But what a piercing dagger-stroke it was to the hearts of our two unhappy friends, rent as they were already by the preacher’s words, when he took occasion to dwell in detail on the outrage that had been perpetrated in the garden of the Carmelite convent! He condemned as impious the indulgence with which it had been treated by society, and even digressed, with copious imprecations, to mention the two sinners themselves by name and to consign their souls to all the princes of hell. Doña Constanza, plucking Jerónimo by the arm, called out: ‘Don Fernando!’ but the latter replied as emphatically and at the same time as surreptitiously as possible, ‘Do not say a word, Doña; do not so much as move your eyes, but pretend that you are about to faint, and then we shall leave the church.’ But before Doña Constanza had even executed this ingenious stratagem for their escape, a voice, loudly interrupting the canon’s sermon, cried out: ‘Citizens of Santiago, here stand those two godless sinners! Keep clear, keep well away from them!’ And as a wide circle of people backed away in horror, a second terror-stricken voice asked: ‘Where?’ A third man replied: ‘Here!’ and filled with brutal fervour he seized Josefa by the hair and would have dragged her to the ground together with Don Fernando’s child, if the latter had not supported her. ‘Are you mad?’ cried the young man, putting his arm round Josefa. ‘I am Don Fernando Ormez, the son of the Commandant of this city, whom you all know.’ ‘Don Fernando Ormez?’ exclaimed someone who now came and stood right in front of him; he was a cobbler who had worked for Josefa and knew her at least as well as he knew her tiny feet. ‘Who is this child’s father?’ he demanded, turning with shameless insolence to Asterón’s daughter. Don Fernando turned pale at this question. By turns he glanced furtively at Jerónimo and scanned the congregation, to see if there was anyone who knew him. Under the constraint of this appalling situation Josefa cried out: ‘This is not my child, Master Pedrillo, as you think’; and looking at Don Fernando in unspeakable anguish of mind she added, ‘This young gentleman is Don Fernando Ormez, the son of the Commandant of this city, whom you all know!’ The cobbler asked: ‘Citizens, which of you knows this young man?’ And several of the bystanders repeated: ‘Who knows Jerónimo Rugera? Let him step forward!’ Now it so happened that at this very moment little Juan, frightened by the uproar, began struggling in Josefa’s arms and reaching out towards Don Fernando. At once a voice yelled: ‘He is the father!’ and another, ‘He is Jerónimo Rugera!’ and a third, ‘These are the blasphemers!’ And the whole assembly of Christians in that temple of Jesus raised a cry of ‘Stone them! Stone them!’ At this Jerónimo now cried out: ‘Stop! You monsters! If you are looking for Jerónimo Rugera, he is here! Set free that man, who is innocent!’
The furious mob, confused by Jerónimo’s words, hesitated; several hands released Don Fernando; and when at that moment a naval officer of high rank approached hurriedly and, pushing his way through the crowd, asked: ‘Don Fernando Ormez! What has happened to you?’, the latter, now quite free, replied with truly heroic presence of mind, ‘Why, look, Don Alonzo, what murderous villains these are! I should have been a dead man if this worthy gentleman had not calmed the raging crowd by pretending to be Jerónimo Rugera. Be so kind as to take him into protective custody, and this young lady as well; and as for this scoundrel,’ he added, seizing Master Pedrillo, ‘arrest him, for it was he who started the whole commotion!’ The cobbler shouted: ‘Don Alonzo Onoreja, I ask you on your conscience, is this girl not Josefa Asterón?’ And when Don Alonzo, who knew Josefa well, hesitated before answering, and several people, stung to new fury by this, cried out: ‘It is her! it is her! Kill her!’, Josefa placed both little Felipe, whom Jerónimo had hitherto been carrying, and little Juan in Don Fernando’s arms, and said, ‘Go, Don Fernando, save your two children and leave us to our fate!’
Don Fernando took both children and said he would sooner perish that allow any member of his party to suffer harm. He requested the naval officer to lend him his sword, offered his arm to Josefa, and told the couple behind them to follow him. And since in these circumstances the people made way for them with an adequate show of respect, they did indeed reach the door of the church, and thought themselves saved. But they had hardly entered the equally crowded forecourt when a voice from among the frenzied mob that had pursued them cried out: ‘Citizens, this is Jerónimo Rugera, for I am his own father!’ And the speaker, raising a cudgel, struck Jerónimo a colossal blow that felled him to the ground at Doña Constanza’s side. ‘Jesus! Holy Mother of God!’ screamed Doña Constanza, fleeing to her brother-in-law’s side; but immediately there was a cry of ‘Convent whore!’ and a second blow from another direction struck her down lifeless beside Jerónimo. ‘Monsters!’ cried an unidentified bystander, ‘that was Doña Constanza Xares!’ ‘Why did they lie to us?’ retorted the cobbler. ‘Find the right one, and kill her!’ Don Fernando, seeing Doña Constanza lying dead beside him, was maddened with rage; drawing and brandishing his sword, he aimed so furious a blow at the fanatical murderer who had instigated these horrors that it would have split him in half if the man had not dodged aside. But as he could not overpower the surging mass that pressed in on him, Josefa cried out: ‘Farewell, Don Fernando. Here I am, murder me, you bloodthirsty tigers!’ and voluntarily threw herself into their midst, to put an end to the fighting. Master Pedrillo struck her dead with his club. Then, drenched with her blood, he shrieked: ‘Send her bastard to hell after her!’ and pressed forward again, his lust for slaughter not yet sated.
Don Fernando, filled with superhuman heroism, was now standing with his back to the church; on his left arm he held the children, in his right hand his sword, and with every blow he struck one of his attackers down, his blade flashing like lightning; a lion could not have defended itself better. Seven of the butchers lay dead in front of him, and the prince of the satanic rabble was himself wounded. But Master Pedrillo would not give up until he had seized one of the infants by its legs, dragged it from Don Fernando’s grasp, and after whirling it round in the air above his head, dashed it against the edge of one of the pillars of the church. After this, silence fell and the whole crowd dispersed. When Don Fernando saw his little Juan lying at his feet with his brains oozing out, he raised his eyes to heaven in inexpressible anguish.
The naval officer now rejoined him, tried to comfort him and assured him that although his own inaction during this terrible incident had been for various reasons justified, he now keenly regretted it; but Don Fernando said that there was no cause for reproaching him, and only asked him now to help remove the bodies. Night was falling, and in the darkness they were all carried to Don Alonzo’s house; Don Fernando followed, with little Felipe still in his arms and his bitter tears raining down on the child’s face. He also spent the night with Don Alonzo, and for some time refrained, by means of pretexts and fictions, from acquainting his wife with the full extent of the calamity; firstly because she was ill, and also because he did not know how she would judge his own conduct in the episode. But before long, accidentally learning from a visitor everything that had happened, this excellent lady quietly wept out her maternal grief, and one morning, with the trace of a tear glistening in her eye, threw her arms round her husband’s neck and kissed him. Don Fernando and Doña Elvira then adopted the little stranger as their own son; and when Don Fernando compared Felipe with Juan and the ways in which he had acquired the two of them, it almost seemed to him that he had reason to feel glad.
The Marquise of O—
(Based on a true incident, the setting of which has been transposed from the north to the south)
IN M—, an important town in northern Italy, the widowed Marquise of O—, a lady of unblemished reputation and the mother of several well-brought-up children, inserted the following announcement in the newspapers: that she had, without knowledge of the cause, come to find herself in a certain situation; that she would like the father of the child she was expecting to disclose his identity to her; and that she was resolved, out of consideration for her family, to
marry him. The lady who, under the constraint of unalterable circumstances, had with such boldness taken so strange a step and thus exposed herself to the derision of society, was the daughter of Colonel G—, the Commandant of the citadel at M—. About three years earlier her husband, the Marquis of O—, to whom she was most deeply and tenderly attached, had lost his life in the course of a journey to Paris on family business. At the request of her excellent mother she had, after his death, left the country estate at V— where she had lived hitherto, and had returned with her two children to the house of her father the Commandant. Here she had for the next few years lived a very secluded life, devoted to art and reading, the education of her children and the care of her parents, until the — War suddenly filled the neighbourhood with the armed forces of almost all the powerful European states, including those of Russia. Colonel G—, who had orders to defend the citadel, told his wife and daughter to withdraw either to the latter’s country estate or to that of his son, which was near V—. But before the ladies had even concluded their deliberations, weighing up the hardships to which they would be subject in the fortress against the horrors to which they would be exposed in the open country, the Russian troops were already besieging the citadel and calling upon it to surrender. The Colonel announced to his family that he would now simply act as if they were not present, and answered the Russians with bullets and grenades. The enemy replied by shelling the citadel. They set fire to the magazine, occupied an outwork, and when after a further call to surrender the Commandant still hesitated to do so, an attack was mounted during the night and the fortress taken by storm.
Just as the Russian troops, covered by heavy artillery fire, were forcing their way into the castle, the left wing of the Commandant’s residence was set ablaze and the women were forced to leave. The Colonel’s wife, hurrying after her daughter who was fleeing downstairs with her children, called out to her that they should all stay together and take refuge in the cellars below; but at that very moment a grenade exploding inside the house threw everything into complete confusion. The Marquise found herself, with her two children, in the outer precincts of the castle where fierce fighting was already in progress and shots flashed through the darkness, driving her back again into the burning building, panic-stricken and with no idea where to turn. Here, just as she was trying to escape through the back door, she had the misfortune to encounter a troop of enemy riflemen, who as soon as they saw her suddenly fell silent, slung their guns over their shoulders and, with obscene gestures, seized her and carried her off. In vain she screamed for help to her terrified women, who went fleeing back through the gate, as the dreadful rabble tugged her hither and thither, fighting among themselves. Dragging her into the innermost courtyard they began to assault her in the most shameful way, and she was just about to sink to the ground when a Russian officer, hearing her piercing screams, appeared on the scene and with furious blows of his sword drove the dogs back from the prey for which they lusted. To the Marquise he seemed an angel sent from heaven. He smashed the hilt of his sword into the face of one of the murderous brutes, who still had his arms round her slender waist, and the man reeled back with blood pouring from his mouth; he then addressed the lady politely in French, offered her his arm and led her into the other wing of the palace which the flames had not yet reached and where, having already been stricken speechless by her ordeal, she now collapsed in a dead faint. Then – the officer instructed the Marquise’s frightened servants, who presently arrived, to send for a doctor; he assured them that she would soon recover, replaced his hat and returned to the fighting.
In a short time the fortress had been completely taken by the enemy; the Commandant, who had only continued to defend it because he had not been offered amnesty, was withdrawing to the main gate with dwindling strength when the Russian officer, his face very flushed, came out through it and called on him to surrender. The Commandant replied that this demand was all that he had been waiting for, handed over his sword, and asked permission to go into the castle and look for his family. The Russian officer, who to judge by the part he was playing seemed to be one of the leaders of the attack, gave him leave to do so, accompanied by a guard; he then rather hastily took command of a detachment, put an end to the fighting at all points where the issue still seemed to be in doubt, and rapidly garrisoned all the strong points of the citadel. Shortly after this he returned to the scene of action, gave orders for the extinction of the fire which was beginning to spread furiously, and joined in this work himself with heroic exertion when his orders were not carried out with sufficient zeal. At one moment he was climbing about among burning gables with a hose in his hand, directing the jet of water at the flame; the next moment, while his Asiatic compatriots stood appalled, he would be right inside the arsenals rolling out powder kegs and live grenades. Meanwhile the Commandant had entered the house and learned with utter consternation of the misadventure which had befallen his daughter. The Marquise, who without medical assistance had already completely recovered from her fainting fit, as the Russian officer had predicted, was so overjoyed to see all her family alive and well that she stayed in bed only in deference to their excessive solicitude, assuring her father that all she wanted was to be allowed to get up and thank her rescuer. She had already been told that he was Count F—, Lieutenant-Colonel of the – Rifle Corps and Knight of an Order of Merit and of various others. She asked her father to request him most urgently not to leave the citadel without paying them a short call in the residential quarters. The Commandant, approving his daughter’s feelings, did indeed return immediately to the fortifications and found the Count hurrying to and fro, busy with a multitude of military tasks; there being no better opportunity to do so, he spoke to him on the ramparts where he was reviewing his injured and disorganized soldiery. Here he conveyed his grateful daughter’s message, and Count F— assured him that he was only waiting for a moment’s respite from his business to come and pay her his respects. He was in the act of inquiring about the lady’s health when several officers came up with reports which snatched him back again into the turmoil of war. At daybreak the general in command of the Russian forces arrived and inspected the citadel. He complimented the Commandant, expressed his regret that the latter’s courage had not been better matched by good fortune, and granted him permission, on his word of honour, to go to whatever place he chose. The Commandant thanked him warmly, and declared that the past twenty-four hours had given him much reason to be grateful to the Russians in general and in particular to young Count F—, Lieutenant-Colonel of the — Rifle Corps. The general asked what had happened, and when he was told of the criminal assault on the Commandant’s daughter, his indignation knew no bounds. He called Count F— forward by name and, after a brief speech commending him for his gallant behaviour, which caused the Count to blush scarlet, he declared that he would have the perpetrators of this shameful outrage shot for disgracing the name of the Tsar, and ordered the Count to identify them. Count F— replied in some confusion that he was not able to report their names, since the faint glimmer of the lamps in the castle courtyard had made it impossible for him to recognize their faces. The general, who had heard that at the time in question the castle had been on fire, expressed surprise at this, remarking that after all persons known to one could be recognized in the darkness by their voices; the Count could only shrug his shoulders in embarrassment, and the general directed him to investigate the affair with the utmost urgency and rigour. At this moment someone pressed forward through the assembled troops and reported that one of the miscreants wounded by Count F— had collapsed in the corridor, and had been dragged by the Commandant’s servants to a cell in which he was still being held prisoner. The general immediately had him brought under guard to his presence, where he was summarily interrogated; the prisoner named his accomplices and the whole rabble, five in number, were then shot. Having dealt with this matter, the general ordered the withdrawal of his troops from the citadel, leaving only a small garrison to occupy
it; the officers quickly returned to the various units under their command; amid the confusion of the general dispersal the Count approached the Commandant and said how very sorry he was that in the circumstances he could do no more than send his respectful compliments to the Marquise; and in less than an hour the whole fortress was again empty of Russian troops.
The family were now considering how they might find a future opportunity of expressing their gratitude to the Count in some way, when they were appalled to learn that on the very day of his departure from the fortress he had lost his life in an encounter with enemy troops. The messenger who brought this news to M— had himself seen him, with a mortal bullet-wound in the chest, being carried to P—, where according to a reliable report he had died just as his bearers were about to set him down. The Commandant, going in person to the post-house to find out further details of what had happened, merely learnt in addition that on the battlefield, at the moment of being hit, he had cried out ‘Giulietta! This bullet avenges you!‘, whereupon his lips had been sealed forever. The Marquise was inconsolable at having missed the opportunity of throwing herself at his feet. She reproached herself bitterly that when he had refused, presumably for reasons of modesty, to come and see her in the castle, she had not gone to him herself; she grieved for the unfortunate lady, bearing the same name as herself, whom he had remembered at the very moment of his death, and made vain efforts to discover her whereabouts in order to tell her of this unhappy and moving event; and several months passed before she herself could forget him.
The Marquise of O and Other Stories Page 7