"How Strangely Times Alter," Said I, The Second Day Subsequent To
The Opening Of My Establishment, As I Stood On
The opposite side of
the street, leaning against the wall with folded arms, surveying my
shop, on the windows of
Which were painted in large yellow
characters, Despacho de la Sociedad Biblica y Estrangera; "how
strangely times alter; here have I been during the last eight
months running about old Popish Spain, distributing Testaments, as
agent of what the Papists call an heretical society, and have
neither been stoned nor burnt; and here am I now in the capital,
doing that which one would think were enough to cause all the dead
inquisitors and officials buried within the circuit of the walls to
rise from their graves and cry abomination; and yet no one
interferes with me. Pope of Rome! Pope of Rome! look to thyself.
That shop may be closed; but oh! what a sign of the times, that it
has been permitted to exist for one day. It appears to me, my
Father, that the days of your sway are numbered in Spain; that you
will not be permitted much longer to plunder her, to scoff at her,
and to scourge her with scorpions, as in bygone periods. See I not
the hand on the wall? See I not in yonder letters a 'Mene, mene,
Tekel, Upharsin'? Look to thyself, Batuschca."
And I remained for two hours, leaning against the wall, staring at
the shop.
A short time after the establishment of the despacho at Madrid, I
once more mounted the saddle, and, attended by Antonio, rode over
to Toledo, for the purpose of circulating the Scriptures, sending
beforehand by a muleteer a cargo of one hundred Testaments. I
instantly addressed myself to the principal bookseller of the
place, whom from the circumstance of his living in a town so
abounding with canons, priests, and ex-friars as Toledo, I expected
to find a Carlist, or a servile at least. I was never more
mistaken in my life; on entering the shop, which was very large and
commodious, I beheld a stout athletic man, dressed in a kind of
cavalry uniform, with a helmet on his head, and an immense sabre in
his hand: this was the bookseller himself, who I soon found was an
officer in the national cavalry. Upon learning who I was, he shook
me heartily by the hand, and said that nothing would give him
greater pleasure than taking charge of the books, which he would
endeavour to circulate to the utmost of his ability.
"Will not your doing so bring you into odium with the clergy?"
"Ca!" said he; "who cares? I am rich, and so was my father before
me. I do not depend on them, they cannot hate me more than they do
already, for I make no secret of my opinions. I have just returned
from an expedition," said he; "my brother nationals and myself
have, for the last three days, been occupied in hunting down the
factious and thieves of the neighbourhood; we have killed three and
brought in several prisoners. Who cares for the cowardly priests?
I am a liberal, Don Jorge, and a friend of your countryman,
Flinter. Many is the Carlist guerilla-curate and robber-friar whom
I have assisted him to catch. I am rejoiced to hear that he has
just been appointed captain-general of Toledo; there will be fine
doings here when he arrives, Don Jorge. We will make the clergy
shake between us, I assure you."
Toledo was formerly the capital of Spain. Its population at
present is barely fifteen thousand souls, though, in the time of
the Romans, and also during the Middle Ages, it is said to have
amounted to between two and three hundred thousand. It is situated
about twelve leagues (forty miles) westward of Madrid, and is built
upon a steep rocky hill, round which flows the Tagus, on all sides
but the north. It still possesses a great many remarkable
edifices, notwithstanding that it has long since fallen into decay.
Its cathedral is the most magnificent of Spain, and is the see of
the primate. In the tower of this cathedral is the famous bell of
Toledo, the largest in the world with the exception of the monster
bell of Moscow, which I have also seen. It weighs 1,543 arrobes,
or 37,032 pounds. It has, however, a disagreeable sound, owing to
a cleft in its side. Toledo could once boast the finest pictures
in Spain, but many were stolen or destroyed by the French during
the Peninsular war, and still more have lately been removed by
order of the government. Perhaps the most remarkable one still
remains; I allude to that which represents the burial of the Count
of Orgaz, the masterpiece of Domenico, the Greek, a most
extraordinary genius, some of whose productions possess merit of a
very high order. The picture in question is in the little parish
church of San Tome, at the bottom of the aisle, on the left side of
the altar. Could it be purchased, I should say it would be cheap
at five thousand pounds.
Amongst the many remarkable things which meet the eye of the
curious observer at Toledo, is the manufactory of arms, where are
wrought the swords, spears, and other weapons intended for the
army, with the exception of fire-arms, which mostly come from
abroad.
In old times, as is well known, the sword-blades of Toledo were
held in great estimation, and were transmitted as merchandise
throughout Christendom. The present manufactory, or fabrica, as it
is called, is a handsome modern edifice, situated without the wall
of the city, on a plain contiguous to the river, with which it
communicates by a small canal. It is said that the water and the
sand of the Tagus are essential for the proper tempering of the
swords. I asked some of the principal workmen whether, at the
present day, they could manufacture weapons of equal value to those
of former days, and whether the secret had been lost.
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