414, SWABEY DIARY. 
not till midnight would my patron, the Alcalde, or his friends quit me 
and I heartily wished myself in the wilds of America. 
The distance from hence to Madrid is eight leagues, and I mention 
it as a proof of the indolence, want of curiosity, and consequent lack of 
information on the part of the Spaniards, that few of the inhabitants 
had ever been there. As to Domingo Perez itself, it was a perfect 
specimen of what happy Spain was before the revolution. ‘The houses 
were neat and comfortable, the inhabitants respectable and cleanly. 
In the Alcalde’s house was a portrait of Lord Wellington, his bust 
emblematically supported by a figure of Time whose wings were 
restrained by the genius of Spain. Mercury representing the tutelary 
deity of England, was presenting him to Minerva and Mars, Hercules 
was in the group, and the whole was surrounded by a snake, “la 
culebra sin fino”’* with his tail in his mouth, avery favourite figure in 
Spanish poetry and emblems intended to represent the imperishable 
nature of fame. 
[It was on the route to Madrid from the country in advance of 
Badajos by Truxillo, Talavera la Reyna, and Toledo that we now 
marched. Till we arrived at Aranjuez we had nothing to do with the 
enemy, and though our march could not be called a triumphal one, it 
was of a very agreeable nature. We usually marched before daylight, 
supplies were plentiful, for the most part the country was fertile, and 
the inhabitants extremely well disposed towards us. It was the season 
of the vintage, and we had the good fortune to pass through some 
places where soldiers were actually a novelty, and not unfrequently as 
we passed did the whole population meet us with pitchers of wine and 
baskets of grapes. At a small place where we halted for a day called 
Domingo Perez, these civilities were renewed even to suffocation and 
the Alcalde insisted on entertaining the officers. 
We stayed one day with our hospitable friends, and then proceeded 
en route for Toledo: the kindness however of the inhabitants still 
pervaded the whole of this district and we fared sumptuously every day, 
that is in their estimation, but I cannot say that the Spanish cuisine is 
exactly according to my taste, and when Senor Gil Blas de Santillane 
boasted of its luxuries he forgot to tell you that at Madrid, and indeed 
everywhere where there is anything fit to eat, the French method of 
pandering to the dainty appetite is in vogue. I will leave the Span- 
iards to settle the dispute as to the authorship of Gil Blas, whether it 
was truly written by Le Sage, or by a Spaniard, on condition that 
they will not attempt to set up to be their own cooks. 
This reminds me of a very worthy man, gone long ago I trust, to his 
place of rest, who commanded for some time the particular branch of 
the service to which I belonged. He was every inch a soldicr, neither 
was he by nature the least inhospitable, but he had an utter contempt 
for what I will term the amenities of a campaign. With this man I 
was invited sometimes to dine; good living was not so plentiful the 
first time I had that honour as to allow me to think with indifference 
} The endless snake. 
