“I had been too much taken up with the scene,” Colonel Napier continues, “the verses, and the strange being who was repeating them with so much feeling, to notice the approach of a slight female figure, beautiful in the extreme, but whose tattered garments, raven hair, swarthy complexion and flashing eyes proclaimed to be of the wandering tribe of Gitanos. From an intuitive sense of 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—‘Caballeritos, una limosnita! Dios se la pagará á 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 Moultanee, ‘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, cabellero—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 the gloomy abode were illumined by a fire the smoke from which escaped through a deep fissure in the mossy 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.
“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’
“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 with the language of those 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 gypsies, 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 . . . This is a most extraordinary character, and the more I see of him the more am I 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 [he would be thirty-six in the following July]—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 Melmoth.” [297]
CHAPTER XIX
MAY–DECEMBER 1839
Borrow confesses that he was at a loss to know how to commence operations in Seville. He was entirely friendless, even the British Consul being unapproachable on account of his religious beliefs. However, he soon gathered round him some of those curious characters who seemed always to gravitate towards him, no matter where he might be, or with what occupied. Surely the Scriptures never had such a curious assortment of missionaries as Borrow employed? At Seville there was the gigantic Greek, Dionysius of Cephalonia; the “aged professor of music, who, with much stiffness and ceremoniousness, united much that was excellent and admirable”; [298] the Greek bricklayer, Johannes Chysostom, a native of Morea, who might at any time become “the Masaniello of Seville.” With these assistants Borrow set to work to throw the light of the Gospel into the dark corners of the city.
Soon after arriving at Seville, he decided to adopt a new plan of living.
“On account of the extreme dearness of every article at the posada,” he wrote to Mr Brandram on 12th June, “where, moreover, I had a suspicion that I was being watched [this may have reference to the police suspicion that he was a Russian spy], I removed with my servant and horses to an empty house in a solitary part of the town . . . Here I live in the greatest privacy, admitting no person but two or three in whom I had the greatest confidence, who entertain the same views as myself, and who assist me in the circulation of the Gospel.”
The house stood in a solitary situation, occupying one side of the Plazuela de la Pila Seca (the Little Square of the Empty Trough). It was a two-storied building and much too large for Borrow’s requirements. Having bought the necessary articles of furniture, he retired behind the shutters of his Andalusian mansion with Antonio and the two horses. He lived in the utmost seclusion, spending a large portion of his time in study or in dreamy meditation. “The people here complain sadly of the heat,” he writes to Mr Brandram (28th June 1839), “but as for myself, I luxuriate in it, like the butterflies which hover about the macetas, or flowerpots, in the court.” In the cool of the evening he would mount Sidi Habismilk and ride along the Dehesa until the topmost towers of the city were out of sight, then, turning the noble Arab, he would let him return at his best speed, which was that of the whirlwind.
Throughout his work in Spain Borrow had been seriously handicapped by being unable to satisfy the demand for Bibles that met him everywhere he went. In a letter (June) from Maria Diaz, who was acting as his agent in Madrid, [299] the same story is told.
“The binder has brought me eight Bibles,” she writes, “which he has contrived to make up out of the sheets gnawn by the rats, and which would have been necessary even had they amounted to eight thousand (y era necesario se puvièran vuelto 8000), because the people are innumerable who come to seek more. Don Santiago has been here with some friends, who insisted upon having a part of them. The Aragonese Gentleman has likewise been, he who came before your departure, and bespoke twenty-four; he now wants twenty-five. I begged them to take Testaments, but they would not.” [300]
The Greek bricklayer proved a most useful agent. His great influence with his poor acquaintances resulted in the sale of many Testaments. More could have been done had it not been necessary to proceed with extreme caution, lest the authorities should take action and seize the small stock of books that remained.
When he took and furnished the large house in the little square, there had been in Borrow’s mind another reason than a desire for solitude and freedom from prying eyes. Throughout his labours in Spain he had kept up a correspondence with Mrs Clarke of Oulton, who, on 15th March, had written informing him of her intention to take up her abode for a short time at Seville.