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"A singular person is this Oliban," said I to Galiano; "you cannot imagine what trouble he gives me: he is continually talking about the Council of Trent." "I wish he was in the Trent up to the middle," said Galiano, who, as I have observed already, spoke excellent English; "I wish he was there for talking such nonsense.
At length Galiano came to me and said, "There is some difficulty with respect to this business of yours, but I have told Oliban that you are a friend of mine, and he says that that is sufficient; remain with him now, and he will do anything to oblige you; your affair is settled farewell"; whereupon he departed and I remained with Oliban, who proceeded forthwith to write something, which having concluded, he took out a box of cigars, and having lighted one and offered me another, which I declined as I do not smoke, he placed his feet against the table, and thus proceeded to address me, speaking in the French language.
However," said he, "we must not offend Oliban, he is one of us, and has done us much service; he is, moreover, a very clever man, but he is an Aragonese, and when one of that nation once gets an idea into his head, it is the most difficult thing in the world to dislodge it; however, we will go to him; he is an old friend of mine, and I have no doubt but that we shall be able to make him listen to reason."
"Does he?" said Oliban; "that indeed alters the case: if you can show me that His Excellency takes in interest in this business, I certainly shall not oppose myself to it." The British minister performed all I could wish, and much more than I could expect; he had an interview with the Duke of Rivas, with whom he had much discourse upon my affair: the duke was all smiles and courtesy.
"Then His Excellency cannot give you permission," said the Aragonese secretary: "it was determined by the Council of Trent that no part of the Scripture should be printed in any Christian country without the notes of the church." "How many years was that ago?" I demanded. "I do not know how many years ago it was," said Oliban; "but such was the decree of the Council of Trent."
"You want permission to print the Testament?" "I do," said I. "And you have come to His Excellency about it," continued Oliban. "Very true," I replied. "I suppose you intend to print it without notes." "Yes."
He received me with the greatest affability; and having heard what I had to say, he replied with a most captivating bow, and a genuine Andalusian grimace: "Go to my secretary; go to my secretary el hara por usted el gusio." So I went to the secretary, whose name was Oliban, an Aragonese, who was not handsome, and whose manners were neither elegant nor affable.
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