasticism; Moors; Turks religious orders. See monastics and monasticism Renteria, 43 The Return of a Soul to God (Aulnoy), 9 ricos-hombres, 116 Ricovrati Academy of Padua, election of Aulnoy to, 2 Don Rodrigo (last Visigoth king of Spain), 90, 248 Rojas, Pedro Soto de, 148 Roman Catholicism. See religion romance novellas in Travels, 24–25, 35; Monsieur Daucourt, on being fooled by Spanish prostitute, 22, 24, 136–46; on forced marriage, 24, 45–49; Isidora, framework for aborted narrative of, 207n27; on Mariana de Los Rios, 24, 92–104; Mira, story of, 65–66; on Sardinian hermit, 24, 55–64 rosaries, 158–59, 162, 235, 250 rose water, sprinkling, from the mouth, 149 Rosete, Pedro, 253n22 rouge, 55, 107, 144, 149, 160, 187 royal palace, Madrid, 186, 187–88 royal prison, Madrid, 181 Ruy Blas (Hugo), 15

sacristains, 159 saffron. See spices, in Spanish cooking St. Bernadine’s Gate, Madrid, 157 St. James, Ladies of (cannonesses), 88 St. James of the Sword, Order of (Commandership of Santiago), 52, 84, 126, 138, 210–11 Saint-Jean-de-Luz, 40 St. Jerome Church, Madrid, 207 St. Julian, Knights of (order of Alcántara), 52, 126 Salamanca, Cathedral of, 130 salons and salon culture: “academies” for gambling and conversation in Madrid, 231–32; in France, 2n10, 5n20, 8–9, 11, 164n29 salt mines, 67–68, 79 Samian earth, 162 Samosierra Mountain, 123 San Adrian mountains, 51–52 San Augustín, 133 San Blas, Lerma, 105–6 San Gregorio School, Valladolid, 78 San Isidro (St. Isidore), Madrid, 172 S. Pé, Monsieur of, 38 San Sebastián (town), 20, 21, 37, 42, 44–45, 51, 52, 119 San Sebastián, church of, Madrid, 172–73 San Servando, castle of, 248n11 Sancho II (king of Navarre), 40n13 Don Sancho of Sarmiento, 24, 52, 83–85, 128, 242 Santa Maria, church of, Madrid, 210, 246 Santiago, Commandership of (Order of St. James of the Sword), 52, 84, 126, 138, 210–11 Santiago de Compostela (town and cathedral), 82, 83–84, 87n15

300 Index Saragossa, shrine of Nuestra Señora del Pilar at, 69 Sardinian hermit novella, 24, 55–64 Sarmiento de Valledares, Don Diego, 247 Saturday Review (periodical), 17 Schiller, Friedrich, 125n10 Schomberg outfits, 41 Schröder, Volker, 5, 8n32, 9 Don Sebastián (king of Portugal), 79 sedan chairs, 237–38, 239, 240, 250, 257. See also litters Segovia aqueduct, 79–80 Segovia Bridge, Madrid, 186, 189–90 Seguin, Maria Susana, 27, 28, 106n5, 129n17, 167n34, 194n16 Sentiments of a Penitent Soul (Aulnoy), 9 servants and attendants, in Spain, 154, 155–56, 158, 236 Sévigné, Madame de, 3n11, 9 Seville (town), 103, 135, 218 Seville, Cathedral of, 130 sexuality: homosexuality, male, 6; lesbians and lesbianism, 3n13; venereal disease, 219. See also love/love affairs; prostitution and concubinage; romance novellas in Travels Siefert, Lewis, 26 Sierra de Cogollos, 104 Sierra de Guadarrama, 123n1 sign language, 241, 268 skin/complexion: of Spaniards, 75, 77, 149, 160, 164, 165, 256–57; of women of Bayonne, 37 slaves and slavery, 233–35, 269–70 Sleeping Beauty (Tchaikovsky), 2n9 smallpox, 164 snowball fight, 54 snuff, 173, 263 Solsona, rock salt mine of, 67–68

sols/sous (coins), 85, 154, 203 Soria, 79 el sotillo, 190–91 Spain and Spaniards: authority of king, 228; Black Legend, 4, 26, 125n10; character of, 74–76, 118, 131, 140, 147, 164–65, 183–85, 216–18, 228–33, 254, 260; classes, separation between, 164; customs officials and border crossings, 39–41, 54, 64, 65, 123; drunkenness, Spanish abhorrence of, 223; education in, 220–21, 261; as exotic and transitional space in early modern Europe, 14, 23; gallantry in, 157–58, 224, 239; greetings and address in, 163–64; ladies of Madrid, description of, 159–69; passports, 64, 65; religious devotion in, 261; royal officials and government ministers, 225; spendthrift lifestyle, 183–85, 228–29; superstition, 65–66, 217–18, 248, 256–57, 261, 265 (See also spirits and hauntings); titled nobility, 116–18, 156, 182, 213, 228; 22 kingdoms of Spain, 260; weather/climate, 76, 81, 86, 104, 115, 118, 121–22, 123, 133, 195, 209, 255–56. See also fashion and dress; food and foodways; love/ love affairs; specific locations spaniel of Aulnoy’s petted by king, 191–92 Spanish Civil War, 249n16 The Spanish Travelers Project, Marquette University, 29 spectacles, fashion for, 165–67, 224 spices, in Spanish cooking, 23, 42, 77, 155, 191, 207, 223, 236, 250 spirits and hauntings, 53–54, 65, 66, 78–79, 248

Index 301 spit, wetting hair with, 266 Stedman, Allison, 2n10, 18 Stigliano, Prince of, 218 Stirling, William, 16 Storer, Mary Elizabeth, 4 stories in Travels. See romance novellas in Travels The Story of Adolphus . . . (Aulnoy), 8n31 street preachers and street singers in Madrid, 180–81 Strella mountain lake, Portugal, 150 students, dress of, 257 sugar, 165, 167 sumptuary laws, 155–56 superstition in Spain, 65–66, 217–18, 248, 256–57, 261, 265. See also spirits and hauntings sweetmeats, 167, 182, 191, 211 tablet-books, 139 Tagus River, 242, 244, 248, 254 Taine, Hippolyte, 15–16 Talavera, Juan de, 78n34 taxes, 228 Taylor, Elizabeth, 210n2 Tchaikovsky, Pyotr Ilyich, 2n9 teeth and teeth cleaning, 165, 253 Terranova, Juana de Aragon, Carrillo de Mendoza y Cortés, 5th Duchess of (camarera mayor to MarieLouise), 25, 89, 162–64, 199, 263–64, 265–66 textiles: batiste, 86; of Bayonne, 39; brocade, 59, 106, 159, 160, 163, 169, 182, 202, 249, 251; damask, 152, 156, 163, 191, 246, 253; gauze, 125, 157, 181, 224, 237; goat-hair, 159; gold and silver cloth/thread, 43, 82, 106, 115, 120, 149, 157, 158, 160, 161, 162, 163, 169, 172, 179, 181, 182, 191, 199,

201, 202, 207, 224, 237, 241, 249, 251; Holland, 176, 210, 242; linen, 39, 87, 120, 123, 124, 161, 176n12, 257, 267; moiré, 179, 202; oilcloth, 156, 191, 223; pelo (raw silk), 265; Quintin linen, 120, 267; satin, 106, 120, 124, 156, 203, 231, 251; silk, 43, 87, 88, 116, 124n6, 149, 152, 156, 158, 160, 161, 163, 190, 199, 201, 207, 209, 233, 254, 265; tabby, 75; taffeta, 75, 86, 116, 120, 149, 154, 156, 159, 160, 162, 209, 235; velvet, 115, 116, 120, 128, 154, 156, 160, 163, 172, 179, 181, 201, 231, 235, 241, 251n264, 265; wool, 152, 156, 161, 190, 235, 265, 271 theater in Spain, 54–55, 113, 147–48, 179, 189, 193, 196, 210–11, 223–24, 253, 269 St. Theresa of Avila, writings of, 180 Tiberino, king of the Latins, 153 Tiquet, Angélique-Nicole Carlier, Mme, 11 Tiquet, Claude, 11n40 titulados (nobility), 116–18, 156, 182, 213, 228 tobacco, 128, 263 Toledo (town), 81, 240, 243, 244, 248–49, 253–54, 259, 262 Toledo, Cathedral of, 130, 248–49 Tompion repeater watch, 42, 44 toothpicks, 165 torches and torchlight, 54, 69, 114, 168, 172, 177, 179, 210, 223, 224, 248, 257, 268 Torquemada, Tomás de, 244 tradespeople and merchants, 22, 92, 97, 182–84, 224, 226, 227, 230–31 trash disposal, 237 travel writing, as genre, 18–22 Travels into Spain (Relation du voyage d’Espagne; Aulnoy), 1–2; Aulnoy’s

302 Index travels as basis for, 7; combination of genres in, 20; contemporary interest in, 14–16; conversational dialogues in, 24; dedication (to the Duke of Chartres), 10, 19, 33; difficulties of early modern travel in, 20, 22–23; fairy tales compared to, 26–27; fairy tales in, 10, 11; letter format of, 20–22; map of travels, 21; modern perspective on, 18–27; native informants in, 23–24, 44, 52; [probably literary] cousin, addressed to, 22, 37; publication of, 8, 10, 18, 19; readers, letter addressing, 35; rehabilitation of, 28–29; relative of Aulnoy in (See Gudane, Judith-Angélique Le Coutelier de Saint-Pater, later la Marquise de); translations and editions of, 2, 8, 16, 19, 27–28; veracity of travels described in, 14–18, 19–20, 35. See also romance novellas in Travels Triumvirate, 166 Turks, 39, 84n11, 228 Two Women at a Window (Murillo), 27 Uceda, Cristobal Gomez de Sandoval y Rojas, Duke of, 104, 104n32, 111, 157, 215 Uceda, Isabel María de Sandoval y Girón, Duchess of, 157n17, 191, 240 Uceda, Juan Francisco Antonio Alonso María José Domingo Pacheco Téllez-Girón, Duke consort of, 157n17 Urola River, 51, 65 Valencia, 216

Valencia, Don Manrique of Lara, Count of, 106 Valenzuela, Fernando de, 259 Valladolid, 78 Vances, France, butter from, 174 vanity and pride, 65–66, 230–31, 234, 260 Vega, Miguel Ángel, 4 Velasco el Gascón, 213n6 Velascos, palace of, Burgos, 81 Velázquez, Diego, 27, 189n7 Vélez de Guevara, Luis, 148 Vellocino de oro (Lope de Vega; play), 113n26 Vendôme, César, Duke of, 6 venereal disease, 219 Venetian ambassador, 229–30, 241 Venice, planned Spanish invasion of, 166–67 Verdi, Giuseppe, 125n10 vertugado/vertugadin, 106n8, 159n21 Vichard de Saint-Réal, César, 125n10, 167n34 Vililla, 78 Villahermosa, Marquis of, 177–78 Villamediana, Don Juan de Tassis y Peralta, second Count of, 111–14 Villars, Mme de, letters of, 16, 17 Villars, Pierre de, Marquis of, 16, 199n21, 241, 255 Villedieu, Catherine Desjardins, Madame de, 3, 7, 8n33 Virgin Mary: Spanish devotion to, 261; ubiquity of statues of, 257. See also Black Madonnas visiting: gifting rituals and, 233; between ladies, 233, 237–38; ladies visiting lovers, 239; lovers visiting mistresses, 236–40 Vitoria, 53, 54–55, 64, 65, 148 waste disposal, 237

Index 303 watch “given” to Spanish banker, 42 water, drinking, 223, 228, 236 watering pavements, in Toledo, 249 weather/climate in Spain, 76, 81, 86, 104, 115, 118, 121–22, 123, 133, 195, 209, 255–56 widows in Spain, mourning customs and dress of, 86–87, 251, 252 William III of Orange (king of England), 10, 33n4 winds from Galicia, 209, 256 wine in Spain, 175 witches, 134–35 women and gender: Bayonne, ladies of, 37–39; Biscay oarswomen, 27, 43–44; boredom of women’s lives, in Spain, 240; Christina of Sweden and, 109–10; church, behavior in, 173; Corpus Christi procession, women not participating in, 209; diplomatic ceremonies, women witnessing, 255; early modern women written out of literary history in France, 2–3; education, salon culture as substitute for women’s lack of, 2n10; fairy tales, instability of gender roles and patriarchal structures in, 26–27; familiar letters, women as writers of, 22; fiction and history, early modern blurring of line between, 18; incognito, going out in, 190–91; kidnapping of women by bandoleros, 91; name and nobility carried through female line, 213; pregnant women, cravings and curiosity of, 173–74; romance novellas in Travels and, 24–25; salons and salon culture, 2n10, 5n20, 8–9, 11, 164n29; seclusion of women, in Spain, 136–37, 148, 216–17, 218, 240, 241, 257, 268,

270, 271; sitting on the floor, 151, 163, 228, 236; smallness and thinness of Spanish women, 77, 106, 159, 160, 164, 173, 242; travel writing as genre and, 19, 26, 27–28; visiting between ladies, 233, 237–38; Vitoria, ladies of, 55. See also fashion and dress; love/ love affairs; marriage; prostitution and concubinage Wortley Montagu, Lady Mary, 19 Xarama/Jarama River, 241, 244, 254 Z, exotic characters associated with names including, 234n10 La Zarzuela (royal palace), 190, 263 Zayde (African child-slave purchased by Aulnoy), 234–35 Zayde (Mme de Lafayette), 7n29, 234n10 Zocodover (Plaza Major), Toledo, 253–54

The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe: The Toronto Series

SENIOR EDITOR SERIES EDITORS Jaime

Margaret L. King

Goodrich, Elizabeth H. Hageman

Series Titles Madre María Rosa Journey of Five Capuchin Nuns Edited and translated by Sarah E. Owens Volume 1, 2009 Giovan Battista Andreini Love in the Mirror: A Bilingual Edition Edited and translated by Jon R. Snyder Volume 2, 2009 Raymond de Sabanac and Simone Zanacchi Two Women of the Great Schism: The Revelations of Constance de Rabastens by Raymond de Sabanac and Life of the Blessed Ursulina of Parma by Simone Zanacchi Edited and translated by Renate Blumenfeld-Kosinski and Bruce L. Venarde Volume 3, 2010 Oliva Sabuco de Nantes Barrera The True Medicine Edited and translated by Gianna Pomata Volume 4, 2010 Louise-Geneviève Gillot de Sainctonge Dramatizing Dido, Circe, and Griselda Edited and translated by Janet Levarie Smarr Volume 5, 2010

Pernette du Guillet Complete Poems: A Bilingual Edition Edited with introduction and notes by Karen Simroth James Poems translated by Marta Rijn Finch Volume 6, 2010 Antonia Pulci Saints’ Lives and Bible Stories for the Stage: A Bilingual Edition Edited by Elissa B. Weaver Translated by James Wyatt Cook Volume 7, 2010 Valeria Miani Celinda, A Tragedy: A Bilingual Edition Edited with an introduction by Valeria Finucci Translated by Julia Kisacky Annotated by Valeria Finucci and Julia Kisacky Volume 8, 2010 Enchanted Eloquence: Fairy Tales by Seventeenth-Century French Women Writers Edited and translated by Lewis C. Seifert and Domna C. Stanton Volume 9, 2010

Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, Sophie, Electress of Hanover and Queen Sophie Charlotte of Prussia Leibniz and the Two Sophies: The Philosophical Correspondence Edited and translated by Lloyd Strickland Volume 10, 2011 In Dialogue with the Other Voice in Sixteenth-Century Italy: Literary and Social Contexts for Women’s Writing Edited by Julie D. Campbell and Maria Galli Stampino Volume 11, 2011 Sister Giustina Niccolini The Chronicle of Le Murate Edited and translated by Saundra Weddle Volume 12, 2011 Liubov Krichevskaya No Good without Reward: Selected Writings: A Bilingual Edition Edited and translated by Brian James Baer Volume 13, 2011 Elizabeth Cooke Hoby Russell The Writings of an English Sappho Edited by Patricia Phillippy With translations from Greek and Latin by Jaime Goodrich Volume 14, 2011 Lucrezia Marinella Exhortations to Women and to Others If They Please Edited and translated by Laura Benedetti Volume 15, 2012 Margherita Datini Letters to Francesco Datini Translated by Carolyn James and Antonio Pagliaro Volume 16, 2012

Delarivier Manley and Mary Pix English Women Staging Islam, 1696–1707 Edited and introduced by Bernadette Andrea Volume 17, 2012 Cecilia del Nacimiento Journeys of a Mystic Soul in Poetry and Prose Introduction and prose translations by Kevin Donnelly Poetry translations by Sandra Sider Volume 18, 2012 Lady Margaret Douglas and Others The Devonshire Manuscript: A Women’s Book of Courtly Poetry Edited and introduced by Elizabeth Heale Volume 19, 2012 Arcangela Tarabotti Letters Familiar and Formal Edited and translated by Meredith K. Ray and Lynn Lara Westwater Volume 20, 2012 Pere Torrellas and Juan de Flores Three Spanish Querelle Texts: Grisel and Mirabella, The Slander against Women, and The Defense of Ladies against Slanderers: A Bilingual Edition and Study Edited and translated by Emily C. Francomano Volume 21, 2013 Barbara Torelli Benedetti Partenia, a Pastoral Play: A Bilingual Edition Edited and translated by Lisa Sampson and Barbara Burgess-Van Aken Volume 22, 2013

François Rousset, Jean Liebault, Jacques Guillemeau, Jacques Duval and Louis de Serres Pregnancy and Birth in Early Modern France: Treatises by Caring Physicians and Surgeons (1581–1625) Edited and translated by Valerie WorthStylianou Volume 23, 2013 Mary Astell The Christian Religion, as Professed by a Daughter of the Church of England Edited by Jacqueline Broad Volume 24, 2013 Sophia of Hanover Memoirs (1630–1680) Edited and translated by Sean Ward Volume 25, 2013 Katherine Austen Book M: A London Widow’s Life Writings Edited by Pamela S. Hammons Volume 26, 2013 Anne Killigrew “My Rare Wit Killing Sin”: Poems of a Restoration Courtier Edited by Margaret J. M. Ezell Volume 27, 2013 Tullia d’Aragona and Others The Poems and Letters of Tullia d’Aragona and Others: A Bilingual Edition Edited and translated by Julia L. Hairston Volume 28, 2014 Luisa de Carvajal y Mendoza The Life and Writings of Luisa de Carvajal y Mendoza Edited and translated by Anne J. Cruz Volume 29, 2014

Russian Women Poets of the Eighteenth and Early Nineteenth Centuries: A Bilingual Edition Edited and translated by Amanda Ewington Volume 30, 2014 Jacques Du Bosc L’Honnête Femme: The Respectable Woman in Society and the New Collection of Letters and Responses by Contemporary Women Edited and translated by Sharon Diane Nell and Aurora Wolfgang Volume 31, 2014 Lady Hester Pulter Poems, Emblems, and The Unfortunate Florinda Edited by Alice Eardley Volume 32, 2014 Jeanne Flore Tales and Trials of Love, Concerning Venus’s Punishment of Those Who Scorn True Love and Denounce Cupid’s Sovereignity: A Bilingual Edition and Study Edited and translated by Kelly Digby Peebles Poems translated by Marta Rijn Finch Volume 33, 2014 Veronica Gambara Complete Poems: A Bilingual Edition Critical introduction by Molly M. Martin Edited and translated by Molly M. Martin and Paola Ugolini Volume 34, 2014 Catherine de Médicis and Others Portraits of the Queen Mother: Polemics, Panegyrics, Letters Translation and study by Leah L. Chang and Katherine Kong Volume 35, 2014

Françoise Pascal, MarieCatherine Desjardins, Antoinette Deshoulières, and Catherine Durand Challenges to Traditional Authority: Plays by French Women Authors, 1650–1700 Edited and translated by Perry Gethner Volume 36, 2015 Franciszka Urszula Radziwiłłowa Selected Drama and Verse Edited by Patrick John Corness and Barbara Judkowiak Translated by Patrick John Corness Translation Editor Aldona Zwierzyńska-Coldicott Introduction by Barbara Judkowiak Volume 37, 2015 Diodata Malvasia Writings on the Sisters of San Luca and Their Miraculous Madonna Edited and translated by Danielle Callegari and Shannon McHugh Volume 38, 2015 Margaret Van Noort Spiritual Writings of Sister Margaret of the Mother of God (1635–1643) Edited by Cordula van Wyhe Translated by Susan M. Smith Volume 39, 2015 Giovan Francesco Straparola The Pleasant Nights Edited and translated by Suzanne Magnanini Volume 40, 2015 Angélique de Saint-Jean Arnauld d’Andilly Writings of Resistance Edited and translated by John J. Conley, S.J. Volume 41, 2015

Francesco Barbaro The Wealth of Wives: A Fifteenth-Century Marriage Manual Edited and translated by Margaret L. King Volume 42, 2015 Jeanne d’Albret Letters from the Queen of Navarre with an Ample Declaration Edited and translated by Kathleen M. Llewellyn, Emily E. Thompson, and Colette H. Winn Volume 43, 2016 Bathsua Makin and Mary More with a reply to More by Robert Whitehall Educating English Daughters: Late Seventeenth-Century Debates Edited by Frances Teague and Margaret J. M. Ezell Associate Editor Jessica Walker Volume 44, 2016 Anna StanisŁawska Orphan Girl: A Transaction, or an Account of the Entire Life of an Orphan Girl by way of Plaintful Threnodies in the Year 1685: The Aesop Episode Verse translation, introduction, and commentary by Barry Keane Volume 45, 2016 Alessandra Macinghi Strozzi Letters to Her Sons, 1447–1470 Edited and translated by Judith Bryce Volume 46, 2016 Mother Juana de la Cruz Mother Juana de la Cruz, 1481–1534: Visionary Sermons Edited by Jessica A. Boon and Ronald E. Surtz Introductory material and notes by Jessica A. Boon Translated by Ronald E. Surtz and Nora Weinerth Volume 47, 2016

Claudine-Alexandrine Guérin de Tencin Memoirs of the Count of Comminge and The Misfortunes of Love Edited and translated by Jonathan Walsh Foreword by Michel Delon Volume 48, 2016 Feliciana Enríquez de Guzmán, Ana Caro Mallén, and Sor Marcela de San Félix Women Playwrights of Early Modern Spain Edited by Nieves Romero-Díaz and Lisa Vollendorf Translated and annotated by Harley Erdman Volume 49, 2016 Anna Trapnel Anna Trapnel’s Report and Plea; or, A Narrative of Her Journey from London into Cornwall Edited by Hilary Hinds Volume 50, 2016 María Vela y Cueto Autobiography and Letters of a Spanish Nun Edited by Susan Diane Laningham Translated by Jane Tar Volume 51, 2016 Christine de Pizan The Book of the Mutability of Fortune Edited and translated by Geri L. Smith Volume 52, 2017 Marguerite d’Auge, Renée Burlamacchi, and Jeanne du Laurens Sin and Salvation in Early Modern France: Three Women’s Stories Edited, and with an introduction by Colette H. Winn Translated by Nicholas Van Handel and Colette H. Winn Volume 53, 2017

Isabella d’Este Selected Letters Edited and translated by Deanna Shemek Volume 54, 2017 Ippolita Maria Sforza Duchess and Hostage in Renaissance Naples: Letters and Orations Edited and translated by Diana Robin and Lynn Lara Westwater Volume 55, 2017 Louise Bourgeois Midwife to the Queen of France: Diverse Observations Translated by Stephanie O’Hara Edited by Alison Klairmont Lingo Volume 56, 2017 Christine de Pizan Othea’s Letter to Hector Edited and translated by Renate Blumenfeld-Kosinski and Earl Jeffrey Richards Volume 57, 2017 Marie-Geneviève-Charlotte Thiroux d’Arconville Selected Philosophical, Scientific, and Autobiographical Writings Edited and translated by Julie Candler Hayes Volume 58, 2018 Lady Mary Wroth Pamphilia to Amphilanthus in Manuscript and Print Edited by Ilona Bell Texts by Steven W. May and Ilona Bell Volume 59, 2017 Witness, Warning, and Prophecy: Quaker Women’s Writing, 1655–1700 Edited by Teresa Feroli and Margaret Olofson Thickstun Volume 60, 2018

Symphorien Champier The Ship of Virtuous Ladies Edited and translated by Todd W. Reeser Volume 61, 2018 Isabella Andreini Mirtilla, A Pastoral: A Bilingual Edition Edited by Valeria Finucci Translated by Julia Kisacky Volume 62, 2018 Margherita Costa The Buffoons, A Ridiculous Comedy: A Bilingual Edition Edited and translated by Sara E. Díaz and Jessica Goethals Volume 63, 2018 Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle Poems and Fancies with The Animal Parliament Edited by Brandie R. Siegfried Volume 64, 2018 Margaret Fell Women’s Speaking Justified and Other Pamphlets Edited by Jane Donawerth and Rebecca M. Lush Volume 65, 2018 Mary Wroth, Jane Cavendish, and Elizabeth Brackley Women’s Household Drama: Loves Victorie, A Pastorall, and The concealed Fansyes Edited by Marta Straznicky and Sara Mueller Volume 66, 2018 Eleonora Fonseca Pimentel From Arcadia to Revolution: The Neapolitan Monitor and Other Writings Edited and translated by Verina R. Jones Volume 67, 2019

Charlotte Arbaleste DuplessisMornay, Anne de Chaufepié, and Anne Marguerite Petit Du Noyer The Huguenot Experience of Persecution and Exile: Three Women’s Stories Edited by Colette H. Winn Translated by Lauren King and Colette H. Winn Volume 68, 2019 Anne Bradstreet Poems and Meditations Edited by Margaret Olofson Thickstun Volume 69, 2019 Arcangela Tarabotti Antisatire: In Defense of Women, against Francesco Buoninsegni Edited and translated by Elissa B. Weaver Volume 70, 2020 Mary Franklin and Hannah Burton She Being Dead Yet Speaketh: The Franklin Family Papers Edited by Vera J. Camden Volume 71, 2020 Lucrezia Marinella Love Enamored and Driven Mad Edited and translated by Janet E. Gomez and Maria Galli Stampino Volume 72, 2020 Arcangela Tarabotti Convent Paradise Edited and translated by Meredith K. Ray and Lynn Lara Westwater Volume 73, 2020 Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve Beauty and the Beast: The Original Story Edited and translated by Aurora Wolfgang Volume 74, 2020

Flaminio Scala The Fake Husband, A Comedy Edited and translated by Rosalind Kerr Volume 75, 2020 Anne Vaughan Lock Selected Poetry, Prose, and Translations, with Contextual Materials Edited by Susan M. Felch Volume 76, 2021 Camilla Erculiani Letters on Natural Philosophy: The Scientific Correspondence of a SixteenthCentury Pharmacist, with Related Texts Edited by Eleonora Carinci Translated by Hannah Marcus Foreword by Paula Findlen Volume 77, 2021 Regina Salomea Pilsztynowa My Life’s Travels and Adventures: An Eighteenth-Century Oculist in the Ottoman Empire and the European Hinterland Edited and translated by Władysław Roczniak Volume 78, 2021 Christine de Pizan The God of Love’s Letter and The Tale of the Rose: A Bilingual Edition Edited and translated by Thelma S. Fenster and Christine Reno With Jean Gerson, “A Poem on Man and Woman.” Translated from the Latin by Thomas O’Donnell Foreword by Jocelyn Wogan-Browne Volume 79, 2021

Marie Gigault de Bellefonds, Marquise de Villars Letters from Spain: A Seventeenth-Century French Noblewoman at the Spanish Royal Court Edited and translated by Nathalie Hester Volume 80, 2021 Anna Maria van Schurman Letters and Poems to and from Her Mentor and Other Members of Her Circle Edited and translated by Anne R. Larsen and Steve Maiullo Volume 81, 2021 Vittoria Colonna Poems of Widowhood: A Bilingual Edition of the 1538 Rime Translation and introduction by Ramie Targoff Edited by Ramie Targoff and Troy Tower Volume 82, 2021 Valeria Miani Amorous Hope, A Pastoral Play: A Bilingual Edition Edited and translated by Alexandra Coller Volume 83, 2020 Madeleine de Scudéry Lucrece and Brutus: Glory in the Land of Tender Edited and translated by Sharon Diane Nell Volume 84, 2021 Anna StanisŁawska One Body with Two Souls Entwined: An Epic Tale of Married Love in Seventeenth-Century Poland Orphan Girl: The Oleśnicki Episode Verse translation, introduction, and commentary by Barry Keane Volume 85, 2021

Christine de Pizan Book of the Body Politic Edited and translated by Angus J. Kennedy Volume 86, 2021 Anne, Lady Halkett A True Account of My Life and Selected Meditations Edited by Suzanne Trill Volume 87, 2022 Vittoria Colonna Selected Letters, 1523–1546: A Bilingual Edition Edited and annotated by Veronica Copello Translated by Abigail Brundin Introduction by Abigail Brundin and Veronica Copello Volume 88, 2022 Michele Savonarola A Mother’s Manual for the Women of Ferrara: A Fifteenth-Century Guide to Pregnancy and Pediatrics Edited, with introduction and notes, by Gabriella Zuccolin Translated by Martin Marafioti Volume 89, 2022 Maria Salviati de’ Medici Selected Letters, 1514–1543 Edited and translated by Natalie R. Tomas Volume 90, 2022 Isabella Andreini Lovers’ Debates for the Stage: A Bilingual Edition Edited and translated by Pamela Allen Brown, Julie D. Campbell, and Eric Nicholson Volume 91, 2022

Marie Guyart de l’Incarnation, Anne-Marie Fiquet Du Boccage, and Henriette-Lucie Dillon de La Tour du Pin Far from Home in Early Modern France: Three Women’s Stories Edited and with an introduction by Colette H. Winn Translated by Lauren King, Elizabeth Hagstrom, and Colette H. Winn Volume 92, 2022