“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 a 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 maître,” 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, “yo quiero engancharme con usted; [195a] 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 Inglaterra; 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, “Arrhé! burra!” [195b] 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 magnify 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.
The news of the arrival of the book of life soon spread like wildfire through the villages of the Sagra of Toledo, and wherever my people and myself directed our course we found the inhabitants disposed to receive our merchandise; it was even called for where not exhibited. One night as I was bathing myself and horse in the Tagus, a knot of people gathered on the bank, crying, “Come out of the water, Englishman, and give us books; we have got our money in our hands.” The poor creatures then held out their hands, filled with cuartos, a copper coin of the value of a farthing, but unfortunately I had no Testaments to give them. Antonio, however, who was at a short distance, having exhibited one, it was instantly torn from his hands by the people, and a scuffle ensued to obtain possession of it. It very frequently occurred that the poor labourers in the neighbourhood, being eager to obtain Testaments, and having no money to offer us in exchange, brought various articles to our habitation as equivalents; for example, rabbits, fruit, and barley; and I made a point never to disappoint them, as such articles were of utility either for our own consumption or that of the horses.
In Villa Seca there was a school in which fifty-seven children were taught the first rudiments of education. One morning the schoolmaster, a tall slim figure of about sixty, bearing on his head one of the peaked hats of Andalusia, and wrapped, notwithstanding the excessive heat of the weather, in a long cloak, made his appearance, and having seated himself, requested to be shown one of our books. Having delivered it to him, he remained examining it for nearly an hour, without uttering a word. At last he laid it down with a sigh, and said that he should be very happy to purchase some of these books for his school, but from their appearance, especially from the quality of the paper and binding, he was apprehensive that to pay for them would exceed the means of the parents of his pupils, as they were almost destitute of money, being poor labourers. He then commenced blaming the government, which, he said, established schools without affording the necessary books, adding that in his school there were but two books for the use of all his pupils, and these, he confessed, contained but little good. I asked him what he considered the Testaments were worth? He said, “Señor Cavalier, to speak frankly, I have in other times paid twelve reals for books inferior to yours in every respect; but I assure you that my poor pupils would be utterly unable to pay the half of that sum.” I replied, “I will sell you as many as you please for three reals each. I am acquainted with the poverty of the land, and my friends and myself, in affording the people the means of spiritual instruction, have no wish to curtail their scanty bread.” He replied, “Bendito sea Dios!” [197] and could scarcely believe his ears. He instantly purchased a dozen, expending, as he said, all the money he possessed, with the exception of a few cuartos. The introduction of the Word of God into the country schools of Spain is therefore begun, and I humbly hope that it will prove one of those events which the Bible Society, after the lapse of years, will have most reason to remember with joy and gratitude to the Almighty.
An old peasant is reading in the portico. Eighty-four years have passed over his head, and he is almost entirely deaf; nevertheless he is reading aloud the second of Matthew: three days since he bespoke a Testament, but not being able to raise the money, he has not redeemed it until the present moment. He has just brought thirty farthings. As I survey the silvery hair which overshadows his sun-burnt countenance, the words of the song occurred to me, “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word: for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.”
I experienced much grave kindness and simple hospitality from the good people of Villa Seca during my sojourn amongst them. I had at this time so won their hearts by the “formality” of my behaviour and language, that I firmly believe they would have resisted to the knife any attempt which might have been made to arrest or otherwise maltreat me. He who wishes to become acquainted with the genuine Spaniard must seek him not in seaports and large towns, but in lone and remote villages, like those of the Sagra. There he will find all that gravity of deportment and chivalry of disposition which Cervantes is said to have sneered away; [198] and there he will hear, in everyday conversation, those grandiose expressions, which, when met with in the romances of chivalry, are scoffed at as ridiculous exaggerations.
I had one enemy in the village—it was the curate.
“The fellow is a heretic and a scoundrel,” said he one day in the conclave. “He never enters the church, and is poisoning the minds of the people with his Lutheran books. Let him be bound and sent to Toledo, or turned out of the village at least.”