The Bible in Spain, Vol. 2 [of 2] / Or, the Journeys, Adventures, and Imprisonments of an Englishman in an Attempt to Circulate the Scriptures in the Peninsula

Myself.—And what do you propose to do at present?

Benedict.—What can I say, lieber Herr?  I know not what to do.  I will be guided in everything by your counsel.

Myself.—I shall remain at Oviedo a few days longer, during which time you can lodge at this posada, and endeavour to recover from the fatigue of your disastrous journeys; perhaps before I depart, we may hit on some plan to extricate you from your present difficulties.

Thereupon I presented him with a few dollars.

“A strange man is this Benedict,” said Antonio to me next morning, as, accompanied by a guide, we sallied forth from Oviedo; “a strange man, mon maître, is this same Benedict.  A strange life has he led, and a strange death he will die,—it is written on his countenance.  That he will leave Spain I do not believe, or if he leave it, it will be only to return, for he is bewitched about this treasure.  Last night he sent for a sorcière whom he consulted in my presence: and she told him that he was doomed to possess it, but that first of all he must cross water.  She cautioned him likewise against an enemy, which he supposes must be the canon of Saint James.  I have often heard people speak of the avidity of the Swiss for money, and here is a proof of it.  I would not undergo what Benedict has suffered in these last journeys of his to possess all the treasures in Spain.”

Departure from Oviedo—Villa Viciosa—The Young Man of the Inn—Antonio’s Tale—The General and his Family—Woful Tidings—To-morrow we die—San Vicente—Santander—An Harangue—Flinter the Irishman.

Late in the afternoon we reached Villa Viciosa, a small dirty town, at the distance of eight leagues from Oviedo: it stands beside a creek which communicates with the Bay of Biscay.  It is sometimes called La Capital de las Avellanas, or the Capital of the Filberts, from the immense quantity of this fruit which is grown in the neighbourhood; and the greatest part of which is exported to England.  As we drew nigh we overtook numerous carts laden with avellanas proceeding in the direction of the town.  I was informed that several small English vessels were lying in the harbour.  Singular as it may seem, however, notwithstanding we were in the Capital of the Avellanas, it was with the utmost difficulty that I procured a scanty handful for my dessert, and of these more than one-half were decayed.  The people of the house informed me that the nuts were intended for exportation, and that they never dreamt either of partaking of them themselves or of offering them to their guests.

At an early hour on the following day we reached Colunga, a beautiful village on a rising ground, thickly planted with chestnut trees.  It is celebrated, at least in the Asturias, as being the birthplace of Arguëlles, the father of the Spanish constitution.

Wondering what this could mean, I sat down to my morning repast.  Nearly an hour elapsed, and still Antonio did not make his appearance.  Through the boards, however, which composed the ceiling of the kitchen where I sat, I could hear the voices of himself and his acquaintance, and thought that I could occasionally distinguish the sound of broken sobs and groans.  At last there was a long pause.  I became impatient, and was about to summon Antonio, when he made his appearance, but unaccompanied by the stranger.  “What, in the name of all that is singular,” I demanded, “have you been about?  Who is that man?”  “Mon maître,” said Antonio, “c’est un monsieur de ma connaissance.  With your permission I will now take a mouthful, and as we journey along I will tell you all that I know of him.”

“Monsieur,” said Antonio, as we rode out of Colunga, “you are anxious to know the history of the gentleman whom you saw embrace me at the inn.  Know, mon maître, that these Carlist and Cristino wars have been the cause of much misery and misfortune in this country; but a being so thoroughly unfortunate as that poor young gentleman of the inn, I do not believe is to be found in Spain, and his misfortunes proceed entirely from the spirit of party and faction which for some time past has been so prevalent.

“I tell you what, mon maître, when I heard of the misfortune of madame and the general, you would scarcely believe it, but I actually shed tears, and was sorry that I had parted with them in unkindness on account of that pernicious quail.

“He asked me for counsel, but I had none to give him, and could only weep with him.  At last he said, ‘Dear Antonio, I see there is no remedy.  You say your master is below; beg him, I pray, to stay till tomorrow, and we will send for the maidens of the neighbourhood, and for a violin and bagpipe, and we will dance and cast away care for a moment.’  And then he said something in old Greek, which I scarcely understood, but which I think was equivalent to, ‘Let us eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die!’

“Eh bien, mon maître, I told him that you were a serious gentleman, who never took any amusement, and that you were in a hurry.  Whereupon he wept again, and embraced me, and bade me farewell.  And now, mon maître, I have told you the history of the young man of the inn.”

Leaving San Vicente behind us, we travelled for some leagues on the seashore, crossing occasionally a narrow inlet or firth.  The country at last began to improve, and in the neighbourhood of Santillana was both beautiful and fertile.  About a league before we reached the country of Gil Blas we passed through an extensive wood, in which were rocks and precipices; it was exactly such a place as that in which the cave of Rolando was situated, as described in the novel.  The wood has an evil name, and our guide informed us that robberies were occasionally committed in it.  No adventure, however, befell us, and we reached Santillana at about six in the evening.

We did not enter the town, but halted at a large venta, or posada, at the entrance, before which stood an immense ash tree.  We had scarcely housed ourselves when a tremendous storm of rain and wind commenced, accompanied with thunder and lightning, which continued without much interruption for several hours, and the effects of which were visible in our journey of the following day, the streams over which we passed being much swollen, and several trees lying uptorn by the wayside.  Santillana contains four thousand inhabitants, and is six short leagues’ distance from Santander, where we arrived early the next day.

“Pardon me, sir,” said a Spaniard who sat at the table, “the curiosity which induces me to request the favour of your distinguished name.”

Ardent spirits of foreign climes, who hope to distinguish yourselves in the service of Spain, and to earn honours and rewards, remember the fate of Columbus, and of another as brave and as ardent—Flinter!

Departure from Santander—The Night Alarm—The Black Pass.

State of Affairs at Madrid—The New Ministry—Pope of Rome—The Bookseller of Toledo—Sword-blades—Houses of Toledo—The Forlorn Gypsy—Proceedings at Madrid—Another Servant.

During my journey in the northern provinces of Spain, which occupied a considerable portion of the year 1837, I had accomplished but a slight portion of what I proposed to myself to effect in the outset.  Insignificant are the results of man’s labours compared with the swelling ideas of his presumption; something, however, had been effected by the journey which I had just concluded.  The New Testament of Christ was now enjoying a quiet sale in the principal towns of the north, and I had secured the friendly interest and co-operation of the booksellers of those parts, particularly of him the most considerable of them all, old Rey of Compostella.  I had, moreover, disposed of a considerable number of Testaments with my own hands, to private individuals, entirely of the lower classes, namely, muleteers, carmen, contrabandistas, etc., so that upon the whole I had abundant cause for gratitude and thanksgiving.

The enemy, however, had now retired to his strongholds in Alava and Guipuzcoa.  I hoped that brighter days were dawning, and that the work, under my own superintendence, would, with God’s blessing, prosper in the capital of Spain.  How far the result corresponded with my expectations will be seen in the sequel.

Such was the party which continued in power throughout the remainder of my sojourn in Spain, and which persecuted me less from rancour and malice than from policy.  It was not until the conclusion of the war of the succession that it lost the ascendency, when it sank to the ground with its patroness the queen-mother, before the dictatorship of Espartero.

The first step which I took after my return to Madrid, towards circulating the Scriptures, was a very bold one.  It was neither more nor less than the establishment of a shop for the sale of Testaments.  This shop was situated in the Calle del Principe, a respectable and well-frequented street in the neighbourhood of the Square of Cervantes.  I furnished it handsomely with glass cases and chandeliers, and procured an acute Gallegan of the name of Pepe Calzado, to superintend the business, who gave me weekly a faithful account of the copies sold.

And I remained for two hours, leaning against the wall, staring at the shop.

“Will not your doing so bring you into odium with the clergy?”

“Ca!” said they, “the swords of Toledo were never so good as those which we are daily making.  It is ridiculous enough to see strangers coming here to purchase old swords, the greater part of which are mere rubbish, and never made at Toledo, yet for such they will give a large price, whilst they would grudge two dollars for this jewel, which was made but yesterday;” thereupon putting into my hand a middle-sized rapier.  “Your worship,” said they, “seems to have a strong arm; prove its temper against the stone wall—thrust boldly and fear not.”

I have a strong arm, and dashed the point with my utmost force against the solid granite: my arm was numbed to the shoulder from the violence of the concussion, and continued so for nearly a week, but the sword appeared not to be at all blunted, or to have suffered in any respect.

“A better sword than that,” said an ancient workman, a native of Old Castile, “never transfixed Moor out yonder on the sagra.”

“To the chim of the Corahai, my son; to the land of the Moors, to be a soldier of the Moorish king.”

“And what will become of yourself?” I inquired; “think you that he will take you with him?”

“He will leave me on the shore, my son; and as soon as he has crossed the black pawnee, he will forget me and never think of me more.”

“And knowing his ingratitude, why should you give yourself so much trouble about him?”

“Am I not his romí, my son; and am I not bound by the law of the Calés to assist him to the last?  Should he return from the land of the Corahai at the end of a hundred years, and should find me alive, and should say, ‘I am hungry, little wife; go forth and steal or tell baji,’ I must do it, for he is the rom and I the romí.”

These proceedings of mine did not fail to cause a great sensation: the priests and their partisans were teeming with malice and fury, which, for some time, however, they thought proper to exhibit only in words; it being their opinion that I was favoured by the ambassador and by the British government; but there was no attempt, however atrocious, that might not be expected from their malignity; and were it right and seemly for me, the most insignificant of worms, to make such a comparison, I might say, like Paul at Ephesus, I was fighting with wild beasts.

On the last day of the year 1837, my servant Antonio thus addressed me: “Mon maître, it is necessary that I leave you for a time.  Ever since we have returned from our journeys, I have become unsettled and dissatisfied with the house, the furniture, and with Doña Marequita.  I have therefore engaged myself as cook in the house of the Count of ---, where I am to receive four dollars per month less than what your worship gives me.  I am fond of change, though it be for the worse.  Adieu, mon maître; may you be as well served as you deserve.  Should you chance, however, to have any pressing need de mes soins, send for me without hesitation, and I will at once give my new master warning, if I am still with him, and come to you.”

Euscarra—Basque not Irish—Sanscrit and Tartar Dialects—A Vowel Language—Popular Poetry—The Basques—Their Persons—Basque Women.

There is, however, another opinion with respect to the Basque which deserves more especial notice, from the circumstance of its being extensively entertained amongst the literati of various countries of Europe, more especially England.  I allude to the Celtic origin of this tongue, and its close connexion with the most cultivated of all the Celtic dialects—the Irish.  People who pretend to be well conversant with the subject, have even gone so far as to assert, that so little difference exists between the Basque and Irish tongues, that individuals of the two nations, when they meet together, find no difficulty in understanding each other, with no other means of communication than their respective languages; in a word, that there is scarcely a greater difference between the two than between the French and the Spanish Basque.  Such similarity, however, though so strongly insisted upon, by no means exists in fact; and perhaps in the whole of Europe it would be difficult to discover two languages which exhibit fewer points of mutual resemblance than the Basque and Irish.

Having closely examined the subject in all its various bearings, and having weighed what is to be said on one side against what is to be advanced on the other, I am inclined to rank the Basque rather amongst the Tartar than the Sanscrit dialects.  Whoever should have an opportunity of comparing the enunciation of the Basques and Tartars would, from that alone, even if he understood them not, come to the conclusion that their respective languages were formed on the same principles.  In both occur periods seemingly interminable, during which the voice gradually ascends to a climax, and then gradually sinks down.

There are few inducements to the study of this language.  In the first place, the acquisition of it is by no means necessary even to those who reside in the countries where it is spoken, the Spanish being generally understood throughout the Basque provinces pertaining to Spain, and the French in those pertaining to France.

In person the Basques are of the middle size, and are active and athletic.  They are in general of fair complexions and handsome features, and in appearance bear no slight resemblance to certain Tartar tribes of the Caucasus.  Their bravery is unquestionable, and they are considered as the best soldiery belonging to the Spanish crown: a fact highly corroborative of the supposition that they are of Tartar origin, the Tartars being of all races the most warlike, and amongst whom the most remarkable conquerors have been produced.  They are faithful and honest, and capable of much disinterested attachment; kind and hospitable to strangers; all of which points are far from being at variance with the Tartar character.  But they are somewhat dull, and their capacities are by no means of a high order, and in these respects they again resemble the Tartars.