My mother had an aunt, Juana Nessi, who was a sister of her father's.

This lady was reasonably attractive when young, and married a rich
gentleman just returned from America, whose name was Don Matias Lacasa.

Once settled in Madrid, Don Matias, who deemed himself an eagle, when,
in reality, he was a common barnyard rooster, embarked upon a series of
undertakings that failed with truly extraordinary unanimity. About 1870,
a physician from Valencia by the name of Marti, who had visited Vienna,
gave him an account of the bread they make there, and of the yeast they
use to raise it, enlarging upon the profits which lay ready to hand in
that line.

Don Matias was convinced, and he bought an old house near the Church of
the Descalzas upon Marti's advice. It stood in a street which boasted
only one number--the number 2. I believe the street was, and still is,
called the Calle de la Misericordia.

Marti set up ovens in the old building by the Church of the Descalzas,
and the business began to yield fabulous profits. Being a devotee of the
life of pleasure, Marti died three or four years after the business had
been established, and Don Matias continued his gallinaceous evolutions
until he was utterly ruined, and had pawned everything he possessed,
remaining at last with the bakery as his only means of support.

He succeeded in entangling and ruining that, too, before he died. My
aunt then wrote my mother requesting that my brother Ricardo come up to
Madrid.