Zaragoza. English

by Benito Pérez Galdós

  CHAPTER XVI

  While they were talking, I observed the face of Mariquilla, whichseemed in the darkness as if modelled of white wax, and of the softtone and finish of ivory. From her black eyes, whenever she raisedthem to the heavens, swift lights flashed; her black pupils seemedto reflect the clearness of the sky; in their depths two points ofbrightness shone or were hidden, according to the changeful moodexpressed in her glance. It was curious to observe the passionatecreature telling of that stormy crisis which had moved and exalted hersensibilities to the heights of courage. Her languorous attitude, herdove-like cooing, the warm affection which radiated in her atmosphere,did not associate themselves readily with manifestations of heroism indefence of her insulted father. Attentive observation easily discoveredthat both currents flowed from the same source.

  "I admire your noble filial affection," said Augustine. "But you mustthink of this. I do not exonerate those who maltreated your father.But you must not forget that he is the only one who has not givenanything for the war. Don Jeronimo is an excellent person, but he hasnot an atom of patriotism in his soul. The misfortunes of the city areof no consequence to him, and he even seems to rejoice when we do notcome out victorious."

  Mariquilla sighed, lifting her eyes to heaven.

  "It is true," she said; "every day and every hour I beseech him to givesomething for the war. I am able to get nothing; although I exaggeratethe necessities of the poor soldiers, and the bad record that he ismaking in Saragossa. He only gets angry with me, and says that the onewho brought on the war is the one to pay for it. In the other siege Iwas delighted at news of a victory. The fourth of August I went outinto the street all alone, unable to resist my curiosity. One night Iwas at the house of the Urries, and they were celebrating the battleof that day, which had been very brilliant. I also began to rejoice,and show enthusiasm. An old woman who was present said to me in a highvoice, and a very unpleasant tone, 'My child, instead of indulgingin these emotions, why do you not carry to the hospital an old sheetto stanch blood? In the house of Se?or Candiola, whose cellars arefull of money, is there not some old rag to give to the wounded? Yourmiserable papa is the only one, the only one of all the citizens ofSaragossa who has not given anything for the war.' Everybody laughedon hearing this; but I was dumb with shame, not daring to speak. Iremained in a corner of the room until the end of the party, and nobodyspoke another word to me. My few girl friends who used to love me somuch did not come near me. I could hear people speak from time to timethe name of my father, with harsh comments and ugly nicknames. Oh, itwas heartbreaking! When I started to come home, they hardly told megood-bye. The host and hostess dismissed me very abruptly. I came homeand went to bed, and cried all night. The shame of it seemed burning inmy blood."

  "Mariquilla," cried Augustine, lovingly, "your goodness is so greatthat because of it God will forget the cruelties of your father."

  "A few days afterwards," she went on, "on the fourth of August, thosetwo wounded men came that my father's enemy spoke of this morning.When we heard that the committee had assigned two wounded men to ourhouse to be taken care of, Guedita and I were delighted, and, wildwith pleasure, began to prepare beds, bandages, and lint. We werewaiting for them anxiously, running to the window every minute to seeif they were coming. At last they came. My father, who had just comein from the street in a very black mood, complaining that many of hisdebtors had been killed, losing him all hope of collecting from them,received the wounded soldiers very badly. I embraced him, weeping,and begged him to take them in; but he would not listen to me andin his blind anger, he pushed them down into the gutter, barred thedoor, and went upstairs, saying, 'Let their own parents take care ofthem!' It was night. Guedita and I were in perfect despair. We did notknow what to do. We could hear the moans of those two poor fellows,dragging themselves along in the street, begging for help. My fathershut himself up in his room to make up his accounts, caring nothingfor them or for us. We went softly, so that he would not hear us, tothe front window, and threw them cloths for bandages; but they couldnot reach them. We spoke to them, and they held out their hands to us.We fastened a little basket to the end of a cane, and passed them outsome food; but one of them was dying, and the other suffering so muchthat he could not eat. We said what we could to encourage them, andprayed to God for them. At last we resolved to come down and go outto help them, if only for a moment. My father caught us here in thebalcony, and was furious. That night, what a night! O Holy Virgin! oneof them died in the street, and the other one dragged himself on tofind pity elsewhere."

  Augustine and I were silent, reflecting upon the monstrouscontradictions of that house.

  "Mariquilla," my friend said, presently, "how proud I am of loving you!Saragossa does not know your heart of gold, and it must be known. Iwish to tell the whole world that I love you, and prove to my parentswhen they know it that I have made a good choice."

  "I am like any other girl," said Mariquilla, with humility; "and yourparents will not see in me anything but the daughter of the one whomthey call the Mallorcan Jew. Oh, the shame kills me! I wish I couldgo away from Saragossa, somewhere that I could never again see any ofthese people. My father came from Palma, it is true; but he is not aJew. He is descended from the old Christians; and my mother was a womanof Aragon, of the Rincon family. Why are we despised? What have wedone?"

  Mariquilla's lips quivered in a half disdainful smile. Augustine,tormented doubtless by painful feeling, remained silent, his brow leantupon the hands of his sweetheart. Gruesome shapes of dread raisedthemselves threateningly between them. With the eyes of the soul he andshe beheld them, filled with fear. After a long pause, Augustine liftedhis face.

  "Mariquilla, why are you silent? Tell me."

  "Why are you silent, Augustine?"

  "What are you thinking about?"

  "What are you thinking about?"

  "I am thinking that God will protect us," said the young man. "When thesiege is ended, we will marry. If you wish to leave Saragossa, I willgo with you wherever you wish to go. Has your father ever spoken to youof marriage?"

  "Never."

  "He shall not prevent your marrying me. My parents will oppose it; butmy mind is made up. I do not understand life except through you, andif I lost you I could not exist. You are the supreme necessity of mysoul. Without you I should be like the universe without light. No humanpower shall separate us as long as you love me. This conviction isso rooted in me that if I should ever think that we must be separatedin life, it would be to me as if all nature were overthrown. _I_without _you!_ That seems to me the wildest of ideas. I without you!What madness, what absurdity! It is like the sea on the top of themountains, like the snow in the depths of the ocean. It is like riversrunning through the sky, and the stars made into fiery powder in thedeserts of the earth. It is as if the trees should talk, and man shouldlive among metals and precious stones in the bowels of the earth. Iam a coward at times, and I tremble, thinking of the obstacles thatseem overwhelming before us; but the confidence that fills my spirit,like faith in holy things, reanimates me. If sometimes for a moment Ifear death, afterwards a secret voice tells me that I shall not dieas long as you are alive. Do you see all the destruction made by thesiege which we are enduring? Do you see how the bombs and shells showerabout us, and how numbers of my companions fall never to rise? Yet,except momentarily, none of this causes me any fear. I believe that theVirgin del Pilar keeps death away from me. Your sensitiveness keeps youin constant communion with the angels of heaven. You are an angel ofheaven, and loving you and being loved by you gives me a divine poweragainst which the forces of man avail nothing."

  Augustine went on for a long time in this strain, pouring out from hisover-flowing fancy the love and the superstitions which held him inthrall.

  "Indeed, I too have unchanging confidence, as you say," saidMariquilla. "I am often afraid that you will be killed; but I knownot what voices I hear in the depths of my soul telling me that theywill not kill you. It may be because I pray so
much, pleading withGod to preserve your life among all these horrors and in battle. Ido not know. At night when I go to rest, thinking of the bombs thathave fallen, and those that are falling, and those that will fall, Igo to sleep and dream of battle, and never cease hearing the noise ofcannon. I am very restless, and Guedita, who sleeps near me, says thatI talk in my sleep, saying a thousand mad things. I must certainly saysomething, for I am always dreaming. I see you on the wall. I talkwith you, and you answer me. The balls do not touch you; and it seemsto me it is because of the prayers I say for you, waking and sleeping.A few nights ago I dreamed that I went with other girls to take careof the wounded, and that we were taking care of a great many, almostbringing them back to life by what we were doing for them. I dreamedthat when I came back to the house I found you here with your father,an old man, who was smiling and talking with mine, both seated uponthe sofa in the sala. Then I dreamed that your father smiled at me,and began to ask me questions. Sometimes I dream sad things. When Iam awake I listen, and if I do not hear the noise of the bombardment,I ask if it can be that the French have raised the siege. If I hear acannonading, I look at the image of the Virgin del Pilar which is inmy room, and I question it in thought, and it answers me that you arenot dead, without my knowing how the answer is given. I spend the daythinking about the ramparts, and I wait at the window to hear what thesoldiers say who pass by in the street. Sometimes I feel tempted toask them if they have seen you. Night comes; I see you again, and Iam, oh, so contented! The next day Guedita and I occupy ourselves incooking something good, unknown to my father. If it is successful, wesave it for you; if it is not quite so nice, that little friar calledFather Busto takes it to the wounded and sick. He comes after darkto get it, on the pretext of visiting Do?a Guedita, of whom he is akinsman. We ask him how goes the battle, and he tells us all about it,that the troops are performing deeds of great valor, and the Frenchwill be obliged to retire in good time. This news that all goes wellmakes us wild with joy. The noise of the bombs saddens us afterwards,but praying we recover our tranquillity. Alone in our room at night, wemake lint and bandages which Father Busto also takes secretly, as ifthey were stolen goods. If we hear my father's steps, we hide it allquickly, and put out the light, because if he should find out what weare doing he would be very angry."

  Mariquilla smiled almost gayly as she told of her fears and joys withdivine simplicity. The peculiar charm of her voice is indescribable.Her words, like the vibration of crystal notes, left a harmoniousecho in the soul. As she ceased speaking, the first splendors of dawnilluminated her face.

  "The day is breaking, Mariquilla," said Augustine, "and we must go.To-day we are going to defend Las Tenerias. This will be a dreadfulday, and many will be killed. But the Virgin del Pilar will protect us,and we shall live to rejoice in victory. Mariquilla, the balls willnot touch me."

  "Do not go yet," replied the daughter of Candiola. "Day is coming, itis true; but they do not need you yet upon the walls."

  The bell in the tower sounded.

  "Look how those birds cruise about in the heavens, announcing thedawn," said Augustine, with bitter irony.

  One, two, three bombs traversed the sky, as yet faintly illumined.

  "How frightful!" cried Mariquilla, yielding to the embrace of Montoria."Will God keep us to-day as He preserved us yesterday?"

  "We must go to the walls," I cried, rising quickly. "Do you not hearall the drums and bells sounding the call to arms?"

  Mariquilla, in indescribable panic, was weeping and trying to detainMontoria. I was resolved on going at once, and endeavored to take himaway with me. The noise of the drums and the bells in the belfriesof the city were sounding the call to arms. And if we did not rushinstantly into the lines, we ran the risk of being shot or arrested.

  "I must go, I must go, Mariquilla," said my friend, with profoundemotion. "Are you afraid? No, this house is sacred because you live init, and will be respected by the enemy's fire. God will not visit yourfather's cruelty upon your sacred head."

  The Do?a Guedita appeared abruptly, saying that her master was up anddressing hastily. Then Mariquilla herself hurried us to the foot of thegarden, ordering us to go at once. Augustine was in anguish, and at thegate, hesitated and stepped backward as if to return to the side of theunhappy girl, who, half dead of fright, her hands folded in prayer, wasweeping, seeing us go from where she stood in the shade of the cypresswhich had sheltered us. At the moment when we opened the gate, a crywas heard from the upper part of the house, and we saw Candiola, who,half-dressed, was leaning out in a threatening attitude. Augustinewished to turn back; but I forced him forward, and we went.

  "To the lines! To the lines, at once!" I cried. "They will degrade us,Augustine! Leave your future father-in-law to deal with your futurewife for the present."

  We ran swiftly into the Coso, where we saw that innumerable bombs werebeing hurled upon the unhappy city. Everybody ran as fast as possibleto the various positions of defence,--some to Las Tenerias, some tothe Portillo, some to Santa Engracia or to the Trinitarios. As wearrived at the arch of Cineja, we stumbled upon Don Jos? de Montoria,who, followed by some of his friends, was running towards the Almudi.In the same moment a terrible crash behind us proclaimed that oneof the enemy's projectiles had fallen upon a neighboring residence.Augustine, hearing this, turned back, longing to return to the placefrom whence we came.

  "Where are you going, porra!" cried his father, detaining him. "To theTenerias! Make haste! To the Tenerias!"

  The people who were coming and going knew the place of the disaster,and we heard them saying,--

  "Three bombs have fallen close to the house of Candiola."

  "The angels of heaven certainly aimed those guns," laughed Don Jos? deMontoria, noisily. "We shall see how the Mallorcan Jew keeps them off,if he is still alive till he puts his money in a place of safety."

  "Let us run and rescue those unfortunate beings!" cried Augustine, withemotion.

  "To the lines, cowards!" said his father, holding him with an ironhand. "That is the work of women; men must die in the breach."

  It was necessary to make haste to our places, and we went, or rather wewere carried by the impetuous surge of the people running to defend thesuburb of Las Tenerias.