CHAPTER XXXI

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)