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, {70} and from thence to Gijon, 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 Gijon. 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. {71} 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 villanous 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 upstairs. He was, as Antonio
had remarked, in most villanous 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 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, clasping 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
Corunna; I then set out for Corunna after you.
_Myself_.—And what befell you on the road?
_Benedict_.—I will tell you: about half-way between Saint James and
Corunna, 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_, {75} I never saw such robbers; so finely dressed, so well armed,
and mounted so bravely on two fiery little _hakkas_, {76} 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 should 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 anything 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 Corunna?
_Benedict_.—When I arrived at Corunna, 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 Corunna. 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, {79a} 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 Corunna 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,
{79b} 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, {80} 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 _sorcière_ whom he consulted in my presence: and she told him that he
was doomed to possess it, but that first of all he must cross water. She
cautioned him likewise against an enemy, which he supposes must be the
canon of Saint James. I have often heard people speak of the avidity of
the Swiss for money, and here is a proof of it. I would not undergo what
Benedict has suffered in these last journeys of his to possess all the
treasures in Spain.”