“People who know me not,” he wrote to Mr Brandram, “nor are acquainted with my situation, may be disposed to call me rash; but I am far from being so, as I never adopt a venturous course when any other is open to me; but I am not a person to be terrified by any danger when I see that braving it is the only way to achieve an object.” [220]
Whatever may have been Borrow’s motives, the crisis arrived on 12th January, when he received a peremptory order from the Civil Governor of Madrid (who had previously sent for and received two copies, to submit for examination to the Ecclesiastical Authorities) to sell no more of the New Testament in Spanish without notes. At that period the average sale was about twenty copies a day. “The priests have at length ‘swooped upon me,’” Borrow wrote to Mr Brandram, three days later. The order did not, however, take him unawares.
Borrow saw that little assistance was to be expected from Sir George Villiers, who, for obvious reasons, was not popular with the Ofalia ministry, and, accepting the British Minister’s advice, he promptly complied with the edict. He recognised that for the time being his enemies were paramount. He accuses the priests of employing the ruffian who, one night in a dark street, warned him to discontinue selling his “Jewish books,” or he would “have a knife ‘nailed in his heart’” to which he replied by telling the fellow to go home, say his prayers and inform his employers that he, Borrow, pitied them. It was a few days after this episode that Borrow received the formal notice of prohibition.
Consoling himself with the fact that he was not ordered to close his Despacho, and refusing the advice that was tendered to him to erase from its windows the yellow-lettered sign, he determined to continue his campaign with the Bibles that were on their way to him, and the Gitano and Basque versions of St Luke as soon as they were ready. The prohibition referred only to the Spanish New Testament without notes, and in this Borrow took comfort. He had every reason to feel gratified; for, since opening the Despacho, he had sold nearly three hundred copies of the New Testament.
At Earl Street it was undoubtedly felt that Borrow had to some extent precipitated the present crisis. On 8th February Mr Brandram wrote that, whilst there was no wish on the part of the Committee to censure him, they were not altogether surprised at what had occurred; for, when they first heard about them, “some did think that your tri-coloured placards and placard-bearer were somewhat calculated to provoke what has occurred.” In reply Borrow confessed that the view of the “some” gave him “a pang, more especially as I knew from undoubted sources that nothing which I had done, said, or written, was the original cause of the arbitrary step which had been adopted in respect to me.” [221a]
The printing of the Gitano and Basque editions of St Luke (500 copies [221b] of each) was completed in March, and they were published respectively in March and April. The Gitano version attracted much attention. Some months later Borrow wrote:—
“No work printed in Spain ever caused so great and so general a sensation, not so much amongst the Gypsies, that peculiar people for whom it was intended, as amongst the Spaniards themselves, who, though they look upon the Roma with some degree of contempt as a low and thievish race of outcasts, nevertheless take a strange interest in all that concerns them, it having been from time immemorial their practice, more especially of the dissolute young nobility, to cultivate the acquaintance of the Gitanos, as they are popularly called, probably attracted by the wild wit of the latter and the lascivious dances of the females. The apparation, therefore, of the Gospel of St Luke at Madrid in the peculiar jargon of these people, was hailed as a strange novelty and almost as a wonder, and I believe was particularly instrumental in bruiting the name of the Bible Society far and wide through Spain, and in creating a feeling far from inimical towards it and its proceedings.” [222a]
The little volume appears to have sold freely among the gypsies. “Many of the men,” Borrow says, [222b] “understood it, and prized it highly, induced of course more by the language than the doctrine; the women were particularly anxious to obtain copies, though unable to read; but each wished to have one in her pocket, especially when engaged in thieving expeditions, for they all looked upon it in the light of a charm.”
All endeavours to get the prohibition against the sale of the New Testament removed proved unavailing. Borrow’s great strength lay in the support he received from the British Minister, and, in all probability, this prevented his expulsion from Spain, which alone would have satisfied his enemies. At the request of Sir George Villiers, he drew up an account of the Bible Society and an exposition of its views, telling Count Ofalia, among other things, that “the mightiest of earthly monarchs, the late Alexander of Russia, was so convinced of the single-mindedness and integrity of the British and Foreign Bible Society, that he promoted their efforts within his own dominions to the utmost of his ability.” He pointed to the condition of Spain, which was “overspread with the thickest gloom of heathenish ignorance, beneath which the fiends and demons of the abyss seem to be holding their ghastly revels.” He described it as “a country in which all sense of right and wrong is forgotten . . . where the name of Jesus is scarcely ever mentioned but in blasphemy, and His precepts [are] almost utterly unknown . . . [where] the few who are enlightened are too much occupied in the pursuit of lucre, ambition, or ungodly revenge to entertain a desire or thought of bettering the moral state of their countrymen.” This report, in which Borrow confesses that he “made no attempts to flatter and cajole,” must have caused the British Minister some diplomatic embarrassment when he read it; but it seems to have been presented, although, as is scarcely surprising, it appears to have been ineffectual in causing to be removed the ban against which it was written as a protest.
The Prime Minister was in a peculiarly unpleasant position. On the one hand there was the British Minister using all his influence to get the prohibition rescinded; on the other hand were six bishops, including the primate, then resident in Madrid, and the greater part of the clergy. Count Ofalia applied for a copy of the Gipsy St Luke, and, seeing in this an opening for a personal appeal, Borrow determined to present the volume, specially and handsomely bound, in person, probably the last thing that Count Ofalia expected or desired. The interview produced nothing beyond the conviction in Borrow’s mind that Spain was ruled by a man who possessed the soul of a mouse. Borrow had been received “with great affability,” thanked for his present, urged to be patient and peaceable, assured of the enmity of the clergy, and promised that an endeavour should be made to devise some plan that would be satisfactory to him. The two then “parted in kindness,” and as he walked away from the palace, Borrow wondered “by what strange chance this poor man had become Prime Minister of a country like Spain.”