bis chapter 48 (to seville) chapter 48 (to seville).pdf · egyptologist, organized a massive...

CHAPTER 48 Projected Journey - A Scene of Blood - The Friar - Seville - Beauties of Seville - Orange Trees and Flowers - Murillo - The Guardian Angel - Dionysius - My Coadjutors - Demand for the Bible. By the middle of April I had sold as many Testaments as I thought Madrid would bear; I therefore called in my people, for I was afraid to overstock the market, and to bring the book into contempt by making it too common.1 I had, indeed, by this time, barely a thousand copies remaining of the edition which I had printed two years previously; and with respect to Bibles, every copy was by this time disposed of, though there was still a great demand for them, which, of course, I was unable to satisfy.2

48.1 A defile in the Sierra Morena

1 Under the influence of American business practices, the 20th century abandoned this ‘inflationary’ notion for the idea that ‘the bigger the edition, the better the book’. It was, however, a common concept in the 19th century. Thus Gaston Maspero, the brilliant Egyptologist, organized a massive edition of Perles Enfouis, a 1000-year old bogus guide to hidden treasures in Egypt, in the vain hope that flooding the market with cheap copies – which thus far had only existed in expensive hand-copied manuscripts – would rob the book of its prestige, value and appeal, and thus stop the destructive treasure-digging in archaeological sites. Naturally, it did nothing to stop the pillage, and may well have stimulated it…. 2 By April 1839 some 4,000 of the original 5,000 copies of Borrow’s 1837 Scio New Testament had either been sold, confiscated or exported from the country, with sales standing at some 3,700 [Missler, Daring Game, 130]. The number of full Bibles sold was 463 by the end of that same month [Darlow, 413; Missler, Daring Game, 152f].

George Borrow: The Bible In Spain (Gabicote Edition)

With the remaining copies of the Testament, I now determined to betake myself to Seville, where little had hitherto been effected in the way of circulation: my preparations were soon made. The roads were at this time in a highly dangerous state, on which account I thought to go along with a convoy, which was about to start for Andalusia. Two days, however, before its departure, understanding that the number of people who likewise proposed to avail themselves of it was likely to be very great, and reflecting on the slowness of this way of travelling, and moreover the insults to which civilians were frequently subjected from the soldiers and petty officers, I determined to risk the journey with the mail. This resolutions I carried into effect. Antonio, whom I had resolved to take with me, and my two horses, departed with the convoy, whilst in a few days I followed with the mail courier.3 We travelled all the way without the slightest accident, my usual wonderful good fortune accompanying us.4 I might well call it wonderful, for I was running into the den of the lion; the whole of La Mancha, with the exception of a few fortified places, being once more in the hands of Palillos5 and his banditti, who, whenever it pleased them, stopped the courier, burnt the vehicle and letters, murdered the paltry escort, and carried away any chance passenger to the mountains, where an enormous ransom was demanded, the alternative being four shots through the head, as the Spaniards say.6

[From: letter to Jowett of 10 April 1839 from Madrid, in: Darlow, 405] True it is that I had determined to proceed by Estremadura, but circumstances have occurred which have induced me to alter my resolution. The roads in Spain are in a worse state than ever; and in Estremadura (…) a band of Carlist robbers have lately made their appearance, who murder, make prisoner, or put at ransom every person who has the misfortune to fall into their hands. 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, which has already befallen several individuals. 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 at all times best to be frank, I 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.’

3 Buchino left Madrid on 13 April 1839 [Darlow, 405], while Borrow took the mail coach on 19 April [Knapp I : 305]. The 1842 Manual de Diligencias specifies that the journey from Madrid to Seville took some 4 to 4½ days. The convoy moving much slower, Antonio arrived later. 4 When an irritable Brandram objected to this un-Christian notion in a letter [Darlow, 409 & 414], Borrow explained that ‘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 thanked the Lord. His reply was: la mucha suerte de Usted tambien nos ha acompañado en este viage’ [Darlow, 421]. 5 For Palillos, see chapter 16 above, and Widdrington, vol. 1, 137. 6 The contemporary standard Spanish phrase for death by firing squad.

Chapter 48

[Chapter 48 continued] The upper part of Andalusia was becoming rapidly nearly as bad as La Mancha. The last time the mail had passed, it was attacked at the defile of La Rumblar7 by six mounted robbers; it was guarded by an escort of as many soldiers, but the former suddenly galloped from behind a solitary venta, and dashed the soldiers to the ground, who were taken quite by surprise, the hoofs of the robbers' horses making no noise on account of the sandy nature of the ground. The soldiers were instantly disarmed and bound to olive trees, with the exception of two, who escaped amongst the rocks; they were then mocked and tormented by the robbers, or rather fiends, for nearly half an hour, when they were shot; the head of the corporal who commanded being blown to fragments with a blunderbuss. The robbers then burned the coach, which they accomplished by igniting the letters by means of the tow with which they light their cigars. The life of the courier was saved by one of them, who had formerly been his postillion; he was, however, robbed and stripped. As we passed by the scene of the butchery, the poor fellow wept, and, though a Spaniard, cursed Spain and the Spaniards, saying that he intended shortly to pass over to the Moreria, to confess Mahomet, and to learn the law of the Moors, for that any country and religion were better than his own. He pointed to the tree where the corporal had been tied; though much rain had fallen since, the ground around was still saturated with blood, and a dog was gnawing a piece of the unfortunate wretch's skull. A friar travelled with us the whole way from Madrid to Seville; he was of the missionaries, and was going to the Philippine islands, to conquer (PARA CONQUISTAR), for such was his word, by which I suppose he meant preaching to the Indians. During the whole journey he exhibited every symptom of the most abject fear, which operated upon him so that he became deadly sick, and we were obliged to stop twice in the road and lay him amongst the green corn. He said that if he fell into the hands of the factious, he was a lost priest, for that they would first make him say mass, and then blow him up with gunpowder.8 He had been professor of philosophy, as he told me, in one of the convents (I think it was San Thomas) of Madrid before their suppression, but appeared to be grossly ignorant of the Scriptures, which he confounded with the works of Virgil.

7 ‘Rumblar’ refers to the river of that name in the Sierra Morena, midway between La Carolina and Andújar. Where the ‘defile’ was exactly is hard to say [compare Knapp, I : 307], but it is just possible that the venta which Borrow mentions is the Venta de Rumblar, a.k.a. the Casa de Postas, one of the stop-overs of the diligencia, famous for the signing of the French capitulation after the Battle of Bailén in July 1808. This establishment, which still exists as a restaurant, stands a few miles south-west of Zocueca village. [Burke’s footnote to 654, which locates ‘Rumblar’ in eastern Andalucia, is absurd and should be ignored]. 8 The friar feared violence from the ultra-catholic Carlists because his continuing ecclesiastical status and freedom of movement showed he had sworn loyalty to queen Isabel II and the liberal regime. This was the sort of treason to the true King and Mother Church which the Carlists would not leave unpunished.


48.2 The Venta de Rumblar today

We stopped at Manzanares as usual; it was Sunday morning, and the market-place was crowded with people. I was recognised in a moment, and twenty pair of legs instantly hurried away in quest of the prophetess, who presently made her appearance in the house to which we had retired to breakfast. After many greetings on both sides, she proceeded, in her Latin, to give me an account of all that had occurred in the village since I had last been there, and of the atrocities of the factious in the neighbourhood. I asked her to breakfast, and introduced her to the friar, whom she addressed in this manner: "anne domine reverendissime facis adhuc sacrificium?"9 But the friar did not understand her, and waxing angry, anathematized her for a witch, and bade her begone. She was, however, not to be disconcerted, and commenced singing, in extemporary Castilian verse, the praises of friars and religious houses in general. On departing I gave her a peseta, upon which she burst into tears, and entreated that I would write to her if I reached Seville in safety.

9 Burke [footnote to 656] translates ‘Most reverend sir, (…) dost thou still say Mass?’ and objects that this would be an irrelevant question. Knapp [I : 306], however, thought that the phrase was correct, and that the priest must have understood such simple Latin, but that he took offense because, in these days of exclaustration, he was no longer allowed to serve at the altar. However, as he was a ‘liberal’ priest and a missionary to boot, one cannot help thinking that he did still say mass.

Chapter 48

We did arrive at Seville in safety10, and I took leave of the friar, telling him that I hoped to meet him again at Philippi. As it was my intention to remain at Seville for some months, I determined to hire a house, in which I conceived I could live with more privacy, and at the same time more economically than in a posada. It was not long before I found one in every respect suited to me. It was situated in the Plazuela de la Pila Seca, a retired part of the city, in the neighbourhood of the cathedral, and at a short distance from the gate of Xeres; and in this house, on the arrival of Antonio and the horses, which occurred within a few days, I took up my abode.11

48.3 The Puerta Jerez in Seville I was now once more in beautiful Seville and had soon ample time and leisure to enjoy its delights and those of the surrounding country12; unfortunately, at the time of my arrival, and indeed for the next ensuing fortnight, the heaven of Andalusia, in general so glorious, was overcast with black clouds, which discharged tremendous showers of rain, 10 After travelling for four days and nights, Borrow arrived in Seville on 23 or 24 April 1839 [Darlow, 408; Knapp, I : 307]. He took rooms in the Posada de la Reyna, in the Calle Jimios, which was one of the best and the dearest hotels in town, run by one Francisco José de Silva [Darlow, 413; Ford, HB 365; Knapp, I : 307]. Despite what he says below, he and Antonio stayed there for the next 15 days, more or less until 10 May - or at least he claimed the 11 pounds and 11 shilling expenses for lodging there [Missler, Daring Game, 182] - during which time he met the bookseller Dionysius Carriano and Lieut-Coronel Napier, as will be told below. 11 For a minute description of the house, see Ridler, ‘George Borrow in Seville, Granada and Córdoba’, in: GBB 24, 60f. The actual house, then on nº 7, was demolished, but its spot has been determined as the present Calle de Dean Miranda nº 8. Borrow had already selected it by 27 April, when he wrote to his mother: ‘I have my eye on a beautiful [house] at fifteen pence a day. I call it a small house, though it is a paradise in its way, having a stable, court-yard, fountain, and twenty rooms’ [Shorter, chapter 18].

12 For a detailed description of Seville at the time, see Cook, Sketches, vol. 1, chapter 7.


such as few of the Sevillians, according to their own account, had ever seen before. This extraordinary weather had wrought no little damage in the neighbourhood, causing the Guadalquivir, which, during the rainy season, is a rapid and furious stream, to overflow its banks and to threaten an inundation. It is true that intervals were occurring when the sun made his appearance from his cloudy tabernacle, and with his golden rays caused everything around to smile, enticing the butterfly forth from the bush, and the lizard from the hollow tree, and I invariably availed myself of these intervals to take a hasty promenade. O how pleasant it is, especially in springtide, to stray along the shores of the Guadalquivir. Not far from the city, down the river, lies a grove called Las Delicias, or the Delights. It consists of trees of various kinds, but more especially of poplars and elms, and is traversed by long shady walks. This grove is the favourite promenade of the Sevillians, and there one occasionally sees assembled whatever the town produces of beauty or gallantry. There wander the black-eyed Andalusian dames and damsels, clad in their graceful silken mantillas; and there gallops the Andalusian cavalier, on his long-tailed thick-maned steed of Moorish ancestry. As the sun is descending, it is enchanting to glance back from this place in the direction of the city; the prospect is inexpressibly beautiful. Yonder in the distance, high and enormous, stands the Golden Tower, now used as a toll-house, but the principal bulwark of the city in the time of the Moors. It stands on the shore of the river, like a giant keeping watch, and is the first edifice which attracts the eye of the voyager as he moves up the stream to Seville. On the other side, opposite the tower, stands the noble Augustine convent, the ornament of the faubourg of Triana, whilst between the two edifices rolls the broad Guadalquivir, bearing on its bosom a flotilla of barks from Catalonia and Valencia. Farther up is seen the bridge of boats which traverses the water13. The principal object of this prospect, however, is the Golden Tower, where the beams of the setting sun seem to be concentrated as in a focus, so that it appears built of pure gold, and probably from that circumstance received the name which it now bears. Cold, cold must the heart be which can remain insensible to the beauties of this magic scene, to do justice to which the pencil of Claude14 himself were barely equal. Often have I shed tears of rapture whilst I beheld it, and listened to the thrush and the nightingale piping forth their melodious songs in the woods, and inhaled the breeze laden with the perfume of the thousand orange gardens of Seville:

"Kennst du das Land wo die Citronen blühen?" 15

13 At the hight of the present Puente de Isabel II. 14 Claude Gellée, called ‘Le Lorraine’ for his origins, and therefore known as ‘Claude Lorraine’ in England. A landscape painter famous for his sunsets, who lived from 1600 to 1682. He was popular in England in the mid 18th century and an inspiration to Turner and Wilson. Borrow liked him well enough; in an 1843 letter to his publisher Murray describing his coming novel Lavengro, he wrote it would ‘consist of a series of Rembrandt pictures interspersed here and there with a Claude’ [Knapp, II : 10]. 15 ‘Do you know the land where the lemon-trees blossom?’, the opening line of the first of Mignon’s songs in Book III, chapter 1 of Goethe’s Wilhelm Meister’s Lehrjahre [Fraser, Hasfeld, 35 note 1]. It is one of the most famous German poems, and was put to music by Johann Strauss II. (Occasionally ‘Citronen’ gets substituted for the more correct ‘Zitronen’.)

Chapter 48

The interior of Seville scarcely corresponds with the exterior: the streets are narrow, badly paved, and full of misery and beggary. The houses are for the most part built in the Moorish fashion, with a quadrangular patio or court in the centre, where stands a marble fountain, constantly distilling limpid water. These courts, during the time of the summer heats, are covered over with a canvas awning, and beneath this the family sit during the greater part of the day. In many, especially those belonging to the houses of the wealthy, are to be found shrubs, orange trees, and all kinds of flowers, and perhaps a small aviary, so that no situation can be conceived more delicious than to lie here in the shade, hearkening to the song of the birds and the voice of the fountain. Nothing is more calculated to interest the stranger as he wanders through Seville, than a view of these courts obtained from the streets, through the iron-grated door. Oft have I stopped to observe them, and as often sighed that my fate did not permit me to reside in such an Eden for the remainder of my days. On a former occasion, I have spoken of the cathedral of Seville, but only in a brief and cursory manner. It is perhaps the most magnificent cathedral in all Spain, and though not so regular in its architecture as those of Toledo and Burgos, is far more worthy of admiration when considered as a whole. It is utterly impossible to wander through the long aisles, and to raise one's eyes to the richly inlaid roof, supported by colossal pillars, without experiencing sensations of sacred awe, and deep astonishment. It is true that the interior, like those of the generality of the Spanish cathedrals, is somewhat dark and gloomy; yet it loses nothing by this gloom, which, on the contrary, rather increases the solemnity of the effect. Notre Dame of Paris is a noble building, yet to him who has seen the Spanish cathedrals, and particularly this of Seville, it almost appears trivial and mean, and more like a town-hall than a temple of the Eternal. The Parisian cathedral is entirely destitute of that solemn darkness and gloomy pomp which so abound in the Sevillian, and is thus destitute of the principal requisite to a cathedral.

48.4 Interior of the Seville Cathedral


In most of the chapels are to be found some of the very best pictures of the Spanish school; and in particular many of the master-pieces of Murillo, a native of Seville. Of all the pictures of this extraordinary man, one of the least celebrated is that which has always wrought on me the most profound impression. I allude to the Guardian Angel (ANGEL DE LA GUARDIA), a small picture which stands at the bottom of the church, and looks up the principal aisle. The angel, holding a flaming sword in his right hand, is conducting the child. This child is, in my opinion, the most wonderful of all the creations of Murillo; the form is that of an infant about five years of age, and the expression of the countenance is quite infantine, but the tread - it is the tread of a conqueror, of a God, of the Creator of the universe; and the earthly globe appears to tremble beneath its majesty.16

48.5 The Guardian Angel by Murillo (note there is no flaming sword in the Angel’s right hand…)

The service of the cathedral is in general well attended, especially when it is known that a sermon is to be preached. All these sermons are extemporaneous; some of them are edifying and faithful to the Scriptures. I have often listened to them with pleasure, though I was much surprised to remark, that when the preachers quoted from the Bible, their quotations were almost invariably taken from the apocryphal writings. There is in general no lack of worshippers at the principal shrines - women for the most part - many of whom appear to be animated with the most fervent devotion. 16 Exceptionally, this section, from the description of the Delicias Garden to ‘tremble beneath it majesty’, was copied, not from a letter to the Bible Society, but from one to John Hasfeld of 15 July 1839 [Fraser, Hasfeld, 34-36].

Chapter 48

I had flattered myself, previous to my departure from Madrid, that I should experience but little difficulty in the circulation of the Gospel in Andalusia, at least for a time, as the field was new, and myself and the object of my mission less known and dreaded than in New Castile. It appeared, however, that the government at Madrid had fulfilled its threat, transmitting orders throughout Spain for the seizure of my books wherever found. The Testaments that arrived from Madrid were seized at the custom-house, to which place all goods on their arrival, even from the interior, are carried, in order that a duty be imposed upon them. Through the management of Antonio, however, I procured one of the two chests, whilst the other was sent down to San Lucar, to be embarked for a foreign land as soon as I could make arrangements for that purpose.17 I did not permit myself to be discouraged by this slight CONTRETEMPS, although I heartily regretted the loss of the books which had been seized, and which I could no longer hope to circulate in these parts, where they were so much wanted; but I consoled myself with the reflection, that I had still several hundred at my disposal, from the distribution of which, if it pleased the Lord, a blessed harvest might still proceed.

[From: Letter to Brandram of 2 May 1839 from Seville, in: Darlow 411f.] In a few days Antonio arrived with the horses18. Difficulties now began to show themselves. All the Testaments were stopped at the custom house, they were contained in two large chests: but I now know Spain and the Spaniards. For a few dollars 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.19 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.20 The chests therefore, with the copies required for Tangiers and England, with the hundred Gospels in Gitano and Basque for the Library of the Bible Society, are at present at San Lucar in the custom house, from which I expect to receive to-morrow the receipt which the authorities here demand, and which will be necessary for the security of my voucher.

17 As the below quote from the letter to Brandram of 2 May shows, the rather illegal proceedings which ‘liberated’ a large number of the forbidden books were not due to ‘the management of Antonio’, but were initiated by Borrow himself. Ever cautious not to appear as a law-breaker and offer his critics sticks with which to beat him, Borrow more than once concealed his own dubious doings from the public eye and peeping spies. 18 Any time between 24 April, when Borrow had arrived in town, and 1 May, when the two of them smuggled the books back into Seville, as will be told in this episode. 19 We learn from Borrow’s expense account with the Bible Society that the bribe to the customs officer amounted to 14 shillings, i.e. 70 reales [Missler, Daring Game, 100f & 182]. This represented roughly the monthly wage of an unskilled worker, so it was quite a convincing sum. Perhaps it was also more than strictly necessary. Seven years later, Terence Hughes got his own ‘contraband’ books into Spain for a bribe to an Irun custom house officer of only a dollar, i.e. 20 reales [Hughes, Overland, vol. 1, chapter 13, 142]. 20 The boat in question was a ‘felouk’, sailed by an Englishman called John Plant, and the ‘secure place’ where the hot books were temporarily stored was at the village of San Juan de Aznalfarache, Borrow’s ‘San Juan d’Alfarache’ [Missler, Daring Game, 100f & 182].


Indeed the whole affair, though attended with considerable trouble and expense to me, was a mere formality, as I was given to understand. I was myself treated with the greatest politeness, and was told that my intentions were known and honoured. Late last night Antonio and myself returned from an excursion on foot, bringing beneath our cloaks, as if they were smuggled goods, a considerable number of Testaments; our path lay along the banks of the Guadalquivir, the rain poured and the river roared, and by the time we reached Seville we were wet through and covered with mud from head to foot.21 To-day I am laid up, being so STIFF and sore that I can hardly move; but anything for the Gospel's sake.

It is my opinion, and I am not one of those who hazard an opinion rashly, that much may be accomplished in this place, which, though by no means the most populous and wealthy, is the most interesting town in all Spain (…); but to effect anything, patience must be exhibited and prudence employed (…). 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.22 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. All I dread is the imprudence of very excellent people, whose aim is good, but who are doing exactly what is calculated to further the views of the enemy. I wish they could be brought to see the absolute necessity of changing their system.

[Chapter 48 continued] I did not commence operations for some time, for I was in a strange place, and scarcely knew what course to pursue. I had no one to assist me but poor Antonio, who was as ignorant of the place as myself. Providence, however, soon sent me a coadjutor, in rather a singular manner. I was standing in the courtyard of the Reyna Posada, where I occasionally dined, when a man, singularly dressed and gigantically tall, entered.23 My 21 On this rainy night of 1 May, moving on foot, Borrow and Antonio only brought in a minor part of the nearly 300 books (200 New Testaments and some 90 Gypsy Luke’s) which had been removed from the chests on the sly. The other batches were smuggled in later on by a muleteer. [Missler, Daring Game, 100f & 182]. 22 The ‘renegade Quaker’ was probably Julian Benjamin Williams, who was later instrumental in getting Borrow released from the Seville jail (see Appendix 1 at the end of this book). 23 In reality this meeting took place in early May, when Borrow was still lodging in the hotel. In his letter of 12 June 1839 to Browne, he writes: ‘I was standing in the courtyard of the Reyna Posada, where for the time I had taken up my abode, when a man singularly dressed and gigantically tall entered’. Having already mentioned his Plazuela de Pila Seca house, which he did not occupy until mid May, and piecing this chapter together from various letters to various people at various times between early May and mid June, the narrative here is chronologically most confused and simply covers the months May-July 1839 in a very creative order.

Chapter 48

curiosity was excited, and I inquired of the master of the house who he was. He informed me that he was a foreigner, who had resided a considerable time in Seville, and he believed a Greek. Upon hearing this, I instantly went up to the stranger, and accosted him in the Greek language, in which, though I speak it very ill, I can make myself understood. He replied in the same idiom, and, flattered by the interest which I, a foreigner, expressed for his nation, was not slow in communicating to me his history. He told me that his name was Dionysius24, that he was a native of Cephalonia, and had been educated for the church, which, not suiting his temper, he had abandoned, in order to follow the profession of the sea, for which he had an early inclination. That after many adventures and changes of fortune, he found himself one morning on the coast of Spain, a shipwrecked mariner, and that, ashamed to return to his own country in poverty and distress, he had remained in the Peninsula, residing chiefly at Seville, where he now carried on a small trade in books. He said that he was of the Greek religion, to which he professed strong attachment, and soon discovering that I was a Protestant, spoke with unbounded abhorrence of the papal system; nay of its followers in general, whom he called Latins, and whom he charged with the ruin of his own country, inasmuch as they sold it to the Turk. It instantly struck me, that this individual would be an excellent assistant in the work which had brought me to Seville, namely, the propagation of the eternal Gospel, and accordingly, after some more conversation, in which he exhibited considerable learning, I explained myself to him. He entered into my views with eagerness, and in the sequel I had no reason to regret my confidence, he having disposed of a considerable number of New Testaments, and even contrived to send a certain number of copies to two small towns at some distance from Seville. Another helper in the circulation of the Gospel I found in an aged professor of music, who, with much stiffness and ceremoniousness, united much that was excellent and admirable. This venerable individual, only three days after I had made his acquaintance, brought me the price of six Testaments and a Gypsy Gospel, which he had sold under the heat of an Andalusian sun. What was his motive? A Christian one truly. He said that his unfortunate countrymen, who were then robbing and murdering each other, might probably be rendered better by the reading of the Gospel, but could never be injured. Adding, that many a man had been reformed by the Scriptures, but that no one ever yet became a thief or assassin from its perusal. 25 24 Dionysio Cariano. Ford [HB, 1087] mentions this ‘Greek who formerly lived at Seville’ as residing in Madrid in later years. His move there may be the reason why, to his great surprise, Widdrington [vol. 1, 262] found no books from the closed convents for sale in Seville in 1843. On 8 January 1845, Ford told Borrow that according to their mutual friend Gayangos, Cariano had become ‘the great bookseller of Madrid – the Payne and Foss of Spain’, and that the Greek ‘recollects you well as one of the caballeros ingleses who used to pay him very high prices for his books’ [Knapp, II : 343]. In an earlier letter of 1 December 1841 [Knapp II : 313] Ford says that he himself bought hundreds of books from the man, but that he ‘cut him at last’ because the Greek (other than Buchino) ‘had no honour’ – whatever that may have implied exactly. 25 The name of this venerable person has not been preserved for posterity. Borrow adds in his letter to Browne of 12 June 1839 that the gentleman was ‘by birth an Old Castilian’ (i.e. from present-day Castile-Leon) ‘and one of the very few who retain traces of the ancient Spanish character, which with all its faults, its stiffness, its formality, and its pride, I believe (…) to be the most estimable and trustworthy in the world’ [Darlow, 417]. As the ‘bringing’ of the proceeds from the book sales supposedly took place on the same day as the letter to Browne was written [Darlow, 408], Borrow must have met the music professor approximately on 9 June.


But my most extraordinary agent, was one whom I occasionally employed in circulating the Scriptures amongst the lower classes. I might have turned the services of this individual to far greater account had the quantity of books at my disposal been greater; but they were now diminishing rapidly, and as I had no hopes of a fresh supply, I was almost tempted to be niggard of the few which remained.26 This agent was a Greek bricklayer, by name Johannes Chrysostom, who had been introduced to me by Dionysius. He was a native of the Morea, but had been upwards of thirty-five years in Spain, so that he had almost entirely lost his native language. Nevertheless, his attachment to his own country was so strong that he considered whatever was not Greek as utterly barbarous and bad. Though entirely destitute of education, he had, by his strength of character, and by a kind of rude eloquence which he possessed, obtained such a mastery over the minds of the labouring classes of Seville, that they assented to almost everything he said, notwithstanding the shocks which their prejudices were continually receiving. So that, although he was a foreigner, he could at any time have become the Masaniello of Seville.27 A more honest creature I never saw, and I soon found that if I employed him, notwithstanding his eccentricities, I might entertain perfect confidence that his actions would be no disparagement to the book he vended.

48.6 Thomasso Aniello, a.k.a. Masaniello

26 The 200 New Testaments which Borrow had ‘liberated’ from the San Lucar boxes during his smuggling expedition of 1 May, were practically the last books that remained to him, a stock of some 950 copies in Madrid notwithstanding [Darlow, 427; Missler, Daring Game, 125f]. Hence, as soon as these were sold off, his mission would come to an end. At the same time, he did not yet wish to leave Spain, where he was happy and hard at work collecting material for The Zincali. Hence his reluctance to sell his stock too quickly. The 200 copies were ultimately sold between early June and 7 July 1839, when the last few books were confiscated during a surprise raid, as will be told in chapter 49 below. [Missler, Daring Game, 101f.] 27 Short for Thommaso Aniello. A simple fisherman, born either in Amalfi or Naples itself in 1622 and died in 1647. ‘He headed the rebellion of the Neapolitans against the Spanish viceroy, in 1647. His success as a leader led to a revulsion of popular feeling, and he was executed or murdered within a few days of his greatest triumph’ [Burke, footnote to 664].

Chapter 48

We were continually pressed for Bibles, which of course we could not supply. Testaments were held in comparatively little esteem28. I had by this time made the discovery of a fact which it would have been well had I been aware of three years before; but we live and learn. I mean the inexpediency of printing Testaments, and Testaments alone, for Catholic countries. The reason is plain: the Catholic, unused to Scripture reading, finds a thousand things which he cannot possibly understand in the New Testament, the foundation of which is the Old. "Search the Scriptures, for they bear witness of me," may well be applied to this point.29 It may be replied, that New Testaments separate are in great demand, and of infinite utility in England, but England, thanks be to the Lord, is not a papal country; and though an English labourer may read a Testament, and derive from it the most blessed fruit, it does not follow that a Spanish or Italian peasant will enjoy similar success, as he will find many dark things with which the other is well acquainted, and competent to understand, being versed in the Bible history from his childhood. I confess, however, that in my summer campaign of the preceding year, I could not have accomplished with Bibles what Providence permitted me to effect with Testaments, the former being far too bulky for rural journeys. 28 In his letter to Brandram of 28 June 1839 Borrow adds in this context: ‘Two or three ladies of my acquaintance occasionally dispose of some amongst their friends, but they say that they experience some difficulty, the cry for Bibles being great. Dionysius also tells me that for every Testament which he sells he could dispose of with ease fifty Bibles’ [Darlow, 423]. 29 Gospel of John 5 : 39. The summons, spoken by Christ himself, highlights the announcements made in the Old Testament of the coming of the Messiah.


Appendix to chapter 48 From: Lieutenant-Colonel Edward H. D. Elers Napier, Excursions along the shores of the Mediterranean, vol. ii, London: Henry Colburn, 1842. 30 1839. Saturday May 4th. Out early, sketching at the Alcazar. After breakfast it set in a day of rain, and I was reduced to wander about the galleries overlooking the 'patio.' Nothing so dreary and out of character as a rainy day in Spain. Whilst occupied in moralising over the dripping water-spouts, I observed a tall, gentlemanly-looking man, dressed in a zamarra31, leaning over the balustrades, and apparently engaged in a similar manner with myself. Community of thoughts and occupation generally tends to bring people together. 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.32 Under these circumstances, I was rather puzzled as to what language I should address him in. At last, putting a bold face on the matter, I approached him with a 'Bonjour, monsieur, quel triste temps!'

'Yes, sir,' replied he in the purest Parisian accent; 'and it is very unusual weather here at this time of the year.'

'Does "monsieur" intend to be any time at Seville?' asked I. He replied in the affirmative. We were soon on a friendly footing, and from his varied information I was both amused and instructed. Still I became more than ever in the dark as to his nationality; I found he could speak English as fluently as French. I tried him on the Italian track; again he was perfectly at home. 30 Exceptionally, a text written by another hand than Borrow’s own is here inserted, due to its extra-ordinary interest and the rare, fresh impression it gives of the Bible salesman through the eyes of someone who did not know who he was. Napier’s description of Borrow is extra valuable since it was published a year before Borrow attained fame with the 1843 appearance of The Bible in Spain, and therefore owes nothing to Borrow’s self-portrait in the travelogue. Shorter [chapter 19] summarizes Napier’s life as follows: ‘Edward Elers Napier, who was born in 1808, was the son of one Edward Elers of the Royal Navy. His widow married the famous Admiral Sir Charles Napier, who adopted her four children by her first husband. [Napier] was educated at Sandhurst and entered the army, serving for some years in India. Later his regiment was ordered to Gibraltar, and it was thence that he made several sporting excursions into Spain and Morocco. Later he served in Egypt, and when, through ill-health, he retired in 1843 on half-pay, he lived for some years in Portugal. In 1854 he returned to the army and did good work in the Crimea, becoming a lieutenant-general in 1864. He died in 1870. (…) It was during his military career at Gibraltar that he met George Borrow at Seville.’ The honour of having recognized Borrow in this description goes to Richard Ford who first reproduced the text, with some condensations and variations, in his review of The Bible in Spain published in the Edinburg Review, vol. 77 of February 1843, page 136-138. Afterwards, it was reproduced by Knapp [I : 308-312], Jenkins [293ff] and Shorter [chapter 19]. 31 A Spanish fur jacket, usually of wool, worn with the hair to the outside. 32 Descriptions of Borrow’s physical appearance vary considerably, but his snow-white hair is an ever recurrent feature. Compare the first page of chapter 8 above.

Chapter 48

He had a Greek servant, to whom his gave his orders in Romaic.33 He conversed in good Castilian with 'mine host'; exchanged a German salutation with an Austrian Baron, at the time an inmate of the fonda; and on mentioning to him my morning visit to Triana, which led to some remarks on the gypsies, and the probable place from whence they derived their origin, he expressed his belief that it was from Moultan, and said that, even to this day, they retained many Moultanee and Hindoostanee expressions, such as 'panee' (water), 'buree panee' (the sea), etc. He was rather startled when I replied 'in Hindee,' but was 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 visited34.

In such varied discourse did the hours pass so swiftly away that we were not a little surprised when Pepe, the 'mozo' (and I verily believe all Spanish waiters are called Pepe), announced the hour of dinner; after which we took a long walk together on the banks of the river. But, on our return, I was as much as ever in ignorance as to who might be my new and pleasant acquaintance.

I took the first opportunity of questioning Antonio Baillie35 on the subject, and his answer only tended to increase my curiosity. He said that nobody knew what nation the mysterious 'Unknown' belonged to, nor what were his motives for travelling. In his

33 The vernacular language of modern Greece. This is the only hint we have that Borrow spoke anything but French with Antonio Buchino; and it is interesting in the light of Borrow’s own remark above, where he meets Dionysius, that he spoke it ‘very ill’. 34 Better said: most of which part of the world he feigned to have visited. There is no indication, let alone proof, that Borrow ever made it to Asia, much as he always wanted to and often pretended that he had. At best, in the 1820s, he may have reached Constantinople (although even that has not been demonstrated beyond all doubt). But from an early moment on, he did somehow convince people – and knowledgeable people such as Napier – that he had been in the Far East, and even weaved the project of such a journey into the last lines of The Romany Rye, written in the mid 1850s, where he makes his autobiographical main character say, in the mid 1820s: ‘I shouldn't wonder (…) if Mr. Petulengro and Tawno Chikno came originally from India. I think I'll go there.’ [Compare Angus Fraser, ‘The Unveiling of the Veiled Period’, in: Proceedings of the 1987 George Borrow Conference, Toronto 1988, 1f.] 35 Juan Antonio Bailly, son of a French father and an English mother, was a well-known Seville tour-guide, connected with the Posada de la Reyna, who served practically all British visitors. French by birth, he had arrived in Spain with the so-called ‘100,000 sons of St Louis’, the army under the Duque d’Angoulême which invaded Spain in 1823 to put a stop to its chaotic liberal regime. Bailly married a local lady and stayed behind in Seville. According to Richard Ford in the 1847 re-edition of his Hand-Book, Bailly was ‘fat and good-humoured’ and could ‘sing a good Andalucian song, manage to get up a gipsy funcion in Triana etc.’ Napier himself, elsewhere in his book, calls him ‘a very amusing and intelligent fellow’, with a rich store of fun anecdotes. It was precisely this access to Gypsy venues and the man’s stock of anecdotes that drew Borrow to him. Already planning his first book, The Zincali, on the Spanish Gypsies, Borrow mobilised Bailly to collect songs, stories, documents and Caló word-lists for him. Much of this material found its way into Borrow’s book; but, since he had paid prettily for the service (he later claimed that research for The Zincali had cost him some 300 pounds, i.e. his salary of a year and a half!), Borrow did not feel the moral obligation to mention Bailly as a source. According to Samuel Widdrington [vol 1, 434], Bailly later complained that ‘he had furnished their best anecdotes to several tourists, one dead and at least two living, without their making mention of the source whence they obtained the information, and even in some instances actually taking pains to conceal it.’ There is a good chance that Borrow was one of these. [For Bailly see Fraser, Unsung, 34f and Knapp, I : 301 & 372ff.]


passport he went by the name of ----, and as a British subject, but in consequence of a suspicion being entertained that he was a Russian spy, the police kept a sharp look-out over him.36 Spy or no spy, I found him a very agreeable companion; and it was agreed that on the following day we should visit together the ruins of Italica.

May 5. After breakfast, the 'Unknown' and myself, mounting our horses, proceeded on our expedition to the ruins of Italica. Crossing the river, and proceeding through the populous suburb of Triana, already mentioned, we went over the same extensive plain that I had traversed in going to San Lucar, but keeping a little more to the right a short ride brought us in sight of the Convent of San Isidrio37, surrounded by tall cypress and waving date-trees. This once richly-endowed religious establishment is, together with the small neighbouring village of Santi Ponci, I believe, the property of the Duke of Medina Coeli, at whose expense the excavations are now carried on at the latter place, which is the ancient site of the Roman Italica.

48.7 The amphitheatre of Italica before the excavations We sat down on a fragment of the walls, and sadly recalling the splendour of those times of yore, contrasted with the desolation around us, 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, and to the astonishment of the wondering peasant38, who must have thought him 'loco,' the following well-known and beautiful lines:

36 Wild as it sounds, there may be a core of truth to this apprehension. In his letter to Browne of 12 June 1839, Borrow writes: ‘On account of the extreme dearness of every article at the Posada, where moreover I had a suspicion that I was watched, I removed with my servant and horses to an empty house in a solitary part of the town’ [Darlow, 417]. 37 The Monasterio de San Isidro del Campo in Santiponce. 38 The guide or arriero whom they had hired to take them to Italica.

Chapter 48

'Cypress and ivy, weed and wallflower, grown, Matted and massed together, hillocks heap'd On what were chambers, arch crush'd, column strown In fragments, choked up vaults, and frescoes steep'd In subterranean damps, where the owl peep'd, Deeming it midnight; Temples, baths, or halls— Pronounce who can: for all that Learning reap'd From her research hath been, that these are walls.'39

I had been too much taken up with the scene, the verses, and the strange being who was repeating them with so much feeling, to notice the approach of one who now formed the fourth person of our party. This was a slight female figure, beautiful in the extreme, but whom tattered garments, raven hair (which fell in matted elf-locks over her naked shoulders), swarthy complexion, and flashing eyes, proclaimed to be of the wandering tribe of 'gitanos.' From an intuitive sense of natural 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, with 'Caballeritos, una limosita! Dios se lo pagara a 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 Moultanee40, '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, caballero; 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 this gloomy abode were illumined by a fire, the smoke from which escaped through a deep fissure in the massy 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.

39 Byron, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, verse 107. The last line of the stanza is missing: ‘Behold the Imperial Mount; ‘tis thus the mighty falls’. 40 Presumably in Romany-Caló. Reading this, the question arises how Napier would have known what was said. It is most unlikely that he knew Caló, which practically nobody mastered. Yet if Borrow really spoke true ‘Moultanee’ (the language of Moultan in the Punjab, which Napier may indeed have learned during his time of service in India) it is equally unlikely that the girl would have understood what was said, Caló being too far removed from the related Indian languages to be quite comprehensible to a Caló speaker (which in any case she confesses not to be). The scene is, therefore, rather mysterious.


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,'41 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.42 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 and the language of these 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 gipsies, 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.... 43

48.8 Alcazar of Seville

41 The sash, ‘in which are kept the deadly Spanish knives’, as Richard Ford expressed it. 42 Even though it is just possible that Napier, before writing this report, may have read of Borrow’s knowledge of Caló passwords and his mesmerizing influence on groups of Gypsies in The Zincali (published 1841), this fascinating scene with the Gypsy grandmother goes far beyond anything Borrow pretended to in his first published book, and therefore bears out the reality of that skill. 43 This episode is an outstanding example of how Borrow managed to impress his friends and acquaintances with the wild stories of his mysterious past. In fact, the chance meeting with the worshipping Gypsies it is so very effective that one cannot help but wonder if Borrow had not set it up the evening before, in order to amaze his new English friend… There are, however, some independent testimonies to his capability to mesmerize groups of Gypsies, which seem to bear Napier’s story out (see footnote 3 to chapter 9 and footnote 10 to chapter 15 above).

Chapter 48

May 7th. Pouring with rain all day, during which I was mostly in the society of the 'Unknown.' This is a most extraordinary character, and the more I see of him the more I am 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 - 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 Melmoth44; and in that character he often appears to me during the troubled rest I sometimes obtain through the medium of the great soother, 'laudanum.'45

44 ‘Melmoth the Wanderer’, the 1820 creation of the eccentric Irish clergyman Charles Robert Maturin in one of the most accomplished Gothic novels ever to appear in the English language. Melmoth is a sort of mixture between Faust and the Wandering Jew. He sold his soul to the devil in exchange for another 150 years of life, but spent most of that time looking for some other person willing to take over the pact from him, so that he might save his own soul. In the course of the book, Melmoth’s eyes are said, at several instances, to ‘effuse a most fearful and preternatural lustre’, which, once seen, could never again be forgotten. 45 In Thomas de Quincey’s ‘Confessions of an English Opium Eater’, section ‘Introduction to the pains of opium’, the author is visited by a Malay in search of laudanum, who thereafter reappears in Quincey’s opium-bemused dreams. ‘This incident I have digressed to mention, because this Malay (partly from the picturesque exhibition he assisted to frame, partly from the anxiety I connected with his image for some days) fastened afterwards upon my dreams, and brought other Malays with him, worse than himself, that ran “a-muck” at me, and led me into a world of troubles.’ The similarity is almost too close to be coincidental.

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