The Bible in Spain, Vol. 2 [of 2] Or, the Journeys, Adventures, and Imprisonments of an Englishman in an Attempt to Circulate the Scriptures in the Peninsula — Story, Setting & Ideas

Imprisonment and the Soga Incident

Victoriano’s imprisonment at Fuente la Higuera turns on a rope—a soga used to fasten his satchel. When he asks for his saddle-bags as a pillow, the alcalde seizes on the rope as evidence of suicidal intent, a grave insult to a Spaniard. Victoriano’s furious retort—“take it home and use it for your own neck”—captures the absurdity of the accusation. The alcalde’s nightly visits with twelve armed men, the forbidding of pen and paper, and the stationing of boys to watch the window all illustrate a paranoid local governance.

The rescue itself is a study in resourcefulness: the posada people hide a pen and inkhorn in a loaf of bread, and a disbanded soldier carries the letter on foot all night. Borrow’s subsequent intervention—letters to the civil governor and Antonio’s bold confrontation—shows how networks of influence and personal courage could override village tyranny.

Borrow’s Own Arrest and Prison Life

Borrow’s arrest in Madrid (Chapter XXXIX) follows a warrant issued after he distributes Gospels. The alguazil and the good Maria’s role in the arrest are sketched briefly, but the prison scenes that follow are detailed. In the Carcel de la Corte, Borrow describes the “robber dress” of fellow inmates, a father and son imprisoned together, and a Frenchman who shares his cell. The prison allowance is meager, yet Borrow insists on speaking “pure Castilian” and demands redress.

These chapters (XL–XLII) contrast with the rural imprisonment of Victoriano: in Madrid, the authorities are more bureaucratic, but the threat of violence is ever-present. Borrow’s reflections on “the valley of the shadow” and his encounter with the Greek ambassador add a layer of cosmopolitan observation to the grim setting.

Travels, Language, and Local Encounters

Interspersed with the imprisonment narratives are journeys through Galicia and Asturias. Borrow’s observations on the Basque language (Chapter XXXVII) are a notable digression: he argues that Basque is not related to Irish, and discusses its vowel system and Sanscrit and Tartar dialects. These linguistic notes, though brief, reflect his broader interest in the peoples he meets.

Other episodes—the crossing to Ferrol, the night alarm in the Black Pass, the encounter with the “mighty liberal” on the beach—show Borrow’s eye for character and incident. The volume also includes a visit to the cathedral of Oviedo and a portrait of Feijoo. Throughout, the tension between the Bible’s message and local resistance is balanced by moments of hospitality, as when a posada owner helps Victoriano or a disbanded soldier risks his safety to carry a letter.

Readers of this volume will find a narrative that moves between high drama—arrests, threats of violence, and narrow escapes—and quieter passages of travel and linguistic curiosity. Borrow’s voice is direct, often wry, and his attention to the details of Spanish life—from the alcalde’s nightly rounds to the taste of prison fare—gives the account a vivid, reportorial quality. The volume stands as a record of one man’s persistence in the face of institutional obstruction, and of the varied human responses to his mission.

Sitting with Borrow in that Madrid prison, I kept thinking about borders—how they frustrate the spirit while shaping it. His Basque detours felt like quiet resistance to every map. That same ache for meaning beyond boundaries surfaced later in Europe—whither bound? (Quo vadis Europa?) — Reading Companion, where a continent’s own wandering feels less like politics, more like homesickness. Both left me staring out the window, wondering what we carry when the roads close.