Oviedo—The Ten Gentlemen—The Swiss again—Modest Request—The
Robbers—Episcopal Benevolence—The Cathedral—Portrait of Feijoo.
I must now take a considerable stride in my journey, no less than from
Muros to Oviedo, contenting myself with observing, that we proceeded from
Muros to Velez, and from thence to Giyon, where our guide Martin bade us
farewell, and returned with his mare to Rivadeo. The honest fellow did
not part without many expressions of regret, indeed he even expressed a
desire that I should take him and his mare into my service; “for,” said
he, “I have a great desire to run through all Spain, and even the world;
and I am sure I shall never have a better opportunity than by attaching
myself to your worship’s skirts.” On my reminding him, however, of his
wife and family, for he had both, he said, “True, true, I had forgotten
them: happy the guide whose only wife and family are a mare and foal.”
Oviedo is about three leagues from Giyon. Antonio rode the horse, whilst
I proceeded thither in a kind of diligence which runs daily between the
two towns. The road is good, but mountainous. I arrived safely at the
capital of the Asturias, although at a rather unpropitious season, for
the din of war was at the gate, and there was the cry of the captains and
the shouting. Castile, at the time of which I am writing, was in the
hands of the Carlists, who had captured and plundered Valladolid in much
the same manner as they had Segovia some time before. They were every
day expected to march on Oviedo, in which case they might perhaps have
experienced some resistance, a considerable body of troops being
stationed there, who had erected some redoubts, and strongly fortified
several of the convents, especially that of Santa Clara de la Vega. All
minds were in a state of feverish anxiety and suspense, more especially
as no intelligence arrived from Madrid, which by the last accounts was
said to be occupied by the bands of Cabrera and Palillos.
So it came to pass that one night I found myself in the ancient town of
Oviedo, in a very large, scantily-furnished, and remote room in an
ancient posada, formerly a palace of the counts of Santa Cruz. It was
past ten, and the rain was descending in torrents. I was writing, but
suddenly ceased on hearing numerous footsteps ascending the creaking
stairs which led to my apartment. The door was flung open, and in walked
nine men of tall stature, marshalled by a little hunchbacked personage.
They were all muffled in the long cloaks of Spain, but I instantly knew
by their demeanour that they were caballeros, or gentlemen. They placed
themselves in a rank before the table where I was sitting. Suddenly and
simultaneously they all flung back their cloaks, and I perceived that
every one bore a book in his hand; a book which I knew full well. After
a pause, which I was unable to break, for I sat lost in astonishment, and
almost conceived myself to be visited by apparitions, the hunchback,
advancing somewhat before the rest, said in soft silvery tones, “Señor
Cavalier, was it you who brought this book to the Asturias?” I now
supposed that they were the civil authorities of the place come to take
me into custody, and, rising from my seat, I exclaimed, “It certainly was
I, and it is my glory to have done so; the book is the New Testament of
God: I wish it was in my power to bring a million.” “I heartily wish so
too,” said the little personage with a sigh. “Be under no apprehension,
Sir Cavalier, these gentlemen are my friends; we have just purchased
these books in the shop where you placed them for sale, and have taken
the liberty of calling upon you, in order to return you our thanks for
the treasure you have brought us. I hope you can furnish us with the Old
Testament also.” I replied that I was sorry to inform him that at
present it was entirely out of my power to comply with his wish, as I had
no Old Testaments in my possession, but did not despair of procuring some
speedily from England. He then asked me a great many questions
concerning my biblical travels in Spain, and my success, and the views
entertained by the Society, with respect to Spain, adding that he hoped
we should pay particular attention to the Asturias, which he assured me
was the best ground in the Peninsula for our labour. After about half an
hour’s conversation, he suddenly said, in the English language, “Good
night, Sir,” wrapped his cloak around him, and walked out as he had come.
His companions, who had hitherto not uttered a word, all repeated “Good
night, Sir,” and, adjusting their cloaks, followed him.
In order to explain this strange scene, I must state that in the morning
I had visited the petty bookseller of the place, Longoria, and having
arranged preliminaries with him, I sent him in the evening a package of
forty Testaments, all I possessed, with some advertisements. At the time
he assured me that, though he was willing to undertake the sale, there
was, nevertheless, not a prospect of success, as a whole month had
elapsed since he had sold a book of any description, on account of the
uncertainty of the times, and the poverty which pervaded the land; I
therefore felt much dispirited. This incident, however, admonished me
not to be cast down when things look gloomiest, as the hand of the Lord
is generally then most busy; that men may learn to perceive, that
whatever good is accomplished is not their work but his.
Two or three days after this adventure, I was once more seated in my
large scantily-furnished room; it was about ten, of a dark melancholy
morning, and the autumnal rain was again falling. I had just
breakfasted, and was about to sit down to my journal, when the door was
flung open and in bounded Antonio.
“Mon maître,” said he, quite breathless, “who do you think has arrived?”
“The pretender, I suppose,” said I, in some trepidation; “if so, we are
prisoners.”
“Bah, bah!” said Antonio, “it is not the pretender, but one worth twenty
of him; it is the Swiss of Saint James.”
“Benedict Mol, the Swiss!” said I, “What! has he found the treasure? But
how did he come? How is he dressed?”
“Mon maître,” said Antonio, “he came on foot if we may judge by his
shoes, through which his toes are sticking; and as for his dress, he is
in most villainous apparel.”
“There must be some mystery in this,” said I; “where is he at present?”
“Below, mon maître,” replied Antonio; “he came in quest of us. But I no
sooner saw him, than I hurried away to let you know.”
In a few minutes Benedict Mol found his way up stairs; he was, as Antonio
had remarked, in most villainous apparel, and nearly barefooted; his old
Andalusian hat was dripping with rain.
“Och, lieber herr,” said Benedict, “how rejoiced I am to see you again.
Oh, the sight of your countenance almost repays me for all the miseries I
have undergone since I parted with you at Saint James.”
_Myself_.—I can scarcely believe that I really see you here at Oviedo.
What motive can have induced you to come to such an out-of-the-way place
from such an immense distance?
_Benedict_.—Lieber herr, I will sit down and tell you all that has
befallen me. Some few days after I saw you last, the canonigo persuaded
me to go to the captain-general to apply for permission to disinter the
schatz, and also to crave assistance. So I saw the captain-general, who
at first received me very kindly, asked me several questions, and told me
to come again. So I continued visiting him till he would see me no
longer, and do what I might I could not obtain a glance of him. The
canon now became impatient, more especially as he had given me a few
pesetas out of the charities of the church. He frequently called me a
bribon and impostor. At last, one morning I went to him, and said that I
had proposed to return to Madrid, in order to lay the matter before the
government, and requested that he would give me a certificate to the
effect that I had performed a pilgrimage to Saint James, which I imagined
would be of assistance to me upon the way, as it would enable me to beg
with some colour of authority. He no sooner heard this request, than,
without saying a word or allowing me a moment to put myself on my
defence, he sprang upon me like a tiger, grasping my throat so hard that
I thought he would have strangled me. I am a Swiss, however, and a man
of Lucerne, and when I had recovered myself a little, I had no difficulty
in flinging him off; I then threatened him with my staff and went away.
He followed me to the gate with the most horrid curses, saying that if I
presumed to return again, he would have me thrown at once into prison as
a thief and a heretic. So I went in quest of yourself, lieber herr, but
they told me that you were departed for Coruña; I then set out for Coruña
after you.
_Myself_.—And what befell you on the road?
_Benedict_.—I will tell you: about half-way between Saint James and
Coruña, as I was walking along, thinking of the schatz, I heard a loud
galloping, and looking around me I saw two men on horseback coming across
the field with the swiftness of the wind, and making directly for me.
Lieber Gott, said I, these are thieves, these are factious; and so they
were. They came up to me in a moment and bade me stand, so I flung down
my staff, took off my hat and saluted them. “Good day, caballeros,” said
I to them. “Good day, countryman,” said they to me, and then we stood
staring at each other for more than a minute. Lieber himmel, I never saw
such robbers; so finely dressed, so well armed, and mounted so bravely on
two fiery little hakkas, that looked as if they could have taken wing and
flown up into the clouds! So we continued staring at each other, till at
last one asked me who I was, whence I came, and where I was going.
“Gentlemen,” said I, “I am a Swiss, I have been to Saint James to perform
a religious vow, and am now returning to my own country.” I said not a
word about the treasure, for I was afraid that they would have shot me at
once, conceiving that I carried part of it about me. “Have you any
money?” they demanded. “Gentlemen,” I replied, “you see how I travel on
foot, with my shoes torn to pieces; I should not do so if I had money. I
will not deceive you, however, I have a peseta and a few cuartos,” and
thereupon I took out what I had and offered it to them. “Fellow,” said
they, “we are caballeros of Galicia, and do not take pesetas, much less
cuartos. Of what opinion are you? Are you for the queen?” “No,
gentlemen,” said I, “I am not for the queen, but, at the same time, allow
me to tell you that I am not for the king either; I know nothing about
the matter; I am a Swiss, and fight neither for nor against anybody
unless I am paid.” This made them laugh, and then they questioned me
about Saint James, and the troops there, and the captain-general; and not
to disoblige them, I told them all I knew and much more. Then one of
them, who looked the fiercest and most determined, took his trombone in
his hand, and pointing it at me, said, “Had you been a Spaniard, we would
have blown your head to shivers, for we should have thought you a spy,
but we see you are a foreigner, and believe what you have said; take,
therefore, this peseta and go your way, but beware that you tell nobody
any thing about us, for if you do, carracho!” He then discharged his
trombone just over my head, so that for a moment I thought myself shot,
and then with an awful shout, they both galloped away, their horses
leaping over the barrancos, as if possessed with many devils.
_Myself_.—And what happened to you on your arrival at Coruña?
_Benedict_.—When I arrived at Coruña, I inquired after yourself, lieber
herr, and they informed me that, only the day before my arrival, you had
departed for Oviedo: and when I heard that, my heart died within me, for
I was now at the far end of Galicia, without a friend to help me. For a
day or two I knew not what to do; at last I determined to make for the
frontier of France, passing through Oviedo in the way, where I hoped to
see you and ask counsel of you. So I begged and bettled among the
Germans of Coruña. I, however, got very little from them, only a few
cuarts, less than the thieves had given me on the road from Saint James,
and with these I departed for the Asturias by the way of Mondonedo. Och,
what a town is that, full of canons, priests, and pfaffen, all of them
more Carlist than Carlos himself.
One day I went to the bishop’s palace and spoke to him, telling him I was
a pilgrim from Saint James, and requesting assistance. He told me,
however, that he could not relieve me, and as for my being a pilgrim from
Saint James, he was glad of it, and hoped that it would be of service to
my soul. So I left Mondonedo, and got amongst the wild mountains,
begging and bettling at the door of every choza that I passed, telling
all I saw that I was a pilgrim from Saint James, and showing my passport
in proof that I had been there. Lieber herr, no person gave me a cuart,
nor even a piece of broa, and both Gallegans and Asturians laughed at
Saint James, and told me that his name was no longer a passport in Spain.
I should have starved if I had not sometimes plucked an ear or two out of
the maize fields; I likewise gathered grapes from the parras and berries
from the brambles, and in this manner I subsisted till I arrived at the
bellotas, where I slaughtered a stray kid which I met, and devoured part
of the flesh raw, so great was my hunger. It made me, however, very ill,
and for two days I lay in a barranco half dead and unable to help myself;
it was a mercy that I was not devoured by the wolves. I then struck
across the country for Oviedo: how I reached it I do not know; I was like
one walking in a dream. Last night I slept in an empty hog-sty about two
leagues from here, and ere I left it, I fell down on my knees and prayed
to God that I might find you, lieber herr, for you were my last hope.
_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.
Oviedo contains about fifteen thousand inhabitants. It is picturesquely
situated between two mountains, Morcin and Naranco; the former is very
high and rugged, and during the greater part of the year is covered with
snow; the sides of the latter are cultivated and planted with vines. The
principal ornament of the town is the cathedral, the tower of which is
exceedingly lofty, and is perhaps one of the purest specimens of Gothic
architecture at present in existence. The interior of the cathedral is
neat and appropriate, but simple and unadorned. I observed but one
picture, the Conversion of Saint Paul. One of the chapels is a cemetery,
in which rest the bones of eleven Gothic kings; to whose souls be peace.
I bore a letter of recommendation from Coruña to a merchant of Oviedo.
This person received me very courteously, and generally devoted some
portion of every day to showing me the remarkable things of Oviedo.
One morning he thus addressed me: “You have doubtless heard of Feijoo,
the celebrated philosophic monk of the order of Saint Benedict, whose
writings have so much tended to remove the popular fallacies and
superstitions so long cherished in Spain; he is buried in one of our
convents, where he passed a considerable portion of his life. Come with
me and I will show you his portrait. Carlos Tercero, our great king,
sent his own painter from Madrid to execute it. It is now in the
possession of a friend of mine, Don Ramon Valdez, an advocate.”
Thereupon he led me to the house of Don Ramon Valdez, who very politely
exhibited the portrait of Feijoo. It was circular in shape, about a foot
in diameter, and was surrounded by a little brass frame, something like
the rim of a barber’s basin. The countenance was large and massive but
fine, the eyebrows knit, the eyes sharp and penetrating, nose aquiline.
On the head was a silken skull-cap; the collar of the coat or vest was
just perceptible. The painting was decidedly good, and struck me as
being one of the very best specimens of modern Spanish art which I had
hitherto seen.
A day or two after this I said to Benedict Mol, “to-morrow I start from
hence for Santander. It is therefore high time that you decide upon some
course, whether to return to Madrid or to make the best of your way to
France, and from thence proceed to your own country.”
“Lieber herr,” said Benedict, “I will follow you to Santander by short
journeys, for I am unable to make long ones amongst these hills; and when
I am there, peradventure I may find some means of passing into France.
It is a great comfort, in my horrible journeys, to think that I am
travelling over the ground which yourself have trodden, and to hope that
I am proceeding to rejoin you once more. This hope kept me alive in the
bellotas, and without it I should never have reached Oviedo. I will quit
Spain as soon as possible, and betake me to Lucerne, though it is a hard
thing to leave the schatz behind me in the land of the Gallegans.”
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 sorciere,
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.”