CHAPTER XXVI
On the third of February, the French gained possession of the Conventof Jerusalem,[1] which was between Santa Engracia and the hospital. Thebattle which succeeded the conquest of such an important position wasas bloody as those of Las Tenerias.
[1] To-day the Convent of Jerusalem still exists in a restored condition. Its fa?ade is towards the Hall of Independence. The hospital occupied the place where the Hotel de l'Europe stands. The present Palace of Deputies for the Province was constructed on the site of the Convent of San Francisco.
Don Marcos Simono, the distinguished commander of engineers, was oneof those who died there. In the suburb, the besiegers had advancedbut little; and in six or seven days' effort, they had not gainedpossession of the Calle de Puerta Quemada.
The authorities understood that it would be difficult to prolong theresistance much longer, and with offers of money and honors tried torouse the patriots anew. In a proclamation of the second of February,asking for means, Palafox said, "I am giving my two watches and twentysilver dishes, which are all I have left." In that of the fourth ofFebruary, he offered to give especial honors, to make caballeros ofthe twelve men who should most distinguish themselves; a militaryorder of nobility was created for them, called the Infanzones. In theproclamation of the ninth, he mourned the indifference and readinessto yield, exhibited by some citizens at the misfortunes of theircountry; and after intimating that this loss of heart was brought aboutby French gold, he threatened dire punishment for those who showedthemselves cowards.
The battles of the third, fourth, and fifth were not so bloody as thelast which I have described. The French and Spanish were perishing withfatigue. The street entrances which we were holding in the Plazuelade la Magdalena were defended with cannon, and repulsed the enemy'stwo advances from the Calle de Palomar and the Calle de Pabostre. Theremains of the Seminary were also bristling with artillery; and theFrench, sure of not being able to drive us from there by ordinarymeans, were working at their mines without ceasing.
My battalion was now one with that of the Estremadura, and indeed whatwas left of both was scarcely three companies. Augustine Montoria wascaptain, and I was promoted lieutenant on the second. We did not returnto service in Las Tenerias. They sent us to guard San Francisco,--avast edifice which offered good positions for our guns against theFrench, who were established in the Convent of Jerusalem. Very shortrations were now dealt out to us; and those of us who were countedamong the officers ate in the same mess with the soldiers. Augustinekept his bread to give to Mariquilla.
After the fourth day, the French began mining towards the hospital andSan Francisco, in order to take it; for they knew well that it would beimpossible in any other way. In order to hinder them we countermined,intending to blow them up before they could blow us up. This toilsomelabor in the bowels of the earth can be compared to nothing else inthe world. We seemed to ourselves to have left off being men, and tobe converted into another kind of creatures, into cold inhabitants ofcaverns, without feeling, far from the sun and the pure air and thelovely light of day. We built long galleries, working ceaselessly likethe worm that builds his house in the darkness of earth, shaping itlike his own body. Between the blows of our picks, we heard, like amuffled echo, the picks of the French. After having been beaten anddestroyed on the surface, we expected momentarily to be exterminated inthe dreadful night of those sepulchres.
The Convent of San Francisco had vast subterranean wine-cellars underits choir. The edifices which the French occupied farther down hadthese also, and it was unusual for a house not to have a deep cellar.In these many of our enemies perished, sometimes by the falling in offloors, sometimes wounded from afar by our balls, which penetratedinto the most hidden places. The galleries opened by the spades ofboth sides met at last in one of these cellars. By the light of ourtorches, we saw the French, like fantastic goblin figures engendered bythe reddish light and the sinuosities of the old Moorish dungeon. Theydid not see us, and we began firing at them; but as we were providedwith hand-grenades, we hurled these also, putting them to flight,following them afterwards at arms-length the whole distance throughtheir galleries. All this seemed a nightmare,--one of those dreadfulstruggles which at times we all wage with the abhorrent figures thatpeople the terrible caverns of our dreams. But it was not a dream,though it repeated itself at many points.
In this pursuit, we showed ourselves frequently; and at last emergedin the Coso,--the central place of reunion, and at the same time,park, hospital, and general cemetery of the besieged. One afternoon(I believe it was the fifth), we were in the gateway of the convent,with several boys of the battalion of Estremadura and San Pedro. Wewere talking about the way the siege dragged along, and all agreed thatresistance would very soon be impossible. Our group was constantlyenlarged. Don Jos? de Montoria came up, and, saluting us with a sadface, seated himself upon a wooden bench near the doorway.
"Do you hear what they are saying here, Don Jos??" I said to him. "Theybelieve that it is impossible to hold out many days more."
"Don't get discouraged, boys," he answered. "The Captain-Generalsays truly in his proclamation that a good deal of French gold is incirculation in this city."
A Franciscan who had come to nurse several dozen of the sick took upthe word, and said,--
"It is painful to hear them. They do not talk of anything but surrenderhere. It does not seem as if this is Saragossa any longer. Who couldbelieve it of a people tried in the fire of the first siege?"
"Your reverence is right!" exclaimed Montoria. "It is shameful; andeven those of us who have hearts of bronze feel ourselves attacked bythis weakness, which spreads faster than the epidemic. In casting upthe accounts, I don't know how to reckon for this novelty of surrender,when we have never done it before, porra! If there is something to comeafter this world, as our religion teaches us, why should we worry abouta day more or less of life?"
"The truth is, Se?or Don Jos?," said the friar, "that the provisionsare going fast; and when there is no flour everybody is irritable."
"Fiddle-de-dee, Father Luengo," exclaimed Montoria. "Yet if thesepeople, accustomed to the luxury of other times, cannot get alongwithout bread and meat, there is nothing to say! As if there were notother things to eat! I believe in resisting to the last breath of life,cost what it may. I have experienced terrible misfortunes; the lossof my first-born and of my grandson has filled my heart with sorrow;but at times my regard for national honor fills my soul so that thereis no room left for any other sentiment. One son is left to me, theonly consolation of my life, the one hope of my house and my name. Farfrom taking him out of danger, I insisted upon his persisting in thedefence. If I should lose him, I would die of grief; but in order tosave our national honor, I am willing that my only child shall perish."
"And according to what I have heard," said Father Luengo, "the Se?orAugustine has performed prodigies of valor. It is plain that thegreenest laurels of this campaign belong to the brilliant fighters ofthe Church."
"No; my son no longer belongs only to the Church. It is necessary thathe should renounce the plan of being a clergyman. I cannot be leftwithout direct succession."
"Ah, you are talking of succession and of marriages! Augustine musthave changed since he became a soldier. Formerly his conversation wasall of theology, and I never heard him talk of love. He is a chap whohas Saint Thomas at his finger-tips, and does not know in what part oftheir faces girls carry their eyes."
"Augustine will sacrifice his beloved vocation for my sake. If we comeout alive from the siege, and the Virgin del Pilar grants me life, Iintend to marry him quickly to a woman who is his equal in positionand fortune."
While he was saying this, we saw Mariquilla Candiola approaching us,sobbing; on coming up to me she asked,--
"Se?or de Araceli, have you seen my father?"
"No, Se?orita Do?a Mariquilla," I answered, "I have not seen him sinceyesterday. It may be that he is in the ruins of his house, busyinghimself trying to get something ou
t."
"No, he is not," said Mariquilla, anxiously; "I have looked for himeverywhere."
"Have you been over back here, near San Diego? Se?or Candiola sometimesgoes to look at his house los Duendes, to see if it has been destroyed."
"I am going there instantly!"
As she disappeared, Montoria said, "She is, I am told, the daughter ofthe miser Candiola. Faith, she's very pretty, and does not look likethe daughter of such a wolf--God forgive me, I mean good man."
"She's not bad looking," said the friar; "but I imagine she's a goodone. Saints don't come of Candiola timber."
"One must not speak ill of one's neighbor," said Don Jos?.
"Candiola is nobody's neighbor. The girl is always in the company ofthe soldiers since they lost their house."
"She goes among them to help take care of the wounded."
"It may be; but it looks to me as if she likes best those who arestrong and hearty. Her charming little face does not show a whiff ofshame."
"You snake in the grass!"
"It is the truth," said the friar. "She's a chip of the old block. Dothey not say all sorts of things about her mother, Pepa Rincon?"
"Perhaps she used to take a little something to make her happy."
"It's not a bad kind of happiness. When she was abandoned by her thirdgallant, Se?or Don Jeronimo took charge of her."
"Enough of scandal," said Montoria. "Even when we talk of theworst people in the world, we can at least leave them to their ownconsciences."
"I would not give a farthing for the souls of all the Candiolas puttogether," replied the friar. "But there comes the Se?or Don Jeronimo,if I am not mistaken. He has seen us, and is coming over here."
Candiola was indeed coming slowly along the Coso, and came up to theconvent door.
"Good-evening to you, Se?or Don Jeronimo," said Montoria. "I live inhope that our grudge is all gone."
"A moment ago your innocent young daughter was here looking for you,"said Luengo, maliciously.
"Where is she?"
"She has gone to San Diego," said a soldier. "Maybe some of the Frenchabout here have carried her off."
"Perhaps they respect her, knowing that she is the daughter of Se?orDon Jeronimo," said Luengo. "Is this true, friend Candiola, that theyare telling about here?"
"What?"
"That you have been inside the French lines, holding confabs with thatmob?"
"I? What vile calumny!" exclaimed the miser. "My enemies are sayingthat to ruin me. Is it you, Se?or de Montoria, who have set thesestories going?"
"Not even in thought," said the patriot; "but I have certainly heardothers say it. I remember defending you, assuring them that Se?orCandiola is incapable of selling himself to the French."
"My enemies, my enemies wish to ruin me! What calumnies they inventagainst me! They wish to make me lose my honor, since I have lost myestate. Gentlemen, my house in the Calle de la Sombra has lost partof its roof. Is there any such trouble as mine! The one that I havehere back of San Francisco, next to the garden of San Diego, is stillpreserved; but it is occupied by the troops, and they will finish itfor me, and it's a beauty."
"That house is worth very little, Se?or Don Jeronimo," said the friar."If I have not forgotten, it is ten years since anybody would live init."
"That is because some crazy people gave out that it has ghosts in it.But let us drop that. Have you seen my daughter about here?"
"That virginal white lily has gone over to San Diego in search of heramiable papa."
"My daughter has lost all her good sense."
"Something of that sort."
"Yet Se?or de Montoria is all to blame for it. My wicked enemies giveme no time to breathe."
"What do you say?" exclaimed my protector. "How am I to blame for whatthis child has inherited of the evil ways of her mother? I mean to say(my cursed tongue!) that her mother was an exemplary lady."
"The insults and scorn of Se?or Montoria do not affect me," said themiser, with biting contempt. "Instead of insulting me, the Se?or DonJos? ought to keep his son Augustine in order, that libertine who hasturned my daughter's head. No, I will not give her to him in marriage,though he begs on his knees. He wants to rob me of her. A prettyfellow, that Don Augustine! No, no, he shall not have her for a wife.She can do better, much better, my Mariquilla!"
Don Jos? de Montoria turned white on hearing this, and stepped hastilytowards Candiola, with the intention doubtless of renewing the scenein the Calle de Anton Trillo. But he restrained himself, and said in amournful voice,--
"My God, give me strength to govern my anger. Is it possible to keep mytemper and to have humility in the presence of this man? I asked hispardon for the wrong which I did him. I humbled myself before him. Ioffered him a friendly hand; and now he is here injuring and insultingme in the most disgusting fashion. Wretched man! beat me, kill me,drink all my blood, and sell my bones afterwards to make buttons; butlet not that vile tongue of yours cast ignominy upon my beloved son.What is this that you say about my Augustine?"
"The truth."
"I do not know how to contain myself! Gentlemen, witness myself-control. I do not wish to let myself go. I do not wish to trampleon any one. I do not wish to offend God. I forgive this man hiscalumnies; but on condition that he quit my presence at once, becauseseeing him I cannot answer for myself."
Candiola, alarmed at these words, entered the convent gate. FatherLuengo took Montoria down the Coso.
At the same time there began to be heard among the soldiers therean angry murmur which indicated sentiments hostile to the father ofMariquilla, who, accustomed to this sort of thing, did not realize thatit was anything unusual. He tried to get away, as they pushed him fromone to the other; but they held him, and, without knowing exactly how,he was brought swiftly into the cloister by the threatening group. Thena voice cried, in angry accents,--
"To the well, throw him into the well!"
Candiola was seized by many hands, pounded and torn, and pulled aboutmore than ever before.
"He is one of those who go about distributing French bribes to thetroops," said one.
"Yes, yes!" cried others. "Yesterday they say that he was walking aboutin the market distributing money."
"Gentlemen," said the unfortunate man, in a choked voice, "I swear toyou that I have never distributed any money."
And this was the truth.
"Last night they say he was seen sneaking over into the French camp."
"He did not come back until morning. To the well with him!"
One of my comrades and I tried for awhile to save Candiola from certaindeath; but we only succeeded by force of prayers and persuasions,saying,--
"Boys, do not commit an outrage. What harm can this ridiculous oldwretch do?"
"It is true," said Candiola, with the calmness of despair; "what harmcan I do who am always busy aiding those in need? Do not kill me! Youare soldiers of the Estremadura and las Pe?as de San Pedro; you areall good fellows. You were burning those houses in Las Tenerias whereI found the chicken that I sold for a doubloon. Who says that I sellmyself to the French? I hate them; I cannot bear to look at them; and Ilove you as my own life. I have lost everything. Leave me my life, atleast."
These pleadings, and my prayers and those of my friend, softened thesoldiers a little; and, when their first outburst of anger was over,it was easy for us to save the wretched old man. The soldiers werepresently relieved, and he was in perfect safety; but he never eventhanked us when we offered him a bit of bread, after saving his life. Alittle later, when he recovered his breath enough to walk, he went onout of the street and joined his daughter.
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