The Bible in Spain

G >> George Borrow >> The Bible in Spain

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49

CHAPTER XXVII

Compostella--Rey Romero--The Treasure-seeker--Hopeful Project--The
Church of Refuge--Hidden Riches--The Canon--Spirit of Localism--The
Leper--Bones of St. James.

At the commencement of August, I found myself at St. James of
Compostella. To this place I travelled from Coruna with the
courier or weekly post, who was escorted by a strong party of
soldiers, in consequence of the distracted state of the country,
which was overrun with banditti. From Coruna to St. James, the
distance is but ten leagues; the journey, however, endured for a
day and a half. It was a pleasant one, through a most beautiful
country, with a rich variety of hill and dale; the road was in many
places shaded with various kinds of trees clad in most luxuriant
foliage. Hundreds of travellers, both on foot and on horseback,
availed themselves of the security which the escort afforded: the
dread of banditti was strong. During the journey two or three
alarms were given; we, however, reached Saint James without having
been attacked.

Saint James stands on a pleasant level amidst mountains: the most
extraordinary of these is a conical hill, called the Pico Sacro, or
Sacred Peak, connected with which are many wonderful legends. A
beautiful old town is Saint James, containing about twenty thousand
inhabitants. Time has been when, with the single exception of
Rome, it was the most celebrated resort of pilgrims in the world;
its cathedral being said to contain the bones of Saint James the
elder, the child of the thunder, who, according to the legend of
the Romish church, first preached the Gospel in Spain. Its glory,
however, as a place of pilgrimage is rapidly passing away.

The cathedral, though a work of various periods, and exhibiting
various styles of architecture, is a majestic venerable pile, in
every respect calculated to excite awe and admiration; indeed, it
is almost impossible to walk its long dusky aisles, and hear the
solemn music and the noble chanting, and inhale the incense of the
mighty censers, which are at times swung so high by machinery as to
smite the vaulted roof, whilst gigantic tapers glitter here and
there amongst the gloom, from the shrine of many a saint, before
which the worshippers are kneeling, breathing forth their prayers
and petitions for help, love, and mercy, and entertain a doubt that
we are treading the floor of a house where God delighteth to dwell.
Yet the Lord is distant from that house; he hears not, he sees not,
or if he do, it is with anger. What availeth that solemn music,
that noble chanting, that incense of sweet savour? What availeth
kneeling before that grand altar of silver, surmounted by that
figure with its silver hat and breast-plate, the emblem of one who,
though an apostle and confessor, was at best an unprofitable
servant? What availeth hoping for remission of sin by trusting in
the merits of one who possessed none, or by paying homage to others
who were born and nurtured in sin, and who alone, by the exercise
of a lively faith granted from above, could hope to preserve
themselves from the wrath of the Almighty?

Rise from your knees, ye children of Compostella, or if ye bend,
let it be to the Almighty alone, and no longer on the eve of your
patron's day address him in the following strain, however sublime
it may sound:

"Thou shield of that faith which in Spain we revere,
Thou scourge of each foeman who dares to draw near;
Whom the Son of that God who the elements tames,
Called child of the thunder, immortal Saint James!

"From the blessed asylum of glory intense,
Upon us thy sovereign influence dispense;
And list to the praises our gratitude aims
To offer up worthily, mighty Saint James.

"To thee fervent thanks Spain shall ever outpour;
In thy name though she glory, she glories yet more
In thy thrice-hallowed corse, which the sanctuary claims
Of high Compostella, O, blessed Saint James.

"When heathen impiety, loathsome and dread,
With a chaos of darkness our Spain overspread,
Thou wast the first light which dispell'd with its flames
The hell-born obscurity, glorious Saint James!

"And when terrible wars had nigh wasted our force,
All bright 'midst the battle we saw thee on horse,
Fierce scattering the hosts, whom their fury proclaims
To be warriors of Islam, victorious Saint James.

"Beneath thy direction, stretch'd prone at thy feet,
With hearts low and humble, this day we intreat
Thou wilt strengthen the hope which enlivens our frames,
The hope of thy favour and presence, Saint James.

"Then praise to the Son and the Father above,
And to that Holy Spirit which springs from their love;
To that bright emanation whose vividness shames
The sun's burst of splendour, and praise to Saint James."

At Saint James I met with a kind and cordial coadjutor in my
biblical labours in the bookseller of the place, Rey Romero, a man
of about sixty. This excellent individual, who was both wealthy
and respected, took up the matter with an enthusiasm which
doubtless emanated from on high, losing no opportunity of
recommending my book to those who entered his shop, which was in
the Azabacheria, and was a very splendid and commodious
establishment. In many instances, when the peasants of the
neighbourhood came with an intention of purchasing some of the
foolish popular story-books of Spain, he persuaded them to carry
home Testaments instead, assuring them that the sacred volume was a
better, more instructive, and even far more entertaining book than
those they came in quest of. He speedily conceived a great fancy
for me, and regularly came to visit me every evening at my posada,
and accompanied me in my walks about the town and the environs. He
was a man of considerable information, and though of much
simplicity, possessed a kind of good-natured humour which was
frequently highly diverting.

I was walking late one night alone in the Alameda of Saint James,
considering in what direction I should next bend my course, for I
had been already ten days in this place; the moon was shining
gloriously, and illumined every object around to a considerable
distance. The Alameda was quite deserted; everybody, with the
exception of myself, having for some time retired. I sat down on a
bench and continued my reflections, which were suddenly interrupted
by a heavy stumping sound. Turning my eyes in the direction from
which it proceeded, I perceived what at first appeared a shapeless
bulk slowly advancing: nearer and nearer it drew, and I could now
distinguish the outline of a man dressed in coarse brown garments,
a kind of Andalusian hat, and using as a staff the long peeled
branch of a tree. He had now arrived opposite the bench where I
was seated, when, stopping, he took off his hat and demanded
charity in uncouth tones and in a strange jargon, which had some
resemblance to the Catalan. The moon shone on grey locks and on a
ruddy weather-beaten countenance which I at once recognized:
"Benedict Mol," said I, "is it possible that I see you at
Compostella?"

"Och, mein Gott, es ist der Herr!" replied Benedict. "Och, what
good fortune, that the Herr is the first person I meet at
Compostella."

Myself.--I can scarcely believe my eyes. Do you mean to say that
you have just arrived at this place?

Benedict.--Ow yes, I am this moment arrived. I have walked all the
long way from Madrid.

Myself.--What motive could possibly bring you such a distance?

Benedict.--Ow, I am come for the schatz--the treasure. I told you
at Madrid that I was coming; and now I have met you here, I have no
doubt that I shall find it, the schatz.

Myself.--In what manner did you support yourself by the way?

Benedict.--Ow, I begged, I bettled, and so contrived to pick up
some cuartos; and when I reached Toro, I worked at my trade of
soap-making for a time, till the people said I knew nothing about
it, and drove me out of the town. So I went on and begged and
bettled till I arrived at Orense, which is in this country of
Galicia. Ow, I do not like this country of Galicia at all.

Myself.--Why not?

Benedict.--Why! because here they all beg and bettle, and have
scarce anything for themselves, much less for me whom they know to
be a foreign man. O the misery of Galicia. When I arrive at night
at one of their pigsties, which they call posadas, and ask for
bread to eat in the name of God, and straw to lie down in, they
curse me, and say there is neither bread nor straw in Galicia; and
sure enough, since I have been here I have seen neither, only
something that they call broa, and a kind of reedy rubbish with
which they litter the horses: all my bones are sore since I
entered Galicia.

Myself.--And yet you have come to this country, which you call so
miserable, in search of treasure?

Benedict.--Ow yaw, but the schatz is buried; it is not above
ground; there is no money above ground in Galicia. I must dig it
up; and when I have dug it up I will purchase a coach with six
mules, and ride out of Galicia to Lucerne; and if the Herr pleases
to go with me, he shall be welcome to go with me and the schatz.

Myself.--I am afraid that you have come on a desperate errand.
What do you propose to do? Have you any money?

Benedict.--Not a cuart; but I do not care now I have arrived at
Saint James. The schatz is nigh; and I have, moreover, seen you,
which is a good sign; it tells me that the schatz is still here. I
shall go to the best posada in the place, and live like a duke till
I have an opportunity of digging up the schatz, when I will pay all
scores.

"Do nothing of the kind," I replied; "find out some place in which
to sleep, and endeavour to seek some employment. In the mean time,
here is a trifle with which to support yourself; but as for the
treasure which you have come to seek, I believe it only exists in
your own imagination." I gave him a dollar and departed.

I have never enjoyed more charming walks than in the neighbourhood
of Saint James. In these I was almost invariably accompanied by my
friend the good old bookseller. The streams are numerous, and
along their wooded banks we were in the habit of straying and
enjoying the delicious summer evenings of this part of Spain.
Religion generally formed the topic of our conversation, but we not
unfrequently talked of the foreign lands which I had visited, and
at other times of matters which related particularly to my
companion. "We booksellers of Spain," said he, "are all liberals;
we are no friends to the monkish system. How indeed should we be
friends to it? It fosters darkness, whilst we live by
disseminating light. We love our profession, and have all more or
less suffered for it; many of us, in the times of terror, were
hanged for selling an innocent translation from the French or
English. Shortly after the Constitution was put down by Angouleme
and the French bayonets, I was obliged to flee from Saint James and
take refuge in the wildest part of Galicia, near Corcuvion. Had I
not possessed good friends, I should not have been alive now; as it
was, it cost me a considerable sum of money to arrange matters.
Whilst I was away, my shop was in charge of the ecclesiastical
officers. They frequently told my wife that I ought to be burnt
for the books which I had sold. Thanks be to God, those times are
past, and I hope they will never return."

Once, as we were walking through the streets of Saint James, he
stopped before a church and looked at it attentively. As there was
nothing remarkable in the appearance of this edifice, I asked him
what motive he had for taking such notice of it. "In the days of
the friars," said he, "this church was one of refuge, to which if
the worst criminals escaped, they were safe. All were protected
there save the negros, as they called us liberals." "Even
murderers, I suppose?" said I. "Murderers!" he answered, "far
worse criminals than they. By the by, I have heard that you
English entertain the utmost abhorrence of murder. Do you in
reality consider it a crime of very great magnitude?" "How should
we not," I replied; "for every other crime some reparation can be
made; but if we take away life, we take away all. A ray of hope
with respect to this world may occasionally enliven the bosom of
any other criminal, but how can the murderer hope?" "The friars
were of another way of thinking," replied the old man; "they always
looked upon murder as a friolera; but not so the crime of marrying
your first cousin without dispensation, for which, if we believe
them, there is scarcely any atonement either in this world or the
next."

Two or three days after this, as we were seated in my apartment in
the posada, engaged in conversation, the door was opened by
Antonio, who, with a smile on his countenance, said that there was
a foreign GENTLEMAN below, who desired to speak with me. "Show him
up," I replied; whereupon almost instantly appeared Benedict Mol.

"This is a most extraordinary person," said I to the bookseller.
"You Galicians, in general, leave your country in quest of money;
he, on the contrary, is come hither to find some."

Rey Romero.--And he is right. Galicia is by nature the richest
province in Spain, but the inhabitants are very stupid, and know
not how to turn the blessings which surround them to any account;
but as a proof of what may be made out of Galicia, see how rich the
Catalans become who have settled down here and formed
establishments. There are riches all around us, upon the earth and
in the earth.

Benedict.--Ow yaw, in the earth, that is what I say. There is much
more treasure below the earth than above it.

Myself.--Since I last saw you, have you discovered the place in
which you say the treasure is deposited?

Benedict.--O yes, I know all about it now. It is buried 'neath the
sacristy in the church of San Roque.

Myself.--How have you been able to make that discovery?

Benedict.--I will tell you: the day after my arrival I walked
about all the city in quest of the church, but could find none
which at all answered to the signs which my comrade who died in the
hospital gave me. I entered several, and looked about, but all in
vain; I could not find the place which I had in my mind's eye. At
last the people with whom I lodge, and to whom I told my business,
advised me to send for a meiga.

Myself.--A meiga! What is that?

Benedict.--Ow! a haxweib, a witch; the Gallegos call them so in
their jargon, of which I can scarcely understand a word. So I
consented, and they sent for the meiga. Och! what a weib is that
meiga! I never saw such a woman; she is as large as myself, and
has a face as round and red as the sun. She asked me a great many
questions in her Gallegan, and when I had told her all she wanted
to know, she pulled out a pack of cards and laid them on the table
in a particular manner, and then she said that the treasure was in
the church of San Roque; and sure enough, when I went to that
church, it answered in every respect to the signs of my comrade who
died in the hospital. O she is a powerful hax, that meiga; she is
well known in the neighbourhood, and has done much harm to the
cattle. I gave her half the dollar I had from you for her trouble.

Myself.--Then you acted like a simpleton; she has grossly deceived
you. But even suppose that the treasure is really deposited in the
church you mention, it is not probable that you will be permitted
to remove the floor of the sacristy to search for it.

Benedict.--Ow, the matter is already well advanced. Yesterday I
went to one of the canons to confess myself and to receive
absolution and benediction; not that I regard these things much,
but I thought this would be the best means of broaching the matter,
so I confessed myself, and then I spoke of my travels to the canon,
and at last I told him of the treasure, and proposed that if he
assisted me we should share it between us. Ow, I wish you had seen
him; he entered at once into the affair, and said that it might
turn out a very profitable speculation: and he shook me by the
hand, and said that I was an honest Swiss and a good Catholic. And
I then proposed that he should take me into his house and keep me
there till we had an opportunity of digging up the treasure
together. This he refused to do.

Rey Romero.--Of that I have no doubt: trust one of our canons for
not committing himself so far until he sees very good reason.
These tales of treasure are at present rather too stale: we have
heard of them ever since the time of the Moors.

Benedict.--He advised me to go to the Captain General and obtain
permission to make excavations, in which case he promised to assist
me to the utmost of his power.

Thereupon the Swiss departed, and I neither saw nor heard anything
farther of him during the time that I continued at Saint James.

The bookseller was never weary of showing me about his native town,
of which he was enthusiastically fond. Indeed, I have never seen
the spirit of localism, which is so prevalent throughout Spain,
more strong than at Saint James. If their town did but flourish,
the Santiagians seemed to care but little if all others in Galicia
perished. Their antipathy to the town of Coruna was unbounded, and
this feeling had of late been not a little increased from the
circumstance that the seat of the provincial government had been
removed from Saint James to Coruna. Whether this change was
advisable or not, it is not for me, who am a foreigner, to say; my
private opinion, however, is by no means favourable to the
alteration. Saint James is one of the most central towns in
Galicia, with large and populous communities on every side of it,
whereas Coruna stands in a corner, at a considerable distance from
the rest. "It is a pity that the vecinos of Coruna cannot contrive
to steal away from us our cathedral, even as they have done our
government," said a Santiagian; "then, indeed, they would be able
to cut some figure. As it is, they have not a church fit to say
mass in." "A great pity, too, that they cannot remove our
hospital," would another exclaim; "as it is, they are obliged to
send us their sick, poor wretches. I always think that the sick of
Coruna have more ill-favoured countenances than those from other
places; but what good can come from Coruna?"

Accompanied by the bookseller, I visited this hospital, in which,
however, I did not remain long; the wretchedness and uncleanliness
which I observed speedily driving me away. Saint James, indeed, is
the grand lazar-house for all the rest of Galicia, which accounts
for the prodigious number of horrible objects to be seen in its
streets, who have for the most part arrived in the hope of
procuring medical assistance, which, from what I could learn, is
very scantily and inefficiently administered. Amongst these
unhappy wretches I occasionally observed the terrible leper, and
instantly fled from him with a "God help thee," as if I had been a
Jew of old. Galicia is the only province of Spain where cases of
leprosy are still frequent; a convincing proof this, that the
disease is the result of foul feeding, and an inattention to
cleanliness, as the Gallegans, with regard to the comforts of life
and civilized habits, are confessedly far behind all the other
natives of Spain.

"Besides a general hospital we have likewise a leper-house," said
the bookseller. "Shall I show it you? We have everything at Saint
James. There is nothing lacking; the very leper finds an inn
here." "I have no objection to your showing me the house," I
replied, "but it must be at a distance, for enter it I will not."
Thereupon he conducted me down the road which leads towards Padron
and Vigo, and pointing to two or three huts, exclaimed "That is our
leper-house." "It appears a miserable place," I replied: "what
accommodation may there be for the patients, and who attends to
their wants?" "They are left to themselves," answered the
bookseller, "and probably sometimes perish from neglect: the place
at one time was endowed and had rents which were appropriated to
its support, but even these have been sequestered during the late
troubles. At present, the least unclean of the lepers generally
takes his station by the road side, and begs for the rest. See
there he is now."

And sure enough the leper in his shining scales, and half naked,
was seated beneath a ruined wall. We dropped money into the hat of
the unhappy being, and passed on.

"A bad disorder that," said my friend. "I confess that I, who have
seen so many of them, am by no means fond of the company of lepers.
Indeed, I wish that they would never enter my shop, as they
occasionally do to beg. Nothing is more infectious, as I have
heard, than leprosy: there is one very virulent species, however,
which is particularly dreaded here, the elephantine: those who die
of it should, according to law, be burnt, and their ashes scattered
to the winds: for if the body of such a leper be interred in the
field of the dead, the disorder is forthwith communicated to all
the corses even below the earth. Such, at least, is our idea in
these parts. Lawsuits are at present pending from the circumstance
of elephantides having been buried with the other dead. Sad is
leprosy in all its forms, but most so when elephantine."

"Talking of corses," said I, "do you believe that the bones of St.
James are veritably interred at Compostella?"

"What can I say," replied the old man; "you know as much of the
matter as myself. Beneath the high altar is a large stone slab or
lid, which is said to cover the mouth of a profound well, at the
bottom of which it is believed that the bones of the saint are
interred; though why they should be placed at the bottom of a well,
is a mystery which I cannot fathom. One of the officers of the
church told me that at one time he and another kept watch in the
church during the night, one of the chapels having shortly before
been broken open and a sacrilege committed. At the dead of night,
finding the time hang heavy on their hands, they took a crowbar and
removed the slab and looked down into the abyss below; it was dark
as the grave; whereupon they affixed a weight to the end of a long
rope and lowered it down. At a very great depth it seemed to
strike against something dull and solid like lead: they supposed
it might be a coffin; perhaps it was, but whose is the question."

CHAPTER XXVIII

Skippers of Padron--Caldas de los Reyes--Pontevedra--The Notary
Public--Insane Barber--An Introduction--Gallegan Language--
Afternoon Ride--Vigo--The Stranger--Jews of the Desert--Bay of
Vigo--Sudden Interruption--The Governor.

After a stay of about a fortnight at Saint James, we again mounted
our horses and proceeded in the direction of Vigo. As we did not
leave Saint James till late in the afternoon, we travelled that day
no farther than Padron, a distance of only three leagues. This
place is a small port, situate at the extremity of a firth which
communicates with the sea. It is called for brevity's sake,
Padron, but its proper appellation is Villa del Padron, or the town
of the patron saint; it having been, according to the legend, the
principal residence of Saint James during his stay in Galicia. By
the Romans it was termed Iria Flavia. It is a flourishing little
town, and carries on rather an extensive commerce, some of its tiny
barks occasionally finding their way across the Bay of Biscay, and
even so far as the Thames and London.

There is a curious anecdote connected with the skippers of Padron,
which can scarcely be considered as out of place here, as it
relates to the circulation of the Scriptures. I was one day in the
shop of my friend the bookseller at Saint James, when a stout good-
humoured-looking priest entered. He took up one of my Testaments,
and forthwith burst into a violent fit of laughter. "What is the
matter?" demanded the bookseller. "The sight of this book reminds
me of a circumstance": replied the other, "about twenty years ago,
when the English first took it into their heads to be very zealous
in converting us Spaniards to their own way of thinking, they
distributed a great number of books of this kind amongst the
Spaniards who chanced to be in London; some of them fell into the
hands of certain skippers of Padron, and these good folks, on their
return to Galicia, were observed to have become on a sudden
exceedingly opinionated and fond of dispute. It was scarcely
possible to make an assertion in their hearing without receiving a
flat contradiction, especially when religious subjects were brought
on the carpet. 'It is false,' they would say; 'Saint Paul, in such
a chapter and in such a verse, says exactly the contrary.' 'What
can you know concerning what Saint Paul or any other saint has
written?' the priests would ask them. 'Much more than you think,'
they replied; 'we are no longer to be kept in darkness and
ignorance respecting these matters:' and then they would produce
their books and read paragraphs, making such comments that every
person was scandalized; they cared nothing about the Pope, and even
spoke with irreverence of the bones of Saint James. However, the
matter was soon bruited about, and a commission was dispatched from
our see to collect the books and burn them. This was effected, and
the skippers were either punished or reprimanded, since which I
have heard nothing more of them. I could not forbear laughing when
I saw these books; they instantly brought to my mind the skippers
of Padron and their religious disputations."