ut at the same time told me
that he had entered by force as a master, threatening to break in the
doors, that he was the only King who had entered since Philippe II., and
that they would not open the apartment to anybody. I understood nothing
of all this superstition, but I was forced to rest content in my
ignorance. Louville, who had entered with the King, had told me that the
place contained only five or six dark chambers, and some holes and
corners with wainscots plastered with mud; without tapestry, when he saw
it, or any kind of furniture; thus I did not lose much by not entering.

In the Rotting-Room, which I have elsewhere described, we read the
inscriptions near us, and the monk read others as we asked him. We
walked thus, all round, talking and discoursing thereon. Passing to the
bottom of the room, the coffin of the unhappy Don Carlos offered itself
to our sight.

"As for him," said I, "it is well known why, and of what he died." At
this remark, the fat monk turned rusty, maintained he had died a natural
death, and began to declaim against the stories which he said had been
spread abroad about him. I smiled, saying, I admitted it was not true
that his veins had been opened. This observation completed the
irritation of the monk, who began to babble in a sort of fury. I
diverted myself with it at first in silence; then I said to him, that the
King, shortly after arriving in Spain; had had the curiosity to open the
coffin of Don Carlos, and that I knew from a man who was present ('twas
Louville), that his head had been found between his legs; that Philippe
II., his father, had had it cut off before him in the prison.

"Very well!" cried the monk in fury, "apparently he had well deserved it;
for Philippe II., had permission from the Pope to do so!" and,
thereupon, he began to cry with all his might about the marvels of piety
and of justice of Philippe II., and about the boundless power of the
Pope, and to cry heresy against any one who doubted that he could not
order, decide, and dispose of all.

Such is the fanaticism of the countries of the Inquisition, where science
is a crime, ignorance and superstition the first of virtues. Though my
official character protected me, I did not care to dispute, and cause a
ridiculous scene with this bigot of a monk. I contented myself with
smiling, and by making a sign of silence as I did so to those who were
with me. The monk, therefore, had full swing, and prea