"You have doubtless heard of
Feijoo, the celebrated philosophic monk of the order of Saint
Benedict, whose writings have so much tended to remove the popular
fallacies and superstitions so long cherished in Spain; he is
buried in one of our convents, where he passed a considerable
portion of his life. Come with me and I will show you his
portrait. Carlos Tercero, our great king, sent his own painter
from Madrid to execute it. It is now in the possession of a friend
of mine, Don Ramon Valdez, an advocate."
Thereupon he led me to the house of Don Ramon Valdez, who very
politely exhibited the portrait of Feijoo. It was circular in
shape, about a foot in diameter, and was surrounded by a little
brass frame, something like the rim of a barber's basin. The
countenance was large and massive but fine, the eyebrows knit, the
eyes sharp and penetrating, nose aquiline. On the head was a
silken skull-cap; the collar of the coat or vest was just
perceptible. The painting was decidedly good, and struck me as
being one of the very best specimens of modern Spanish art which I
had hitherto seen.
A day or two after this I said to Benedict Mol, "to-morrow I start
from hence for Santander. It is therefore high time that you
decide upon some course, whether to return to Madrid or to make the
best of your way to France, and from thence proceed to your own
country."
"Lieber herr," said Benedict, "I will follow you to Santander by
short journeys, for I am unable to make long ones amongst these
hills; and when I am there, peradventure I may find some means of
passing into France.
