Arrival at Madrid—Maria Diaz—Printing of the Testament—My
Project—Andalusian Steed—Servant wanted—An Application—Antonio
Buchini—General Cordova—Principles of Honour.
On my arrival at Madrid I did not repair to my former lodgings in the
Calle de la Zarza, but took others in the Calle de Santiago, in the
vicinity of the palace. The name of the hostess (for there was, properly
speaking, no host) was Maria Diaz, of whom I shall take the present
opportunity of saying something in particular.
She was a woman of about thirty-five years of age, rather good-looking,
and with a physiognomy every lineament of which bespoke intelligence of
no common order. Her eyes were keen and penetrating, though occasionally
clouded with a somewhat melancholy expression. There was a particular
calmness and quiet in her general demeanour, beneath which, however,
slumbered a firmness of spirit and an energy of action which were
instantly displayed whenever necessary. A Spaniard, and, of course, a
Catholic, she was possessed of a spirit of toleration and liberality
which would have done honour to individuals much her superior in station.
In this woman, during the remainder of my sojourn in Spain, I found a
firm and constant friend, and occasionally a most discreet adviser. She
entered into all my plans, I will not say with enthusiasm, which, indeed,
formed no part of her character, but with cordiality and sincerity,
forwarding them to the utmost of her ability. She never shrank from me
in the hour of danger and persecution, but stood my friend
notwithstanding the many inducements which were held out to her by my
enemies to desert or betray me. Her motives were of the noblest
kind—friendship, and a proper feeling of the duties of hospitality: no
prospect, no hope of self-interest, however remote, influenced this
admirable woman in her conduct towards me. Honour to Maria Diaz, the
quiet, dauntless, clever Castilian female! I were an ingrate not to
speak well of her, for richly has she deserved an eulogy in the humble
pages of _The Bible in Spain_.
She was a native of Villa Seca, a hamlet of New Castile, situated in what
is called the Sagra, {257} at about three leagues’ distance from Toledo.
Her father was an architect of some celebrity, particularly skilled in
erecting bridges. At a very early age she married a respectable yeoman
of Villa Seca, Lopez by name, by whom she had three sons. On the death
of her father, which occurred about five years previous to the time of
which I am speaking, she removed to Madrid, partly for the purpose of
educating her children, and partly in the hope of obtaining from the
government a considerable sum of money for which it stood indebted to her
father at the time of his decease, for various useful and ornamental
works, principally in the neighbourhood of Aranjuez. The justness of her
claim was at once acknowledged; but, alas! no money was forthcoming, the
royal treasury being empty. Her hopes of earthly happiness were now
concentrated in her children. The two youngest were still of a very
tender age; but the eldest, Juan José Lopez, a lad of about sixteen, was
bidding fair to realize the warmest hopes of his affectionate mother. He
had devoted himself to the arts, in which he had made such progress that
he had already become the favourite pupil of his celebrated namesake
Lopez, {258} the best painter of modern Spain. Such was Maria Diaz, who,
according to a custom formerly universal in Spain, and still very
prevalent, retained the name of her maidenhood though married. Such was
Maria Diaz and her family.
One of my first cares was to wait on Mr. Villiers, who received me with
his usual kindness. I asked him whether he considered that I might
venture to commence printing the Scriptures without any more applications
to government. His reply was satisfactory: “You obtained the permission
of the government of Isturitz,” said he, “which was a much less liberal
one than the present. I am a witness to the promise made to you by the
former ministers, which I consider sufficient. You had best commence and
complete the work as soon as possible, without any fresh application; and
should any one attempt to interrupt you, you have only to come to me,
whom you may command at any time.” So I went away with a light heart,
and forthwith made preparation for the execution of the object which had
brought me to Spain.
I shall not enter here into unnecessary details, which could possess but
little interest for the reader; suffice it to say that, within three
months from this time, an edition of the New Testament, consisting of
five thousand copies, was published at Madrid. The work was printed at
the establishment of Mr. Borrego, {259a} a well-known writer on political
economy, and proprietor and editor of an influential newspaper called _El
Español_. To this gentleman I had been recommended by Isturitz himself,
on the day of my interview with him. That unfortunate minister had,
indeed, the highest esteem for Borrego, and had intended raising him to
the station of minister of finance, when the revolution of La Granja
occurring, of course rendered abortive this project, with perhaps many
others of a similar kind which he might have formed.
The Spanish version of the New Testament which was thus published had
been made many years before by a certain Padre Filipe Scio, {259b}
confessor of Ferdinand the Seventh, and had even been printed, but so
encumbered by notes and commentaries as to be unfitted for general
circulation, for which, indeed, it was never intended. In the present
edition the notes were of course omitted, and the inspired word, and that
alone, offered to the public. It was brought out in a handsome octavo
volume, and presented, upon the whole, a rather favourable specimen of
Spanish typography. The mere printing, however, of the New Testament at
Madrid could be attended with no utility whatever, unless measures, and
energetic ones, were taken for the circulation of the sacred volume.
In the case of the New Testament it would not do to follow the usual plan
of publication in Spain, namely, to entrust the work to the booksellers
of the capital, and rest content with the sale which they and their
agents in the provincial towns might be able to obtain for it in the
common routine of business; the result generally being the circulation of
a few dozen copies in the course of the year: as the demand for
literature of every kind in Spain was miserably small.
The Christians of England had already made considerable sacrifices in the
hope of disseminating the word of God largely amongst the Spaniards, and
it was now necessary to spare no exertion to prevent that hope becoming
abortive. Before the book was ready I had begun to make preparations for
putting a plan into execution, which had occupied my thoughts
occasionally during my former visit to Spain, and which I had never
subsequently abandoned. I had mused on it when off Cape Finisterre in
the tempest, in the cut-throat passes of the Sierra Morena, and on the
plains of La Mancha, as I jogged along a little way ahead of the
_contrabandista_.
I had determined, after depositing a certain number of copies in the
shops of the booksellers of Madrid, to ride forth, Testament in hand, and
endeavour to circulate the word of God amongst the Spaniards, not only of
the towns, but of the villages; amongst the children not only of the
plains, but of the hills and mountains. I intended to visit Old Castile,
and to traverse the whole of Galicia and the Asturias; to establish
Scripture depôts in the principal towns, and to visit the people in
secret and secluded spots; to talk to them of Christ, to explain to them
the nature of His book, and to place that book in the hands of those whom
I should deem capable of deriving benefit from it. I was aware that such
a journey would be attended with considerable danger, and very possibly
the fate of St. Stephen might overtake me; but does the man deserve the
name of a follower of Christ who would shrink from danger of any kind in
the cause of Him whom he calls his Master? “He who loses his life for my
sake shall find it,” are words which the Lord Himself uttered. These
words were fraught with consolation to me, as they doubtless are to every
one engaged in propagating the Gospel in sincerity of heart, in savage
and barbarian lands. . . .
I now purchased another horse; for these animals, at the time of which I
am speaking, were exceedingly cheap. A royal requisition was about to be
issued for five thousand, the consequence being that an immense number
were for sale, for, by virtue of this requisition, the horses of any
person not a foreigner could be seized for the benefit of the service.
It was probable that, when the number was made up, the price of horses
would be treble what it then was, which consideration induced me to
purchase this animal before I exactly wanted him. He was a black
Andalusian stallion {261} of great power and strength, and capable of
performing a journey of a hundred leagues in a week’s time; but he was
unbroke, savage, and furious. A cargo of Bibles, however, which I hoped
occasionally to put on his back, would, I had no doubt, thoroughly tame
him, especially when labouring up the flinty hills of the north of Spain.
I wished to have purchased a mule, but, though I offered thirty pounds
for a sorry one, I could not obtain her; whereas the cost of both the
horses—tall, powerful, stately animals—scarcely amounted to that sum.
The state of the surrounding country at this time was not very favourable
for venturing forth. Cabrera {262} was within nine leagues of Madrid,
with an army nearly ten thousand strong; he had beaten several small
detachments of the queen’s troops, and had ravaged La Mancha with fire
and sword, burning several towns. Bands of affrighted fugitives were
arriving every hour, bringing tidings of woe and disaster; and I was only
surprised that the enemy did not appear, and by taking Madrid, which was
almost at his mercy, put an end to the war at once. But the truth is,
that the Carlist generals did not wish the war to cease, for as long as
the country was involved in bloodshed and anarchy they could plunder, and
exercise that lawless authority so dear to men of fierce and brutal
passions. Cabrera, moreover, was a dastardly wretch, whose limited mind
was incapable of harbouring a single conception approaching to
grandeur—whose heroic deeds were confined to cutting down defenceless
men, and to forcing and disembowelling unhappy women; and yet I have seen
this wretched fellow termed by French journals (Carlist, of course) the
young, the heroic general! Infamy on the cowardly assassin! The
shabbiest corporal of Napoleon would have laughed at his generalship, and
half a battalion of Austrian grenadiers would have driven him and his
rabble army headlong into the Ebro. {263}
I now made preparations for my journey into the north. I was already
provided with horses well calculated to support the fatigues of the road
and the burdens which I might deem necessary to impose upon them. One
thing, however, was still lacking, indispensable to a person about to
engage on an expedition of this description; I mean a servant to attend
me. Perhaps there is no place in the world where servants more abound
than at Madrid, or at least fellows eager to proffer their services in
the expectation of receiving food and wages, though, with respect to the
actual service which they are capable of performing, not much can be
said; but I was in want of a servant of no common description, a shrewd
active fellow, of whose advice, in cases of emergency, I could
occasionally avail myself; courageous withal, for it certainly required
some degree of courage to follow a master bent on exploring the greater
part of Spain, and who intended to travel, not under the protection of
muleteers and carmen, but on his own _cabalgaduras_. Such a servant,
perhaps, I might have sought for years without finding; chance, however,
brought one to my hand at the very time I wanted him, without it being
necessary for me to make any laborious perquisitions. I was one day
mentioning the subject to Mr. Borrego, at whose establishment I had
printed the New Testament, and inquiring whether he thought that such an
individual was to be found in Madrid, adding that I was particularly
anxious to obtain a servant who, besides Spanish, could speak some other
language, that occasionally we might discourse without being understood
by those who might overhear us. “The very description of person,” he
replied, “that you appear to be in need of, quitted me about half an hour
ago, and, it is singular enough, came to me in the hope that I might be
able to recommend him to a master. He has been twice in my service: for
his talent and courage I will answer; and I believe him to be
trustworthy, at least to masters who may chime in with his humour, for I
must inform you that he is a most extraordinary fellow, full of strange
likes and antipathies, which he will gratify at any expense, either to
himself or others. Perhaps he will attach himself to you, in which case
you will find him highly valuable; for, if he please, he can turn his
hand to anything, and is not only acquainted with two, but half a dozen
languages.”
“Is he a Spaniard?” I inquired.
“I will send him to you to-morrow,” said Borrego, “you will best learn
from his own mouth who and what he is.”
The next day, as I had just sat down to my _sopa_, my hostess informed me
that a man wished to speak to me. “Admit him,” said I, and he almost
instantly made his appearance. He was dressed respectably in the French
fashion, and had rather a juvenile look, though I subsequently learned
that he was considerably above forty. He was somewhat above the middle
stature, and might have been called well made, had it not been for his
meagreness, which was rather remarkable. His arms were long and bony,
and his whole form conveyed an idea of great activity united with no
slight degree of strength. His hair was wiry, but of jetty blackness;
his forehead low; his eyes small and grey, expressive of much subtlety
and no less malice, strangely relieved by a strong dash of humour; the
nose was handsome, but the mouth was immensely wide, and his under jaw
projected considerably. A more singular physiognomy I had never seen,
and I continued staring at him for some time in silence. “Who are you?”
I at last demanded.
“Domestic in search of a master,” answered the man in good French, but in
a strange accent. “I come recommended to you, my Lor, by _Monsieur_
B---.”
_Myself_.—Of what nation may you be? Are you French or Spanish?
_Man_.—God forbid that I should be either, _mi Lor_; _j’ai l’honneur
d’être de la nation Grecque_; my name is Antonio Buchini, native of Pera
the Belle, {265a} near to Constantinople.
_Myself_.—And what brought you to Spain?
_Buchini_.—_Mi Lor_, _je vais vous raconter mon histoire du commencement
jusqu’ici_. My father was a native of Sceira, {265b} in Greece, from
whence at an early age he repaired to Pera, where he served as janitor in
the hotels of various ambassadors, by whom he was much respected for his
fidelity. Amongst others of these gentlemen, he served him of your own
nation: this occurred at the time that there was war between England and
the Porte. {266a} _Monsieur_ the ambassador had to escape for his life,
leaving the greater part of his valuables to the care of my father, who
concealed them at his own great risk, and when the dispute was settled,
restored them to monsieur, even to the most inconsiderable trinket. I
mention this circumstance to show you that I am of a family which
cherishes principles of honour, and in which confidence may be placed.
My father married a daughter of Pera, _et moi je suis l’unique fruit de
ce mariage_. Of my mother I know nothing, as she died shortly after my
birth. A family of wealthy Jews took pity on my forlorn condition and
offered to bring me up, to which my father gladly consented; and with
them I continued several years, until I was a _beau garçon_; they were
very fond of me, and at last offered to adopt me, and at their death to
bequeath me all they had, on condition of my becoming a Jew. _Mais la
circoncision n’étoit guère à mon goût_, especially that of the Jews, for
I am a Greek, am proud, and have principles of honour. I quitted them,
therefore, saying that if ever I allowed myself to be converted, it
should be to the faith of the Turks, for they are men, are proud, and
have principles of honour like myself. I then returned to my father, who
procured me various situations, none of which were to my liking, until I
was placed in the house of _Monsieur_ Zea.
_Myself_.—You mean, I suppose, Zea Bermudez, {266b} who chanced to be at
Constantinople.
_Buchini_.—Just so, _mi Lor_, and with him I continued during his stay.
He put great confidence in me, more especially as I spoke the pure
Spanish language, which I acquired amongst the Jews, who, as I have heard
_Monsieur_ Zea say, speak it better than the present natives of Spain.
I shall not follow the Greek step by step throughout his history, which
was rather lengthy: suffice it to say, that he was brought by Zea
Bermudez from Constantinople to Spain, where he continued in his service
for many years, and from whose house he was expelled for marrying a
Guipuzcoan damsel, who was _fille de chambre_ to _Madame_ Zea; since
which time it appeared that he had served an infinity of masters,
sometimes as valet, sometimes as cook, but generally in the last
capacity. He confessed, however, that he had seldom continued more than
three days in the same service, on account of the disputes which were
sure to arise in the house almost immediately after his admission, and
for which he could assign no other reason than his being a Greek, and
having principles of honour. Amongst other persons whom he had served
was General Cordova, who he said was a bad paymaster, and was in the
habit of maltreating his domestics. “But he found his match in me,” said
Antonio, “for I was prepared for him; and once, when he drew his sword
against me, I pulled out a pistol and pointed it in his face. He grew
pale as death, and from that hour treated me with all kinds of
condescension. It was only pretence, however, for the affair rankled in
his mind; he had determined upon revenge, and on being appointed to the
command of the army, he was particularly anxious that I should attend him
to the camp. _Mais je lui ris au nez_, made the sign of the
_cortamanga_, {268} asked for my wages, and left him; and well it was
that I did so, for the very domestic whom he took with him he caused to
be shot upon a charge of mutiny.”
“I am afraid,” said I, “that you are of a turbulent disposition, and that
the disputes to which you have alluded are solely to be attributed to the
badness of your temper.”
“What would you have, _Monsieur_? _Moi je suis Grec_, _je suis fier_,
_et j’ai des principes d’honneur_. I expect to be treated with a certain
consideration, though I confess that my temper is none of the best, and
that at times I am tempted to quarrel with the pots and pans in the
kitchen. I think, upon the whole, that it will be for your advantage to
engage me, and I promise you to be on my guard. There is one thing that
pleases me relating to you, you are unmarried. Now, I would rather serve
a young unmarried man for love and friendship, than a Benedick for fifty
dollars per month. _Madame_ is sure to hate me, and so is her
waiting-woman; and more particularly the latter, because I am a married
man. I see that _mi Lor_ is willing to engage me.”
“But you say you are a married man,” I replied; “how can you desert your
wife? for I am about to leave Madrid, and to travel into the remote and
mountainous parts of Spain.”
“My wife will receive the moiety of my wages while I am absent, _mi Lor_,
and therefore will have no reason to complain of being deserted.
Complain! did I say; my wife is at present too well instructed to
complain. She never speaks nor sits in my presence, unless I give her
permission. Am I not a Greek, and do I not know how to govern my own
house? Engage me, _mi Lor_; I am a man of many capacities—a discreet
valet, an excellent cook, a good groom and light rider; in a word, I am
Ρωμαϊκός. {269a} What would you more?”
I asked him his terms, which were extravagant, notwithstanding his
_principes d’honneur_. I found, however, that he was willing to take
one-half.
I had no sooner engaged him than, seizing the tureen of soup, which had
by this time become quite cold, he placed it on the top of his fore
finger, or rather on the nail thereof, causing it to make various
circumvolutions over his head, to my great astonishment, without spilling
a drop, then springing with it to the door, he vanished, and in another
moment made his appearance with the _puchera_, which, after a similar
bound and flourish, he deposited on the table; then suffering his hands
to sink before him, he put one over the other, and stood at his ease,
with half-shut eyes, for all the world as if he had been in my service
twenty years.
And in this manner Antonio Buchini entered upon his duties. Many was the
wild spot to which he subsequently accompanied me; many the wild
adventure of which he was the sharer. His behaviour was frequently in
the highest degree extraordinary, but he served me courageously and
faithfully: such a valet, take him for all in all—
“His like I ne’er expect to see again.”
_Kosko bakh_, _Anton_. {269b}