Thereupon I knelt down and kissed his hand, and went my way, well pleased with my call.

To go back to Aranjuez.  As soon as I heard that the ambassador could not put me up at Madrid, I wrote to the worthy cobbler, Don Diego, that I wanted a well-furnished room, a closet, a good bed, and an honest servant.  I informed him how much I was willing to spend a month, and said I would leave Aranjuez as soon as I heard that everything was ready.

I was a good deal occupied with the question of colonising the Sierra Morena; I wrote principally on the subject of the civil government, a most important item in a scheme for a new colony.  My articles pleased the Marquis Grimaldi and flattered Mocenigo; for the latter hoped that I should become governor of the colony, and that his embassy would thereby shine with a borrowed light.

My labours did not prevent my amusing myself, and I frequented the society of those about the Court who could tell me most of the king and royal family.  Don Varnier, a man of much frankness and intelligence, was my principal source of information.

I asked him one day whether the king was fond of Gregorio Squillace only because he had been once his wife’s lover.

“That’s an idle calumny,” he replied.  “If the epithet of ‘chaste’ can be applied to any monarch, Charles iii. certainly deserves it better than any other.  He has never touched any woman in his life except his wife, not only out of respect or the sanctity of marriage, but also as a good Christian.  He has avoided this sin that his soul may remain pure, and so as not to have the shame of confessing it to his chaplain.  He enjoys an iron constitution, sickness is unknown to him, and he is a thorough Spaniard in temperament.  Ever since his marriage he has paid his duty to his wife every day, except when the state of her health compelled her to call for a truce.  In such seasons this chaste husband brought down his fleshly desires by the fatigue of hunting and by abstinence.  You can imagine his distress at being left a widower, for he would rather die than take a mistress.  His only resource was in hunting, and in so planning out his day that he should have no time left wherein to think of women.  It was a difficult matter, for he cares neither for reading nor writing, music wearies him, and conversation of a lively turn inspires him with disgust.

“He has adopted the following plan, in which he will preserve till his dying day:  He dresses at seven, then goes into his closet and has his hair dressed.  At eight o’clock he says his prayers, then hears mass, and when this is over he takes chocolate and an enormous pinch of snuff, over which his big nose ruminates for some minutes; this is his only pinch in the whole day.  At nine o’clock he sees his ministers, and works with them till eleven.  Then comes dinner, which he always takes alone, then a short visit to the Princess of the Austurias, and at twelve sharp he gets into his carriage and drives to the hunting-grounds.  At seven o’clock he takes a morsel wherever he happens to be, and at eight o’clock he comes home, so tired that he often goes to sleep before he can get his clothes off.  Thus he keeps down the desires of the flesh.”