The Bible in Spain

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There is a celebrated coffee-house in the Calle d'Alcala at Madrid,
capable of holding several hundred individuals. On the evening of
the day in question, I was seated there, sipping a cup of the brown
beverage, when I heard a prodigious noise and clamour in the
street; it proceeded from the nationals, who were returning from
their expedition. In a few minutes I saw a body of them enter the
coffee-house marching arm in arm, two by two, stamping on the
ground with their feet in a kind of measure, and repeating in loud
chorus as they walked round the spacious apartment, the following
grisly stanza:-

"Que es lo que abaja
Por aquel cerro?
Ta ra ra ra ra.
Son los huesos de Quesada,
Que los trae un perro -
Ta ra ra ra ra." {10}

"What down the hill comes hurrying there? -
With a hey, with a ho, a sword, and a gun!
Quesada's bones, which a hound doth bear. -
Hurrah, brave brothers!--the work is done."

A huge bowl of coffee was then called for, which was placed upon a
table, around which gathered the national soldiers: there was
silence for a moment, which was interrupted by a voice roaring out,
"el panuelo!" A blue kerchief was forthwith produced, which
appeared to contain a substance of some kind; it was untied, and a
gory hand and three or four dissevered fingers made their
appearance, and with these the contents of the bowl were stirred
up. "Cups! cups!" cried the nationals.

"Ho, ho, Don Jorge," cried Baltasarito, coming up to me with a cup
of coffee, "pray do me the favour to drink upon this glorious
occasion. This is a pleasant day for Spain, and for the gallant
nationals of Madrid. I have seen many a bull funcion, but none
which has given me so much pleasure as this. Yesterday the brute
had it all his own way, but to-day the toreros have prevailed, as
you see, Don Jorge. Pray drink; for I must now run home to fetch
my pajandi to play my brethren a tune, and sing a copla. What
shall it be? Something in Gitano?

"Una noche sinava en tucue."

You shake your head, Don Jorge. Ha, ha; I am young, and youth is
the time for pleasure; well, well, out of compliment to you, who
are an Englishman and a monro, it shall not be that, but something
liberal, something patriotic, the Hymn of Riego--Hasta despues, Don
Jorge!"

CHAPTER XV

The Steamer--Cape Finisterre--The Storm--Arrival at Cadiz--The New
Testament--Seville--Italica--The Amphitheatre--The Prisoners--The
Encounter--Baron Taylor--The Street and Desert.

At the commencement of November, I again found myself on the salt
water, on my way to Spain. I had returned to England shortly after
the events which have been narrated in the last chapter, for the
purpose of consulting with my friends, and for planning the opening
of a biblical campaign in Spain. It was now determined by us to
print the New Testament, with as little delay as possible, at
Madrid; and I was to be entrusted with the somewhat arduous task of
its distribution. My stay in England was very short, for time was
precious, and I was eager to return to the field of action.

I embarked in the Thames, on board the M- steamer. We had a most
unpleasant passage to Falmouth; the ship was crowded with
passengers, most of them poor consumptive individuals, and other
invalids fleeing from the cold blasts of England's winter to the
sunny shores of Portugal and Madeira. In a more uncomfortable
vessel, especially steam ship, it has never been my fate to make a
voyage. The berths were small and insupportably close, and of
these wretched holes mine was amongst the worst, the rest having
been bespoken before I arrived on board; so that to avoid the
suffocation which seemed to threaten me should I enter it, I lay
upon the floor of one of the cabins throughout the voyage. We
remained at Falmouth twenty-four hours, taking in coal, and
repairing the engine, which had sustained considerable damage.

On Monday, the seventh, we again started, and made for the Bay of
Biscay. The sea was high and the wind strong and contrary;
nevertheless, on the morning of the fourth day, we were in sight of
the rocky coast to the north of Cape Finisterre. I must here
observe, that this was the first voyage that the captain who
commanded the vessel had ever made on board of her, and that he
knew little or nothing of the coast towards which we were bearing.
He was a person picked up in a hurry, the former captain having
resigned his command on the ground that the ship was not seaworthy,
and that the engines were frequently unserviceable. I was not
acquainted with these circumstances at the time, or perhaps I
should have felt more alarmed than I did, when I saw the vessel
approaching nearer and nearer the shore, till at last we were only
a few hundred yards distant. As it was, however, I felt very much
surprised; for having passed it twice before, both times in steam
vessels, and having seen with what care the captains endeavoured to
maintain a wide offing, I could not conceive the reason of our
being now so near this dangerous region. The wind was blowing hard
towards the shore, if that can be called a shore which consists of
steep abrupt precipices, on which the surf was breaking with the
noise of thunder, tossing up clouds of spray and foam to the height
of a cathedral. We coasted slowly along, rounding several tall
forelands, some of them piled up by the hand of nature in the most
fantastic shapes. About nightfall Cape Finisterre was not far
ahead,--a bluff, brown, granite mountain, whose frowning head may
be seen far away by those who traverse the ocean. The stream which
poured round its breast was terrific, and though our engines plied
with all their force, we made little or no way.

By about eight o'clock at night the wind had increased to a
hurricane, the thunder rolled frightfully, and the only light which
we had to guide us on our way was the red forked lightning, which
burst at times from the bosom of the big black clouds which lowered
over our heads. We were exerting ourselves to the utmost to
weather the cape, which we could descry by the lightning on our
lee, its brow being frequently brilliantly lighted up by the
flashes which quivered around it, when suddenly, with a great
crash, the engine broke, and the paddles, on which depended our
lives, ceased to play.

I will not attempt to depict the scene of horror and confusion
which ensued; it may be imagined, but never described. The
captain, to give him his due, displayed the utmost coolness and
intrepidity; he and the whole crew made the greatest exertions to
repair the engine, and when they found their labour in vain,
endeavoured, by hoisting the sails, and by practising all possible
manoeuvres, to preserve the ship from impending destruction; but
all was of no avail, we were hard on a lee shore, to which the
howling tempest was impelling us. About this time I was standing
near the helm, and I asked the steersman if there was any hope of
saving the vessel, or our lives. He replied, "Sir, it is a bad
affair, no boat could live for a minute in this sea, and in less
than an hour the ship will have her broadside on Finisterre, where
the strongest man-of-war ever built must go to shivers instantly--
none of us will see the morning." The captain, likewise, informed
the other passengers in the cabin to the same effect, telling them
to prepare themselves; and having done so, he ordered the door to
be fastened, and none to be permitted to come on deck. I, however,
kept my station, though almost drowned with water, immense waves
continually breaking over our windward side and flooding the ship.
The water casks broke from their lashings, and one of them struck
me down, and crushed the foot of the unfortunate man at the helm,
whose place was instantly taken by the captain. We were now close
to the rocks, when a horrid convulsion of the elements took place.
The lightning enveloped us as with a mantle, the thunders were
louder than the roar of a million cannon, the dregs of the ocean
seemed to be cast up, and in the midst of all this turmoil, the
wind, without the slightest intimation, VEERED RIGHT ABOUT, and
pushed us from the horrible coast faster than it had previously
driven us towards it.

The oldest sailors on board acknowledged that they had never
witnessed so providential an escape. I said, from the bottom of my
heart, "Our Father--hallowed be thy name."

The next day we were near foundering, for the sea was exceedingly
high, and our vessel, which was not intended for sailing, laboured
terribly, and leaked much. The pumps were continually working.
She likewise took fire, but the flames were extinguished. In the
evening the steam-engine was partially repaired, and we reached
Lisbon on the thirteenth, where in a few days we completed our
repairs.

I found my excellent friend W- in good health. During my absence
he had been doing everything in his power to further the sale of
the sacred volume in Portuguese: his zeal and devotedness were
quite admirable. The distracted state of the country, however,
during the last six months, had sadly impeded his efforts. The
minds of the people had been so engrossed with politics, that they
found scarcely any time to think of the welfare of their souls.
The political history of Portugal had of late afforded a striking
parallel to that of the neighbouring country. In both a struggle
for supremacy had arisen between the court and the democratic
party; in both the latter had triumphed, whilst two distinguished
individuals had fallen a sacrifice to the popular fury--Freire in
Portugal, and Quesada in Spain. The news which reached me at
Lisbon from the latter country was rather startling. The hordes of
Gomez were ravaging Andalusia, which I was about to visit on my way
to Madrid; Cordova had been sacked and abandoned after a three
days' occupation by the Carlists. I was told that if I persisted
in my attempt to enter Spain in the direction which I proposed, I
should probably fall into their hands at Seville. I had, however,
no fears, and had full confidence that the Lord would open the path
before me to Madrid.

The vessel being repaired, we again embarked, and in two days
arrived in safety at Cadiz. I found great confusion reigning
there; numerous bands of the factious were reported to be hovering
in the neighbourhood. An attack was not deemed improbable, and the
place had just been declared in a state of siege. I took up my
abode at the French hotel in the Calle de la Niveria, and was
allotted a species of cockloft, or garret, to sleep in, for the
house was filled with guests, being a place of much resort, on
account of the excellent table d'hote which is kept there. I
dressed myself and walked about the town. I entered several
coffee-houses: the din of tongues in all was deafening. In one no
less than six orators were haranguing at the same time on the state
of the country, and the probability of an intervention on the part
of England and France. As I was listening to one of them, he
suddenly called upon me for my opinion, as I was a foreigner, and
seemingly just arrived. I replied that I could not venture to
guess what steps the two governments would pursue under the present
circumstances, but thought that it would be as well if the
Spaniards would exert themselves more and call less on Jupiter. As
I did not wish to engage in any political conversation, I instantly
quitted the house, and sought those parts of the town where the
lower classes principally reside.

I entered into discourse with several individuals, but found them
very ignorant; none could read or write, and their ideas respecting
religion were anything but satisfactory,--most professing a perfect
indifference. I afterwards went into a bookseller's shop and made
inquiries respecting the demand for literature, which, he informed
me, was small. I produced a London edition of the New Testament in
Spanish, and asked the bookseller whether he thought a book of that
description would sell in Cadiz. He said that both the type and
paper were exceedingly beautiful, but that it was a work not sought
after, and very little known. I did not pursue my inquiries in
other shops, for I reflected that I was not likely to receive a
very favourable opinion from booksellers respecting a publication
in which they had no interest. I had, moreover, but two or three
copies of the New Testament with me, and could not have supplied
them had they even given me an order.

Early on the twenty-fourth, I embarked for Seville in the small
Spanish steamer the Betis: the morning was wet, and the aspect of
nature was enveloped in a dense mist, which prevented my observing
surrounding objects. After proceeding about six leagues, we
reached the north-eastern extremity of the Bay of Cadiz, and passed
by Saint Lucar, an ancient town near to the spot where the
Guadalquivir disembogues itself. The mist suddenly disappeared,
and the sun of Spain burst forth in full brilliancy, enlivening all
around, and particularly myself, who had till then been lying on
the deck in a dull melancholy stupor. We entered the mouth of "The
Great River," for that is the English translation of Oued al Kiber,
as the Moors designated the ancient Betis. We came to anchor for a
few minutes at a little village called Bonanca, at the extremity of
the first reach of the river, where we received several passengers,
and again proceeded. There is not much in the appearance of the
Guadalquivir to interest the traveller: the banks are low and
destitute of trees, the adjacent country is flat, and only in the
distance is seen a range of tall blue sierras. The water is turbid
and muddy, and in colour closely resembling the contents of a duck-
pool; the average width of the stream is from a hundred and fifty
to two hundred yards, but it is impossible to move along this river
without remembering that it has borne the Roman, the Vandal, and
the Arab, and has been the witness of deeds which have resounded
through the world and been the themes of immortal songs. I
repeated Latin verses and fragments of old Spanish ballads till we
reached Seville, at about nine o'clock of a lovely moonlight night.

Seville contains ninety thousand inhabitants, and is situated on
the eastern bank of the Guadalquivir, about eighteen leagues from
its mouth; it is surrounded with high Moorish walls, in a good
state of preservation, and built of such durable materials that it
is probable they will for many centuries still bid defiance to the
encroachments of time. The most remarkable edifices are the
cathedral and Alcazar, or palace of the Moorish kings; the tower of
the former, called La Giralda, belongs to the period of the Moors,
and formed part of the grand mosque of Seville: it is computed to
be one hundred ells in height, and is ascended not by stairs or
ladders but by a vaulted pathway, in the manner of an inclined
plane: this path is by no means steep, so that a cavalier might
ride up to the top, a feat which Ferdinand the Seventh is said to
have accomplished. The view from the summit is very extensive, and
on a fine clear day the mountain ridge, called the Sierra de Ronda,
may be discovered, though upwards of twenty leagues distant. The
cathedral itself is a noble Gothic structure, reputed the finest of
the kind in Spain. In the chapels allotted to the various saints
are some of the most magnificent paintings which Spanish art has
produced; indeed the Cathedral of Seville is at the present time
far more rich in splendid paintings than at any former period;
possessing many very recently removed from some of the suppressed
convents, particularly from the Capuchin and San Francisco.

No one should visit Seville without paying particular attention to
the Alcazar, that splendid specimen of Moorish architecture. It
contains many magnificent halls, particularly that of the
ambassadors, so called, which is in every respect more magnificent
than the one of the same name within the Alhambra of Granada. This
palace was a favourite residence of Peter the Cruel, who carefully
repaired it without altering its Moorish character and appearance.
It probably remains in much the same state as at the time of his
death.

On the right side of the river is a large suburb, called Triana,
communicating with Seville by means of a bridge of boats; for there
is no permanent bridge across the Guadalquivir, owing to the
violent inundations to which it is subject. This suburb is
inhabited by the dregs of the populace, and abounds with Gitanos or
Gypsies. About a league and a half to the north-west stands the
village of Santo Ponce: at the foot and on the side of some
elevated ground higher up are to be seen vestiges of ruined walls
and edifices, which once formed part of Italica, the birth-place of
Silius Italicus and Trajan, from which latter personage Triana
derives its name.

One fine morning I walked thither, and having ascended the hill, I
directed my course northward. I soon reached what had once been
bagnios, and a little farther on, in a kind of valley between two
gentle declivities, the amphitheatre. This latter object is by far
the most considerable relic of ancient Italica; it is oval in its
form, with two gateways fronting the east and west.

On all sides are to be seen the time-worn broken granite benches,
from whence myriads of human beings once gazed down on the area
below, where the gladiator shouted, and the lion and the leopard
yelled: all around, beneath these flights of benches, are vaulted
excavations from whence the combatants, part human part bestial,
darted forth by their several doors. I spent many hours in this
singular place, forcing my way through the wild fennel and
brushwood into the caverns, now the haunts of adders and other
reptiles, whose hissings I heard. Having sated my curiosity, I
left the ruins, and returning by another way, reached a place where
lay the carcass of a horse half devoured; upon it, with lustrous
eyes, stood an enormous vulture, who, as I approached, slowly
soared aloft till he alighted on the eastern gate of the
amphitheatre, from whence he uttered a hoarse cry, as if in anger
that I had disturbed him from his feast of carrion.

Gomez had not hitherto paid a visit to Seville: when I arrived he
was said to be in the neighbourhood of Ronda. The city was under
watch and ward: several gates had been blocked up with masonry,
trenches dug, and redoubts erected, but I am convinced that the
place would not have held out six hours against a resolute attack.
Gomez had proved himself to be a most extraordinary man, and with
his small army of Aragonese and Basques had, within the last four
months, made the tour of Spain. He had very frequently been hemmed
in by forces three times the number of his own, in places whence
escape appeared impossible, but he had always battled his enemies,
whom he seemed to laugh at. The most absurd accounts of victories
gained over him were continually issuing from the press at Seville;
amongst others, it was stated that his army had been utterly
defeated, himself killed, and that twelve hundred prisoners were on
their way to Saville. I saw these prisoners: instead of twelve
hundred desperadoes, they consisted of about twenty poor lame
ragged wretches, many of them boys from fourteen to sixteen years
of age. They were evidently camp followers, who, unable to keep up
with the army, had been picked up straggling in the plains and
amongst the hills.

It subsequently appeared that no battle had occurred, and that the
death of Gomez was a fiction. The grand defect of Gomez consisted
in not knowing how to take advantage of circumstances: after
defeating Lopez, he might have marched to Madrid and proclaimed Don
Carlos there, and after sacking Cordova he might have captured
Seville.

There were several booksellers' shops at Seville, in two of which I
found copies of the New Testament in Spanish, which had been
obtained from Gibraltar about two years before, since which time
six copies had been sold in one shop and four in the other. The
person who generally accompanied me in my walks about the town and
the neighbourhood, was an elderly Genoese, who officiated as a kind
of valet de place in the Posada del Turco, where I had taken up my
residence. On learning from me that it was my intention to bring
out an edition of the New Testament at Madrid, he observed that
copies of the work might be extensively circulated in Andalusia.
"I have been accustomed to bookselling," he continued, "and at one
time possessed a small shop of my own in this place. Once having
occasion to go to Gibraltar, I procured several copies of the
Scriptures; some, it is true, were seized by the officers of the
customs, but the rest I sold at a high price, and with considerable
profit to myself."

I had returned from a walk in the country, on a glorious sunshiny
morning of the Andalusian winter, and was directing my steps
towards my lodging: as I was passing by the portal of a large
gloomy house near the gate of Xeres, two individuals dressed in
zamarras emerged from the archway, and were about to cross my path,
when one, looking in my face, suddenly started back, exclaiming in
the purest and most melodious French: "What do I see? If my eyes
do not deceive me--it is himself. Yes, the very same as I saw him
first at Bayonne; then long subsequently beneath the brick wall at
Novogorod; then beside the Bosphorus; and last at--at--Oh, my
respectable and cherished friend, where was it that I had last the
felicity of seeing your well-remembered and most remarkable
physiognomy?"

Myself.--It was in the south of Ireland, if I mistake not. Was it
not there that I introduced you to the sorcerer who tamed the
savage horses by a single whisper into their ear? But tell me what
brings you to Spain and Andalusia, the last place where I should
have expected to find you?

Baron Taylor.--And wherefore, my most respectable B-? Is not Spain
the land of the arts; and is not Andalusia of all Spain that
portion which has produced the noblest monuments of artistic
excellence and inspiration? Surely you know enough of me to be
aware that the arts are my passion; that I am incapable of
imagining a more exalted enjoyment than to gaze in adoration on a
noble picture. O come with me! for you too have a soul capable of
appreciating what is lovely and exalted; a soul delicate and
sensitive. Come with me, and I will show you a Murillo, such as -.
But first allow me to introduce you to your compatriot. My dear
Monsieur W., turning to his companion (an English gentleman from
whom and from his family I subsequently experienced unbounded
kindness and hospitality on various occasions, and at different
periods at Seville), allow me to introduce to you my most cherished
and respectable friend, one who is better acquainted with Gypsy
ways than the Chef des Bohemiens a Triana, one who is an expert
whisperer and horse-sorcerer, and who, to his honour I say it, can
wield hammer and tongs, and handle a horse-shoe with the best of
the smiths amongst the Alpujarras of Granada.

In the course of my travels I have formed various friendships and
acquaintances, but no one has more interested me than Baron Taylor,
and there is no one for whom I entertain a greater esteem and
regard. To personal and mental accomplishments of the highest
order he unites a kindness of heart rarely to be met with, and
which is continually inducing him to seek for opportunities of
doing good to his fellow creatures, and of contributing to their
happiness; perhaps no person in existence has seen more of the
world and life in its various phases than himself. His manners are
naturally to the highest degree courtly, yet he nevertheless
possesses a disposition so pliable that he finds no difficulty in
accommodating himself to all kinds of company, in consequence of
which he is a universal favourite. There is a mystery about him,
which, wherever he goes, serves not a little to increase the
sensation naturally created by his appearance and manner. Who he
is, no one pretends to assert with downright positiveness: it is
whispered, however, that he is a scion of royalty; and who can gaze
for a moment upon that most graceful figure, that most intelligent
but singularly moulded countenance, and those large and expressive
eyes, without feeling as equally convinced that he is of no common
lineage, as that he is no common man. Though possessed of talents
and eloquence which would speedily have enabled him to attain to an
illustrious position in the state, he has hitherto, and perhaps
wisely, contented himself with comparative obscurity, chiefly
devoting himself to the study of the arts and of literature, of
both of which he is a most bounteous patron.

He has, notwithstanding, been employed by the illustrious house to
which he is said to be related in more than one delicate and
important mission, both in the East and the West, in which his
efforts have uniformly been crowned with complete success. He was
now collecting masterpieces of the Spanish school of painting,
which were destined to adorn the saloons of the Tuileries.