The Bible in Spain

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"A thought strikes me," said I; "you have mentioned the Sagra; why
should not I commence my labours amongst the villages of that
district?"

"Your worship can do no better," replied Maria; "the harvest is
just over there, and you will find the people comparatively
unemployed, with leisure to attend and listen to you; and if you
follow my advice, you will establish yourself at Villa Seca, in the
house of my fathers, where at present lives my lord and husband.
Go, therefore, to Villa Seca in the first place, and from thence
you can sally forth with the Senor Antonio upon your excursions.
Peradventure, my husband will accompany you; and if so, you will
find him highly useful. The people of Villa Seca are civil and
courteous, your worship; when they address a foreigner they speak
to him at the top of their voice and in Gallegan."

"In Gallegan!" I exclaimed.

"They all understand a few words of Gallegan, which they have
acquired from the mountaineers, who occasionally assist them in
cutting the harvest, and as Gallegan is the only foreign language
they know, they deem it but polite to address a foreigner in that
tongue. Vaya! it is not a bad village, that of Villa Seca, nor are
the people; the only ill-conditioned person living there is his
reverence the curate."

I was not long in making preparations for my enterprise. A
considerable stock of Testaments were sent forward by an arriero, I
myself followed the next day. Before my departure, however, I
received a Benedict Mol.

"I am come to bid you farewell, lieber herr; I return to
Compostella."

"On what errand?"

"To dig up the schatz, lieber herr. For what else should I go?
For what have I lived until now, but that I may dig up the schatz
in the end?"

"You might have lived for something better," I exclaimed. "I wish
you success, however. But on what grounds do you hope? Have you
obtained permission to dig? Surely you remember your former trials
in Galicia?"

"I have not forgotten them, lieber herr, nor the journey to Oviedo,
nor 'the seven acorns,' nor the fight with death in the barranco.
But I must accomplish my destiny. I go now to Galicia, as is
becoming a Swiss, at the expense of the government, with coach and
mule, I mean in the galera. I am to have all the help I require,
so that I can dig down to the earth's centre if I think fit. I--
but I must not tell your worship, for I am sworn on 'the four
Evangiles' not to tell."

"Well, Benedict, I have nothing to say, save that I hope you will
succeed in your digging."

"Thank you, lieber herr, thank you; and now farewell. Succeed! I
shall succeed!" Here he stopped short, started, and looking upon
me with an expression of countenance almost wild, he exclaimed:
"Heiliger Gott! I forgot one thing. Suppose I should not find the
treasure after all."

"Very rationally said; pity, though, that you did not think of that
contingency till now. I tell you, my friend, that you have engaged
in a most desperate undertaking. It is true that you may find a
treasure. The chances are, however, a hundred to one that you do
not, and in that event, what will be your situation? You will be
looked upon as an impostor, and the consequences may be horrible to
you. Remember where you are, and amongst whom you are. The
Spaniards are a credulous people, but let them once suspect that
they have been imposed upon, and above all laughed at, and their
thirst for vengeance knows no limit. Think not that your innocence
will avail you. That you are no impostor I feel convinced; but
they would never believe it. It is not too late. Return your fine
clothes and magic rattan to those from whom you had them. Put on
your old garments, grasp your ragged staff, and come with me to the
Sagra, to assist in circulating the illustrious Gospel amongst the
rustics on the Tagus' bank."

Benedict mused for a moment, then shaking his head, he cried, "No,
no, I must accomplish my destiny. The schatz is not yet dug up.
So said the voice in the barranco. To-morrow to Compostella. I
shall find it--the schatz--it is still there--it MUST be there."

He went, and I never saw him more. What I heard, however, was
extraordinary enough. It appeared that the government had listened
to his tale, and had been so struck with Bennet's exaggerated
description of the buried treasure, that they imagined that, by a
little trouble and outlay, gold and diamonds might be dug up at
Saint James sufficient to enrich themselves and to pay off the
national debt of Spain. The Swiss returned to Compostella "like a
duke," to use his own words. The affair, which had at first been
kept a profound secret, was speedily divulged. It was, indeed,
resolved that the investigation, which involved consequences of so
much importance, should take place in a manner the most public and
imposing. A solemn festival was drawing nigh, and it was deemed
expedient that the search should take place on that day. The day
arrived. All the bells in Compostella pealed. The whole populace
thronged from their houses, a thousand troops were drawn up in the
square, the expectation of all was wound up to the highest pitch.
A procession directed its course to the church of San Roque; at its
head was the captain-general and the Swiss, brandishing in his hand
the magic rattan, close behind walked the meiga, the Gallegan
witch-wife, by whom the treasure-seeker had been originally guided
in the search; numerous masons brought up the rear, bearing
implements to break up the ground. The procession enters the
church, they pass through it in solemn march, they find themselves
in a vaulted passage. The Swiss looks around. "Dig here," said he
suddenly. "Yes, dig here," said the meiga. The masons labour, the
floor is broken up,--a horrible and fetid odour arises. . . .

Enough; no treasure was found, and my warning to the unfortunate
Swiss turned out but too prophetic. He was forthwith seized and
flung into the horrid prison of Saint James, amidst the execrations
of thousands, who would have gladly torn him limb from limb.

The affair did not terminate here. The political opponents of the
government did not allow so favourable an opportunity to escape for
launching the shafts of ridicule. The Moderados were taunted in
the cortes for their avarice and credulity, whilst the liberal
press wafted on its wings through Spain the story of the treasure-
hunt at Saint James.

"After all, it was a trampa of Don Jorge's," said one of my
enemies. "That fellow is at the bottom of half the picardias which
happen in Spain."

Eager to learn the fate of the Swiss, I wrote to my old friend Rey
Romero, at Compostella. In his answer he states: "I saw the Swiss
in prison, to which place he sent for me, craving my assistance,
for the sake of the friendship which I bore to you. But how could
I help him? He was speedily after removed from Saint James, I know
not whither. It is said that he disappeared on the road."

Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction. Where in the whole cycle
of romance shall we find anything more wild, grotesque, and sad,
than the easily-authenticated history of Benedict Mol, the
treasure-digger of Saint James?

CHAPTER XLIII

Villa Seca--Moorish House--The Puchera--The Rustic Council--Polite
Ceremonial--The Flower of Spain--The Bridge of Azeca--The Ruined
Castle--Taking the Field--Demand for the Word--The Old Peasant--The
Curate and Blacksmith--Cheapness of the Scriptures.

It was one of the most fiercely hot days in which I ever braved the
sun, when I arrived at Villa Seca. The heat in the shade must have
amounted at least to one hundred degrees, and the entire atmosphere
seemed to consist of flickering flame. At a place called Leganez,
six leagues from Madrid, and about half way to Toledo, we diverged
from the highway, bending our course seemingly towards the south-
east. We rode over what are called plains in Spain, but which, in
any other part of the world, would be called undulating and broken
ground. The crops of corn and barley had already disappeared. The
last vestiges discoverable being here and there a few sheaves,
which the labourers were occupied in removing to their garners in
the villages. The country could scarcely be called beautiful,
being perfectly naked, exhibiting neither trees nor verdure. It
was not, however, without its pretensions to grandeur and
magnificence, like every part of Spain. The most prominent objects
were two huge calcareous hills or rather one cleft in twain, which
towered up on high; the summit of the nearest being surmounted by
the ruins of an ancient castle, that of Villaluenga. About an hour
past noon we reached Villa Seca.

We found it a large village, containing about seven hundred
inhabitants, and surrounded by a mud wall. A plaza, or market-
place, stood in the midst, one side of which is occupied by what is
called a palace, a clumsy quadrangular building of two stories,
belonging to some noble family, the lords of the neighbouring soil.
It was deserted, however, being only occupied by a kind of steward,
who stored up in its chambers the grain which he received as rent
from the tenants and villanos who farmed the surrounding district.

The village stands at the distance of about a quarter of a league
from the bank of the Tagus, which even here, in the heart of Spain,
is a beautiful stream, not navigable, however, on account of the
sandbanks, which in many places assume the appearance of small
islands, and are covered with trees and brushwood. The village
derives its supply of water entirely from the river, having none of
its own; such at least as is potable, the water of its wells being
all brackish, on which account it is probably termed Villa Seca,
which signifies "the dry hamlet." The inhabitants are said to have
been originally Moors; certain it is, that various customs are
observable here highly favourable to such a supposition. Amongst
others, a very curious one; it is deemed infamous for a woman of
Villa Seca to go across the market-place, or to be seen there,
though they have no hesitation in showing themselves in the streets
and lanes. A deep-rooted hostility exists between the inhabitants
of this place and those of a neighbouring village, called Vargas;
they rarely speak when they meet, and never intermarry. There is a
vague tradition that the people of the latter place are old
Christians, and it is highly probable that these neighbours were
originally of widely different blood; those of Villa Seca being of
particularly dark complexions, whilst the indwellers of Vargas are
light and fair. Thus the old feud between Moor and Christian is
still kept up in the nineteenth century in Spain.

Drenched in perspiration, which fell from our brows like rain, we
arrived at the door of Juan Lopez, the husband of Maria Diaz.
Having heard of our intention to pay him a visit, he was expecting
us, and cordially welcomed us to his habitation, which, like a
genuine Moorish house, consisted only of one story. It was amply
large, however, with a court and stable. All the apartments were
deliciously cool. The floors were of brick or stone, and the
narrow and trellised windows, which were without glass, scarcely
permitted a ray of sun to penetrate into the interior.

A puchera had been prepared in expectation of our arrival; the heat
had not taken away my appetite, and it was not long before I did
full justice to this the standard dish of Spain. Whilst I ate,
Lopez played upon the guitar, singing occasionally snatches of
Andalusian songs. He was a short, merry-faced, active fellow, whom
I had frequently seen at Madrid, and was a good specimen of the
Spanish labrador or yeoman. Though far from possessing the ability
and intellect of his wife, Maria Diaz, he was by no means deficient
in shrewdness and understanding. He was, moreover, honest and
disinterested, and performed good service in the Gospel cause, as
will presently appear.

When the repast was concluded, Lopez thus addressed me:- "Senor Don
Jorge, your arrival in our village has already caused a sensation,
more especially as these are times of war and tumult, and every
person is afraid of another, and we dwell here close on the
confines of the factious country; for, as you well know, the
greater part of La Mancha is in the hands of the Carlinos and
thieves, parties of whom frequently show themselves on the other
side of the river: on which account the alcalde of this city, with
the other grave and notable people thereof, are desirous of seeing
your worship, and conversing with you, and of examining your
passport." "It is well," said I; "let us forthwith pay a visit to
these worthy people." Whereupon he conducted me across the plaza,
to the house of the alcalde, where I found the rustic dignitary
seated in the passage, enjoying the refreshing coolness of a
draught of air which rushed through. He was an elderly man, of
about sixty, with nothing remarkable in his appearance or his
features, which latter were placid and good-humoured. There were
several people with him, amongst whom was the surgeon of the place,
a tall and immensely bulky man, an Alavese by birth, from the town
of Vitoria. There was also a red fiery-faced individual, with a
nose very much turned on one side, who was the blacksmith of the
village, and was called in general El Tuerto, from the circumstance
of his having but one eye. Making the assembly a low bow, I pulled
out my passport, and thus addressed them:-

"Grave men and cavaliers of this city of Villa Seca, as I am a
stranger, of whom it is not possible that you should know anything,
I have deemed it my duty to present myself before you, and to tell
you who I am. Know, then, that I am an Englishman of good blood
and fathers, travelling in these countries for my own profit and
diversion, and for that of other people also. I have now found my
way to Villa Seca, where I propose to stay some time, doing that
which may be deemed convenient; sometimes riding across the plain,
and sometimes bathing myself in the waters of the river, which are
reported to be of advantage in times of heat, I therefore beg that,
during my sojourn in this capital, I may enjoy such countenance and
protection from its governors as they are in the habit of affording
to those who are of quiet and well-ordered life, and are disposed
to be buxom and obedient to the customs and laws of the republic."

"He speaks well," said the alcalde, glancing around.

"Yes, he speaks well," said the bulky Alavese; "there is no denying
it."

"I never heard any one speak better," cried the blacksmith,
starting up from a stool on which he was seated. "Vaya! he is a
big man and a fair complexioned like myself. I like him, and have
a horse that will just suit him; one that is the flower of Spain,
and is eight inches above the mark."

I then, with another bow, presented my passport to the alcalde,
who, with a gentle motion of his hand, appeared to decline taking
it, at the same time saying, "It is not necessary." "Oh, not at
all," exclaimed the surgeon. "The housekeepers of Villa Seca know
how to comport themselves with formality," observed the blacksmith.
"They would be very loth to harbour any suspicion against a
cavalier so courteous and well spoken." Knowing, however, that
this refusal amounted to nothing, and that it merely formed part of
a polite ceremonial, I proffered the passport a second time,
whereupon it was instantly taken, and in a moment the eyes of all
present were bent upon it with intense curiosity. It was examined
from top to bottom, and turned round repeatedly, and though it is
not probable that an individual present understood a word of it, it
being written in French, it gave nevertheless universal
satisfaction; and when the alcalde, carefully folding it up,
returned it to me, they all observed that they had never seen a
better passport in their lives, or one which spake in higher terms
of the bearer.

Who was it said that "Cervantes sneered Spain's chivalry away?" I
know not; and the author of such a line scarcely deserves to be
remembered. How the rage for scribbling tempts people at the
present day to write about lands and nations of which they know
nothing, or worse than nothing. Vaya! It is not from having seen
a bull-fight at Seville or Madrid, or having spent a handful of
ounces at a posada in either of those places, kept perhaps by a
Genoese or a Frenchman, that you are competent to write about such
a people as the Spaniards, and to tell the world how they think,
how they speak, and how they act! Spain's chivalry sneered away!
Why, there is every probability that the great body of the Spanish
nation speak, think, and live precisely as their forefathers did
six centuries ago.

In the evening the blacksmith, or, as he would be called in
Spanish, El Herrador, made his appearance at the door of Lopez on
horseback. "Vamos, Don Jorge," he shouted. "Come with me, if your
worship is disposed for a ride. I am going to bathe my horse in
the Tagus by the bridge of Azeca." I instantly saddled my jaca
Cordovesa, and joining him, we rode out of the village, directing
our course across the plain towards the river. "Did you ever see
such a horse as this of mine, Don Jorge?" he demanded. "Is he not
a jewel--an alaja?" And in truth the horse was a noble and gallant
creature, in height at least sixteen hands, broad-chested, but of
clean and elegant limbs. His neck was superbly arched, and his
head towered on high like that of a swan. In colour he was a
bright chestnut, save his flowing mane and tail, which were almost
black. I expressed my admiration, whereupon the herrador, in high
spirits, pressed his heels to the creature's sides, and flinging
the bridle on its neck, speeded over the plain with prodigious
swiftness, shouting the old Spanish cry, Cierra! I attempted to
keep up with him, but had not a chance. "I call him the flower of
Spain," said the herrador, rejoining me. "Purchase him, Don Jorge,
his price is but three thousand reals. {19} I would not sell him
for double that sum, but the Carlist thieves have their eyes upon
him, and I am apprehensive that they will some day make a dash
across the river and break into Villa Seca, all to get possession
of my horse, 'The Flower of Spain.'"

It may be as well to observe here, that within a month from this
period, my friend the herrador, not being able to find a regular
purchaser for his steed, entered into negotiations with the
aforesaid thieves respecting him, and finally disposed of the
animal to their leader, receiving not the three thousand reals he
demanded, but an entire herd of horned cattle, probably driven from
the plains of La Mancha. For this transaction, which was neither
more nor less than high treason, he was cast into the prison of
Toledo, where, however, he did not continue long; for during a
short visit to Villa Seca, which I made in the spring of the
following year, I found him alcalde of that "republic."

We arrived at the bridge of Azeca, which is about half a league
from Villa Seca; close beside it is a large water-mill, standing
upon a dam which crosses the river. Dismounting from his steed,
the herrador proceeded to divest it of the saddle, then causing it
to enter the mill-pool, he led it by means of a cord to a
particular spot, where the water reached half way up its neck, then
fastening a cord to a post on the bank, he left the animal standing
in the pool. I thought I could do no better than follow his
example, and accordingly procuring a rope from the mill, I led my
own horse into the water. "It will refresh their blood, Don
Jorge," said the herrador; "let us leave them there for an hour,
whilst we go and divert ourselves."

Near the bridge, on the side of the river on which we were, was a
kind of guard-house, where were three carbineers of the revenue,
who collected the tolls of the bridge; we entered into conversation
with them: "Is not this a dangerous position of yours," said I to
one of them, who was a Catalan; "close beside the factious country?
Surely it would not be difficult for a body of the Carlinos or
bandits to dash across the bridge and make prisoners of you all."

"It would be easy enough at any moment, Cavalier," replied the
Catalan; "we are, however, all in the hands of God, and he has
preserved us hitherto, and perhaps still will. True it is that one
of our number, for there were four of us originally, fell the other
day into the hands of the canaille: he had wandered across the
bridge amongst the thickets with his gun in search of a hare or
rabbit, when three or four of them fell upon him and put him to
death in a manner too horrible to relate. But patience! every man
who lives must die. I shall not sleep the worse to-night because I
may chance to be hacked by the knives of these malvados to-morrow.
Cavalier, I am from Barcelona, and have seen there mariners of your
nation; this is not so good a country as Barcelona. Paciencia!
Cavalier, if you will step into our house, I will give you a glass
of water; we have some that is cool, for we dug a deep hole in the
earth and buried there our pitcher; it is cool, as I told you, but
the water of Castile is not like that of Catalonia."

The moon had arisen when we mounted our horses to return to the
village, and the rays of the beauteous luminary danced merrily on
the rushing waters of the Tagus, silvered the plain over which we
were passing, and bathed in a flood of brightness the bold sides of
the calcareous hill of Villaluenga and the antique ruins which
crowned its brow. "Why is that place called the Castle of
Villaluenga?" I demanded.

"From a village of that name, which stands on the other side of the
hill, Don Jorge," replied the herrador. "Vaya! it is a strange
place, that castle; some say it was built by the Moors in the old
times, and some by the Christians when they first laid siege to
Toledo. It is not inhabited now, save by rabbits, which breed
there in abundance amongst the long grass and broken stones, and by
eagles and vultures, which build on the tops of the towers; I
occasionally go there with my gun to shoot a rabbit. On a fine day
you may descry both Toledo and Madrid from its walls. I cannot say
I like the place, it is so dreary and melancholy. The hill on
which it stands is all of chalk, and is very difficult of ascent.
I heard my grandame say that once, when she was a girl, a cloud of
smoke burst from that hill, and that flames of fire were seen, just
as if it contained a volcano, as perhaps it does, Don Jorge."

The grand work of Scripture circulation soon commenced in the
Sagra. Notwithstanding the heat of the weather, I rode about in
all directions. It was well that heat agrees with my constitution,
otherwise it would have been impossible to effect anything in this
season, when the very arrieros frequently fall dead from their
mules, smitten by sun-stroke. I had an excellent assistant in
Antonio, who, disregarding the heat like myself, and afraid of
nothing, visited several villages with remarkable success. "Mon
maitre," said he, "I wish to show you that nothing is beyond my
capacity." But he who put the labours of us both to shame, was my
host, Juan Lopez, whom it had pleased the Lord to render favourable
to the cause. "Don Jorge," said he, "io quiero engancharme con
usted (I wish to enlist with you); I am a liberal, and a foe to
superstition; I will take the field, and, if necessary, will follow
you to the end of the world; Viva Ingalaterra; viva el Evangelio."
Thus saying, he put a large bundle of Testaments into a satchel,
and springing upon the crupper of his grey donkey, he cried "Arrhe
burra," and hastened away. I sat down to my journal.

Ere I had finished writing, I heard the voice of the burra in the
courtyard, and going out, I found my host returned. He had
disposed of his whole cargo of twenty Testaments at the village of
Vargas, distant from Villa Seca about a league. Eight poor harvest
men, who were refreshing themselves at the door of a wine-house,
purchased each a copy, whilst the village schoolmaster secured the
rest for the little ones beneath his care, lamenting, at the same
time, the great difficulty he had long experienced in obtaining
religious books, owing to their scarcity and extravagant price.
Many other persons were also anxious to purchase Testaments, but
Lopez was unable to supply them: at his departure, they requested
him to return within a few days.

I was aware that I was playing rather a daring game, and that it
was very possible that, when I least expected it, I might be
seized, tied to the tail of a mule, and dragged either to the
prison of Toledo or Madrid. Yet such a prospect did not discourage
me in the least, but rather urged me to persevere; for at this
time, without the slightest wish to gratify myself, I could say
that I was eager to lay down my life for the cause, and whether a
bandit's bullet, or the gaol fever brought my career to a close,
was a matter of indifference to me; I was not then a stricken man:
"Ride on because of the word of righteousness," was my cry.