CHAPTER XII
My battalion did not take part in the sorties of the days of thetwenty-second and twenty-fourth, nor in the defence of the Molino andthe positions situated at the back of San Jos?, made glorious by thedestruction of many of our troops, where they had made the Frenchfeel the strength of their hand. It was not because they had not beencareful to take precautions, for indeed from the mouth of Huerva to theCarmen gate they stationed fifty cannon, most of them of heavy calibre,directing them with great skill against our weakest points. In spiteof all this, we laughed, or pretended to laugh, at them, as in thevain-glorious response of Palafox to Marshal Lannes (who had placedhimself since the twenty-second at the head of the besieging army), inwhich he said to him, "The conquest of this city will be a great honorto Monsieur the Marshal if he gains it in open fight, and not withbombs and grenades, which only terrify cowards."
Of course, after a few days had passed, it was known that the hoped-forforces and the powerful armies that were coming to free us were allmists of our imaginations, and especially of that of the journalist whoinvented them. There were no such armies of any sort roaming about tohelp us.
I understood very soon that all that which was published in the"Gazette" of the sixteenth was a canard, and so I said to Don Jos? deMontoria and his wife, who in their optimism attributed my incredulityto a lack of public spirit. I had gone with Augustine and others of myfriends to the Montoria house to help them at a task that was wearyingthem greatly. A part of their roof had been destroyed by the bombs,and this threatened the walls with destruction also. They were tryingto remedy this with all possible speed. The eldest son of Montoria,wounded in battle at the Molino, had been lodged with his wife and sonin the cellar of a house close by, and Do?a Leocadia gave her hands andfeet no rest, going and coming between the two houses, carrying thingswhich were necessary.
"I can't let anything be done by others," she said to me; "that ismy nature. Although I have servants, I am not content unless I doeverything myself. How has my son Augustine borne himself?"
"Like what he is, se?ora, a brave boy," I answered; "and his talent forwar is so great that I should not be surprised to see him a general ina couple of years."
"A general!" she exclaimed in surprise. "My son is going to chantmasses as soon as the siege is ended. Indeed you know we have educatedhim for that. God and the Virgin del Pilar bring him in safety throughbattle, that the rest of his days may go on in appointed ways! Thefathers at the Seminary have assured me that I shall see my son withhis mitre on his head and his crosier in his hand."
"It will be so, se?ora, I do not doubt it. But seeing how he managesarms, I cannot bring myself to the thought that with the same hand withwhich he pulls the trigger, he will also scatter benedictions."
"It is true, Se?or de Araceli; and I have always said that the triggeris not becoming to churchmen. But you see how it is. Here we have greatwarriors,--Don Santiago Sas, Don Manuel Lasartesa; the incumbent ofSan Pablo, Don Antonio La Casa; the parish priest of San Miguel, DonJos? Martinez; and also Don Vicente Casanova, who is famous as thefirst theologian of Saragossa. Indeed they all fight, my son also,though I suppose he will be eager to return to the Seminary and plungeinto his studies. Would you believe it? Lately he was studying booksso large that they weighed two quintals. God's blessing be on the boy!I am quite foolish over him when he recites some grand things all inLatin. I suppose they are all about our Lord, and his love for hischurch, because there is a great deal about _amorem_ and _formosa_ and_pulcherrima_, _inflamavit_, and other words like those."
"Exactly," I replied, imagining that his recitations were from thefourth book of a certain ecclesiastical work called the ?neid, writtenby a certain Friar Virgil of the order of Predicadores.
"It must be as I say," said Do?a Leocadia. "And now, Se?or de Araceli,let us see if you can help me move this table."
"With the greatest pleasure, dear lady. I will move it for you myself,"I replied, taking charge of it at the moment that Don Jos? de Montoriaentered, pouring out "porras" and "cuernos" from his blessed mouth.
"How is this, porra!" he cried; "men occupied in women's business? Itis not for moving tables and chairs that a gun has been placed in yourhands! And you, wife? How can you distract in this manner a man neededon the other side? You and the children, porra! can you not move thefurniture? Are you made of paste or cheese? Look! In the street belowis the Countess de Bureta with a bed on her shoulders, and her twomaids carrying a wounded soldier on a cot."
"Very well," said Do?a Leocadia, "there is no need of making such anoise about it. The men may go. Everybody out into the street, andleave us alone! Away with you, too, Augustine my son, and God preserveyou in the midst of this inferno."
"We must carry twenty sacks of flour from the Convent of Trinitarios tothe headquarters of supplies," said Montoria. "Come, let us all go."
And when we were in the street, he added, "The numbers of peoplein Saragossa will soon make half rations necessary. It is true, myfriends, that there is much concealed provision, and although it hasbeen ordered that everybody declare what he has, many do not takeany notice of the order, and keep what they have to sell at fabulousprices. It's a bad business. If I discover them, and they fall into myhands, I will make them understand that Montoria is president of thejunta of supplies."
We had reached the parish church of San Pablo when we were met bya friar, Father Mateo del Busto, who was coming with much fatigue,forcing his feeble steps, and accompanied by another friar whom theycalled Father Luengo.
"What news do your reverences bring us?" Montoria asked them.
"Don Juan Gallart has twenty pounds of inlaid work which he places atthe disposal of the committee."
"And Don Pedro Pizueta, the shop-keeper of the Calle de las Moscas,generously offers sixty sacks of wool, and all the salt and wool of hisstorehouses," added Luengo.
"But we have just been dealing with the miser Candiola," said thefriar; "a battle with which not even the Eras can compare."
"How is that?" asked Don Jos?, with astonishment. "Has not thatwretched niggard understood that we will pay him for his flour? Heis the only citizen of Saragossa who has not given a penny for theprovisioning of the army."
"There is no use in preaching to Candiola," said Luengo. "He has saiddecisively that we need not return there unless we bring him onehundred and twenty-four reales for each sack of flour, and he hasseventy-eight of them in his storehouse."
"Is there any infamy equal to his!" exclaimed Montoria, letting loose astring of porras, which I do not copy for fear of wearying my reader."What! A hundred and twenty-four reales are necessary to make thatstingy piece of flint understand the duties of a son of Saragossa intimes like these! The Captain-General has given me authority to takewhatever provisions are necessary, paying the fixed price for them."
"Do you hear what I tell you, Se?or Don Jos??" said Busto; "Candiolasays that who wants flour must pay for it. He said that if the city isnot able to defend itself, it must surrender; that he has no obligationto give anything for the war, because he was not the one who brought iton."
"Let us go there," said Montoria, with anger, which showed itself inhis gestures, his altered voice, his darkened visage. "It is not thefirst time that I have had that dog, that blood-sucker, in my hands."
I came behind with Augustine, who was pale and downcast. I wished tospeak with him, but he made signs to keep silence. We followed to seehow this would end. We found ourselves quickly in the Calle de AntonTrillo; and Montoria said to us,--
"Boys, go on ahead and knock at the door of this insolent Jew. Force itopen, if no one opens it; enter, and tell him to come down to see me.Take him by the ear, but be careful he does not bite you, for he is amad dog and a venomous serpent."
When we were walking on, I looked again at Augustine, and saw that hewas livid and trembling.
"Gabriel," he said, "I wish to run away. I wish that the earth wouldopen and swallow me. My father will kill me, but I cannot do what heha
s commanded me."
"Come, lean on me; then act as if you had twisted your foot, and cannotgo on."
This was done, and our other companions and I began knocking at thedoor. The old woman showed herself at the window, and greeted us with athousand insolent words. A few minutes passed, and then we saw a verybeautiful hand raise the curtain, permitting us to see for a moment aface changed and pale, whose great dark eyes cast terrified glancestowards the street.
At that moment my companions and the boys who were following werecrying in hoarse concert,--
"Come down, uncle Candiola. Come down, dog of a Caiaphas!"
Contrary to our expectation, Candiola obeyed; but he did it believingthat he had to do with the mob of vagabond boys who were in the habitof giving him such serenades, with no suspicion that the president ofthe junta of supplies, and two others in authority, were there to talkwith him on a matter of importance. He soon had occasion to know thatthis was a serious matter, for at the opening of the door, as he camerunning out with a cudgel in his hand, and his ugly eyes glowing withwrath, he came face to face with Montoria, and drew back in alarm.
"Ah, it is you, Se?or de Montoria," he said, with very bad grace. "Howis it that you, being a member of the committee of public safety, havenot been able to disperse this rabble which has come to make this noisebefore the gate of the house of an honorable citizen?"
"I am not a member of the committee of public safety, but of the juntaof supplies, so I come in search of the Se?or Candiola, and make himcome down; but I will not enter this dark house full of cobwebs andmice."
"The poor cannot live in palaces like Se?or Jos? de Montoria,administrator of the goods of the commune, and for a long timetax-collector," replied Candiola.
"I made my fortune by work, not by usury," exclaimed Montoria. "But letus make an end of this. Se?or Don Jeronimo, I have come for that flour.These two good fathers have acquainted you with our need of it already."
"Yes, I will sell it, I will sell it," answered Candiola, with a craftysmile; "but I cannot part with it at the price which these se?orsindicated. It is too little. I do not part with it for less than onehundred and sixty-two reales for a sack of a hundred pounds."
"I do not ask _your_ price," said Don Jos?, restraining his indignation.
"The junta may dispose as it likes with its own; but in my house no onesells anything but myself," answered the miser. "And that is all thereis to say. Each one may do in his own house as I do in mine."
"Come, look here, you blood-sucker!" exclaimed Montoria, catching himby the arm, making him jump, "look here, Candiola of a thousand devils,I have said that I have come for the flour, and I will not go withoutit! The army of defence of Saragossa must not die of hunger, porra! andall citizens must contribute to maintain it."
"To maintain it! to maintain the army!" cried the miser, venomously."Perhaps I am the author of its being?"
"Miserable pig, is there not in your black and empty soul one spark ofpatriotism?"
"I do not maintain vagabonds. What need was there that the Frenchshould bombard us and destroy the city? You want me to feed thesoldiers. I will give them poison."
"Wretch, worm, blood-sucker of Saragossa, disgrace of the Spanishpeople!" exclaimed my protector, threatening with his doubled fistthe miser's wrinkled face. "I would rather be damned to hell foreverthan to be what you are, to be Candiola for one minute. You blackconscience, you perverse soul, are you not ashamed of being the onlyone in this city who has refused all his resources to the patrioticarmy of his country? Does not everybody's hatred of you for this vileconduct weigh upon you more heavily than if all the rocks of Moncayohad fallen upon you?"
"Stop your music and leave me in peace," said Don Jeronimo, starting tothe door.
"Look here, you unclean reptile," cried Montoria, detaining him, "Ihave told you that I am not going without the flour. If you do notproduce it with good grace, as every good Spaniard does, you shallbe made to give it by force. I will pay you forty-eight reales persack,--its price before the siege."
"Forty-eight reales," exclaimed Candiola, with an expression of rancor,"I will sell my skin at that price before the flour. I would pay morethan that for it. The accursed mob! Shall they be supported by me,Se?or de Montoria?"
"You may thank them, miserable usurer, because they have not put anend to your useless life. Does not the generosity of this peoplesurprise you? In the other siege, while we were enduring the greatestprivations in order to get money together, your heart of stone remainedinsensible, and they could not pull out of you one old shirt to coverthe nakedness of a poor soldier, or one piece of bread to appease hishunger. Saragossa has not forgotten your infamies. Do you not rememberthat after the battle of the fourth of August, when the wounded weredistributed throughout the city, and two were assigned to you, and rangat your door, it was not possible for them to get their shadows intothis wretched door? On the night of the fourth they arrived at yourdoor, and with their weak hands they rang for you to open to them; buttheir moans and suffering did not move your heart of brass. You came tothe door, and kicked them into the street, saying that your house wasnot a hospital. Unworthy son of Saragossa! but you have not the soul ofa son of Saragossa. You were born a Mallorcan, of the blood of a Jew!"
The eyes of Candiola shot fire. His jaw quivered, and his fingersclosed convulsively upon the cudgel in his right hand.
"Yes, you have the blood of a Mallorcan Jew. You are no son of thisnoble city. Do not the moans of those poor wounded men sound in yourbat's ears? One of them, who was bleeding badly, died on this spotwhere we are standing. The other managed to creep to the market, wherehe told of what had happened. Infamous scarecrow! Do you suppose thatthe people of Saragossa are going to forget the morning of the fifth?Candiola, Candiolilla, give me that flour, and we will close thistransaction in peace."
"Montoria, Montorilla," replied the other, "my ground and my workwill not go to fatten idle vagabonds. Ya! Talk to me of charity andgenerosity and the needs of the poor soldiers! I have heard enoughtalk about those wretched sponges who are fed at the public cost. Thecommittee of supplies will have no chance to laugh at me. As if we didnot understand all this music about 'succor of the army.' Montoria,Montorilla, you have a little dough in your own house, isn't that true?Good dough can be found in the ovens of every patriot, made of theflour given by the foolish blockheads that the committee of suppliesknows. Forty-eight reales! A pretty price! Then, in the accounts whichwill go to the Captain-General it will be set down as if bought atsixty reales, with a snapper of 'The Virgin del Pilar would not like tobe a Frenchwoman.'"
When he said this, Don Jos? de Montoria, who was already choking withwrath, lost his stirrups, as the saying is, and powerless to containhis indignation, went straight up to Candiola, apparently to slaphis face; but the other had with one strategic glance foreseen themovement, and prepared to repel it. Quickly taking the offensive, hethrew himself with a catlike spring upon my protector, grasping hisneck with both hands and fastening upon him with his strong and bonyfingers, at the same time making ready with his teeth, as if he wereabout to take between them the entire person of his enemy.
There was a brief struggle in which Montoria strove to free himselffrom those feline claws which had so suddenly made him their captive;but it could be seen in an instant that the nervous strength of themiser could not hold against the muscular strength of the Aragonesepatriot. He shook him off violently. Candiola fell to the ground like adead man.
We heard the cry of a woman from an upper window, and then the snapof a window-shutter closing. In this dramatic moment I wheeled aboutanxiously towards Augustine, but he had disappeared.
Don Jos? de Montoria, mad with rage, kicked angrily at the prostratebody, stammering thickly in his wrath.
"You dirty pick-pocket, enriched with the blood of the poor, you dareto call me a thief, to call the members of the committee of suppliesthieves! By a thousand porras! I will teach you to respect honestpeople, and you may be thankful that I do no
t tear out that miserabletongue of yours and throw it to the dogs."
All this struck us fairly dumb; but presently we snatched the unluckyCandiola from under the feet of his enemy. His first movement was madeas if to jump upon him again, but Montoria had gone into the house,calling:
"Come, boys, we will go into the storehouse and get the flour. Quickly,let us make haste, quickly!"
The great number of people who had congregated in the street preventedold Candiola from entering his own house. The gamins, who had comerunning from all over the neighborhood, took charge of him themselves.Some pulled him forward, others pushed him backward, tearing hisclothing to shreds. Others, taking the offensive from afar, threw greatchunks of street mud at him. In the mean time a woman came to meetthose of us who had entered the lower floor where the storerooms were.At the first glance I recognized the beautiful Mariquilla, altered andtrembling, wavering at every step, without power to stand erect orspeak, paralyzed with terror. Her fear was so great that we all pitiedher, even Montoria.
"You are the daughter of Se?or Candiola," he said, drawing from hispocket a handful of money, and making a brief reckoning on the wallwith a bit of charcoal which he picked up from the floor. "Sixty-eightsacks of flour at forty-eight reales is three thousand two hundred andsixty-four. They are not worth half that, for they seem to me decidedlymusty. Take it, child, here is the exact amount."
Mariquilla Candiola made no movement whatever towards taking the money,and Montoria put it down upon a box, saying,--
"There it is!"
Then the girl with a brusque and energetic movement which seemed, as itcertainly was, the inspiration of her offended dignity, took the money,gold, silver, and copper, and threw it as if it were so many stonesinto the face of Montoria. The money was scattered all over the floor,and rolled out of the door without much promise of any one's finding itall in the future. Immediately afterwards the se?orita went without aword into the street. She beheld her father jammed into the crowd; andpresently, aided by some young men, unable to see with indifference awoman in distress, she freed him from the infamous captivity in whichthe boys held him.
The father and daughter entered by the garden gate, as we werebeginning to remove the flour.
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