CHAPTER XXIII
Incorporated into the battalion of Estremadura, we went along the Callede Palomar into the Plaza de la Magdalena, whence we could hear theroar of battle at the end of the Calle de Puerta Quemada. As we havesaid, the enemy tried to take the Calle de Pabostre in order to getpossession of Puerta Quemada, an important point whence they could rakewith their artillery the street of the same name towards the Plazade la Magdalena. As the possession of San Augustine and Las Monicaspermitted them to threaten that central point by the easy way to theCalle de Palomar, they already considered themselves masters of thesuburb. In fact, if those in San Augustine managed to advance to theruins of the Seminary, and those of the Calle de Pabostre to the PuertaQuemada, it would be impossible to dispute with the French the quarterof Las Tenerias.
After a short time they took us to the Calle de Pabostre, and as thebattle of the outside and inside of the buildings and of the publicway was now all combined, we entered the first block by the Calle delos Viejos. From the windows of the house in which we found ourselves,we could see nothing but smoke, and could tell but little of whatwas going on there. I saw later that the street was all filled withembrasures and trenches at certain distances made of heaps of earth,furniture, and rubbish. From the windows a tremendous fire was pouredforth, and, remembering a phrase of the beggar Sursum Corda, I can saythat our souls were turned into bullets. Inside the houses the bloodflowed in torrents. The onset of the French was terrible, and thatthe resistance might not be less terrible the belfries summoned menunceasingly. The general dictated stern orders for the punishment ofstragglers. The friars rallied the people of other districts, draggingthem forward as in a leash. Some heroic women set an example, throwingthemselves into danger, guns in hand.
A dreadful day, whose frightful roar resounds ever in the ears of himwho was present! Its remembrance pursues him, an unescaped nightmare,through his whole life. He who did not see these horrors, who did nothear the noise of that shouting, knows not with what expression thedepths of the horrible may be uttered to human feeling. Do not tellme that you have seen the crater of a volcano in the most violenteruption; or a great tempest in the open ocean when the ship, tossed toheaven on a mountain of waterfalls, descends next to a giddy depth,--donot tell me you have seen these things, for they are nothing at alllike the volcanoes and tempests of man when his passions urge him toout-rival the disorders in Nature.
It was difficult to hold us back, and not being able to do much wherewe were, we descended to the street without noticing the officerswho tried to hold us back. The combat had an irresistible attractionfor us, and called us as the deep calls unto a man who looks downupon it from a cliff. I have never considered myself heroic; but itis certain that in those moments I did not fear death, nor did thesight of catastrophes terrify me. It is true that heroism, as a thingof the moment, and the direct child of inspiration, does not belongexclusively to the brave. That is the reason it is often found in womenand cowards.
I will not go into the details of those struggles in the Calle dePabostre. They were much like those which I have described before.If they differed in any respect, it was in their excess of constancy,and energy raised to a height where the human ended and the divinebegan. Within the houses, scenes passed like those I have describedelsewhere, but with greater carnage, because victory was believed morecertain. The advantage the men of the Empire gained in one place theylost in another. The battles, begun in the attics, descended step bystep to the cellars, and were finished there with clubbed muskets,with the advantage always on the side of our peasants. The tones ofcommand with which one or another directed the movements within theselabyrinths resounded from room to room with fearful echoes. They usedtheir artillery in the street, and we did also. Often they tried to getpossession of our pieces by sudden hand-to-hand struggles; but theylost many men without ever succeeding.
Alarmed on seeing that the force used at one time to gain a battlewas not now sufficient to gain two yards of a street, they refused tofight, and their officers drove them forward, beating their lazinessout of them with cudgels. On our side such measures were not necessary;persuasion was enough. The priests, without neglecting the dying,attended to everything. If they saw a weakening anywhere, they wouldhasten to tell the officers.
In one of the trenches in the street, a woman, bravest of all,Manuela Sancho, after having fired with a gun, began serving cannonnumber eight. She remained unhurt all day, encouraging all with bravewords,--an example to the men. It was perhaps three o'clock when shefell, wounded in the leg, and during a long time was supposed to bedead, because the hemorrhage made her seem lifeless; she looked like acorpse. Later, seeing that she breathed, we carried her to the rear,and she was restored, and had such good health afterwards that manyyears later I had the pleasure of seeing her still alive.
History has not forgotten that brave young Maid of Saragossa. The Callede Pabostre, whose poor houses are more eloquent than the pages of abook, now bears the name of Manuela Sancho.
A little after three o'clock, a tremendous loud explosion shook thehouses which the French had disputed with us in such a bloody mannerduring the morning. Amid the dust, and the smoke thicker than dust, wesaw walls and roofs falling in a thousand pieces, with a noise of whichI can give no idea. The French had begun to employ mines. In order togain that which they could in no other way wrench from the hands of thesons of Aragon. They opened galleries; they charged the mines; then themen folded their arms, waiting for the powder to do it all.
When the first house went, we stayed quietly in the next, and in thestreet. But when the second went with a still louder noise, the retreatbegan with plenty of disorder. Considering that so many unfortunatecomrades were hurled into the air or buried beneath the ruins, men whohad been unconquerable by force of arms, we felt ourselves too weak tocontend with the new element of destruction. It seemed to us that inall the other houses, and in the street, horrible craters were goingto burst forth which would send us flying, torn into a thousand bloodyfragments.
The officers held us back, calling,--
"Courage, boys, stand firm! That is done to frighten us. We have plentyof powder, too, and we will open mines. Do you think this will givethem an advantage? On the contrary, we shall see how they will defendthemselves among a lot of fragments."
Palafox appeared at the entrance of the street, and his presencerestrained us for some time. The noise prevented me from hearing whathe was saying, but by his gestures I understood that he wished us to goon over the ruins.
"You hear, boys! You hear what the Captain-General says!" a friarshouted beside us, one of those who had come with Palafox. "He saysthat if you will make a little exertion, not one Frenchman will be leftalive." "You are right!" cried another friar. "There will not be awoman left in Saragossa who will even look at you, if you do not hurlyourselves instantly upon those ruins of the houses, and drive theFrench out."
"Forward, sons of the Virgin del Pilar!" cried out a third friar. "Doyou see those women over there? Do you know what they are saying? Theyare saying that if you do not go, they will go themselves. Are you notashamed of your cowardice?"
With that, we stood up a little more bravely. Another house fell onthe right. Palafox came into the street. Without knowing how or why,we followed him when he put himself at our head. Now is the time tospeak of that high personage whose name and fame are one with that ofSaragossa. His prestige is due in large measure to his great courage,but also to his noble origin, and the respect in which the familyof Lazan has always been held in Saragossa, and to his handsome andspirited presence. He was young. He had belonged to the Guards. He wasmuch praised for having refused the favors of a very highly-placedlady, as famous for her position as for scandals about her. That whichendeared the Saragossan leader more than anything else to his peoplewas, however, his supreme, his indomitable courage, the youthful ardorwith which he attacked the most dangerous and difficult obstacles,simply to reach his ideals of honor and glory.
If he
lacked intellectual gifts to direct an undertaking so arduous asthis, he had the prudence to know his lack, and to surround himselfwith men distinguished for their judgment and wisdom. These men dideverything. Palafox was the great figure-head, the chief actor inthe scene. Over a people so largely ruled by imagination, that younggeneral could scarcely fail to hold an imperious dominion, with hisillustrious lineage and splendid figure. He showed himself everywhere,encouraging the weak, and distributing rewards to the brave.
The Saragossans beheld in him the symbol of their constancy, theirvirtues, their patriotic ideal with its touch of mysticism, and theirwarlike zeal. Whatever he ordered, everybody found right and just. Likethose monarchs whom traditional laws have made the personal embodimentof government, Palafox could do no wrong. Anything wrong was the workof his counsellors. In reality, the illustrious commander did notgovern, he reigned. Father Basilio governed, with O'Neill, Saint March,and Butron, the first, an ecclesiastic, the other three noted generals.
In places of danger, Palafox always appeared like a human expression oftriumph. His voice reanimated the dying; and if the Virgin del Pilarhad spoken, she would have chosen no other mouth. His countenancealways expressed a supreme confidence. In his triumphal smile, courageoverflowed, as in others it is expressed by a ferocious frown. He wasvain-gloriously proud of being the prop of that great hour in history.He understood instinctively that the outcome depended more upon himas an actor than upon him as a general. He always appeared in all thesplendors of his uniform, with gold lace, waving plumes, and medals.The thundering music of applause, of huzzas, flattered him extremely.All this was necessary. Indeed there must always be something of mutualadulation between the army and the commander-in-chief, in order thatthe pride of victory may inspire one and all to deeds of heroism.
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