DECEMBER 1838–MAY 1839
ON 14th December 1838 it was resolved by the General Committee of the
Bible Society that Borrow should proceed once more to Spain to dispose of
such copies of the Scriptures as remained on hand at Madrid and other
depôts established by him in various parts of the country. He left
London on the 21st, and sailed from Falmouth two days later, reaching
Cadiz on the 31st, after a stormy passage, and on 2nd January he arrived
at Seville, “rather indisposed with an old complaint,” probably “the
Horrors.”
In such stirring times to be absent from the country, even for so short a
period as two months, meant that on his return the traveller found a new
Spain. Borrow learned that the Duke of Frias had succeeded Count Ofalia
in September. The Duke had advised the British Ambassador in November
that the Spanish authorities were possessed of a quantity of Borrow’s
Bibles (?New Testaments) that had been seized and taken to Toledo, and
that if arrangements were not made for them to be taken out of Spain they
would be destroyed. Sir George Villiers had replied that Mr Borrow, who
was then out of the country, had been advised of the Duke’s notification,
and as soon as word was received from him, the Duke should be
communicated with. Then the Duke of Frias in turn passed out of office
and was succeeded by another, and so, politically, change followed
change.
The Government, however, had no intention of putting itself in the wrong
a second time. Great Britain’s friendship was of far too great
importance to the country to be jeopardised for the mere gratification of
imprisoning George Borrow. An order had been sent out to all the
authorities that an embargo was to be placed upon the books themselves;
but those distributing them were not to be arrested or in any way harmed.
At Seville he found evidences of the activity of the Government in the
news that of the hundred New Testaments that he had left with his
correspondent there, seventy-six had been seized during the previous
summer. Hearing that the books were in the hands of the Ecclesiastical
Governor, Borrow astonished that “fierce, persecuting Papist by calling
to make enquiries concerning them.” The old man treated his visitor to a
stream of impassioned invective against the Bible Society and its agent,
expressing his surprise that he had ever been permitted to leave the
prison in Madrid. Seeing that nothing was to be gained, although he had
an absolute right to the books, provided he sent them out of the country,
Borrow decided not to press the matter.
On the night of 12th Jan. 1839, he left Seville with the Mail Courier and
his escort bound for Madrid, where he arrived on the 16th without
accident or incident, although the next Courier traversing the route was
stopped by banditti. It was during this journey, whilst resting for four
hours at Manzanares, a large village in La Mancha, that he encountered
the blind girl who had been taught Latin by a Jesuit priest, and whom he
named “the Manchegan Prophetess.” {284} In telling Mr Brandram of the
incident, Borrow tactlessly remarked, “what wonderful people are the
Jesuits; when shall we hear of an English rector instructing a beggar
girl in the language of Cicero?” Mr Brandram clearly showed that he
liked neither the remark, which he took as personal, nor the use of the
term “prophetess.”
On reaching Madrid a singular incident befell Borrow. On entering the
arch of the _posada_ called La Reyna, he found himself encircled by a
pair of arms, and, on turning round, found that they belonged to the
delinquent Antonio, who stood before his late master “haggard and
ill-dressed, and his eyes seemed starting from their sockets.” The poor
fellow, who was entirely destitute, had, on the previous night, dreamed
that he saw Borrow arrive on a black horse, and, in consequence, had
spent the whole day in loitering about outside the _posada_. Borrow was
very glad to engage him again, in spite of his recent cowardice and
desertion. Borrow once more took up his abode with the estimable Maria
Diaz, and one of his first cares was to call on Lord Clarendon (Sir
George Villiers had succeeded his uncle as fourth earl), by whom he was
kindly received.
A week later, there arrived from Lopez at Villa Seca his “largest and
most useful horse,” the famous Sidi Habismilk (My Lord the Sustainer of
the Kingdom), “an Arabian of high caste . . . the best, I believe, that
ever issued from the desert,” {285a} Lopez wrote, regretting that he was
unable to accompany “The Sustainer of the Kingdom” in person, being
occupied with agricultural pursuits, but he sent a relative named
Victoriano to assist in the work of distributing the Gospel.
Borrow’s plan was to make Madrid his headquarters, with Antonio in charge
of the supplies, and visit all the villages and hamlets in the vicinity
that had not yet been supplied with Testaments. He then proposed to turn
eastward to a distance of about thirty leagues.
“I have been very passionate in prayer,” he writes, {285b} “during
the last two or three days; and I entertain some hope that the Lord
has condescended to answer me, as I appear to see my way with
considerable clearness. It may, of course, prove a delusion, and the
prospects which seem to present themselves may be mere palaces of
clouds, which a breath of wind is sufficient to tumble into ruin;
therefore bearing this possibility in mind it behoves me to beg that
I may be always enabled to bow meekly to the dispensations of the
Almighty, whether they be of favour or severity.”
Mr Brandram’s comment on this portion of Borrow’s letter is rather
suggestive of deliberate fault-finding.
“May your ‘passionate’ prayers be answered,” he writes. {286} “You
see I remark your unusual word—very significant it is, but one rather
fitted for the select circle where ‘passion’ is understood in its own
full sense—and not in the restricted meaning attached to it
ordinarily. Perhaps you will not often meet with a better set of men
than those who assembled in Earl Street, but they may not always be
open to the force of language, and so unwonted a phrase may raise odd
feelings in their minds. Do not be in a passion, will you, for the
freedom of my remarks. You will perhaps suppose remarks were made in
Committee. This does not happen to be the case, though I fully
anticipated it. Mr Browne, Mr Jowett and myself had first privately
devoured your letter, and we made our remarks. We could relish such
a phrase.”
Sometimes there was a suggestion of spite in Mr Brandram’s letters. He
was obviously unfriendly towards Borrow during the latter portion of his
agency. It was clear that the period of Borrow’s further association
with the Bible Society was to be limited. If he replied at all to this
rather unfair criticism, he must have done so privately to Mr Brandram,
as there is no record of his having referred to it in any subsequent
letters among the Society’s archives.
All unconscious that he had so early offended, Borrow set out upon his
first journey to distribute Testaments among the villages around Madrid.
Dressed in the manner of the peasants, on his head a _montera_, a species
of leathern helmet, with jacket and trousers of the same material, and
mounted on Sidi Habismilk, he looked so unlike the conventional
missionary that the housewife may be excused who mistook him for a pedlar
selling soap.
In some villages where the people were without money, they received
Testaments in return for refreshing the missionaries. “Is this right?”
Borrow enquires of Mr Brandram. The village priests frequently proved of
considerable assistance; for when they pronounced the books good, as they
sometimes did, the sale became extremely brisk. After an absence of
eight days, Borrow returned to Madrid. Shortly afterwards, when on the
eve of starting out upon another expedition to Guadalajara and the
villages of Alcarria, he received a letter from Victoriano saying that he
was in prison at Fuente la Higuera, a village about eight leagues
distant. Acting with his customary energy and decision, Borrow obtained
from an influential friend letters to the Civil Governor and principal
authorities of Guadalajara. He then despatched Antonio to the rescue,
with the result that Victoriano was released, with the assurance that
those responsible for his detention should be severely punished.
Whilst Victoriano was in prison, Borrow and Antonio had been very
successful in selling Testaments and Bibles in Madrid, disposing of
upwards of a hundred copies, but entirely to the poor, who “receive the
Scriptures with gladness,” although the hearts of the rich were hard.
The work in and about Madrid continued until the middle of March, when
Borrow decided to make an excursion as far as Talavera. The first halt
was made at the village of Naval Carnero. Soon after his arrival orders
came from Madrid warning the _alcaldes_ of every village in New Castile
to be on the look out for the tall, white-haired heretic, of whom an
exact description was given, who to-day was in one place and to-morrow
twenty leagues distant. No violence was to be offered either to him or
to his assistants; but he and they were to be baulked in their purpose by
every legitimate means.
Foiled in the rural districts, Borrow instantly determined to change his
plan of campaign. He saw that he was less likely to attract notice in
the densely-populated capital than in the provinces. He therefore
galloped back to Madrid, leaving Victoriano to follow more leisurely. He
rejoiced at the alarm of the clergy. “Glory to God!” he exclaims, “they
are becoming thoroughly alarmed, and with much reason.” {288a} The
“reason” lay in the great demand for Testaments and Bibles. A new
binding-order had to be given for the balance of the 500 Bibles that had
arrived in sheets, or such as had been left of them by the rats, who had
done considerable damage in the Madrid storehouse.
It was at this juncture that Borrow’s extensive acquaintance with the
lower orders proved useful. Selecting eight of the most intelligent from
among them, including five women, he supplied them with Testaments and
instructions to vend the books in all the parishes of Madrid, with the
result that in the course of about a fortnight 600 copies were disposed
of in the streets and alleys. A house to house canvass was instituted
with remarkable results, for manservant and maidservant bought eagerly of
the books. Antonio excelled himself and made some amends for his flight
from Labajos, when, like a torrent, the Carlist cavalry descended upon
it. Dark Madrid was becoming illuminated with a flood of Scriptural
light. In two of its churches the New Testament was expounded every
Sunday evening. Bibles were particularly in demand, a hundred being sold
in about three weeks. The demand exceeded the supply. “The Marques de
Santa Coloma,” Borrow wrote, “has a large family, but every individual of
it, old or young, is now in possession of a Bible and likewise of a
Testament.” {288b}
Borrow appears to have enlisted the aid of other distributors than the
eight colporteurs. One of his most zealous agents was an ecclesiastic,
who always carried with him beneath his gown a copy of the Bible, which
he offered to the first person he encountered whom he thought likely to
become a purchaser. Yet another assistant was found in a rich old
gentleman of Navarre, who sent copies to his own province.
One night after having retired to bed, Borrow received a visit from a
curious, hobgoblin-like person, who gave him grave, official warning that
unless he present himself before the _corregidor_ on the morrow at eleven
A.M., he must be prepared to take the consequences. The hour chosen for
this intimation was midnight. On the next day at the appointed time
Borrow presented himself before the _corregidor_, who announced that he
wished to ask a question. The question related to a box of Testaments
that Borrow had sent to Naval Carnero, which had been seized and
subsequently claimed on Borrow’s behalf by Antonio. In Spain they have
the dramatic instinct. If it strike the majestic mind of a _corregidor_
at midnight that he would like to see a citizen or a stranger on the
morrow about some trifling affair, time or place are not permitted to
interfere with the conveyance of the intimation to the citizen or
stranger to present himself before the gravely austere official, who will
carry out the interrogation with a solemnity becoming a capital charge.
By the middle of April barely a thousand Testaments remained; these
Borrow determined to distribute in Seville. Sending Antonio, the
Testaments and two horses with the convoy, Borrow decided to risk
travelling with the Mail Courier. For one thing, he disliked the
slowness of a convoy, and for another the insults and irritations that
travellers had to put up with from the escort, both officers and men.
His original plan had been to proceed by Estremadura; but a band of
Carlist robbers had recently made its appearance, murdering or holding at
ransom every person who fell into its clutches. Borrow wrote:—
“I therefore deem it wise to avoid, if possible, the alternative of
being shot or having to pay one thousand pounds for being set at
liberty . . . It is moreover wicked to tempt Providence
systematically. I have already thrust myself into more danger than
was, perhaps, strictly necessary, and as I have been permitted
hitherto to escape, it is better to be content with what it has
pleased the Lord to do for me up to the present moment, than to run
the risk of offending Him by a blind confidence in His forbearance,
which may be over-taxed. As it is, however, at all times best to be
frank, I am willing to confess that I am what the world calls
exceedingly superstitious; perhaps the real cause of my change of
resolution was a dream, in which I imagined myself on a desolate road
in the hands of several robbers, who were hacking me with their long,
ugly knives.” {290}
In the same letter, which was so to incur Mr Brandram’s disapproval,
Borrow tells of the excellent results of his latest plan for disposing of
Bibles and Testaments, three hundred and fifty of the former having been
sold since he reached Spain. He goes on to explain and expound the
difficulties that have been met and overcome, and hopes that his friends
at Earl Street will be patient, as it may not be in his power to send
“for a long time any flattering accounts of operations commenced there.”
In conclusion, he assures Mr Brandram that from the Church of Rome he has
learned one thing, “_Ever to expect evil_, _and ever to hope for good_.”
Nothing could have been more unfortunate than the effect produced upon Mr
Brandram’s mind by this letter.
“I scarcely know what to say,” he writes. “You are in a very
peculiar country; you are doubtless a man of very peculiar
temperament, and we must not apply common rules in judging either of
yourself or your affairs. What, _e.g._, shall we say to your
confession of a certain superstitiousness? It is very frank of you
to tell us what you need not have told; but it sounded very odd when
read aloud in a large Committee. Strangers that know you not would
carry away strange ideas . . . In bespeaking our patience, there is
an implied contrast between your own mode of proceeding and that
adopted by others—a contrast this a little to the disadvantage of
others, and savouring a little of the praise of a personage called
number one . . . Perhaps my vanity is offended, and I feel as if I
were not esteemed a person of sufficient discernment to know enough
of the real state of Spain . . .
“Bear with me now in my criticisms on your second letter [that of 2nd
May]. You narrate your perilous journey to Seville, and say at the
beginning of the description: ‘My usual wonderful good fortune
accompanying us.’ This is a mode of speaking to which we are not
well accustomed; it savours, some of our friends would say, a little
of the profane. Those who know you will not impute this to you. But
you must remember that our Committee Room is public to a great
extent, and I cannot omit expressions as I go reading on. Pious
sentiments may be thrust into letters _ad nauseam_, and it is not for
that I plead; but is there not a _via media_? “We are odd people, it
may be, in England; we are not fond of prophets or ‘prophetesses’ [a
reference to her of La Mancha about whom Borrow had previously been
rebuked]. I have not turned back to your former description of the
lady whom you have a second time introduced to our notice. Perhaps
my wounded pride had not been made whole after the infliction you
before gave it by contrasting the teacher of the prophetess with
English rectors.”
Borrow replied to this letter from Seville on 28th June, and there are
indications that before doing so he took time to deliberate upon it.
“Think not, I pray you,” he wrote, “that any observation of yours
respecting style, or any peculiarities of expression which I am in
the habit of exhibiting in my correspondence, can possibly awaken in
me any feeling but that of gratitude, knowing so well as I do the
person who offers them, and the motives by which he is influenced. I
have reflected on those passages which you were pleased to point out
as objectionable, and have nothing to reply further than that I have
erred, that I am sorry, and will endeavour to mend, and that,
moreover, I have already prayed for assistance to do so. Allow me,
however, to offer a word, not in excuse but in explanation of the
expression ‘wonderful good fortune’ which appeared in a former letter
of mine. It is clearly objectionable, and, as you very properly
observe, savours of pagan times. But I am sorry to say that I am
much in the habit of repeating other people’s sayings without
weighing their propriety. The saying was not mine; but I heard it in
conversation and thoughtlessly repeated it. A few miles from Seville
I was telling the Courier of the many perilous journeys which I had
accomplished in Spain in safety, and for which I thank the Lord. His
reply was, ‘La mucha suerte de Usted tambien nos ha acompañado en
este viage.’”
Thus ended another unfortunate misunderstanding between secretary and
agent.
Borrow had taken considerable risk in making the journey to Seville with
the Courier. The whole of La Mancha was overrun with the
Carlist-banditti, who, “whenever it pleases them, stop the Courier, burn
the vehicle and letters, murder the paltry escort which attends, and
carry away any chance passenger to the mountains, where an enormous
ransom is demanded, which if not paid brings on the dilemma of four shots
through the head, as the Spaniards say.” The Courier’s previous journey
over the same route had ended in the murder of the escort and the burning
of the coach, the Courier himself escaping through the good offices of
one of the bandits, who had formerly been his postilion. Borrow was
shown the blood-soaked turf and the skull of one of the soldiers. At
Manzanares, Borrow invited to breakfast with him the Prophetess who was
so unpopular at Earl Street. Continuing the journey, he reached Seville
without mishap, and a few days later Antonio arrived with the horses. It
was found that the two cases of Testaments that had been forwarded from
Madrid had been stopped at the Seville Customs House, and Borrow had
recourse to subterfuge in order to get them and save his journey from
being in vain.
“For a few dollars,” he tells Mr Brandram (2nd May), “I procured a
_fiador_ or person who engaged _that the chests_ should be carried
down the river and embarked at San Lucar for a foreign land.
Yesterday I hired a boat and sent them down, but on the way I landed
in a secure place all the Testaments which I intend for this part of
the country.”
The _fiador_ had kept to the letter of his undertaking, and the chests
were duly delivered at San Lucar; but a considerable portion of their
contents, some two hundred Testaments, had been abstracted, and these had
to be smuggled into Seville under the cloaks of master and servant. The
officials appear to have treated Borrow with the greatest possible
courtesy and consideration, and they told him that his “intentions were
known and honored.”
Borrow had great hopes of achieving something for the Gospel’s sake in
Seville; but the operation would be a delicate one. To Mr Brandram he
wrote:—
“Consider my situation here. I am in a city by nature very
Levitical, as it contains within it the most magnificent and
splendidly endowed cathedral of any in Spain. I am surrounded by
priests and friars, who know and hate me, and who, if I commit the
slightest act of indiscretion, will halloo their myrmidons against
me. The press is closed to me, the libraries are barred against me,
I have no one to assist me but my hired servant, no pious English
families to comfort or encourage me, the British subjects here being
ranker papists and a hundred times more bigoted than the Spanish
themselves, the Consul, a _renegade Quaker_. Yet notwithstanding,
with God’s assistance, I will do much, though silently, burrowing
like the mole in darkness beneath the ground. Those who have
triumphed in Madrid, and in the two Castiles, where the difficulties
were seven times greater, are not to be dismayed by priestly frowns
at Seville.” {293}
On arriving at Seville Borrow had put up at the _Posada de la Reyna_, in
the Calle Gimios, and here on 4th May (he had arrived about 24th April)
he encountered Lieut.-Colonel Elers Napier. Borrow liked nothing so well
as appearing in the _rôle_ of a mysterious stranger. He loved mystery as
much as a dramatic moment. His admiration of Baron Taylor was largely
based upon the innumerable conjectures as to who it was that surrounded
his puzzling personality with such an air of mystery. That May morning
Colonel Napier, who was also staying at the _Posada de la Reyna_, was
wandering about the galleries overlooking the _patio_. He writes:—
“whilst occupied in moralising over the dripping water spouts, I
observed a tall, gentlemanly-looking man dressed in a _semarra_
[_zamarra_, a sheepskin jacket with the wool outside] leaning over
the balustrades and apparently engaged in a similar manner with
myself . . . From the stranger’s complexion, which was fair, but
with brilliant black eyes, I concluded he was not a Spaniard; in
short, there was something so remarkable in his appearance that it
was difficult to say to what nation he might belong. He was tall,
with a commanding appearance; yet, though apparently in the flower of
manhood, his hair was so deeply tinged with the winter of either age
or sorrow as to be nearly snow white.” {294a}
Colonel Napier was thoroughly mystified. The stranger answered his
French in “the purest Parisian Accent”; yet he proved capable of speaking
fluent English, of giving orders to his Greek servant in Romaïc, of
conversing “in good Castillian with ‘mine host’,” and of exchanging
salutations in German with another resident at the _fonda_. Later the
Colonel had the gratification of startling the Unknown by replying to
some remark of his in Hindi; but only momentarily, for he showed himself
“delighted on finding I was an Indian, and entered freely, and with depth
and acuteness, on the affairs of the East, most of which part of the
world he had visited.” {294b}
No one could give any information about “the mysterious Unknown,” who or
what he was, or why he was travelling. It was known that the police
entertained suspicions that he was a Russian spy, and kept him under
strict observation. Whatever else he was, Colonel Napier found him “a
very agreeable companion.” {295}
On the following morning (a Sunday) Colonel Napier and his Unknown set
out on horseback on an excursion to the ruins of Italica. As they sat on
a ruined wall of the Convent of San Isidoro, contemplating the scene of
ruin and desolation around, “the ‘Unknown’ began to feel the vein of
poetry creeping through his inward soul, and gave vent to it by reciting
with great emphasis and effect” some lines that the scene called up to
his mind.
“I had been too much taken up with the scene,” Colonel Napier
continues, “the verses, and the strange being who was repeating them
with so much feeling, to notice the approach of a slight female
figure, beautiful in the extreme, but whose tattered garments, raven
hair, swarthy complexion and flashing eyes proclaimed to be of the
wandering tribe of _Gitanos_. From an intuitive sense of politeness,
she stood with crossed arms and a slight smile on her dark and
handsome countenance until my companion had ceased, and then
addressed us in the usual whining tone of
supplication—‘_Caballeritos_, _una limosnita_! _Dios se la pagará á
ustedes_!’—‘Gentlemen, a little charity; God will repay it to you!’
The gypsy girl was so pretty and her voice so sweet, that I
involuntarily put my hand in my pocket.
“‘Stop!’ said the Unknown. ‘Do you remember what I told you about
the Eastern origin of these people? You shall see I am
correct.’—‘Come here, my pretty child,’ said he in Moultanee, ‘and
tell me where are the rest of your tribe.’
“The girl looked astounded, replied in the same tongue, but in broken
language; when, taking him by the arm, she said in Spanish, ‘Come,
cabellero—come to one who will be able to answer you’; and she led
the way down amongst the ruins, towards one of the dens formerly
occupied by the wild beasts, and disclosed to us a set of beings
scarcely less savage. The sombre walls of the gloomy abode were
illumined by a fire the smoke from which escaped through a deep
fissure in the mossy roof; whilst the flickering flames threw a
blood-red glare on the bronzed features of a group of children, of
two men, and a decrepit old hag, who appeared busily engaged in some
culinary preparations.
“On our entrance, the scowling glance of the males of the party, and
a quick motion of the hand towards the folds of the ‘faja’ [a sash in
which the Spaniard carries a formidable clasp-knife] caused in me, at
least, anything but a comfortable sensation; but their hostile
intentions, if ever entertained, were immediately removed by a wave
of the hand from our conductress, who, leading my companion towards
the sibyl, whispered something in her ear. The old crone appeared
incredulous. The ‘Unknown’ uttered one word; but that word had the
effect of magic; she prostrated herself at his feet, and in an
instant, from an object of suspicion he became one of worship to the
whole family, to whom, on taking leave, he made a handsome present,
and departed with their united blessings, to the astonishment of
myself and what looked very like terror in our Spanish guide.
“I was, as the phrase goes, dying with curiosity, and as soon as we
mounted our horses, exclaimed—‘Where, in the name of goodness, did
you pick up your acquaintance with the language of those
extraordinary people?’
“‘Some years ago, in Moultan,’ he replied.
“‘And by what means do you possess such apparent influence over
them?’ But the ‘Unknown’ had already said more than he perhaps
wished on the subject. He drily replied that he had more than once
owed his life to gypsies, and had reason to know them well; but this
was said in a tone which precluded all further queries on my part.
The subject was never again broached, and we returned in silence to
the fonda . . . This is a most extraordinary character, and the more
I see of him the more am I puzzled. He appears acquainted with
everybody and everything, but apparently unknown to every one
himself. Though his figure bespeaks youth—and by his own account his
age does not exceed thirty [he would be thirty-six in the following
July]—yet the snows of eighty winters could not have whitened his
locks more completely than they are. But in his dark and searching
eye there is an almost supernatural penetration and lustre, which,
were I inclined to superstition, might induce me to set down its
possessor as a second Melmoth.” {297}