It was the twenty-first day of February. A man whom I did not know came
up to me, and said,--
"Come, Gabriel, I have need of thee."
"Who are you?" I asked him. "I do not recognize you."
"I am Augustine Montoria," he answered. "Am I so much disfigured? They
told me yesterday that you were dead. How I envied you! I see that you
are as unfortunate as I, and that you are living still. Do you know,
my friend, what I have just seen? The body of Mariquilla. It is in the
Calle de Anton Trillo, at the entrance of the garden. Come, and we will
bury her."
"I am more in a condition to be buried myself than to bury anybody. Who
does that now? Of what did this woman die?"
"Of nothing, Gabriel, of nothing."
"That is a singular death. I do not understand it."
"Mariquilla's body shows no wounds, nor any of the signs which the
epidemic leaves in the face. She lies as if she had fallen asleep. Her
face rests upon the ground, and she holds her hands to her ears as if
she were shutting out sounds."
"She does well. The noise of the shooting disturbed her. It seems to me
as if I could hear it yet."
"Come with me and help me. I have here a spade."
I arrived with difficulty at the place where my friend and two other
comrades conducted me. My eyes did not let me see anything very well,
and I only saw a shadowy figure stretched out there. Augustine and
the other two raised the body, phantom or reality, which was there. I
believe I made out her face, and on seeing it a great darkness fell
upon my soul.
"She has not the slightest wound," said Augustine, "not one drop of
blood is upon her. Her eyelids are not swollen like those of the people
who died of the epidemic. Mariquilla has not died of anything. Can you
see her, Gabriel? It seems as if this figure that I hold in my arms has
never been alive. It seems as if she is a beautiful, waxen image that I
have loved in my dreams, showing herself to me with life, speech, and
action. Do you see her? I see that all the inhabitants of this street
are dead. If they were alive, I would call them to tell them that I
loved her. Why did I hide it like a crime? Mariquilla, my wife, why
didst thou die, without wounds, without sickness? What is the matter?
What was it? Where are you now? Are you thinking? Do you remember me?
Do you know, perhaps, that I am living? Mariquilla, Mariquilla, why do
I still have that which they call life, and you not? Where shall I find
you, to hear you, to talk with you, and to come to you so that you may
see me? Everything is dark around me since you have closed your eyes.
How long will this night of my soul endure, this solitude in which you
have left me? The earth is insupportable to me. Despair possesses my
soul. In vain I call unto God that He fill it with Himself. God does
not answer me, and since you have gone, Mariquilla, the universe is
empty."
As he said this, we heard a sound as of many people coming near.
"It is the French. They have taken possession of the Coso," said one.
"Friends, dig this grave quickly," said Augustine, speaking to his two
comrades, who were digging a great hole at the foot of the cypress.
"If not, the French will come, and will take her from us."
A man advanced along the Calle de Anton Trillo, and, stopping beside
the ruined wall, looked in. I saw him, and trembled. He was greatly
changed, cadaverous, with sunken eyes and uncertain step. His glance
was without brilliancy; his body was bent; and he seemed to have aged
twenty years since last I saw him. His clothing was of rags stained
with blood and mire. In another place, and at another time, he would
have been taken for an octogenarian, come to beg alms. He came nearer
to us, and said in a voice so feeble that we could scarcely hear,--
"Augustine, my son, what are you doing here?"
"Señor, my father, I am burying Mariquilla," replied Augustine, without
emotion.
"Why are you doing that? Why such solicitude for a stranger? The body
of your poor brother lies even now unburied among the patriots. Why
have you separated yourself from your mother and your sister?"
"My sister is surrounded by kind and affectionate people to take care
of her, while this one has nobody but myself."
Don José de Montoria, more gloomy and thoughtful than I had ever seen
him, said nothing, and began to throw earth into the grave where they
had placed the body of the beautiful girl.
"Throw in earth, my son, throw in earth quickly!" he cried, at last.
"All is indeed over. They have permitted the French to enter the city,
when it might still have been defended a couple of months more. These
people have no soul. Come with me, and we will talk about yourself."
"Señor," replied Augustine, in firm tones, "the French are in the city.
The gates are left free. It is now ten, and at twelve I leave Saragossa
to go to the Monastery de Veruela, where I shall stay until I die."
The garrison, according to the stipulation, were to leave with military
honors by the Puerta del Portillo. I was so ill, so weakened by a
wound lately received, and by hunger and fatigue, my comrades almost
had to carry me. I scarcely saw the French as with sadness rather than
rejoicing they took possession of that which had been a city. It was a
city of terrible ruins, a city of desolation, worthy to be mourned by
Jeremiah or sung by Homer.
In the Muela, where I stopped to recover myself, Don Roque appeared.
He was leaving the city, and feared being followed as a suspect.
"Gabriel," he said to me, "I never believed that the French mob would
be so vile. I hoped that in view of the heroic defence of the city,
they would be more human. Some days ago we saw two bodies which the
Ebro was hurrying along on its current. They were two victims of those
murderous soldiers that Lannes commands. They were Santiago Sas,
commander of those brave musketeers of the parish of San Pablo, and
Father Basilio Boggiero, teacher, friend, and counsellor of Palafox.
They say that they went and called up Father Basilio at midnight,
pretending that they wished to intrust an important commission to him;
and then they took him on their treacherous bayonets to the bridge,
where they pierced him through, and flung him into the river. And they
did the same with Sas."
"And our protector and friend, Don José de Montoria, what of him?"
"Thanks to the efforts of the chief-justice, he is still alive; but
they want to shoot me, if you please. Did you ever see such savages?
Palafox, it seems, is being taken a prisoner to France, although they
promised to respect his person. In short, my boy, this is a nation I
should not like to meet in heaven. And what do you say to that little
barrack-sergeant of a marshal, Señor Lannes? He does not lack impudence
to do what he has done. He has taken the treasures of the Virgin del
Pilar, saying that they were not safe in the church. After he saw such
a quantity of precious stones, diamonds, emeralds, and rubies, it seems
that they got into his eyes, so that he held on to them. In order to
hide his plundering, he pretends that the junta has given them to him.
Of a truth, I am sorry not to be young like yourself, so as to fight
against such a highway robber. And so Montoria said also, when I took
my leave of him. Poor Don José, how sad it is! I give him but few years
of life. The death of his elder son, and the resolution of Augustine to
become a priest, make him very downcast and extremely melancholy."
Don Roque had stopped to keep me company for a little time. And now we
separated.
After I recovered, I continued in the campaign of 1809, taking part in
other battles, becoming acquainted with new people, and establishing
new friendships, or renewing the old.
Later, I shall relate some things about that year, as Andresillo
Marijuan told them to me, when I chanced upon him in Castile, as I was
returning from Talavera and he from Gerona.
THE END
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==================================
Transcriber's Notes
-------------------
Spelling and hyphenation have been retained as in the original
publication, except as follows:
Page vi, 'Manuela Sanchez appears as a minor character' replaced by
'Manuela Sancho appears as a minor character'
Page 19, 'the place bordered on the Muella road' replaced by
'the place bordered on the Muela road'
Page 94, 'such as Don Mariano, Cereso the priest of Sas' replaced by
'such as Don Mariano Cereso the priest of Sas'
Page 198, 'thou my patron, Saint Domenguito del Val' replaced by
'thou my patron, Saint Dominguito del Val'
Page 240, 'details of those struggles in the Calle de la Pabostre'
replaced by
'details of those struggles in the Calle de Pabostre'
Page 244, 'not one Frenchman will be left alive.' replaced by
'not one Frenchman will be left alive."'
Page 260 'One of them, the one in the Calle de la Sombre' replaced by
'One of them, the one in the Calle de la Sombra'
Page 278, 'Don Marquis Simono, the distinguished' replaced by
'Don Marcos Simono, the distinguished'
Page 285, '"One must not speak ill of one's neighbor," said Don Jose."'
replaced by
'"One must not speak ill of one's neighbor," said Don José.'
Page 328, 'and from the the same person whom' replaced by
'and from the same person whom'
Page 345, 'but her national permanancy is and ever will' replaced by
'but her national permanency is and ever will'
Page 352, 'I continued in the compaign of 1809' replaced by
'I continued in the campaign of 1809'
Jerónimo/Jeronimo ("Jerónimo" was regularised to "Jeronimo"
since the former was used 2 times versus the later 17 times)