THE LETTERS OF RICHARD FORD

1797-1858 EDITED BY ROWLAND E. PROTHERO, M.V.O. FORMERLY FELLOW OF ALL SOULS’ COLLEGE, OXFORD AUTHOR OF “THE LIFE OF DEAN STANLEY” “THE PSALMS IN HUMAN LIFE,” ETC. ETC. WITH PORTRAITS AND ILLUSTRATIONS NEW YORK E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY 1905 {iv} PRINTED BY HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD., LONDON AND AYLESBURY, ENGLAND {v}

PREFACE

Sixty years ago, few men were more widely known in the world of art, letters, and society than Richard Ford, the author of the Handbook for Spain. A connoisseur of engravings, an admirable judge of painting, the interpreter to this country of the genius of Velazquez, he had no rival as an amateur artist. From his sketches Roberts made many of his best drawings; some were reproduced by Telbin, others appeared in the Illustrated London News and the Landscape Annuals of the day, or supplied illustrations to such books as Byron’s Childe Harold and Lockhart’s Spanish Ballads. One of the first critics who appreciated the beauties of the ceramic products of Italy, he formed a fine collection of Gubbio and Majolica ware, and the works of Giorgio and the Della Robbias. The contents of his Spanish Library, to which many of the prizes of the Heber sale found their way, were as rich as they were rare and curious. His taste was no less varied than sound, and few art treasures in clay, metal, and marble, were beyond his ken. Nor was his

knowledge of the mysteries of cookery less profound, and Amontillado {vi}sherry and Montanches hams were introduced by him into this country. Well and widely read, gifted with a wonderful memory and a keen sense of humour, possessed of an extraordinary faculty for happy, unexpected turns of expression, full of curious anecdotes and adventures, he was a delightful talker. Entirely without the jealousy of the professed wit, he was an equally admirable listener. No man was a more welcome guest in society, none had more friends or fewer enemies.

His father, Sir Richard Ford (born 1759, died 1806), a friend of William Pitt, M.P. for East Grinstead (1789), and for Appleby (1790), at one time Under-Secretary of State for the Home Department, became Chief Police Magistrate at Bow Street, and the creator of the mounted police force of London. His mother (born 1767, died 1849) was the daughter of Benjamin Booth, whose wife, Jane Salwey, was the only child and heiress of Richard Salwey of the Moor, near Ludlow, in Shropshire. To Lady Ford descended the whole of the Salwey property. Herself an excellent artist, she inherited from her father, not only his love of art, but a fine collection of paintings, including examples of the Dutch and Italian Schools, and of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and a number of the best works of Richard Wilson, the landscape painter.

Richard, the eldest son of Sir Richard and Lady Ford, was born at 129, {vii}Sloane Street, Chelsea, in 1796. Educated at Winchester, and Trinity College, Oxford, he was called to the Bar at Lincoln’s Inn in 1822. But he never practised. He had inherited from his grandfather and mother a love of the fine arts; his passion for travelling was strong; he had no need to pursue his profession. To a young man of his temperament and easy circumstances, the Continent, so long closed to English travellers by the Napoleonic wars, opened an alluring field. He travelled in France and Italy, where he laid the foundation of his own collection of books, paintings, and engravings. His additions to the pictures which he had inherited, chiefly belonged to the Spanish School. Among them were fine examples of Zurbaran, Ribalta, and Velazquez. Of the latter, the portrait of Mariana of Austria, second wife of Philip IV. of Spain, is reproduced in this volume (to face p. 218). The picture was given by Ferdinand VII. to the Canon Cepero, in exchange for two Zurbarans in the Madrid Gallery.

In 1824 Richard Ford married Harriet Capel, a daughter of the Earl of Essex, who, as Lord Malden, had been an intimate friend of his father. The remaining facts of his life are sufficiently told in his letters.

The letters from Richard Ford printed in this volume are almost entirely selected from those which he wrote to Henry Unwin Addington, who in 1830 was Envoy Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary{viii} at the Court of Madrid. They were carefully preserved by Addington, and at his death were left by him to his wife, with directions that she should leave them to the widow of Richard Ford. It is by Mrs. Ford’s wish that they are now published.

For the Index I am indebted to Mr. G. H. Holden, Assistant Librarian at All Souls’ College, Oxford.

ROWLAND E. PROTHERO.

{ix}

ILLUSTRATIONS

{1}{xii}

CHAPTER I SEVILLE (NOVEMBER 1830-MAY 1831)

Political Condition of Spain—Ford as a Traveller—Life at Seville—Journey to Madrid by Diligence—Don Quixote’s Country—Return to Seville

On September 15th, 1830, Richard Ford wrote from London to his friend Henry Unwin Addington, the British Plenipotentiary at Madrid, announcing his intention to winter in Spain. The letter was sent by the hand of Mr. Wetherell, who had been encouraged by the Spanish Government to set up a tannery at Seville. He imported workmen and machinery, and established his premises in the suppressed Jesuit convent of San Diego. But the Government proved faithless, its promises were unfulfilled, the convent was taken from him, and the unfortunate Wetherell, with many of his compatriots, lies buried in the garden near the dismantled tannery.

Cea Bermudez, whose opinion Ford quotes, was at that time the Spanish Ambassador in England. As Prime Minister under Ferdinand VII. he had proved too Liberal for his master (1825); so at a{2} later period (1832-3) he showed himself, in the same capacity, too Conservative for Queen Christina.

London, September 15 [1830].

Dear Addington,

Mr. Wetherell will take this to Madrid, on his way to Seville, where I am shortly bound myself on account of Mrs. Ford’s health. She is condemned to spend a winter or two in a warm climate, and we have decided on the south of Spain for this year. We shall sail very soon, as a friend of mine, Captain Shirreff, who is appointed Port-admiral at Gibraltar, gives us a passage out.

News we have none, as grass is growing in the deserted streets of London; other news are not safely sent por la delicadeza de las circunstancias politicas. But with them you are well acquainted by the newspapers, which, if you could contrive occasionally to send to me confidentially, and not to be shown, when at Seville, would be the greatest favour our King’s representative could show to one of his humble subjects on his travels.

I am in hopes all will be quiet in Spain. Cea Bermudez thinks so, and hinted to Lord Dudley, who told me, that they were going to do everything that could be fairly expected by the Liberals. I am praying the Queen may produce a son.

I have seen much here of the Consul at Malaga,{3} Mr. Mark; if I am to believe him, Malaga is a second Paradise. The Duke of Wellington says Granada is charming; he has given us a letter to O’Lawlor, who manages his property at Soto de Roma. Washington Irving tells us we shall be able to be lodged in the Alhambra, as he was, which will tempt me to pass next summer there.

It is a serious undertaking to travel into Spain with three children and four women, and a great bore to break up my establishment here, but it must be done.

S[u] S[eguro] S[ervidor], Richard Ford.

Political conditions, at the time when Richard Ford landed in Spain with his wife and children, threatened the outbreak of civil war. In 1812 the Cortes, sitting at Cadiz, then almost the only spot which was not occupied by a foreign force, had promulgated the forms and phrases of parliamentary government. Few praised, few blamed the new Constitution, which was foreign in spirit and founded on French models; few asked the reason why Plaza de la Constitucion was inscribed on the principal squares. To the mass of the Spanish people, constitutions were parchment unrealities. Caring less for theories of government than for the just administration of existing laws, they gained from the action of the Cortes nothing that they desired. Their deepest convictions were{4} loyalty to the Church and to the Crown, and to these prejudices the Constitution only opposed definitions. Every class that suffered by the proposed reforms was mistrustful, if not hostile. The clergy, the functionaries, the nobles, were either outraged in their opinions, or

attacked in their interests, or curtailed of their authority.

When Ferdinand VII. returned to power in March 1814, he pressed his advantage home. A restoration is often worse than a revolution. It was so in Spain. Ferdinand rejected the Constitution, removed the restrictions on his despotism, and restored the Inquisition. But he had gone too far. Don Rafael del Riego stirred to rebellion the ill-paid troops assembled on the Isla de Leon for the unpopular expedition to South America. El Himno de Riego, the Marseillaise of Spain, written by Evaristo San-Miguel and composed by La Huerta, caught the ears of the people; even the Tragala, or Ça ira of Spanish revolutionists, was sung in Madrid, and from 1820 to 1823 the Constitution was forced upon the King. But with the help of France he had regained his despotic authority, and used it with blind ferocity.

In 1829 Ferdinand, till then childless, had married as his fourth wife, Christina of Naples. The expected birth of a child alarmed the retrograde party of extreme clericals and ultra-royalists which had rallied round the King’s brother and presumptive heir, Don Carlos. At the same time, the Constitutionalists or Liberals, encouraged by the French Revolution of 1830, returned from exile, or emerged from their hiding-places, and risings{5} in favour of political reform agitated the North and the South of Spain. The general unrest was increased by the Civil War in Portugal, where the Liberal adherents of Maria da Gloria, the daughter of Pedro IV., waged war against the Absolutists who supported her uncle Dom Miguel.

Threatened on the one side by reactionary tendencies, and on the other by political innovations, the weak and bankrupt Government rested securely on the torpor of the Spanish people. With all his faults, Ferdinand, fat, good-natured, jocose in a ribald fashion, affecting the national dress, feeding on puchero, an eager sportsman, devoted to smoking his thick Havana cigars, and to his beautiful queen, had few personal enemies. He knew the temper of his country well. He did nothing, and it was the interest of neither party to precipitate the impending crisis. He was “the cork in the beer bottle,” as he said himself, and only when he was “gone, would the beer foam over.” On October 10th, 1830, his daughter Isabella was born. In her favour the Salic law of succession was set aside. Don Carlos retired to Portugal, and the Cortes swore to Isabella the oath of allegiance as Princess of the Asturias and heiress to the throne. Three months later (September 29th, 1833), Ferdinand died. Isabella was proclaimed Queen, under the

guardianship of her mother, Doña Christina. Civil war at once broke out, the Liberals supporting Christina, and the Carlists fighting under the standard of legitimacy.

But, apart from disturbed political conditions, the moment at which Ford visited the country was{6} exceptionally favourable. Entrenched behind the Pyrenees, isolated from the rest of Europe, Spain, in lazy pride, watched from her Castle of Indolence the progress of other nations. Few travellers crossed her borders. Travelling carriages were unknown luxuries; it was only possible to post from Irun to Madrid. The system of passports and police surveillance was vexatious. Except on the main lines, the inns were bad, the by-roads were almost impassable for wheeled carriages, the country was infested with robbers, and all these obstacles were magnified by literary travellers. Thus Spain, repelling intercourse with other nations, was thrown back upon herself. Yet this isolation did not unite the separate provinces in any community of national feeling. The contrary was the case. Bound together in provincial clanship, the inhabitants knew themselves and their neighbours, not as Spaniards, but as Arragonese or Castilians, Andalusians or Catalans. The climate, soil, and products of the barren

dusty centre did not present more striking variations from those of the rich luxuriant south than did the distinctive dress, language, customs, and habits of the natives of the respective provinces. Here were the sandals, the wide breeches, the bright sash, the many-coloured plaid, the gay handkerchief of the half-oriental Valencian; here the red cap of the Catalan, trousered to the armpits; here the broad-brimmed hat, figured velvet waistcoat, richly worked shirt, and embroidered gaiters of the Leonese; here the filigree buttons, silver tags and tassels which studded the jacket of the Andalusian dandy, who{7} starved for weeks on a crust and onion that he might glitter in a gay costume, for a few hours on a saint’s day, under his blue sky and brilliant sun. And everywhere, in the foreground of every rural scene, stood the ass, the companion and the helpmate of the Spanish peasant.

Distinctions of dress were but the outward expression of a variety of deeper differences. To the artist, the historian, the sportsman, and the antiquary,—to the student of dialects, the observer of manners and customs, the lover of art, the man of sentiment, Spain in 1830 offered an enchanting field, an almost untrodden Paradise. In Ford all these interests were combined, not merely as tastes, but as enthusiasms. He revelled in the country and its people with the unflagging zest of his richly varied sympathies. He learned to speak the Spanish of the place in which he happened to be, and of the people with whom he chanced to be talking. The inveterate exclusiveness of the aristocracy, the ingrained mistrust of the lower orders, the professional suspicion of the bandit or the smuggler broke down before the charm of his manners and appearance. Quick to observe, and prompt to adopt, the customs, ceremonies, and courtesies of Spanish society, he found the houses of the grandees at his disposal. Rural Dogberries, jealous of their

authority, who could not be driven by rods of iron, submitted to be led by the silken thread of his civility. José Maria, the bandit King of Andalusia, made him free of his country, and over his wide district Ford rode for miles, if not by his side, at least under his personal protection.{8} Even the smuggler, by the fireside of a country inn, laid aside his blunderbuss, and, over a bottle of wine and a cigar, gave him his confidence. He was, in fact, a born traveller. If necessary, he was master of every intonation with which the mule driver of La Mancha can pronounce the national oath. But with him these occasions were rare. He knew that money made the mare and the driver to go, and that a joke, a proverb, or a cigar, was the best oil for reluctant wheels. Travelling mainly on horseback, he was independent of roads. Mounted on “Jaca Cordovese,” threading his way by bridle-paths and goat-tracks, he penetrated to the most inaccessible of the towns which were plastered like martins’ nests against the tawny rocks of Spain. Never looking for

five feet in a cat, or expecting more from Spanish inns than they could offer, he encountered every inconvenience with good temper, and accumulated in his wanderings the mass of insight, incident, and adventure, which he stored in his note-books and embodied in his Handbook to Spain.

Ford’s second letter to Addington (November 27th, 1830) announces his arrival, and is dated from “Plazuela San Isidoro, No. 11, Seville,”—the Athens and the Capua of Spain. The house which he occupied seems to have belonged to the Mr. Hall Standish who left to Louis Philippe the fine collection of Spanish pictures which were formerly deposited in the Musée Standish at the Louvre.

We are all safely arrived at Seville, in spite of the Bay of Biscay, and all the dangers and perils

JACA CORDOVESE.

[To face p. 9.

“I [R. F. rode more than 2000 miles on this Horse.”]

{9}

supposed to abound in this quiet country by the good people in England. We had rather a long passage—twenty days—but were in a good ship with a good captain, an old friend of mine, who is now employed in cleaning that Augean Stable of jobs and mismanagement—the Bay of Gibraltar. We were as comfortable as the wretched nature of ships will allow of; man-cook, doctor, cow, sheep, and chickens contributed thereunto.

We were right glad to be landed at the Rock, and spent eight or ten days there very agreeably in seeing the lions and monkeys, guns and garrisons, and in going to balls and batteries. When I come to Madrid, I will let you into a few of the secrets I heard at the Rock. The old general[1] and his lady (an old friend of my mother’s) were very civil and good-natured to us. We found their house very agreeable. Having clambered all over the Rock, we began to feel the epidemic under which the garrison labours, namely, bore, and the feeling of being shut up on so small a space. We therefore took an English brig and proceeded to Cadiz.

By the way, before you leave Spain, you should see the Straits of Gibraltar. I never yet have seen any scenery to equal the African coast, so bold and mountainous. Cadiz is charming, clean and tidy,{10} abounding in all good things, the result of a free trade,[2] if you and the Spaniards would but think so. Thence in the steamer to Seville, where we are finally settled in an excellent house which I have taken of Mr. Hall Standish. It has the advantages of a garden, a fireplace, and a southern exposure, which make it perfectly warm; the climate delicious, everybody very civil.

We have brought letters to all the governors and grandees, and one from a gentleman who was of some consequence, the Duke of Wellington, to his old friend, the Marquis de las Amarillas, the beau idéal of a Spanish caballero.[3] We intend spending the winter here.

I am in treaty for a grande chasse near this place, where the assistente goes, and also am about to take the best box at the theatre. You will think I have discovered a mine of gold; but all this may be done for much less than the weekly bills in London, and I hope to save at least half my income.

Pray consider this house at your disposal if ever you may be inclined to come to Seville; I think we shall be able to make you comfortable.

{11}

At Seville Ford remained for the next six months. There he laid the foundations of his unrivalled knowledge of Spanish life. There, sketchbook in hand, he studied the various styles of architecture, both ecclesiastical and civil, of which the city was an epitome, sketching the Prout-like subjects which every turn of the labyrinthine streets afforded. There he studied the ceremonial, origin, and meaning of the religious functions, nowhere more magnificent, and especially of the quaint pageants of Holy Week. He learnt by heart the pictures in the cathedral, the churches, the university, the museum, the private galleries, and picked up for himself not a few of the treasures of Spanish art. Under the crumbling battlements and long arches of the aqueduct at the Plaza de la Carne he watched the Easter sales of paschal lambs, reminded of Murillo by living originals, as the children led off their lambs decorated with ribbons, or as shepherds strode by, holding the animals by the four legs so as to form a tippet round their