THE BIBLE IN SPAIN
or The Journeys, Adventures, and Imprisonments
of an Englishman, in an Attempt to
circulate the Scriptures in the Peninsula
BY
GEORGE BORROW
* * * * *
CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD.
LONDON, PARIS, NEW YORK,
TORONTO & MELBOURNE
MCMVIII
EDITOR’S NOTE
Blessed with a magnificent physique, and an unswerving belief in God’s
beneficence; endowed with “the gift of tongues” and a cheerful
disposition, George Borrow was well equipped for life. That he was
called to be a Bible Society missionary was surely a curious turn of
fortune. The son of a Militia captain, whose duties took him about the
country, Borrow early acquired the taste for a roving life, and it must
have been a severe hardship to him when, at the age of sixteen, he was
articled to a Norwich firm of solicitors. Indeed, it would almost appear
that the gypsy spirit was quenched, for on the completion of his five
years he was engaged as literary hack to Phillips, the London publisher.
But after a year or so the “call of the wild” came, and Borrow eagerly
responded. What happened is not really known, though much of his gypsy
life is pictured in _Lavengro_.
In 1832 he commenced his work for the Bible Society, and the next year
went as its representative to Russia. He stayed there until 1835, when
he was ordered to Spain and Portugal. In spite of their adventurous
nature, the five years there spent were described by Borrow as “the most
happy years of my life.” _The Bible in Spain_ consists largely of his
letters to the Society, and the vigour and directness of his language
must ofttimes have startled the officials. The book was published in
December, 1842.
George Henry Borrow was born July 5, 1803, and died July 26, 1881.
AUTHOR’S PREFACE
It is very seldom that the preface of a work is read; indeed, of late
years, most books have been sent into the world without any. I deem it,
however, advisable to write a preface, and to this I humbly call the
attention of the courteous reader, as its perusal will not a little tend
to the proper understanding and appreciation of these volumes.
The work now offered to the public, and which is styled _The Bible in
Spain_, consists of a narrative of what occurred to me during a residence
in that country, to which I was sent by the Bible Society, as its agent
for the purpose of printing and circulating the Scriptures. It
comprehends, however, certain journeys and adventures in Portugal, and
leaves me at last in “the land of the Corahai,” to which region, after
having undergone considerable buffeting in Spain, I found it expedient to
retire for a season.
It is very probable that had I visited Spain from mere curiosity, or with
a view of passing a year or two agreeably, I should never have attempted
to give any detailed account of my proceedings, or of what I heard and
saw. I am no tourist, no writer of books of travels; but I went there on
a somewhat remarkable errand, which necessarily led me into strange
situations and positions, involved me in difficulties and perplexities,
and brought me into contact with people of all descriptions and grades;
so that, upon the whole, I flatter myself that a narrative of such a
pilgrimage may not be wholly uninteresting to the public, more especially
as the subject is not trite; for though various books have been published
about Spain, I believe that the present is the only one in existence
which treats of missionary labour in that country.
Many things, it is true, will be found in the following volume which have
little connexion with religion or religious enterprise; I offer, however,
no apology for introducing them. I was, as I may say, from first to last
adrift in Spain, the land of old renown, the land of wonder and mystery,
with better opportunities of becoming acquainted with its strange secrets
and peculiarities than perhaps ever yet were afforded to any individual,
certainly to a foreigner; and if in many instances I have introduced
scenes and characters perhaps unprecedented in a work of this
description, I have only to observe, that, during my sojourn in Spain, I
was so unavoidably mixed up with such, that I could scarcely have given a
faithful narrative of what befell me had I not brought them forward in
the manner which I have done.
It is worthy of remark that, called suddenly and unexpectedly “to
undertake the adventure of Spain,” I was not altogether unprepared for
such an enterprise. In the daydreams of my boyhood, Spain always bore a
considerable share, and I took a particular interest in her, without any
presentiment that I should at a future time be called upon to take a
part, however humble, in her strange dramas; which interest, at a very
early period, led me to acquire her noble language, and to make myself
acquainted with her literature (scarcely worthy of the language), her
history and traditions; so that when I entered Spain for the first time I
felt more at home than I should otherwise have done.
In Spain I passed five years, which, if not the most eventful, were, I
have no hesitation in saying, the most happy years of my existence. Of
Spain, at the present time, now that the daydream has vanished, never,
alas! to return, I entertain the warmest admiration: she is the most
magnificent country in the world, probably the most fertile, and
certainly with the finest climate. Whether her children are worthy of
their mother, is another question, which I shall not attempt to answer;
but content myself with observing, that, amongst much that is lamentable
and reprehensible, I have found much that is noble and to be admired;
much stern heroic virtue; much savage and horrible crime; of low vulgar
vice very little, at least amongst the great body of the Spanish nation,
with which my mission lay; for it will be as well here to observe, that I
advance no claim to an intimate acquaintance with the Spanish nobility,
from whom I kept as remote as circumstances would permit me; _en
revanche_, however, I have had the honour to live on familiar terms with
the peasants, shepherds, and muleteers of Spain, whose bread and bacalao
I have eaten; who always treated me with kindness and courtesy, and to
whom I have not unfrequently been indebted for shelter and protection.
“The generous bearing of Francisco Gonzales, and the high deeds of
Ruy Diaz the Cid, are still sung amongst the fastnesses of the Sierra
Morena.” {8}
I believe that no stronger argument can be brought forward in proof of
the natural vigour and resources of Spain, and the sterling character of
her population, than the fact that, at the present day, she is still a
powerful and unexhausted country, and her children still, to a certain
extent, a high-minded and great people. Yes, notwithstanding the misrule
of the brutal and sensual Austrian, the doting Bourbon, and, above all,
the spiritual tyranny of the court of Rome, Spain can still maintain her
own, fight her own combat, and Spaniards are not yet fanatic slaves and
crouching beggars. This is saying much, very much: she has undergone far
more than Naples had ever to bear, and yet the fate of Naples has not
been hers. There is still valour in Astruria; generosity in Aragon;
probity in Old Castile; and the peasant women of La Mancha can still
afford to place a silver fork and a snowy napkin beside the plate of
their guest. Yes, in spite of Austrian, Bourbon, and Rome, there is
still a wide gulf between Spain and Naples.
Strange as it may sound, Spain is not a fanatic country. I know
something about her, and declare that she is not, nor has ever been;
Spain never changes. It is true that, for nearly two centuries, she was
the she-butcher, _La Verduga_, of malignant Rome; the chosen instrument
for carrying into effect the atrocious projects of that power; yet
fanaticism was not the spring which impelled her to the work of butchery;
another feeling, in her the predominant one, was worked upon—her fatal
pride. It was by humouring her pride that she was induced to waste her
precious blood and treasure in the Low Country wars, to launch the
Armada, and to many other equally insane actions. Love of Rome had ever
slight influence over her policy; but flattered by the title of
Gonfaloniera of the Vicar of Jesus, and eager to prove herself not
unworthy of the same, she shut her eyes and rushed upon her own
destruction with the cry of “Charge, Spain.”
But the arms of Spain became powerless abroad, and she retired within
herself. She ceased to be the tool of the vengeance and cruelty of Rome.
She was not cast aside, however. No! though she could no longer wield
the sword with success against the Lutherans, she might still be turned
to some account. She had still gold and silver, and she was still the
land of the vine and olive. Ceasing to be the butcher, she became the
banker of Rome; and the poor Spaniards, who always esteem it a privilege
to pay another person’s reckoning, were for a long time happy in being
permitted to minister to the grasping cupidity of Rome, who during the
last century, probably extracted from Spain more treasure than from all
the rest of Christendom.
But wars came into the land. Napoleon and his fierce Franks invaded
Spain; plunder and devastation ensued, the effects of which will probably
be felt for ages. Spain could no longer pay pence to Peter so freely as
of yore, and from that period she became contemptible in the eyes of
Rome, who has no respect for a nation, save so far as it can minister to
her cruelty or avarice. The Spaniard was still willing to pay, as far as
his means would allow, but he was soon given to understand that he was a
degraded being,—a barbarian; nay, a beggar. Now, you may draw the last
cuarto from a Spaniard, provided you will concede to him the title of
cavalier, and rich man, for the old leaven still works as powerfully as
in the time of the first Philip; but you must never hint that he is poor,
or that his blood is inferior to your own. And the old peasant, on being
informed in what slight estimation he was held, replied, “If I am a
beast, a barbarian, and a beggar withal, I am sorry for it; but as there
is no remedy, I shall spend these four bushels of barley, which I had
reserved to alleviate the misery of the holy father, in procuring bull
spectacles, and other convenient diversions, for the queen my wife, and
the young princes my children. Beggar! carajo! The water of my village
is better than the wine of Rome.”
I see that in a late pastoral letter directed to the Spaniards, the
father of Rome complains bitterly of the treatment which he has received
in Spain at the hands of naughty men. “My cathedrals are let down,” he
says, “my priests are insulted, and the revenues of my bishops are
curtailed.” He consoles himself, however, with the idea that this is the
effect of the malice of a few, and that the generality of the nation love
him, especially the peasantry, the innocent peasantry, who shed tears
when they think of the sufferings of their pope and their religion.
Undeceive yourself, Batuschca, undeceive yourself! Spain was ready to
fight for you so long as she could increase her own glory by doing so;
but she took no pleasure in losing battle after battle on your account.
She had no objection to pay money into your coffers in the shape of alms,
expecting, however, that the same would be received with the gratitude
and humility which becomes those who accept charity. Finding, however,
that you were neither humble nor grateful; suspecting, moreover, that you
held Austria in higher esteem than herself, even as a banker, she
shrugged up her shoulders, and uttered a sentence somewhat similar to
that which I have already put into the mouth of one of her children,
“These four bushels of barley,” etc.
It is truly surprising what little interest the great body of the Spanish
nation took in the late struggle, and yet it has been called, by some who
ought to know better, a war of religion and principle. It was generally
supposed that Biscay was the stronghold of Carlism, and that the
inhabitants were fanatically attached to their religion, which they
apprehended was in danger. The truth is, that the Basques cared nothing
for Carlos or Rome, and merely took up arms to defend certain rights and
privileges of their own. For the dwarfish brother of Ferdinand they
always exhibited supreme contempt, which his character, a compound of
imbecility, cowardice, and cruelty, well merited. If they made use of
his name, it was merely as a _cri de guerre_. Much the same may be said
with respect to his Spanish partisans, at least those who appeared in the
field for him. These, however, were of a widely different character from
the Basques, who were brave soldiers and honest men. The Spanish armies
of Don Carlos were composed entirely of thieves and assassins, chiefly
Valencians and Manchegans, who, marshalled under two cut-throats, Cabrera
and Palillos, took advantage of the distracted state of the country to
plunder and massacre the honest part of the community. With respect to
the Queen Regent Christina, of whom the less said the better, the reins
of government fell into her hands on the decease of her husband, and with
them the command of the soldiery. The respectable part of the Spanish
nation, and more especially the honourable and toilworn peasantry,
loathed and execrated both factions. Oft when I was sharing at nightfall
the frugal fare of the villager of Old or New Castile, on hearing the
distant shot of the Christino soldier or Carlist bandit, he would invoke
curses on the heads of the two pretenders, not forgetting the holy father
and the goddess of Rome, Maria Santissima. Then, with the tiger energy
of the Spaniard when roused, he would start up and exclaim: “Vamos, Don
Jorge, to the plain, to the plain! I wish to enlist with you, and to
learn the law of the English. To the plain, therefore, to the plain
to-morrow, to circulate the gospel of Ingalaterra.”
Amongst the peasantry of Spain I found my sturdiest supporters: and yet
the holy father supposes that the Spanish labourers are friends and
lovers of his. Undeceive yourself, Batuschca!
But to return to the present work: it is devoted to an account of what
befell me in Spain whilst engaged in distributing the Scripture. With
respect to my poor labours, I wish here to observe, that I accomplished
but very little, and that I lay claim to no brilliant successes and
triumphs; indeed I was sent into Spain more to explore the country, and
to ascertain how far the minds of the people were prepared to receive the
truths of Christianity, than for any other object; I obtained, however,
through the assistance of kind friends, permission from the Spanish
government to print an edition of the sacred volume at Madrid, which I
subsequently circulated in that capital and in the provinces.
During my sojourn in Spain, there were others who wrought good service in
the Gospel cause, and of whose efforts it were unjust to be silent in a
work of this description. Base is the heart which would refuse merit its
meed, and, however insignificant may be the value of any eulogium which
can flow from a pen like mine, I cannot refrain from mentioning with
respect and esteem a few names connected with Gospel enterprise. A
zealous Irish gentleman, of the name of Graydon, exerted himself with
indefatigable diligence in diffusing the light of Scripture in the
province of Catalonia, and along the southern shores of Spain; whilst two
missionaries from Gibraltar, Messrs. Rule and Lyon, during one entire
year, preached Evangelic truth in a Church at Cadiz. So much success
attended the efforts of these two last brave disciples of the immortal
Wesley, that there is every reason for supposing that, had they not been
silenced and eventually banished from the country by the pseudo-liberal
faction of the Moderados, not only Cadiz, but the greater part of
Andalusia, would by this time have confessed the pure doctrines of the
Gospel, and have discarded for ever the last relics of popish
superstition.
More immediately connected with the Bible Society and myself, I am most
happy to take this opportunity of speaking of Luis de Usoz y Rio, the
scion of an ancient and honourable family of Old Castile, my coadjutor
whilst editing the Spanish New Testament at Madrid. Throughout my
residence in Spain, I experienced every mark of friendship from this
gentleman, who, during the periods of my absence in the provinces, and my
numerous and long journeys, cheerfully supplied my place at Madrid, and
exerted himself to the utmost in forwarding the views of the Bible
Society, influenced by no other motive than a hope that its efforts would
eventually contribute to the peace, happiness, and civilisation of his
native land.
In conclusion, I beg leave to state that I am fully aware of the various
faults and inaccuracies of the present work. It is founded on certain
journals which I kept during my stay in Spain, and numerous letters
written to my friends in England, which they had subsequently the
kindness to restore: the greater part, however, consisting of
descriptions of scenery, sketches of character, etc., has been supplied
from memory. In various instances I have omitted the names of places,
which I have either forgotten, or of whose orthography I am uncertain.
The work, as it at present exists, was written in a solitary hamlet in a
remote part of England, where I had neither books to consult, nor friends
of whose opinion or advice I could occasionally avail myself, and under
all the disadvantages which arise from enfeebled health; I have, however,
on a recent occasion, experienced too much of the lenity and generosity
of the public, both of Britain and America, to shrink from again exposing
myself to its gaze, and trust that, if in the present volumes it finds
but little to admire, it will give me credit for good spirit, and for
setting down nought in malice.
Nov. 26, 1842.
CHAPTER I
Man Overboard—The Tagus—Foreign Languages—Gesticulation—Streets of
Lisbon—The Aqueduct—Bible tolerated in Portugal—Cintra—Don Sebastian—John
de Castro—Conversation with a Priest—Colhares—Mafra—Its Palace—The
Schoolmaster—The Portuguese—Their Ignorance of Scripture—Rural
Priesthood—The Alemtejo.
On the morning of the tenth of November, 1835, I found myself off the
coast of Galicia, whose lofty mountains, gilded by the rising sun,
presented a magnificent appearance. I was bound for Lisbon; we passed
Cape Finisterre, and standing farther out to sea, speedily lost sight of
land. On the morning of the eleventh the sea was very rough, and a
remarkable circumstance occurred. I was on the forecastle, discoursing
with two of the sailors: one of them, who had but just left his hammock,
said, “I have had a strange dream, which I do not much like, for,”
continued he, pointing up to the mast, “I dreamt that I fell into the sea
from the cross-trees.” He was heard to say this by several of the crew
besides myself. A moment after, the captain of the vessel perceiving
that the squall was increasing, ordered the topsails to be taken in,
whereupon this man with several others instantly ran aloft; the yard was
in the act of being hauled down, when a sudden gust of wind whirled it
round with violence, and a man was struck down from the cross-trees into
the sea, which was working like yeast below. In a short time he emerged;
I saw his head on the crest of a billow, and instantly recognised in the
unfortunate man the sailor who a few moments before had related his
dream. I shall never forget the look of agony he cast whilst the steamer
hurried past him. The alarm was given, and everything was in confusion;
it was two minutes at least before the vessel was stopped, by which time
the man was a considerable way astern; I still, however, kept my eye upon
him, and could see that he was struggling gallantly with the waves. A
boat was at length lowered, but the rudder was unfortunately not at hand,
and only two oars could be procured, with which the men could make but
little progress in so rough a sea. They did their best, however, and had
arrived within ten yards of the man, who still struggled for his life,
when I lost sight of him, and the men on their return said that they saw
him below the water, at glimpses, sinking deeper and deeper, his arms
stretched out and his body apparently stiff, but that they found it
impossible to save him; presently after, the sea, as if satisfied with
the prey which it had acquired, became comparatively calm. The poor
fellow who perished in this singular manner was a fine young man of
twenty-seven, the only son of a widowed mother; he was the best sailor on
board, and was beloved by all who were acquainted with him. This event
occurred on the eleventh of November, 1835; the vessel was the _London
Merchant_ steamship. Truly wonderful are the ways of Providence!
That same night we entered the Tagus, and dropped anchor before the old
tower of Belem; early the next morning we weighed, and, proceeding onward
about a league, we again anchored at a short distance from the Caesodré,
or principal quay of Lisbon. Here we lay for some hours beside the
enormous black hulk of the _Rainha Nao_, a man-of-war, which in old times
so captivated the eye of Nelson, that he would fain have procured it for
his native country. She was, long subsequently, the admiral’s ship of
the Miguelite squadron, and had been captured by the gallant Napier about
three years previous to the time of which I am speaking.
The _Rainha Nao_ is said to have caused him more trouble than all the
other vessels of the enemy; and some assert that, had the others defended
themselves with half the fury which the old vixen queen displayed, the
result of the battle which decided the fate of Portugal would have been
widely different.
I found disembarkation at Lisbon to be a matter of considerable vexation;
the custom-house officers were exceedingly uncivil, and examined every
article of my little baggage with most provocating minuteness.
My first impression on landing in the Peninsula was by no means a
favourable one; and I had scarcely pressed the soil one hour before I
heartily wished myself back in Russia, a country which I had quitted
about one month previous, and where I had left cherished friends and warm
affections.
After having submitted to much ill-usage and robbery at the custom-house,
I proceeded in quest of a lodging, and at last found one, but dirty and
expensive. The next day I hired a servant, a Portuguese, it being my
invariable custom on arriving in a country to avail myself of the
services of a native; chiefly with the view of perfecting myself in the
language; and being already acquainted with most of the principal
languages and dialects of the east and the west, I am soon able to make
myself quite intelligible to the inhabitants. In about a fortnight I
found myself conversing in Portuguese with considerable fluency.
Those who wish to make themselves understood by a foreigner in his own
language, should speak with much noise and vociferation, opening their
mouths wide. Is it surprising that the English are, in general, the
worst linguists in the world, seeing that they pursue a system
diametrically opposite? For example, when they attempt to speak Spanish,
the most sonorous tongue in existence, they scarcely open their lips, and
putting their hands in their pockets, fumble lazily, instead of applying
them to the indispensable office of gesticulation. Well may the poor
Spaniards exclaim, _These English talk so crabbedly_, _that Satan himself
would not be able to understand them_.
Lisbon is a huge ruinous city, still exhibiting in almost every direction
the vestiges of that terrific visitation of God, the earthquake which
shattered it some eighty years ago. It stands on seven hills, the
loftiest of which is occupied by the castle of Saint George, which is the
boldest and most prominent object to the eye, whilst surveying the city
from the Tagus. The most frequented and busy parts of the city are those
comprised within the valley to the north of this elevation.
Here you find the Plaza of the Inquisition, the principal square in
Lisbon, from which run parallel towards the river three or four streets,
amongst which are those of the gold and silver, so designated from being
inhabited by smiths cunning in the working of those metals; they are upon
the whole very magnificent; the houses are huge and as high as castles;
immense pillars defend the causeway at intervals, producing, however,
rather a cumbrous effect. These streets are quite level, and are well
paved, in which respect they differ from all the others in Lisbon. The
most singular street, however, of all is that of the Alemcrin, or
Rosemary, which debouches on the Caesodré. It is very precipitous, and
is occupied on either side by the palaces of the principal Portuguese
nobility, massive and frowning, but grand and picturesque, edifices, with
here and there a hanging garden, overlooking the streets at a great
height.
With all its ruin and desolation, Lisbon is unquestionably the most
remarkable city in the Peninsula, and, perhaps, in the south of Europe.
It is not my intention to enter into minute details concerning it; I
shall content myself with remarking, that it is quite as much deserving
the attention of the artist as even Rome itself. True it is that though
it abounds with churches it has no gigantic cathedral, like St. Peter’s,
to attract the eye and fill it with wonder, yet I boldly say that there
is no monument of man’s labour and skill, pertaining either to ancient or
modern Rome, for whatever purpose designed, which can rival the
water-works of Lisbon; I mean the stupendous aqueduct whose principal
arches cross the valley to the north-east of Lisbon, and which discharges
its little runnel of cool and delicious water into the rocky cistern
within that beautiful edifice called the Mother of the Waters, from
whence all Lisbon is supplied with the crystal lymph, though the source
is seven leagues distant. Let travellers devote one entire morning to
inspecting the Arcos and the Mai das Agoas, after which they may repair
to the English church and cemetery, Père-la-Chaise in miniature, where,
if they be of England, they may well be excused if they kiss the cold
tomb, as I did, of the author of _Amelia_, the most singular genius which
their island ever produced, whose works it has long been the fashion to
abuse in public and to read in secret. In the same cemetery rest the
mortal remains of Doddridge, another English author of a different stamp,
but justly admired and esteemed. I had not intended, on disembarking, to
remain long in Lisbon, nor indeed in Portugal; my destination was Spain,
whither I shortly proposed to direct my steps, it being the intention of
the Bible Society to attempt to commence operations in that country, the
object of which should be the distribution of the Word of God, for Spain
had hitherto been a region barred against the admission of the Bible; not
so Portugal, where, since the revolution, the Bible had been permitted
both to be introduced and circulated. Little, however, had been
accomplished; therefore, finding myself in the country, I determined, if
possible, to effect something in the way of distribution, but first of
all to make myself acquainted as to how far the people were disposed to
receive the Bible, and whether the state of education in general would
permit them to turn it to much account. I had plenty of Bibles and
Testaments at my disposal, but could the people read them, or would they?
A friend of the Society to whom I was recommended was absent from Lisbon
at the period of my arrival; this I regretted, as he could have afforded
me several useful hints. In order, however, that no time might be lost,
I determined not to wait for his arrival, but at once proceed to gather
the best information I could upon those points to which I have already
alluded. I determined to commence my researches at some slight distance
from Lisbon, being well aware of the erroneous ideas that I must form of
the Portuguese in general, should I judge of their character and opinions
from what I saw and heard in a city so much subjected to foreign
intercourse.
My first excursion was to Cintra. If there be any place in the world
entitled to the appellation of an enchanted region, it is surely Cintra;
Tivoli is a beautiful and picturesque place, but it quickly fades from
the mind of those who have seen the Portuguese Paradise. When speaking
of Cintra, it must not for a moment be supposed that nothing more is
meant than the little town or city; by Cintra must be understood the
entire region, town, palace, quintas, forests, crags, Moorish ruin, which
suddenly burst on the view on rounding the side of a bleak, savage, and
sterile-looking mountain. Nothing is more sullen and uninviting than the
south-western aspect of the stony wall which, on the side of Lisbon,
seems to shield Cintra from the eye of the world, but the other side is a
mingled scene of fairy beauty, artificial elegance, savage grandeur,
domes, turrets, enormous trees, flowers and waterfalls, such as is met
with nowhere else beneath the sun. Oh! there are strange and wonderful
objects at Cintra, and strange and wonderful recollections attached to
them. The ruin on that lofty peak, and which covers part of the side of
that precipitous steep, was once the principal stronghold of the
Lusitanian Moors, and thither, long after they had disappeared, at a
particular moon of every year, were wont to repair wild santons of
Maugrabie, to pray at the tomb of a famous Sidi, who slumbers amongst the
rocks. That grey palace witnessed the assemblage of the last cortes held
by the boy king Sebastian, ere he departed on his romantic expedition
against the Moors, who so well avenged their insulted faith and country
at Alcazarquibir, and in that low shady quinta, embowered amongst those
tall alcornoques, once dwelt John de Castro, the strange old viceroy of
Goa, who pawned the hairs of his dead son’s beard to raise money to
repair the ruined wall of a fortress threatened by the heathen of Ind;
those crumbling stones which stand before the portal, deeply graven, not
with “runes,” but things equally dark, Sanscrit rhymes from the Vedas,
were brought by him from Goa, the most brilliant scene of his glory,
before Portugal had become a base kingdom; and down that dingle, on an
abrupt rocky promontory, stand the ruined halls of the English
Millionaire, who there nursed the wayward fancies of a mind as wild,
rich, and variegated as the scenes around. Yes, wonderful are the
objects which meet the eye at Cintra, and wonderful are the recollections
attached to them.
The town of Cintra contains about eight hundred inhabitants. The morning
subsequent to my arrival, as I was about to ascend the mountain for the
purpose of examining the Moorish ruins, I observed a person advancing
towards me whom I judged by his dress to be an ecclesiastic; he was in
fact one of the three priests of the place. I instantly accosted him,
and had no reason to regret doing so; I found him affable and
communicative.
After praising the beauty of the surrounding scenery, I made some inquiry
as to the state of education amongst the people under his care. He
answered, that he was sorry to say that they were in a state of great
ignorance, very few of the common people being able either to read or
write; that with respect to schools, there was but one in the place,
where four or five children were taught the alphabet, but that even this
was at present closed; he informed me, however, that there was a school
at Colhares, about a league distant. Amongst other things, he said that
nothing more surprised him than to see Englishmen, the most learned and
intelligent people in the world, visiting a place like Cintra, where
there was no literature, science, nor anything of utility (_coisa que
presta_). I suspect that there was some covert satire in the last speech
of the worthy priest; I was, however, Jesuit enough to appear to receive
it as a high compliment, and, taking off my hat, departed with an
infinity of bows.
That same day I visited Colhares, a romantic village on the side of the
mountain of Cintra, to the north-west. Seeing some peasants collected
round a smithy, I inquired about the school, whereupon one of the men
instantly conducted me thither. I went upstairs into a small apartment,
where I found the master with about a dozen pupils standing in a row; I
saw but one stool in the room, and to that, after having embraced me, he
conducted me with great civility. After some discourse, he showed me the
books which he used for the instruction of the children; they were
spelling books, much of the same kind as those used in the village
schools in England. Upon my asking him whether it was his practice to
place the Scriptures in the hands of the children, he informed me that
long before they had acquired sufficient intelligence to understand them
they were removed by their parents, in order that they might assist in
the labours of the field, and that the parents in general were by no
means solicitous that their children should learn anything, as they
considered the time occupied in learning as so much squandered away. He
said, that though the schools were nominally supported by the government,
it was rarely that the schoolmasters could obtain their salaries, on
which account many had of late resigned their employments. He told me
that he had a copy of the New Testament in his possession, which I
desired to see, but on examining it I discovered that it was only the
epistles by Pereira, with copious notes. I asked him whether he
considered that there was harm in reading the Scriptures without notes:
he replied that there was certainly no harm in it, but that simple
people, without the help of notes, could derive but little benefit from
Scripture, as the greatest part would be unintelligible to them;
whereupon I shook hands with him, and on departing said that there was no
part of Scripture so difficult to understand as those very notes which
were intended to elucidate it, and that it would never have been written
if not calculated of itself to illume the minds of all classes of
mankind.
In a day or two I made an excursion to Mafra, distant about three leagues
from Cintra; the principal part of the way lay over steep hills, somewhat
dangerous for horses; however, I reached the place in safety.
Mafra is a large village in the neighbourhood of an immense building,
intended to serve as a convent and palace, and which is built somewhat
after the fashion of the Escurial. In this edifice exists the finest
library in Portugal, containing books on all sciences and in all
languages, and well suited to the size and grandeur of the edifice which
contains it. There were no monks, however, to take care of it, as in
former times; they had been driven forth, some to beg their bread, some
to serve under the banners of Don Carlos, in Spain, and many, as I was
informed, to prowl about as banditti. I found the place abandoned to two
or three menials, and exhibiting an aspect of solitude and desolation
truly appalling. Whilst I was viewing the cloisters, a fine
intelligent-looking lad came up and asked (I suppose in the hope of
obtaining a trifle) whether I would permit him to show me the village
church, which he informed me was well worth seeing; I said no, but added,
that if he would show me the village school I should feel much obliged to
him. He looked at me with astonishment, and assured me that there was
nothing to be seen at the school, which did not contain more than half a
dozen boys, and that he himself was one of the number. On my telling
him, however, that he should show me no other place, he at length
unwillingly attended me. On the way I learned from him that the
schoolmaster was one of the friars who had lately been expelled from the
convent, that he was a very learned man, and spoke French and Greek. We
passed a stone cross, and the boy bent his head and crossed himself with
much devotion. I mention this circumstance, as it was the first instance
of the kind which I had observed amongst the Portuguese since my arrival.
When near the house where the schoolmaster resided, he pointed it out to
me, and then hid himself behind a wall, where he awaited my return.
On stepping over the threshold I was confronted by a short stout man,
between sixty and seventy years of age, dressed in a blue jerkin and grey
trousers, without shirt or waistcoat; he looked at me sternly, and
enquired in the French language what was my pleasure. I apologised for
intruding upon him, and stated that, being informed he occupied the
situation of schoolmaster, I had come to pay my respects to him and to
beg permission to ask a few questions respecting the seminary. He
answered that whoever told me he was a schoolmaster lied, for that he was
a friar of the convent and nothing else. “It is not then true,” said I,
“that all the convents have been broken up and the monks dismissed?”
“Yes, yes,” said he with a sigh, “it is true; it is but too true.” He
then was silent for a minute, and his better nature overcoming his angry
feelings, he produced a snuff-box and offered it to me. The snuff-box is
the olive-branch of the Portuguese, and he who wishes to be on good terms
with them must never refuse to dip his finger and thumb into it when
offered. I took therefore a huge pinch, though I detest the dust, and we
were soon on the best possible terms. He was eager to obtain news,
especially from Lisbon and Spain. I told him that the officers of the
troops at Lisbon had, the day before I left that place, gone in a body to
the queen and insisted upon her either receiving their swords or
dismissing her ministers; whereupon he rubbed his hands and said that he
was sure matters would not remain tranquil at Lisbon. On my saying,
however, that I thought the affairs of Don Carlos were on the decline
(this was shortly after the death of Zumalacarregui), he frowned, and
cried that it could not possibly be, for that God was too just to suffer
it. I felt for the poor man who had been driven out of his home in the
noble convent close by, and from a state of affluence and comfort reduced
in his old age to indigence and misery, for his present dwelling scarcely
seemed to contain an article of furniture. I tried twice or thrice to
induce him to converse about the school, but he either avoided the
subject or said shortly that he knew nothing about it. On my leaving
him, the boy came from his hiding-place and rejoined me; he said that he
had hidden himself through fear of his master’s knowing that he had
brought me to him, for that he was unwilling that any stranger should
know that he was a schoolmaster.
I asked the boy whether he or his parents were acquainted with the
Scripture and ever read it; he did not, however, seem to understand me.
I must here observe that the boy was fifteen years of age, that he was in
many respects very intelligent, and had some knowledge of the Latin
language; nevertheless he knew not the Scripture even by name, and I have
no doubt, from what I subsequently observed, that at least two-thirds of
his countrymen are on that important point no wiser than himself. At the
doors of village inns, at the hearths of the rustics, in the fields where
they labour, at the stone fountains by the wayside where they water their
cattle, I have questioned the lower class of the children of Portugal
about the Scripture, the Bible, the Old and New Testament, and in no one
instance have they known what I was alluding to, or could return me a
rational answer, though on all other matters their replies were sensible
enough; indeed, nothing surprised me more than the free and unembarrassed
manner in which the Portuguese peasantry sustain a conversation, and the
purity of the language in which they express their thoughts, and yet few
of them can read or write; whereas the peasantry of England, whose
education is in general much superior, are in their conversation coarse
and dull almost to brutality, and absurdly ungrammatical in their
language, though the English tongue is upon the whole more simple in its
structure than the Portuguese.
On my return to Lisbon I found our friend ---, who received me very
kindly. The next ten days were exceedingly rainy, which prevented me
from making any excursions into the country: during this time I saw our
friend frequently, and had long conversations with him concerning the
best means of distributing the gospel. He thought we could do no better
for the present than put part of our stock into the hands of the
booksellers of Lisbon, and at the same time employ colporteurs to hawk
the books about the streets, receiving a certain profit off every copy
they sold. This plan was agreed upon and forthwith put in practice, and
with some success. I had thought of sending colporteurs into the
neighbouring villages, but to this our friend objected. He thought the
attempt dangerous, as it was very possible that the rural priesthood, who
still possessed much influence in their own districts, and who were for
the most part decided enemies to the spread of the gospel, might cause
the men employed to be assassinated or ill-treated.
I determined, however, ere leaving Portugal, to establish dépots of
Bibles in one or two of the provincial towns. I wished to visit the
Alemtejo, which I had heard was a very benighted region. The Alemtejo
means the province beyond the Tagus. This province is not beautiful and
picturesque, like most other parts of Portugal: there are few hills and
mountains, the greater part consists of heaths broken by knolls, and
gloomy dingles, and forests of stunted pine; these places are infested
with banditti. The principal city is Evora, one of the most ancient in
Portugal, and formerly the seat of a branch of the Inquisition, yet more
cruel and baneful than the terrible one of Lisbon. Evora lies about
sixty miles from Lisbon, and to Evora I determined on going with twenty
Testaments and two Bibles. How I fared there will presently be seen.