The Life of George Borrow [136]
Ben-Attar, whom he commanded instantly to show the way to my apartments. On the Servant's demanding by what authority he came, he said, "Cease chattering" (Deje cuentos), "I shall give no account to you; show me the way; if not, I will take you to prison as I did your master: I come to search for prohibited books." The Moor, who being in a strange land was somewhat intimidated, complied and led him to the rooms occupied by me, when the Alcalde flung about my books and papers, finding nothing which could in the slightest degree justify his search, the few books being all either in Hebrew or Arabic character (they consisted of the Mitchna and some commentaries on the Coran); he at last took up a large knife which lay on a chair and which I myself purchased some months previous at Santa Cruz in La Mancha as a curiosity--the place being famous for those knives--and expressed his determination to take it away as a prohibited article. The Escribano, however, cautioned him against doing so, and he flung it down. He now became very vociferous and attempted to force his way into some apartments occupied by the Ladies, my friends; but soon desisted and at last went away, after using some threatening words to my Moorish Servant. Late at night of the second day of my imprisonment, I was set at liberty by virtue of an order of the Captain General, given on application of the British Consul, after having been for thirty hours imprisoned amongst the worst felons of Andalusia, though to do them justice I must say that I experienced from them nothing but kindness and hospitality.
The above, Sir, is the correct statement of the affair which has now brought me to Madrid. What could have induced the Alcalde in question to practise such atrocious behaviour towards me I am at a loss to conjecture, unless he were instigated by certain enemies which I possess in Seville. However this may be, I now call upon you, as the Representative of the Government of which I am a Subject, to demand of the Minister of the Spanish Crown full and ample satisfaction for the various outrages detailed above. In conclusion, I must be permitted to add that I will submit to no compromise, but will never cease to claim justice until the culprit has received condign punishment.
I am, etc., etc., etc. GEORGE BORROW. MADRID (no date).
Recorded 6th December [1839]." {313a}
Thus it happened that on 19th December Mr Brandram received the following letter:-
PRISON OF SEVILLE, 25th Nov. 1839.
I write these lines, as you see, from the common prison of Seville, to which I was led yesterday, or rather dragged, neither for murder nor robbery nor debt, but simply for having endeavoured to obtain a passport for Cordoba, to which place I was going with my Jewish servant Hayim Ben-Attar.
When questioned by the Vice-Consul as to his authority for searching Borrow's house, the Alcalde produced a paper purporting to be the deposition of an old woman to whom Borrow was alleged to have sold a Testament some ten days previously. The document Borrow pronounced a forgery and the statement untrue.
Borrow's fellow-prisoners treated him with unbounded kindness and hospitality, and he was forced to confess that he had "never found himself amongst more quiet and well-behaved men." Nothing shows more clearly the power of Borrow's personality over rogues and vagabonds than the two periods spent in Spanish prisons--at Madrid and at Seville. Mr Brandram must have shuddered when he read Borrow's letter telling him by what manner of men he was surrounded.
"What is their history?" he writes apropos of his fellow-prisoners. "The handsome black-haired man, who is now looking over my shoulder, is the celebrated thief, Pelacio, the most expert housebreaker and dexterous swindler in Spain--in a word, the modern Guzman D'alfarache. The brawny man who sits by the brasero of charcoal is Salvador, the highwayman of Ronda, who has committed a hundred murders. A fashionably dressed man, short and slight in person, is walking about the room: he wears immense whiskers
The above, Sir, is the correct statement of the affair which has now brought me to Madrid. What could have induced the Alcalde in question to practise such atrocious behaviour towards me I am at a loss to conjecture, unless he were instigated by certain enemies which I possess in Seville. However this may be, I now call upon you, as the Representative of the Government of which I am a Subject, to demand of the Minister of the Spanish Crown full and ample satisfaction for the various outrages detailed above. In conclusion, I must be permitted to add that I will submit to no compromise, but will never cease to claim justice until the culprit has received condign punishment.
I am, etc., etc., etc. GEORGE BORROW. MADRID (no date).
Recorded 6th December [1839]." {313a}
Thus it happened that on 19th December Mr Brandram received the following letter:-
PRISON OF SEVILLE, 25th Nov. 1839.
I write these lines, as you see, from the common prison of Seville, to which I was led yesterday, or rather dragged, neither for murder nor robbery nor debt, but simply for having endeavoured to obtain a passport for Cordoba, to which place I was going with my Jewish servant Hayim Ben-Attar.
When questioned by the Vice-Consul as to his authority for searching Borrow's house, the Alcalde produced a paper purporting to be the deposition of an old woman to whom Borrow was alleged to have sold a Testament some ten days previously. The document Borrow pronounced a forgery and the statement untrue.
Borrow's fellow-prisoners treated him with unbounded kindness and hospitality, and he was forced to confess that he had "never found himself amongst more quiet and well-behaved men." Nothing shows more clearly the power of Borrow's personality over rogues and vagabonds than the two periods spent in Spanish prisons--at Madrid and at Seville. Mr Brandram must have shuddered when he read Borrow's letter telling him by what manner of men he was surrounded.
"What is their history?" he writes apropos of his fellow-prisoners. "The handsome black-haired man, who is now looking over my shoulder, is the celebrated thief, Pelacio, the most expert housebreaker and dexterous swindler in Spain--in a word, the modern Guzman D'alfarache. The brawny man who sits by the brasero of charcoal is Salvador, the highwayman of Ronda, who has committed a hundred murders. A fashionably dressed man, short and slight in person, is walking about the room: he wears immense whiskers