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The True Saga of Nicolás
Gliocho’s Last Ride into the Nejed
This is a synopsis of a book that Andrew Steen is writing about a famous group of Arabian horses obtained and imported to Spain in 1850 on behalf of Queen Isabel II. The Backdrop The Saga and its Story Line Gliocho’s eleven months disappearance in the unexplored Nejed desert makes the exploits of everyone but ‘Indiana Jones’ seem mundane, especially if one remembers that he had ventured “on various occasions” into some of the same uncharted regions at least twenty years before most of the great European explorers arrived. Those included Richard Burton (1855), and William Palgrave (1862), and Gliocho’s journey took place a full forty years before Wilfrid Scawen and Lady Anne Blunt’s (1879) well known adventures into these desolate hinterlands. Yet never has Gliocho received the least credit or public recognition!
The First Act Perhaps it was in an informal family conversation that took place at the Royal Palace in Madrid or at the Summer Palace at Aranjuez. Both ‘Royal Sites’ have long been renowned for their opulence, political intrigue, and romantic escapades. Either would be a fitting stage to match the grandeur and beauty for which the Arabian horse is famous.
The
Duke’s personal financial empire was derived in part from being the nation’s
second largest private breeder of horses. He owned well over 100 broodmares.
In 1846, Muñoz decided to purchase three Arabian stallions and a
like number of mares directly from the Syrian Desert. Undoubtedly he had
been motivated by the sound advice offered by Francisco Laiglesia, a gifted
equestrian and author, who had grown up in London and translated several
equestrian books written by the Duke of Newcastle.
To
transport the stones, he had bought a Persian stallion of the Kavajan cast,
an animal that eventually arrived along with the purebred Arabians at the
Royal Farm and became quite a famous sire of coach horses. The intricate
details about the acquisition of the bas-reliefs from the Palace of Sennacherib
and the knowledge that it was Gliocho who was responsible for obtaining
them, resolved a long-standing mystery at that illustrious institution.
That account is just one of many extremely interesting aspects of this
saga.
“Although for some days I have felt better in these parts, I am not yet recovered; I always have pains in my chest and I tire at the slightest effort. In spite of that I have decided to renew the journey as soon as it is possible to do so. Which I hope will be next week- just as soon as it is possible to cross the new bridge over the Tigris, because if I attempt to transport the horses by boat they might possibly injure themselves. It is as difficult to find grooms as it is to find feed, I have resorted to using country peasants to lead the horses by hand.In some respects Gliocho’s determination and love for his wife and young family are perhaps the most moving aspect of the story. Through his letters, and statements made by his wife, one senses that he knew that his desperate mission was doomed from the very beginning, yet in failing health and at the approximate age of 55 he embarked upon his last valiant ride nevertheless. Undoubtedly, he figured that he could make enough from his labors to pay the mortgage on a beer brewery that he operated in Pera, the European section of Constantinople. The Second Act Their first destination was the Vatican, which journey was partly made in the first steam-powered train that either of the priests had ever seen. The description of its velocity and the vertigo that it provoked are just the appetizer for a delicious recapitulation of their journey, including an anecdote about their accidental voyage on a ship bound for Malta. Much to their surprise Pope Pius IX jumped on board at the last minute in Naples, his Holiness having fled the French troops that invaded Rome only the day before, during the short-lived 1849 proclamation of the Roman Republic. From that island they sailed to Beirut and boarded a small Arab Doha, which after four terrifying days at sea deposited them on the beach of the Syrian port of Iskanderun. Then on donkeys over the Tarus Mountains, on the same road that Alexander the Great had once pursued Darius before the battle of Issus, they rode on to Aleppo. After a few weeks’ stay in that interesting city they embarked on their unescorted trek toward Urfa, thence all the way across the untamed territories of Southern Turkey, until arriving in semi-civilized Diarbekir, Kurdistan, four months later. During the time that Gliocho was in the Nejed and Baghdad, the two Capachinos re-established the only Spanish mission and hospital within a radius of several hundred miles. Their story is highly interesting in itself. Despite its pious overtones, the account of their adventure is at times unintentionally quite humorous. It is told in their own words from detailed letters that they sent back to their fellow monks. (These documents are now kept in the Vatican Archives.) Indeed in some religious circles they were quite famous holy men. Three different books were written describing their twenty year experiences and good deeds living amidst the Kurds. Unfortunately, none contain any mention of the vital role they played in the importation of Arabian horses. After the tremendous ordeal of leading the horses out of the desert, Gliocho, along with his trusted and loyal side-kick named Gorge Frifili and twenty Arab and Persian grooms, arrived at their Mission’s door. This was just a matter of days before Gliocho suddenly died. With great difficulty (using letters delivered by Post horses that crossed the mountains about every three weeks) Padre Angel de Pamplona sent many pages of detailed reports to Gerardo de Souza in Constantinople. His letters are amongst the most interesting of the entire sequence. The events surrounding the death of Gliocho and the precarious state of the Commission and the horses are related with such passion and eloquence by the Capuchino friar that they are next to impossible to translate into another language. His descriptions of Frifili’s dedication to his former employer and his expert care of the horses make Gorge perhaps the most sympathetic character of the entire story. In contrast to the Plenipotenciario and the Priest, who as Spaniards looking out for the interests of their Queen and aware of her generosity covertly conspire to stack the deck in her favor, Padre Pamplona was induced to take charge of all of the documents that Gliocho had accumulated in his journey, some of which were sent up the chimney in smoke. At this stage of the story commences the most elaborate, costly, and complicated rescue mission imaginable. The manner in which mountains were moved to save the horses seems almost inconceivable. In a cabinet meeting the Prime Minister even contemplated sending the Spanish Navy to fetch them. However, that proved to be unnecessary. From Madrid four men including a famous veterinarian, Martin Grande, were immediately dispatched to collect the horses. Within five days they had reached Barcelona and shortly thereafter arrived to Marseilles. It is at this stage that the Rothschild Bank and its affiliates enter the picture in earnest. Tapia Calderon y Co. and Roux de Fraissenet were ordered to make 40,000 francs available to the hastily recruited new Commission. On the first Pacquet-Vapor the Queen’s most trusted equestrian and Eugenio Vautró, a high ranking officer of the Palace Intendencia, set sail (also via Malta and other ports of call) for Constantinople. In the meantime Gerardo de Souza acting on his own volition commissioned a Polish horseman residing in Constantinople named Pablo Szymanski to travel to Diarbekir. His orders were to take charge of the horses, and drive them to the capitol as soon as the winter snows blocking the high mountain passes of Kurdistan could be traversed. The first stage of his journey is very similar to that of both Layard and Gliocho, across the Black Sea to the port of Samson, then overland on horseback until arriving at the principle city of Kurdistan. At this point the plot thickens. Szymanski turned out to be the wrong man for the job, and a dishonest individual, at least in the zealous eyes of the new Commission. Because his contract called for payment for each day that the task entailed, he was in no great rush to escort the horses over the mountains and Anatolia plateau at lightning speed. Quite naturally he chose the longest route and took his own sweet time. Moreover, instead of paying the bills incurred during the months that the horses had stayed in Diarbekir, Szymanski used the Queen’s funds to speculate for his personal gain. He bought thirty-one additional non-Arab horses in central Turkey, which he planed to sell at a handsome profit. For several weeks there was no trace of the horses, which prompted an anxious search across the Turkish countryside for the lost herd that by then numbered over eighty equines. All were eventually found outside of Ankara, where Szymanski was deprived of not only his salary and bonus, but also the animals he had hoped to sell. Shortly thereafter they were auctioned off at Santiri for 25,800 piastra, thus enriching the Queen’s coffers by several thousand francs. Now under Vautró and Martin Grande’s command, the ownership of the Arabians became a bone of contention and Sofia Gliocho was obliged to prove that thirteen of their number had been bought with her husband’s personal funds, borrowed in Odessa before his departure. Therefore, she stubbornly maintained that they were not the property of the Queen. To resolve the complicated issue a committee of the Constantinople Stock Exchange meditated the conflicting issues and ruled in Sofie’s favor. Under the most flimsy legal pretexts, de Souza, Vautró and Grande had asserted that Gliocho’s untimely death had cost Her Majesty a great quantity of money and caused her much inconvenience. Accordingly they alleged that his widow and seven children (six of whom were minors), were not entitled to any compensation. That’s where the lawyers, Count Branicki, and Emperor Franz-Joseph, come into the picture, as do a cast of colorful secondary characters and common crooks. Truly, Charles Dickens would be hard pressed to invent a more picturesque bunch of men and women or a more melodramatic plot.
On
September 9, 1850, with all of the horses on European soil, they began
their march across the lovely southern French countryside. Almost every
step of the remainder of their journey is beautifully documented, including
detailed descriptions about the sickness of two of the horses, which were
subsequently left behind. One caught-up at Naborron, having traveled on
a train from Méze; the other was collected at Bayonne by one of
Isabel’s most detrimental and notorious lovers, the Marquis de Bedmar.
The Third Act She traveled to Madrid, where with considerable difficulty she stayed for five months until she had managed to redeem Gliocho’s name. On March 8, 1851, she was paid the fantastic sum of 150,000 pesetas, a sizable amount of money by any standard for those times. Her goal had been accomplished thanks in large part to the direct intervention of Franz-Joseph, who less than three years before had been crowned Emperor of Austria. Martin Grande was given the Cross of Carlos III and the other members of the Commission, including Gorge Frifili, were similarly decorated and recompensed with double their annual salary as a bonus from the Queen. One might conclude that ‘all’s well that ends well’; however, subsequent events were not quite as blissful as they might have been. The story ends by depicting the fateful downfall that transpired afterwards, when in 1867, because of her inaptitude for governing the nation, and the interminable scandals provoked by her lascivious conduct, Isabel II was expelled from Spain by a popular uprising known as the September Revolution. Perhaps a sadder tragedy was how all of the horses were sold off at auction for a fraction of their value and how their tremendous genetic potential was allowed to be completely wasted. Although one black stallion had been given to Narváez and a few were bought by the Domecq family of Jerez, none produced any purebred descendants that established lasting bloodlines. Undoubtedly some ended up pulling carts or cabs through the city streets. When all was said and done, their acquisition and all of the “superhuman sacrifice endured by Gliocho” had been made for nothing. The only tangible traces that remain are two magnificent paintings, both by the French artist Charles Porion. The first is a huge mural about forty feet wide at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Madrid depicting no less than 30 of Isabel’s favorite Generals dressed in gala uniforms and mounted on their noble-looking steeds.
The second smaller painting owned by the Prado but on permanent display in the Museo Romántico is without a doubt the finest likeness ever done of the Queen. It portrays Isabel II, her husband Francisco de Asis, and the eight most important Spanish Generals of that era, (Castaños, Echagüe, Espartero, O’Donnell, Narváez, etc.) each mounted on one of the magnificent Arabian horses that had cost Gliocho his life.
Copyright
© 2004 by the Spanish Arabian Horse Society.
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