Projected Journey—A Scene of Blood—The Friar—Seville—Beauties of
Seville—Orange Trees and Flowers—Murillo—The Guardian Angel—Dionysius—My
Coadjutors—Demand for the Bible.
By the middle of April I had sold as many Testaments as I thought Madrid
would bear; I therefore called in my people, for I was afraid to
overstock the market, and to bring the book into contempt by making it
too common. I had, indeed, by this time, barely a thousand copies
remaining of the edition which I had printed two years previously; and
with respect to Bibles, every copy was by this time disposed of, though
there was still a great demand for them, which, of course, I was unable
to satisfy.
With the remaining copies of the Testament, I now determined to betake
myself to Seville, where little had hitherto been effected in the way of
circulation: my preparations were soon made. The roads were at this time
in a highly dangerous state, on which account I thought to go along with
a convoy, which was about to start for Andalusia. Two days, however,
before its departure, understanding that the number of people who
likewise proposed to avail themselves of it was likely to be very great,
and reflecting on the slowness of this way of travelling, and moreover
the insults to which civilians were frequently subjected from the
soldiers and petty officers, I determined to risk the journey with the
mail. This resolutions I carried into effect. Antonio, whom I had
resolved to take with me, and my two horses, departed with the convoy,
whilst in a few days I followed with the mail courier. We travelled all
the way without the slightest accident, my usual wonderful good fortune
accompanying us. I might well call it wonderful, for I was running into
the den of the lion; the whole of La Mancha, with the exception of a few
fortified places, being once more in the hands of Palillos and his
banditti, who, whenever it pleased them, stopped the courier, burnt the
vehicle and letters, murdered the paltry escort, and carried away any
chance passenger to the mountains, where an enormous ransom was demanded,
the alternative being four shots through the head, as the Spaniards say.
The upper part of Andalusia was becoming rapidly nearly as bad as La
Mancha. The last time the mail had passed, it was attacked at the defile
of La Rumblar by six mounted robbers; it was guarded by an escort of as
many soldiers, but the former suddenly galloped from behind a solitary
venda, and dashed the soldiers to the ground, who were taken quite by
surprise, the hoofs of the robbers’ horses making no noise on account of
the sandy nature of the ground. The soldiers were instantly disarmed and
bound to olive trees, with the exception of two, who escaped amongst the
rocks; they were then mocked and tormented by the robbers, or rather
fiends, for nearly half an hour, when they were shot; the head of the
corporal who commanded being blown to fragments with a blunderbuss. The
robbers then burned the coach, which they accomplished by igniting the
letters by means of the tow with which they light their cigars. The life
of the courier was saved by one of them, who had formerly been his
postillion; he was, however, robbed and stripped. As we passed by the
scene of the butchery, the poor fellow wept, and, though a Spaniard,
cursed Spain and the Spaniards, saying that he intended shortly to pass
over to the Moreria, to confess Mahomet, and to learn the law of the
Moors, for that any country and religion were better than his own. He
pointed to the tree where the corporal had been tied; though much rain
had fallen since, the ground around was still saturated with blood, and a
dog was gnawing a piece of the unfortunate wretch’s skull. A friar
travelled with us the whole way from Madrid to Seville; he was of the
missionaries, and was going to the Philippine islands, to conquer (_para
conquistar_), for such was his word, by which I suppose he meant
preaching to the Indians. During the whole journey he exhibited every
symptom of the most abject fear, which operated upon him so that he
became deadly sick, and we were obliged to stop twice in the road and lay
him amongst the green corn. He said that if he fell into the hands of
the factious, he was a lost priest, for that they would first make him
say mass, and then blow him up with gunpowder. He had been professor of
philosophy, as he told me, in one of the convents (I think it was San
Thomas) of Madrid before their suppression, but appeared to be grossly
ignorant of the Scriptures, which he confounded with the works of Virgil.
We stopped at Manzanares as usual; it was Sunday morning, and the
market-place was crowded with people. I was recognised in a moment, and
twenty pair of legs instantly hurried away in quest of the prophetess,
who presently made her appearance in the house to which we had retired to
breakfast. After many greetings on both sides, she proceeded, in her
Latin, to give me an account of all that had occurred in the village
since I had last been there, and of the atrocities of the factious in the
neighbourhood. I asked her to breakfast, and introduced her to the
friar, whom she addressed in this manner: “_Anne Domine Reverendissime
facis adhuc sacrificium_?” But the friar did not understand her, and
waxing angry, anathematized her for a witch, and bade her begone. She
was, however, not to be disconcerted, and commenced singing, in
extemporary Castilian verse, the praises of friars and religious houses
in general. On departing I gave her a peseta, upon which she burst into
tears, and intreated that I would write to her if I reached Seville in
safety.
We did arrive at Seville in safety, and I took leave of the friar,
telling him that I hoped to meet him again at Philippi. As it was my
intention to remain at Seville for some months, I determined to hire a
house, in which I conceived I could live with more privacy, and at the
same time more economically than in a posada. It was not long before I
found one in every respect suited to me. It was situated in the Plazuela
de la Pila Seca, a retired part of the city, in the neighbourhood of the
cathedral, and at a short distance from the gate of Xeres; and in this
house, on the arrival of Antonio and the horses, which occurred within a
few days, I took up my abode.
I was now once more in beautiful Seville and had soon ample time and
leisure to enjoy its delights and those of the surrounding country;
unfortunately, at the time of my arrival, and indeed for the next ensuing
fortnight, the heaven of Andalusia, in general so glorious, was overcast
with black clouds, which discharged tremendous showers of rain, such as
few of the Sevillians, according to their own account, had ever seen
before. This extraordinary weather had wrought no little damage in the
neighbourhood, causing the Guadalquivir, which, during the rainy season,
is a rapid and furious stream, to overflow its banks and to threaten an
inundation. It is true that intervals were occurring when the sun made
his appearance from his cloudy tabernacle, and with his golden rays
caused everything around to smile, enticing the butterfly forth from the
bush, and the lizard from the hollow tree, and I invariably availed
myself of these intervals to take a hasty promenade.
O how pleasant it is, especially in springtide, to stray along the shores
of the Guadalquivir. Not far from the city, down the river, lies a grove
called Las Delicias, or the Delights. It consists of trees of various
kinds, but more especially of poplars and elms, and is traversed by long
shady walks. This grove is the favourite promenade of the Sevillians,
and there one occasionally sees assembled whatever the town produces of
beauty or gallantry. There wander the black-eyed Andalusian dames and
damsels, clad in their graceful silken mantillas; and there gallops the
Andalusian cavalier, on his long-tailed thick-maned steed of Moorish
ancestry. As the sun is descending, it is enchanting to glance back from
this place in the direction of the city; the prospect is inexpressibly
beautiful. Yonder in the distance, high and enormous, stands the Golden
Tower, now used as a toll-house, but the principal bulwark of the city in
the time of the Moors. It stands on the shore of the river, like a giant
keeping watch, and is the first edifice which attracts the eye of the
voyager as he moves up the stream to Seville. On the other side,
opposite the tower, stands the noble Augustine convent, the ornament of
the faubourg of Triana, whilst between the two edifices rolls the broad
Guadalquivir, bearing on its bosom a flotilla of barks from Catalonia and
Valencia. Farther up is seen the bridge of boats which traverses the
water. The principal object of this prospect, however, is the Golden
Tower, where the beams of the setting sun seem to be concentrated as in a
focus, so that it appears built of pure gold, and probably from that
circumstance received the name which it now bears. Cold, cold must the
heart be which can remain insensible to the beauties of this magic scene,
to do justice to which the pencil of Claude himself were barely equal.
Often have I shed tears of rapture whilst I beheld it, and listened to
the thrush and the nightingale piping forth their melodious songs in the
woods, and inhaled the breeze laden with the perfume of the thousand
orange gardens of Seville:
“Kennst du das land wo die citronen bluhen?”
The interior of Seville scarcely corresponds with the exterior: the
streets are narrow, badly paved, and full of misery and beggary. The
houses are for the most part built in the Moorish fashion, with a
quadrangular patio or court in the centre, where stands a marble
fountain, constantly distilling limpid water. These courts, during the
time of the summer heats, are covered over with a canvas awning, and
beneath this the family sit during the greater part of the day. In many,
especially those belonging to the houses of the wealthy, are to be found
shrubs, orange trees, and all kinds of flowers, and perhaps a small
aviary, so that no situation can be conceived more delicious than to lie
here in the shade, hearkening to the song of the birds and the voice of
the fountain.
Nothing is more calculated to interest the stranger as he wanders through
Seville, than a view of these courts obtained from the streets, through
the iron-grated door. Oft have I stopped to observe them, and as often
sighed that my fate did not permit me to reside in such an Eden for the
remainder of my days. On a former occasion, I have spoken of the
cathedral of Seville, but only in a brief and cursory manner. It is
perhaps the most magnificent cathedral in all Spain, and though not so
regular in its architecture as those of Toledo and Burgos, is far more
worthy of admiration when considered as a whole. It is utterly
impossible to wander through the long aisles, and to raise one’s eyes to
the richly inlaid roof, supported by colossal pillars, without
experiencing sensations of sacred awe, and deep astonishment. It is true
that the interior, like those of the generality of the Spanish
cathedrals, is somewhat dark and gloomy; yet it loses nothing by this
gloom, which, on the contrary, rather increases the solemnity of the
effect. Notre Dame of Paris is a noble building, yet to him who has seen
the Spanish cathedrals, and particularly this of Seville, it almost
appears trivial and mean, and more like a town-hall than a temple of the
Eternal. The Parisian cathedral is entirely destitute of that solemn
darkness and gloomy pomp which so abound in the Sevillian, and is thus
destitute of the principal requisite to a cathedral.
In most of the chapels are to be found some of the very best pictures of
the Spanish school; and in particular many of the masterpieces of
Murillo, a native of Seville. Of all the pictures of this extraordinary
man, one of the least celebrated is that which has always wrought on me
the most profound impression. I allude to the Guardian Angel (_Angel de
la Guardia_), a small picture which stands at the bottom of the church,
and looks up the principal aisle. The angel, holding a flaming sword in
his right hand, is conducting the child. This child is, in my opinion,
the most wonderful of all the creations of Murillo; the form is that of
an infant about five years of age, and the expression of the countenance
is quite infantine, but the tread—it is the tread of a conqueror, of a
God, of the Creator of the universe; and the earthly globe appears to
tremble beneath its majesty.
The service of the cathedral is in general well attended, especially when
it is known that a sermon is to be preached. All these sermons are
extemporaneous; some of them are edifying and faithful to the Scriptures.
I have often listened to them with pleasure, though I was much surprised
to remark, that when the preachers quoted from the Bible, their
quotations were almost invariably taken from the apocryphal writings.
There is in general no lack of worshippers at the principal shrines—women
for the most part—many of whom appear to be animated with the most
fervent devotion.
I had flattered myself, previous to my departure from Madrid, that I
should experience but little difficulty in the circulation of the Gospel
in Andalusia, at least for a time, as the field was new, and myself and
the object of my mission less known and dreaded than in New Castile. It
appeared, however, that the government at Madrid had fulfilled its
threat, transmitting orders throughout Spain for the seizure of my books
wherever found. The Testaments that arrived from Madrid were seized at
the custom-house, to which place all goods on their arrival, even from
the interior, are carried, in order that a duty be imposed upon them.
Through the management of Antonio, however, I procured one of the two
chests, whilst the other was sent down to San Lucar, to be embarked for a
foreign land as soon as I could make arrangements for that purpose.
I did not permit myself to be discouraged by this slight _contretemps_,
although I heartily regretted the loss of the books which had been
seized, and which I could no longer hope to circulate in these parts,
where they were so much wanted; but I consoled myself with the
reflection, that I had still several hundred at my disposal, from the
distribution of which, if it pleased the Lord, a blessed harvest might
still proceed.
I did not commence operations for some time, for I was in a strange
place, and scarcely knew what course to pursue. I had no one to assist
me but poor Antonio, who was as ignorant of the place as myself.
Providence, however, soon sent me a coadjutor, in rather a singular
manner. I was standing in the courtyard of the Reyna Posada, where I
occasionally dined, when a man, singularly dressed and gigantically tall,
entered. My curiosity was excited, and I inquired of the master of the
house who he was. He informed me that he was a foreigner, who had
resided a considerable time in Seville, and he believed a Greek. Upon
hearing this, I instantly went up to the stranger, and accosted him in
the Greek language, in which, though I speak it very ill, I can make
myself understood. He replied in the same idiom, and, flattered by the
interest which I, a foreigner, expressed for his nation, was not slow in
communicating to me his history. He told me that his name was Dionysius,
that he was a native of Cephalonia, and had been educated for the church,
which, not suiting his temper, he had abandoned, in order to follow the
profession of the sea, for which he had an early inclination. That after
many adventures and changes of fortune, he found himself one morning on
the coast of Spain, a shipwrecked mariner, and that, ashamed to return to
his own country in poverty and distress, he had remained in the
Peninsula, residing chiefly at Seville, where he now carried on a small
trade in books. He said that he was of the Greek religion, to which he
professed strong attachment, and soon discovering that I was a
Protestant, spoke with unbounded abhorrence of the papal system; nay of
its followers in general, whom he called Latins, and whom he charged with
the ruin of his own country, inasmuch as they sold it to the Turk. It
instantly struck me, that this individual would be an excellent assistant
in the work which had brought me to Seville, namely, the propagation of
the eternal Gospel, and accordingly, after some more conversation, in
which he exhibited considerable learning, I explained myself to him. He
entered into my views with eagerness, and in the sequel I had no reason
to regret my confidence, he having disposed of a considerable number of
New Testaments, and even contrived to send a certain number of copies to
two small towns at some distance from Seville.
Another helper in the circulation of the Gospel I found in an aged
professor of music, who, with much stiffness and ceremoniousness, united
much that was excellent and admirable. This venerable individual, only
three days after I had made his acquaintance, brought me the price of six
Testaments and a Gypsy Gospel, which he had sold under the heat of an
Andalusian sun. What was his motive? A Christian one truly. He said
that his unfortunate countrymen, who were then robbing and murdering each
other, might probably be rendered better by the reading of the Gospel,
but could never be injured. Adding, that many a man had been reformed by
the Scriptures, but that no one ever yet became a thief or assassin from
its perusal.
But my most extraordinary agent, was one whom I occasionally employed in
circulating the Scriptures amongst the lower classes. I might have
turned the services of this individual to far greater account had the
quantity of books at my disposal been greater; but they were now
diminishing rapidly, and as I had no hopes of a fresh supply, I was
almost tempted to be niggard of the few which remained. This agent was a
Greek bricklayer, by name Johannes Chrysostom, who had been introduced to
me by Dionysius. He was a native of the Morea, but had been upwards of
thirty-five years in Spain, so that he had almost entirely lost his
native language. Nevertheless, his attachment to his own country was so
strong that he considered whatever was not Greek as utterly barbarous and
bad. Though entirely destitute of education, he had, by his strength of
character, and by a kind of rude eloquence which he possessed, obtained
such a mastery over the minds of the labouring classes of Seville, that
they assented to almost everything he said, notwithstanding the shocks
which their prejudices were continually receiving. So that, although he
was a foreigner, he could at any time have become the Massaniello of
Seville. A more honest creature I never saw, and I soon found that if I
employed him, notwithstanding his eccentricities, I might entertain
perfect confidence that his actions would be no disparagement to the book
he vended.
We were continually pressed for Bibles, which of course we could not
supply. Testaments were held in comparatively little esteem. I had by
this time made the discovery of a fact which it would have been well had
I been aware of three years before; but we live and learn. I mean the
inexpediency of printing Testaments, and Testaments alone, for Catholic
countries. The reason is plain: the Catholic, unused to Scripture
reading, finds a thousand things which he cannot possibly understand in
the New Testament, the foundation of which is the Old. “Search the
Scriptures, for they bear witness of me,” may well be applied to this
point. It may be replied, that New Testaments separate are in great
demand, and of infinite utility in England, but England, thanks be to the
Lord, is not a papal country; and though an English labourer may read a
Testament, and derive from it the most blessed fruit, it does not follow
that a Spanish or Italian peasant will enjoy similar success, as he will
find many dark things with which the other is well acquainted, and
competent to understand, being versed in the Bible history from his
childhood. I confess, however, that in my summer campaign of the
preceding year, I could not have accomplished with Bibles what Providence
permitted me to effect with Testaments, the former being far too bulky
for rural journeys.