It Was The Commencement Of February When I Reached Madrid.
After
staying a few days at a posada, I removed to a lodging which I
engaged at No.
3, in the Calle de la Zarza, a dark dirty street,
which, however, was close to the Puerta del Sol, the most central
point of Madrid, into which four or five of the principal streets
debouche, and which is, at all times of the year, the great place
of assemblage for the idlers of the capital, poor or rich.
It was rather a singular house in which I had taken up my abode. I
occupied the front part of the first floor; my apartments consisted
of an immense parlour, and a small chamber on one side in which I
slept; the parlour, notwithstanding its size, contained very little
furniture: a few chairs, a table, and a species of sofa,
constituted the whole. It was very cold and airy, owing to the
draughts which poured in from three large windows, and from sundry
doors. The mistress of the house, attended by her two daughters,
ushered me in. "Did you ever see a more magnificent apartment?"
demanded the former; "is it not fit for a king's son? Last winter
it was occupied by the great General Espartero."
The hostess was an exceedingly fat woman, a native of Valladolid,
in Old Castile. "Have you any other family," I demanded, "besides
these daughters?" "Two sons," she replied; "one of them an officer
in the army, father of this urchin," pointing to a wicked but
clever looking boy of about twelve, who at that moment bounded into
the room; "the other is the most celebrated national in Madrid: he
is a tailor by trade, and his name is Baltasar. He has much
influence with the other nationals, on account of the liberality of
his opinions, and a word from him is sufficient to bring them all
out armed and furious to the Puerta del Sol. He is, however, at
present confined to his bed, for he is very dissipated and fond of
the company of bull-fighters and people still worse."
As my principal motive for visiting the Spanish capital was the
hope of obtaining permission from the government to print the New
Testament in the Castilian language, for circulation in Spain, I
lost no time, upon my arrival, in taking what I considered to be
the necessary steps.
I was an entire stranger at Madrid, and bore no letters of
introduction to any persons of influence, who might have assisted
me in this undertaking, so that, notwithstanding I entertained a
hope of success, relying on the assistance of the Almighty, this
hope was not at all times very vivid, but was frequently overcast
with the clouds of despondency.
Mendizabal was at this time prime minister of Spain, and was
considered as a man of almost unbounded power, in whose hands were
placed the destinies of the country. I therefore considered that
if I could by any means induce him to favour my views, I should
have no reason to fear interruption from other quarters, and I
determined upon applying to him.
Before talking this step, however, I deemed it advisable to wait
upon Mr. Villiers, the British ambassador at Madrid; and with the
freedom permitted to a British subject, to ask his advice in this
affair. I was received with great kindness, and enjoyed a
conversation with him on various subjects before I introduced the
matter which I had most at heart. He said that if I wished for an
interview with Mendizabal, he would endeavour to procure me one,
but, at the same time, told me frankly that he could not hope that
any good would arise from it, as he knew him to be violently
prejudiced against the British and Foreign Bible Society, and was
far more likely to discountenance than encourage any efforts which
they might be disposed to make for introducing the Gospel into
Spain. I, however, remained resolute in my desire to make the
trial, and before I left him, obtained a letter of introduction to
Mendizabal.
Early one morning I repaired to the palace, in a wing of which was
the office of the Prime Minister; it was bitterly cold, and the
Guadarama, of which there is a noble view from the palace-plain,
was covered with snow. For at least three hours I remained
shivering with cold in an ante-room, with several other aspirants
for an interview with the man of power. At last his private
secretary made his appearance, and after putting various questions
to the others, addressed himself to me, asking who I was and what I
wanted. I told him that I was an Englishman, and the bearer of a
letter from the British Minister. "If you have no objection, I
will myself deliver it to His Excellency," said he; whereupon I
handed it to him and he withdrew. Several individuals were
admitted before me; at last, however, my own turn came, and I was
ushered into the presence of Mendizabal.
He stood behind a table covered with papers, on which his eyes were
intently fixed. He took not the slightest notice when I entered,
and I had leisure enough to survey him: he was a huge athletic
man, somewhat taller than myself, who measure six feet two without
my shoes; his complexion was florid, his features fine and regular,
his nose quite aquiline, and his teeth splendidly white: though
scarcely fifty years of age, his hair was remarkably grey; he was
dressed in a rich morning gown, with a gold chain round his neck,
and morocco slippers on his feet.
His secretary, a fine intellectual looking man, who, as I was
subsequently informed, had acquired a name both in English and
Spanish literature, stood at one end of the table with papers in
his hands.
After I had been standing about a quarter of an hour, Mendizabal
suddenly lifted up a pair of sharp eyes, and fixed them upon me
with a peculiarly scrutinizing glance.
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