The Bible in Spain: Or, the Journeys, Adventures, and Imprisonments of an Englishman, in an Attempt to Circulate the Scriptures in the PeninsulaBorrow, George
Religion
The Bible in Spain: Or, the Journeys, Adventures, and Imprisonments of an Englishman, in an Attempt to Circulate the Scriptures in the Peninsula
Borrow, George
Borrow, George, 1803-1881 -- Travel -- Spain; Spain -- Description and travel; Spain -- History -- 19th century
We went to a posada in the suburbs, the only one, indeed, which the place
afforded. The courtyard was full of arrieros and carriers, brawling
loudly; the master of the house was fighting with two of his customers,
and universal confusion reigned around. As I dismounted I received the
contents of a wineglass in my face, of which greeting, as it was probably
intended for another, I took no notice. Antonio, however, was not so
patient, for on being struck with a cudgel, he instantly returned the
salute with his whip, scarifying the countenance of a carman. In my
endeavours to separate these two antagonists, my horse broke loose, and
rushing amongst the promiscuous crowd, overturned several individuals and
committed no little damage. It was a long time before peace was
restored: at last we were shown to a tolerably decent chamber. We had,
however, no sooner taken possession of it, than the waggon from Madrid
arrived on its way to Coruña, filled with dusty travellers, consisting of
women, children, invalid officers and the like. We were now forthwith
dislodged, and our baggage flung into the yard. On our complaining of
this treatment, we were told that we were two vagabonds whom nobody knew;
who had come without an arriero, and had already set the whole house in
confusion. As a great favour, however, we were at length permitted to
take up our abode in a ruinous building down the yard, adjoining the
stable, and filled with rats and vermin. Here there was an old bed with
a tester, and with this wretched accommodation we were glad to content
ourselves, for I could proceed no farther, and was burnt with fever. The
heat of the place was intolerable, and I sat on the staircase with my
head between my hands, gasping for breath: soon appeared Antonio with
vinegar and water, which I drank and felt relieved.
We continued in this suburb three days, during the greatest part of which
time I was stretched on the tester bed. I once or twice contrived to
make my way into the town, but found no bookseller, nor any person
willing to undertake the charge of disposing of my Testaments. The
people were brutal, stupid, and uncivil, and I returned to my tester bed
fatigued and dispirited. Here I lay listening from time to time to the
sweet chimes which rang from the clock of the old cathedral. The master
of the house never came near me, nor indeed, once inquired about me.
Beneath the care of Antonio, however, I speedily waxed stronger. “_Mon
maître_,” said he to me one evening, “I see you are better; let us quit
this bad town and worse posada to-morrow morning. _Allons_, _mon
maitre_! _Il est temps de nous mettre en chemin pour Lugo et Galice_.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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