The Two Gospels—The Alguazil—The Warrant—The Good Maria—The Arrest—Sent
to Prison—Reflections—The Reception—The Prison Room—Redress demanded.
At length the Gospel of Saint Luke in the gypsy language was in a state
of readiness. I therefore deposited a certain number of copies in the
_despacho_, and announced them for sale. The Basque, which was by this
time also printed, was likewise advertised. For this last work there was
little demand. Not so, however, for the gypsy Luke, of which I could
easily have disposed of the whole edition in less than a fortnight.
Long, however, before this period had expired the clergy were up in arms.
“Sorcery!” said one bishop. “There is more in this than we can dive
into,” exclaimed a second. “He will convert all Spain by means of the
gypsy language,” cried a third. And then came the usual chorus on such
occasions, of _Que infamia_! _Que picardia_! At last, having consulted
together, away they hurried to their tool the _corregidor_ or, according
to the modern term, the _gefe politico_ {127} of Madrid. I have
forgotten the name of this worthy, of whom I had myself no personal
knowledge whatever. Judging from his actions, however, and from common
report, I should say that he was a stupid, wrong-headed creature, savage
withal—a _mélange_ of _borrico_, mule, and wolf. Having an inveterate
antipathy to all foreigners, he lent a willing ear to the complaint of my
accusers, and forthwith gave orders to make a seizure of all the copies
of the gypsy Gospel which could be found in the _despacho_. The
consequence was, that a numerous body of _alguazils_ directed their steps
to the Calle del Principe; some thirty copies of the book in question
were pounced upon, and about the same number of Saint Luke in Basque.
With this spoil these satellites returned in triumph to the _gefatura
politica_, where they divided the copies of the gypsy volume amongst
themselves, selling subsequently the greater number at a large price, the
book being in the greatest demand, and thus becoming unintentionally
agents of an heretical society. But every one must live by his trade,
say these people, and they lose no opportunity of making their words
good, by disposing to the best advantage of any booty which falls into
their hands. As no person cared about the Basque Gospel, it was safely
stowed away, with other unmarketable captures, in the warehouses of the
office.
The gypsy Gospels had now been seized, at least as many as were exposed
for sale in the _despacho_. The _corregidor_ and his friends, however,
were of opinion that many more might be obtained by means of a little
management. Fellows, therefore, hangers on of the police-office, were
daily despatched to the shop in all kinds of disguises, inquiring, with
great seeming anxiety, for “gypsy books,” and offering high prices for
copies. They, however, returned to their employers empty-handed. My
Gallegan was on his guard, informing all who made inquiries, that books
of no description would be sold at the establishment for the present.
Which was in truth the case, as I had given him particular orders to sell
no more under any pretence whatever.
I got no credit, however, for my frank dealing. The _corregidor_ and his
confederates could not persuade themselves but that, by some means
mysterious and unknown to them, I was daily selling hundreds of these
gypsy books, which were to revolutionize the country, and annihilate the
power of the Father of Rome. A plan was therefore resolved upon, by
means of which they hoped to have an opportunity of placing me in a
position which would incapacitate me for some time from taking any active
measures to circulate the Scriptures, either in gypsy or in any other
language.
It was on the morning of the first of May, {129a} [1838,] if I forget
not, that an unknown individual made his appearance in my apartment as I
was seated at breakfast; he was a mean-looking fellow, about the middle
stature, with a countenance on which knave was written in legible
characters. The hostess ushered him in, and then withdrew. I did not
like the appearance of my visitor, but assuming some degree of courtesy,
I requested him to sit down, and demanded his business. “I come from his
excellency the political {129b} chief of Madrid,” he replied, “and my
business is to inform you that his excellency is perfectly aware of your
proceedings, and is at any time able to prove that you are still
disposing of in secret those evil books which you have been forbidden to
sell.” “Is he so?” I replied; “pray let him do so forthwith; but what
need of giving me information?” “Perhaps,” continued the fellow, “you
think his worship has no witnesses; know, however, that he has many, and
respectable ones too.” “Doubtless,” I replied, “and from the
respectability of your own appearance, you are perhaps one of them. But
you are occupying my time unprofitably; begone, therefore, and tell
whoever sent you, that I have by no means a high opinion of his wisdom.”
“I shall go when I please,” retorted the fellow; “do you know to whom you
are speaking? Are you aware that if I think fit I can search your
apartment, yes, even below your bed? What have we here,” he continued,
and commenced with his stick poking a heap of papers which lay upon a
chair; “what have we here? Are these also papers of the gypsies?” I
instantly determined upon submitting no longer to this behaviour, and
taking the fellow by the arm, led him out of the apartment; and then,
still holding him, conducted him downstairs from the third floor in which
I lived, into the street, looking him steadfastly in the face the whole
while.
The fellow had left his _sombrero_ on the table, which I despatched to
him by the landlady, who delivered it into his hand as he stood in the
street staring with distended eyes at the balcony of my apartment.
“A _trampa_ has been laid for you, _Don Jorge_,” said Maria Diaz, when
she had re-ascended from the street; “that _corchete_ came here with no
other intention than to have a dispute with you. Out of every word you
have said he will make a long history, as is the custom with these
people; indeed, he said, as I handed him his hat, that ere twenty-four
hours were over, you should see the inside of the prison of Madrid.”
In effect, during the course of the morning, I was told that a warrant
had been issued for my apprehension. The prospect of incarceration,
however, did not fill me with much dismay; an adventurous life and
inveterate habits of wandering having long familiarized me to situations
of every kind, so much so as to feel myself quite as comfortable in a
prison as in the gilded chambers of palaces; indeed, more so, as in the
former place I can always add to my store of useful information, whereas
in the latter, ennui frequently assails me. I had, moreover, been
thinking for some time past of paying a visit to the prison, partly in
the hope of being able to say a few words of Christian instruction to the
criminals, and partly with the view of making certain investigations in
the robber language of Spain, a subject about which I had long felt much
curiosity; indeed, I had already made application for admittance into the
Carcel de la Corte, {131} but had found the matter surrounded with
difficulties, as my friend Ofalia would have said. I rather rejoiced,
then, in the opportunity which was now about to present itself of
entering the prison, not in the character of a visitor for an hour, but
as a martyr, and as one suffering in the holy cause of religion. I was
determined, however, to disappoint my enemies for that day at least, and
to render null the threat of the _alguazil_, that I should be imprisoned
within twenty-four hours. I therefore took up my abode for the rest of
the day in a celebrated French tavern in the Calle del Caballero de
Gracia, which, as it was one of the most fashionable and public places in
Madrid, I naturally concluded was one of the last where the _corregidor_
would think of seeking me.
About ten at night, Maria Diaz, to whom I had communicated the place of
my retreat, arrived with her son, Juan Lopez. “_O_, _señor_,” said she,
on seeing me, “they are already in quest of you; the _alcalde_ of the
_barrio_, with a large _comitiva_ of _alguazils_ and such-like people,
have just been at our house with a warrant for your imprisonment from the
_corregidor_. They searched the whole house, and were much disappointed
at not finding you. Woe is me, what will they do when they catch you?”
“Be under no apprehensions, good Maria,” said I; “you forget that I am an
Englishman, and so it seems does the _corregidor_. Whenever he catches
me, depend upon it he will be glad enough to let me go. For the present,
however, we will permit him to follow his own course, for the spirit of
folly seems to have seized him.”
I slept at the tavern, and in the forenoon of the following day repaired
to the Embassy, where I had an interview with Sir George, to whom I
related every circumstance of the affair. He said that he could scarcely
believe that the _corregidor_ entertained any serious intentions of
imprisoning me; in the first place, because I had committed no offence;
and in the second, because I was not under the jurisdiction of that
functionary, but under that of the captain-general, who was alone
empowered to decide upon matters which relate to foreigners, and before
whom I must be brought in the presence of the consul of my nation.
“However,” said he, “there is no knowing to what length these jacks in
office may go. I therefore advise you, if you are under any
apprehension, to remain as my guest at the Embassy for a few days, for
here you will be quite safe.” I assured him that I was under no
apprehension whatever, having long been accustomed to adventures of this
kind. From the apartment of Sir George I proceeded to that of the first
secretary of embassy, Mr. Southern, with whom I entered into
conversation. I had scarcely been there a minute when my servant
Francisco rushed in, much out of breath, and in violent agitation,
exclaiming in Basque, “_Niri jauna_, the _alguaziloac_, and the
_corchetoac_, and all the other _lapurrac_ {133} are again at the house.
They seem half mad, and not being able to find you, are searching your
papers, thinking, I suppose, that you are hid among them.” Mr. Southern
here interrupting him, inquired of me what all this meant. Whereupon I
told him, saying at the same time, that it was my intention to proceed at
once to my lodgings. “But perhaps these fellows will arrest you,” said
Mr. S., “before we can interfere.” “I must take my chance as to that,” I
replied, and presently afterwards departed.
Ere, however, I had reached the middle of the street of Alcalá, two
fellows came up to me, and telling me that I was their prisoner,
commanded me to follow them to the office of the _corregidor_. They
were, in fact, _alguazils_, who, suspecting that I might enter or come
out of the Embassy, had stationed themselves in the neighbourhood. I
instantly turned round to Francisco, and told him in Basque to return to
the Embassy, and to relate there to the secretary what had just occurred.
The poor fellow set off like lightning, turning half round, however, to
shake his fist, and to vent a Basque execration at the two _lapurrac_, as
he called the _alguazils_.
They conducted me to the _gefatura_, or office of the _corregidor_, where
they ushered me into a large room, and motioned me to sit down on a
wooden bench. They then stationed themselves on each side of me. There
were at least twenty people in the apartment beside ourselves, evidently
from their appearance officials of the establishment. They were all well
dressed, for the most part in the French fashion, in round hats, coats,
and pantaloons, and yet they looked what in reality they were, Spanish
_alguazils_, spies, and informers: and Gil Blas, could he have waked from
his sleep of two centuries, would, notwithstanding the change of fashion,
have had no difficulty in recognizing them. They glanced at me as they
stood lounging about the room; then gathered themselves together in a
circle and began conversing in whispers. I heard one of them say, “He
understands the seven gypsy jargons.” {134a} Then presently another,
evidently from his language an Andalusian, said, “_Es muy diestro_,
{134b} and can ride a horse and dart a knife full as well as if he came
from my own country.” Thereupon they all turned round and regarded me
with a species of interest, evidently mingled with respect, which most
assuredly they would not have exhibited had they conceived that I was
merely an honest man bearing witness in a righteous cause.
I waited patiently on the bench at least one hour, expecting every moment
to be summoned before my lord the _corregidor_. I suppose, however, that
I was not deemed worthy of being permitted to see so exalted a personage,
for at the end of that time, an elderly man—one, however, of the
_alguazil_ genus—came into the room and advanced directly towards me.
“Stand up,” said he. I obeyed. “What is your name?” he demanded. I
told him. “Then,” he replied, exhibiting a paper which he held in his
hand, “_señor_, it is the will of his excellency the _corregidor_, that
you be forthwith sent to prison.”
He looked at me steadfastly as he spoke, perhaps expecting that I should
sink into the earth at the formidable name of prison; I, however, only
smiled. He then delivered the paper, which I suppose was the warrant for
my committal, into the hand of one of my two captors, and obeying a sign
which they made, I followed them.
I subsequently learned that the secretary of legation, Mr. Southern, had
been despatched by Sir George, as soon as the latter had obtained
information of my arrest, and had been waiting at the office during the
greater part of the time that I was there. He had demanded an audience
of the _corregidor_, in which he had intended to have remonstrated with
him, and pointed out to him the danger to which he was subjecting himself
by the rash step which he was taking. The sullen functionary, however,
had refused to see him, thinking, perhaps, that to listen to reason would
be a dereliction of dignity; by this conduct, however, he most
effectually served me, as no person, after such a specimen of
uncalled-for insolence, felt disposed to question the violence and
injustice which had been practised towards me.
The _alguazils_ conducted me across the Plaza Mayor to the Carcel de la
Corte, or prison of the court, as it is called. Whilst going across the
square, I remembered that this was the place where, in “the good old
times,” the Inquisition of Spain was in the habit of holding its solemn
_Autos da fé_, and I cast my eye to the balcony of the city hall, where
at the most solemn of them all, the last of the Austrian line in Spain
sat, and after some thirty heretics, of both sexes, had been burnt by
fours and by fives, wiped his face, perspiring with heat, and black with
smoke, and calmly inquired, “_No hay mas_?” {136} for which exemplary
proof of patience he was much applauded by his priests and confessors,
who subsequently poisoned him. “And here am I,” thought I, “who have
done more to wound Popery than all the poor Christian martyrs that ever
suffered in this accursed square, merely sent to prison, from which I am
sure to be liberated in a few days, with credit and applause. Pope of
Rome! I believe you to be as malicious as ever, but you are sadly
deficient in power. You are become paralytic, _Batuschca_, and your club
has degenerated to a crutch.”
We arrived at the prison, which stands in a narrow street not far from
the great square. We entered a dusky passage, at the end of which was a
wicket door. My conductors knocked, a fierce visage peered through the
wicket; there was an exchange of words, and in a few moments I found
myself within the prison of Madrid, in a kind of corridor which
overlooked at a considerable altitude what appeared to be a court, from
which arose a hubbub of voices, and occasionally wild shouts and cries.
Within the corridor, which served as a kind of office, were several
people; one of them sat behind a desk, and to him the _alguazils_ went
up, and after discoursing with him some time in low tones, delivered the
warrant into his hands. He perused it with attention, then rising he
advanced to me. What a figure! He was about forty years of age, and his
height might have amounted to some six feet two inches, had he not been
curved much after the fashion of the letter S. No weazel ever appeared
lanker, and he looked as if a breath of air would have been sufficient to
blow him away. His face might certainly have been called handsome, had
it not been for its extraordinary and portentous meagreness; his nose was
like an eagle’s bill, his teeth white as ivory, his eyes black—oh, how
black!—and fraught with a strange expression; his skin was dark, and the
hair of his head like the plumage of the raven. A deep quiet smile dwelt
continually on his features; but with all the quiet it was a cruel smile,
such a one as would have graced the countenance of a Nero. “_Mais en
revanche personne n’étoit plus honnête_”. “_Caballero_,” said he, “allow
me to introduce myself to you as the _alcayde_ of this prison. I
perceive by this paper that I am to have the honour of your company for a
time, a short time doubtless, beneath this roof; I hope you will banish
every apprehension from your mind. I am charged to treat you with all
the respect which is due to the illustrious nation to which you belong,
and which a cavalier of such exalted category as yourself is entitled to
expect. A needless charge, it is true, as I should only have been too
happy of my own accord to have afforded you every comfort and attention.
_Caballero_, you will rather consider yourself here as a guest than a
prisoner; you will be permitted to roam over every part of this house
whenever you think proper. You will find matters here not altogether
below the attention of a philosophic mind. Pray issue whatever commands
you may think fit to the turnkeys and officials, even as if they were
your own servants, I will now have the honour of conducting you to your
apartment—the only one at present unoccupied. We invariably reserve it
for cavaliers of distinction. I am happy to say that my orders are again
in consonance with my inclination. No charge whatever will be made for
it to you, though the daily hire of it is not unfrequently an ounce of
gold. I entreat you, therefore, to follow me, cavalier, who am at all
times and seasons the most obedient and devoted of your servants.” Here
he took off his hat and bowed profoundly.
Such was the speech of the _alcayde_ of the prison of Madrid; a speech
delivered in pure sonorous Castilian, with calmness, gravity, and almost
with dignity; a speech which would have done honour to a gentleman of
high birth, to Monsieur Bassompierre, of the Old Bastile, receiving an
Italian prince, or the High Constable of the Tower an English duke
attainted of high treason. Now, who in the name of wonder was this
_alcayde_?
One of the greatest rascals in all Spain. A fellow who had more than
once, by his grasping cupidity, and by his curtailment of the miserable
rations of the prisoners, caused an insurrection in the court below, only
to be repressed by bloodshed, and by summoning military aid; a fellow of
low birth, who, only five years previous, had been _drummer_ to a band of
royalist volunteers!
But Spain is the land of extraordinary characters.
I followed the _alcayde_ to the end of the corridor, where was a massive
grated door, on each side of which sat a grim fellow of a turnkey. The
door was opened, and turning to the right we proceeded down another
corridor, in which were many people walking about, whom I subsequently
discovered to be prisoners like myself, but for political offences. At
the end of this corridor, which extended the whole length of the _patio_,
we turned into another, and the first apartment in this was the one
destined for myself. It was large and lofty, but totally destitute of
every species of furniture with the exception of a huge wooden pitcher,
intended to hold my daily allowance of water. “_Caballero_,” said the
_alcayde_, “the apartment is without furniture, as you see. It is
already the third hour of the _tarde_, I therefore advise you to lose no
time in sending to your lodgings for a bed and whatever you may stand in
need of; the _llavero_ shall do your bidding. _Caballero_, adieu, till I
see you again.”
I followed his advice, and, writing a note in pencil to Maria Diaz, I
despatched it by the _llavero_, and then, sitting down on the wooden
pitcher, I fell into a reverie, which continued for a considerable time.
Night arrived, and so did Maria Diaz, attended by two porters and
Francisco, all loaded with furniture. A lamp was lighted, charcoal was
kindled in the _brasero_, and the prison gloom was to a certain degree
dispelled.
I now left my seat on the pitcher, and sitting down on a chair, proceeded
to despatch some wine and viands, which my good hostess had not forgotten
to bring with her. Suddenly Mr. Southern entered. He laughed heartily
at finding me engaged in the manner I have described. “B---,” said he,
“you are the man to get through the world, for you appear to take all
things coolly, and as matters of course. That, however, which most
surprises me with respect to you is, your having so many friends; here
you are in prison, surrounded by people ministering to your comforts.
Your very servant is your friend, instead of being your worst enemy, as
is usually the case. That Basque of yours is a noble fellow. I shall
never forget how he spoke for you, when he came running to the Embassy to
inform us of your arrest. He interested both Sir George and myself in
the highest degree: should you ever wish to part with him, I hope you
will give me the refusal of his services. But now to other matters.” He
then informed me that Sir George had already sent in an official note to
Ofalia, demanding redress for such a wanton outrage on the person of a
British subject. “You must remain in prison,” said he, “to-night, but
depend upon it that to-morrow, if you are disposed, you may quit in
triumph.” “I am by no means disposed for any such thing,” I replied.
“They have put me in prison for their pleasure, and I intend to remain
here for my own.” “If the confinement is not irksome to you,” said Mr.
Southern, “I think, indeed, it will be your wisest plan; the government
have committed themselves sadly with regard to you; and, to speak
plainly, we are by no means sorry for it. They have on more than one
occasion treated ourselves very cavalierly, and we have now, if you
continue firm, an excellent opportunity of humbling their insolence. I
will instantly acquaint Sir George with your determination, and you shall
hear from us early on the morrow.” He then bade me farewell; and
flinging myself on my bed, I was soon asleep in the prison of Madrid.