CHAPTER XXXI
It was the twenty-first day of February. A man whom I did not know cameup 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? Theytold me yesterday that you were dead. How I envied you! I see that youare 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 theCalle de Anton Trillo, at the entrance of the garden. Come, and we willbury her."
"I am more in a condition to be buried myself than to bury anybody. Whodoes 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 theepidemic leaves in the face. She lies as if she had fallen asleep. Herface rests upon the ground, and she holds her hands to her ears as ifshe were shutting out sounds."
"She does well. The noise of the shooting disturbed her. It seems to meas 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 othercomrades conducted me. My eyes did not let me see anything very well,and I only saw a shadowy figure stretched out there. Augustine andthe other two raised the body, phantom or reality, which was there. Ibelieve I made out her face, and on seeing it a great darkness fellupon my soul.
"She has not the slightest wound," said Augustine, "not one drop ofblood is upon her. Her eyelids are not swollen like those of the peoplewho died of the epidemic. Mariquilla has not died of anything. Can yousee her, Gabriel? It seems as if this figure that I hold in my arms hasnever been alive. It seems as if she is a beautiful, waxen image that Ihave loved in my dreams, showing herself to me with life, speech, andaction. Do you see her? I see that all the inhabitants of this streetare dead. If they were alive, I would call them to tell them that Iloved her. Why did I hide it like a crime? Mariquilla, my wife, whydidst 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 doI still have that which they call life, and you not? Where shall I findyou, to hear you, to talk with you, and to come to you so that you maysee 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 youhave left me? The earth is insupportable to me. Despair possesses mysoul. In vain I call unto God that He fill it with Himself. God doesnot answer me, and since you have gone, Mariquilla, the universe isempty."
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 twocomrades, 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 besidethe ruined wall, looked in. I saw him, and trembled. He was greatlychanged, cadaverous, with sunken eyes and uncertain step. His glancewas without brilliancy; his body was bent; and he seemed to have agedtwenty years since last I saw him. His clothing was of rags stainedwith blood and mire. In another place, and at another time, he wouldhave been taken for an octogenarian, come to beg alms. He came nearerto us, and said in a voice so feeble that we could scarcely hear,--
"Augustine, my son, what are you doing here?"
"Se?or, my father, I am burying Mariquilla," replied Augustine, withoutemotion.
"Why are you doing that? Why such solicitude for a stranger? The bodyof your poor brother lies even now unburied among the patriots. Whyhave you separated yourself from your mother and your sister?"
"My sister is surrounded by kind and affectionate people to take careof her, while this one has nobody but myself."
Don Jos? de Montoria, more gloomy and thoughtful than I had ever seenhim, said nothing, and began to throw earth into the grave where theyhad 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. Thesepeople have no soul. Come with me, and we will talk about yourself."
"Se?or," 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 Saragossato go to the Monastery de Veruela, where I shall stay until I die."
The garrison, according to the stipulation, were to leave with militaryhonors by the Puerta del Portillo. I was so ill, so weakened by awound lately received, and by hunger and fatigue, my comrades almosthad to carry me. I scarcely saw the French as with sadness rather thanrejoicing they took possession of that which had been a city. It was acity of terrible ruins, a city of desolation, worthy to be mourned byJeremiah 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 wouldbe 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 theEbro was hurrying along on its current. They were two victims of thosemurderous soldiers that Lannes commands. They were Santiago Sas,commander of those brave musketeers of the parish of San Pablo, andFather 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 theydid the same with Sas."
"And our protector and friend, Don Jos? de Montoria, what of him?"
"Thanks to the efforts of the chief-justice, he is still alive; butthey want to shoot me, if you please. Did you ever see such savages?Palafox, it seems, is being taken a prisoner to France, although theypromised to respect his person. In short, my boy, this is a nation Ishould not like to meet in heaven. And what do you say to that littlebarrack-sergeant of a marshal, Se?or Lannes? He does not lack impudenceto do what he has done. He has taken the treasures of the Virgin delPilar, saying that they were not safe in the church. After he saw sucha quantity of precious stones, diamonds, emeralds, and rubies, it seemsthat they got into his eyes, so that he held on to them. In order tohide 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 fightagainst such a highway robber. And so Montoria said also, when I tookmy leave of him. Poor Don Jos?, how sad it is! I give him but few yearsof life. The death of his elder son, and the resolution of Augustine tobecome a priest, make him very downcast and extremely melancholy."
Don Roque had stopped to keep me company for a little time. And now weseparated.
After I recovered, I continued in the campaign of 1809, taking part inother battles, becoming acquainted with new people, and establishingnew friendships, or renewing the old.
Later, I shall relate some things about that year, as AndresilloMarijuan told them to me, when I chanced upon him in Castile, as I wasreturning from Talavera and he from Gerona.
THE END